our childhood is a lie

Koujaku's birthday Drama CD
Koujaku's birthday Drama CD

Audio can be found here (in Portuguese) or here (in Spanish)
Also read Aoba’s POV story 

{Hello, I’m back here again with Koujaku’s story! I’M SORRY IF TRANSLATION IS NOT ACCURATE, THESE ARE NOT OFFICIAL, JUST MY OWN! Mink’s story will come next!} 

>>Noiz’s Birthday 

Aoba: Hey, Ren. When will Koujaku be back?

Ren: Today is Koujaku’s birthday, he will certainly come home soon.

Aoba: Even so, he said he would work until 10, then surely come back.

Ren: Yeah.

Aoba: Being a hairdresser pays well.

Ren: Koujaku’s reputation is fairly good.

Aoba: Then that means, it makes more money this way?

Ren: Probably.  

Aoba: Well, if this area is a good place to live…Finally, made it to the third floor. Has Koujaku returned?

Koujaku: Coming, coming…Oh. It’s Aoba!

Aoba: Good work today.

Koujaku: Good work to you too, Aoba. Come on in.

Aoba: Sorry for intruding.

Koujaku: You can sit right there. Want anything to drink?

Aoba: Sure, but before that…Here. Happy Birthday.

Koujaku: Oh, thanks. Sorry for the inconvenience of the whole year.

Ren: Happy Birthday, Koujaku.

Koujaku: Thank you too, Ren.

Aoba: Well, today is just a little party. Tomorrow will be the real thing. And we’ll get to eat granny’s cooking!

Koujaku: Ahh…about that, I’m really sorry. Today I had an important service.

Aoba: No worries. Granny said it’s fine, because it makes things a little easier.

Koujaku: That so. Hearing that, I’m relieved.

Beni: Yo! Aoba and Ren! Thanks for coming!

Aoba: Sorry for the inconvenience, Beni.

Ren: Beni, I’m glad to see you.

Beni: Yea, take it easy.

Aoba: Say, Koujaku…

Koujaku: Hm?

Aoba: Little by little, you’re acting more calmly.

Koujaku: Huh? What do you mean? Do I come off as rude and rough? 

Aoba: That’s not it, I mean if it was because of your work

Koujaku: Well, you might be right….Huh? Don’t tell me it’s…Sake? and Brandy? And it looks quite expensive.

Aoba: Well, it’s your birthday, and I thought to give you something good. But I really don’t know much about sakes, so I asked Yoshie-san for help. 

Koujaku: Oh, and?

Aoba: She said if it’s a present to give to a grown man, it absolutely had to be this. 

Koujaku: Hahaha, an adult, huh? As expected from Yoshie-san. But this is definitely a good sake. But honestly…I feel that there is something missing for me to drink it.

Aoba: Missing?

Koujaku: It like you’re telling me to hurry up and become a man worthy enough to drink it.

Aoba: Huh? I didn’t really mean it like that.

Koujaku: I’m kidding. But, I’m really happy though. Anyways, let’s open this up and try it!

Aoba: How is it?

Koujaku: It’s good.

Aoba: Really?!

Koujaku: Yeah.

Aoba: I see, I’m glad you liked it.

Koujaku: It’s really good, you want a drink?

Aoba: But, isn’t it too strong?

Koujaku: I guess it is. It might be a bit strong for you.

Aoba: I’m weak with alcohol. I’ll pass.

Koujaku: You are really weak when it comes to alcohol, it’s better to stop.  

Aoba: (irritated) I’m not really that bad.

Koujaku: No, no, no, you are. You just don’t remember, because you were drunk.

Aoba: I’m not that bad, okay! Right, Ren?    

Ren: … I can’t confirm you’re not bad.

Aoba: Hey!

Beni: It’s true! I agree with Ren!

Aoba: Eeeeh! What’s going on here?! I…am I really that bad with alcohol?

Koujaku: You really don’t remember? The last time you drank…you tried to kiss me.

Aoba: …Huh? No way…

Koujaku: You don’t remember?

Aoba: Are you serious? …Wha? …Huh?

Koujaku: You came onto me, you pushed my chair down, and then you grabbed my face and kissed me.

Aoba: What?

Koujaku: (Laughing) Sorry. It was a lie, a lie, I was joking.

Aoba: *gurgling sound* *crunch up paper bag*

Koujaku: Ouch!

Aoba: Why you…!

Koujaku: Really, excuse me. You were taking it so seriously.     

Aoba: *grumbling*

Koujaku: Aoba~ I’m sorry~ Don’t be mad.

Beni: Don’t be mad, Aoba!~

Aoba: Why were you laughing?

Koujaku: I was laughing?

Aoba: You were laughing!!

Koujaku: Ah…no, not that…watching you reminds me of the past.

Aoba: The past?

Koujaku: Yeah, you don’t remember? You said you wanted to celebrate my birthday and remembered birthday cakes, you said you wanted to bake a cake for me.

Aoba: Huh? …Uh? Did that really happened?

Koujaku: You, you said you didn’t want help from Tae-san, but you failed. The dough was small and burned and the whipped cream was all melted and watery.

Aoba: Eh? Did…Did I really do that?

Koujaku: Yeah, I remembered it very well. When I said I was gonna eat it, you got mad saying don’t eat it, it’s bad, you’ll make another one.   

Aoba: You’re not lying again, huh?

Koujaku: Of course not!

Aoba: Aw man…if that’s true, that’s really embarrassing! I don’t remember at all! This discussion of our childhood…

Koujaku: But you know, it was really tasty.

Aoba: That’s definitely a lie, no matter what.

Koujaku: It’s true. You burned so many cakes. You stood there crying covered in sugar and milk. But you gave it your best to make me a cake, though; after all it wasn’t that bad.

Aoba: Eh…Ah…Uh…

Koujaku: I ate everything without leaving a crumb. I told you it was delicious, but you didn’t believe me. Even though the most important ingredient was love.

Aoba: Ah…Mmmh!

Ren: Aoba, love is not something that can be seen, but it can still be an ingredient?

Aoba: Don’t ask that! Besides, I don’t remember something as that old! It doesn’t matter, it’s not normal to say love is an ingredient!

Koujaku: Of course it is. I didn’t say anything wrong, huh? And for me, it was such a precious moment. Moreover, I want you to do it again, make me a birthday cake.

Aoba: What?

Koujaku: You can cook now, right?

Aoba: Cooking and baking are two different things!

Koujaku: Even if you make mistakes, the important thing is that you did for me.

Aoba: …

Beni: What’s the problem, Aoba? It doesn’t cost you to try and get some practice in it too!

Ren: Aoba, if you need, I can find a recipe.

Koujaku: Well then?

Aoba: Don’t flatter yourself!

Koujaku: I’ll be looking forward to it.

Aoba: You…! …Don’t complain if it takes two days.

Koujaku: Hmm?

Aoba: Because…I never made a…  

Koujaku: Aoba, don’t tell me…

Aoba: Since you insist so much … I have no choice … and now … you’re more important…

Koujaku: Ah, I’ll be waiting. 

ghosts and gardens and the truth
ghosts and gardens and the truth


how are you feeling

its been a while

hope you’ve been good


i spend most of my time

down in the garden

ive got all these flowers

pressed between books


and the men in their oversized cars will keep craning their heads

id like to think that the ghosts in the car here just want to be friends

you asked me once “do you believe in that stuff”

and i could’ve sworn i’d said yes

and i wanted to tell you the truth when i slept in your bed


i know 

that i look tired

thats been true for months now

do people expire? 


[i had to turn the page here and i fucked up oops]


remember that friday

when you got suspended

i spent my weekend

slipping notes through the door


and the world is smiling at us like we’re in a movie

watching the scenes of our childhood we thought had been cut

even though time’s an elaborate lie

i feel like it stops just for us

and we fade on concrete in sunsets, just us and your car

i really would like the last scene to be me in your arms

Multiply Writing Project: I'm a Mess

I’m so happy you all enjoyed the first one shot of this project! So thanks for all of your kind words about my writing, i appreciate you so much!

Here is the second one shot.

And just a reminder, none of these are related!

If you like what you read, like the post, reblog it, etc. etc.


I’m a Mess: An Ed Sheeran One Shot

            I’m really smitten with the relationship that I have with Ed Sheeran. It’s not this overdramatic love sequence that’s just going to boil down to nothing at the end of the day other than public displays of affection and empty words. No, there’s no time for melodrama or bullshit or reading between the lines of messages with hidden meanings. It’s all or nothing. It’s black or white, hot or cold, yes or no. There is no doubt in my mind that I am madly in love with someone who takes his tea without any sugar, can’t legally drive, and thinks about knitting a sweater for his kitten on a weekly basis. I don’t know anything other than him and I. I don’t. I can’t see anything other than those bright blue eyes and brightly colored tattoos, I can’t hear anything but the way his voice rolls over itself when he’s talking quickly or singing, the way he says my name in the morning, afternoon, and night, the way it cracks in his throat when he’s upset or afraid. I can’t feel anything but the warmth of his arm around my waist in the middle of the night, his beard when it scratches the skin on my neck or thighs, the grip he has around my heart. Everything comes up Sheeran in every aspect of my life. He’s all I know.

I don’t know how anyone exists without being able to talk to their significant other like we talk to each other. And not just about important stuff like living arrangements, where we’re going to spend holidays, and where he’s going to put his toothbrush in my apartment. I mean, talking. Talking about the shitty weather conditions or whose ass looks better in a beach volleyball game or what it feels like to completely miss Pluto being a planet because part of our childhood then becomes a lie fabricated by NASA. On some level, yes, I want to be able to be serious with him for a few seconds so we can build a foundation for this relationship, and we have that, but on most days I just want to walk around the corner to our local pub and drink cheap and potentially shitty beer and just be in each other’s company.

            Tonight is that kind of a night, but we stumble around town with a few of Ed and I’s friends. Mutual friends are my favorite kind of friends as long as they don’t have to choose sides if we ever decide to break up. If it comes down to it, Ed can have them. God knows that he deserves them more than I do. But I do deserve some kind of award for winning over the friends of every boyfriend I’ve ever had. I grew up with three brothers and a video game controller practically glued to my hip. I learned the rules to football at an early age, how to shoot a bb gun, how to drink whiskey (neat, by the way), and how to hold my own in a physical fight. Tonight we share drinks with the guys from Snow Patrol, who are so talented and just overall good dudes that I want them to be family.

Keep reading

So this idea that trans people (particularly trans women) are “bullshitting.” That we lie about our childhoods and life experiences. That cis people can make up any old shit they want and assert it as more true than what trans people say about being trans.

I remember one cis woman who asserted that the reason trans people transition is that they tried to be an extreme member of their sex assigned at birth and couldn’t hack it, so they decided to transition. So like a trans woman is a trans woman because she wanted to be a hypermasculine alpha dude but couldn’t pull it off and decided that meant she must be a woman.

And there’s a lot of putting the cart before the horse, too. Like, insisting that trans people decide we must be trans because of our favorite colors, or desire to wear particular clothing, or the toys we might have played with. That all trans people think this way and transition for these reasons.

And similar to the above, an idea that trans people transition because they’re feminine men or masculine women or because they’re gay or lesbian and think that to be attracted to men one must be a woman or attracted to women one must be a man. And of course there are more than two genders, but that doesn’t always get acknowledged.

And as far as it goes for trans people, our stories are consistent, our interpretations of our lived experiences are consistent. We do not all have the same experiences, but anyone looking at a broad selection of trans people’s explanations of our lives will see some similarities and consistencies that stand out.

So what these people are saying is that trans people (and especially trans women) have such simplistic views of gender that we conclude we are a particular gender because of what we like and what we do, but at the same time we are so devious and deceitful and cunning that we have all managed to keep our stories consistent across hundreds of thousands of people that this must reflect one of the most significant and successful conspiracies of all time.

So why haven’t we taken over the world yet?