#i think majority of it was just being discouraged the past several months so

[elegyofthemoon]

day one completely ouo)b✨ i can already see im about to learn a bunch but it helps that everyones pretty nice and helpful ! and i did a lot more than i was expecting bc i decided to push myself a bit more so WOOHOO FOR BEING COURAGEOUS

[alumbianchronicler]

EctoberHaunt - Oct. 11 Magic - Calm

[Ao3]

Summary:

Amity Park is still. Calm. A layer of icy Fear envelops it, Burying all within. It's finally silent, and the Phantom of a boy can finally rest.

Until the Fear-Buried town attracts the attention of Gertrude and Gerry, Head Archivist and her sole assistant.

Warnings: Suicidal ideation (In a sense of "I'm already dead, let me actually die"). Major Character Death.

Crossover: DP x Magnus Archives

Note: It's past midnight and I'm not bothering to review/edit this tonight, so you're getting it as it is until I go back and revise it. I apologize for any typos/inconsistencies.

The world hadn't heard from Amity Park for months.

There were plenty of residents who had family outside the small city, but none of those outside the city had heard from their relatives since mid-February, just over three months ago.

Some wrote the silence off, figuring things were either busy or uneventful, and that their loved ones would contact them in due time.

Others were becoming worried.

Attempts to call their loved ones failed to go through, phones either ringing without being answered, or simply going straight to voicemail.

The city had been a nexus of ghostly activity for as long as the Hunters questioned could remember, though reported activity had skyrocketed in recent years. With the enactment of the Anti-Ecto Acts within the state, normal Hunters had been discouraged from interfering or risk becoming Hunted by the government, themselves.

Of course, when even the local Ghost Investigation Ward sent by the state disappeared, certain people took notice.

Not that anyone was keen on rushing into the town.

It was one of those places known for swallowing Hunters whole even before the AEA. A place where the populous knew exactly what was happening but had lived with it for so long that it had become mundane, even if deadly to those who entered from outside the community.

Gertrude and Gerry sat on the hood of a rental car just outside the city, staring in. The entire town was shrouded in a miasma of Fear, but even Gerry couldn’t penetrate it clearly enough to determine just which Entity was responsible here. It was heavy and still, as if waiting for something to come along and stir it into action. Honestly, it could be one of half a dozen of the fourteen.

“Think we have enough lighter fluid?” he asked, half joking.

The Archivist scowled. They most certainly did not have enough for the entire town, but if it really was the site for a Ritual that it felt to be, then they needed to come up with something.

She stood and returned to the car, Gerry tossing aside his cigarette, stomping it out, and following her.

They were silent as they drove into the city. It was cold, their breath forming mist even inside the car, despite the heat turned up as far as it would go.

Under Gerry’s gaze, the town seemed frozen, everything coated in a thin layer of green-tinged ice. His first guess was Lonely, but that didn’t seem quite right. This wasn’t a Lonely chill. It was more… enveloping.

Neither was it Desolation. It preserved too much, kept it close and still and calm and unmoving…

“Buried,” he finally said as the Archivist drove through the empty streets. No one was outside. Nothing was moving. Everything was covered in the same layer of icy Fear, invisible to everyone but those with the Eye to see.

Gertrude made a sound of agreement, stopping at an intersection for several long moments. She eyed each direction as if it had personally offended her. Gerry remained silent, watching her. She was nearly Hunt-like herself, when she got on a trail, and he knew she was seeking out the source of this Fear. The Predator waiting at the bottom of the pit, burying everything around it alive.

Finally, she turned the car to the right and drove on.

They ended up in front of a house that looked like someone had tried to build a space station on the top. An odd choice for the Buried, but sometimes superficial appearances were deceiving.

The cold was deeper here, settling into their bones and making Gerry’s head ache with the sharpness of an icepick. It was oppressive, trying to hold them down beneath the desire to sleep and hide and don’t let them see, don’t let them know, don’t let them uncover your secret.

He could feel the Eye stir with the knowledge, seeking it out, pushing him to chip off the ice and bear the heart of the being at the core of this lair. He paused, forcibly closing his eyes and taking a steadying breath. He could feel the Archivist’s gaze on him, but she didn’t say anything until he opened his eyes, his headache worsening.

“Gerard?”

“I’m fine. It’s here?”

“It is.”

“Let’s go, then.”

He turned to grab a duffelbag from the back seat, leaving the car and following the old woman inside.

They didn’t even have to break into the house, though it did take a few kicks to loosen the door from the very real ice that had sealed it shut.

The interior was even more frigid; an icy tomb created from layer upon layer of carefully placed Fear, cocooning its inhabitant deep inside.

If they had the supplies, perhaps they would have simply set the building itself on fire from the outside, but as it was, they would both bet money that the Avatar was in the basement, safely Buried away from whatever Desolation would do on the surface.

Which left their only choice being to seek it within its own den, and root it out.

There was someone on the couch in the living room.

At first, Gerry was prepared to fight, but Gertrude barely reacted, simply sweeping her sharp gaze over the red-haired young woman. “She’s frozen,” the Archivist said, and continued inside.

The old woman led them unerringly to what was, indeed, the door to the basement.

Below, an eerie green light illuminated the stairwell, becoming brighter as they descended, the weight of the Buried settling on their shoulders like heavy snowfall.

Gerry’s boots crunched the ice beneath him as he stepped off the final step onto the cement basement floor.

The basement itself appeared to be a laboratory of some kind. Two people stood in the center of the room, frozen beneath thick layers of the strange green ice, impossibly still despite the Eye revealing to him they still lived. They were dressed in brightly-colored jumpsuits, and had several Marks between them. The Stranger, the Desolation, the Spiral.

Neither of them were the conduit of the Buried in this place.

The Archivist continued past them.

On the far side of the basement, a gaping hole yawned wide in the wall, leading back and down, down, down from the laboratory. In front of it laid… a teenager, curled on his side on the floor.

His hair was white, and though he didn’t appear to be breathing, a slight mist condensed before him every few seconds. He was nearly peaceful in his stillness, despite the miasma of Fear that blanketed him. This was their Avatar.

The Archivist set down her bag and pulled out a tape recorder, her eyes glowing in the dim icy-green light of the basement.

Gerry moved to stand beside her as she leaned down and shook the child awake.

He moved slowly, looking up at them with eyes clouded with ice and despair. “Who are you?”

The Archivist Spoke. “I am Gertrude Robinson, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute. Please tell me what has happened here.” Despite the politeness of her words, there was the sharpness of Compelling beneath them, the Watcher bleeding through its vessel.

The boy blinked, flinching even as he seemed to become more animated. Around them, the ice cracked audibly.

“I… just wanted the pressure to stop. Ever since my parents made the tunnel, ever since I entered it, I had been changed. There was something down there. I can’t say what, but it was as if I had been… swallowed, consumed, changed. It stayed with me when I left, settling on my shoulders with a weight that left me unable to breathe.”

“I think I died.”

He frowned. “Everyone expected things of me, but I couldn’t respond properly. It all seemed to weigh so heavily. I… couldn’t pull myself up out of their expectations. It was better down here. Heavier, but it was a calm weight, like… a crypt or a grave.”

“I came to think of myself as… some sort of Phantom. Some fascimile of a living being, trying to hold up to what living beings did, like Atlas holding up the sky, until inevitably it pressed down and crushed me, and I…”

He looked past the Archivist to the frozen pair in the center of the room. “My parents loved me, I know, but they never knew I went into the tunnel. They didn’t realize I had died. They didn’t know how much the pressure weighed on me.”

“I just… I want everything to be calm. I want to enter my grave and not return, to have the ice freeze me and envelope me and never let me go and…” he started crying, the tears freezing halfway down his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt people.”

Gerry couldn’t see the old woman’s gaze from where he stood, but he knew it hadn’t softened. The Watcher drank in the boy’s story, relishing the flavor of despair and self-loathing, even as it didn’t understand why having so much pushed upon oneself could be so crushing.

“Gerard,” Gertrude said after several long moments of heavy silence. “Go back to the car, and get the bag of explosives from the trunk.”

He raised a brow at the old woman but complied.

When he returned, the kid had stood, though he held himself as if he could barely hold himself up against gravity.

Gertrude turned to noted Gerry’s return and nodded. “Set them up at the opening of the tunnel,” she said, then turned back to the young Avatar in front of them.

“You desire to go to the Buried and not return?” she asked him.

The boy nodded.

“Then I want you to go into the tunnel and continue walking. Don’t stop. Don’t look back. Let the Buried have you.”

It wasn’t quite the same counter-strategy they usually used. There was no neutralizing one Entity with another Opposing it here. There was simply… laying a restless spirit to rest.

Gerry met the teen’s eyes as he walked past, and for a moment they regarded each-other, before Phantom continued into the tunnel, eventually disappearing into the depths beyond.

They lit the explosives, retreating for the explosion then returning to make sure the tunnel was sealed. The eerie green light had vanished from the ice, and what was left of the ice itself was quickly melting, leaving only the bodies of the boy’s family behind.

For good measure, they burned the house down, and the occupants within it.

There were a few other cars on the road as they left the town, neither of them speaking to each other until they had passed the sign heading away.

“How’s your head feeling?” Gertrude asked, as if she didn’t know.

“It’s fine,” Gerry replied, lying, the weight of the truth heavy on his shoulders.

[pretttydemonwrites]

Thoughts - June 4

Happy Pride Month Motherfuckers!

My writing has been pretty sporadic for the past couple of months. I'm not surprised really, I knew that setting a goal to write every day was going to ultimately wind up with missed days, but that was never really the point of this anyways. Whether I do it every day, every other day, or a couple times a week or whatever, I've already written way more this year than I think I've written in...let's just say it's been a while.

I'd like to expand on why that's happened, why I found myself falling out of love with the thing that I straight up decided to major in while I was in college. (Hint: college definitely had something to do with it)

I pinpoint the start of my love of writing around the age of eleven. At the time it was all My Chemical Romance self insert fanfiction and typical My Immortal style vampire stories. A little after that, I started branching out into doing text RP on Gaia Online and that's when I made my first real OC, Cassandra. Stuck her in a less than savory asylum themed roleplay and that particular group I would go on to do several different plots with. That was all through middle and high school, and those roleplays fueled my writing. I still wrote some MCR fanfiction during that time too, but I was branching out! Original stories, original characters, poetry, hell I did NaNoWriMo in like...2011 for the first time and fuckin crushed it.

I was pretty confident about my writing honestly. My friends and I liked it and that's kind of all I gave a shit about. When I started contemplating going to college and eventually decided to major in creative writing, that's when things started to take a bit of a turn.

For one thing, I don't particularly enjoy criticism! I also don't enjoy being told what format/genre/etc to write in, and when you get into advanced creative writing classes (at least at my college) then they usually focused on specific genres. For instance, I took a novella writing class, and a one-act playwriting class, and a....poetic playwriting class? Gun to my head I couldn't tell you what that one was officially called.

Now, obviously I recognize that the point of these classes was to allow you to branch into different formats, learn the conventions of them and use that knowledge to strengthen your skills. But I was a stubborn bastard and I only wanted to write my stuff.

That being said, my work often felt like it was undermined and looked down upon because my influences were very obviously YA/fanfiction/genre fiction based, whereas everyone else seemed focused on being as pretentious as possible, trying so desperately to be the next great white male author. I was resentful of that, and couldn't understand why my writing was seen as immature in comparison to my peers.

Long story short, I think those feelings kind of festered in me all through college so that, by the time I graduated, I had no intentions of ever turning my writing into any sort of career. I felt discouraged and pretty hopeless about my prospects, so once I was out, I was more concerned with figuring out how I was going to survive and pay rent, and I knew that my writing wasn't going to pay those bills. So I just...let it go for a while.

I'd write something here and there, sure. I think I might have even tried to submit a couple things. By and large though, what once consumed a vast majority of my free time was became something of a past life. "Back in the day I was a writer" and such.

And yet, it was still always one of the first things I would tell people if they asked me about my interests. ("Oh I'm a writer. What have I written lately? HAHAHAHA!") I couldn't let that part of my identity go. It had been a huge part of me for half my life, how could I abandon it?

So it was there, always, even if I didn't do anything with it. And then I got into DnD and other TTRPGs and I was doing text RP again and I realized that....I can still write? I'm still an actual writer? And I could write again if I really wanted to, if I could find a way to push past the discouraged feeling in my gut.

So that's what all this has been for, really. I could go on for a while about this complex relationship I have with writing, but it honestly feels so fucking good to be back in it, to be back working at something again. It's not perfect, I've definitely forgotten a lot of the useful shit I did learn in college, but I think that I could get there again.

If you read through this whole thing, I can only assume that you related to it in some way and if so, I hope you're coming out on the other side of things feeling hopeful for yourself too. Thank you, as always, for reading.

[lovemesomesurveys]

How often are you optimistic? I’m Little Miss Pessimistic.  Would you say your thoughts are generally rational and logical ... or irrational and illogical? Some are irrational, but I think I’m pretty logical to be honest. The problem is that my emotions and fears often control me.  Tell an interesting fact about your favorite country? Nah.  Are you wearing anything of any sentimental value? Describe? No. Are you the type to pay attention to detail? Yes and no. I sometimes find that I’m trying to look at the bigger, full picture so I miss the important stuff. I overlook the pieces that build up to the bigger picture and in doing so, I end up causing problems for myself. Or I’m seeing something totally wrong. Like, had I paid more attention to the details then perhaps some things could have been avoided because I would have taken the time to really look at it. None of this is probably making any sense. 

To you, what is especially distracting? I sometimes struggle with getting distracted, especially this past year. My mind is just so jumbled and always running. I have so much going on.  What are some things that are important in your life right now? My faith, my family, and my health.  When was the last time you did some major cleaning? Uhhh. It’s been a long time. I haven’t had the energy, strength, or motivation to do much the past few years and this past year I’ve pretty much been bedridden. These past 3 months I’ve been completely bedridden and will be for awhile.  Have you ever thrown anything away, and regretted it later? Yes. I have a hard time getting rid of things as it is.  Are you the type to regret things, or live and learn? Unfortunately, I have several regrets. I continued to make a lot of the same mistakes because I’m so damn stubborn. Some of those landed me in the position I’m in now, which greatly impacted my health. Like, dangerously so.  How often do you feel like you need time to yourself? I always need to have some alone time. I get overwhelmed and feel drained, so I need time to just do my thing.  Do you like being around other people? Why is this? Not big groups of people. I like spending time with my family and I need that time as well as having my alone time. I haven’t felt up to socializing with people outside my family, mainly just my immediate family, the past few years. I just don’t have the energy or desire for anything more than that right now. I lost my friends in the process and there’s a lot of extended family members I haven’t seen in so long.  Do you feel like anyone "gets" you? Who? My mom and brother do the most, but I don’t think anyone completely does. I don’t even completely understand myself.  What would you be most likely to do with a friend, today? I just explained that I don’t have any friends or a social life right now. When are you most likely to be crabby? I’m irritable and crabby a lot. :/ These past few months have been especially hard since I’ve been laid up in the hospital dealing with a ton of health stuff and on top of it not being able to eat or drink. No coffee for 3 months doesn’t help, ha.  How about upbeat and cheerful? I haven’t felt those in a long time. I’ll be in decent moods and have some moments where I’m enjoying something, but I certainly haven’t felt upbeat or cheerful.  Who challenges you the most? In what way? Life? These past few years and these past few months especially have really been doing that. It’s been really challenging and there’s been many times where I wanted to just give up. I just feel so weak and discouraged.  Who seems to hold you back? In what way? Me because of my health. I feel like I’ve missed out on so much. I think about what I used to complain about and I’m like damn, you wasted all that time complaining and doing nothing about it and letting life pass you by and now I’m completely bedridden dealing with a lot and can’t do anything. I just pray I’ll be able to get to a better place in terms of my health and be able to live my life again.  What was the last opportunity that you passed up, and why? The opportunity to take better care of myself and take care of things that I should have so that I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m in now. I know I sound like a broken record, but this is my life right now, it’s at the center of my thoughts and all I have going on. I’ve had a lot of time to reflect. Would you rather have a quiet day at home, or be on the go? I’m a homebody, I like my time at home, but I do like to go do things like shop and go to the movies as well. I don’t feel the need to be on the go, though. Of course now that I haven’t been able to go anywhere or do much of anything there is a lot I want to do. I had wanted to really dive into the holidays this year and do stuff and there’s traveling I want to do, too. None of that will be happening, though. :/  Do you think you made a good impression on the last person you met? *shrug*  How do you feel about people who neglect their pets? Oh, that makes me extremely angry and upset.  Are you able to ask for help when you need it? I’m very dependent right now on others and I’m struggling because I used to be more independent before my health took its toll. I used to actually do things. Now I feel so weak and need help with just about everything it seems. I should have been asking for help before with some things and even now there’s still things I should be asking for help with. I always just tend to keep so much to myself and try to deal with things on my own. Look where that got me... How intense is your anger? Have you ever hurt anyone|yourself? I’m someone who shuts down when upset or angry. I want to just be alone and not interact with anyone. I need time to just sit with it, I can’t just move on quickly. What is something red that you like to eat? Umm, I like spaghetti with marinara sauce.  Do you ever have trouble getting lighters to work? I don’t mess with lighters cause I’m a scardy cat. 

If someone drinks, would that lower your opinion of that person? No? I’d only have an issue If they were obnoxious or abusive drunks.  Do you know anyone who is abusive? Are you abusive? No to both.  Have you ever contemplated cheating on anyone? No. If your best friend wanted to cheat on his/her partner, you would say? I would try to offer them some advice on not going through with it, but ultimately they’re going to do what they want. Who do you know that gives very sound advice? My mom. What do you think makes a person weak? I’m much more understanding and kind towards others, so what I see as weak in me I don’t in others. I see myself as very weak and I’m harsh on myself, but I don’t see it the same way towards others; I’m more empathetic.  What makes a person strong? People who try to do their best. Name one thing that you think defines you as a person? I don’t know.  Who do you go to when you need comfort? Usually no one, it’s like the asking for help thing I talked about when it comes to this as well. If I do, it’s my mom. I know I could go to her anytime about anything, I just tend not to. :/ Is there anyone|thing with whom|which you like to cuddle? I don’t have much cuddling experience to be honest.  Do nightmares still bother you? Yes.  At what age did you start to feel like a teen, and not a kid anymore? I think when I got to high school.  Are you or were you in a hurry to grow up? No, I was never that kid who was in a rush to grow up. At 33 I miss my childhood so much. I’d love to have it back, this adult shit isn’t for me.  What is a fear you have about living on your own? Being alone, having something bad happen.  Do you have any survey-maker recommendations? If yes, who? I just go to Bzoink.  Who was the last person to completely fascinate you? Uhhh. I don’t know.

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt.7)

Well, Natsume's really in it now! Today we'll be talking about what lengths Natsume will go to in order to protect the people he loves. He's not a normal boy with a normal first crush, after all. He has no intention of wooing her or flirting. In fact, his instinct is to distance himself, and going forward we'll see that instinct is motivated by more than just a low self-esteem.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Natsume has some major character flaws. He’s kinda a jerk in general and is rude and abrasive. He’s chronically selfless and seems to be drawn to situations where he can sacrifice himself for others, which is a very unhealthy way to be. He’s also terrible at keeping his word.

Natsume only made this decision on his own, but he’s pretty bad at carrying through with it. He’s the one who told her to stay away, but Natsume will have more and more trouble staying true to such an agreement.

At first, he makes an effort: Mikan is being bullied for her stupidity and sees Natsume. He glares at her, another discouragement from coming any closer. He doesn’t argue with her or join in on the bullying.

But in no time at all, the whole class is riled up in study mode because of Mikan’s example, and for many kids in Class B, the best person to turn to for tutoring help is Natsume, who is actually quite smart when he actually does the work--though he’d prefer not to. And he does help, though not with any kind or supportive words. He’ll leave that to Mikan. Maybe to him it feels a bit like a cheat, like he can afford to give in a little bit. He later walks alongside her after an exam, like he’s part of her circle, and although he’s not really engaging with her like the rest of the kids are, it’s enough that he’s near her.

And it’s enough for the ESP and Persona to notice.

We can see the ESP looking down on them from his headquarters room, still covered in shadows to maintain his mystery, but his figure is familiar enough for a reread. Natsume has been caught and he will have to face the consequences.

Persona subs in for Makihara-sensei (and we must wonder if Makihara was really unable to proctor his exam or if he was ordered to stay away so that a point could be made to Natsume), and despite his disguise, Natsume can tell it’s him instantly. After all, he was supposed to recognize him. Natsume looks horrified.

So far, Natsume has had to more or less balance two very different parts of his life: a more light-hearted life in Class B and his life as a spy and black ops agent. They’ve been difficult to juggle because of how different they are, but they’ve been pretty separated. Here, the lines are blurring. Was there really any divide at all or was that just an illusion? Persona can invade on his happiness any time he wants, on a whim, and nobody else will notice that anything is amiss. Only Natsume will be bothered, and that’s enough.

Natsume later catches up to Persona, asking him what the hell all that was about.

Permy and his fans aren’t the only ones to notice that Natsume has been softer lately--he and the ESP have noticed as well, and he’s been ordered to put a stop to it. He mentions a “kitten of a different color” who has been of interest to the ESP too, and Natsume plays dumb, his last-ditch attempt to protect Mikan from being drawn into this.

Persona comments on the strangeness of seeing the infamous Black Cat that he trained himself, who he’s supposedly only ever seen in action, sitting and taking a test like a normal kid. He reminds him that he’s not a normal kid. There’s no point in trying so hard. He won’t make it to ever see his family again, so why even bother?

And then Persona makes a point to discourage Natsume from getting close to that “kitten of a different color”. Natsume argues that they’re the ones who made them partners in the first place! And he might as well be giving himself away. Again, Natsume seems convinced that the partners thing was a decision from pretty high up, but I don’t think it was. Here, it seems like Persona is trying to clean up the mess Narumi made before it gets too out of hand. Natsume is a perfect tool and anything messing with that is inconvenient. They can’t unmake them partners (yet) so the most they can do is threaten Natsume.

And now we can see what kind of alice Persona has. It's a real threat, killing that plant. It's a reminder to Natsume what he's capable of, that his friends and loved ones could end up just like that plant.

And so Persona does.

Natsume is anguished here, because he’s been trying his very best to avoid this situation, but he should have known that Mikan was already in the academy spotlight and his feelings would be quickly caught. It was too late from the start and he was doomed all along to add Mikan to the list of people he will do anything to protect.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next chapter opens with Mikan being confused and hurt by Natsume’s sudden new coldness. She has no idea what’s brought this all on, but we do. Natsume has no choice now but to completely try and cut her off. It’s for her own good, after all. If he’s not careful, she could get hurt. Protecting her is worth it, even if it means he has to be even more of a villain than usual.

We don’t see a lot of Natsume in this chapter, actually, because he’s trying really hard to stick by his word this time. We see him trip up a little, staring at her in class. When she catches him, he turns away coldly, but from this we can see that Natsume really doesn’t want to be leaving her alone like this. If he had it his way, in an ideal world, he’d be much nicer to her. Unfortunately, Natsume doesn’t waste his time thinking about his ideals, so he keeps at it, pushing her away.

The next time we see Natsume, it’s after we’ve been thoroughly introduced to the concept of the life-shortening alice. This is one hint of many that he has such an alice, several chapters before we get a real confirmation.

The scene where Natsume struggles on a bed full of pills is perhaps more dramatic in the anime, but it’s no less potent here. It’s like a sucker punch. You don’t want it to be true. He’s ten years old, for heaven’s sake! TEN YEARS OLD! And he’s suffering, hunched over, face red, gasping for air, clutching his chest, next to the biggest bag of medicine I’ve ever seen. It’s the biggest hint we’ve gotten so far, especially in the context of Kaname’s illness.

It's heart-breaking to imagine that most of the time, Natsume is simply pretending like he's not in absolute physical agony.

Kaname stays at the hospital for long stretches of time, staying for weeks and sometimes months at a time. He’s hospitalized more than he’s able to walk around free. There’s a lot to consider when that treatment is compared to Natsume’s. Natsume is the DA favorite and is sent on many missions. His trips to the hospital are never for weeks or months at a time, not because he doesn’t need the rest, but because the school can’t stand to go so long without their prize fighter. Natsume might be in even worse condition than Kaname, but there’d be no real way to tell unless we got it from him, because he has no choice but to put up with it and pretend like he’s not living in constant agony. And on top of being terribly and terminally ill, he gets physically beaten somewhat regularly… this school beats sick children and then threatens them when they find any inkling of happiness.

There is a bittersweet tone about Kaname’s story. He’s already sick anyway but he will probably die if he keeps using his alice, but he wants to, because he wants to bring people the same happiness that making Bear brought him. It’s tragic and heart-breaking, but it’s touching too. That sweetness is missing from Natsume’s appearance. His situation feels miserable and helpless in comparison, because not only does he have no way out, but nobody even knows the extent of his struggles.

He only lets himself feel this level of pain when he’s all alone in his bedroom. He’s been having a horrible past few days, having to ignore Mikan when she’s all that’s made him happy in recent memory. All that together, and we know that this night was a rough one for him.

The next day, we see everyone saying good-bye to Kaname. Once again, Natsume is completely separated from the rest of them, all alone in the classroom, sitting and looking as miserable as one can expect. It’s strange seeing him now after we’ve seen what his nights look like and just how painful they can get.

I just want him to be okay. Why is that too much to ask?

There’s some text on his panel: “I want the future I spend with the ones I love to last just a little longer.” Yet another hint that maybe his illness is more than just that. He has very little time left, and very little time to spend with his loved ones, but even worse: he can’t even spend time with Mikan because doing so would put her in danger. Even with Youichi and Ruka the amount of time he can spend with them is limited. They have their own lives and he doesn’t want to hold them back or hint in the slightest that there’s something up with him. He doesn’t want to worry or burden them. And so he sits alone in the classroom, looking despondent and lonely.

And now we know more than ever that this was never his choice: he has to be like this.

No, he’s not the asshole he makes himself out to be, somebody who doesn’t care about others and cuts others off because he thinks himself above them. All he wants is to protect people from getting too entrenched in his dark life. Natsume being this level of a jerk is a method to protect people, a method an adult would have to take.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I’m quite relieved to have finally passed the point where the anime adapts the manga. From now on, I can focus entirely on the manga. I passed 22k words on this essay too! This whole thing will be sooooo long. I hope it’s an enjoyable read so far. It’s quite fun for me to write.

This chapter is the beginning of a long and dramatic arc. There’s been incidents of people losing their alices. The academy is withholding information about the gravity of the situation, lying that the students have not been affected so far.

But even with the little information the kids have, Class B is full of concern. Everyone is discussing these incidents, debating whether losing one’s alice would even be a bad thing. After all, they’d be able to go back home and see their families. Nonoko brings up a great point, that her alice is a part of her identity, something she loves about herself. It’s not something she’d ever willingly part with. Furthermore, she doesn’t want to leave all her friends at the academy either. Ultimately, the kids all agree that they wouldn’t want to lose their alices.

At this, Natsume stands up and leaves the room. He’s heard enough.

Natsume doesn’t just have complicated feelings about his alice--he feels hatred for it. After all, if it weren’t for his alice, he could live to a ripe old age. He could still be with his family. He could be happy, not used as a weapon by the academy to fight until he dies. He can’t relate much to the conversations about fondness for an alice. From what we can see, he’d be over the moon to be rid of it for good. This is a concept brought up now, because it will be incredibly important later on.

Not to spill about my personal life or anything, but I’m an English major (in an anglophone country so my focus is literary analysis and writing). Writing literature papers in school was a love of mine that I translated to my other interests. I’m writing what I can here about general themes and even visual parallels. I want to write as thorough an analysis as I can. Unfortunately, I can’t effectively pick apart word choices and phrases when they’re translated from another language and when so many conflicting translations may exist.

I’m saying all this as a disclaimer because I want to analyze word choice now and I am aware that this might not carry to the original Japanese or even to other versions of the English translation. (For reference, I’m using the TokyoPop versions for my analysis for the first 15 volumes and then I’ll be using whatever I get my hands on for the rest. The pics I use are from scans, but the main source I use for now is TokyoPop.)

"Nowhere!".... hmm let me read way too much into this.

Natsume leaves the room and Ruka chases after him, asking where he’s headed. Natsume responds, “Nowhere.” This might be a nothing point to make, but it stands out to me whenever I read this part. It’s a reassurance to Ruka, sure, but there seems to be more to it. On the surface, we can tell that Natsume doesn’t have a destination in mind; he just doesn’t want to be in the classroom anymore, listening to all that upsetting talk. Deeper than that, he really is heading nowhere. He’s stuck there, at the academy, unlike the rest of them who will eventually leave to go back home once they’ve graduated. Natsume will probably die at the school, trapped within its gates. He will probably never see his family again. He is, in that sense as well, going nowhere.

The rest of their conversation is just as packed with meaning. Ruka can tell something is up and he wants Natsume to talk to him, to let him in, but Natsume knows that Ruka has made a pact not to smile if he’s not smiling. So even though Ruka is asking and wants to know what’s wrong, Natsume won’t give anything away. Being miserable is one thing, but letting Ruka know that something is worse than usual would only make Ruka miserable too, and he can’t have that. The bottom of one page has him frowning, maybe steeling himself, and then at the top of the next page, he turns around with a grin to tousle Ruka’s hair.

Don't mind me. I am simply crying.

“It’s nothing,” he says with his smile, looking so gentle, and Ruka still looks concerned, but he can’t argue anymore.

In reality there’s a lot going on with Natsume. Later, when we are introduced to Tono, he mentions being concerned about Natsume’s health, having heard that he was making frequent visits to the hospital. We already know he’s sick and going on ceaseless missions, and on top of all that he has to ignore and be cruel to the girl he likes. It’s a terrible situation. But Natsume can’t tell Ruka any of this without worrying him, so instead he will keep it to himself. After all, it’s nothing that can be helped or changed. It’s something he feels he has to cope with on his own. To him, spilling his secrets would be selfish and only cause suffering.

Chapter Thirty

Iinchou has finally returned from his visit to his hometown. He’s brought gifts and anecdotes and everyone is quite happy to see him, until Iinchou attempts to use his alice and finds himself unable to.

It’s a shock to the whole class that a kid at their school has lost his alice. They had been so relieved that at least it wouldn’t affect kids like them, but now one of them is a victim too. It makes the fear much more real. If it could happen to Iinchou, it could happen to any of them.

Things get tense when Iinchou returns to class and says that this might have been the fault of a woman he encountered outside of the school, someone who was probably affiliated with Z. Everyone who was involved with saving Natsume when he was kidnapped is shocked to hear about Z again, but none more than Natsume himself. He gets up and leaves, just like he did last chapter.

He’s thinking about the proposal Reo gave, that Natsume should join Z and fight against the academy he despises. But he’s not alone with his thoughts, because Ruka followed him again, and so did Mikan this time.

She tries to ask him about Z, see if he has any more idea about what’s going on. She’s confused and he knows more than anyone what happened during that incident, but he’s refusing to acknowledge her presence, let alone answer any of her questions. He’s keeping up his charade of cruelty to keep her safe, but it’s driving Mikan crazy. She finally breaks, screaming at him that he should pay attention when people are talking to him, and further that if he has any issues with her he should just say it to her face.

Just like last chapter, we see a panel of Natsume steeling himself, ready to do the selfless thing to protect the other person. Only this time the next panel has him glaring at her, saying he doesn’t like anything about her. He hates everything about her.

Natsume has no choice but to lie all the time about how he's feeling, because everyone else must always come first.

It feels different, but in reality this is the same thing he did to Ruka last chapter. He can’t be honest about his feelings when he’s feeling upset, and he can’t be honest about his feelings when he’s actually starting to fall for a girl. He always has to hide his true feelings, repress and bury them, lie about them in order to protect everyone around him. It’s hard for him to do, but he thinks it hurts him more than it could hurt her, so he manages it.

What adds even more layers to this is that Ruka is observing the whole thing. He sees Natsume’s actions as selfless but misfires on the motive a little--but only a little.

He recalls eating strawberries with Natsume and Aoi, with Aoi cheerfully discussing her newfound love for the fruits. And so Natsume gives his to her. Aoi is surprised, because strawberries are his favorites. He responds easily, “I hate them now.”

"For you," Natsume says.

Ruka knows what kind of person Natsume is, that Natsume would reject something he loves so that his loved ones can be happy. They’re both aware that they like the same girl, and Ruka can’t help but put the math together and assume that perhaps Natsume is doing this for him, hurting himself and bringing himself pain so that Ruka can be happy and pursue a girl he has a crush on guilt-free.

He’s even more convinced of the theory with the tiny panel that reminds us of when Natsume shoved Ruka into Mikan so they could dance. Natsume loves Mikan too, but he wants Ruka to be happy, so he will give up and even ruin his own chances to help out his best friend over himself.

When I say it’s a misfire, I mean that Natsume has a lot of other things going on, including Persona and his imminent death. It’s not that he definitely isn’t doing this for Ruka, it’s just that it’s not as major a factor as other things. He’s mainly doing it because of the threats from Persona. If Ruka is involved in his thought process, it’s mainly a bonus. Ruka’s theory is definitely not unfounded; just not completely accurate.

In any case, it does add extra substance to the dynamic between the three of them, where they all walk away from the moment with completely different kinds of misery.

Before any of them can sit with their sadness, though, they receive word that an intruder from Z is at the school.

Conclusion

In this section, we explored how Natsume has no choice but to distance himself from everybody, and even how the methods he uses to distance himself look different depending on the person. Ultimately, despite the fact that he isn't the sweetest kid you'll ever meet, Natsume being cruel to this extent isn't a quirk of his personality: it's what he has to do. If he didn't have so many things being held against him, he might be much kinder to Mikan, or more honest with Ruka, but he has no choice in the matter.

In the next edition, we're getting more involved in the Z Arc and going into how come Natsume goes from telling Mikan he hates her to backing her cause and going on a dangerous mission with her.

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[weil-weil-lautre]

By Jonathan Franzen September 8, 2019

“There is infinite hope,” Kafka tells us, “only not for us.” This is a fittingly mystical epigram from a writer whose characters strive for ostensibly reachable goals and, tragically or amusingly, never manage to get any closer to them. But it seems to me, in our rapidly darkening world, that the converse of Kafka’s quip is equally true: There is no hope, except for us.

I’m talking, of course, about climate change. The struggle to rein in global carbon emissions and keep the planet from melting down has the feel of Kafka’s fiction. The goal has been clear for thirty years, and despite earnest efforts we’ve made essentially no progress toward reaching it. Today, the scientific evidence verges on irrefutable. If you’re younger than sixty, you have a good chance of witnessing the radical destabilization of life on earth—massive crop failures, apocalyptic fires, imploding economies, epic flooding, hundreds of millions of refugees fleeing regions made uninhabitable by extreme heat or permanent drought. If you’re under thirty, you’re all but guaranteed to witness it.

If you care about the planet, and about the people and animals who live on it, there are two ways to think about this. You can keep on hoping that catastrophe is preventable, and feel ever more frustrated or enraged by the world’s inaction. Or you can accept that disaster is coming, and begin to rethink what it means to have hope.

Even at this late date, expressions of unrealistic hope continue to abound. Hardly a day seems to pass without my reading that it’s time to “roll up our sleeves” and “save the planet”; that the problem of climate change can be “solved” if we summon the collective will. Although this message was probably still true in 1988, when the science became fully clear, we’ve emitted as much atmospheric carbon in the past thirty years as we did in the previous two centuries of industrialization. The facts have changed, but somehow the message stays the same.

Psychologically, this denial makes sense. Despite the outrageous fact that I’ll soon be dead forever, I live in the present, not the future. Given a choice between an alarming abstraction (death) and the reassuring evidence of my senses (breakfast!), my mind prefers to focus on the latter. The planet, too, is still marvelously intact, still basically normal—seasons changing, another election year coming, new comedies on Netflix—and its impending collapse is even harder to wrap my mind around than death. Other kinds of apocalypse, whether religious or thermonuclear or asteroidal, at least have the binary neatness of dying: one moment the world is there, the next moment it’s gone forever. Climate apocalypse, by contrast, is messy. It will take the form of increasingly severe crises compounding chaotically until civilization begins to fray. Things will get very bad, but maybe not too soon, and maybe not for everyone. Maybe not for me.

Some of the denial, however, is more willful. The evil of the Republican Party’s position on climate science is well known, but denial is entrenched in progressive politics, too, or at least in its rhetoric. The Green New Deal, the blueprint for some of the most substantial proposals put forth on the issue, is still framed as our last chance to avert catastrophe and save the planet, by way of gargantuan renewable-energy projects. Many of the groups that support those proposals deploy the language of “stopping” climate change, or imply that there’s still time to prevent it. Unlike the political right, the left prides itself on listening to climate scientists, who do indeed allow that catastrophe is theoretically avertable. But not everyone seems to be listening carefully. The stress falls on the word theoretically.

Our atmosphere and oceans can absorb only so much heat before climate change, intensified by various feedback loops, spins completely out of control. Some scientists and policymakers fear that we’re in danger of passing this point of no return if the global mean temperature rises by more than two degrees Celsius (maybe more, but also maybe less). The I.P.C.C.—the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change—tells us that, to limit the rise to less than two degrees, we not only need to reverse the trend of the past three decades. We need to approach zero net emissions, globally, in the next three decades.

This is, to say the least, a tall order. It also assumes that you trust the I.P.C.C.’s calculations. New research, described last month in Scientific American, demonstrates that climate scientists, far from exaggerating the threat of climate change, have underestimated its pace and severity. To project the rise in the global mean temperature, scientists rely on complicated atmospheric modelling. They take a host of variables and run them through supercomputers to generate, say, ten thousand different simulations for the coming century, in order to make a “best” prediction of the rise in temperature. When a scientist predicts a rise of two degrees Celsius, she’s merely naming a number about which she’s very confident: the rise will be at least two degrees. The rise might, in fact, be far higher.

As a non-scientist, I do my own kind of modelling. I run various future scenarios through my brain, apply the constraints of human psychology and political reality, take note of the relentless rise in global energy consumption (thus far, the carbon savings provided by renewable energy have been more than offset by consumer demand), and count the scenarios in which collective action averts catastrophe. The scenarios, which I draw from the prescriptions of policymakers and activists, share certain necessary conditions.

The first condition is that every one of the world’s major polluting countries institute draconian conservation measures, shut down much of its energy and transportation infrastructure, and completely retool its economy. According to a recent paper in Nature, the carbon emissions from existing global infrastructure, if operated through its normal lifetime, will exceed our entire emissions “allowance”—the further gigatons of carbon that can be released without crossing the threshold of catastrophe. (This estimate does not include the thousands of new energy and transportation projects already planned or under construction.) To stay within that allowance, a top-down intervention needs to happen not only in every country but throughout every country. Making New York City a green utopia will not avail if Texans keep pumping oil and driving pickup trucks.

The actions taken by these countries must also be the right ones. Vast sums of government money must be spent without wasting it and without lining the wrong pockets. Here it’s useful to recall the Kafkaesque joke of the European Union’s biofuel mandate, which served to accelerate the deforestation of Indonesia for palm-oil plantations, and the American subsidy of ethanol fuel, which turned out to benefit no one but corn farmers.

Finally, overwhelming numbers of human beings, including millions of government-hating Americans, need to accept high taxes and severe curtailment of their familiar life styles without revolting. They must accept the reality of climate change and have faith in the extreme measures taken to combat it. They can’t dismiss news they dislike as fake. They have to set aside nationalism and class and racial resentments. They have to make sacrifices for distant threatened nations and distant future generations. They have to be permanently terrified by hotter summers and more frequent natural disasters, rather than just getting used to them. Every day, instead of thinking about breakfast, they have to think about death.

Call me a pessimist or call me a humanist, but I don’t see human nature fundamentally changing anytime soon. I can run ten thousand scenarios through my model, and in not one of them do I see the two-degree target being met.

To judge from recent opinion polls, which show that a majority of Americans (many of them Republican) are pessimistic about the planet’s future, and from the success of a book like David Wallace-Wells’s harrowing “The Uninhabitable Earth,” which was released this year, I’m not alone in having reached this conclusion. But there continues to be a reluctance to broadcast it. Some climate activists argue that if we publicly admit that the problem can’t be solved, it will discourage people from taking any ameliorative action at all. This seems to me not only a patronizing calculation but an ineffectual one, given how little progress we have to show for it to date. The activists who make it remind me of the religious leaders who fear that, without the promise of eternal salvation, people won’t bother to behave well. In my experience, nonbelievers are no less loving of their neighbors than believers. And so I wonder what might happen if, instead of denying reality, we told ourselves the truth.

First of all, even if we can no longer hope to be saved from two degrees of warming, there’s still a strong practical and ethical case for reducing carbon emissions. In the long run, it probably makes no difference how badly we overshoot two degrees; once the point of no return is passed, the world will become self-transforming. In the shorter term, however, half measures are better than no measures. Halfway cutting our emissions would make the immediate effects of warming somewhat less severe, and it would somewhat postpone the point of no return. The most terrifying thing about climate change is the speed at which it’s advancing, the almost monthly shattering of temperature records. If collective action resulted in just one fewer devastating hurricane, just a few extra years of relative stability, it would be a goal worth pursuing.

[dreaminae]

We All Need The One Friend

Chapter 14

Softly placing her hand upon his chest, Liv pushed Spencer back into his original spot in the passenger seat.

"What's wrong, Liv?" Spencer asked, confused by the shift in her mood.

Huffing, Olivia mentally prepared herself to confess. "I wanted to make sure I told you how I felt before telling you this, Spence. Because I want you to understand that what happening with me isn't because of you, Vegas, or what's happening between us."

Spencer nodded, letting Olivia gather her thoughts aloud.

"I'm going through something that could break me, but I won't let it because I'm going to get the help I need. I can't get into major detail right now because my family need the truth first."

"You will tell me you're ready," Spencer interjected, assuring a nervous Olivia that he understood her actions.

"The reason I'm telling you this is so that you don't worry about me." Olivia sighed.

"It's like you told me at the cabin," Spencer recalled. "Whatever it is that you're going through, you're strong enough to handle it."

"Thanks, Spencer." Liv exhaled with relief.

"Hey, and you already know to count on me for whatever you need," Spencer added supportively, grabbing her hand once more. "Even if it means just being here."

Liv grinned, tightening the hold on his hand she gestured towards the road she contently, "Let's head home."

Their drive was quiet, as Spencer allowed Liv to mentally prepare for what he assumed to be an impending larger confession.

They'd peak at each other now and again with cheeky grins. On her third grin towards Spencer, Liv only spaced for a second. And it took only a second for things to go array.

One moment Spencer's eyes were on Liv's adoring smile, the next his eyes were wide on the road.

"Liv, watch out!"

Her eyes tore from his in shock as a stray dog ran into the road. Swerving her steering wheel to keep from hitting the dog, Liv sent her car flying into the direction of the curbside. Pressing her breaks, she tried to no avail to keep from crashing into a black, parked car.

Smoke aired from Olivia's engine as she and Spencer accessed the damage of the crash.

"Are you okay? I'm so sorry." Liv panicked, checking Spencer's arm.

"It's alright, Liv. I'm fine." Spencer moaned. "Are you?" He replied, concerned for her as well.

"Yeah. I think so." Liv moaned, checking over herself, Liv couldn't help but to think that things could've been worse.

------------------------------

"Why don't both of you put your hands outward where I can see them?" One officer hastily insisted after finding Olivia and Spencer at the scene of the crash.

"I can grab my license and registration if you give me a..." Liv suggested impulsively, one foot moving in the direction of her wrecked vehicle.

"Don't move, Ma'am!" The officer's voice boomed aggressively.

Spencer hand immediately grab hold of Liv's, holding her in place.

"Back to your places with your hands where I can see them. Both of you!" He aggressively repeated.

Olivia froze in place at a loss for words. Spencer gave her a stern expression, so she followed his lead staying unwaveringly obedient.

"My partner is running your plates. We'll find out who's car this is soon enough." The officer spat accusingly.

Liv rolled her eyes in disbelief of the indirect accusation of grand theft auto. "It's registered to my parents. Which you'd know if you had allowed me to show you my documents." Liv sniped rebelliously.

"That's enough out of you." The officer groaned, annoyed by Liv's verbal upheaval. "Instead of sassying me, how about telling me about the accident."

"What do you want to know?" Liv responded.

"Who was driving?" The officer demanded to know.

Spencer eyed Liv with uncertainty, wondering if he might need to take the fall. However, before he could Olivia answered the police officer.

"I was driving." Liv chirped undoubtedly.

"Are you intoxicated?" The officer asked, eyeing Liv suspiciously.

And for the hundredth time this weekend, Liv found herself grateful that she hadn't taken her infamous blue bottle to the cabin this weekend.

"No, I am not." Liv sighed honestly, resulting in Spencer releasing a breath of relief he hadn't been aware he was holding. "You can test me if you want?" Liv challenged.

The officer opened his mouth to sprout a comeback, but his partner joined the conversation before he could.

"Your vehicle is listed under D.A Baker ownership." The female cop hastily spoke, silently discouraging her partner from pressing the teen further.

"That's right." Olivia agreed. "She's my mom."

Moaning agitatedly, the male officer gave in, refusing to be reported for harassing the district attorney's kid. "I suggest calling your mother before she gets worried. My and I will see if we can get a toll for your vehicle."

"You do that." Liv sniped sarcastically, frustrated by the cop's clear double standards.

Spencer gazed at Liv with a disapproving expression to which she shrugged in response. Her demeanor was that of a social justice warrior, while he was of carried the persona of a young survivor. Despite the serious situation, he couldn't help admire how she held strong under adversity.

-----------------------------

Almost two hours rolled by into the late-night when Spencer and Olivia found themselves at the Baker residence.

"Let's just be glad no one was hurt." Laura's voice rang into the Bakers' kitchen as she set her purse on the countertop. "Things could've been much worse."

Several scenarios of the night flashed through Liv's mind in the last two hours. One where she had been intoxicated and arrested. Another where she'd crashed while under the influence, pleading with Spencer to take the fall. Even one where she'd lost her own life at the wheel of her alcohol abuse.

No longer able to hold onto her darkest secret, she confessed to her mother what she'd been hiding since the end of summer.

"It could've been worse," Liv muttered her mother's words in a lifeless tone, gaining Laura's attention. "Had this happened even a week ago, I would've been arrested for drinking while intoxicated."

Laura's eyes tore up from her phone, perplexed by her daughter's words. "Why would you say that Liv? You don't drink."

"But I have been drinking." Liv finally admitted. "This is the first weekend in months that I've been completely sober."

Laura's eyes watered with tears of denial. "No, because I had you tested and you passed. You could've have cheated that test."

"You tested me for paraphernalia." Olivia corrected. "Not alcohol. Which is why I passed the test."

"I asked you, Liv. I asked if you were using, and you said no. Even your Dad asked you. So what, you just lied to us?" Laura inquired, tears streaming down ber cheeks as she tried to contain her emotions.

"I told you the truth. I haven't been taking any drugs, prescriptions, or anything like that." Liv replied, her voice cracking under her mother's disappointed gaze. "Not that it matters." She acknowledges. "I told myself it was okay to drink because it wasn't a pill. But it's not okay. I know that now. I swear I know." She cried.

"Why, Liv? You've been doing so well." Laura wept for her daughter's abandoned recovery.

"That's just it! I'm not doing well. I haven't been for a while!" Olivia shouted, wanting her mother to see the truth. "I can't remember the last good night's sleep I had. I can't remember a night where I didn't dread being alone with my thoughts. I don't remember a day this past summer where I didn't depend on having company to keep myself from wanting to drink or pop a random pill. My sponsor's been A-Wall since before summer. You have your new job, Dad is hardly around, and Jordan has his own life to worry about. I didn't want to feel like a burden. I thought I had it under control, but it's falling apart! I just want it to be over, Mom!" Liv ranted out in tears, "I just want it all to be over."

Sensing that Liv had finally released all her built-up angst, Spencer embraced her, allowing her to cry on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry." She whispered in a hushed tone, leaning her head on Spencer's shoulder. She hoped he was too disappointed in her. "I didn't mean to..."

"Shhh.." Spencer insisted gently, running his fingers through her curls. "It's alright. You're gonna be alright."

Laura breathed heavily, silently processing her daughter's breakdown.

Continuing to coax Liv down from her panic attack, Spencer kissed the side of her temple. "I'm proud of you for telling the truth," Spencer assured Liv supportively.

Holding him closer, Liv sniffled. "Thanks."

Their intimate moment broke at the sound of Laura clearing her throat. Pulling away from Spencer, Olivia faced her distraught mother.

"I didn't mean for it all to come out this way." Olivia apologized, clear-minded enough to have a formal discussion. "But with the crash, I couldn't keep it in any longer."

"It's been a long night, and right now I'd like both of us to get some rest." Laura stated, "Tomorrow, your father and I will decide what is the best route to take to help you."

"I know what Dad will want. And I know you probably want to send me to rehab, as well." Liv immediately added as before her mother could end the discussion. "But I'm begging you not to, Mom."

"Now isn't the time to discuss this. I need to take Spencer home. Your father and I will decide tom-"

"Mom, please." Liv pleads, grabbing Laura's hand. "This isn't like last time. I came to you this time. I admit to drinking, and I will do whatever I need to get better. Just don't send me away again." Olivia groveled.

Pulling away her hand Laura reached for her purse and car keys. "We will talk about this tomorrow. Not tonight. I'm taking Spencer home, and you need to bed."

Dropping her hand at her side, Liv nodded, sensing her mom was going unwavered. "Fine. Can I at least say goodbye to Spencer?"

Laura glared at Liv, telling her daughter not to push her luck.

"This might be the last time I see him for a while." Liv assumed. "Please, mom."

Huffing, Laura nodded. "Five minutes. I will be in the car. I expect Spencer there in five minutes."

"Yes, ma'am," Spencer answered on both their behalf as Laura left the room.

Liv's hands instinctively entwined with Spencer's.

"This isn't how I planned for tonight to go." Liv moaned defeatedly. "I ruined it for us."

"You didn't ruin anything, Liv. I knew there was a chance of this happening. Kia warned me earlier that she suspected you are drinking or thinking about it." Spencer revealed his earlier conversation with the young activist.

"You knew this entire night. When we were in the car? When I told you that I love you? During the crash?" Liv questioned, stunned. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I know you'd do the right thing in the end, and come clean. If not tonight, then later on in the week." Spencer disclosed. "I trust you, Liv. You asked me to let you do this on your own, and that's what I'm going to do."

"Thank you." Liv cooed with tears in her eyes. Her hand caressed Spencer's cheek. "I know this isn't what you had in mind when you pictured the night we finally got together."

"With everything that's happened tonight, and what might happen after tonight, I want to be clear," Spencer spoke seriously, tugging on Liv's hips to pull her closer.

The space between them closed as their lips met in a sensual kiss. Holding the sides of his face, Liv molded with Spencer returning the gentle movements. Licking her bottom lip, Spencer tasted her gloss once more. His tongue massaging hers for dominance, causing Liv to giggle as she let him take the lead. Spencer's lips left hers, trailing down her neck as she held him close. Breathing in her scent, Spencer engraved this moment into the back of his mind, hoping it wouldn't be their last in the coming days.

[colourfullsims]

An Overdue Update

Hey there! Long time no see.

It’s been quite a while since my last update (and several times that I’ve said I would update that fell through lol), but I think it’s finally the perfect time to tell you all what’s been going on behind the scenes. I’ve kept most of you all in the dark with no explanation for my hiatus for months now, but with the end of the year upon us, I want things out in the open before moving into 2021. I will warn you now, that this will be a long post, because there’s a lot of backstory I have to lay out to explain everything. There will also be some brief mentions of emotional manipulation and emotional abuse in the beginning of this post, which I will be content tagging for safety, so please skip over the first question if you would like to avoid this subject.

Now without further ado, I will be answering some frequently asked questions, starting with:

Q: Where did you go?

The short answer to this is that I took a very long, unwanted break from the community, but that answer doesn’t really suffice in explaining why. Typically, I like to keep things lighthearted and chill on this blog, because much of the reason why I play the Sims and do storytelling is for escapism. Things that happened this year took that away from me.

This spring, I broke up with my long term boyfriend of five years. With that separation came a lot of heartache, guilt, and stress for a variety of reasons. We’d been together since my days in undergrad and had shared so many intimate experiences together: graduations, moving out of state into our first “grown up” apartment, birthday trips to our favorite cities. We had inside jokes that I still find myself wanting to make with him, because after so much of our lives intertwined together, he’d essentially become my best friend. But things ended between us for good reason.

Despite the good that came out of that relationship, there was a fair amount of emotional manipulation/abuse that went on, early as the first few months of us being official. Sometimes it was subtle things: when we first started dating, I was in my final year of undergrad and doing all I could to bring up my gpa and buff up my resume, so that I could increase my chances of getting into my grad school of choice. Frequently, he would comment on my academic successes as if they would be the thing that would break us up. I remember presenting a paper on a panel, facing my fear of public speaking head on, and I was so proud of the work I’d put into it all, and then hours later coming back to my student apartment to tell him how it went, and the first words out of his mouth were, “Someday you’re gonna get too smart and leave me behind.” And that wouldn’t be the last time he said some iteration of that phrase to me, and every time it would feel like he was praying I would slow down so he wouldn’t feel I was outgrowing him. Even when I finally did get accepted to my dream school, my first thought after my excitement was that when I told him the news, he wouldn’t be happy for me. My decisions for my future became personal slights to him: I had to move from the midwest out to NYC to attend grad school, and even though I discouraged him from following me if he didn’t want to live in the city (which he 100% did not), he followed me anyway and hung that decision over my head like a giant reminder of some debt that I owed him. I regret not following my gut then and my failure to recognize the red flags, because I would go on to spend 3 more years after our move losing myself as he clutched onto me, in what I can only assume with the hope that if he held on tight enough, that I wouldn’t leave him behind. 

When I look at the more overt signs of my ex’s possessiveness, I realize I should have shared what was going on more with the people close to me: in the early stages on our relationship, he’d already done destructive things like slashing the tires of a guy I had been seeing earlier that same year, and punching a hole into the wall of my student apartment. He’d gone through all my messages on social media, my texts, my emails, all to find out about old crushes that he suspected I might still be in contact with. He even went as far as reading through my private journal, which I previously wrote in daily, but now I struggle to write in more than a few times a year, for fear of my privacy being invaded again. In the wake of realizing our relationship was failing, instead of ending things, I put my energy into hoping that he would do better, and I hid what was happening from my family and friends, to the point that I avoided their messages and phone calls. I isolated myself in increasing measures as time went on until I was too timid to do most things outside of my apartment without my ex-boyfriend by my side. The reason I stayed so long is because of these combined things: the sense of owing him my time after uprooting his life, the fact that I was both physically and mentally separated from my support systems, the feeling of familiarity that had grown from shared experiences and time, and largely, this overwhelming self imposed desire to not appear as though I had failed my relationship.

Largely, 2020 has been an absolute trash fire, but I can thank this year for one thing; putting me into a situation of such unrest that I could no longer ignore that I was not living the life I wanted or deserved.

After our breakup, I moved back to my parents’ place and stayed there while the remainder of my lease in New York ran out. When I originally left, I only brought back a small suitcase and backpack filled with essentials and valuable items that I couldn’t leave behind in my apartment, so I had to return again to retrieve my things, which, as you can imagine, was not fun. Not only was traveling during covid a nightmare, my ex was threatening to throw all my stuff out of our apartment, so I had to scramble to get a flight, a hotel, moving equipment, and a moving service arranged on the fly so I could retrieve everything (and when I got there, he had smashed one of my laptops). In summation, from our break up to finally moving out completely, this all happened over the span of mid-spring to the 1st of August.

Since then, I’ve been keeping myself sparse on the internet, partially because I needed the time to recover from the entire experience, and partially because frankly, I’ve been afraid of my ex monitoring any of my accounts to keep tabs on me. He was fully aware of this blog, and since in recent years it's been the only account I’ve kept up with, I was afraid of him trying to find out where I am and what I’ve been doing through here. I’ve only felt comfortable reblogging others content for the past few months.

So that’s where I’ve been. Which brings us to the next question:

Q: What happened to Love Island?

Over the past few months, I’ve received several asks and messages about whether or not I still planned on doing the Love Island challenge, as well as words of concern about my well being. I want to start by acknowledging all those messages by first apologizing to anyone I didn’t get back to: the majority of you got the sense that I was overwhelmed or burnt out, as most of us have been this year, and I really thank you for still having any interest in seeing me do any type of content after I essentially ghosted you all lol. I really appreciate all the well wishes too.

But I also received this:

Which, 1) I don’t know if this was either impeccable timing or horrible timing on your part, considering I planned on writing this update before this landed in my inbox.

And 2),

I don’t know if you were a reader or one of the participants selected for the challenge, but I’m sorry you’re disappointed about me not following through with the challenge. I was really excited to do it when I made the casting call, was ecstatic about the number of creators who submitted complex and diverse sims, and I had even completed the villa and started working on shooting the premiere. But as you can see from everything above, life happened. I wish this year had been more stable so that I could have done the challenge with no problem. 

But I’m not going to apologize for making the choices I needed to to preserve my mental health and safety.

That being said, it’s been so many months since I originally pitched the challenge; many of the creators who were selected are now inactive or have deactivated. And honestly, I didn’t know whether you all would even want the challenge at the point, I mean…? It’s winter time now, and Love Island was definitely more of a summer themed challenge lol.

As it stands, I don’t know if I will be picking up where I left off with the Love Island challenge. I certainly still have some interest in doing it; I built a whole set and had an entire schedule of challenges and dates planned for the project. But I don’t know if I can move forward with the original cast, or if I would have to do a new casting call to fill the spaces of inactive creators. So...I guess I would need feedback from you all. Would you want Love Island still?

Q: What are you planning to do now?

Right now, I’m doing whatever makes me happy. I’m in a much better place than I was about 6 months ago, and I don’t feel the same anxiety about posting as I did. For now, I might just post some casual gameplay until I know whether or not I’m moving forward with Love Island. I’m just happy to come back to do what I love.

So there you have it. 2020 kicked my ass in some really heart wrenching ways, and I needed some time to not worry about keeping up with content creation and just worry about taking care of me. Now that I’m a little more stable, I want to come back, even if it’s just simple stuff for now. To those of you who have stuck around waiting to see if I’d ever pick my projects back up, thank you so much, and I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting this long lol. For the time being, all I have to offer is a very long overdue Follower’s Gift: I will be hosting a giveaway for my followers this week, where I will be giving away $40 worth of sims content each to 3 followers. I’ll have more details about the giveaway tomorrow when the official post goes live.

If you made it this far thank you for reading this long mess, and I’ll see you all soon!

~Cam

[ma-lark-ey]

DnDads fandom, here’s some food for thought for you. 

You keep telling Anthony you want representation, that you want more diversity, you want characters confirmed as fandom wide headcanons, whatever. You tell him you want more. 

But, these same blogs that say these things reblog posts on the “men writing women” memes and rant on cis people writing trans characters and white people writing POC and whatever else, so let me off you this. 

If you were a content creator, and your fans were asking you for representation, while on the same note saying how people who aren’t [people group] can never get [people group] right, what would possess you to take that step to provide that? I want you to genuinely think about that, because as a content creator who prides themself on putting in the kinds of characters I’ve heard people cry for in my stories, seeing those kinds of things is very discouraging. Because, I, as a white person know my portrayal of a POC is never going to be as good as POC want it to be, but all I can do is try  my very best and listen to them on their critiques and turn around what I did wrong. 

I’m not saying Anthony is justified in the lack of diversity in NPCs, but you guys need to understand that when you tell him to provide diversity then also complain that [majority group] never portray [minority group] right is not helping your case. All you’re gonna do is discourage him from providing that. 

If you need evidence, here’s an actual Talking Dads quote form Anthony on Trans Nick and other fandom wide headcanons  ( I did not transcribe this scene, i thank my Discord friend for sending me this. I don’t know your Tumblr but if you see this just drop a say so in the notes) 

“Anthony: Oh wow. There are a lot of ones I like that are almost exclusively about gender and orientations and stuff like that. Of like, oh yeah maybe Nick is trans or or or any of those kinds of things. Cause those, it’s always like, not not that I would ever take those because uh, uh, and, make them part of the main canon just because I feel like that might- I don’t trust myself to not make that appropriative and weird. But I love that people from marginalized communities are taking those characters and being like “he’s ours now!”

Beth: Yeah. 

Anthony: ‘Nick, he’s- he’s black and he’s a trans man and Glenn loves him and it’s not a big deal.’ And like, all that kind of stuff.”

I’m sympathetic to sentiments like this, because this was my writing until this very year. My thought process was “I won’t write POC because I, as a white person, might fuck it up” and that thought process is only made so much stronger when if you do fuck up, no matter how minor or how severe, you’re met with nothing but inbox spam and threats and hostility. If you want response; use your words politely. When you attack them, nothing will change. Attacking does nothing but make them fear their own fans, and that’s genuinely not what we want. I know that’s not what we want. This callout/cancel culture people have created in this little fandom is so toxic, to both us and the dads. 

If you’re gonna ask something of the dads, do it nicely. Don’t come for their throats. If you, YOU personally, have sent them the same message multiple times and have no response after a couple weeks; then you get rights to get more aggressive. Not when you’re posting one call out on their Twitter.com and do nothing but yell and accuse. That’s not accomplishing anything. 

If I, a fifteen year old, find myself using more tact in these posts than grown ass adults, there’s definitely a problem here. And it’s not the dads. 

You wanna know that dads aren’t giving representation? Because they’re scared of fucking it up, they’re scared you ADULTS are going to come for their throats at the smallest mistake and continue to turn their fanbase into a warzone. Don’t make it a warzone. 

You know how you fix that? Approach them. Message them on some platform. Just say; Hey, I know your fans want [character] to be [minority group] and if you wanted help in learning how to confirm that, I am [minority group] and I’d be willing to help you.

It’s that easy! Wow! 

Because, honestly, even a sensitivity director can’t be perfectly knowledgeable on every single minority group. 

If you want your kind of minority group represented in DnDads, god dammit reach out to the cast and offer your input. Not you may not be an authority on your minority group, or some kind of genius on it, but one of those people reaching out and offering advice based on their own experiences is often much better than nothing. 

Like, the other day on twitter someone said, “Hey, Jenna and Anthony! I noticed you called Ratticus Finch ‘agendered’ and that’s not a perfect term for all nonbinary people, so I would suggest putting in some more research on terms before the next episode.” And THAT’S how you approach topics at first, not screaming and yelling. That’s how you put in advice. That’s how you provide criticism. 

I said when I first started talking about discourse that the adults are the problem, and i still stand by that. Because I am yet to see anyone under the age of 25 acting like this. Anyone younger I’ve seen on this has been tactful, and polite. Which really shows the difference in generations. It’s sad. 

I hold hope in the hosts, because they’ve made steps to change in the past. And they’re only gonna take the issues one hurdle at a time, you can’t expect everything to be managed all at once, they have to pace themselves or else they’re going to get burned out and that’s worse. 

And if this podcast at the moment is not up to your standards? That’s fine. Walk. Away Come check back in in a few months if you still hold interest and see if it’s what you want to associate yourself with. Just stop attacking the hosts, criticize and construct them instead. 

You get nothing out of tearing others down, only more destruction. 

[rrrawrf-writes]

lordy lordy loo it’s been a hot minute since i’ve made an original post, i forgot where the button was

so. some of you may have seen the stuff running around about violetvineyard and mvcreates, some of you may not have. i’m just gonna lay out my experiences here, now that other people are talking about it and now that the server has been deleted. i’m gonna try to present a fair and nuanced version; i’m not gonna include screenshots (right now) bc i’m lazy, mostly.

there are several other people who are putting up way better breakdowns than i am. i just figured i might as well toss mine onto the pile bc why not? but if you’re hoping to hear from me a story about how i’ve been wronged, per se, you won’t find much of one, because i played mainly a spectator role, and never had much trouble there. i will have a vague, lukewarm defense of some of the people involved that other people may not agree with, but again, this is all just the whole VV deal from my point of view.

@nuwuhorizons (i haven’t said how dang much i lOVE your url) and @sapiencenotes have very good receipts and breakdowns. if you want a more in-depth (and dramatic, forgive me for using the word, i’m not trying to downplay this), check them out. @time-to-write-and-suffer also has some great stuff on their blog about all of this.

all righty. so. i joined VV not right at the beginning, but soon after it was started. there was an application process, i got accepted, i was looking for a community to help me start writing more. (it didn’t help, but that���s not their fault, that’s mine.) the person who owned the server was called mina, and on tumblr, mina’s url was mvcreates. mina is a nonbinary Muslim woman of color, a professional who i believe works at harvad and deals a lot with things like infectious diseases, iirc. she was doing a whole lot of work when the pandemic came around, and so the past few months wasn’t quite as active as she had been at the start, both on the server and tumblr. 

the very first time mina came on my radar, before i joined vv, was because she had corrected someone’s typo on a post, and it stirred up a minor drama about “don’t give unsolicited criticism” and “is pointing out minor errors like that okay” and blahblahblah. i ran across that on a friend’s dash, and also ran across the promo for vv from that friend’s dash, as well, and joined bc y not.

everything was p cool for a while. it was nice to meet some new people and some of my mutuals on there. mina seemed like a fun person. she was about a year, year and a half, maybe, older than i am. the first things that kind of started rubbing me wrong at the start was how she would kind of dismiss suggestions for the server than i and a friend had, and how she kept bringing up her age - she would often say things like “well i wouldn’t do that but i’m an Old(TM) so maybe i just don’t get it” and i can’t really explain why that bothered me. i think it felt dismissive, like Younger Folks Don’t Know How Things Should Work. also, like. she kept bringing it up. as if it meant something, as if plenty of us on that server weren’t actually around her age. there was a convo on vaccinations where i wanted to make the point that a lot of anti-vaxxers should be educated instead of ridiculed and shamed, but i never really got to making that point bc she jumped in very sharply and explained that anti-vaxxers all come from a class of people who are generally educated. i didn’t bother saying anything else. 

at the start, it was tiny little things like that. i chalked it up to her personality and mine just not quite matching up. i sat down a lot and examined my own internal biases, bc i knew something was bugging me, but i couldn’t tell if it was legitimate, or if i was jealous and petty, or if i was being discriminatory towards her identity. i still wonder that a lot; i want to be careful that i’m examining her actions here, and not the person who made those actions.

because the other thing that bothered me was that she was perfect at pretty much everything. she was a decent, if not good, writer, from what i read. i thought her “art”/edits were neat, even if sometimes i looked at them going “that just looks like an edit, not your own art, but u kno, edits are art too, so i’m not gonna say anything.” she had a lot of motivation, a lot of ambition. soon, this kind of transferred over into me feeling like she acted like she had to be perfect at everything. i think this is probably one of the more “lisa is just being petty” things, rather than a judgement on her character, but she seemed to flaunt her own skills and accomplishments a lot. not that no one is allowed to brag sometimes! but it was just another layer of “this bothers me.”

then there was the hero worship.

people in the server loved mina. i liked her. i had no problems with her, even if there were a few things i was a little “ehhhh” about. vv got pretty big, pretty quickly, and i assume there was a decent amount of turnover and people who just joined to lurk or sometimes share things in the promos channel or elsewhere. but the most active folks just. they adored mina with every fiber of their being. mina could do no wrong. no one ever called her out on anything; everything she did was hailed as fantastic and wonderful. and honestly, for the most part, it wasn’t like she was doing crappy stuff. some of the praise was well-deserved, imo, but it just bordered on embarrassing for some of these people, how much they just worshipped the ground she walked on.

and she didn’t really like, discourage it. like, at the start, i think i remember her being more modest, but in general, she just let it go, and so did i, bc like. i aint that kinda jerk.

the stated purpose of violetvineyard was to have a community that valued reciprocity. reciprocity was mina’s biggest thing. there was a channel for people to post their stuff on, so the rest of us could browse and read and reblog. i, admittedly, didn’t do as much of that as i wish i did, but part of it was because i do have a life outside of the internet, a memory and attention span the size of a gnat, and because like. 90% of the stuff that people put in the promos channel were things like edits, writeblr intros, wip intros, etc etc, when all i wanted was to just read some actual writing. but that’s neither here nor there. what got hilarious to me, though, was whenever mina’s fervent admirers would talk about how mina was, quote, a pillar of the community. how vv was doing something No Other Writeblr Group Had Done Before. how Important and Special this server was.

folks. i’ve been on here for several years now. we don’t have a community. we have a bunch of little cliques who reblog from their friends and complain about people not reblogging them. noah fence, but come on. vv got pretty dang big, but it was still a small corner of a small section of tumblr. like. sorry, all y’all, but them’s the breaks.

also, this was hilarious to me bc there are several big writeblrs who have been running around long before mina and vv showed up. yet, according to these people in the server, mina had Single-handedly Brought Hope To This Desolate Wasteland.

in the end, vv became just another little clique whose members reblogged from their friends. i don’t want to devalue the good that did come out of vv. a lot of the picture being painted rn was that the majority of the server were scary dog-piling people. the majority of the server were just writeblrs looking to promo their stuff and talk about their writing. unfortunately, few bad apples, bad rep, negatives outshine positives, etc etc. but i think it did do some good re: exposure for a few folks, even tho it didn’t turn into what it could have been. 

another one of the things that was a minor irritant to me was that they eventually started archiving the vent channel, which was probably the most-used channel. that didn’t sit right to me, but as always, i was a coward had nothing to say about it, so i didn’t. the reason given was that there were often things in the vent channel that people might regret being there, so it was periodically archived and a fresh channel started.

so i’m rambling a lot about stuff that’s probably boring and inconsequential. that’s 90% of this whole vv thing, tho, you need to understand that. 

the biggest thing that bothered me about mina, i think, came about from the constant hero worship from her adoring fans. and i know there’s a whole argument to be said about expecting labor from people with marginalized identities, which is an argument i agree with - don’t expect someone of a minority group to educate you or to face trauma or to shut down bigots, etc etc. but by now, mina had a lot of followers in general, and in specific, she had quite a few people who would defend her at every single perceived slight.

she made a lot of those fun writeblr reblog games, like “send me a fruit that says this about my writing.” those were cool, i’ll admit that. but she was super into “you have to send an ask to the person you reblog from, RECIPROCITY!!!!!!!!!!!” and seemed to struggle with the fact that sometimes, people don’t follow her established rules on her posts for these games. she’d complain about it every single time that happened in the vent channel, which, again, that’s fine? that’s what vents are for, it’s annoying to not get cool fun asks when you do these games, but also, that’s life for you. she could depend on her fans to send her plenty of asks, whereas the much smaller blogs who reblogged these games would probably get f-all, half the time. if you’ve gone through nuwuhorizons or one of the other blogs i mentioned earlier, you’ll have run across the incident where mina’s friends harrassed an 11 year old for not doing her ask game right.

an eleven year old. 

and this is my biggest grief with mina. she only stopped her friends from dogpiling people... once? maybe twice? that i remember. and not only that, but there were SEVERAL occasions where she would get on the vent channel, complain about someone who had said something wrong on one of her posts (and sometimes, again, these were legitimate!), and then ask if someone in the server wanted to reply to them. reasons for such ranged from “i’m too busy rn” to “they would probably listen more to a white person than me.”

again. this, on occasion, is not necessarily a bad thing. we cannot expect labor and response from minorities. my issue was that she kept doing this. and sometimes it was fine, just someone who would drop a note on the post or send a polite anon. but this, to me, the whole asking someone else to fight your battles for you? that really bothered me. mina is a grown adult. either ignore it, like the rest of us chumps, or deal with it yourself. having friends support you is not a bad thing - if i was attacked on tumblr and my friends jumped in to defend me, i’m cool with that. but i wouldn’t ask them to, and then not do anything myself.

to me, this attitude just encourages dogpiling. this felt like she was taking advantage of the people admiring her so whole-heartedly, and using them to deal with minor grievances. (again, i don’t want to downplay some of the actual racism and xenophobia she experienced on this website, because there was some pretty sketchy stuff that did need someone else stepping in to object to. but then there was “ugh this person asked me what program i use to make my music and i don’t want to answer them bc that’s rude,” and stuff of that caliber. like, mina, you built yourself a pretty big following here on tumblr, you don’t get to complain when people are trying to ask you questions and engage with you when you set yourself up as a knowledgeable person on a subject.)

i’m going to mention @gingerly-writing because she already made a post on the subject, but there was an instance where we were in the vent channel and watched a lot of mina’s friends send anons and reblogs of a hurtful nature to one person. eventually, ginger stepped in to say “hey, i don’t think we need to keep doing this, they are a minor,” and after she did so, i also jumped in, saying something along the lines of, “yeah, i’ve seen this kind of stuff blow up in another server and end in a really regrettable situation where no one was happy, can we stop.” both ginger and i received a private message from the mods (individually) saying that we shouldn’t police the chat, etc etc. not during that message, but on the vent channel, another mod jumped in to say that the people dogpiling the blogger were also minors. as if that makes it okay, and isn’t actually extremely worrying in its own right.

after that, i pretty much took a stance of “all right then i just won’t say anything at all.” i stuck around vv because i hated myself actually really liked a few of the others in the server, including a couple of the mods who are actually really cool people, not all the vv mods are sketch, and because honestly? i lowkey knew that vv was going to crash and burn sometime, and i wanted to be there to watch what happened. due to the pandemic, and her line of work, mina became less active, and the whole server died down a bit. 

then someone reblogged one of mina’s ‘art’ posts and accused her of tracing. mina’s admirers immediately jumped into action. nuwuhorizons has it pretty well documented on their blog. there was nothing in the server about it, except one of the others said “oh man i saw that and it pissed me off,” there was some minor chat, and then i woke up and wanted to know what had happened, and was told “don’t worry about it.”

so, naturally, bc the only thing i thirst for is water and Drama(TM), i went looking for it.

found it on some of mina’s friend’s blogs, where i found who had reblogged and said mina was tracing, and followed those reblog chains, where several of mina’s followers attacked the accuser and made fun of their name and age and defended mina, pulling out progress videos and stuff of mina’s work. the accuser was trans and still a teenager, even if technically an adult, so that made things a lot worse. mina eventually posted something explaining that she was pencil tracing and had a very cheery, false-positive tone to the whole thing.

things sorta ended at that, but then maybe the same day, or the day after, user hyba made that big ol post about the Big Scary Tumblr Mirror Website Copying All Your Good, Hard Work. mina and her friends jumped on this. they threw it in the server and talked about things like intellectual property rights and “i don’t like how this makes me feel :(” and from there, went in to how tumblr was a terrible garbage site and then mina and most of the mod team decided that it was time to pack up VV and leave tumblr completely. 

pretty much everyone i know were mina’s besties have vanished off tumblr. mina made an announcement that VV was “migrating” off tumblr and discord(???) and dropped another application to join the great vv migration. i did not apply bc i just have too freaking much going on in my life and needed to get out of this for the sake of my own mental health. it was tempting as hell, tho, i will say that. 

a couple things about this - at the time, mina is also having some pretty bad things going on in her family. she was very vague on the details, but i think that really contributed to wanting to leave; on top of the pandemic and everything else, she was probably heckin stressed. but also like. she never called out her followers for attacking her accuser. she never made any sort of post talking about it. she never told her friends on the server “hey don’t do that.” she never took accountability for it, or, honestly, for anything else she or her friends have done that didn’t feel too good. the mirror sites aren’t really a big deal. 

after the server was archived, it was left up a couple days so everyone could grab contact info, etc. during this time, i was checking the ‘violetvineyard’ tag and saw someone post “what happened to mvcreates they haven’t answered my application to vv,’ and i responded with “oh, the server closed down bc of the copy cat sites.”

the same day, i got a tumblr DM from one of the former mods asking me not to give away any details about vv leaving tumblr. it was very politely worded and everything, but it was still just like

okay? vv is over? why are you asking me not to say anything. and it wasn’t like i was even spilling any hot goss, i was just repeating the excuse (and i do mean excuse) mina gave us. 

anyway, that mod is off tumblr, too, as far as i know, or else they stealthin. which is fine, u do u, buddy.

uhh conclusion time, i guess? i have a few scattered screenshots of things, but i’m not posting em bc i’m lazy and also running late for a thing. but really, for me, i didn’t have a whole lot of beef with mina or pretty much any of the other folks on vv. i thought that mina and her friends were a bit too eager for blood, and that really bothered me. i’m annoyed they shut down vv completely, because it could actually have been something great. if mina wanted off writeblr, i wish she had given the whole network over to people interested in running it; instead, what was a good thing for a lot of people is now completely gone, with no existing framework for people to build on. sure, anyone can go make their own network/family for writeblr, but now it’s just going to splinter into a bunch of different, smaller groups, and we’re all back to square one.

but whatever. i didn’t get to see the server go down in flames, instead it just ended with a hasty retreat and a few whimpers, and quite honestly i wished my staying in had paid off.

i do want to reiterate - there were quite a few people in vv who i think are great, and this does include some of the mods themselves.

i’ve also gotten a couple messages from a few other folks who had been in vv who have their own real, real sketch stories, which are making me rethink how i feel about mina and her friends, and all the good credit i gave them. i just wanted to present this bc it’s my blog and i do what i want, fight me.

and if anyone wants to chat about vv, hit me up. i keep things as private as you want them to be, and i love love love talking about this nonsense. Give Me The Deets.

[seiin-translations]

2.43 S1 Chapter 3.3 - The Dog’s View and the Giraffe’s View

3. OLD BUDDY

Aoki’s 1000 IQ mind is hinted at here

Also what are the main tags for this fandom???

Translation Notes

1. Pun on Oda’s name. Here the “Shin” is 神 (god) instead of “伸” which is the first kanji in Oda’s first name

2. Okuma’s name 大隈 shares the same pronunciation as 大熊 which means “big bear”

3. The 伸 in Oda’s first name means “lengthen” or “extend”

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“Odaaaa! I’m beggin’ you, play futsal. You can definitely be in the amateur bracket on a pro level.”

“Odacchi! Why aren’t you doing softball? You’re even more reliable than our regular shortstop. Oh, don’t be so modest. I’m not kissing your ass. What’s the point of that?”

“Oda, why volleyball of all things?”

“You don’t have to play volleyball.”

“Oda! No, Oda-Shin!” (1)

The seasons changed, and it was now midway through June. In this rainy season, Oda shook off the group of male scouts who were wearing mud-stained uniforms and jerseys and hot on his heels, and took refuge in the student council room. It sounded good for those who called it a June tradition, but for those who were targeted, it was just a dirty thing.

“I’m comin’ in. Let me hide out a little here.”

Aoki, who seemed too tall for his own good as he tucked himself on a folding chair and stared at documents, looked up. The sign reading “Vice President” stood on one corner of the desks arranged in a square.

“Oh. I can hear it from all the way in here. You’re a popular guy.”

“The member list has already been turned in. I don’t know if they’ve been told by now. Even if they didn’t, I don’t feel like doing anything other than volleyball.”

“Well, no need to be so hard on them. You should be happy that they value you so much.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it…I only dabbled with soccer and baseball in gym. I seriously don’t know why people are giving me so much credit.”

“Is that different from not being aware of your own ability?”

“If it’s volleyball ability, I’m more than aware of it.”

Hearing such a servile and submissive line from himself, he immediately regretted it right after he said it. Aoki was silent for only a moment while looking down at the papers.

“…Did you see who will be participating in volleyball? A whole bunch of stuff came out just now.”

He changed the topic, acting as though he hadn’t heard anything. I’m never a match for how he reads too much into things.

He pulled up the chair that was diagonally across from Aoki, the corner of the desk between them. In addition to him, there were only a pair of underclassmen officers sitting in the corner working on something.

The main event organized by the student council in the first semester, the Seiin Ballgame Festival, was coming in two weeks. The boys’ volleyball team were futilely eliminated from prefecturals at the beginning of the month, and the road to Inter-High and Nationals had just closed. Another one of the three major national championships was the “Spring Inter-High Volleyball” in January. The ballgame tournament during this period was by all rights nothing but a nuisance to their club activities, because they had to restart immediately to prepare for the prefectural qualifiers in September, right after summer vacation.

But for this year, he felt that this cushion was appreciated. He was practicing as usual, but he couldn’t quite switch gears. The handout distributed in class right after the prefecturals was undoubtedly one of the reasons. He had stuffed that handout with the title “Second Future Course Survey” into his locker without filling it in.

“It’s gonna be interesting this year.”

Aoki was handed a clipboard that holding several sheets of paper. It was the list of names for each event in the ballgame tournament.

“The ones with the double circles are pros.”

“Pro” of course didn’t mean pro athletes. It was the internal term for this ballgame tournament that referred to those who belonged to the corresponding sports club for each event. The maximum number of pros was set at three people for each team. The antonym of pro was “amateur”, and those who had experience in middle school or dropped out of their clubs were sometimes called “semi-pro.”

Classes A to F were divided vertically through the grades for a total of six teams. A supreme general would be nominated from the third-years of each team, and they would compete for overall victory with the total points from all the events. Since the captains of the main sports clubs were luckily scattered across the different classes, it was an event that got somewhat heated with the power struggles between the sports clubs.

He viewed the boys’ volleyball participant roster in order, starting from Team A. Team A didn’t have the double circle—for softball and futsal, where there were many qualifying members, there was competition among the members for the pro slots, but sadly for their division, they actually fell short of the number of slots.

“Oh, B’s got a killing.”

Team B also didn’t have any double circles, but when he looked at the remarks column, he saw that there was an awful lot of rugby team members. “So, are these remarks self-reported?” “No, the executive committee collected it, but the tally was a bit late.” “You’re spending a lot of energy on unnecessary things.” “You think so? Information gathering is fun, though.” In the remarks column, in addition to the current club the student belonged to, information such as their club activities in middle school and outstanding results in the school physical fitness test were added. If one were to see this list without knowing Aoki’s character, one might be a bit horrified.

The rugby player called Okuma of Class 2-B had a face and name that matched (he thought it was “大熊” (2), but he guessed those were the actual characters). At the level of a ballgame tournament, just having a big guy in front of the net was effective to some extent. Three rugby players over 180 centimeters in the front row might be a rather formidable opponent.

Next, Team C had three double circles in a row—3-C’s Aoki Misao ◎, 2-C’s Kanno Akito ◎, and 1-C’s Kuroba Yuni ◎.

“…What’s with this bias? Isn’t this all-star team against the rules?”

“It’s no more than three. That’s not against the rules.” Aoki said carefreely. “It’s just a coincidence that there are three people in C class this year. I didn’t manipulate that, so I don’t need you complaining about it.” Isn’t that an implicit admission that he manipulated in the other cases?

“Well, worst case scenario, I might drop out. I also got work on the management side. I’ll leave it to Kanno to cover for Kuroba.”

“Don’t drop out. It’ll be boring without you.”

When Oda said that without missing a beat, Aoki looked at him with slightly widened eyes. That unconcerned attitude of Aoki’s always irritated him for an instant.

“It’ll be interesting…We’ll definitely beat you.”

He declared provocatively. Aoki smirked from the corner of his mouth.

“We’re not going to go easy on you, you know?”

“Of course. If you hold back even just a little bit, then I’m never going to talk to you again.”

“Aw, come on, give me a break.”

Aoki was 193 centimeters, Kanno was 181 centimeters, and Kuroba was 184 centimeters. Oda remembered everyone’s numbers, which were filled out on the entry sheet for the most recent tournament. Aoki, who would undoubtedly be the tallest of all the participants in the boys’ volleyball division, was the center, and Kanno, who had a good balance between offense and defense, was placed on the side. Kuroba was still quite inconsistent and capricious, but as long as he went with the flow, he would display outstanding offensive power.

The ballgame tournament was like an escape for his feelings, and he was more of a passive participant than anything, but…he was getting a bit excited. For a small club with eight members, they could do a four-to-four minigame at most, not being able to do a proper intragroup game. Even if it included amateurs, under the rules of a proper six-person system, they can compete with that lineup. There was no other opportunity like this.

The problem was the strength of his own team, but if they had someone who they could use even just a little…he skimmed past the next two teams, D and E, to finally reach the F team he would be leading. At the top of the list was Oda Shinichiro ◎ of 3-F. About four people were chosen from each grade below, but there were no double circles besides Oda. Compared to Team C, he couldn’t help but feel discouraged.

“…Haijima?”

That name was there.

Haijima Kimichika of 1-F. He of course didn’t have the double circle.

When he looked up from the list, Aoki nodded as if to say you finally noticed that? It seemed that this was the climax of “it’s gonna be interesting.”

“I didn’t think he’d choose volleyball. Wonder what brought that on. He’s been running away from you ever since that thing happened.”

“He’s not running away from me, and wasn’t that thing because of your assault?”

“I told you, it wasn’t assault. I was just telling him to be a little more careful about how he should speak to third-years.”

“With your foot?”

“Well, the foot was unintentional.” What’s the definition of assault where you do that and don’t call it assault?

After the incident in early April of the new school year in which Aoki kicked Haijima’s butt hard, every time they happened to catch sight of each other in school, Haijima was the one who acted casual…From our point of view, it’s blatantly obvious that he’s changing his route and escaping. He was big, so he could be recognized immediately even from a distance, but he wondered if he didn’t know he stood out. If you’re just unconsciously enjoying the benefits of that height, give it to me…He thought. Even here, his desire as a captain to have Haijima on the team and his personal feelings of jealousy mixed with each other.

The first practice day for Team F was next Monday. After one week of team practice, the ballgame tournament would arrive.

“I wonder if he’s gonna come.” What kind of face would he have if he came?

“Well, he might be the type who shamelessly comes with a face that says ‘My friend signed me up for an audition without asking me.’”

“Oi oi, that’s harsh…”

Contrary to his gentle appearance, Aoki had quite a sharp tongue. According to him, he had a principle of not holding back what he wanted to say and not doing what he didn’t want to do. But if you asked Oda, there was a part of him that thought, Is that so? Are you saying everything you wanted to say to me?

“…Hey, you already handed that in, right? The future course thing…”

Even if he thought it was better to think about it later, it got stuck in his head for a long time. There were invisible pebbles strewn about. It felt like those pebbles were plugging up the holes where energy was spouting out from.

Since it was the second future course survey, there was a first one as well, but at that time there was only the choices of literature or science and national or private schools. However, this time there was a column for writing your specific university of choice. For the time being, since this was a university prep school, there was hardly anyone who chose to find a job or go to a vocational school.

There was a pause, as though the sudden topic had caught him off guard, but Aoki’s tone didn’t change when he opened his mouth.

“Oh, not yet. I haven’t decided yet.”

It was a shock to be lied to. You were the one who already handed it in. I asked while knowing it, actually.

However, all he said was, “…I see. Well, you’ve still got time.”

The rumor had also spread to Oda’s class. First choice, the Kyoto University’s faculty of law—Apparently, there was someone who peeked at Aoki’s handout that had been handed into the staff room. Who would have thought it’d be Kyodai? He was shocked that he was that smart. No, I knew that, but still.

It was at that time that he had the belated realization that until that point, he almost never talked to Aoki about anything other than volleyball. We’ve seen each other almost every day for more than two years, so isn’t that pretty weird? In the first place, volleyball was the only thing they had in common. Except volleyball, their interests didn’t intersect at all (to be precise, volleyball was Oda’s only interest). Oda only ever brought up volleyball and never asked Aoki what his interests were, or what he wanted to do in the future.

I mean, Kyodai? Supposing that we won the prefectural representative rights for Spring Inter-High, you couldn’t retire until the main tournament in January. Even if you studied for the entrance exam in your spare time while you’re not doing club activities, will you be able to get into law school at Kyoto University? ——He only thought those things and couldn’t say it aloud. Because, what would he do if Aoki announced that he was going to prioritize entrance exams and retire? He probably couldn’t see him out quietly. He felt like imposing his own convenience and telling that he couldn’t retire because they barely had enough members. No, I’m sure Aoki will prolong his retirement as long as he can and stick with me. But, that only increased his debt to him.

Hey, how do you feel about being stuck with me? If you take away volleyball, then I’m just a boring person.

“Hey, do you…enjoy being with me?”

“What?”

He sounded half-crazy, as expected. He felt like it was an extremely sissy question and wanted to crawl into a hole.

“Ah…what’s wrong, Shin? You’re acting weird.”

“Weird?”

Apparently, it was weird for him to worry about anything other than volleyball. Even he himself thought so. As far as his path after high school was concerned, he could cite a number of intercollegiate powerhouse universities he was interested in as long as it was volleyball-related. But he was at a loss as soon as he stepped away from volleyball. He wondered if he lost in the Spring Inter-High qualifiers and retired, he would finally have to find something else he wanted to do, and though it was impossible to assume that they would fail the qualifiers, the idle thought flashed across his mind. Though he still only wanted to think about volleyball right now, his mind was too distracted to focus on one thing. If anything, the time when he couldn’t only think about volleyball has arrived.

Bzzzz, the seat of the chair beneath Aoki started vibrating. “Mm, ‘scuse me,” Aoki put his hand on his behind. His hand that was as long and thin as his physique operated his phone.

“Geh, a summons text from the president. I gotta go.”

“I’m going back too. Sorry to bother you when you’re so busy.”

“Yeah, but our conversation—”

“No, no, it’s done.”

He didn’t think he was convinced, but Aoki didn’t try to dig in any further, putting his phone away and got up as Oda stood. When they stood in a line, Aoki’s shoulders would be what was in his line of sight. It was somewhat easier when they were looking at each other, but the fact that he had become accustomed to the gap in their lines of sight made him feel mixed feelings in its own way.

Oda was 163 centimeters tall. The difference in height between him and Aoki was exactly twenty centimeters. The gap hadn’t been filled at all since he entered high school. He sometimes hated that his parents really named him Shinichiro. (3)

163 centimeters was barely taller than the average height of a typical girl, and while having a small build meant having a small build, he wasn’t extremely small. In other sports, there were plenty of male athletes in the 160 centimeter range who flourished in international competitions.

But for a volleyball player, and furthermore for an attacker, it was a fatally insufficient height. Even if he could manage it in high school, it would never work beyond university. He hadn’t told anyone yet that he was going to play volleyball until high school, but he was seeing the end in himself.

Why volleyball of all things?

But…there’s only one reason for that, isn’t there?

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[no6secretsanta]

No.6 - Children of the Sea

Happy Holidays and an awesome New Year, @aoicanvas! I really hope you enjoy this fic! It’s me, @glorifiedscapegoat, and I’m really excited to share this with you. The concept I had kept giving me ideas, so I found myself just writing and writing for a while, and before I knew it the word count was as high as it was. I hope that’s all right!

⁂

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” — Jacques Cousteau

“Here’s your turbo,” Safu declared, sitting down opposite Shion at the booth. They were at their favorite café on the other side of Kronos, perched at one of the large window-seats overlooking the bay.

It was one of Shion’s favorite places, simply for its amazing view of the ocean. The sapphire blue waves lapped against the edge of the pier, the shush-shush sound of the ocean sending comforting prickles down his spine. During the early morning hours, the sunlight glistened across the smooth surface, the pale blue sky streaked with pale pinks and vibrant oranges.

“Oh,” Shion said in surprise as Safu slid the green foam cup across the table toward him. “Thank you. I ordered a decaf, though.”

“I canceled it. You looked like you could use the caffeine.”

Shion exhaled through his nose, knowing it wouldn’t do him any good to argue.  He thanked Safu, popped back the heat-saver from the plastic cover, then took a hesitant sip of the coffee. Safu had doused it with enough creamer and granulated sugar to keep the bitter bite of the espresso from stinging his tongue, but Shion could still feel the caffeine buzzing through him.

“Speaking of caffeine,” Safu said, taking a sip of her own coffee. Having been friends for as long as they had, Shion knew that Safu took her coffee as black as the night sky in the middle of the city, devoid of stars due to the constant streaks of artificial lighting. Shion’s nose wrinkled just thinking about it. He’d never been able to get past the bitterness of the coffee beans. “You might want to bring one to go once you finish that one. Don’t you have the new wave of summer interns starting today?”

Shion exhaled, all traces of his previous good mood fluttering out the door. “Don’t remind me.”

Summers were a difficult time for the West Block Aquarium and, more importantly, its staff. Kronos was a buzzing tourist town, and the summer months brought about college students, wealthy benefactors, and worst of all, summer interns.

“Poor thing,” Safu remarked, taking another sip of her coffee. “Well, maybe it won’t be so bad. Who knows? The interns this year could be… delightful.”

They both shuddered in unison. Shion and Safu had been friends since they were little—Grade 1, to be exact, after Safu got in trouble for punching two boys in the face who called Shion “girly” for his pretty white hair—and both had gone on to pursue careers where interns came and went through a constant revolving door.

Though Shion had obtained full-time employment as a pseudo marine biologist at the West Block Aquarium, Safu had went on to pursue a medical degree working alongside children. Her talent rested with biology (of the mammalian variety, not the aquatic), but despite the clear differences in their professions, Shion and Safu shared one similar headache: summer interns.

“So, how’s your mom doing?” Safu asked.

“She’s all right,” Shion replied. “Just getting ready for the summer rush. Tourists and all that.”

“She’s a saint.” Safu lifted her coffee cup with a solemn expression. “I don’t know how I would have gotten through my undergraduate without the croissants she sent in her care packages.”

Shion huffed out a laugh and took another sip of his coffee. He could already feel the caffeine working its way through his veins.

He allowed a bit of silence to fall around him, the only reprieve he’d get today. As soon as he left for work in an hour, his day would be consumed with learning the group dynamic in this summer’s early wave of interns, squeezing work in between answering questions for the flood of customers arriving for the first day of the summer season, and banging his head against the glass walls of the tanks he was in charge of maintaining.

Shion felt something soft rest on top of his head. He glanced up to see Safu tapping her fingers against his temple, softly going, “pomf” to herself.

He leaned back out of reach, fighting back a smile. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out where I can purchase a brush strong enough to tame that mop of yours.” Safu took her hand back, flashing a smile. “It’s such a pretty color, and it’s a shame it just sticks up all over the place.”

“Well, it’s not my fault. I spend most of the time in the water. It’s hard to find a shampoo that can handle all that water damage.”

“Damage?” Safu reached out again and patted Shion on the top of the head. “This isn’t damage. You are the only person alive who can spend seventy-five percent of their life in water and come out with hair this soft.”

“Stop it,” Shion said, but it was light-hearted. His hair had always been a point of conflict in his life. Since the moment he was born—sporting snowy hair and bright ruby eyes—Shion had always fought off rude stares and invasive questions. His mother had helped him construct several convincing lies to help discourage people from continuing to pester him. These lies had ranged from childhood illness in Grades 1 through 4, and then expensive dye jobs during his time as a teenager. Shion had never liked the thought of dyeing his hair, but lying to folks that his bizarre hair and eye color were the results of a bottle of Manic Panic and colored contacts kept them from prying and discovering the truth.

Though, even if Shion did break down and tell people the truth—that his father was a merperson who’d seduced his human mother years ago before splitting without a trace, leaving her with a hybrid son whose hair and eyes and ability to breathe underwater were his only connection to his heritage—he doubted anyone would ever believe him.

Except for Safu.

When Shion finally broke down and told Safu the truth, she’d taken the information with a smile. Coming to terms that there were other creatures dwelling in her world came simply. Safu remarked that new species were being discovered all the time. Of course it made sense that there could be merpeople. The ocean hadn’t been completely explored, after all.

Sometimes Shion wondered why a relationship with Safu had never occurred to him. She was a beautiful girl, and always had been; petite with straight brown hair that fell to her shoulders (she’d let it grow out in recent years), dark eyes that saw everything, and a friendly smile that invited people to let their guard down. More than that, Safu was amazingly kind… to the people she liked. She never judged anyone unless they gave her a reason to assume they were judging her, and she was fiercely protective of her friends.

When they were teenagers, Safu had expressed feelings for Shion that he hadn’t been able to reciprocate. Maybe it was because Safu was accustomed to rejection, or maybe it was because she was just a wonderful, loving person, but Shion’s gentle apology in his inability to return her feelings hadn’t stopped her from remaining his best friend.

And when Shion came staggering home one night and called her, squealing with excitement that he’d found someone like him—someone from the sea—Safu had squealed and gushed with him.

Shion shook the thought away before he could dwell on it. Remembering the summers he spent between the ages of sixteen and nineteen were painful for him. He’d formed a romance with a boy from the sea, a boy Shion could picture himself spending the rest of his life with, and then, without explanation or reason, he’d simply vanished into thin air. Zip. Poof. Gone. As if he’d never been there in the first place.

"Hey, Shion. Earth to Shion.”

He looked up. “Huh?”

Safu took one look at his face, and instantly, she knew. “Thinking about Nezumi again?”

Hearing his name sent a knife through Shion’s heart. “No,” he said, but the lie was pointless. He’d never been any good at telling lies to Safu.

Safu clicked her tongue. When Nezumi stopped showing up at the beach, Safu had been furious. She ranted and raved for months about him, furious that he could break Shion’s heart like that. When the next summer came and he still didn’t show up, Safu’s anger cooled into concern. When another year passed, she and Shion mutually agreed that something awful must have happened to Nezumi and tried to mourn.

“Do you want to talk about it,” she said gently, “or change the subject?”

“Change the subject, please.”

“Of course.” Safu took a deep breath, composing her thoughts, and then she said, somewhat loudly, “Well, it won’t be so bad, right? How long do summer internships last at the aquarium, again?”

“Three months,” Shion said, grateful for the change in topic. He took all the pent-up feelings he still had toward Nezumi, even now, and shoved them to the side. If they festered there and turned into a cancerous tumor, he’d deal with it when that time came.

“Ugh, lucky. Our internships last six months.”

“Aren’t all of your interns medical students, though?” Shion stole a brief glance out the window. He wondered if he would catch a familiar flash of black and silver, and then promptly scolded himself for daring to hope.

“Yes, and most of them are lovely. But then you have those ones.” Safu rolled her eyes, and Shion instantly knew which ones she meant.

The children of wealthy parents whose only major contribution to the field was that they spent a lot of money and therefore expected that their children could sail through the program without any effort. Shion had dealt with plenty of those types, too, working at the aquarium. Wealthy donors often assumed a nice dosage of cash would land their children a high-paying, low-effort job once they finished their degree program. Shion lost count of the number of arguments he and other coworkers had had with interns whose ultimate defense was the phrase: “Do you have any idea who my parents are?”

"Maybe this year will be different,” Shion said, not at all confident. He’d been working full-time at the West Block Aquarium for two years, since he turned twenty-two, and not once had a summer internship term been “different”.

“It could be,” Safu replied solemnly. She and Shion shared a mutual nod, and then smiled.

⁂

With traffic, it was a forty-minute drive across downtown Kronos, and another three minutes to find a halfway decent parking space in front of the West Block Aquarium that didn’t result in Shion needing to sprint across the parking lot like a lunatic in order to clock in on time.

Shion smoothed his hands through his hair, pressing the tangled locks down against his skull. They bounced back up as he dropped his hands to his sides, and he gave up trying to look presentable.

His white hair, no matter how smooth or messy it was, always attracted attention from the college interns the aquarium employed. Most of them thankfully assumed it was just a dye job—an expensive, extremely thorough dye job, but a dye job nonetheless—but it elicited more than a few stares every year.

Shion scanned his ID badge at the employee entrance and ducked inside. He let the heavy metal door bang shut behind him, sighing as he stepped into the foyer of the employee lounge, cooled by the strong air conditioning unit Rikiga had installed. He tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash can, briefly considering using the Keurig to make himself another cup.

"Hey, Shion.”

Shion turned and spotted his coworker, Yamase, sitting at one of the little brown tables. He clutched a travel mug of tea—Yamase never liked drinking coffee, remarking that no matter how much creamer and sugar he doused it with, he could still taste the “disgusting bean water”—and he looked utterly exhausted.

Shion’s stomach plummeted. “Interns?”

“Interns,” Yamase agreed bitterly.

Shion huffed out a breath and went to the Keurig. “Please tell me there’s at least a few halfway decent ones.”

He prided himself on being an optimist—it was one of his best qualities, according to his mom, Safu, and everyone else he’d ever talked to, and Shion was pretty certain it was the primary reason Rikiga had given him the job in the first place—but something about summer interns made even someone with Shion’s extensive threshold for patience eager for the workday to end.

“Rikiga’s already deep into his cup,” Yamase explained, rolling his eyes. “Big surprise. Anyway, I’ve only met the first few, and supposedly, we’ve got two others starting tomorrow.”

“So, what exactly are we dealing with?” Shion popped a K-cup into the machine and hit brew. He shoved a paper cup beneath the dispenser and listened to the whir of the machine as the water heated up.

Yamase took a deep sip of his tea. “Well, there’s a girl who’s just started her second year at the community college who thinks she wants to go into marine biology. Kudos and all that, but she’s already expecting that we’ll hire her once she graduates since she’s interning with us.”

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah,” Yamase groaned. “You know how that’s gonna go. I wonder if we’ll have the parents down here again. You remember that?”

Shion shuddered. “How could I forget?” He could still hear the shrill sound of the woman’s voice as she shrieked at Rikiga in the lobby about why he’d rejected her daughter’s application for full-time employment after she’d “slaved away all summer at this dirty, stinking place, and for what?” Never mind that Shion had found her in the employee lounge multiple times during her shift, sneaking alcohol and trying to steal merchandise from the gift shop when she thought no one was looking.

“Maybe she’ll be a good fit,” Shion said, a little too hopefully.

“She bounces when she talks,” Yamase said drily.

"Excuse me?”

“Like full on hops on her heels.” Yamase gave a small demonstration, bouncing twice in his chair before widening his eyes and giving Shion a blank, dead stare. “She also talks like this.” He raised his voice up at the end, almost as if he were asking a question. “With an upward inflection at the end of it. As if she has no idea what she’s doing here.”

“That is so creepy,” Shion shuddered. “Please stop.”

“You think that’s creepy. Try listening to her do it.” Yamase sighed and took a deep gulp from his travel mug. “The lights are definitely on, but no one’s been home for years.”

Shion pinched the bridge of his nose. Wonderful. Just what the aquarium needed. He plucked his cup from the Keurig and dumped a healthy heaping of sugar and creamer packets into the cup.

“The new hire for the gift shop’s hot, though,” Yamase said.

Shion raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Don’t worry—he’s our age,” Yamase assured. “I checked. Not in college, as far as I can tell. Just looking for some extra cash at a part-time job or something. And you know I’m not really into guys, but dang, something about this guy just… I don’t know. Just wait until you see him.” Yamase exhaled. “It’s his eyes, man.”

Shion huffed out a laugh and took a sip of his coffee. After the turbo Safu had ordered for him, it felt watered down and weak, but Shion savored the buzz of caffeine.

“He must be something, then,” Shion said, “if you’ve noticed him.”

“You have no idea. You’re single, right? Maybe you have a shot.”

Shion clicked his tongue. “You sound like Safu.”

"Well, maybe you should start listening to us!” Yamase tipped his head back and finished off the last of his tea. “Maybe we should strong-arm your mother into it. I’m sure that’d make you start looking.”

Shion couldn’t help but smile. He’d tried dating during his undergraduate, and it hadn’t worked. All the men he went out with made snide comments about his hair— “Do the carpets match the drapes? Ha ha, just kidding. Unless…?”—or thought his fascination with sea life bordered on obsessive. Shion wouldn’t have felt comfortable letting them know the truth: that his “obsession” with sea life stemmed from the fact that he came from the same place.

And besides, none of them had made him feel the way Nezumi had.

Not only did Nezumi come from the ocean—Shion could picture the black and blue scales on his long, elegant tail perfectly, like obsidian and sapphires, and his beautiful silver eyes, like the edge of a blade in the sunlight—he never thought Shion’s ramblings were bizarre. He laughed at him, sure, but it was good-natured and beautiful, like the chiming of bells. He could swim faster and deeper than Shion, and he brought him pretty shells and oysters containing pearls from the bottom of the sea where Shion couldn’t swim without raising more than a few eyebrows.

During their summer interactions as teenagers, Shion had never been able to convince Nezumi to come onto the shore. He knew it was possible—his own father had done it years ago—but whenever he asked, Nezumi quickly changed the subject.

Shion’s heart ached, his eyes stinging. The last time he saw Nezumi, they had been eighteen years old. He could still feel the brush of Nezumi’s lips against his own, tasting of saltwater. Shion could have kissed him forever.

Shion quickly shook the thoughts away. He couldn’t afford to get caught up on thoughts of Nezumi anymore. He needed to focus on the new interns and aquarium employees.

Yamase rose and rinsed his travel mug in the sink. The dark blue of his janitor’s uniform stood out against the stark gray walls of the employee lounge. “Well, count yourself lucky you don’t have to deal with most of the interns. You spend most of your time in Number Six. I’m the one who’s gotta spend the whole day trapped in the gift shop.”

Shion cracked a smile. Number Six was the main tank in the direct center of the aquarium, the first major exhibit available as soon as customers walked through the door. Shion’s primary job was to jump into the tank every couple of hours, toss smelt and other dead things at the bigger fish, ensure that the pH levels were safe, and make sure the sand tigers didn’t bully the nurse sharks. Shion never would have pegged sharks to have some weird social hierarchy, but it was there. He’d lost count of the times he’d had to chase away the sand tiger with the blunt snout (who he’d affectionally nicknamed Snubby) from the large nurse shark (Nurse Anne) with the chunk bitten out of her dorsal fin.

Number Six was also known to Yamase and the other janitors as the BFT: the Big Fucking Tank. Shion didn’t like calling it that, but he supposed when the janitors spent most of their shift spraying Windex on the glass and wiping away fingerprints and saliva—seriously, did little kids lick everything?—it made sense they would come to hate it.

The majority of the interns and summer hires started out as cashiers in the gift shop. During his dips in Number Six, Shion could spot the little alcove through the glass, watching as the interns in their bright green tee-shirts displaying the West Block Aquarium logo fumbled through each transaction.

“I wonder if the wannabee marine biologist will try to jump in the tank with you,” Yamase said, eyeing Shion in his periphery. “She doesn’t seem thrilled about the idea of starting as a cashier.”

“They all start out as cashiers,” Shion replied, taking another sip of his coffee. It had already begun to go cold. “She shouldn’t expect special treatment. Retail work can be humbling.”

"Is it twisted that I love watching the rich kids get screamed at by entitled jerks?” Yamase’s dark eyes flashed as he turned to face Shion. “Like, I know retail’s rough and all, but some of these kids are so fucking bratty, and seeing the looks on their faces when they realize that no one cares about how much money they have just warms my heart.”

Shion shook his head. “You’re awful,” he said, but he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Yup, and you’re equally as awful. I know you enjoy it, too.” Yamase put his travel mug back into the cupboard where the rest of the employees kept their spare mugs. “Well, I need to get out there and make sure the place is ready for opening. Finish up your coffee. You’re gonna need it. You know they’re probably gonna ask about the hair.”

“And the eyes,” Shion sighed. “They always do.”

“You could dye it.”

“Safu would literally kill me.”

Yamase rolled his eyes. “She might, but wouldn’t it be better than dealing with another wave of ‘wait, they let marine biologists dye their hair? Can you wear contacts underwater? Duuuuude.’”

Shion fought back a shudder. Too many times he’d had to deflect questions surrounding his odd hair color and the piercing shade of his irises. Albinism was a rare trait in humans, and Shion’s skin wasn’t nearly pale enough to pass for it. The odd red marking on his skin—scaled, if people looked close enough, which Shion never let anyone do—definitely shattered the illusion. Shion had hoped people would have a bit of common decency and not ask such invasive questions, but he was often disappointed. Almost every summer, someone cornered him in the break room and demanded to know why his hair was so white, what made his eyes red, how many bleaches did it take to achieve that color, did people think he was less professional because he looked like he was cosplaying all the time?

Sometimes Shion wondered if he should joke that he was a merman. Well, half a merman, anyway.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he could hear Nezumi’s voice snap, “Child of the Sea! Not merman. That’s a human word.” His mood instantly darkened, and Shion shook his head.

“Child of the Sea” was the preferred term in the underwater community, or so Shion had been told. Only human beings used words like “mermaid” and “merman”. Despite the wave of sorrow that Shion felt whenever the thought of Nezumi came rushing back, he couldn’t help the small flicker of warmth that kindled itself in his heart.

“Well,” Yamase sighed. “I’m heading back. Rip the Band-Aid off.”

“All right.”

“See you in a few,” Yamase replied with a wave, ducking out into the hallway. “Good luck!”

Shion exhaled and took another sip of his cool coffee. Summer interns. At least he had a reprieve from them when he dove into the tank. He took a few moments to sip his coffee, reveling in the silence he knew would soon be broken. Ah, well. It was only eight-thirty in the morning. Seven o’clock would come soon enough.

⁂

Shion finished his coffee, pulled on his white lab coat, and trotted out to the main foyer. The West Block Aquarium opened at ten o’clock on the dot—despite his active drinking and usual forgetfulness, Rikiga was oddly punctual—and the first hour would be spent preparing for the shift and greeting the interns and summer help.

Shion plastered a big smile on his face and tried to be positive. Summer interns were frustrating, but he had to remember that he was once in their shoes, too. Several years ago, he’d been a bright-eyed intern working at this same aquarium. Ignoring his obvious one-up over the other interns—primarily the fact that he could breathe underwater (secretly, of course) and understood ocean life in a way that astounded his professors and quickly moved him through his undergraduate degree with flying colors—he’d enjoyed working alongside other interns.

As he hurried toward the main foyer, stationed direction in front of Number Six, he couldn’t help but marvel at the decorations welcoming the new wave of summer customers. Bright plastic statues of sea lions and talking starfish lined the floors, gesturing toward the hallways and announcing exhibits. Neat signs with fun facts and information about the exhibit inhabitants sat in front of glass cages, and the sound of rushing water sounded like music to Shion’s ears.

Shion trotted almost everywhere. His colleagues joked that he was always in a hurry. Shion didn’t know if it was because he moved faster in the water than on land, even without the function of a tail, but he couldn’t help it. He jogged everywhere he went: meetings, feedings, the break room. Sometimes he worried he looked ridiculous—a young man in a white lab coat with obviously dyed hair (ha) jogging like a toddler through the aquarium—but if he did, no one commented one way or the other about it.

The four-story tank, illuminated with bright LED lights at the base and on each conjoining floor, wrapping upward in a slanted ramp like a makeshift spiral staircase, rose into view as Shion stepped out into the main exhibit. The brightly-colored tropical fish swam lazily through the teal water, their dark eyes staring blankly out at Shion as he approached the two individuals standing near the door, awaiting his arrival.

Shion swallowed the wave of frustration that surged inside him, caging it behind his clenched teeth as he kept the smile plastered on his face His colleagues had left him to deal with the new interns on his own.

Ha ha, funny.

As he approached the two interns—a young woman with vibrant pink hair (clearly a dye job, and a rather inexpensive one, at that, if the blond roots at the top were any indication) and a young man with dark hair yanked back into a ponytail, both dressed in the bright green West Block Aquarium staff shirt—the girl broke away from the tank and came sprinting up toward Shion.

“Oh, hi!” she shrieked, her voice piercing through the vacant walls of the aquarium. It carried, so sharp and sudden that Shion felt as if a knife had been drilled into his ear.

He flinched—the other intern did, too—and jerked to a halt.

“You must be Shion, right? Mr. Rikiga mentioned you’d be stopping by!” The girl clapped her hands, as if the idea of meeting Shion was too exciting to be contained inside her little body. “I’m so excited to be working with you! My name’s Miyamoto Emi, but my friends call me Emi-chan. Oh, darn, can I call you Shion, or is that too informal? Gosh, this is so exciting!”

Shion gawked down at the girl, unsure of what to say. She looked about twenty years old, short in a way that was noticeable even to someone like Shion. He wasn’t very tall, himself—he rose to a respectable five-feet-seven-inches—and this girl rose to the middle of his chest. She tipped her head back to look into his face, her dark brown eyes wide with excitement, and yep, there was the bouncing Yamase had mentioned. With each syllable that left her mouth, she rose an inch off the ground and then came down hard on her heels. She wore a pair of black flip-flops (definitely not regulation, according to the employee handbook, which Rikiga definitely didn’t enforce), and the rubber soles thumped rhythmically on the solid tile floor.

“Mr. Rikiga said you were a marine biologist,” Emi went on. “That must be so exciting. I’ve wanted to be a marine biologist since I was a little girl. I’ve always loved turtles, and I just wanna be able to work with them. Oh, wow!” Her eyes widened further—how was that possible?—and she stared at Shion’s white hair.

His stomach plummeted.

“Your hair—” she said, a shriek building in her throat. Shion could see it. Her shoulders quaked beneath the force of it, her whole body unable to contain the sheer joy that came from seeing Shion’s pristine white hair coupled with his lab coat. “Where do you get your hair done? Do you do it yourself? My friend Mariko did my hair”—she grabbed a lock of her own pink hair and shoved it toward Shion—“but it doesn’t look nearly as good as yours does!”

“Um, thank you.” Shion gave her a wobbly smile. This was a new development. Sometimes the interns were cold and stand-offish, and sometimes they were uninterested in the position.

This, however? This was new.

Shion felt his head spinning as he tried to focus on the girl bouncing in front of him. He glanced over her shoulder, seeking out the second intern. The young man was staring at Emi as if she’d just exploded and scattered across the foyer in an array of glitter. His hair framed his face, long and pulled into a high ponytail. He had a narrow, pale face, and Shion wondered briefly if this was the young man Yamase had mentioned back in the break room. He squinted over Emi’s head—where did she get the energy to keep bouncing like this?—examining the young man’s face to see what about him Yamase had been so taken by.

The young man was tall and thin, his hair a dark shade of black that Shion suspected would look blue in certain lighting. Even with the fluorescent bulbs in the aquarium itself, he could pick out the few pale gray strands and blue bits that made the young man’s hair beautiful rather than plain. His skin was far too pale for the lime-green of the staff shirt, and it made him look sickly and washed out.

He lifted his head to give Shion a look that clearly read ‘Poor you’, and Shion managed to get a good look at his eyes.

It’s his eyes, man.

Two bright silver coins stared back at Shion, narrowed in a way that Shion recognized as someone trying to figure out where they recognized someone from. His stomach twisted. Flecks of blue and white danced behind a pale of solid silver glass, shifting depending on his mood. When he was happy, they were vibrant and luminous. When he was aggravated, they darkened like the sky over a stormy sea. Shion had seen them in almost every variant, and he stood there, dumbstruck, as the young man stared into his face, too—taking in his bright red irises, the red marking wrapped around his throat, and his vibrant white hair—and finally, finally recognized him.

His jaw dropped. It was an almost comical look, but he managed to make it look beautiful. He unfolded his arms from across his chest, letting them fall limply at his sides.

“Shion?” he said.

His voice. His voice. Shion could still hear it in his memories. The peals of laughter, the shouts whenever they argued, the gentle songs he sang. All of it came flooding back in a crushing wave that made Shion feel as if he were drowning. His lungs were designed to pull oxygen both on land and beneath the surface. Shion would never know how it felt to drown in earnest—but standing across from Nezumi, the boy he’d fallen in love with in his youth, the boy who’d claimed his first kiss, the boy who’d left one day and never come back, Shion wondered if this was how it felt to have all the air knocked out of him once and for all.

Emi’s bright smile never left her face, but her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh. Do you know two each other?” She looked over her shoulder at the young man—at Nezumi—and clapped her hands. “That’s so exciting!”

“Um,” Shion said, taking a trembling step backward. The room around him crushed inward, the air tight and thick. He swallowed once, finding it difficult to breathe. “Yes, um…”

Nezumi’s shocked expression shifted into concern, and Shion felt himself edging toward a full-on breakdown. Shards of glass punched through his stomach, heat and pain radiating through each pulse point in his body until it was all he could feel. He couldn’t sense the solid tiles beneath his feet or the air conditioner churning above his head. His vision tunneled, blocking out everything except the young man standing in front of him—standing! On legs!—in his ridiculous staff tee shirt and his khaki pants, looking every bit like the beautiful, otherworldly creature he was once he stepped into the ocean.

“Ah, w-well,” Shion managed, the words heavy as stones on his tongue. “W-welcome to the West Block Aquarium. So nice to be working with you both. Um, I have to, ah, feed the fish in the BFT now. Ah, I mean, in Number Six. The big tank behind you. Yup, that’s Number Six. I’m sure Mr. Rikiga will tell you all about it as part of the tour.”

“Shion,” Nezumi said, and his voice was equally as wobbly. He took a step forward, and panic surged through Shion’s body like an injection of ice water.

”Goodbye!” Shion spun on his heel and fled back toward the break room. There was an elevator in the far back, reserved for employee usage and available for disabled customers, and if Shion input the code into the panel, it would go to the floor linking to the observatory room for Number Six. It wasn’t available to the public, reserved for marine biologists like Shion to record the pH balances of the tank and the weights of each animal.

His shoes smacked against the tile as he hurried toward the hallway leading to the elevator. The twisting halls that stretched past the rooms dedicated to shells and the horseshoe crab touch tank—popular with the children and high school customers—and Shion rounded them quickly, searching desperately for the signs leading to the elevator.

“Shion, wait!”

Shion whirled and saw Nezumi hurrying up the ramp toward him. He stumbled a bit as he ran, as if he’d been sitting down for a long time and his legs hadn’t quite adjusted to movement. The fluorescent lights caught against the strands of his hair, and the lime green of the staff shirt clashed horribly with his khaki pants and pale skin.

He looked ridiculous. He looked amazing. He looked—

Alive.

“You’re alive,” Shion said, his voice sounding stupid in his ears.

Nezumi stumbled to a stop a few steps in front of him. He was wearing heavy black combat boots (completely against regulation, since the soles weren’t non-marking), and one pant leg of his cargo pants was tucked in while the other hung frustratingly loose around his ankle. “Yeah,” he said, sounding equally as stupid and just as wonderful as Shion remembered. “Yeah, I’m alive.”

“But—” Shion fumbled for something, anything, and came up short. “You—you vanished! You stopped coming to the beach.”

Nezumi winced. “I know.”

The prickles of cold were replaced with agitation that dug like thorns in his body. “I waited for you,” he said, low and harsh. “Every day for months. Years. And you—you never came back.”

Nezumi flinched back as if Shion had ripped one of the decorative plywood sea turtles off the wall and chucked it at him. “I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Shion barked out a laugh. “Five years of no contact—nothing—and now you show up here, at my work, to tell me you’re sorry?”

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Nezumi said.

“Then why are you here? You sure as hell can’t be a university student!”

Nezumi’s silver eyes flashed in the vibrant LED lights. “I’ve never heard you swear before,” he murmured wondrously, as if it was the most amazing thing in the world.

“Don’t change the subject!” Shion growled. “Where the hell do you get off just—”

“I wanted to come back,” Nezumi interjected. He didn’t raise his voice (which only aggravated Shion further), and he kept his hands at his side. Shion couldn’t help staring at each of his long, elegant fingers, remembering how they felt running over his cheek or brushing through his hair while they swam.

“Then why didn’t you?” Shion’s heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing through his ears. “You kissed me, said goodnight, and then you just vanished. For five years, Nezumi.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Nezumi said, raising his voice just a little. Shion could hear it in his voice that he was struggling not to yell, that he didn’t really have the right to yell. “Something happened, and as much as you meant to me, I couldn’t just—”

Those words stabbed through Shion’s chest like arrows. It’d taken Nezumi three years—three long, painful years—to finally say the words I love you. Shion hadn’t held it against him. Nezumi didn’t express his feelings through words. He translated them in his actions. Shion felt his love in the way he found ways to maintain physical contact when they were together. He felt Nezumi’s love each time Nezumi brought him pretty shells from the deeper parts of the ocean floor.

Shion knew how much he meant to Nezumi. And as angry as he was at Nezumi’s unexpected disappearance, the fact that he was here now must have meant something.

Shion opened his mouth to speak—to say what, he didn’t know—and Emi came trotting down the hallway, huffing and puffing as if it’d taken all her energy to catch up with them.

“There—,” she gasped dramatically, doubling over and pressing her hand against her chest. “There you two are! Why did you run away?”

Nezumi glanced over at her, and Shion took the opportunity to escape. “It’s nothing. Nezumi’s an old friend” —he didn’t miss the way Nezumi flinched— “and things were… well, it’s complicated. But this isn’t the place for it.”

Emi’s dark brown eyes widened. “Ooh?” She looked at Shion, then at Nezumi, and then back. She clapped her hands together. “What’s this? A secret romance?”

“The hell?” Nezumi muttered, despite everything.

“Emi,” Shion said firmly, “now is neither the time nor the place. Now,” he added, looking at the clock suspended from the wall. “I believe you two are due for orientation. Mr. Rikiga will be expecting you.”

“Ooh, you’re right! We don’t wanna be late!” Emi spun on her heel and reached out for Nezumi’s wrist. “Come on, uh, Nezumi, was it? Weird. We’re gonna be late!”

Nezumi withdrew his wrist from Emi’s reach and turned to look at Shion. “I’m out at noon,” he said carefully. Shion’s shoulders shot to his ears, the words slicing through him like a bullet. “Can we talk then?”

“I’m not free until after the aquarium closes,” Shion replied. He didn’t know why he said it, but it wouldn’t do him any good to lie. Nezumi would probably figure out his schedule soon enough anyway.

“That’s fine. How about I meet you here after work?” Nezumi lowered his voice so that Emi, already skipping back toward the main foyer, wouldn’t overhear. “I get it if you tell me to fuck off, but… I’d like to explain myself.”

“All right,” Shion mumbled. “I’ll meet you outside the employee entrance at seven-thirty.”

“I’ll be here,” Nezumi said. There was so much strength and conviction in his voice that Shion couldn’t help but meet his eye. The fluorescent lights caught in his irises as he repeated, slower, “I will be here, Shion.”

“Sure,” Shion whispered, and he watched as Nezumi turned and headed back toward the foyer. He seemed to stumble a bit, but even that seemed inhumanly graceful. Shion’s heart ached as he watched him leave.

Eventually, his duties as a dedicated marine biologist convinced him to seek out the elevator, punch in the code to the Number Six observatory floor, and strip out of his lab coat, button-down, and slacks in favor of his West Block Aquarium scuba suit. Dark blue with lime green accents, it was Shion’s least favorite piece of work equipment, simply for its pointlessness. He was a Child of the Sea—at least fifty percent of him was—and scuba gear was wasted on someone who could breathe underwater.

But he couldn’t exactly drop into the forty-foot tank without his gear in front of tourists.

Shion struggled into his scuba suit, his heart hammering a thousand miles a minute. His hands shook as he zipped up his wetsuit, fumbling with the useless air tank (he could breathe underwater, damn it, but the tourists and the interns and his boss couldn’t know that) and all the tubes in their proper place to pump oxygen uselessly into his lungs.

Shion sat on the edge of the top level of Number Six, his vision blurring red and gray. His bright yellow swim fins felt ridiculous and artificial—even though Shion had never been able to grow a tail of his own, his legs more than strong enough to propel him through the water—and his whole body buzzed with anxiety. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself in a way that proved to be completely ineffective, and then he tumbled backward into Number Six.

Sinking down into the depths, Shion let the cold water collapse around him and smother the heat of embarrassment and anger and relief that churned inside him. He sank downward through a small school of colorful fish and past Trudgealong (a withered sea turtle with a no-nonsense attitude), squeezing his eyes closed behind the useless face mask and trying to breathe.

Goddammit.

Nezumi’s shocked face flashed behind his closed eyelids. His voice echoed in Shion’s skull like a pissed off bee, and no matter how hard Shion fought it, he couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to sink beneath the waves with Nezumi guiding him by the wrist, propelling them both along the coral reefs much more quickly than Shion could move on his own.

Shion shook away the thoughts and focused on eying the occupants of Number Six and taking mental notes on their overall health.

For the most part, the fish and assorted sharks looked decent. Shion could sense the increased buzz of excitement radiating from them; he couldn’t “speak to fish”, and Nezumi had confirmed that no Child of the Sea could. He could, however, sense when they were comfortable or agitated.

The fish in Number Six enjoyed the summer rush far more than the staff at the West Block Aquarium did. Snubby, for example, seemed to enjoy preening in front of children who remarked on his crooked teeth and blunt nose with loud shouts to their parents and pointing fingers. These were Snubby’s point of pride, and he swam quickly around the tank to ensure everyone got a good look. If Snubby were a human or a Child of the Sea, Shion felt the two of them wouldn’t get along very well. Fortunately, for both of them, Snubby couldn’t talk.

Beneath the cool saltwater, the red marking wrapped around Shion’s body chilled. These were the only “scales” Shion had on his body, and something about being in the water gave them a more aquatic appearance. The otherwise smooth red marking bristled and slotted with patterns, and if Shion ran his bare finger over it, it would feel bumpy and slick. The vibrant color made him wonder if this would be the color his tale would be if he could grow one in water. Sometimes he disliked not being able to grow one the way Nezumi and other Children of the Sea could, but Nezumi had never made him feel bad for it. In fact, Nezumi claimed, based on the stories he’d been told, Shion was lucky. The tradeoff for most Children of the Sea was that while they could grow tails in water, their legs were weak on land. Some of the most graceful Children of the Sea turned into complete klutzes on the surface.

As a teenager, Shion had laughed himself sick at the prospect of beautiful, elegant Nezumi being reduced to a tripping mess on the land. He often wondered if that was why Nezumi would never come up on land. Nezumi was a proud creature, and Shion often wondered if his pride could survive face-planting on the sand.

But now Nezumi was on land.

Shion shook his head. Don’t think about it right now.

Shion bit down on the breathing apparatus stuffed in his mouth. Something deep inside him made him glance down to the foyer through the clear, teal water. Through the glass several floors down, Shion could see Emi and Nezumi standing in front of Rikiga. Shion watched his boss lazily drift his hand through the air, giving them both the same spiel he gave each intern at the beginning of their first shift. Emi continued to bounce on the balls of her feet, looking ready to explode into a thousand pieces. And Nezumi…

Nezumi looked up into the tank. His eyes met Shion’s, even several stories down, and he lifted his hand to wave at him.

Shion didn’t know what compelled him, but he lifted his gloved hand and waved back.

⁂

At fifteen past seven, when the aquarium had officially closed and the majority of the staff had clocked out and gone home, Shion stood outside the employee entrance, arms wrapped around himself in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart.

Seven-thirty. Nezumi had promised to come back to the aquarium at seven-thirty and meet Shion at the employee entrance.

Shion eyed the cars zipping down the street on the opposite end of the empty parking lot. The West Block Aquarium emptied out pretty quick after the doors closed. None of the staff were eager to pull extra hours, and Rikiga didn’t offer overtime. Shion was an exception—the only one on Rikiga’s staff who was salary—and if Rikiga happened to spot his car still in the lot, it wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows.

He leaned back against the brick wall, the warm stones heating the fabric of his lab coat. He didn’t know why he bothered wearing it. Shion spent most of his time submerged in the tanks, but the lab coat made him feel normal. Human. He didn’t mind being a hybrid, not at all, but it was lonely not having someone like him to confide in.

Shion flexed his fingers. He still remembered the day he and Nezumi met. Shion had been walking down the beach—because what else was a gainfully unemployed sixteen-year-old to do on a sunny summer day in a bustling tourist town—and growing anxious amidst the screaming toddlers and indifferent mothers in their floppy sunhats, Shion had sought out a place where he could dive underwater and go missing for a bit.

Diving under the waves and vanishing, however, wouldn’t work with an audience. People stared at him because of his weird hair (even in a tourist town where teenagers dyeing their hair ridiculous colors was well within the norm), and if he went underwater and didn’t resurface, he’d have the Coast Guard called on him in no time.

Climbing the rocks clustered on the left side of the beach and walking another mile from the main beach, Shion sought out a strip of soft white beach where he could sprint in and vanish. The broken pier attached to the boardwalk (abandoned for months after a nasty embezzling scandal leaked to the press) rose into view, and Shion’s mood brightened.

He ducked beneath the pier, preparing to slip beneath the waves—and lo and behold, tangled in a net and cursing up a storm had been Nezumi.

A fisherman’s net had tangled around him as he skimmed the bottom of the water, and Nezumi had managed to break the net from the boat (rightfully confusing the fishermen in the process, who must have assumed they’d wrangled a shark), but the tight coils had knotted around his fins. Unwilling to be a sitting duck for a bigger predator (believe it or not, Children of the Sea were not the top of the food chain), Nezumi had desperately sought a strip of beach where he could safely work on pulling the net off his tail.

Immediately springing into action, Shion had deftly untangled the knots, whispering to Nezumi that he’d have him free in no time. His mind buzzed with excitement—someone like him was sitting right there—but it didn’t feel like an appropriate time to gush.

Nezumi, who’d growled at Shion when he first approached, went painfully still. His silver eyes, so beautiful and unlike anything Shion had ever seen before, watched each movement of his hands as he worked the net carefully off his fins. Shion fought his own urges to brush his fingers against the dark black and blue scales, jealous and enamored of something he should have had but didn’t, and after a few minutes of careful working, he tossed the vicious net aside and said, brightly, “There! You’re free.”

“Much obliged,” Nezumi muttered, and then, before Shion could blink, Nezumi’s hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him into the water.

The shock of the cool ocean made Shion gasp; that had probably been Nezumi’s intention. With a few powerful flicks of his tail, Nezumi propelled them away from the shore, banking downward into the deeper ends of the shallows.

“You saved me, human,” Nezumi’s voice purred in his ear, sending goosebumps skittering down his bare arms. “So, I suppose it’s only fair to reward you.”

Drowning is a reward? Shion had thought. He’d opened his mouth to tell Nezumi that drowning wouldn’t work on him, that he wasn’t human—and Nezumi’s mouth closed over his own.

Shion’s eyes widened. Nezumi’s mouth was cool, but his soft lips sent waves of warmth through each nerve ending in Shion’s body. His eyes slid shut, the gentle shifts of the ocean waves rustling above his head. Tendrils of Nezumi’s long, dark hair brushed against his cheeks. Shion fought the urge to reach his hands out and brush his fingers through it, wondering at how soft it would feel.

An eternity later, Nezumi drew back, his arms still wrapped around Shion’s shoulders. Shion swallowed a mouthful of seawater and opened his eyes.

Nezumi’s silver eyes hovered a few inches in front of his own. He looked down at Shion—still alive, still staring at him in wonder—and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “You…” he said slowly. “You’re not drowning.”

“I am not.”

“You’re… like me?”

"Yeah. Well, half, anyway.”

“Oh,” Nezumi said, and that had been the beginning of it all.

From the moment Shion laid eyes on Nezumi, he’d known there was something different about him. Not just because he had a tail and looked like a god, but because he wasn’t like anyone else Shion had ever met in his life.

Nezumi had a vicious sense of humor. Nezumi was sarcastic and cold. He mocked Shion and poked fun at his wetsuit—black with bright red accents, because it made him feel at least somewhat attractive and it was comfortable—and he never understood how Shion could enjoy walking around on land when there was a whole ocean to explore.

But there was so much more to Nezumi than his sarcasm. He loved listening to stories. His laugh sounded like bells. He sang songs when he and Shion were alone, and he knocked Safu off her surfboard as a joke until she kicked him in the shoulder and tried to wrestle him underwater, both of them shrieking with laughter.

“Shion!”

He lifted his head, startled from his memories, and spotted Nezumi hurrying across the parking lot.

It was strange, seeing him with a pair of legs rather than a long black tail, but at least he’d changed out of the vibrant green tee-shirt Rikiga insisted his staff members wear to be more visible. Shion had never been more grateful than the day he’d been given permission to wear whatever he wanted as long as he wore a lab coat over it during work hours. As the son of Rikiga’s good friend (Crush, Safu insisted, and Shion gallantly ignored her), Shion received something akin to “special treatment” from Rikiga, though he never asked for it.

He was still wearing the cargo pants and black boots he’d been wearing earlier, but in place of the tee shirt was a black leather jacket that Shion had to admit looked stunning on him. It mixed well with his long, dark hair and piercing eyes; it was a wonder that he’d made it to the aquarium at all. How did he get through each day without a horde of people swarming around him?

Shion looked down at his cell phone. The screen flashed its white numbers, announcing seven-twenty-five. Shion’s heart skipped a bit, and he tried to compose himself as Nezumi trotted up beside him.

“You’re early,” he said softly.

“Didn’t want to risk being late,” Nezumi replied. “You don’t deserve that.”

Shion huffed through his nose. “Let’s go inside. We can talk there.”

“OK,” Nezumi mumbled.

Shion let them in the employee entrance. He shut the door behind them, then made a bee line for the elevator leading up to the observatory room near Number Six.

“Where are you going?” Nezumi called after him.

“Let’s go to Number Six,” Shion called back. “It’ll be easier to talk if we don’t worry about people walking in on us.”

“The aquarium’s closed, though.” Nezumi caught up to him rather quickly. He strode beside Shion, his long legs easily keeping pace with Shion’s brisk stride. “Who’d walk in?”

"Well, hopefully, no one. But you never know what employees have left things behind. So it’d be better not to be talking about… things where people could overhear.”

“Good point,” Nezumi murmured.

The elevator ride up to the observatory room was silent and awkward. Shion shifted from one foot to the other, and Nezumi lingered on the far end of the little room to give him space. Shion could feel those piercing silver eyes sliding toward him, then quickly darting away when Shion tried to look back. It sent prickles through his body, and he clenched his fists to focus on something else.

When the elevator dinged and signaled their arrival at the observatory, Nezumi stepped out of the room and half-jogged across the tile floor and toward the top of the tank. The lights had been dimmed, only a few bulbs bright and illuminating the dome. Nezumi quickly unzipped the black leather jacket and tossed it casually to the floor, revealing a long-sleeved yellow shirt beneath it.

“Nezumi?” Shion asked.

Nezumi didn’t answer. He shucked off his shirt, and beneath it he wore a black sleeveless shirt that Shion suspected was meant to keep him from being bare-chested in the water.

“Um,” Shion said, feeling his face heating up. “What exactly are you doing?”

"Proof,” Nezumi called over his shoulder. He swooped down to undo his black boots, kicking them off into the corner beside Number Six’s main pool.

“Proof of what?” Shion asked, but Nezumi didn’t answer. He unbuttoned his pants, and Shion quickly looked away. His face burned, and only when he heard the sound of water splashing did he turn back.

Nezumi popped back up, grabbing the side of the tank and folding his arms on top of it. He rested his chin on his wrists and looked up at Shion. His silver eyes (exactly as Shion remembered, even years later) glittered in the fluorescent lights. His hair was still in a ponytail, several strands falling down over where his ears would be.

“Just wanted to make sure you knew it was really me,” Nezumi said, and with a flick of his tail, he sent a few droplets of water raining down over Shion’s head.

His tail.

Shion’s heart stopped. When Shion met Nezumi, the first thing he’d noticed (after the eyes) had been his tail. Unlike the bright blues and greens of Disney and childhood picture books, Nezumi’s tale was dark black and flecked with deep blue. The fins were wider and longer at the base, almost lace-like and elegant. Beneath the surface of the water, Shion couldn’t seen what they looked like at the hips (he was still wearing the lime green West Block Aquarium staff tee shirt, which didn’t suit him at all), but from his memory, he knew that the scales melded into flesh around his navel.

Shion crouched beside the tank, his stomach tightening. “Why now?”

Nezumi’s tail sank back below the surface of the water. Shion could see it swaying idly back and forth, the way a human might churn their feet lazily to keep themselves afloat in calm seas.

Shion knew Nezumi’s tail would be cold if he touched it. So would his skin. Nezumi was always cold. Not his personality, but—all right, sometimes his personality, too, but mostly his skin and tail were cool whenever Shion touched them. Even years later, he could remember the way it felt to smooth his hand over Nezumi’s hip, counting the blue scales peppered throughout. Nezumi’s tail reminded him of obsidian, black at first glance, with flecks of gray and purple and blue when it moved and the light shifted across it.

Nezumi’s eyes lowered to the floor between them. A harsh silence fell around them, punctuated only by the buzzing of the lights overhead and the glug-glug of the industrial-sized water filter.

“I didn’t mean to disappear for so long,” Nezumi explained, and his voice held so much conviction that Shion didn’t doubt him.

“You said that.”

“When I went back, something… happened.”

Shion raised an eyebrow.

Nezumi’s fingers wove into his damp bangs, which were so long they fell over his left eye, and gave them a yank. Shion’s heart clenched; he recognized it as an old habit Nezumi had when they were teenagers, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable. His nails were still pale and long, neat despite the distinct lack of access to quality salon service beneath the ocean’s waves.

“A human found the town where I lived,” he said quietly. “Under the ocean. When I wasn’t visiting you at the beach.”

Shion felt something clamp around his heart.

He knew what it meant if humans discovered the existence of the Children of the Sea. Humans, as much as Shion might have liked to believe otherwise, couldn’t stand knowing that there were resources they hadn’t been able to exploit. And the existence of merpeople would be a scientific miracle—enough that some greedy bastard would utilize it to try and earn millions.

“What happened?” Shion whispered. He hadn’t recalled seeing any breaking news headlines about merpeople; he definitely would have seen something like that, unless the government came swooping in to silence it.

Nezumi’s tail twitched under the water, clearly agitated. “Instead of running to the news,” he said through his teeth, “this idiot decided to try and capture one of us and bring them to the shore as evidence. Needless to say, the rest of us didn’t take kindly to that.”

“I’d imagine not.”

“But what we didn’t count on,” Nezumi said, his voice lowering, “was the oil.” He rested his hand flat on the water’s surface, letting it bounce gently beneath the water and then lifting it back up. “He emptied a container of oil into the water—not sure where he got it—and lit a match. I didn’t know it was that flammable.”

Shion listened as Nezumi explained how the flames had burned the Children of the Sea, who were unaccustomed to the sensation due to their inexperience with burning things. The oil doused them and made them sink below, unable to swim and avoid the flames. The water didn’t seem to stop it, the sticky substance creating an odd shield that didn’t mix well with the water, keeping the two materials separate from each other.

His heart ached at the thought of all the Children of the Sea who had suffered—according to Nezumi��s whispered story, the whole town had gone down in flames. A decent chunk of them had managed to escape, Nezumi included, but the majority of them…

The majority of them had burned to death.

“I’m sorry,” Shion whispered as Nezumi lapsed into uncomfortable silence. “Oh, Nezumi, I’m so sorry.”

“I was so angry,” Nezumi replied. “When I woke up and realized what had happened, I was so angry I couldn’t think of anything else. I was hurt. I was scared. And I couldn’t think of anything except how much I hated humans.”

Shion frowned. Nezumi’s dislike for humans wasn’t new to him. And fortunately, Nezumi had never spat Shion’s half-human heritage in his face. If anything, he seemed as fascinated by Shion’s legs as Shion was about his tail. The only difference was that Nezumi could have had a pair of his own—he stubbornly chose not to—and Shion had never been able to pop a tail no matter how many (embarrassing) times he’d attempted.

“When I woke up, I didn’t know where I was,” Nezumi went on. “All I knew was that my back hurt and everyone else I knew was dead. For a while things were just… bad. I couldn’t move, and when I tried, it just made me realize that there was a chance I was going to die, too, and I hated it. After a while, I could move, and I just left.”

“Left?” Shion echoed.

“I couldn’t stand being there,” Nezumi said under his breath. “Everywhere I looked I could see all the people I knew, and then I remembered that because of one greedy fucking human, they were gone. We took him down with us—Sasori, I think, yanked him off the boat and drowned him—but it didn’t feel like enough. It didn’t matter that he was dead, too. It didn’t matter that, miraculously, I’d survived whatever the hell he did to us. It just didn’t matter.”

Shion swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes stung.

“I wanted to come back,” Nezumi went on, his voice painfully soft. Shion had to strain to hear him. “I wanted to at least tell you why I was going. But every time I thought about going back to that place, something just made me leave. It’s not an excuse, and I know it’s not a good enough reason to make you think that I just abandoned you, but I couldn’t—couldn’t get past the anger. I hated everyone. I hated myself. I was so angry, and there was no coming back from it. And I didn’t…” He waved his hands, agitated, the words slipping away from him. He huffed and said, “I didn’t want to take it out on you. It’s so fucking stupid, but I didn’t want to shout at you and blame you, and I was so angry with humans that I knew I would. If I saw you then, I’d only see the human part of you and blame you for things you had nothing to do with. That’s not fair. I know it’s not. And I’m not asking you to forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me, either.”

“Then why come back?” Shion whispered. He’d moved forward, almost like an instinct, and sat at the edge of the tank, a few inches from Nezumi’s face. “Why come back at all?”

“Because I missed you,” Nezumi whispered back, as strong and as sure as if he’d simply stated the color of the morning sky. “I missed you. When the anger cooled, you were all I could think about. I had no way of knowing if you were even still here, or if you’d even want to see me after I just left, but if there was a chance, I wanted to take it.”

Shion’s throat tightened. He swallowed around the lump that had lodged there and ordered himself not to cry. He was angry. He was supposed to be angry. And yet, beneath the anger was wave after wave of relief that Nezumi was alive.

“So… the aquarium?”

Nezumi shrugged. “It seemed like a good job for a Child of the Sea. I filled out the application and they called me back. I didn’t know you were working here. But once I got a job and… established myself here, I wanted to find you.”

“Established yourself?”

“I wanted a way to prove to you that I wanted to stay. If you told me to fuck off and never wanted to see me again, I would understand. But I wanted a way to prove to you that I intend to stay this time.”

Shion’s hands tightened around the lip of the tank. Emotions whirled inside him like a tsunami, and he felt as if he was caught in the middle of it, unable to surface. Stinging tears prickled at the backs of his eyes, and he forced back the urge to cry. Once he started, he knew he’d never stop. He scraped the back of his hand beneath his eyes, widening them just a bit to keep from crying.

He was still angry. Of course he was. But he couldn’t imagine how badly it hurt. He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if his mother’s bakery burnt down, with her and Safu and everyone else he knew trapped inside.

He took a deep breath, feeling it catching inside his chest around the ball of anger and sorrow and raw fucking hope that’d nestled within.

"Where are you staying?” Shion murmured.

Nezumi perked up, but kept his voice steady as he answered, “A motel down on Seventh Street. By the boardwalk. You remember.”

“I do.” Shion pressed his lips together. “It’s not too far from my house. What’s your schedule?”

"I’m off tomorrow, but I think I’m working open to close on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. The old man says hours will pick up some time, but he wasn’t specific.”

“Do you have a car?”

“Can’t drive,” Nezumi answered, much too quickly, and Shion couldn’t help the laugh that cracked out of his throat. “I can barely walk—don’t laugh at me. This is serious.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Shion said, but his lips were tugging upward at the corners. He had to admit, despite everything that’d happened, it was pretty fucking funny. Nezumi—elegant, perfect, beautiful, wonderful Nezumi, whose every movement was the physical definition of grace—was clumsy on the land.

“Yes, you are,” Nezumi groused, but when Shion stole a glance up into his face, he was smiling, too.

God, his smile.

Even after all these years, he was still as beautiful as the day Shion met him.

“Well,” Shion said, and dammit, if his voice wobbled, Nezumi better not comment on it. “The boardwalk’s on my way to the aquarium, and if you’re working about the same schedule as me, I wouldn’t mind picking you up and bringing you home.”

Nezumi’s eyes widened.

“I’m not ready to forgive you just yet,” Shion explained. “You really hurt me. I understand why you left, but I wish you had just… I don’t know, said something to me so I didn’t think you were dead. I know that might be petty of me, given what happened, and I’m sorry for that.”

“It’s not petty,” Nezumi assured. “I was an asshole.”

“Yeah, but you almost died.” Shion exhaled through his nose. “And I missed you, too.”

Nezumi laughed; it crackled a bit at the edges, and Shion couldn’t help it. He leaned forward, his arms reaching out—and miraculously, Nezumi reached back. Shion slid his arms around Nezumi’s shoulders and rested his forehead against the crook of Nezumi’s neck. He smelled like sea salt and an odd floral scent Shion had never been able to identify but could always remember. Despite being half fish, Nezumi never smelled like anything Shion would have expected.

Nezumi’s arms tightened around his shoulders and squeezed back. “I really did miss you,” he murmured against the top of Shion’s head.

“I missed you, too,” Shion said, and it was true. As angry and hurt as he was with Nezumi’s sudden disappearance, nothing about that had changed. “I’m not ready to go back to the way things were, and I can’t promise that I will be…”

“That’s fine,” Nezumi assured, burying his face in Shion’s hair. “I’m just glad to be here, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

This was more emotion and honesty than Shion had ever gotten out of Nezumi about his feelings, and it felt as if a sudden, burning heat had cracked through the darkness in his heart. His memories of his summers spent as a teenager came flooding back to him, and all at once, he was back on the beach, stretched out on a scratchy beach blanket with Nezumi’s arms wrapped around him. His tail rested over Shion’s legs, comfortingly cool in the midsummer heat, and heavy in a way that reminded Shion of a weighted blanket.

Nothing about it was perfect. Shion knew this. The frustration and pain wouldn’t disappear overnight, and just because Nezumi apologized didn’t mean he was free and clear of blame. But for a few moments, wrapped in his arms, Shion understood that at least he was back and they could work through it together.

He sighed, pressed himself against Nezumi’s cool, solid body, and reveled in the realization that yes, he was back. He was back, and he wanted to be here. The shush-shush of the water in Number Six fell around them, creating a comfortable mimicry of the waves that’d collapsed over Shion’s head the day Nezumi hauled him into the ocean and tried to drown him. Shion closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Nezumi’s shoulders, and for the first time in years, could finally breathe.

[v8pontiacgirl]

04July2021

I’m still in shock that issues are likely caused by horrible allergies that are likely caused by mold in my house. Due to memory issues, I decided to make a timeline of the last six years, when this started.

September 2015–moved into the house. I was working full time, going to school full time and experiencing allergy issues, such as a sore throat, headaches, and very dry eyes (to the point that I was no longer able to wear my contacts). I actually kept getting allergic conjunctivitis, so I switched to my glasses full time. I’d been able to wear contacts for about 15 years without issues prior to this.

February 2016–injured my knee and found out I had a discoid lateral meniscus with a tear that was hanging up in my knee joint. It took months to get any kind of relief for my knee because the tear didn’t initially show up on the MRI, and because discoid meniscus issues usually show up earlier in life if they are going to be a problem, I wasn’t taken seriously. During this time, I was having issues working because of pain and inability to walk. Also started having more issues with being harassed at work by coworkers. I began to work less and less until I finally quit in September. I had already finished out school in June. I would have had to transfer to a community college two hours away to continue my degree in the fall, and since my knee was being problematic, I decided to hold off.

October 2016–Had my knee surgery. About a week or two afterwards, I got my first vertigo spell (although I didn’t realize it was vertigo at the time). This would become the first of many instances that I would deal with “flares” that would make functioning very difficult for me.

October 2016-March 2017–Some days were better than others. I went to the doctor and blood work and many tests were done. My thyroid levels fluctuated a little, but ultimately seemed ok eventually. Everything else looked normal, except my white blood cell count was always elevated. I was told I was perfectly healthy. The dizziness? It was POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome), a chronic illness that I had been diagnosed with in 2005 that honestly had never given me too many issues in the past, as long as I stayed hydrated and ate salty foods. I was given some common POTS meds to help me retain water, but, as medications typically do not agree with me, I had too many side effects and was unable to take them.

April 2017-August 2017–I’d been feeling better for about a month (since March), and I was anxious to be back in school. Culinary school had caught my eye a few months prior, so I signed up for the spring cohort. I was in the evening cohort, and I was realizing that my allergies were being aggravated by *something*, so my mornings from 7am to noon were spent cleaning, and from noon to about 8pm, were spent at school. I was able to complete two terms of culinary school. There was to be about a little over a month break from the middle of August to the end of September before fall term began. I went to California in August after finishing Summer term for a few days to visit friends. After returning, I started to feel like I was going into another “flare”. Gradually, my health got worse and worse.

September 2017-February 2018–by the end of September, when it was time to go back to culinary school, I was bedridden. The vertigo was so bad that I was unable to do anything except remain horizontal. For about six months again, my health was unbearable and I was unable to function.

March-April 2018–I finally began to feel a little better in March and April (also around the time when I started to get outside to do more garden things), and decided that I would try to go back to culinary school for summer term (the cohorts had changed because of a new director, and so there were classes I could take toward my degree). It’s really interesting that my heath was generally better the more I was able to get out of the house.

June 2018-August 2018—I was doing a lot of outdoor garden things in the afternoons and going to school for several hours every morning. I was even hired to help cater a wedding in August. My health seemed mostly under control, with only minor symptoms.

September 2018-December 2018—The end of September, I began my fourth term of culinary school. I also joined the culinary team, so pretty much all of my time was spent at school, even most of December, when the other students went home for break, I stayed at school trying to perfect my dish for competition. I was fatigued, but my health was mostly stable.

January 2019–After a *very* brief break, I was back in school for one whole day of winter term. I was definitely feeling fatigued because I hadn’t really gotten a break (and probably, in hindsight, because my allergies had really worn me down, too), and I was told by the coach that he was kicking me off the team because he was concerned my health problems would hold the team back, and he wanted to win. My health had not been an issue that he had seen at all, but he just thought it was too much of a risk to keep me. If I wouldn’t have disclosed that I had health problems when I tried out for team, I don’t think this would have happened. Anyway, I was pretty angry, especially after all the time I’d put in. Since the coach was also the director of the school, and there had also been an issue with the instructor quitting and a new instructor having to take over at the end of the last term, I decided that this culinary school really wasn’t worth my time or money any longer, so I quit. Immediately after, I bought the rest of the books that I would have needed for school and began to teach myself techniques with sugar and chocolate. I decided I was going to start focusing more seriously on Spoon Life Bakery, my cottage bakery business that I had started in July 2017.

February 2019-March 2020—I was the most busy I’d been in a while. Garden projects, baking projects, and painting projects took up all my time. From August 2019 to the beginning of March 2020, I was more busy than I wanted to be with my short lived restaurant project. The restaurant actually opened in October, but there was a lot of prep work prior. All of this kept me out of the house for most of the day. I was exhausted, but not symptomatic. Basically, during this time period, I was either outside, or at another location for the majority of the time. During the rainy months (December 2019-March 2020), the basement of the house flooded. It had always been musty and damp down there, but it had never flooded like that.

March-May 2020—I closed the restaurant in March, and began to be at home a lot more often. I started going hard with Spoon Life Bakery again, baking out of my home kitchen. I got back into Jiu Jitsu. I was doing ok, but by May, I started to feel like something wasn’t right again.

May-December 2020—My health “flared” a little during this time. It wasn’t as bad overall as it had been, but some days were better than others. Some days the vertigo made me bedridden. It was unpredictable. In May, I had to quit Jiu Jitsu again because I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t have the stamina to keep doing it.

January-May 2021–I’d had enough descent days that I decided to try to try to go back to Jiu Jitsu, or rather, a self defense class based on Jiu Jitsu. This class ran twice a week through March, and I was able to keep up and not miss a class. The basement flooded again, so we moved the dehumidifier into the storage room where the majority of the water was coming in. After self defense was over, I started regular jiu jitsu again in April, but felt much more exhausted than usual. My vertigo was getting worse to the point that it was always present. I took a break from Jiu Jitsu again in May.

May-June 2021—My throat was so sore, that I thought I had tonsillitis. My left ear was plugged. I felt like I was getting sick with some sort of virus, except it went on for weeks without getting better. I saw an ENT in mid June. He thought maybe I had Meniere’s, but didn’t officially diagnose me, since I needed to get a hearing test, which is scheduled for this month, and at the time of writing this has not happened yet. Other than that, he didn’t see anything else that alerted him. Soon after, I began to get very sick with horrible vertigo. I was bedridden again.

July 2021–Until the 2nd, I was in an absolutely horrible flare that had lasted without relief for about two weeks. I was convinced that this was just my life now, and in desperation, I called the doctor. She told me to come in that same day. Normally, I don’t leave the house when I’m feeling my worst. I had to keep laying down at the doctor’s because my vertigo was so bad. The doctor performed her usual tests, and looked in my nose. She informed me that it was very inflamed and swollen and she wasn’t sure how I was able to breathe out of it. I admitted that every morning, my nose is stuffed up pretty badly. She prescribed the Montelukast, that I’m unable to take because of side effects, and told me that she really thinks that allergies are causing my vertigo because the ear nose and throat are all connected. At first, I was discouraged with this diagnosis, because I felt like she was brushing off my symptoms. *Just* allergies?! I couldn’t believe allergies could cause such severe symptoms.

We made a few more stops after visiting the doctor, and when I’d been out of the house for about an hour and a half, I miraculously started feeling a little better. What?? Was the doctor right? I knew my house was probably triggering my allergies, but I didn’t think it was *that* bad.

Getting out of the house for two hours brought me out of one of my worst flairs. I’m now about 99.9% that mold in my house, specifically the basement, is making me sick. I’m going to keep testing this to be sure, but I’m now filled with some hope that I may be able to lead a much less depressing life. Time will tell.

[pumpkaaboo]

Madoka Magica rewatch: episode 1

Hey guys! I’ve decided to rewatch Puella Magi Madoka Magica (considering that the last time I watched it, I was 12, up past my bedtime, and at a sleepover with my friends. we watched the whole thing in one night. needless to say, a lot of things flew over my head). I want to pay attention to two things in particular: symbolism, and parallels to Revolutionary Girl Utena (specifically, eggs. that will make sense if you’ve seen utena). Most of what I’m going to talk about is probably a reach and/or not intended by the creators, but hey, overanalyzing every minute detail of things to the death is fun. (Note: these posts will contain spoilers for the entirety of madoka magica, and probably bits of utena as well) If you don’t want to see these posts, you can blacklist the tags “#pmmm” or “#pmmm rewatch”. Without further ado, let’s get into it!

So right off the bat, we have a parallel to utena. The very first shot in both...

...is a curtain being raised. This is very interesting to me; it gives the idea that what we’re about to see is a performance of some kind. Whether it means that the whole thing is a performance, or just the dream/flashback we’re about to see, is something I’ll have to look out for. Regardless, just as in utena, I’m going to take this as an indication that what I’m about to watch should not be taken at face value.

Also worthy of note that this is the first time we get to see the beautiful paper cutout style in the witch labyrinths. It’s one of the defining artistic features of this anime, and I can’t wait to see it again.

Then there’s a shot of what appears to be a grief seed with some text in a conlang I can’t read and then... this.

...yeah, I’m at a loss. Is this Madoka’s witch? I think it might be. The background kind of looks like a record from this angle, but broken by that black... slice? bar? witch? Also, there’s the sound of what I think is a tape running through a film projector-yet another indication that what’s to come is a story a performance, not necessarily reflective of reality. However, in contrast to Utena, which uses theater/live performances and plays, Madoka seems to be using film. Film is static, unchanging-you can watch a movie as many times as you want, but aside from file corruption or physical damage to your equipment, it will play out exactly the same way. Theater, meanwhile, is much more dynamic-the actors and the audience have a tremendous amount of influence on the way things go, even if specific plot points must remain the same. I like that, as a difference between the two, because while in Utena, the duelists are always different and the circumstances of the cycle are always changing (even if the end result is always the same), while in Madoka, Homura is repeating the exact same month, and everyone else stays exactly the same except for her (the audience? much to think about).

We have several shots of Madoka running through this stark black and white landscape. She’s the only spot of color in it, and each shot is more impossible and dreamlike than the last.

Finally, she comes to this bright green exit sign-a complementary color to her hair. It’s surrounded by darkness and metal fencing (only visible in the previous shot)-perhaps meaning that, for Madoka to be able to move forward, she will have to travel into darkness, towards something the opposite of herself? I also find the framing of the shot to be very reminiscent of this:

Madoka must ascend the stairs before opening the door, however, not after. I’ll talk a bit more about this parallel later, though, because Madoka opens the door and sees...

...that. Walpurgisnacht has the same pattern behind her that the weird shot of the record did earlier, so maybe I was misreading that and it’s supposed to represent her, not Madoka’s witch whose name escapes me. Also worthy of note that Madoka is moving from an unreal space of equal parts light and dark (where the two were distinctly separated) to a more “real” world of black and gray-and where darkness and the few patches of light often blend together smoothly. I think this is supposed to represent her idealistic worldview clashing against the world where Magical Girls must constantly risk their lives, make morally gray decisions, and fight witches for survival.

I’m not really sure of what to think of the parallel between Madoka entering the battle with Walpurgisnacht and Utena entering the dueling arena, but if we take it as her going from a place inside of her own mind, where her assumptions about the world are unchallenged, into a place where a battle of ideology where no one is truly, 100% noble (even though some may hold the definite moral high ground) might work, but Utena’s dueling arena is also a place of trying to obtain that true nobility. Then again, that could be a parallel to Madoka’s wish in the end, couldn’t it? But I don‘t think it’s a 1-1 parallel, nor do I think it should be expected to be. I’m happy to think of it as a (possibly unintentional) nod to one of the show’s major influences.

Also I just noticed that Walpurgisnacht’s design sort of mirrors itself and works just as well upside down as right side up-hold on let me just-

yeah.

Here we have a shot of Madoka standing on a maze of scaffolding-the path ahead of her will be treacherous, full of dead ends and places to plummet to the ground. But we don’t have time to talk about that because HOMURA

So our first shot of this character-arguably tied for “most important in the show” with Madoka herself-is from a distance, standing on a pillar of darkness, surrounded by flashing red lights. The camera constantly focuses in and out-she’s distant, and it’s hard to figure out what she’s doing or thinking. But then we cut closer to her-

-and we see her face right before she gets hit by a skyscraper-

-and it becomes clear that whoever this is, she’s someone to pay attention to, someone whose inner mind and motivations the series will be exploring. Also I love how she’s not scared of the skyscraper at all, seeming to view it as more of a minor inconvenience more than anything. Because to her, it is!

Also, here we have the first actual bright colors in the show besides the green exit sign. I note that Homura is raising her shield here, not firing one of her (many) guns/explosives-our first impression of her is a mysterious one, but also of protection, though who or what she’s trying to protect remains to be seen.

...and here we have the first voice line of the series. Seems appropriate, given the general tone, but I also think it’s important to note that our first impression of Homura is protectiveness, and our first impression of Madoka is compassion and sympathy...

...while our first impression of Kyubey is fatalism and discouragement. Not exactly a good look for a character who’s supposed to be guiding and supporting the heroes, huh. Kyubey knows exactly what he’s after, and he knows exactly how to get it.

And here we have the entire thesis of Madoka’s character in one line.

Seriously, all of it’s right there! Compassion for those suffering, an acknowledgement that the current circumstances are unjust, are wrong. This isn’t how magical girl shows are supposed to go, this isn’t how heroes are supposed to have to fight, and Madoka is unwilling to accept a world where this level of injustice is the norm. God, what a great way to introduce the entire main conflict of both the protagonist and the show!

Here’s our first clear shot of Kyubey, and he looks even more blank and eerie than usual-I think it’s the fact that he has no visible pupils. Also a great bit of foreshadowing; you don’t typically introduce a character that’s going to be helpful like this.

Kyubey tells Madoka that she has the power to change this fate-to alter the horrible destiny in front of her. “Can I really?” asks Madoka.

That’s why Madoka wants power-she wants to be able to help. And she can, but she’ll have to be very careful about how she words her wish, because otherwise, she might just end up making things worse. It’s worth noting that she wants to change the ending-perhaps foreshadowing her eventual wish to stop magical girls from becoming witches (any girl who cannot become a princess..), changing the inevitable end of their lives.

I love how the branches of the tree(?) are breaking up the frame, making it look fractured or like slash marks, showing how the characters are broken and disoriented, and visually representing the separation between Madoka, Homura, and Walpurgisnacht. It’s a neat trick that was used to great effect in Adolescence of Utena (though usually it was associated specifically with blades or impalement in that case).

Kyubey offers his contract to Madoka, and she looks at the camera, determined, crowned and wreathed by the rubble around her...

...and then wakes up, in her bed, surrounded by warmth and pink and soft things and hearts. Also, I think the aspect ratio changed at this part? I’m not really sure why that is-maybe to convey that they’re going from the cinematic final conflict to Madoka’s everyday life?

Silhouetted by the warm window behind her almost like a halo, watched by her stuffed animals and embracing another, Madoka asks if it was all a dream. She noticeably sits up so her entire head is in the light, and then leans down so only half of it is-she hasn’t fully committed to the heroism she’ll come to embody yet.

Okay, that’s enough for now, it’s been like two hours and I’ve only gotten through one scene. I was hoping to be able to get through this quickly, but I should have known better. Part 2 of this episode coming... at some point, hopefully.

[jackalbones]

So, a year ago my health was a lot better. I was tired but it’s really over the past year that my major deterioration has happened. Some of my last posts involved going to Leeds for the UK KO meet. Now I’m practically housebound, and have to manage my energy carefully within the house.

I’m not feeling too negative about that right now, as my thoughts on what might be causing it have cycled around to sleep apnea, and that’s treatable. So fingers crossed in that regard.

As for an update, well, I was glancing back and actually, this post seems like an interesting place to start, and a healthy reminder for me. To go over where I’ve got with those goals:

I’ve started meditating again in the past couple of weeks, but honestly, being severely ill and having your life grind to a halt, having your life goals snatched from you, has a way of being very... grounding. I’ve made a lot of peace over the past year with things going how they need to go. I’ve got better at managing my mental health as well. The only thing that continues to frustrate me is my physical health, but I’m doing better at not getting tangled in my emotions with that too often.

Yeah I fucked this, due to health. With that said, in the new year I apparently pulled some kind of motivation out of my arse. A month or two ago I’d found the energy to move my shrine to a better spot, more accessible, and then when I started meditation a couple weeks ago I meshed it with Senut and so far so good. Touch wood.

I’ve come at this from various angles, most of which got pushed aside due to my health. But honestly the main one I keep coming back to is that I like just, being there. I like being a friendly face, I like giving advice. I feel like that is what I am supposed to do. And I’ve started doing it again, I think, in recent months. At least I hope people are getting good out of my input.

Got this done finally at least. Haven’t devoted to using it much yet, but hopefully once I’m settled in with my Senut routine it will be “safe” to.

Did this a bit. Half the reason I managed to move my Senut shrine is that there was space due to me cutting down. So that’s good.

I lost my way with Sau for a while. I couldn’t do one of the tasks at all, physically, and that discouraged me from Sau altogether. I think I’ve found a way though so I’ve started back up, though it’s still hard to find the energy and brainspace.

Still trying. Doing a little better with Serqet, at least.

Per 1, I think I am doing better at this. A lot of this is to do with priesthood, although a lot isn’t, and I think I’m doing good at actually just... existing. Striving to become better for its own sake.

I sent an email to Hemet updating her on my situation, and per that email, even if my health makes priesthood as a job inaccessible to me, I want priesthood as an ideal to be something that stays with me always.

I’m trying to be someone I’d admire. Health be damned, I think I like the progress I’m making.

[stereostevie]

“I sacrificed the quality of my life to help people experience something that had been unreachable before then,” Grammy winner says in rare interview

In the late Nineties, the story of popular music became the story of Ms. Lauryn Hill. She first rose to fame as an actress and a member of the Fugees, whose second and final album, 1996’s The Score, remains one of that decade’s biggest albums. Then, at just 22 years old, Hill took a huge leap and decided to go solo. Released in 1998, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill filled clubs, radio stations, and MTV with her smooth voice and biting rhymes. Hill herself became as big as her music, appreciated in the fashion world and sought after by movie executives for roles she would eventually decline.

Miseducation took home five Grammy Awards and led to a huge tour. But by the early 2000s, Ms. Hill left behind the fame and the industry almost entirely. She has never released another studio album; her last full-length release was MTV Unplugged No. 2.0 from 2002, where she performed new songs in an acoustic style to a largely tepid reception.

The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill lives on. More than 20 years after its release, it is still regarded as one of the best albums ever made, landing at Number 10 on Rolling Stone’s voter-based 500 Greatest Albums of All Time List this past fall. Many of her songs continue to permeate culture, like the single “Ex-Factor,” which has been sampled or interpolated on major hits by Drake and Cardi B. Beyond that, the album’s impact on multiple generations of musicians is unmistakeable. Everyone from Rihanna to St. Vincent has cited Hill as having heavily influenced their own music.  

The years that followed Miseducation have been complicated. After the album’s release, some of Hill’s collaborators filed a lawsuit claiming she did not properly credit them for their contributions; that suit was settled out of court three years later on undisclosed terms. In 2012, she was charged with tax fraud, and went on to serve three months in prison. More recently, she has found herself back on the road more frequently, sporadically releasing music but mostly basking in the collective love and power of Miseducation through special performances of the album.

For the latest episode of Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums podcast, Ms. Hill granted a rare interview on the making of Miseducation as well as what happened after. Over e-mail, she spoke candidly about protecting her family and the little support she had after her first album cycle ended. Excerpts from the interview can be heard in the podcast episode, available on Amazon Music, along with tales from several of the musicians who were part of those sessions, like “Commissioner Gordon” Williams, Lenesha Randolph, and Vada Nobles. Ms. Hill’s written responses are here in full.

When you began recording Miseducation, you were 22 and already experiencing immense success with the Fugees. What were you hoping to prove with this album? As far as proving myself goes, I think that’s a larger and more involved story best told at a later time, but I will say that the success of the Fugees absolutely set up The Miseducation to be as big and as well received as it was. When I decided that I wanted to try a solo project I was met with incredible resistance and discouragement from a number of places that should have been supportive, so that had a motivating factor, but it was less about proving myself and more about creating something I wanted to see and hear exist in the world. There were ideas, notions and concepts that I wanted to exist, I set off in a particular direction and kept going. Initially, I intended to work with other producers and artists but found that what I wanted to say and hear may have been too idiosyncratic at the time to just explain it and have someone else try to make it. It had to be made in a more custom manner. The team of people who would ultimately be involved, we all witnessed as it took form. It was unique and exciting.

You’ve said you found yourself especially creative during your pregnancy. How did that experience shape you as a songwriter?

It’s a wild thing to say but I was left alone during my pregnancies for the most part. It was like all of the people with all of their demands had to check themselves when I was pregnant. The resulting peace may have contributed to that sense of feeling more creative. I was pregnant with my first child during the making of The Miseducation and the situation was complicated, so I was motivated to find more stability and safety for myself and for my child, that definitely pushed me to disregard what appeared as limitations. If I struggled to fight for myself, I had someone else to fight for. This also introduced my first son’s father, Rohan Marley, into the picture, who at that time, was a protective presence. If there were people or forces attempting to prevent me from creating, he played a role in helping to keep that at bay.

During those times especially, I always wanted to be a motivator of positive change. It’s in all of my lyrics, that desire to see my community get out of its own way, identify and confront internal and external obstacles, and experience the heights of Love and self-Love that provoke transformation. I sang from that place and chose to share the joy and ecstasy of it, as well as the disappointments, entanglements and life lessons that I had learned at that point. I basically started out as a young sage lol.

When you look back on it now, is Miseducation the album you intended it to be? I’ve always been pretty critical of myself artistically, so of course there are things I hear that could have been done differently, but the LOVE in the album, the passion, its intention is, to me, undeniable. I think my intention was simply to make something that made my foremothers and forefathers in music and social and political struggle know that someone received what they’d sacrificed to give us, and to let my peers know that we could walk in that truth, proudly and confidently. At that time, I felt like it was a duty or responsibility to do so. I saw the economic and educational gaps in black communities and although I was super young myself, I used that platform to help bridge those gaps and introduce concepts and information that “we” needed even if “we” didn’t know “we” wanted it yet. Of course I’m referring to the proverbial “we.” These things had an enormous value to me and I cherished them from a very young age.

I also think the album stood apart from the types and cliches that were supposed to be acceptable at that time. I challenged the norm and introduced a new standard. I believe The Miseducation did that and I believe I still do this — defy convention when the convention is questionable. I had to move faster and with greater intention though than the dysfunctional norms that were well-established and fully funded then. I was apparently perceived by some as making trouble and being disruptive rather than appreciated for introducing solutions and options to people who hadn’t had them, for exposing beauty where oppression once reigned, and demonstrating how well these different cultural paradigms could work together. The warp speed I had to move at in order to defy the norm put me and my family under a hyper-accelerated, hyper-tense, and unfortunately under-appreciated pace. I sacrificed the quality of my life to help people experience something that had been unreachable before then. When I saw people struggle to appreciate what that took, I had to pull back and make sure I and my family were safe and good. I’m still doing that.

This album permeated culture in a way that few albums have before it existed and made you a massive star. How were you handling the public gaze at the time? There were definitely things I enjoyed about stardom, but there were definitely things I didn’t enjoy. I think most people appreciate being recognized and appreciated for their work and sacrifice. That, to me, is a given, but living a real life is essential for anyone trying to stay connected to reality and continue making things that truly affect people. This becomes increasingly harder to do in the “space” people try to place “stars” in.

The pedestal, to me, is as much about containment and control as it is adulation. Finding balance, clarity and sobriety can be very hard for some to maintain. For example, being yes’d to death isn’t good, and people fear stardom can only result in this, but if the actual answer is yes, being told no just to not appear a yes-man is silly. Never being told no if the answer is no by people afraid to disappoint will obviously also distort the mirror in which we view ourselves. On the other hand, a person with a vision can be way ahead, so people may say no with conviction and resist what they fear only to find out later that they were absolutely wrong.

The idea of artist as public property, I also always had a problem with that. I agreed to share my art, I’m not agreeing necessarily to share myself. The entitlement that people often feel, like they somehow own you, or own a piece of you, can be incredibly dangerous. I chafe under any kind of control like that and resist expectations that suggest I should somehow dumb-down and be predictable to make people feel comfortable rather than authentically express myself. I also resist unrealistic expectations placed on me by people who would never place those same requirements on themselves. I can be as diplomatic and as patient as I possibly can be. I can’t, however, sell myself short through constant self-deprecation and shrinking.

“The entitlement that people often feel, like they somehow own you, or own a piece of you, can be incredibly dangerous.”

Is there a version of “Lauryn Hill” that you feel people expected of you, and how did that compare to how you saw yourself? Absolutely, which I touched upon in the answers before this one. Life is life, to be lived, experienced and enjoyed with all of its dynamism and color. If you do something well that people enjoy, often they want the same experience over and over. A real person can be stifled and their growth completely stunted trying to do this without balance. It’s not a fair thing to ask of anyone. We all have to grow, we all have to express ourselves with as much fullness and integrity as we can manage. The celebrity is often treated like a sacrifice, the fatted calf, then boxed in and harshly judged for very normal and natural responses to abnormal circumstances.

I saw someone lambasted once for discussing episodes of anxiety before going on stage, as if anxiety was only a condition of the non-famous. It was absurd, like someone with a record out can’t get a common cold. Someone in love with the art doesn’t not experience fear or anxiety, they just do their best to transcend it or work beyond it so that the art or the passion can be made manifest. Some days are better than others. For some people it gets easier, for some it doesn’t. The unfairness, the harshness was excessive to me. I didn’t like how I was being treated at a certain point. I just wasn’t being treated well and definitely not in accordance with someone who’d contributed what I had. I had a ton of jealousy and competitiveness to contend with. That can exhaust or frustrate your efforts to make anything besides primal scream music, 😊.

Provoking that kind of aggravation was probably intentional. You have to find reasons to still do it, when you’re exposed to the ugly.  People often think it’s ok to project whatever they want to on someone they perceive as having “it all” or “having so/too much.” Hero worship can be an excuse for not taking care of your own sh#t. The flip side of that adulation can turn severely ugly, aggressive, and hostile if people make another person responsible for their sense of self-worth. You can either take that abuse or say no to it. After subjecting myself to it for years, I started to say no, and then no turned into hell no, then hell no turned into f#ck no…you get my point. 😊

If you could talk to yourself at 22 now, what would you say? I’d share the things I do now with my 22-year-old self. If I had known what I know now, things would probably have unfolded differently. I would have continued to invest in people but I would have made sure I had people with the love, strength, and integrity around me to really keep their eye on the prize and my well-being. The world is full of seduction and if they can’t seduce you, they go after the people you love or depend on in some way. I would have with greater understanding tried to do more to insulate myself and my loved ones from that kind of attack.

Looking back on that period of your life, do you have any regrets?

I have some periods of woe, some periods of sorrow and great pain, yes, but regret is tough because I ended up with a clarity I might not have been able to achieve any other way. I would have done a few things differently though if I could go back. I would have done my best to shield myself so that I could better shield my children.  I would have rejected the manipulation, unfair force and pressure put on me much earlier. I would have benefitted from having more awareness about the dangers of fame. I would have been more communicative with everyone truly involved with The Miseducation and fought hard for the importance of candid expression. I would have demanded what I needed and removed people antagonistic to that sooner than I did.

You have released music since Miseducation and have continued to play live. Do you ever foresee releasing another full-length studio album? The wild thing is no one from my label has ever called me and asked how can we help you make another album, EVER…EVER. Did I say ever? Ever! With The Miseducation, there was no precedent. I was, for the most part, free to explore, experiment and express. After The Miseducation, there were scores of tentacled obstructionists, politics, repressing agendas, unrealistic expectations, and saboteurs EVERYWHERE. People had included me in their own narratives of THEIR successes as it pertained to my album, and if this contradicted my experience, I was considered an enemy.

Artist suppression is definitely a thing. I won’t go too much into it here, but where there should have been overwhelming support, there wasn’t any. I began touring because I needed the creative outlet and to support myself and my family. People were more interested in breaking me or using me to battery-power whatever they had going on than to support my creativity. I create at the speed and flow of my inspiration, which doesn’t always work in a traditional system. I have always had to custom build what I’ve needed in order to get things done. The lack of respect and willingness to understand what that is, or what I need to be productive and healthy, doesn’t really sit well with me. When no one takes the time to understand, but only takes the time to count the money the fruit of this process produces, things can easily turn bad. Mistreatment, abuse, and neglect happen. I wrote an album about systemic racism and how it represses and stunts growth and harms (all of my albums have probably addressed systemic racism to some degree), before this was something this generation openly talked about. I was called crazy. Now…over a decade later, we hear this as part of the mainstream chorus. Ok, so chalk some of it up to leadership and how that works — I was clearly ahead, but you also have to acknowledge the blatant denial that went down with that. The public abuse and ostracizing while suppressing and copying what I had done, (I protested) with still no real acknowledgement that all of that even happened, is a lot.

“I wrote an album about systemic racism… before this was something this generation openly talked about. I was called crazy.”

I continue to tour and share with audiences all over the world, but I also full-time work on the trauma, stifling, and stunting that came with all of that and how my family and I were affected. In many ways, we’re living now, making up for years where we couldn’t be as free as we should have been able to. I had to break through a ton of unjust resistance, greed, fear and just plain human ugliness. Little else can rival freedom for me. If being a superstar means living a repressed life where people will only work with you or invest in your work if they can manipulate and control you, then I’m not sure how important music gets made without some tragic set of events following. I don’t subscribe to that.

Lastly, I appreciate the people who were moved by this body of work, which really represented a lifetime — up to that point — of love, experience, wisdom, family and community investment in me, the summation of my experience from relationships, my dreams, inspirations, aspirations and God’s ever-present grace and Love in my life through the lens of my 20-something but wise-sage existence, lol. I dreamed big, I didn’t think of limits, I really only thought of the creative possibilities and addressing the needs as I saw them at that time. I also had the support of a community of talented artists, thinkers, and doers, friends and family around me. Their primary efforts (THEN) seemed to be to help clear a path and to help protect. However, when you effectively create something powerful enough to move the bulls#t out of the way, all kinds of forces and energies may not like that. They may seek to corrupt and discourage, to disrupt and distract, to divide, and sabotage…but we bore witness to the fact that this happened — a young, black woman through hip-hop culture, a legacy of soul, Spirit and an appreciation for education and educating others communicated love and timeless and necessary messages to the world.

The music business can be an industry of entanglements, where a small number of people are expected to be responsible for a very large number of people. It’s hard to find fairness in a situation like that. Now, I look for as much equity and fairness as possible. I appreciate being loved for my contributions to music, but it’s important to be loved for who you are as a person just as much, and that can be a delicate but extremely important balance to achieve. Experiencing that is important to me.