#the vague idea is being half in love and half deeply hating someone who's beyond saving

[mariakannon]

[kuroopaisen]

the in-between | i (kuroo tetsurou)

➵  it took you and kuroo 24,000 words and 69 pages of pure behemoth far too long to learn that love was never singularly defined. it can be both striking and understated, sudden and unhurried, gentle and all-consuming. and most of all, it can be anything else in-between.

wc: 9k (part 1 of 3)

warnings: f!reader, good old f2l (do i write anything else?), depictions of anxiety & depression, cursing

 a/n: i cannot thank @w-yuren enough for all the love and care she poured into beta-ing this :( i’m honestly so touched you worked through this absolute monstrosity w me (and put up w my incoherence) ren u deserve the world <3 (also @jupiturde erin ilysm thank you for reading this over So Many times you’re incredible!!) 

m. list | ch. 1 ↠ ch. 2 

"I'll help you," Kuroo sighed. "On one condition."

The scant bit of confidence you’d worked up was starting to crumble. You clenched your fists, steeling yourself. At this point, you're willing to do just about anything.

"Manage the volleyball team for a while."

Your face fell. "What, really?"

"Mhm," Kuroo nodded, still slouched over his desk.

"You're kidding, right?"

He shook his head. "Nuh-uh."

This wasn't quite how you’d expected the situation to go. And quite frankly, you were just upset that you were even in this situation in the first place. But, who wouldn't be?

Begging Kuroo Tetsurou to help you with chemistry wasn’t a situation you’d envisioned yourself ending up in. But, something had to be done about those abysmal exam marks. Your grades in everything else were fine; good, even. Certainly high enough to earn you your spot in Class 5. But that chemistry grade was something to be concerned about. Your homeroom teacher had warned you as much on the very first day of the school year.

And for the handful of weeks since, you’d been driving yourself mad trying to think of a solution. Hard work had only gotten you so far, and none of your friends felt they were competent enough to tutor you. You needed help – desperately.

So there you stood, in front of the desk of a boy you’d never had a proper conversation with before, asking for his help – all while uncomfortably aware that this was cutting into his lunch break.

You hadn’t quite known what to expect from this interaction. You weren't really friends, after all; you’d been vaguely aware of him over this past year and a bit, but knew little, if anything, about him. All you knew was that he was topping the grade when it came to chemistry, and therefore, turning to him in this time of need might help.

You hadn't expected this ultimatum.

"Why?"

It was a genuine question.

"Hm?"

"Why ask me to be your manager?" You asked, tilting your head at him. "I know nothing about volleyball."

"You'll learn."

You frowned. "This is the only way you'll tutor me?"

"It's not the only way," Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow at you. "But it'd certainly bump it up my priority list."

The worst thing was that it didn't even seem like he was trying to be a dick.

Right, you thought. Pros and cons.

Cons: being a manager would eat up a lot of your time. Presumably. Maybe. You didn't have any real idea.

Also, it would mean spending a lot more time around sweaty boys. That sounded kind of gross.

And what time did practice finish? Walking home after sunset was always a little scary. Certainly scary enough to stoke a bit of anxiety.  

More importantly, it sounded like responsibility. Maybe you were overestimating just what being a manager meant, but it sounded like there was plenty of stuff you could mess up.

Pros: it'd look really, really good on your college applications.

Just like a passing chemistry grade would. Which you weren't going to get all on your own.

“It doesn’t have to be for long,” he offered, raising an eyebrow at you. “Just a couple of months. And I’ll be your resource to use as you please.”

You blinked at him, baffled at his choice of phrasing.

“How about you just drop by practice this afternoon?” He suggested, balancing his chin on his fist. “You can get a feel for it.”

You sighed.

“Alright.”

You were willing to do just about anything, after all.

✧ ✧ ✧

Teenage boys, no matter how polite or kind or accommodating, are always scary in packs.

That little revelation came to mind as you pressed yourself meekly against the wall of the gym, watching a gaggle of boys running back and forth, jumping and hitting and shouting. Part of you wanted to melt into the wall, hoping that none of these giants would pay you much attention.  

You’re painfully aware of one of them staring at you; a first-year, judging by his use of honorifics. He’s tallish, but not enough to be scary, with close-cropped hair and grumpy eyebrows. There’s a certain intensity to him – he seemed like the sort of person with too much tenacity for his own good. 

And yet, he seemed terrified of you. Was he the sort of boy who couldn’t talk to girls?

You smiled to yourself. Such dichotomy in one personality, huh?

There was another boy that caught your eye. A quiet one, with chin-length black hair who seemed to want to sink into the ground. He didn’t look like the sort of boy you’d expect to find on a high school sports team. He was a little shorter than everyone else – except for Yaku, who’d greeted you quite amiably when you’d first arrived.  

But Yaku seemed like he wanted to be there. Like he enjoyed it. This kid? He looked like he just wanted to melt into the shadows. He always flinched whenever anyone called out to him. Hell, he seemed to flinch even when someone so much as looked at him. Was he okay? Should you ask if he’s okay? Should you point him out to Kuroo? But Kuroo had already spoken to him a few times…

Well, checking in with people’s well-being would be part of your job as a manager, right? It’d be your duty to make sure that the club members were doing okay. 

But practice was still going. You’d have to put a pin in that thought.  

The third years were frightening, as expected. But, you felt as though your upperclassmen would always be somewhat scary. The captain had traded a handful of words with you – hellos, nice to meet yous, a what are you even doing here – but he hadn’t made any particular point to help you out.

That job was left to the coach, who, thankfully, seemed quite kind. You had said very little to him, but you could tell that he loved his job just from the serene smile that graced his face as he watched his team go at it.  

Practice was over before you knew it. The sun was setting outside the windows, the sky blushing orange. You bit your lip. Maybe you’d be able to get home before it got too dark…

You sighed, turning your gaze back to the gym floor. Maybe you should try talking to one of the boys… Yaku had always been friendly. Maybe he’d tolerate a conversation with you? Oh, what about Kai? He’d been very quiet, but he seemed nice… There was Kuroo, too…

You pressed your lips together, eyes scanning over the gaggle of boys in front of you as your mind ran through the pros and cons all at once.

You frowned. The third years were yapping at that quiet boy; whatever they were saying, it didn’t seem exactly friendly. You froze. Should you do something? Was this normal? Was it a problem? He looked terrified – not that he showed it outright, but it was in his eyes.

Kuroo was standing behind him, saying something to one of the third years. You couldn’t quite hear them, but Kuroo’s expression was… cold. Not confrontational, just unyielding. Whatever he’d said, the third years stalked away.

You watched closely as Kuroo’s expression softened as he looked at the shorter boy. He looked concerned. Were they friends?

“Oi, manager chick!”

You cringed. It’s one of the third years – not the captain, but someone you’d noted had quite the nasty serve.

“Help clean up!”

“Right!” You gave a quick half-bow, your head flicking around almost frantically as you looked for something to do.  

You settled for collecting stray balls, rushing them back to the ball bins. All the while you watched the sky darken beyond the gym windows – and with it, your anxiety began to blossom.

By the time you were picking up your bag to go home, the sky was positively black. You bit your lip as you stared out the gym windows, your eyebrows a little furrowed.

“Hey.”

You looked up, a little startled. Kuroo, forehead slick with sweat and cheeks tinged red from exertion. You resisted the urge to scrunch up your nose. Being this close to a sweaty teenage boy wasn’t high on your priorities list.

“What’d you think?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck with a towel.

You shrugged. “Seems intense.”

“But you don’t hate it, right?” He smiled. It’s hopeful. Almost pitifully so.

You bit the inside of your cheek. In truth, you didn’t. There’s something quite fun about watching them play volleyball up close. They all got so into it. It was always nice, watching people care about something so deeply that enjoyment seeped through every part of their being.

“We’ll see,” you said. “Maybe I’ll come back tomorrow.”

He smiled brightly at that half-promise. Brightly enough that you knew you didn’t want to let him down.

This side of him was already a far cry from that trickster-like figure you’d negotiated with this morning.

“Hey, uh…” He cleared his throat, one hand finding its way to the back of his head. “I was wondering… did you need me to walk you home? I know it’s getting kind of late, so…”

You felt something that’s not quite elation, but certainly a bit more intense than relief. Tokyo’s a safe enough place, yes, but that fact’s never enough to quell the anxiety you’d always felt from walking home in the dark.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” You tried to make your smile look relaxed and natural, but you knew some hint of tension had made its way in there.

“Cool,” Kuroo said, giving you a little nod as his eyes scanned your face. He relaxed his shoulders a bit, slouching down a little. Was he… trying to make himself smaller? “But, uh… where do you live?”

By some miracle, it’s not all that far from his place. You caught the relief on his face, even if he made an effort to hide it. Would he really have walked you all the way to your house, even if it wasn’t in the same area?

He didn’t give you time to think about it, turning around and waving a hand in the air.

“Hey, Kenma!”

Your brows rose instinctively as the shy kid scurried over, head hunched down and hands stuffed into his pockets.

“This is Kenma,” Kuroo smiled, nodding at him. “He’s my next-door neighbour.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you smiled, tilting your head at him.

“Yeah,” Kenma nodded in a quiet response, not quite able to meet your eyes. You didn’t press it. You offered him your name quickly, a bit like an afterthought, but Kenma gave you a little nod in recognition.

“You guys ready to go?” Kuroo looked between the both of you, tilting his head at the door.

You glanced over at Kenma. He didn’t glance back.

“Yeah,” you nodded, relieved that you wouldn’t have to walk the dark streets on your own.

✉

[YOU] 7:21 PM: hello! Is this kuroo?

[Kuroo] 7:34 PM: you got it

[YOU] 7:36 PM: thank goodness! I just wanted to say, thank you for walking me home today. I was a bit worried about it, but I didn’t want to impose

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: not a problem. I’m more than happy to do it again tomorrow

[Kuroo] 7:38 PM: since you are coming to practice, right?

[YOU] 7:40 PM: Sure :)

✧ ✧ ✧

Kuroo Tetsurou hadn’t been what you’d expected.

For one thing, he’d actually made good on your deal. You’d half-expected him to bail on tutoring you – though you couldn’t exactly say why. But, you supposed it would be hard for him to dodge the ire of his club manager. Regardless, he dedicated most afternoons to helping you study.

You’d meet up in the library before practice and you’d always start with chemistry. He was actually kind of good at explaining the concepts to you in a way you understood, without all the bells and whistles. He had a way of simplifying the concepts to their bare bones. That’s not to say that it wasn’t difficult; you still felt like you’d been left far, far behind. But, Kuroo was something of a comfort.

Somehow, you’d end up working on other subjects. Apparently, Kuroo’s surprisingly bad at literature. He was doing well enough, but it was something he just couldn’t wrap his head around. Maybe you’d been a bit gung-ho about offering your help, but you were just glad you finally had something to offer in this arrangement. Even though you were still managing the volleyball team, overwhelming as that could be sometimes.

But, you’d made a deal, and the whole manager business was less scary than you’d first thought. And you felt that with time, you’d get the hang of it. Maybe.

More often than not, your study session before practice wasn’t enough time to cover all the content you needed. So, sometimes, you’d continue it after practice, holed up in the library until you got kicked out. Kenma usually stuck with you guys, sitting in the corner with whatever game console he’d brought that day.

And without fail, Kuroo walked you all the way to your house every night. And during those walks, you talked. Rather animatedly.

“What I’m saying is that the divide between the arts and the sciences is arbitrary,” Kuroo shrugged, raising an eyebrow. “When they work together, incredible things happen. Genuine art happens.” He cocked his head at you, that perceptive grin of his spread across his face. “You’d really disagree with me on that?”

“I didn’t say I disagree,” you grinned. “I’m just surprised that you’re not one of those sciencey people who thinks that the arts are worthless.”

He scoffed at that, shaking his head. “Excuse you. I’ve got more nuance than that.”

“Sorry for doubting you,” you giggled.

“You better be.”

The thing you’d been most surprised about, above everything else, was just how enjoyable it was to talk to him. How easy it was to get lost in a conversation that most of your other friends might get bored by. It’s not that your other friends treated you badly, but Kuroo had a way of naturally drawing out your thoughts, and he usually treated them with enough respect to engage with them. Of course, there were times when he loved to tease, and you’d learnt to not take it too personally.

Kuroo Tetsurou was far more interesting than you’d first given him credit for. And you felt kind of bad for that. You’d known he wasn’t just some dumb jock – he wasn’t topping chemistry for nothing – but you hadn’t expected him to be so… clever. So playful. So fun to talk to.

You were beginning to feel that maybe, just maybe, he was someone you could end up being quite close to.

✉

[YOU] 10:41 PM: hey, kuroo?

[Kuroo] 10:46 PM: what's up?

[YOU] 10:47 PM: i was just wondering, why did you ask me to become manager?

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: oh ahaha

[Kuroo] 10:48 PM: i thought having an extra pair of hands around would help the coach out a bit

[YOU] 10:48 PM: wait really

[YOU] 10:48 PM: that's it?

[Kuroo] 10:50 PM: ??????

[YOU] 10:51 PM: you were so seedy about it!

[Kuroo] 10:51 PM: was i?

[YOU] 10:52 PM: i–

[Kuroo] 10:53 PM: :)

✧ ✧ ✧

“Kenma wants to quit.”

Your head shot up, turning to Kuroo with wide eyes. “What?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, one hand raking through his hair. “The third years have been giving him a really rough time.” He bit his lip, glancing at you. “You’ve seen it yourself.”

You swallowed. “I hoped I was just being too sensitive, but…”

Kuroo groaned, running a hand down his face. “They’re such assholes.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure of what to say. The third years had almost made you want to quit in the early days. They were scary, sharp, unrelenting. But they’d left you alone pretty quickly once you’d settled into the thrum of your responsibilities.

Kenma hadn’t been so lucky.

“Is he okay?” You murmured, brows knitted together. “I mean, I know he’s getting picked on, but is he… is he… I don’t know…”

“I get it,” Kuroo sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. He doesn’t really talk about that sort of stuff.”

You set your pen down on the dining table, shifting in your chair to face him directly.

Practice had been cancelled for the afternoon, and Kuroo had bustled you out of school before you even had a chance to ask why. You’d been surprised when he had asked if the two of you could study at your place that afternoon – and some part of you had dreaded what your parents might say about you bringing a boy home – but you’d conceded. He’d seemed stuck in his head; something not unusual for him, but he’d been just withdrawn enough to pique your concern.

This must’ve been why.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I don’t want to push him too hard or anything, but I don’t think he’s making the right choice.”

You bit your lip.

“Why?” You asked, feeling bold.

“Huh?”

“Tell me why you don’t want him to quit,” you said. “Other than the obvious.” You sat up a little straighter, grabbing your notebook and picking up your pen. “We can brainstorm together.”

“Other than the obvious?” He tilted his head at you.

“You know,” you shrugged. “I know you want him to stay around because he’s your best friend, but... there’s more to it, right?”

“Well…” Kuroo swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leant back in his chair.  “We’re not gonna get very far without him.”

You scribbled that down quickly. “Why’s that?”

“He’s a good strategist,” Kuroo said carefully, “And he’s great at running through all the potential outcomes on the spot. And nobody on the team’s as observant as he is.”

You bit the inside of your cheek as you transcribed. You weren’t narcissistic enough to think you knew Kenma better than Kuroo did. Nor did you want to presume you were closer to the second-year than you actually were. But you wanted to help.

“Why don’t you… explain that to him?” You asked, peering down at your notebook.

“What do you mean?”

“Like… just tell him the logical reasons you want him to stick around,” you shrugged. “I think he’d respond well to that.”

“I guess…” Kuroo pursed his lips, looking at you with a frown.

“What I’m trying to say is that… maybe putting it into terms that’ll resonate with him is the best way to go.” You weren’t quite sure if your point was getting across. You just had to hope that he understood.

“I get you,” he nodded, crossing his arms. “I dunno if it’ll work though.”

“He’ll listen to you,” you mused, propping your hand on your chin.  

“Huh?”

“It’s obvious you mean a lot to him,” you shrugged. “Even if he doesn’t really use his words to express that.”

Kuroo blinked at you, a touch of pink to his cheeks.

“I mean, he’s stuck it out with volleyball this long, hasn’t he?” You smiled at him, watching his cheeks grow even pinker. “That’s because of you.”

He cleared his throat as he looked down at his lap. It was strange to see him so… speechless. He was the sort of person that always had a comeback. You were never able to get a one up on him. Sincerity, however, seemed to be his hamartia.

“I just… I wanna go as far as I can with this team,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “You know, me and the other second years… when we first joined the team, we were asked about our goals.”

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “We all said that we wanted to win nationals.”

He wasn’t quite sure why he was telling you all this. He didn’t know where it came from. But he knew he’s grateful to be able to just talk. To share this with someone.

“Yaku and I used to fight all the time,” he smiled sheepishly, casting his gaze at you.

“I can see that,” you giggled. There was always a little fire between the two of them; it’d given you a good laugh many times.

“It was kind of stupid, but… we got over it. We learned to work together,” Kuroo sighed.

“I feel bad for poor Kai,” you smiled.

Kuroo laughed. “Yeah…” He sighed as he leaned over the table, resting his chin on his folded arms. “Nekoma used to be hot shit, you know.”

“Did we?” You asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Made it to nationals a couple of times. But, we sort of… fell off. We haven’t been as good as we could be for a while. And… I want to change that.”

He pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing. “We can’t do that if we don’t work together. And I know that sounds obvious, but… we need to focus on our teamwork more. We’ll only be great if we all learn to rely on and trust each other. We’ve gotta make the best use of all our strengths while covering our weaknesses.”

You nodded, making a little noise of agreement. You couldn’t help but smile as you listened to him. This side of Kuroo – this genuine, honest one – was quickly becoming your favourite.  

“Sorry,” he chuckled, sitting up straight. “Didn’t mean to ramble at you there.”

“No, no, it’s fine!” You shook your head. “Ramble all you’d like.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you for that, but he was smiling.

“Hey, Kuroo?” Normally, you wouldn’t have thought to ask the questions that were currently poking at the back of your mind. But he’d just been so honest, so open with you in a way he’d never been before. Maybe it was okay to be a little bit curious. Just this once.

“Hm?”

“I have a genuine question,” you said, folding your hands in your lap.

He looked at you, pouting a little.

“Why volleyball?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, brow creased ever so slightly. Usually, he’d just dodge a conversation like this; not because he was particularly embarrassed by it or anything like that, but because he didn’t want to talk about himself too much. He didn’t want to be rude and dominate the conversation.

But, you were asking. And, you seemed genuinely interested.

A little bit of sincerity wouldn’t hurt, right?

“My family moved here when I was pretty young,” he said, shrugging. “And I didn’t really… know how to make friends. Before I moved, I’d been part of a volleyball team. All my friends were on it, and… I had to move away from them.”

It was a little strange, trying to pull up all these memories. And trying to condense them was harder than he’d expected. “When I first met Kenma, we just played video games. I didn’t really… know how to talk to him. But he agreed to play volleyball with me, and that made things so much easier. I had something to talk about.”

You smiled to yourself, the image of a shy little Kuroo more endearing than it should be.

“I even convinced him to go to a weekend class with me,” he smiled, looking down. “You know, I even remember when I first met Coach Nekomata.”

“Huh?” You frowned.

“The old coach who used to work here. Rumour is he’ll come out of retirement sometime soon,” he smiled. 

You nodded, even though you didn’t quite understand. 

We bumped into him at one of those classes,” Kuroo said. “He told me, ‘do what you love, and success will come.’ I still think about that.”

Do what you love, and success will come. Yeah, that definitely sounded like something that’d resonate with Kuroo.

“Anyway, I joined the team in middle school, and that made it a lot easier to make friends,” Kuroo shrugged. “I don’t know. I love volleyball. Have for as long as I can remember. It’s fun. And… it helped me connect with people, even when… even when I couldn’t find the right words.”

He looked at you, a bit more tentative than usual. But, you were smiling, your chin propped up on one of your palms as you listened to him talk.

“Believe it or not, but I was a really shy kid.” He didn’t know why he’s still talking. And honestly, he’s a little embarrassed by it. But, you’re still listening. And for that, he’s grateful.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you grinned.

His eyes widened a little. “Huh?”

“You think so much,” you mused, looking upwards. “But, like… in the way introverts do, you know?” You blushed, looking down at your hands. “Well, I mean… I tend to overthink everything I say, right?”

“No, really?” Kuroo gasped, covering his mouth with one hand.

“Shush,” you shot him a half-glare, suppressing the urge to stick your tongue out at him like a child. “It’s just that… I see a little bit of that in you, too. Not… massively, but it’s there.”  

You couldn’t quite read his expression. It wasn’t one you’d seen before. And honestly, he wouldn’t know how to describe it himself. He was caught between the relief at being seen, at being understood, and the embarrassment of being called out. People didn’t tend to pick up on that part of him – and yet, you had.

He wasn’t used to being the one getting read.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I really didn’t mean to ramble so much.”

“Oi,” you giggled, “I said it’s fine, didn’t I?”

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“It’s nice that you care so much about the game.” You were smiling at him. Nothing unusual. But the look in your eyes was so genuine, so bright that he could feel his face burning up from looking at it.

“Yeah,” he smiled, breaking eye contact with you. God, he really didn’t know what to do in conversations like these. “Anyway, should we get back to chem?”

✉

[closet introvert] 9:22 PM: so

[YOU] 9:25 PM: so

[closet introvert] 9:25 PM: i think i’m gonna try to talk to kenma after school tomorrow

✧ ✧ ✧

If there was one thing you were fairly decent at as manager, it was looking after the first and second years. Bit by bit, you’d worked up an adequate rapport with each of them, and you had most of their personalities sorted out. Most importantly, you knew what to do when they were down.

You just had to let Yaku rant – let him shout and gripe and swear, and he’d be okay. Kai liked a constructive conversation, had in soft, measured tones, and offering a solution or two. Yamamoto wanted fire and conviction, a challenge to do better, to be better. Fukunaga liked a distraction, something to take his mind off of whatever was bothering him. Kenma liked to be left alone to sort things out for himself – but you were permitted to make him a care package or two.

You’d known Kuroo long enough by now to know that he was rather reticent when it came to his own feelings. He wasn’t the sort to talk about them upfront; you had to peer at the silences and the spaces between his words to find out what he really meant. You had to look at his behaviour; he was never too straightforward. That sort of thing seemed to overwhelm him.

That presented a bit of a problem. If he didn’t want to talk about his feelings, he simply wouldn’t. He’d deflect the conversation, or downplay how he was feeling. Sometimes he gave you bits and pieces, but he rarely spilled his true thoughts and feelings. They were exceedingly difficult to draw out of him – he had to offer them up himself. And most of the time, he bounced back pretty quickly from his more melancholic moods on his own.  

But not today.

Kuroo wasn’t exactly loud. At least, not in the same way Yamamoto was – or that rambunctious wing spiker from Fukurodani. It was well within Kuroo’s abilities to be obnoxious, but he wasn’t loud. But even for him, he was being uncharacteristically quiet today.

Practice had gone fine, as far as you could tell. Nothing had gone obviously wrong, and nobody had gotten injured. From your perspective, things had even gone well. Admittedly, your knowledge of volleyball didn’t run particularly deep just yet, but you were trying your best.

Kuroo was usually so bright after practice, always grinning or cackling at something despite his exhaustion. Half the time he’d point things out to you, explaining certain moves they’d practised or formations they were trying out.

But today, he’d just picked up his bag dourly, waiting at the door for you and Kenma to leave. He’d said very little on the walk to the train station when usually he’d be rambling about something or other. You and Kenma exchanged a look; he was just as concerned as you were.

And just like you, he didn’t know how to breach the conversation.

“So… how do they even work?” You asked, blinking down at Kenma’s DS screen.

You couldn’t stand the silence for much longer. And you knew that a sure-fire way to get Kenma talking was by asking him about video games – especially optimization.

“EVs are gained by defeating specific Pokemon,” Kenma murmured. “If you defeat a Pokemon with naturally high HP like Chansey, you’ll gain EVs towards your own HP. However, you can only gain 252 EV’s towards any one stat.”

You nodded, opting to let him ramble. Usually, Kuroo would’ve led the conversation between the three of you. But, you’d valiantly taken that task up yourself today – and the easiest way to help things go smoothly was to get Kenma on a roll.

“You can gain a maximum of five-hundred and twelve total, so realistically you can only optimise two stats at a time,” he continued, eyes still glued to his screen. You took a moment to glance at Kuroo. He was staring out the window of the train, his expression worryingly forlorn. Was he even listening?

“IVs are a Pokemon’s innate capabilities.” Kenma was still going. You made an affirmative noise in the back of your throat, nodding. “A Pokemon with a high attack IV will have a naturally higher attack stat than a Pokemon with a low attack IV, even at the same level.”

On the one hand, it was nice to know that Kenma was comfortable enough with you to ramble like this. It was also nice to see Kenma talking freely; a rare and precious sight.

On the other hand, it just made you more stressed about Kuroo. He hadn’t breathed a word the entire ride. He hadn’t even taken a moment to gaze fondly at Kenma while he was rambling. And he always did that when Kenma was on a roll.

You managed to ask enough questions to fill the distance to Kenma’s house. He was speaking more than usual. That much was obvious, yes – but even for a Kenma that was geeking out, this was unusual.

And with the way his gaze kept flicking to Kuroo, you knew it was because he was truly, deeply concerned.

Kuroo still made somewhat of an effort to say goodbye to Kenma, despite his mood. The usual “make sure you don’t go to sleep too late, okay?” and “make sure you drink enough water, so you don’t get a headache.”

But before Kenma walked through his front door, he looked at you. And when you looked back, he held eye contact. Then he looked very pointedly at Kuroo, who was staring up at the sky. By the time you turned to look at Kenma again, he was already scurrying through his front door.

“You ready?” Kuroo asked, now looking at you.

You nodded, half-jogging to join him on the street. Even today, even when it seemed like he just wanted to go home and sleep, he was still walking you home. Sure, your house wasn’t all that far from his, but he still went out of his way every night, just to make sure you felt comfortable.

That quiet thoughtfulness was part of who he was. You’d seen him direct it at Kenma all the time.

The same Kenma who’d just sent you a silent plea.

The Kenma, who never looked you in the eyes for longer than half a second.

The Kenma, who had just asked you to speak to his best friend.

That was all the push you needed.

“Hey, Kuroo?” You murmured.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” You asked.

Kuroo looked at you, one eyebrow raised. He was torn.

Should he really burden you with this? Was it right for him to worry you again?

But you’re looking at him with such genuine concern, such genuine care. And the advice you’d given him when he was worried about Kenma had been both helpful and effective. And surely, you wouldn’t have asked that question if you didn’t want a proper answer, right?

Fuck it, he thought.

“I feel like I’m not measuring up,” he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “My blocking hasn’t been improving. And I don’t know why. I’ve been trying to work on my read blocking but I just can’t get it down. I can’t even fix the problem because I don’t know what the problem is.”

He took a deep breath, his steps slowing to a stop. “I convinced Kenma to stay on, but I’m not a team-mate he can be proud of.”

“Kuroo…”

You looked at him, cloaked in the shadows of the street. His gaze was cast at the ground, his brow furrowed and the smallest of pouts on his lips. You wanted to hug him, but you weren’t sure if that’d help.

You didn’t quite know what to say. You knew what it was like to get caught up in your own insecurities – you were sure most people did. You knew he couldn’t see himself the way you saw him; tenacious, hard-working, passionate.

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” you murmured. No, that was too soft – too wishy-washy. “I know that it… seems kind of silly for me to say, but you are.”

You clenched your fists to steel yourself, taking a step closer to him. That got his attention – he looked up at you, eyes slightly wide.

“You feel like you’re not measuring up, or that you’re not improving… but I don’t see it that way.” It was true. You watched him push himself harder each and every day, improving little by little. And when he wasn’t, he’d learn from those mistakes.

“It must be easy to lose yourself on the court, but from where I’m standing… you’re improving every day.” Your eyes searched his face, looking for any indication that your words were having some kind of impact.

“And… you don’t need to be the world’s best middle blocker, you know?” You said, tilting your head at him. “You’re good, Kuroo. And you know you’ve got space to improve – that’s your strength. That makes you a team-mate worth being proud of.”

He was staring at you, eyes still wide. The dim light of the street hid the blush on his cheeks. For that, he was thankful.

“Uh…” He felt like he should say something. But he didn’t quite know what. ‘Thank you’ would’ve been the natural response, but those words just wouldn’t come.

“Sorry,” you blushed, your nerves finally catching up with you as you looked away from him. “I didn’t mean to… push your boundaries or anything like that, but… if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.”

Had you overstepped his boundaries? Had you made him uncomfortable? Those questions plagued you for the rest of the way home, Kuroo still quiet and reticent at your side.

You hadn’t overstepped his boundaries at all. Kuroo just couldn’t find the right words, even as you closed the distance to your house.

In all honesty, he’s touched. Touched that you cared so much. Touched that you reached out, even though he could tell how nervous you were. Touched that you were paying that much attention.

As he walked through the door of his own home, he couldn’t get the image of you looking up at him so resolutely out of his head.

He’d have to thank some deity above for the fact you were bad at chemistry, wouldn’t he?  

✉

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: hey so uh

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:57 PM: i just wanted to say thanks

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: for listening to me be all emotional like that

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:58 PM: i put a lot on you but you were really nice about it

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: so yeah

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: thanks

[YOU] 10:59 PM: NO! DON’T APOLOGISE!

[japan’s okayest tutor] 10:59 PM: !?!?!?!

[YOU] 11:00 PM: honestly, i don’t mind! and i’m happy to listen :(

[YOU] 11:00 PM: i’m here if you need to talk to anyone, okay?

[japan’s okayest tutor] 11:04 PM: you too

✧ ✧ ✧

You were alone.

Your sobs were the only sound fracturing the fragile silence of the empty gym as you slumped against the wall, your knees brought up to your chest.

Why did you have to fuck up so bad? You’d managed to survive your first year with no drama, the only cause of concern being your studies. They were overwhelming enough  to deal with on their own. You’d certainly felt down about your grades and whatnot before, but those ruts were a little easier to pull yourself out of. ‘They’re just grades,’ you’d try and tell yourself. ‘You can improve next time. And they don’t define you as a person.’ Even if you didn’t quite believe any of that, it was nice to have some rhetoric to at least attempt to counteract those thoughts.

But now? Now you truly felt alone. Like no-one cared about you.

You felt like you deserved it. Like anyone who cared about you was wasting their time. Like you were taking up their time and attention undeservedly.

It was all too overwhelming.

The pain choked you. Every thought, every feeling you’d been trying to fend off for so long ripped through you like an arrow.

Fuck, why couldn’t you just hold yourself together? Why did you have to be so weak?

You let go. And you cried. And cried. And cried.

The sound shattered the vacuous silence of the gym. You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, letting your sobs rack through your body.

Your throat was sore.

Your eyes stung.

You were alone.

And you deserved it.

“Woah.”

You froze. You knew that voice.

“Hey.” Kuroo knelt in front of you, his hands finding their way to your forearms. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He was knelt in front of you, eyebrows knitted together as his eyes roamed your face.

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Shit, why was he here? Why hadn’t he just headed home?

You didn’t want anyone to see you like this. You didn’t want to worry them.

Kuroo’s arms found their way around you, coaxing you gently towards his chest. You collapsed into him, burying your face in his chest.

Fuck, that didn’t help at all. Your sobs came with more voracity, rawer and harsher than they had been.

He just held you, chin propped on your head and one hand rubbing your back. He didn’t say anything; he knew you didn’t need that right now. He knew that in moments like this, it was nice just to be held. To feel like someone’s there.

And then slowly, breath by breath, everything seemed to calm. Your sobs grew softer and softer against his chest, his gentle hums setting a new rhythm for your fractured mind. He was grounding you; each touch, each sound was an attempt to bring you back down to earth. You could tell it wasn’t the most comfortable position for him, crouched awkwardly in front of you while holding you to his chest, but he stayed. 

He stayed until your breathing had levelled out, and your grip on his shirt had loosened.

“There you go,” Kuroo murmured, letting you go. He shifted to sit next to you, and you immediately missed his warmth. You found a little comfort as he looped an arm around your shoulder.  

You took a long, shaky breath. You weren’t sure how long you’d keep it together for, but you were glad for the reprieve.

“What are you doing here?” You sniffed, rubbing your nose with the back of your hand. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have made him worry about you.

“You didn’t show up for our little study session,” he said, eyebrows knitted together. “I tried texting you, but you didn’t respond. And I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Shit. You’d forgotten to tell him you’d ‘headed home early.’

“I was worried about you,” he murmured, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

You swallowed roughly, the guilt bubbling up in your chest.

“I’m sorry–”

“No.” Kuroo shook his head. “Don’t apologize. If you need to get it out, you need to get it out.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. Your knuckles blanched pale as you clenched the fabric of your skirt.

“And,” he swallowed, “if you need to talk to someone… I’m here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt everything rush back. The fight. The loneliness. The insomnia.

Kuroo didn’t need to hear this. And you didn’t want to burden him with this.

But God, you needed to talk to someone.  

“I- I had an argument with Hana,” you sniffed, fingers playing with the hem of your jacket.

You could barely remember how it started. Something stupid, probably. Something immature. But it had blown way out of proportion, and she wasn’t speaking to you anymore. You’d been spending your lunchtimes alone, behind the gym or in an empty classroom. You didn’t have the strength to face the rest of your friends, nor did you know what she’d been telling them.

It had struck at the worst possible time, too. The usual anxieties about grades and the future had been compounding recently. You’d been a bit more down than usual, and this whole Hana debacle had exacerbated that. You were usually able to manage feelings like this, finding ways to keep your head above water.

But not this time.

“I just,” you swallowed, squeezing your eyes shut. “I just feel like something’s missing. And, and I’m… there’s… there’s this gap in my heart, and I don’t know how to stop feeling so empty.”

You took a deep breath, feeling it tremble through your body. “But… but I also just feel so numb.”

And all of it, even the numbness, was overwhelming. No matter how desperately you tried to distract yourself, you couldn’t. Nothing worked. You’d lost too many nights sitting at the bottom of your shower, letting the water run down your back as your mind ran in the same repeating circles.

You were exhausted.

“And part of me,” you swallowed, your throat rough and dry as your emotions tried to hammer themselves into something coherent. “Part of me feels like… like it’s wrong to feel like this.”

God, that felt stupid. Stupid, but true. On top of everything, you felt defunct.

And frankly, you couldn’t say why. Was it shame? Guilt? Something else?

“Hey.” Kuroo’s voice was low, almost soft as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “You’re gonna feel what you’re gonna feel,” he murmured, “You shouldn’t feel guilty about that, okay?”

He felt you tremble as you tried to take a deep breath.

He knew that your pain wasn’t a one-to-one reflection of his own. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to understand exactly what you were going through.

But he knew what it was like to be a small child, so afraid, so alone, without an understanding of what was really going on around him.

He knew what it was like to feel as if something was missing, like there was a constant gap in your heart. He’d felt that way when his parents had split up. He’d only been a kid, too young to properly comprehend why that had been happening.

All he had known was that his family had crumbled to pieces around him. And then his mother was gone, half a world away with little more than a kiss on his forehead as a goodbye. He hadn’t been ready for it. He had felt like he might never be.

That feeling of separation had followed him, even into his teen years. It was quieter now, a half-whisper on the bad days. Usually, he could ignore it, setting his mind to more productive concerns. But, it never quite disappeared.

Kuroo knew what it was like to be lonely.

And he hated seeing you go through the exact same thing.

Lonely. Afraid. Probably hoping that someone, somewhere, would acknowledge your pain.

That was the worst part. Wanting your suffering to be known. Wanting someone to look at all of it, to see it for what it was. But no matter how palpable that desire was, how desperately you wanted it, it was too terrifying. To speak up was to be a burden. To speak up was to expose yourself to pity; and that was always the last thing you needed.

Pity’s useless. All you were asking for, all you really wanted was understanding. Acknowledgment. To have someone see.

He knew exactly what that was like.

“You, uh…” The sentiment caught in his throat, somehow both persistent and reticent.

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

They were the very words he’d wished someone had said to him all those years ago. The words he’d wanted someone to offer him, a child who didn’t know how to reach out. To cry out for help.

And in that moment, with his arms around the manager who had looked after him and his boys so well, Kuroo felt that call.

✉

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: hey

[passable at best] 8:30 PM: how are you feeling?

[YOU] 8:45 PM: alright

[YOU] 8:45 PM: i ate dinner and i’ve just been watching youtube

[YOU] 8:46 PM: and i’ve been drinking a lot of water

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: i’m glad to hear that

[passable at best] 8:46 PM: make sure you get an early night, yeah?

[YOU] 8:47 PM: i’ll try

[passable at best] 8:47 PM: and if you need anything, please text me

✧ ✧ ✧

"Come to the temple with me."

The surprise was evident on your face. You’re glad he couldn’t see you. "What… just us?"

"Yeah." There's a pause. An almost painful one. "I couldn't get Kenma to leave the house, so…"

You pretended you weren’t disappointed. If anyone could see you, they wouldn't be convinced.

"Oh, well, uh…" Your fists curled into your nightgown. "Sure."

"Great!" You could hear the smile in his voice. It's the one you like best; full of sunlight, pure and whole. The one that reached his eyes. "I'll, uh… see you at eight?"

Usually, if someone had called you at seven-thirty in the morning, you would've simply ignored them. But when you’d seen that it was him, you’d answered immediately. The lack of hesitation was almost frightening.

There was no reason that your fondness for a certain Kuroo Tetsurou should scare you. You just knew that you adored the guy. In less than a year, he’d become one of your favourite people. And, he’d been such a solid support for you. Of course you’d go to the temple with him.  

But as you stood at the temple steps, swallowed up by a coat and two jumpers, you wondered if anyone was worth being this cold for.

“Sorry I’m late.”

You glared up at him, nose embarrassingly red.

“What?” He groaned, hands dug deep in his pockets.

“It’s cold.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“Hey,” he grinned, reaching up and ruffling your hair with a gloved hand. “You could’ve said no.”

You huffed. Unfortunately, he was right.

“Well, I’m touched,” he chuckled, looking up at the sky. “It’s a nice morning, though.” He looked back down at you with a grin. He was far too peppy for this hour of the morning. “You ready?”

The walk up the steps was almost laborious, given just how cold it was. Your breath misted in front of you as you told each other about your first dreams of the year; he’s still regaling a tale about Kenma turning into a dragon with five heads and chasing him through the streets of Tokyo by the time you reach the fortunes.

You tried to shake off the superstitious jitters as you carefully chose one of the knots on the string. Kuroo showed much less care.

As you read the fortune written out on your strip, you let out a surreptitious sigh of relief. You looked at Kuroo, tilting your head.

“What’d you get?” You sniffled. You hoped you wouldn’t get a cold from this.

“Bad luck,” he said, turning the strip towards you.

You snorted. “Oh, ow.”

He shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal.” His expression said otherwise; it was that half-grimace he had whenever he didn’t want to admit he was wrong. Or that Bokuto had done something cool.

“Really?” You grinned, tilting your head at him. “You’re not bothered by it at all?”

“Alright, what did you get then?” He peered down at you, puffing out his chest.

“A little luck.” You held your strip towards him, and he scowled.

“Bad luck’s more exciting,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be mad about it,” you smiled, nudging him with your elbow. “God just likes me more.”

“Oi,” he huffed, ruffling your hair with a cold hand.

“Hey!” You wacked his hand away, but he just cackled.

“Anyway, you’ve forgotten the most important part of a temple visit,” he yawned, looking back at the fortunes lined up on the strings.

“Hm?” You frowned.

"You gotta make a promise," he sniffled, his fortune scrunched up in his hand.

You pouted, your hands dug deep in your pockets. A promise, huh? Did he mean a wish? You weren’t about to argue the point. He’d win it, anyway.

“You go first,” you mumbled, a little embarrassed by the fact that nothing was coming to mind.

He paused, staring at you for a moment. You squinted back, perhaps half as a challenge.

"Hm," Kuroo puffed his cheeks out, looking up at the sky for a moment. "I promise… to always be there for you. No matter what."

You blushed. What sort of promise was that? And why did it make you feel like… this?

Thwump!

You were only half aware of it as you punched him in the stomach.

“What was that for?” He wheezed, hands clamped on his stomach as he stumbled back a few steps.

“You can’t say things like that!” You whined, feeling the colour in your cheeks growing deeper.

“Why not?” There was something a little too genuine in his frown.

“Because I was going to say something really lame!” It was only eight-thirty in the morning, and Kuroo had already worked his way under your skin. And you weren’t entirely sure he’d meant to. “If I knew you were gonna say something like that, I’d’ve said it back.”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “You still can, you know.”

“Oh.” Yeah. You could.

That was all he needed. In an instant, that familiar grin was once again adorning his face, and he was towering over you. A little closer than maybe was appropriate.

“Is that… a blush I see?” Oh, he looked far too pleased with himself. You had half a mind to punch him again.

“Shut up,” you huffed.

“Aw, have I made you all embarrassed?” He grinned, ruffling your hair. “I’m sorry,” he said, the words spoiled by his fake pout.

“If you don’t shut up, I won’t say it,” you threatened, glaring at him as resolutely as you could. The weird twang in your chest made it more difficult than it usually was.

He shut his mouth immediately, eyes a little bigger and much more expectant than usual.

“Kuroo Tetsurou–”

“Are you about to propose?”

“You know what? Nevermind–”

“No, no, no! I’m sorry!” His shoulders were slouched towards you, head tilted to the side and a bright smile on his face. “I’ll shut up.”

You took a deep breath. It certainly felt a bit like you were trying to propose to him. You shuffled that thought out of your mind as quickly as you could. Once again, Kuroo had put you in a situation you hadn’t quite anticipated.

“No matter what comes, and no matter how irritating you are–”

“Hey!”

“–I promise that I’ll be there to support you,” you managed to say, cheeks flaring and fists clenched. “I… really care about you.”

You couldn’t bear the look he was giving you. It was the look you’d give something you positively adored – something you believed would bring nothing but light to your life. It was a look so full of affection that you felt like you might shatter beneath it.

He reached out and wrapped you in his arms, pulling you gently into his chest. You snuck your arms under his jacket, circling them around his waist. You’d done it mostly on instinct, but you weren’t upset about it. It’s warm, and it’s nice, and you didn’t want to question it. 

There’s too much to worry about – studies, volleyball, the fact that it’s really not all that long until you’re third years. That took precedence. Whatever’s going on here – whatever this was – couldn’t take priority.

All you knew for certain was that you loved Kuroo Tetsurou. In what way didn’t matter. And this in-between, this unnamed space was comfortable. And, as far as you could tell, it belonged to both of you. If he didn’t want to say anything about it, then neither did you.

✉

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: hey hey

[YOU] 5:21 PM: hey hey hey!

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: no don’t do that

[i can be your angle] 5:21 PM: anyway, i just wanted to make sure you’re practicing appropriate after-cold care

[YOU] 5:21 PM: why do you always have to phrase things Like That

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: no idea what you’re talking about

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: anyway, drink a tea or two, stick a heat pack (or seven) in the microwave, and rug up

[i can be your angle] 5:22 PM: can’t have you going and catching a cold

[bonesthebeloved]

Smudged names on unfamiliar fingers- karlnapity

Hello this is me trying to get out of writers block and also loving Karl's time traveling arc and the way it affects him. This is very non Canon since I started this right after kinoko kingdom was formed.

!! This writing is about the characters and the characters only. However if any of the cc express discomfort with anything in here I will gladly take it down!!

Cw for memory loss and crying.

Summary: Karl forgets who his fiancé's are.

-

He was back again.

Stumbling away from the green and purple swirl behind him like a drunk man, finding his bearings slowly but never fully as he climbed up the ladder. Grasping onto the thin bars of it so tightly he wondered if he'd be able to snap them.

He exited the library on autopilot after having placed a new book in the empty slot. Walking out and into the open air before he suddenly stopped.

He'd forgotten how to get home.

He'd forgotten where home was.

He'd forgotten if he even had one.

He looked at his arms and hands. Vaguely knowing about his own habit of writing things on them.

The only thing he could find were two names. Smudged slightly and half covered in the blood of a body that had been dead for years and years yet to him the grief was only two days old.

'Quackity Sapnap.'

They were important to him. He knew that from the way his heart fluttered a bit when reading over the names again.

But... Why?

-

Quackity finally found Karl when the sun had already started to set. His wings had started to flutter anxiously. Puffing out and laying flat against his back again more and more as time went on and his second fiance wasn't found.

They'd made plans for dinner tonight. Not having been able to spend much quality time together having taken a toll on all of them so they decided on this as a solution. Karl had even proudly shown them how he'd written their names down on the back of his hand so he would remember and they'd all laughed about it as if it was an inside joke. Quackity had tried his hardest not to let the pain of it all seep into that laugh.

Had just awwed and had tried to push down the pang of hurt as he realized that it had gotten bad enough for Karl to have to do such things.

But there his fiancé was. Standing on a broad ledge about midway down the crater of what used to be l'manburg. Looking around with a slightly confused, yet blank expression. How had he even wandered this far away from Kinoko kingdom?

Quackity spread his wings, almost comically small compared to his body size yet somehow still functional through bounds of hybrid magic and a high metabolism, to step off the edge and gently glide towards Karl. Landing on the same ledge and approaching him from the side.

"Karlos?"

The man turned around after a second or so. Looking at him with those wide eyes and cocking his head to the side. There wasn't any recognition in his eyes. None of the usual glee that filled them when met with one of his fiancé's.

Quackity felt a rock settle in his stomach but tried to push it down. Maybe Karl was just tired. Maybe it would pass like the soreness he seemed to feel every time he returned from wherever he was off to on these occasions.  

He'd never told them. They never pried. Knowing that if it was important that he'd tell them.

But now, standing infront of his future husband, calling him by their favourite petname and finding him absolutely unresponsive... well it might have been important after all

"...hey" Karl said. And it was warm but in the way he would greet a stranger and Quackity felt a crack in his heart.  

"Hey honeycomb. Do you...do you want to go home?"

Karl looked at him for a long moment before slowly lifting his arm and pulling up his sleeve to uncover the back of his hand.  

'Quackity Sapnap' it read, and beforementioned man felt a spark of hope grow in his stomach. Their names must help surely right?

"You're... Quackity...? Wait no- Sapna-Quackity. I-I'm so sorry this is rude but...who are you exactly?"

And there goes that spark.

Quackity felt like screaming, Flying off and hiding in the mountains or maybe plummeting himself into a monster pit and punching his fists raw. His fiancé had forgotten who he was. Who Sapnap was, who any of his friends were it seemed.  

But being mad wouldn't solve anything. Being mad might upset Karl and he'd hate to give a bad first impression, how bizarre the idea of having to make a first impression at all was, put aside.

So he took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before facing Karl again, a smile on his face. He could do this.

"You got it right the first time honeycomb." He said, forced lightness evident in his voice as he swung his arm around Karl's waist, the other leaning into him like he always did even if this was so very different.

“Let’s get you home hm? Sap is probably burning down the kitchen with how worried he is. We’ve been looking all day yaknow?” 

Karl nodded, expression still beyond confused at the whole situation. 

“Sap is...?” “Sapnap. Your fiance. One of the two actually.” He said, a sad smile plastered on his face as he grabs Karl’s hand, showing off the two matching rings they wore. Internally he did a little dance when the hand wasn’t pulled away and the other held a pleasantly surprised look on his face.

“Huh.”

-

Sapnap had brown hair and wore a bandana. Those were the only features he could identify on the other man right before he was swooped into a hug so tight he was scared he’d break something. Though before that could happen gentle hands peeled Sapnap’s arms away from him and he could breathe again as the other two had what seemed like a staring contest. Sapnap deeply offended and the other guy...Quackity? Quackity seeming too tired for all of this right about now.

When Sapnap slowly tried to wrap his arms around Karl again Quackity let out a sigh and finally spoke. 

“He doesn’t remember Sap.”

That stopped the other in his movement. He stood frozen in place, staring at Quackity with wide eyes for a long moment when finally...

“What’d he forget this time?”

“Us.”

“I’m sorry-” Karl went to say, but Sapnap had already backed himself into the very corner of the kitchen of the unfamiliar house that apparently belonged to them. 

Karl didn’t even know which cupboard held the cups.

“You-”

“I don't know how he-”

“I’m sorry but uhm- what year is this?”

The two others stared at him- they seemed to be doing that a lot- and slowly Quackity started to give him a nervous smile, then a nervous chuckle, trying to laugh away the sheer hurt of it all.

“Don’t tell me you’re also forgetting the date now Karlos.”

“No, no it’s not that it’s just... I traveled a lot recently so it’s hard to keep track of what time I’m in.”

“You’ve... how do you travel Karl?” Sapnap came closer now, tears in his eyes and voice shaky. Quackity wasn’t much better.

Karl decided then and there that, if these people were truly his fiancés, that he’d probably tell them about his travels. Probably already had! He just couldn’t remember. Not that that was an uncommon thing...

“I-... by portal? The last one was 1850 I think. Yeah! see-?” he pointed at the date that had been messily scribbled on his wrist. “-The ones before I’m not sure of we’d have to check the books, I wrote it down there I think.”

He looked up from his little ramble to come face to face with two very shocked faces, one crying red hot tears and the other seeming close to crying the usual ones.

“You’re a time traveler Karl?” 

Ah. So he hadn’t told them before this... Well, past him couldn’t really blame him for not remembering that now could he?

“Yes? It’s not... not voluntary i think. One of the books I read said it wasn’t voluntary at least...”  he trailed of when he saw the looks of heartbreak on the two semi-strangers their faces.

“Someone is forcing you to timetravel?” Quackity asked in a small voice, barely contained rage simmering just under the surface of the words.

“I’m not sure who or what I just-can I maybe sit down?”

He was tired. He really was. This was all very confusing and the ring around his finger looked like it belonged there yet he’d never seen the people that it matched with before and his life was fading away from him and he just. wanted. a. nap.

“I-Yeahyeah you sit down honeycomb me and Sap will just- yeah go sit down.”

Truth be told Karl would really rather just take a nap. The inbetween had been odd. The travel had been painful and he’d much prefer it if his travels would stop ending in him having to once again experience what dying felt like without actually doing so. 

But he sat down. The two people he was supposed to care about most in life standing in the kitchen and quietly talking to eachother. He felt weirdly...empty. He looked at his hands and felt like they were not his. like the smudged out names and dates and the dirt under his fingers that looks too much like the dried up blood that had caked under them after he'd-yeah. It all felt like it belonged to someone else.

He didn't even know where the cups were in this house and here he was. Two fiancé's and a headache richer and not remembering how he'd gotten either of them. Though he atleast had a hunch for the headache.

He looked around the mushroom themed home. Glancing over at where Quackity seemed to be holding Sapnap tight as his shoulder shook heavily, before he quickly turned his head away from them.

He'd caused that. He'd caused it and it felt wrong. He wasn't supposed to hurt these people. Sapnap had gone through enough.

If only he knew what the 'enough' was in that thought.

He was really lost wasn't he?

His eyes had begun to droop when the two other men walked up to him again. Sapnap with a slightly redder face and red rims under his eyes. Quackity with a set expression and the same red rimmed eyes.

"How about we get some sleep hm, Karlos? After that we can go to where you keep your books and read through them. Cog your memory a bit hm? How's that sound?"

Karl was nodding as soon as a bed was mentioned. Feeling the aches of the day (it had been 3 days. Yet in this time it seemed to have only been half a day or so.) settle into his bones and drag him down. Making or very hard to get up at all from the overly comfortable couch that he knew felt familiar but that he didn't remember ever sitting on.

Sapnap ended up carrying him to the bed. And he leaned into the man and felt himself laying his head against his chest to hear the steady heartbeat there. A vague memory that didn't feel like his reminding him that they'd done this before. That this happened regularly. And he pretended that his eyes weren't a little bit wet when he realised how he'd lost some of the best moments in his life.

And maybe he cried a little when he was laid in the bed ever so gently and ever so lovingly before a thick blanket was laid over him.

And maybe he cried a little more late at night, held by two people that felt like home but that he'd never met before and loved but had never spoken too.

And maybe he felt their arms tighten around him when he shook. And maybe he felt Quackity nestle his head further in the crook of his neck like he'd done so many unknown times before.

And maybe they would be alright. Maybe they'd go down to where his books were and read through them, memories flowing back to him with every page turn.

Maybe they would be alright for now.

But Quackity and sapnap held their hands intertwined ontop of Karl's chest. Knowing that, once Karl disappeared and reappeared again, more would be lost. And they'd have to start all over again.

-

This is very ooc probably but I am tired and also ✨they✨

[lassieposting]

otp questions for skugwife plz 🥺

1. Who said I love you first?

He did, about three seconds after laying eyes on her for the first time. He was Not Subtle. In his defence, he was in a field hospital at the time, covered in his own blood, and was high off his ass on pain relief, so.

2. Who laughs and kisses their partner on the cheek while their partner isn’t happy about something trivial to try and make them feel better?

Wifey. She's kind of handicapped here because Skug does his best to shield her from the worst parts of himself and the grim truth about war. He doesn't outright lie to her, but he'll censor what he tells her, leaving out the death and the blood and the gore, because he's grown up terrified of becoming his father and he's desperate to be the man she thinks he is, to be someone who's worthy of her love. He doesn't want her to ever look at him and see a killer. If she has to think of him at war, he wants her to think of her gallant hero who always saves the day. So a lot of the time, when he gets into a black mood, she doesn't actually know what's really distressing him. She knows he has nightmares, but he always claims he doesn't remember what they're about. She knows that sometimes he'll nick himself with a knife while he's helping her with dinner, and when she turns around he's just standing there watching his hand bleed like he's suddenly somewhere very far away, but she doesn't know why he gets like that. She knows he has days where she'll say his name four or five times before he even seems to hear her, and an unexpected gunshot from one of the neighbouring smallholdings will have him trembling and running to check on her. But she tries, when he's quiet and distant and sad. She'll hold him and stroke his hair or sing to him or take him out walking in the sunshine, and eventually he'll take her hand and kiss her knuckles and apologise for being an arse, and she never really knows how to tell him that she doesn't mind him having those days at all, she just wishes she knew how to make him stop hurting.

3. Who cuddles up to the other after a long day at work, and this soon escalates to a playful pillow fight?

Skug. They're a cuddly, affectionate couple anyway, but his favourite thing in the world is laying his head in her lap and having his hair stroked. The man melts. They'll cuddle up in the evenings and he'll keel over for her as soon as she pats her leg like come on then and they'll just. Catch each other up on what they've missed since the last time he was home, while she pets him. She'll tell him the latest drama in her friend circle and how her father's been dodging the advances of an elderly patient, and he'll give her a censored, family-friendly version of what he got up to at the front - so, all the funny stories, but with all the gore and death and hard choices edited out. If he says something sufficiently ridiculous, she'll swat him in the face with a cushion. Sometimes he'll fall asleep there and she'll keep playing with his curls until she thinks he's well and truly out of it, and then pick up her needlework to do over his head while he sleeps.

4. What is something that they gave one another that has a lot of meaning?

When they're courting, she makes him a scarf and sends it with the courier with one of her letters, because she didn't like to think of him being cold on night watches. It's red and has zero magical properties whatsoever, it's no Bespoke creation, but he wears it on every mission.

She has a locket with his portrait in it. He's ADHD as fuck and hates sitting still for hours, but she playfully tells him one time that he's "been away so long I almost forgot what you looked like," and he takes it seriously and makes sure that never happens again.

5. How would one another describe their partner?

Very similarly. They both think the other one is their better half and that they don't deserve them. She loves him because he's brave and clever and funny and not afraid to stand up for what he believes in. He loves her because she's good and kind and loving and makes him want to be a better man. They're that couple that are so caught up in each other's virtues that they completely miss each other's flaws.

6. Who wraps their arms around their partner as they look them in the eyes and compliments them with a goofy smile?

Skug, every time they go somewhere they'll be surrounded by His Kind Of People.

Wifey is a salt of the earth working/lower-middle-class sort of girl. She has a job. She's grown up doing all the cooking and cleaning for her father, and she continues to do a lot of it even after she gets married and Skug hires servants because she can't stand to be idle. She has a very limited education; she didn't spend her childhood being fussed over by governesses or taught to simper and dance and paint. So she feels very out of place at fancy Sanctuary parties, surrounded by Skug's superior officers and their sophisticated upper-class wives. She's worried about embarrassing him, she's worried about making him look bad, she's worried about being laughed at or insulted behind her back for being too common or too forthright or too lacking in pretty manners.

He'll pull her to one side before they're announced and remind her that she outshines every other woman in the room, that most of these people are boorish and ignorant anyway so who cares what they think, and that she's got nothing to worry about: she's far more charming than he is and the laws of probability suggest that if anyone is gonna put their foot in it and embarrass the other one, it'll be him.

7. Who loves saying ‘my wife’ or ‘my husband’ or ‘my spouse’?

Wifey, especially when they're newlyweds. She has absolutely no idea how she managed to land him. He's hers now, forever. She has to keep saying it to convince herself it's true. Skug is a bit baffled, but having someone so happy to lay claim to him gives him major heart eyes. He's not used to having someone be proud of him and want to show him off like he's something worth bragging about.

8. Who always talks about how amazing their partner is when their partner isn’t there and they just light up with genuine love and happiness?

God, both of them.

In Prussia, a few months after they get married, Morwenna Crow takes one for the team and spends three solid weeks indulging Skug while he talks about his wife just, constantly.

On Wifey's side, she has a gaggle of girlfriends who appear at the door of her lovely new home to take tea at the first opportunity after her honeymoon wanting all the salacious details. And? She has so much to tell them. Like a lot of young women at the time, the most she was given in the way of sex education was a vague lecture from an older married friend about Marital Duties that didn't really serve a purpose beyond making her really, really nervous about her wedding night.

(She tells Skug about this lecture while she's sprawled all over him somewhere between round two and round three on said wedding night. She's confused. She was told it would be distasteful and unpleasant and painful. Why would her friends lie to her? He laughs, and strokes her hair, and tells her her friends' husbands are clearly doing something wrong.)

So. She returns from her honeymoon with a lot of new information to share with her poor, deprived friends. She's not the only married woman in the group, but she's the only one who married for love, so the unmarried girls are looking at what they want for themselves, and the ones who married for wealth or status are lowkey living vicariously through her.

These gatherings are deeply unnerving for poor Skug. He'll pop into the parlour to kiss Wifey goodbye before he goes out riding with Ghastly, and like eight smirking women politely sipping tea will chorus good morning, Skulduggery like they know something he doesn't know, and something about the way they look at him makes him feel like they're starving and he's a juicy steak. And then he'll close the door behind him when he leaves the room and hear them all immediately explode into giggles. What the fuck do they talk about in there??? At least once he's asked Wifey if she's plotting to sacrifice him, or something.

9. Who loves it when their partner kisses them good morning?

Skug. When you've spent the last 6+ months snatching at sleep on a hard bed with itchy blankets in between night watches and enemy attacks and commando raids of your own, it becomes a real treat to get a full nights sleep and wake up in fresh sheets in your own bed with your wife pressed up against your back, kissing your neck and touching you under the blanket. He knows he's safe when he wakes up with her, and he misses feeling her burrow into his arms when they're apart.

10. Who shows the other how to balance a spoon on their nose?

Skug.

11. Who loves to pull pranks on the other? What type of pranks do they pull and do they pull their pranks off?

Wifey's favourite is to tell Skug she invited her father to stay for a week and watch him frantically try to arrange his face into any other expression than "horrified". This is doubly funny if he just came home and he's raring to get her into bed - "Oh, darling, we can't, Papa will be here shortly, and he's due to stay until Thursday next, you'll simply have to wait," - but she never lets him believe it for long. She's not, like, cruel.

12. What is something small that they would randomly pick up for one another?

Spending money is Skug's love language. He's always buying her "just a little something"s. Hair ribbons, jewellery, new dresses, books, paints...anything he sees and thinks she'd enjoy.

She bakes for him, when he's home. She doesn't think the army feeds him properly, and she knows he eats like a horse. Coming back from Ghastly's to the smell of homemade bread is one of his favourite things about being married.

13. Who is the one who can’t stop laughing when trying to tell a joke?

Wifey. She'll be doubled over wheezing, red in the face, and Skug will still have no idea what the joke is. She didn't get that far. She's the kind of person where, many hours later, he'll ask, "So what was that joke you wanted to tell me?" and it'll just. Set her off again.

14. Who would plan the other a surprise birthday party?

Skug. He's often away for Wifey's birthday, but he'll always try to wheedle some leave out of Corrival so he can come home and spend it with her. It doesn't always work - a lot of the time they simply can't spare him - but he does his best.

15. Who picks the other person up when hugging their partner?

Skug is a 6'4 beanpole of a man who likes small, petite women. Wifey is like 5'3 tops and he picks her up all the time. She weighs, like, nothing to him and she's really into how strong he is, so getting swept off her feet all the time doesn't bother her.

What does bother her is when his lanky ass forgets to bring things down from the top shelf before going away for a few months. She can't reach up there.

[bloody-wonder]

okay so in a lot of ur tags u say u don’t like the upperclassmen and i’m so glad to see that!!!! because there’s a lot of love for dan and that’s cool but the scene in tkm where she tells neil they have no room to judge him because they’re foxes but then immediately turns around and judges andrew for murdering tilda never fails to make me mad!!!!!!!! and i would love to hear ur thoughts on that and just the upperclassmen in general, thank u for having takes i agree with

behold! now my nitpicky mildly critical posts have reached the upperclassmen too

the interesting thing about the upperclassmen vs the mosters is that the first ones are considered “normal” and the latter ones “crazy” but in fact the lines between the groups are blurred. for example, nicky is a “monster” but his friendly personality makes him more “upperclassman” in my eyes which is why he wanted to be buddies with them so bad while andrew was away in the the easthaven. renee on the other hand is a sweetheart but she has probably killed more people than andrew, who’s a monster and gets judged for killing his mother. in turn, allison has killed no one but her attitude is moster-level vicious.

there are more things that make you one or the other beyond your college year and whether you belong to andrew’s group but in terms of judgement i find the comparison between renee and andrew interesting - cause they come from similarly brutal backgrounds, have both killed people and yet andrew is the lucifer himself in the upperclassmen’s eyes but renee’s an angel. ergo, the judgement isn’t passed for violating the you shall not kill commandment but for something as basic as your attitude. renee is altogether pleasant, the most tolerant character ever conceived and a joy to be around. she conforms. andrew doesn’t. that’s why he ultimately is a “monster” for dan & co.

i agree that we shouldn’t make “whose life was harder” a competition but there’s no denying that there’s an unbridgeable gap of misunderstanding between such characters as dan, allison and nicky on one hand and andrew, renee and neil on the other. the incident which stood out to me in this regard was after neil got the “happy birthday jr” message written in blood - that’s the way the foxes find out when neil’s real birthday is and dan and matt’s reaction is... to throw neil a party. do i even need to explain? neil just got a part of his secret identity disclosed against his will in a very ominous way. he doesn’t want a party the same way andrew doesn’t want a hug after having been raped. this is so obvious to me bcs i feel like i know what kind of people neil and andrew are and that you have to take it into account if you look for ways to comfort them or cheer them up. or you can just go with a method to cheer an average “normal” person up. that would sure go well. a gap. of misunderstanding. 

no person is obliged to know how every other person feels or what they want, no person can be so perceptive. but at the same time dan’s strategy of improving the relationship with andrew by inviting him and his friends to the team dinner, getting rejected and acting like she’s done everything in her power while simultaneously not even trying to hide her true feelings towards him - that strategy seems pretty half-hearted to me. he doesn’t want to hang out with you not bcs he’s “crazy” but bcs he doesn’t owe you any companionability especially seeing as you so obviously hate him, hon. 

i hope what i say doesn’t come off as me trying to call out the upperclassmen for not exerting themselves enough to become andrew’s friends. just as he doesn’t owe them anything, they owe nothing to him. he was nothing but hostile and violent towards them - for good reasons sometimes, but not always. so it’s perfectly understandable why they detest him. but they also happen to need his magic exy powers so the ball is on their court, so to say. (i hope i’m using this idiom correctly haha)

so with the party incident renee told dan and matt off bcs she has brain cells and apparently understands why it would be a horrible idea. another example of what i called “the gap of misundertanding” is when neil is trying to extricate himself from the foxes before christmas in order to go to evermore. he lies that he needs to go to his parents’ to meet his uncle and manipulates matt and nicky into urging him to go by using some basic reverse psychology - he’s vague but implies that he wouldn’t really like to go to his parents’ but his uncle comes over and he does want to meet him so he’s undecided. matt and nicky ofc tell him that he should absolutely go for no other reason, as far as i understand, that they think that christmas should be spent with your family especially if you haven’t seen them for a long time. now if i were them i believe i’d consider all i know about neil - before he joined the foxes he was sleeping in a school probably cause he has an unstable home, he doesn’t want to be seen shirtless bcs he has some body damage possibly inflicted by someone who was close to him, he never speaks of his family and he just implied very clearly that their relations are such that he wouldn’t have gone there for christmas were it not for the uncle - i’d consider all these things and the conclusion i’d come to would be “neil’s parents are probably abusive. it’s a questionable idea to send him to them alone”. i’m especially surprised that the foxes didn’t make any such conclusions seeing as they’re no strangers to the concept of an abusive family. matt and nicky readily urged neil to go and the rest just silently acquiesced. well, the idea that biological families are by default worth our time must be ingrained very deeply indeed. if andrew were there he’d have cracked neil’s big little lies in a second bcs i suppose nothing like that is ingrained in him. not anymore.

so these are my thoughts on the upperclassmen. i want to remark however that i may talk shit about them in the tags but i do think that they’re good, well-rounded secondary characters who fulfill their role of being foils to the monsters perfectly. they have faults as people but their faults are constructive to the books - both on the narrative level (for example, if the foxes were so perceptive as not to let neil go to his abusive parents for christmas the plot probably wouldn’t have happened) and on the thematic level (bcs now we see that “normalcy” is a social construct and to andrew they might appear as “abnormal” andrew appears to them).

[thelowlysatsuma]

“Stop pretending you’re okay, cause I know you’re not.” Prinxiety

 prompt 15, huh? sounds good

edit: i started this with the intention of making a drabble. next thing i knew, it was not only a full oneshot, but one that i actually bothered to edit until i was near fully satisfied with it. so anon, who asked me for this? thank you. i haven’t finished any writing in so long, and so i’m really grateful that i managed to make this happen.

Love Me Like You

“Stop it!”

Roman breaks off his laughter, grin frozenon his face as he takes in the intruder breaking up the sun-stained common roomwith a tasteful slice of shadow. “Stop what, Evanicence?” he asks,lightly flourishing a hand as he forces his eyes to crinkle, his shoulders, torelax.

Virgil rubs at his pinched forehead infrustration, brows furrowed, somehow paler than usual. “That, Princey!” he saysemphatically, waving a wayward hand in Roman’s general direction. “That! Theshow, the act, the– the pretense.” He runs a hand through unruly hair,pacing; air swirling and crackling around him like some ancient, wild flame.

His eyes are desperate, though – desperateand empathetic and deeply, deeply sad. “Stop pretending you’re okay! Iknow that you’re not!”

Roman’s mask cracks for the slightestsecond.

Then, he draws his walls up again. They’retighter now, more secure than before – an armored prison rather than anisolated cell. A million-watt grin is directed to his counterpart, and heshimmies his shoulders playfully. “I’m fine, Finding Emo!” he repliesgenially, twirling this way and that as he distances himself from the other.“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment, but there are more important thingsto be doing than cheering up someone who doesn’t need it, ya know.”

From Virgil’s flat stare, Roman gathers hedoesn’t buy it. The prince stays cheerful, however, hoping upon hope that theuniverse will give him just this one break. Virgil turns around to face thedoor, and internally, Roman sags in relief.

“I’m not blind, Roman. Or deaf.”

Ah. Well. Looks like the universe hates him,then. Oh well. Just another name to add to that particular list.

Roman lets his expression fall flat. “Whatdo you want, then, Virgil?” he grits out, longing to step closer but nottrusting himself to do so. “What do you expect me to do, huh? I mean, I get it!I’m not important!”

The hoodied figure shrinks the slightestbit, but stays silent. Roman begins to pace, frenetic energy looping andcoiling around him like a cobra ready to strike.

“I know you guys don’t care about me! I knowthe fans don’t care about me, and– and that the only reason I’m still hereis because Thomas needs me to keep creating.”

He’s striding turbulently. There’s a stormin his mind, and it’s pulling itself out of him with each slap of his feet onthe carpeted floor. The energy in the air is lightning crackling around him;each word out of his mouth, thunder roaring through the room.

“I get that I’m loud, and that I’mobnoxious, and that most people barely put up with me. I get thatnothing I create is good enough – could ever be good enough! Andbelieve me when I say that I understand how pathetic it is that theonly person who wants to compliment me is flippin’ Deceit!”

His voice is catching, some distant,detached part of his mind notes. And his hair is a wreck.

Roman ignores it.

“But even he doesn’t want to, really,does he? He’s just using me, and I’m pathetic enough that I’m strungalong anyways! And look, now I’m a liability, too! Now I’m failing at the onlything I thought I could do, which was protect you guys! But no, Ican’t even get that right!”

He rounds tempestuously on where hiscounterpart had been standing but a moment ago, but his sudden, maniacal grinfalls on empty air.

“So give it up, Virgil!” he announcesgrandly, spreading his arms wide as the harsh, stinging energy in the roombites at his face and his eyes, claws bitterly at any inch of exposed skin itcan get its hands on. “I’m just a fai-”

His voice breaks, and Roman grinds to aprecipitous halt.

The room is suddenly both too big and toosmall, a swarming, echoing mass around him. Silence. The colour drains from hisskin. His eyes widen, then scrunch up against the telltale burning at theircorners. His fists clench, a nervous swirl gusting around them like afrightened cat.

“A failu-” he tries again, but to no avail.He laughs dryly, swiping at his eyes with a hand. Then, abruptly, crumples tothe ground in defeat.

“Look at me,” he says, chuckling wetly. “Ican’t even say it right, that’s how pathetic I am.”

Roman doesn’t know where Virgil is, anymore.He probably left. It doesn’t matter, anyways. It’s not like Roman’s aware ofmuch anymore beyond the sweeping of his bangs low over his eyes, or the turmoilin his head.

(And it’s not like Virgil ever cared in thefirst place.)

“I wonder if you had the right idea backthen, after all,” he murmurs, blank, unfocused stare hanging heavily down byhis hands. “Thomas could theoretically go on without a Creativity, after all.”

His head drops to his knees, and hescrunches his face against the onslaught of tears.

“Maybe I should just go–”

“No.”

Roman’s head snaps up. 

And it’s Virgil.

Stormy, temperamental, passionate Virgil,light from the overhead lamp burning a halo of fire around his head like anavenging angel. Virgil, the look in his eyes as vehement as his denial ofRoman’s self-deprecation. Virgil, hands on his hips, commanding, and strong,and solid, and reliable, and real.

Virgil, beautiful Virgil.

The darker man crouches down to Roman’slevel, and he instinctively flinches back from his outstretched arm. Virgilnods easily and pulls back a half step, letting the offer of comfort standwhile making sure not to encroach on his counterpart’s boundaries.

“Listen, man,” he says, words as caustic asusual but voice soft, kind. Like he was trying to calm a wounded animal. “I’mnot the best at this. I know I’m not. But those thoughts that you’re havingright now? About being too much, and not being able to protect Thomas, and notbeing good enough?” He locks eyes with Roman, voice turning serious but facestill so, so kind. “They’re wrong.”

Roman’s breath hitches and he raises an armto protest, but Virgil cuts him off gently. “I know, man, I know. It sucks. Believeme, I know. Those thoughts used to be what went through my head every timeI looked in a mirror.”

Roman’s eyebrows furrow as Virgil gives adry, self-deprecating chuckle. “Hell,” he says, pushing his bangs out of hiseyes to better see the other, even as his counterpart shrinks back at thatpiercing, all-consuming gaze, “a lot of the time, I still get them.”

Roman swallows. Once. Twice. Again. Shrinksin on himself. Blinks a tear away. “How do you do it?” he finally asks, voicesmall and hoarse.

The question is vague, but Virgilunderstands nonetheless.

“I…” he says, glancing awayself-consciously, “I don’t, sometimes. Sometimes it does get too much.” He tugsat the stings of his hoodie nervously, tying them into abstract knots andshapes, rubbing the rough, textured fabric over fingers like he has a milliontimes before, and will a million again. “But when it gets to be too much for meto handle on my own – or even before that point, whenever I can muster up the-the courage or whatever, I… I go to the others. I go to Pat. I go to L.”He presses his lips together into a thin, nervous line, then releases them.

“I go to you.”

Roman looks up, pointing at himself indisbelief. ‘Me?’ he mouths near-silently, unable to process it. Virgilsmiles, small but present and oh gods, so proud. ‘You,’ hepromises back.

Proud. Of Roman.

“We don’t say it a lot,” Virgil says,licking his lips anxiously, running a hand through that wild, wild hair, “butgod, Princey. You’re– you’re…”

The corners of his lips twitch up into thatsmall, confident half-smile that Roman could swear is reserved for him and himalone, and the world is spinning around them and he’s getting light-headed andeverything’s twisting and turning and whirling but it’s safe, god, it’s all so safe,because Virgil’s here, Virgil here and Virgil’s smiling, and Romanswears he can hear his heart pounding in his ears, but this time, the weight onhis chest isn’t crushing him – rather, it’s taking him in its arms andcomforting him, and Roman can feel the entire world crashing around him atonce, but this time, there’s a burning flame on his side, and it’s vowed to bethere for him.

And slowly, slowly, Roman returns theother’s gaze. And in it, he sees all the stars in the sky reflected back athim, because Virgil’s looking at him like he could give him the moon.

“You’re incredible,” Virgil finallywhispers, soft brown eyes meeting the tear-stained face behind a very old mask.“You’re more incredible than I think I could ever put into words.”

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself.Unconsciously, Roman mirrors him, heart rate slowly but steadily calming downas a soft, sleeve-covered hand reaches out for him

“So I know that you feel like crap a lot.And that’s okay. You’re allowed to feel like crap. But– but when you do…”

(And this time, Roman lets it.)

“When you do, I hope you’ll let someone bethere for you.”

It’s not spoken, but the ‘I hope you’lllet me be there for you’ rings through the air just the same.

And Roman shatters.

He collapses into the other’s arms, tearsstreaking down his face, muttering jumbled ‘I’m sorry’s and ‘Thankyou’s. Virgil holds him, lets him ride out the rest of the storm with acomforting hand rubbing circles into the small of his back and a warm, lowvoice muttering anything it can think of into his hair.

And, slowly, haltingly, stutteringly butsurely, the rain in Roman’s mind subsides. The storm clears up. And sparklingsunlight breaks through the dark clouds.

There’ll be bad days again. Of course therewill.

But, here, on the off-white carpet, with awarm body next to his and a stunning mind and sharp tongue and the mostbeautiful flame he’s ever seen ready to defend him from any evils that dare attack,Roman thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be ready.

by the way! i’m getting an ao3 soon, so be on the lookout for that!

taglist under cut

@loganberrysanders @spectralheartt @artistgracie @coconut-cluster @falling-out-trees-101 @0beansprout0 @anony-phangirl @poppiesss

[desiree-harding-fic]

Burnout & Brochures

I didn’t edit it because it’s late but here’s a Lucretia oneshot. Just pre-IPRE. I love my girl.

 Lucretia is, in a word, miserable.

She shouldn’t be, really. The suns are shining, the day is warm. The University’s quads are filled with students lounging on the grass: reading, talking, playing music. Someone’s even brought a dog, and is tossing a stick for it to chase with glee.

And it’s days like this Lucretia wishes she wasn’t even at the University at all, which is ridiculous. How many people would kill to have her spot here? How many applications were rejected in favor of hers? The planet’s best Liberal Arts University doesn’t just take anyone. They don’t give just anyone free room and board. They don’t always take eighteen year-olds even. There are people all around the world who would give anything to be where Lucretia is right now.

As if that matters.

As if they would have any idea what they were getting into. Lucretia certainly didn’t. The University was a shining beacon, worlds away and so close, a place where she could put her talents to use. A place to learn. A place where people would perceive her talent, where she could make something of herself. Everyone had believed it. The University advertised that way. Knowledge, the pinnacle of all things, unattainable and mysterious but attainable here. A place where minds like hers would find kindred spirits and be respected.

And Lucretia, so stupidly, had believed it.

Stupid, she chastises herself, storming through a green, not paying any mind to the picnic blankets she steps on. But that’s just the issue isn’t it. She’s not stupid.

She’s entirely too fucking smart, and that’s just the problem, isn’t it?

It sticks in her head as she storms through the door to her dormitory, as she climbs the stairs to her fourth-floor room, her little room, as she jams the key in the lock and slumps against the door, falling back into it and making it shut with a thud that sounds just enough like a slam to alleviate 3% of her tension.

It’s not enough.

She runs her hands through her hair, grips it at the roots and pulls, furrowing her brow and closing her eyes and trying to take deep breaths.

It’s just that she could scream.

Four days. Four straight days of classes that have left her ready to explode. Four straight days of lectures, and seminars that she takes notes for with both hands, the right notebook filled with content, the left a detailed analysis of every shift of energy in the room, every time the stupid fucking professor interrupts one of her classmates and Lucretia sees her shrink back in her chair, every time her comments, her thoughts get attributed to a boy with fake glasses and oily hair. Four straight days of everything she’s said being said again, in slightly different words. Four straight days of hearing “what Lucretia was trying to say…” soft, condescending tones and having to hold back a scream as visceral and powerful as the bang at the start of the universe.

She untangles her hands from her hair. Opens her eyes. Takes off her glasses. She can’t handle having to see right now. It’s too much. It’s all too much.

It occurs to her that she’s thirsty.

The problem with it all, she thinks, as she pours a glass of water, starts the kettle for tea, is that she’s too smart. She can’t help but see it when it happens, the little things, none of them egregious enough to be fought over, but the combination of them laying on her like a weight, every day, every hour, pressing her and crushing her to death.

She wonders, momentarily, if she’ll ever get out of this place.

Don’t be ridiculous, she chastises herself, sipping her water, her eyes far away. It’s only one more year. She can make it.

But she’s been here for three weeks and she feels like she’s going to snap at any moment, feels tense like a tightly coiled spring, can feel the energy bubbling under the surface, nowhere to go, nowhere to go, bubbling and bubbling until it bubbles right up into her lungs and throat and chokes her out.

That’s almost good, actually. She should write that down.

She should’ve known, she thinks, as she inscribes the words to paper. She should’ve known that a simple institution wouldn’t change what she’s always known.  She should’ve known that the world doesn’t simply change because you’re inside a more expensive set of walls, because people are almost required to think for fourteen hours a week. She should have known as soon as she started ghost writing at age thirteen, not because she wanted to, but because she couldn’t get published, couldn’t sell under her own name.

Three of the top ten best-selling biographies of the last five years are hers. And she has to repeat everything three times in her Tuesday seminar, because it’s the only way to get herself heard.

The kettle is whistling. Lucretia removes it from the heat.

There’s almost a damage that comes with it. She’s so tired. So terribly, terribly bone-tired, and not because she doesn’t sleep. Not because she stays up late into the night, transcribing facts from the lives of the “great men” of the modern day. No, it’s the pent-up energy that sticks with her day to day, hour to hour, minute to minute, the continuous frustration, the inability to escape it. The way she always thinks that maybe, just maybe, if she continues on the path she’s on now, if she picks and chooses right, it won’t ever happen again.

And then the fact that it always does.

The fact that she has to refer to it as it in her head, that even the word is so dirty to her, opens so many doors that she’s afraid of opening, that she can’t even acknowledge it for what it is.

The utter hopelessness of it all is what gets to her. The fact that there’s nowhere to turn. That she’s not even sure if she should be upset about it, that she feels crazy, that she’s tying herself up in knots over what might be a human behavior, and what if it’s not… what if it’s nothing, and it’s all in her head. What if the way her professors act is indiscriminate, and Lucretia only notices a difference because she’s fabricating it for the sake of making herself feel special.

The tea water isn’t hot anymore, so distracted she’s been. Lucretia sighs and sets the kettle back down. She flops onto her bed, buries her face in the pillows. Resists, again, the urge to scream, because she hates the way her throat feels when she’s done.

She wishes, deeply, fervently, that she really was stupid. Or naïve. Or just ignorant, even being ignorant, though not perfect, might do. Or more ignorant than she is now.

That last thought sparks a tiny little rage in her. That she can’t even manage true arrogance, so beaten down is she by this fucking… this way people treat her. That even on her own, unobserved, she feels the need to temper her knowledge of herself with humility. That she can’t even indulge in a little vindictive self-importance. That she has to make excuses, has to cover her ass, even here, in her own head, where there’s no one to tell her she’s wrong.

She feels her throat tighten up and gods how she wants to cry. How long has it been since she did? She can’t remember. She feels vaguely, that she’s been on the verge of it for days, weeks, months, years.

Hundreds of people would give an arm and a leg to be where she is now.

And she’s miserable.

She turns over on her bed, lets the sunlight gently diffused in her window pane and some concentrated deep breathing lull her into something almost resembling relaxation. She closes her eyes and doesn’t sleep. She tries to meditate, like she learned two years ago in that one seminar about stress relief, but she doesn’t remember how. She’d been so tired on the day that the moment she closed her eyes she fell asleep, dead to the instructor’s guidance.

A sigh pushes its way out of her lungs, and she blinks away the tears pricking at the back of her eyes.

She turns her head.

A flash of red in her periphery catches her attention.

Her brain works sluggishly after episodes like these (if it can ever be said that Lucretia’s brain is sluggish in any capacity) but still, it only takes her a few seconds to identify the flyer from the IPRE.

She doesn’t want to get out of bed. Her bag is close. She hangs off the side like an oozing slime, and her fingertips can just pluck the flyer from the bag.

(She almost falls out of bed trying to pull herself back up).

But the IPRE is planning an Exploration mission. She remembers her department head mentioning it in the hall, remembers the look he gave her when she snagged the flyer. It’s not like there’s anything about it up Lucretia’s alley, but she’s a curious woman. Some light reading to take her mind off things might be good.

The plans for the ship are ambitious. Lucretia didn’t know that the capability to hop to other planes even existed. There’s not much of that at the University; there’s a reason why the IPRE is its own Institution. But still. It’s interesting. The flyer looks to be a recruitment notice, which half seems strange to her, because she would think that the Institute would pull from its own ranks, but she skims the positions anyway. Arcanists, mostly, which feels typical. Something about a cleric, an interesting choice, a bodyguard, a chronicler, a –

A chronicler.

Lucretia sits up in bed, ram-rod straight, as her eyes flick over the entry for a chronicler again, and a third time, and a fourth –

The flyer ends up crushed in her hand.

A chronicler. The IPRE needs a chronicler. For a mission to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, and then beyond that. To the far reaches of the planar system.

A chronicler. The only one on the ship. One position offered. On a groundbreaking mission. One chronicler out of a crew of planar scientists, spacy types (literally) who might know the ins and outs of the fabric of the universe, but who probably know fuck-all about chronicling.

And Lucretia’s too smart for her own good, and ambidextrous, and three of the top ten best-selling biographies of the last five years are hers.

Briefly, one little corner of her brain wonders what the girl who sits across from her in her Tuesday seminar is going to do when Lucretia’s gone, and she has no one to level her exasperated looks at the professor explains what she was “trying to say,” and gets it wrong.

The rest of her brain is already drafting her application essay.

[hillnerd]

Idea: Hermione has an accident and loses her memory. What would Ron do to make her fall in love again?

My initial reaction to this prompt: OH NO. That is a good way to F^CK me RIGHT UP. Also I would read the hell out of any fic like this. I’m sure there must be a memory loss fic like this out there- so let me know guys! BUT THEN I HAD TO KEEP WRITING...Lots of ways this can go! Here’s my take (2.7k words) :

So in this scenario- it’s about five years after the war. Things are finally a bit more peaceful, but they’re still rounding up the last of the war criminals every once in a while- one such war criminal is brought in to the Ministry and Hermione is helping with the case- somehow they wrestle a wand off of someone and have Hermione at wandpoint. That’s when they decided to do a terrible spell to ‘teach the presumptuous m**blood a lesson.’ They hit her with a spell and she passes out.

She wakes up in a hospital she doesn’t recognize- her head is pounding. She is sitting up on the bed very confused when a tall red headed man walks into the room holding a mug of tea.

“Hermione, you’re awake!” he says, looking relieved and like he really really cares. She has no idea who he is. Perhaps he’s one of the doctors? He’s not wearing a white coat- but some of them are more casual right? Then he’s holding her hand which seems very odd for a doctor. Then he leans in and kisses her. She slaps him.

“Don’t touch me!”

He looks at her stunned. Some doctors(??!!) come in responding to her yell, they are wearing bright green uniforms, and are waving a bunch of sticks at her. She begins to panic. What is going on?! So she’s feeling insane- and like something is deeply wrong with her and is witnessing people staring at her like SHE’S the one who is nuts as they wave sticks at her like a bunch of lunatics.  Finally she lets out a yowl of, “What’s going on? Where are my parents! Stop pointing those sticks at me!’

“Hermione?” The redhead asks, looking at her fearfully. He tentatively reaches towards her.

“I said don’t touch me! I don’t know who you are, but if you think you can come in and start kissing a stranger, you are very much mistaken! I’m going to report you!”

One of the strange doctors/kidnappers points a stick at her and she feels a flash move through her body- making her suddenly feel very sleepy. The last thing she sees is the red headed man looking at her in shock.

She wakes up restrained, but calm. She’s on some medication of some sort they say- ‘Potions.’ Whatever… Where are her parents? They ask her questions about things she remembers- She can remember her childhood, then snippets of summer and winter vacations, a few dinners with her parents- some odd memories of Australia… Her memories just seem to get vaguer and vaguer. Those are the last memories she has that are clear. Even through the potion, she feels fear gripping her. She asks how old she is- she’s almost 23. What??? When she looks in a mirror she’s shocked, as on many levels she still feels she’s just a teen.

The ‘healers’ do a lot of tests after giving her some sort of medicine that makes her feel even calmer-

They explain magic. It’s a think apparently. She’s magical. She seems to have lost a great deal of her memory.

They just had a vague notion of what the spell cast on her would do after they translated it (because spells are all in latin and there were multiple witnesses to the spell.) They thought it might be a spell to make her unable to remember spells or inhibit her magic. Instead it is something far far worse.

They figure out all her magical memories have been stripped from her mind. This isn’t just spells and such- this is everything linked to magic at all. Every person, every memory touched by magic. The spell caster basically wanted to make her a ‘muggle’ the only way they could.

The Healers have no idea if they can restore these memories or not, as the spell used is not one they had heard of before.

They bring forth a ton of people to see if she can recognize any of them- she doesn’t know any of them- a black haired man, a ton of red heads, a weird girl with blonde hair- an endless sea of people. The only one she can remember the name of is Ron, and that’s only because apparently he’s her fiance, and it’s hard to forget someone practically molesting you in a hospital.

They give her a stick to see if any route memories of magic come to her. She waves her wand about and says ‘abra kadabra’ which makes them all look very frightened as they take the wand from her saying she could have killed someone! What? With the stick? Sorry- the wand?

She wants to go home!

She wants nothing to do with the wizarding world and all its nonsense- she wants her parents.  

Her ‘friends’ she’s introduced to all seem to want to push her to stay, so she can try to prod her memory more and do more of the ‘do you recognize this?’ game, but she doesn’t want to listen to any of them at all. Who even are they? The only one who doesn’t push her is Ron. He hasn’t tried to touch her again since he found out about her memory. He has barely spoken to her, but hasn’t left the hospital, even though she’s been there a week since waking.

She tries to give him the engagement ring on her hand- which he urges her to keep. She thinks it ridiculous to be engaged to a stranger- but he almost brokenly says ‘maybe you won’t be one eventually…’ so she keeps it. She hadn’t thought about how hard this would be for him- the stranger who loved her? She feels a touch cruel now for trying to give the ring back. There is something about this Ron fellow that makes her not completely hate the idea of trying to get to re-know him. Someday. Not now though.

Everyone is pushing her and pushing her (except Ron and the odd blonde girl with protuberant eyes)- but Ron mournfully is like ‘I’ll support you… Just do what you want. Whatever will make you happiest.’ She wants something familiar and calming- which is to be with her parents at home.

They seem pleased to have her, though worried. They’re tiptoeing around her like she’d insane- and maybe she is now? How sane can you be when you are missing half your life and everything that you learned. She thought this would be a way to heal- but honestly she feels on edge and like all the thoughts and learning she’d ever done had been stripped away from her. She feels oddly empty and lonely.

The healers said they’d be doing research on her spell damage- as if they blindly go in with their normal spells they could make it permanent- if it isn’t already. So they say she can leave- she can do magic- perhaps try things to spark her memory. They’ll do weekly tests to make sure of improvements/worsening memory but beyond that she doesn’t have to go to the hospital again.

A trunk of items that might help her with her memories is brought by Ron about a week into her stay. He came all this way and is looking at her with such intensity she decides to invite him in. After all, he’s basically lost his fiance. Maybe it would be interesting to get to know him and wants to see why she had wanted to marry a man who, so far, seemed good looking but beyond that not all that impressive. He is polite, doesn’t push things, as they go through the trunk. There is nothing very personal in there. He decided to start with her old school things- nothing all that personal yet- since that was how she was first introduced to the wizarding world, and she’d always been into academics. That was thoughtful, she decides. She definitely wouldn’t have been comfortable looking at photos and being forced to remember things.

There are tons of books, quills, and she sees her handwriting all over the place- not in spiral notebooks but in long pieces of rolled up parchment like she was writing patents of nobility or something. She laughs at how stupid and inefficient it is to have things on scrolls. Ron quietly watches her as she looks through it all. She begins looking through the books and finds them fascinating.

“I could really do… This is real then? Real magic? That I could do?”

“You are the most brilliant witch I’ve ever met,” he says nodding. Being called witch makes her feel uncomfortable. Sounds more like an insult than a positive identifier.

Ron asks if she’s curious to try a spell.

She decides yes. He conjures up a feather like object- from nowhere! And has her try a spell called ‘Wingardium Leviosa.’ She says it wrong and he coaches her to say it ‘Levi-O-sah, not LevioSAH’- and the little flick at the end. She does it! She made the feather float! They’re grinning at each other, though she sees he looks misty eyed.

He’s being really patient with her as she learns such an easy spell. Apparently from their first year at Hogwarts. There’s something fascinating about him; his lopsided grin, his shockingly red hair, his blue eyes- how tall he is, and how genuine and sweet he seems. He doesn’t treat her like she’s nuts or to be pitied.

She asks him to tell him about himself, as she doesn’t know anything. He does- all about his family (A few stories making her laugh as he describes people and does the voices for them), his job, his favorite things including some sport she’d never heard of, and Chess.

“Oh! Let’s play chess,” Hermione says. Her dad has a board somewhere in his study. They play chess and he beats her very quickly. She tries a few times, but it’s like playing a computer. He’s smart.

She has to admit- her ‘fiance’ is seeming more impressive by the minute. He’s good looking, sweet, thoughtful, funny, smart. It was like going on her very first date, really. A very nice first date. And she already knows he loves her- I mean, they’re affianced!- but even if it weren’t for that, she could tell with how he looks at her. He hasn’t tried once to bring up their own history or force anything.

An alarm goes off from his wand, and he looks at her regretfully. He has to go to work- but maybe he can come by again? Beyond taking her to the hospital, as her parents can’t get into St Mungos.. She says she’d like that.

Each week they go to the hospital together, each week she’s the same. Ron keeps coming to the house though! They try more spells, play more chess, he brings her cat from their place (their place!- what an odd thought!) and the cat is the most perfect things in the world she’s ever seen. He goes with her to St Mungo’s for them to try spells on her after a month- they don’t work. This is just the first round! Don’t lose hope!

His visits get longer each time, and by her asking, not his. She asks Ron for more and more of the stories of their youth- the adventures they went through- the war stuff. She’d been through a war? She’s nearly died? It’s especially hard for him to tell of the people they lost, including his brother dying. She holds his hand hoping he know she cares.

He brings Harry over a few times too, and Ginny- and brings over Luna and Neville. George. Little Teddy and his amazing hair. More and more people visit her. The wizarding world really has some wonderful people in it.

She reads about apparition and flying- and he does apparition with her in her parent’s house (Which gives her a thrill as the two of them are so physically close) and he swears he’ll take her for a fly when he can.

She’s feeling more and more herself (well, she THINKS it’s more herself) and slowly she starts to become more and more comfortable with the wizarding world- getting to visit the Burrow, Harry and Ginny’s place (they’ve just found out they’re pregnant!), Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and Hogsmeade. Ron takes her for a fly at The Burrow. She doesn’t think she’d ever like to do it on her own, but with him it was quite magical, his arms wrapped around her as he guided them around at a steady pace. She gets to watch him and everyone else play quidditch, which is very impressive. He’s so fast- they all are! Especially his little sister! She says she’ll bring Hermione to one of her professional matches soon. Ron shows her his childhood room, which makes her laugh at how adorably shy he is about it- this incredibly tall man, who’s been her guide through everything- being embarrassed to show her his room.

That’s when she realizes- she’s starting to become smitten with Ron Weasley!- he’s a little rough around the edges- he curses a lot, jokes a lot, is informal etc- but he’s been a real gentleman with her, patient, and perfect.

She decides she’d like to see their place- her and Ron’s. He tells her to give him 10 minutes (As he hasn’t been keeping it as nice without her there…) He apparates her there after he’s cleaned, and even though she knows she doesn’t remember the place, it feels familiar. It’s how she would have wanted things to be. He gives her a tour- There are book shelves all over, and it has character- and there are photos of her and Ron kissing and being obviously a happy couple.

He’s keeping his distance from her as she looks at the photos on the mantle. Ron is looking at her with that intense look she’s seen on his face at times- the look of sadness, longing, love? She talks to him about the thoughts going through her head- how it’s odd to think that she’s been kissed. They only had one bed, so most likely she’s done all sorts of intimate things with him she can’t remember. She feels like her body should know it, somehow, but she feels the same. She decides she’d like her first kiss to be with him. He’s uncertain.

‘Are you sure? I mean… I don’t want to push you!’

‘I promise I won’t slap you again,’ Hermione says with a smile.

It’s a very chaste kiss, but it’s wonderful.

She falls for Ron one day at a time. She eventually wants to see where she’s been working- realizing she hasn’t seen it yet- and that’s when it strikes her how broken she feels having all her memories gone. She sees the pitying looks on people’s faces- they seem to think she’s an imbecile now! And she realizes she might just be one now- she doesn’t have an education anymore. What is she fit for? What will her future be!? She’s panicking, but Ron is able to calm her a bit when he says no matter what, she’ll have support for whatever future she chooses- and she can catch up and be amazing at anything.

It’s been several months- they’ve tried cure after cure at St Mungo’s- but no progress is made.

Over the months, she has fallen in love with Ron (again) and is ok with moving back in with him. He’s her fiance, after all- so she doesn’t feel odd for doing this so quickly. They have history she doesn’t remember- but it just feels right.

Things are very chaste for a long time- and they have a good routine where she is trying to catch up on 7 years of Hogwarts education (both on her own and with correspondence with teachers) and magical law.

They get intimate over time and it’s odd how he knows her body better than she does as she’d never done all that much to explore her body’s wants by herself- but he knows all sorts of ways that she likes being touched. She’s happy that some day she will marry him- even if she never remembers their initial timeline again.

One not so special day the healers think they have a solution. They have gathered a tons of memories from Ron and Harry and everyone else they could find- and think they can use this and a lot of other spells to perhaps access the hidden ones in her mind and help ‘unlock’ them if you will- they do the spell. It doesn’t seem to have worked. Hermione didn’t think it would. They go home, feeling a bit deflated but Hermione says: “In the end, it doesn’t matter if I remember all that or not. I’ll always love you.”

She suddenly has a bit of a headache as they go to sleep together, cuddling in a way that makes her feel so protected and calm, despite the disappointing day. She wakes up with her head hurting even worse than the night before- and stumbles into kitchen.  Maybe she’s hungry?

“I’d love if you could conjure up some croissants,” she says to Ron who is making some tea.

He recites off Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration.

“That was impressive!”

“Always the tone of surprise,” Ron says with a smile.

Then something clicks.

“Wait… Say that again?”

“Gamp’s laws? Merlin, I knew quoting that brainy tosh would turn your head. We’re not using that in the bedroom,” he jokes, but she’s not laughing. He looks at her seriously now. She’s making that face she makes when she’s working out a puzzle.

“You’ve said that before…” she says feeling like she’s reaching for a dream she can barely remember. “The ‘always the tone of surprise.’ You’ve said it… And I’ve said it…”

Ron immediately is helping her sort it out. Telling her where the memories are from- as he says it those specific memories from Bill and Fleur’s Wedding and from after the Battle- the feel of hugging him when he was alright- They’re back- clear as day! She can remember them.

“Quick! Say something else you’ve said!”

They start going through memories and they start clicking into place- she is able to provide more and more of the memories without him prompting things.

It takes weeks- but her memory is finally back. There are times where certain obscure things are a bit vague- but they snap into place as more structural memories are snapped back into place.

In most ways she’s so happy her memories are back- She can remember all the good times, all the spells, all the little moments that made her become the person she is today. Some days when she has to mourn for people or remember something horrible she wishes they weren’t back- but getting to remember all the moments she shared with her friends, and with her Ron- they’re worth the hurt.

Plus, it’s not everyone who gets to have two first kisses with the love of their life.

[flopgoblins]

Ocelot Emperor

We emerge from the mists of Ireland - where we’re on retreat with next to no internet - to lay this offering at the feet of one of our favorite people and wish her a very happy birthday! @brazenbells we love you, thank you for two consecutive years of helping us write our boys, and for letting us throw them at your own.

Without further ado, the crossover smash the fans (us, mostly) have been clamoring for! Thanks, Ted. 

-

King Abran's throne was as vast and glorious as his kingdom. Made of teak, varnished until the wood seemed to glow with an inner fire, inlaid with gold and etched with scenes from myth and legend and the founding of his dynasty. 

And upon it, his wrists heavy with bangles, his fingers dripping rings, his eyes dark with kohl, lounged the crown prince, golden and glorious as a lion at rest. His eyes were lion-tawny too, and his neck was straight and proud, easily bearing the weight of the shining crown that rested upon his brow. 

“See,” said Matt, angling his phone so Nico could get a better look at himself. “You look way better in all this sparkly shit than I do.”

Nico slid off the throne with a gentle chinking and untangled the gold-ish polymer crown from his hair. Beneath the gilt, it was dark brown, but for the stark white streak Makeup had sprayed there two hours ago. “Yeah, the casting choices feel a little strange. I can see why everyone on Twitter was pulling up those fanart comps to complain about it. Still not as bad as the, uh - ”

“I know,” Matt said morosely, taking the crown back and putting it on wonky. “I don’t even tan.” They’d dyed his hair again but thankfully drawn the line at trying to make him any less pasty. Manufacturing sexual tension with someone who looks like a stretched out Oompa Loompa might be beyond even Nico’s prodigious talents. 

“I’m billed above you though. That’s progress.” Nico tried to get the crown to sit right but succeeded in tilting it drunkenly to the other side. “And, hey, it’s not every day you get a big-budget fantasy epic with a queer romance.”

“They cut out the incest. And most of the sex.” Around them, the studio walls yawned tall and green; the only solid things onset were them and the throne, and the throne was mostly resin. 

“There wasn’t that much sex in the book,” said Nico, who’d picked up the novel as soon as the casting call went out and gone through making characterization notes on every page. 

Matt, who’d read the first draft as it was posted on AO3, complete with thirteen chapters of kink that hadn’t made it into the published version, sniffed and forbore from commenting. Some hauteur was probably in keeping with playing Gael anyway. More in keeping with Tigris, though, which was further evidence Ted Nord couldn’t cast to save his life. 

“I mean, I love it, it’s a really interesting role, but I’m finding it hard to get to grips with,” Nico had said, on the first day of shooting. “Spending your whole life pretending to be being vain and shallow, because it’s not safe to be anything else. Wearing a mask so long you must start to wonder whether you’ve become it. What does that do to a person?”

“Dunno,” Matt had said. “Did you see Ray Lelacheur’s Vogue cover yet? Terrible shoes.”

Now that Nico had abandoned the regal warmth that had settled on him as if it was second nature while draped over the throne, he was stirring the pages of the script again, frowning at his lines. Tigris had been the most he’d had to stretch for a character to date, he’d told Matt, though he’d earnestly added he liked the character’s ‘chewiness.’ 

Matt, who’d struggled equally hard to locate the generosity of spirit and ease of power that was Gael, continued to think that Ted was just as bad at casting to type as he was to aesthetic. 

Nico tossed his white-streaked hair back from his forehead and dragged on his black velvet cloak. “Will you run this scene again with me? I keep not getting the timbre of his ambition right.” He mouthed a few lines, twisted a green gemstone on his finger, and cast an agonized, kohl-rimmed look at Matt. “How do I channel the appropriate volume of petulance, the feeling of a man deprived what by all rights should be his?”

Matt draped himself over his rightful throne, trying to arrange his limbs with the same boneless grace Nico had achieved so easily. “Remember when we were at that falafel truck last week and it took twenty minutes for your order to come and you started cursing god?”

“Suck my dick, Rose,” said Nico reflexively, but looked thoughtful.  

“Later,” murmured Matt, and closed his eyes to wait.

-

“Spy,” snarled the prince, rounding on his cousin. Tigris stood his ground, jaw set against the taller man’s fury, lip curling with defiant derision. “You intrude here, in my father’s house, not content to be left to your life of indulgent luxury, so desperate for attention -”

Tigris’s eyes flashed, enraged despite himself. “Attention? You think that is what I crave? Heavens forbid I seek a world beyond the gilded cage my uncle keeps me in, indulging me like a spoilt puppy and giving me just as much freedom. Attention? I would give my eyeteeth for less! If one could trade condescending oversight for actual knowledge of how our kingdom is run-”

“Our kingdom,” repeated Gael. He cocked his head to the side, curiosity warring with the outrage in his noble features. “You truly think it so, do you? But our father-”

“Uncle,” said Tigris, under his breath.

“Our uncle -”

“My uncle,” said Tigris helpfully. “Your father.”

“My - okay, your -” Matt stopped. “Gawd. This doesn’t work at all.”

“See? It doesn’t work half as well without the incest.” Nico flicked a gem-encrusted finger at Matt’s nose.

Matt wrinkled it and adjusted the hang of gold chains over his collarbones. “You say this like I’m the one who made the script changes. And for the record, Cindy was as cut up about it as you are.” Cindy, script doctor extraordinaire, had also lurked the story on AO3 as it sailed up the ‘Original Fiction’ rankings, and was as distressed as he was about the loss of the throne sex scene. “It’s not my fault transgressive familial kink hasn’t crossed over from the hets yet.”

“Kink shmink, it totally shifts the dynamic.” Nico flapped his cloak emphatically. “Adopted cousins isn’t close to the same sort of layers of resentment and entitlement being a bastard half-brother would be.”

“Right,” said Matt, who’d definitely only re-read chapter 12 seven times for the entitlement, and not the way Tigris hissed ‘brother’ while bound to a bedpost. “The morality groups would lose their shit, though. Probably it was the right call.” It was impressive enough his agency had let him sign the role at all; he’d already rocked the boat enough asking if his casting was whitewashing.

“The morality groups are gonna lose their shit over the gay factor anyway,” said Nico stubbornly. “In for a penny...”

“What about the negative associations of homosexuality with sexual taboos?” 

“What about double standards?”

“Sure, it’s a double standard and it sucks, but you gotta start somewhere. It’s a story about being an outcast and fighting for scraps of dignity, fighting to be seen as human by people who want you to be less than that, and that’s gonna resonate with a lot of kids. You gotta lay the groundwork then fuck your brother.”

Nico raised an eyebrow and Matt shut up quickly; he, or rather his agency, had made a point of never letting him be drawn into these kinds of debates. “And I think compromise robs art of its power. What does the author think?” They both glanced across the set to where a woman in a peacock-print dress watched as Ted struggled to coral the child actors for the carnival scene. Her expression, behind her glasses, was unreadable. 

“Dunno.” Matt ran his hand through his hair. The dye had dried it out and he winced at the brittle, dead-grass feel of it. “Only time we spoke, we both tried to get each other’s autographs and it was really awkward. Bet she’d have some notes for you, though.”

“D’you know, Rose, that’s not a bad idea.” Once resolved, Nico was all action and he stood, script pages fluttering to the floor, velvet cloak swirling around his ankles. The jut of his jaw said that nothing short of poor falafel truck service would defeat him. 

“Ask her to show you the predicament bondage scene,” Matt told him helpfully. “There were some really important character beats in that, I thought.”

-

“You think you’re too good for me, don’t you?”

“What?” Matt looked up, taken completely off guard. He was stretched out in Nico’s window seat, deeply absorbed in a thinkpiece on why Kai Bourke would have been a better casting choice for Gael, and thoroughly agreeing with it. Seeing his boyfriend prowling towards him with a look of cold fury and a bare chest was enough to stop him mid-anonymous comment.

Nico stalked across the room towards him, the taut anger etched in every muscle creating a frayed grace that was almost violence. “That’s the worst of you, your highness. It’s not that you hate me. It’s not that you think less of me. It’s that you think nothing of me at all!”

Finally cottoning on, Matt swung his legs around and tried to remember his lines; it was hard, he truly couldn’t remember what part of the script this was. That in itself was unusual. Matt would hardly claim himself a natural thespian or even a diligent professional, but memorizing lines had been a skill drilled into him since he was eight years old and it was a tough habit to shake. Still, while Nico’s words - Tigris’s words - sounded vaguely familiar, he couldn’t for the life of him place them in Ted and Cindy’s script. 

“But I’m going to make certain you don’t forget me, brother,” whispered Nico, and that was just it, Matt realized. It wasn’t the script at all. It wasn’t even the book. It was the original.

“You read it?” he mouthed, as Nico’s hand wrapped around his wrist. 

“Shocked to learn I’m literate?” spat Nico, but favored him with the shadow of a wink. No shadow around his eyes this time, no gold woven into his hair, but he was more Tigris than he’d been on the soundstage. 

It was, simultaneously, extremely Nico. 

Matt tried, experimentally, to free his wrist and found he couldn’t. He shivered, feeling his pulse jump, knowing Nico could feel it too. “Was that an attempt to dig deeper into the artistic truth of the work, or to mine it for weird, kinky shit?” 

“Yes,” said Nico, bearing him down onto the cushions, beautiful and vengeful and careful not to knock Matt’s laptop off the seat.

-

One of the advantages of shooting a gay film with your boyfriend - one Arose had certainly never intended - was that when Nico turned, grabbed Matt by the lapels, and kissed him on the red carpet, everyone laughed and smiled and Matt knew the gossip mag headlines would be jokes about dedication to the craft and not shock sexuality scandals. His father probably wouldn’t- okay he’d definitely mind but it’d probably be a side note in a meeting about how to capitalize on the film’s success. 

And it was a success; some desperately hot sex aside, reading the story - the real story - had apparently been what Nico had needed to pull it together. All the pride and fear and desperate clawing longing of a tiger caged that had risen like a heat haze from Tigris’s story, and Nico had captured it, had reveled in it, and put it on the screen for all to see. 

Matt straightened his tie and winked to the paps - just a joke between bros, nothing queer here - and resolved to fuck Nico senseless in the restrooms after the premier. Nico laughed and stuck his tongue out. He’d left the white streak in his hair for the red carpet, as stark as the collar of his suit, and Matt had to say, it was growing on him. 

[horrordirtbag]

freddy vs jason appreciation hours

This gon be a long ass post, summary at the bottom

Okay so basically this movie gets shidded the fuck on and y’know what I think too harshly. I think it did an amazing job bringing all of our slasher wet-dreams to life. And that’s one thing I really wanna stress throughout my incoherent internet rambling: bringing to life our fantasy. Cuz, y’see, I used to think this movie was garbo like many others, until like 4 years ago when I was watching it during a Halloween marathon, and I looked up from my computer and just saw Freddy and Jason, two of my favorite characters of all time, on the same screen together, beating the living shit out of each other. All my issues with it just kinda melted away and I really appreciated what I was looking at, and since then it climbed from the bottom of my list to easily in my top 5 for both franchises.

The fact that this movie even got made is a miracle. I’m just grateful that we even got to see this match brought to life at all. Just overcoming the rights issue between two major companies was a major hurdle to cross. Once that was settled, they could have just slapped together any shitty old movie they wanted and made a gazillion bucks no matter what. The title alone, Freddy vs Jason, would sell tickets, even if the actual movie was just two hand puppets smacking eachother for an hour and a half. But, no. New Line acquired the rights to Jason around 1992, and they immediately began work on the crossover. The only reason they made Jason Goes to Hell was because they had to wait for Wes Craven to finish New Nightmare first. That’s 11 years of development hell. They went through 10 scripts before they found one they liked, not to mention an innumerable amount of pitches. That’s an incredible amount of effort for a cheap slasher film. They spent thousands on the project before it even went into pre-production. Michael De Luca, the president of production at New Line, was an extreme fan of both franchises and really wanted to get it right.  New Line Cinema get’s a lot of flack for it’s treatment of the Friday franchise, and yeah, when you send Jason up his sisters coochie and into outerspace I can see why, but after reading more into the companies history with Jason, I don’t get the impression it was all cynicism. Even if you think the final product is dookie, you gotta give them some credit for the amount of dedication they put in for this project. And, you gotta remember, even though they produced far better films, Paramount was pretty much ashamed of their creation and ditched it as soon as it began making them less money.

Now I’m gonna talk about some of the actual problems with the movie itself. The main two are also both directed at our maggot-infested son. If you’re as much of a raging fan as I am to the point where you write essays for like 10 people to read on a website that hates tiddies you already know what I’m talking about. Let’s start with the fear-of-water debacle. This part pisses off the Friday camp, and for good reason. Any quick look at the past 10 movies shows you it’s just not true. Jason practically exists in water. He’s like the human version of Godzilla. But, in reality, Jason was never afraid of water in the movie. The screenplay writers have confirmed that it wasn’t a fear of water itself, but of drowning. And, well, we know that Jason shouldn’t be afraid of that either, being chained to the bottom of a lake for years on end’n all. But, even then, it’s not quite that simple. What Freddy is doing is exploiting Jason’s subconscious mind and the memory of the last time Jason ever felt fear: when he was a child, drowning. This is why Jason reverts back to a child, and then Freddy returns to the memory of his drowning in 1957. Ronny Yu went a much more metaphoric route in portraying this, but you can still kind of make it out. If you notice, even Jason seems surprised at his sudden refusal to chop through the stream of water. It’s not like he didn’t see it before he pulled his arm back. And, then, immediately after, we see Jason wading through Crystal Lake dragging a body, and at the end of the movie raises out of the water in New Blood fashion. So, it’s clear that even in the same movie, Jason was never intended to be afraid of water. Now, let’s talk about our gift-from-god Kane Hodder. As much as I love the final film, I hate how New Line treated our star man. This is the one thing I can’t really defend about the movie. No one still really knows why Kane was dropped, everyone involved just pointing fingers at each other, probably because whoever really did make the decision is afraid of Kane’s tree trunk arms. Even Sean Cunningham and other people deeply involved with the project were shocked they didn’t use Kane. For my two cents, I don’t think it’s one person or one specific reason to point to, but rather a whole bunch. In large part, I think Ronny Yu not being a fan of the franchise prior has a lot to do with it. He just didn’t realize that Kane was so beloved by the fanbase. Ken Kirzinger said that he initially auditioned to be stunt coordinator, and Ronny immediately asked him to play Jason, saying something around the lines of “you’re exactly what I’m looking for.” I can see why New Line would want someone with no connection to the franchises, as to bring in a fresh take, but for something like this, which is pretty much just a fanboy movie, it would have been better to grab someone who was also a fan. As to why New Line didn’t tell Kane Hodder they were going with someone else, I dunno. We probably will never know who was responsible for that lol. As disappointing as it is, I think Ken did a fine job (although I think he was a little too stiff), and I don’t think we should dismiss the entire film for it alone. This post is getting way longer than I anticipated. If you’re still here, hi, I hope your day is going well. Those art the only complaints, though, of course. Something I hear often is that the final fight is fantastic, but the rest of the movie sucks. I can’t really argue with that since it’s really vague, but I can say that, to me, the rest of the movie is great fun. Even if Freddy only has one kill, he has plenty of screen-time, all pretty good (and the one kill he does get in is great). And Jason’s stuff is all great too. The cornfield rave, the hospital chase, all good shid imo. But really that just comes down to personal taste.   Another thing I can’t really argue about are the characters being bland. Yeah, not much to say there. But honestly, I don’t think they’re terrible by any means (Kia dropping the f-bomb is tho). I have a feeling this complaint comes more from the Nightmare camp, since that series is home to much more compelling characters. Being more of a Friday fan, it just doesn’t bother me. 11 movies in, I’m used to bland characters lmao. Although, I do think Mark was a pretty interesting character. His relationship with his brother is pretty great.  One strange phenomenon I also see is that Freddy fans tend to complain that it feels too much like a Friday the 13th movie, while Jason fans say it feels too much like A Nightmare on Elm Street movie. And it’s not just me, either; this is also discussed briefly in Dustin McNeill’s fantastic book Slash of the Titans: The Road to Freddy vs Jason. If anything, this just feels like a testament to how well the movie blended the tones of both franchises.  The movie does also get too silly at times, but I think they did a decent job of reigning Freddy’s goofiness back to, I’d say, Nightmare 4 levels. Which is alright by me. nOW ONTO THE GOOD SHIT, We’re almost there. I swear. As I just mentioned, the movie masterfully blends both franchises. The movie has the plot of a Nightmare film, with Freddy pulling the strings, but has the bodycount (and characters lol) of a Jason film. Just because the plot is very Freddy oriented doesn’t mean Jason is left in his shadow, and just because Jason gets most of the kills doesn’t mean Freddy doesn’t get his time to shine either (the movie has plenty of Nightmare sequences, even if he only kills one). Complaints about Freddy only getting one kill are odd to me, since that’s the entire point of the movie. Jason is stealing Freddy’s kills. The ending, really, symbolizes what I mean. It’s the best possible way to end it. Jason rises from the water, holding Freddy’s head, making you think he’s the victor, but- nope! Freddy winks at the camera, and then the Nightmare jingle plays, mixed in with Jason’s iconic ki ki ki ma ma ma, perfectly balancing both franchises.  I’ve seen people complain about the ending, but I honestly think it’s genius. If you had Jason win, Friday fans would be mad; if you had Freddy win, Nightmare fans would be mad. Instead, not only is it really cool, but with the ending we got, the viewers themselves are allowed to decide who won, no answer being particularly wrong. To this day, people still debate who came out victorious.  Beyond that, the plot itself is such a great way to bring both characters together. Previous scripts had such convoluted ways of doing so, some involving the Apocalypse, some going meta like New Nightmare, and some just making no fucking sense at all. The Shannon/Swift draft does such a great job of keeping it simple. I love the idea of Springwood covering up Freddy’s existence, rendering him powerless. Not only is it the closest anyone’s ever gotten to actually defeating Freddy, but it also presents to the viewer a complex moral dilemma. Locking the kids away in Westin Hills is horribly cruel, unable to even see their family, but at the same time, if they didn’t, more kids would die at Freddy’s hand. To me, it’s really interesting.  The final thing I have to say, is that it’s just a boat load of fun. You can’t not have a fan orgasm watching the final battle (although they really shouldn’t have had Laurie interrupt the fight). It’s literally everything I ever wanted lmao, and I’m just eternally grateful that we got to see this match play out on our screens rather than just our minds before Robert Englund got too old. Again, seeing two of my favorite characters ever on the same screen is just awesome. In my opinion, I think it’s the best crossover-versus movie out there.  Some people just don’t like the movie and that’s fine, you can’t please everyone. I’m just dishing out why I love it so much, since it’s so vastly regarded as one of the worst of the series. You don’t see too much love out there for it, so I thought I’d spice it up.  TL:DR, I think this movie was such a wonderful love letter to the fans, and while it’s far from perfect, I think people really need to give it a second chance and look at it from a different perspective. It wasn’t made cynically, it wasn’t disrespectful to Jason, and it did a great job of bringing our fanboy and fangirl fantasies to life.

[a-cai-jpg]

let’s go on a rly badly made rollercoaster (hopefully you’ll make it back home)

So throughout the day, as I took breaks between my angry typing in response to some videos I had to watch for work, I thought about what I wanted to write about today. 

I wanted to write about something I wanted to write about if that makes sense. For so much of the past few years, I've written things that other people wanted me to write about, in a mannerism other people preferred. Something vaguely academic and smart-sounding, with a clear beginning, middle, and end. Here is my thesis, here is how I'm going to prove that I'm right and you're wrong, and here is me making a half-hearted effort to consider your obviously incorrect opinion before reasserting the fact that I am right.

(i kid, i believe that intelligence is the ability to consider multiple realities. i grapple too often with the notion of absolute truth, breathless and terrified of falling into a great, black mindhole. of course i don't actually believe i am Right.)

But honestly, I like writing that meanders, that starts somewhere, and then goes somewhere far, and then ends up right next to where it first began. Why measure displacement when you can measure distance?

(I say all of this, but the most common criticism I have of anyone's writing is "your purpose is unclear and you barely made an effort to achieve it. highly recommend re-thinking your thesis.")

And I had things I wanted to talk about. Like, what watching television means for me and why it's so difficult to commit to a show. Or, what about why I hate it when people ask me, "How are you?" as a conversation-starter after months of not-talking. Or, maybe the very firm stance I hold that Les Miserables is a far superior musical to the Phantom of the Opera (again, I respect your opinion and probably think you're wrong if you think otherwise but hey, what is absolute truth amirite?).

And all of those things will perhaps one day make its way onto this webpage, a data cache amidst billions, trillions, I don't actually know how the Internet works, and I find it so fascinating that I am writing these words into existence and releasing it into the universe and one day it will make its way into someone's mind lifetimes later and--

I do this thing a lot, where I feel something very strongly, for no apparent reason. And then, I pull out the notes app on my phone, and I write.

And I've written about this notes-app-writing-thing that I do...on the notes app. And a lot of it is quite nice, and a lot of it will never be read by anyone else but future me. And I expect, a lot of it will make its way onto this very same webpage because everything I'm writing is everything I've written before.

I used to have this idea, definitely inspired by a movie but I can't quite remember the title, about how your dreams are always constructed of people, things, and places you've seen before. Then a friend was like, "Ok, then how does anyone get a new idea?" And then I was like, "Yo, fight the movie, don't fight me." (No, actually, I was like, "But reality and dreams are different" and then the conversation just spiraled.)

But this idea that everything in your dream is everything you've seen before makes me wonder if everything that will be created has already been created. After all, how does time work for a supreme being or Supreme Being (capital S, hello)? Like, is the universe's space and time laid out flat like a globe if you cut the seams or like--

(I think I'm going off track.)

(What I meant to say is--)

So, instead of writing about things that I have half-formed thoughts about, I'm going to write about something that I have definitely talked about but never written and/or thought about writing about okay here we go--

We used to talk about which one we liked more: the sunrise or the sunset. We had all ubiquitously said something like, "I know most people pick ____, but I think I like the ____ more."

And see, time has passed in a way that's rubbed sand over the words you said, and I can't quite remember which one was which. 

We talked about many things, mountains and gallons of words spent between us, spiraling from our lips like they were on the urgent journey to create something greater. Someone might have thought that these words would make their way into a future for us, a novel written so that we only have to live through the pages, but did you know that the words you speak write only your past?

And I think I lied when I said this is something I talked about but have never written about, because I choke on the words when I try to describe you and my head becomes fuzzy and I can't quite remember, but when I write about you, you become clear, melting into letters that flow from my chest to my fingers.

Look, this is the unfortunate truth. You have become simultaneously more and less than you. In my reality, you are who you have been in the past, when I still knew you, and that "you" has been embedded in my writing. You have become a theme, a string of motifs, a character sometimes, or even entire stories. 

And in your reality, you are becoming someone that I will never get to know.

(I am not talking about a person, I am talking about a collection of abstract ideals.)

Recently, I watched a Korean drama about characters in a comic book. It got me thinking about what happens to the stories we write, the stories we brew in our minds. When I was in middle school, I used to write stories in my head all the freaking time. I remember I couldn't finish the story, I was terrified of finishing the story, because what happens to the characters after the story ends?

(I came to terms with my existential crisis at the ripe young age of 7 years old, so why were the aftereffects catching up to me in fucking 7th grade?)

Cue character development--I'm still dealing with the fear of not living with my head in the clouds, but hey, at least I know how to end stories now.

(Not in the technical sense, in the literal sense. I once ended a story by adding another paragraph, and then another epilogue, and then another paragraph, until I finally closed the Word document and submitted it. Thus, effectively ending it.)

But I still wonder, what does happen to a story once you let it go? I've created countless worlds, drafted enough conversations to make my mouth go dry, seen the lives and deaths of enough people to be some sort of supreme being (lowercase s) in my own sense, but where does it all go?

I really try not to, but sometimes I entertain the idea that somehow, it goes on without me. A half-formed world with a crumbling sky and a cliff that falls into absolute oblivion, but there, underneath the sprawling tree, the heroine is.

She is.

And maybe then, we are.

We are, in the future that we had planned but isn't quite the one we're currently living. We are sitting at that lake I told you about, drinking cider and eating onigiri and watching the sunset. We are driving up the mountain, but really, you are the one driving because you were the one who got your driver's license first, and the rest of us are sprawled in the backseat screaming at your headrest as you nearly kill us by scraping our rental car against a railing. We are planning your wedding, looking your partner up and down, ignoring you when you say, "No really, they're my soulmate, I love them, god, Annette, can you believe it? Soulmates are real" and we are--

Man, we are all those things, but we never thought further beyond that, huh?

So maybe, we are ends.

And so maybe, all those stories ended too, when I closed the chapter in my head and put the metaphorical pen down and took a deep breath and lived my life, this real one where things hurt and things make me cry and laugh and love. But then, hey, maybe, we really did write the future. Because we are and will continue to be everything we had planned, 11 years old and sitting at my Windows XP. Until we are not. 

But even if we are not, you still are. And I still am.

Daily song rec:

Saturn by Sleeping at Last

This song fucking gets me man. Sometimes I feel something deeply sad well inside me when I hear the lyrics. But also, is this not the most beautiful melody ever written?

(The Korean drama is “Extraordinarily You.”)

[old-long-john]

looks like you are someone in the black sails fandom who agrees that every character is pretty damn flawed (except for, like, madi, and we didn't see enough of thomas hamilton to see his flaws but i am certain he had them) but I have to say some of fandom and their determination to make silver THE VILLAIN of the show just reminds me, over and over, of the quotation "civilization needs its monsters". like you can write john off as an evil white "het" man, even though he is clearly bi, but

in my opinion people like john silver are only made because society makes them. i think silver was probably wounded young, and then just wounded over and over for a period of years that almost certainly felt like forever, as prolonged trauma does, and it is so frustrating to me that fandom doesn’t want to embrace how complicated and tormenting and heartbreaking and infuriating that john silver is. but then i look at state of world and my country (usa) and need for scapegoat in all things, well. 

Thank you for this ask. This is something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately and it’s been frustrating me too, so it was nice to be given a reason to actually say something about it. I hope you don’t mind me answering it publicly (let me know if you do and I’ll delete it). I’ve spent about four days trying to work out an answer to this that I’m happy with though, because it feels like some of my thoughts might be skating on thin ice and asking for trouble if they’re not carefully expressed, and that’s not at all what I want. I’ll stick this under a read more so I don’t clog people’s dashes.

Honestly, at this point I’ve pretty much stopped interacting with any ‘discourse’. I’m so tired of it. I’m reconciled to the fact that everyone in the fandom is mostly set on their opinions by now, and that’s totally fine, when people stay polite about it. Everyone brings their own shit into the viewing of a show (and I mean that in the nicest way). It’s not just unavoidable, it’s incredibly apt and a powerful thing when it comes to understanding stories like this, which attempt to show us such a broad range of human experiences and conditions and complexities. With a show like Black Sails especially, that doesn’t allow you to be a passive viewer, that demands engagement to be able to understand it, it’s no wonder people feel so strongly about so many aspects of it, and often find themselves feeling helplessly understanding of or very personally wounded by certain characters’ choices. And being part of a fandom which is filled with a beautifully diverse group of people, with opinions informed by their beautifully diverse life experiences and personal baggage, can be such an amazing way to broaden one’s own horizons and see things from different points of view.

That being said, the other side of it is exactly what you described: being exposed to mind blowing bullheadedness. At this point I pretty much just share the same irritation as you. I understand the reasons why some people can’t forgive the things Silver did, and I understand why some people just plain don’t like him (hell, I hated him too when I first watched S1). That’s for them to decide, if it even is truly a decision and not one of those things that exists somewhere beyond choice. I know I couldn’t choose to hate him now or to not understand to a really quite painful extent the fears and emotions that motivated him to do what he did. Quite honestly, I’ve only watched that 4x10 forest scene twice and the second time I was so angry with him too, but I still understand, and it hurts all the more for it. As with so many of the most powerful moments in this story, they’re at their most moving when you can see all the ways in which both parties are right, and choosing a side is almost impossible.

Like you said though, what’s really beginning to grate on my nerves is this idea that Silver is the villain of the piece; irredeemable, two-dimensional, bland, or simply the ‘abusive cishet white man’ (a tag I’ve seen too, and one that made me roll my eyes so fucking hard I almost sprained something. Tumblr’s a truly magical land of over-simplistic juvenile twattery sometimes). It’s utter bullshit, and it feels like my annoyance has taken a step up out of the complexities of canon and into the difficulties of tumblr and fandoms. Sometimes I really think some people could benefit from stepping away from the bubble of tumblr and going outside once in awhile. (Do you hear that? It’s the sound of my fragile glass house shattering around me.)

Black Sails is not perfect. I am fully aware of that. But the one thing the writers managed incredibly consistently (mostly) was creating complicated, flawed, and human characters. There are only a handful of characters who approach being two-dimensional, villainous, or flawless, and they tend to be the ones who had the least screen time to be developed, or served more as plot devices than characters. John Silver was certainly not one of those. People are free to despise him, people can be horrified or outraged or disgusted by his choices, people can even just not personally find him that interesting, but reducing him to just The Villain? That’s choosing to be ignorant and refusing to engage with the text, simply because it doesn’t suit their own narrative. Good people can do appalling things, and bad people can do good things, and most people (and so most characters in this story) are neither of those two extremes, but horribly messy shades of grey, just trying to do the best they can for themselves and their loved ones with what resources they have. Some people are better, some are worse, but most traverse that middle ground, rarely remaining static or uncomplicated in their ‘goodness’ or ‘badness’, and Silver is most certainly among us complicated good-bad people. Refusing to acknowledge the depth of those nuances pisses me off because it feels like such a disservice to the hard work of everyone involved in creating this show and the astonishing things they accomplished with these characters and their relationships. Beautiful art deserves fair and thoughtful analysis. Anything less than that feels like a waste of everyone’s time. Why bother consuming a story like this and investing so much time and energy in discussing it if you’re not going to engage with it in an honest way? It’s possible to hate a character but still appreciate their complexity.

What you said is so true. It’s abundantly clear (from very early on, if you actually take the time to look for it) that Silver is a very damaged person, good at reading people but dead set on avoiding becoming attached to them (and the things that suggests are not pleasant), and someone who had nothing in the world but the clothes on his back and his wits. He was never going to be an idealist, because the world had made him a realist. Even if people think his choices in the end were abhorrent, surely they must see why he made them? To be in a position to end a war, which he saw as only an unwinnable nightmare, to save the people he loved from death (and every other innocent bystander whose lives would have been weighed against the cause, without their consent, and sacrificed in its pursuit). How is that difficult to understand? Even if it seems unutterably selfish or short-sighted, it’s the easiest thing in the world to empathise with on a human level. And his love for both Flint and Madi just isn’t up for debate. It’s right there in every scene, and confirmed in every interview with the writers. Even if he loved them poorly, he still loved them. That’s a very human thing too. Perhaps people would’ve felt differently about him if they’d definitively told us what those ‘unending horrors’ he’d suffered in his past were, but they didn’t and so we have to read between the lines. It just doesn’t take that much effort to see those lines flashing like neon signs throughout his arc, if you aren’t actively trying to ignore them for the sake of stuffing him into that box labelled ‘Long John Silver – Moustache Twirling Villain’.

It was also a pretty damn significant element of his story line that his becoming disabled slammed a whole lot of doors in his face, gave people a reason to judge him as less than other men, and left him desperately clinging on to the one vaguely happy life and future he had left within his reach. Are people conveniently ignoring that aspect of his character arc because it doesn’t fit in with that tumblr attitude of ‘boo, fuck white cis men. They’re all disgusting and none of them can know true suffering or injustice in this society that favours them’? Of course those privileges exist, and of course white male characters so often get free passes for things they really shouldn’t, and those are things that desperately need addressing and I wouldn’t try to minimise, but I don’t see how going balls to the wall in the opposite direction and refusing to see nuance makes any more sense. Especially when it comes to a story set during that historical time period and a character who we all saw have one privilege (being able-bodied) violently ripped away from him. Anybody who can dismiss as irrelevant the impact of his disability and the profound suffering and limitations that came with it is being wilfully blind. (I’ve written absurdly excessive meta about the significance of that.)

There are infinite different ways to suffer and end up irreparably damaged, and just because he doesn’t know some types doesn’t mean he hasn’t experienced others and hasn’t been truly and deeply scarred by them. It’s not a goddamn competition. This isn’t a world where only the most widespread and systemic suffering ‘counts’. Half of the point of this story was showing us the myriad fucked up and inventive ways in which the structure of ‘civilised’ society shat (and still shits) on anybody who wasn’t sat comfortably at the top. Or simply the ways in which ‘civilised’ society didn’t give a fuck about anyone else shitting on the little people either. Of course he hasn’t suffered the specific and enormous cruelties that say the people Madi was fighting for suffered, but I sure as fuck wouldn’t want to live whatever hellish past it was that he couldn’t even speak of either, and which sits within the context of this whole narrative of fucked up pasts as the single one too awful to be named. I also definitely wouldn’t want to live the present that saw him mutilated and handed a lifetime of suffering that no ideological war could in any way redress. And I’m really not trying to weigh his suffering against other people’s, or trying to build it into any kind of justification or excuse, because that way lies ignorant fuckery and it isn’t my point. The only point I’m trying to make is that some people’s determined lack of acknowledgement of the ways in which he was a beautifully complicated, damaged, suffering, good-bad person too is aggravating to me as someone who is in awe of the intricately complex things the writers and actors accomplished throughout this story. More than anything I just don’t see how anyone can have watched his whole character arc and honestly come to the conclusion that he’s bland and two-dimensional, or that his relationship with Flint was insincere or insignificant (to either of them), or that his ultimate choices can be explained simply by labelling him Evil™. He isn’t even as simple as that in bloody Treasure Island.

It doesn’t even seem to be about whether or not people see Silver’s actions as defensible at this point. It does seem to have devolved into a division between people who have very different opinions on that, but ultimately see why he did those things, and people who refuse to engage with the more sympathetic aspects of his character at all, for whatever reasons. Maybe because it makes the whole thing more difficult and uncomfortable when you have to accept that The Villain was an ultimately shifting and amorphous thing that was someone or something different for every character, and that in some ways Silver was as much a victim as anyone else in that story, and it was partly the result of the ways in which he was victimised (before and after we met him) that bound him to a course where he ended up horribly hurting the people he was trying to help. Nothing is ever black and white, in real life or on this show, and trying to reduce it to that is being either intellectually lazy, disingenuous or obtuse, and missing so much of the beautiful subtlety of the writing.

This answer got way out of hand…but yeah. John Silver isn’t a hero or a villain, because he is not a two-dimensional character, and he sure as fuck isn’t bland or boring. Few people on this show are. We’re all of us in love with a bunch of thieves and murderers and master manipulators. But that’s the point. They’re all just people, beautifully multifaceted and forced to extremes at the very edge of the world and clinging on to life by the skin of their teeth. They’re complex and fucked up and every single one of them running away from something or running towards something else. With barely thirty seconds of thought I could find sympathetic things to say about almost every single character in this show, even if those things wouldn’t be enough to tip the balance of judgement in their favour or make me like them. I’m completely aware that Silver is far less in need of defending than some unfairly maligned characters on this show, but I think perhaps to a certain few it’s the complexity of the writing and therefore the necessity of complex interpretations that needs defending. Nobody is obliged to forgive Silver or to like him, but if they’re happy to forgive and like other characters who have done equally fucked up things or worse ones then that’s a double standard they really ought to take the time to consider. Ignorance is bliss, I suppose, but a story like this deserves better.

[severalbakuras]

time

to

finish

s3

im not prepared

(apologies to mobile users for the long post)

episode 5:

intro is a pink screen. it’s established pink is a mourning colour. hrmmm.

oh its an eyeball SHIRO

that’s not a good looking room to be in

that HAIR

hallucinating already, this is Not Good.

so he’s like totally alone in that room that is just bad practice right there. supervisor’s gonna get fucked if they get caught.

and. another shiro. one who’s kept clean-shaven. oh ok i know where this is going i think.

operation kuron is so unsubtle that i think we’re in for several layers of bait-n-switch until it turns out shiro never actually existed. schrodinger’s Shiro. shirodinger. 

he escaped waaaaaay too easily - yeah. called it.

‘stage 3′ so stage one is ??? and stage two is this guy.

ok so shiro obvs remembers some things but i find it interesting that we’ve had no internal thoughts beyond memories of the tube/surgery. like he’s not thought about voltron or the paladins or allura and coran like he has no idea if they survived or not. nothing at all by the five minute mark.

HAGGAR FINALLY I’VE MISSED YOU SO

yeah you keep an eye on that boy. im sure absolutely nothing will happen to this guy.

self-cauterization holy shit.

“what killed you?” is the first spoken line of dialogue from shiro i think. everything else is just vague confusion noises and/or battle grunts iirc. we haven’t even had an internal line of thought yet (which i know don’t rly happen in this series like everyone tends to speak aloud but still he’s ALL alone). i think that’s significant, somehow.

how the fuck has he not frozen to death in that skinny suit.

SHIRO NO THAT COULD BE AN ACID LAKE

“subject Y0XT39″ i will eat a raw garlic clove if this turns out to be the real shiro.

wow that’s rly bad for blood circulation like way to make him lose his hands jackasses.

so these two are space cannibals. neat.

if you’re trying to convince people of who you are why would you just say your first name? he WANTS these guys to know who he is, there’s no point being cagey. say your surname shiro go ahead.

knowledge of who the paladins are rly is being kept tight under wraps. so long as nobody ever thinks to check out any planet where galra were known to have integrated into local alien communities to the point of children.

i :) wonder :) who :) might :) do :) that :)

(i wonder how earth’s doing. everyone has family down there who misses them (besides keith since he’s living in a shack in the desert and nobody from the MILITARY-ish training academy told his dad to come pick him up apparently))

lotor i swear to fuck don’t you dare pull a dreamworks smirk DONT DO YOU DARE

so galra channels are hackable

that big guy’s totally having a SUPPRESSING FIIIIIRE moment

i rly like this winter backdrop i love being able to see the brushstrokes on the snow (like digital ones but they count).

he’s starving but he doesn’t take a single bite of the food onscreen can’t tell if suspicious or #mood bc i don’t like people watching me eat either lol

so operation kuron isn’t something widely known then or Hold up those robo-soldiers have no reaction whatsoever to a unit falling down until the hangar doors close.

ok those two guys in the cave HAVE to be in on it or shiro would’ve died on that planet. why keep the ship above a Death Planet for him to be permitted to escape to unless they had someone down on the Death Planet who could send him back to the right ship to deliver to voltron without him knowing he was being played?

like this is ALL phase 3.

‘stop spying on me’

‘do your fucking job’

HA. IDEAS. IN ZARKON’S HEAD. AHHAHAA

i think this is the first time i’ve seen lotor angry like haggar gets under his skin so easily i hope they talk again soon. ‘I AM THE LEADER’ his VOICE damn.

ok so like i already know lotor is half-galran and he’s probably half-altean too like in the original series with the hair and all. but i don’t think haggar is his mother even though she’s also altean. he’s hyper-focused on not being like his father in that scene but he also seems the type that he’d leave a snarky comment about his mother too if she were. and she doesn’t ever refer to him as her son, only zarkon’s. she’d surely say ‘our’ son, unless she officially disowned him as part of his banishment and hates his guts but then surely he’d have at least SOME reaction to seeing her unless he was, like, literally banished at birth and doesn’t know who she is and that he’s half-altean. bc if he knew he was he’d connect the dots between ‘only altean on the ship’ and his dad v quickly.

like i do know the story behind exactly how original lotor (aka sincline) is half altean and it’s Unpleasant and makes zarkon a fucking monster and i doubt this series would even imply that that was the case here but if it did and our lotor knew this was the truth behind his parentage that could explain his lack of reaction to haggar AND his deeply intrinsic rejection of his father.

oh come ON the ship is stocked with oxygen!!!!!! why would a ship that’s intended for a robot pilot need oxygen!!!!!!!!

seven days, when he’s already in a bad way re blood loss/injury (like a healing serious wound burns calories and fluid by the truckload) and didn’t have much water to go on beforehand. if i didn’t think something was up before man.

finally, almost 20 minutes in, we finally see him think of his teammates. took long enough.

black lion notices. hrm.

episode six:

nice shooting lancFCUKING KILL THEM ALLURA

SAME LANCE

HUG YOUR SON SHIRO actually no you’re not shiro stay the fuck away from him

‘weird headache’ since this isn’t a dramatic romance show, he’s not got Invisible Anime Disease #5 so there’s absolutely a tracker in his brain.

A HUNK MOMENT THAT ISN’T ABOUT FOOD I’M CRY (like it intersects with pidge but i don’t mind it’s nice that he gets to show his own brains in what feels like forever)

shiro automatically stepping back in ‘this is what we do mode’ is SHRHCHCH. NO. even if he WASN’T a clone he’s still recovering and is missing out on potentially months of their relationships changing and being redefined. he can’t just step back in like that.

ok so like???? if there’d been more scenes like this early on??? i’d probably be totally into klance?? like keith doesn’t really grasp the depths of the issue with lance judging by how the shot holds on lance leaving and his facial expressions and all but keith tries and lance tries and there’s no cheap joke thrown in there’s no rejecting that there was any emotional connection. it’s not solved the problem lance has by any means but it’s lance opening up to keith about his vulnerabilities and worries and it’s keith doing his best to help him both as a leader and a friend and the narrative doesn’t turn either of them into a joke for it. THAT IS MY SHIT RIGHT THERE.

like i’m obvs lowkey into enemies-friends-lovers (bc otherwise i wouldn’t consider keitor or any of my other ships which i won’t name bc i’ve made it this far without comparing anything to warcraft so i won’t start now) but i guess i much prefer the friends-lovers stage. (especially when only one half of the pair considers the other as ‘enemy’ in the first place).

‘just whack it’ is a universal law that will last forever

SHIRO ARE YOU IN THE LEADER CHAIR. NO? SHUT UP.

fucking fake ass shiro he doesn’t even acknowledge keith stepping up to make a plan as leader like he always fucking wanted him to do he just sails on into his own plan without so much as a ‘sorry’. fuck you fake shiro. firo.

and keith just stands there like a lemon like this is ok ahrhfhg. firo i swear to god if you drag keith back down into the place he was on the gas planet before lance intervened i’m gonna be so mad.

interesting that we don’t get a reaction shot of lance when keith offers to stay behind instead of taking back red. considering how that was literally what the last scene between him and keith was about is all.

so clones are genetically identical so the black lion picking up on firo’s ~spark of life~ fading or whatever to rescue him isn’t odd. but the black lion knows your soul and it’s not happy.

(could be an issue when the real shiro returns tho but eh that’s a problem for futuretron)

I LOVE THIS LOYAL PETTY BASTARD

“Victory or death!” OH COME ON YOU’RE MAKING THE WARCRAFT REFERENCES FOR ME. LOKTAR OGAR

so perhaps lotor squad isn’t in on operation kuron?

i wonder what’s being whispered during the mind control scenes.

that ship looks like a space fox... or maybe a star fox.

in two minds about this part like right now firo IS right but they DO need to actually try and confront lotor at some point. it’s ALWAYS going to be a bad time bc lotor has figured out how to use plot armor to protect himself so sometimes you just need to attack that face down trap card and face the consequences or you’ll be stuck forever yknow?

OH IT’S HER. FROM THE SHIP. COOL i was wondering if that’d come up again.

oops he’s ambidextrous.

also i think ezor might be a little crueler than she lets on, she’s got some v. vicious expressions going on in this grapple.

ZETHRID THINKS ALLURA’S A WORTHY OPPONENT ZELLURA YOU ARE CLEARED FOR LAUNCH (in other news i am a terrible person)

honestly those are both equally high priority targets, either one WILL fuck things up in the future no matter if they follow firo or keith.

now lotor how do you know they were about to attack, unless you perhaps had a direct link into the lions communication lines, which have been kinda previously established as being impossible to hack?

(so that’s one point in them also knowing about project kuron)

YES KEITH THIS IS WHAT YOU DO BEST ON THE FLY INSTINCTIVE GOOD MOVE

hooooly shit lotor’s maaaad

get your hand off him firo.

“i’m sorry i had to step in back there” step in. STEP IN. LIKE YOU WEREN’T IN CONTROL OF THE ENTIRE MISSION START TO FINISH. he sets up ‘you were the leader and you weren’t good enough’ almost on purpose..

the former isn’t true because keith still stepped down and firo commanded all their movements from the ship and the latter isn’t true because no plan survives contact with the enemy keith basically had it as under control as shiro always did. considering the circumstances he did damn well AND he scored a ‘fuck you’ point against lotor by using lotor’s own new ship to wreck the teledove.

“i thought i had it under control” ;A;

HE’S BEEN THERE SINCE THEY ALL FORMED VOLTRON YOU FUCK. HE WAS GOOD AT THIS UNTIL YOU GOT HERE.

FUCK YOU FIRO.

damn that’s cold haggar.

episode seven:

i’m. um. huh. those certainly were memories i’ll need to pause on later.

this dramatic scene is being ruined by all the cute little triforces floating around.

my civil war theory is officially dead now i guess. goodbye, civil war theory. it was nice to have you as a handy aversion of the whole ‘X race is like this while Y race is like this’ trope that always shows up in sci fi and fantasy and sci-fantasy~

this music is giving me jack sparrow IN SPACE vibes.

oooh the dust particle effect in the light shafts in the air is pretty and a good attention to detail.

now see like why wasn’t his spirit projection thing back in season 1 more like this??? he has a character he’s got personality he’s just like his daughter i’d actually MISS this guy if that spirit projection thing had been like his true self and not a bland whatever he was he’s so forgettable i can’t even remember what he was like.

ZARKON WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED. YOUR VOICE. YOUR EYES.

so like galra culture has a class/caste system and is kinda militaristic. explains a lot in the future i guess.

“WHAT IS THAT” is that the same cat narti has? and oh god no he’s a dork.

OH NO HE’S A REALLY BIG DORK AAAAAAAAAAA

AAAAA BABY ALLURA. SHE’S SO CUTE.

oh so he married honerva? oh no. OH NO SHE BETTER NOT BE HAGGAR. DON’T DO THIS.

“it was a customary gesture” tf is that all about.

“by willow!” is that the first canon mention of a deity? cool.

so the red paladin was technically the first paladin.

this thing is eldritch as fuck.

“Am I a leg?!” god i am so sad that you’re going to die horribly i love you.

now it’s REALLY eldritch.

god she really is haggar.

so alteans definitely age then (which proves empress allura was definitely dead a long LONG time before alt-eans went all mind-controlly).

honergar’s giving me major ‘that bloodbender who’s name i’ve forgotten’ vibes.

I KNEW QUINTESSENCE WAS BAD SHIT

he loves her so much im gonna cry.

so the lions cannot pick up on deceit then. they accept the will of their paladin over the safety of voltron as a whole and the other lions. they cast no moral judgement.

so there could easily be an evil voltron somewhere.

ZARKON NO HE’S HOLDING HER HAND ARGH.

so those weird purple cloud creatures from another dimension are puppeteering the corpse of the first black paladin, taking his basic desire for power and extending it into a galaxy spanning genocidal crusade because???

their home dimension must be a fucking hell dimension if things like that are trying to escape.

that guard made it seem like they sorta knew and accepted why their planet was destroyed so i guess zarkon returning from death was such a massive cultural shock that they all fell into line. bc otherwise i find it hard to believe that every single galra would join the battle (like yeah the blades exist but they’re a tiny movement) and not question what the fuck happened to his eyes or voice or how he came back from the fucking dead or why they’re meant to suddenly hate everyone.

ok so why do most of the galra have similar glowing eyes iirc? surely the vast majority should have the normal eyes that old zarkon and lotor have but they don’t. unless like successful generals are permitted to ‘live’ forever by taking the creatures into their bodies but then like they have far too much personality for that. the loktar ogar guy for example. what gives.

that’s kind of a leap at lotor’s motives but an understandable one, they don’t know how much lotor detests being like his father so i doubt he’d do the same damn thing his father was trying to do.

he’s baaaaack and he’s got no new tricks, zombieman zarkon’s still just as thick as the last time~

lotor’s gonna be so mad. and also this doesn’t actually explain why haggar lets zarkon run roughshod all over her much better plans prior to this because she doesn’t remember being his husband until this episode.

and also also imo this means haggar definitely can’t be lotor’s mother bc when we’re seeing things coran can’t possibly know like honerva on her death bed we’re probably seeing haggar’s vision of events and he doesn’t appear to be a factor in either of their lives but she remembers their wedding perfectly.

(unless he’s a zombaby but he can’t be because his eyes don’t glow).

hrm.

season four when.

[gray-autumn-sky]

Soft Spot, Part 5

When Zelena kidnaps Esme, Regina comes to realize she needs the Evil Queen.

Previous updates can be found:

Part 1: The Evil Queen kidnaps Peanut, and Robin finds them together.

Part 2: Robin consoles the lonely Evil Queen

Part 3- Robin comes home to a very upset Regina after spending a night comforting the Evil Queen

Part 4- After their argument, Regina admits to Robin that she regrets splitting herself in two.

He knows he’s hurting her--both sides of her--and he doesn’t know how to stop it.

He doesn’t know how to stop any of it.

Support for one feels like a betrayal to the other--and he sees it every time he looks in the deep brown eyes that they share. He can’t fathom how this was allowed to happen or how it can continue; he can’t fathom choosing between the two sides of her; and he can’t fathom a way for this to end without heartbreak.

It goes on for weeks and it creates a ripple effect. He was the first to see it--and then Henry and then others--and slowly but surely the people who love her--the people who encouraged her to do this to herself--begin to see that she’s not the same, she’s not the Regina they’ve all come to love. The fire is gone from her eyes; there’s a trepidation in her words, an uneasiness that’s not apparent at first glance. Of course, Regina hides it well--and though she hasn’t mentioned it, she knows it, too. He catches her very now and then grimacing when her voice falls quiet, knowing that it isn’t like her; he sees it when her hands begin to shake when the memories of her painful past catch her off guard; and he can see it reflected in her eyes whenever someone decides to comment on how much she’s changed, how far she’s come, and how relieved she must be to have the slate wiped clean and to be able to live without the baggage or the fear that that side of her will once more take over.

He’s not sure why they say it--and it's rarely said directly to her, it’s usually something that’s overhead--and he supposes that the reason behind their words doesn’t matter. But regardless of intent, it never fails to make his jaw tighten and his blood boil. But he chooses not to let on--at least not when she’s near. He knows how hard this is on her--on both sides of her--and getting angry won’t help. Focusing on the changes in her are futile--there’s nothing that can be done--and he does his best to reassure her. But privately, all too often, he finds himself cursing and raging against the things he knows he can’t undo...

When he slips into bed beside her, he hears her voice hitch and his eyes sink closed, and he holds his breath as she rolls over to face him. The tear tracks on her cheeks break his heart, and he feels a surge of emotion--a mix of compassion and anger, a mix of guilt and love--and he hates this. He hates it each and every time that it happens; and he hates knowing that it’ll happen again.

“You were with her…”

“I was,” he murmurs back, not offering any more and hoping with every fiber of his being that she doesn’t ask for more--that she doesn’t ask the questions she doesn’t want to hear the answers to, the answers that make him feel so conflicted. It’s no secret that he loves her--that he loves all of her--but what that means, exactly, isn’t quite clear and it’s something that they don’t discuss.

“Oh…” she murmurs, her voice resigned. “I… thought you might stay the night. It’s so late.”

For a moment, his heart beat slows. He can’t tell her that he wanted to or that leaving has become increasingly difficult. So, instead, he lets his arm fall over her hip and he rests his forehead against hers and he reminds her the loves her--and he wishes that that weren’t a bittersweet sentiment. Nonetheless, she nods and pecks his lips--and when she meekly asks if he’ll hold her, a soft smile stretches onto his lips as he pulls her close to him… and slowly, he feels her drifting off and not long after, his eyelids grow heavier and heavier until they sink closed for the night.

They wake with a start and before they can even process Esme’s crying, there’s a flash of green light--and then, it’s impossible for him to process what happens next. They both scramble out of bed with racing hearts, and his stomach drops as a high-pitched gasp escapes Regina when their eyes fall to an empty crib.

He looks back at Regina and he sees the same panic in her eyes that he’s feeling in his heart. Swallowing hard, he looks back to the crib, grappling with where Zelena would have taken her, what she plans to do with her--and momentarily, his eyes sink close with the realization that Esme could be halfway to Oz.

Regina gives his hand a reassuring squeeze--she knows that he fears the worst. “We’ll find her,” she tells him, her voice shaky as she offers a tight, worried smile. “I promise.”

“Regina, Zelena is…”

“Psychotic,” she interjects. “I know. It… runs in the family.” His immediate thought is to tell her that that’s not quite true, that she isn’t like her sister, that she wouldn’t harm an innocent child to make her parents pay for the sins she believed the committed.  But Regina’s voice beats his, and when their eyes meet, he sees something indescribable, something he can’t quite pinpoint, but something that looks vaguely familiar, in them. “I… have an idea,” she tells him in a tentative voice, giving his hand a gentle tug as she takes a breath--and a moment later, they’re consumed in a cloud of purple smoke.

When the smoke fades, he’s a little dizzy and the surroundings he finds himself in aren’t at all what he expected. He expected them to go to Zelena’s farmhouse, to try to catch her red-handed, to catch her before she could do whatever it was she was planning to do. But instead, they’re standing in the woods, just beyond the cemetery and a few yards from the mausoleum that the Evil Queen’s vault lies beneath.

He was here only a few hours before--and then, his sweet and tiny daughter had been fine. She’d dozed in the queen’s arms and she’d giggled as her jewelry dangled above her; she’d been safe and secure, and his only worry had been the queen’s sad eyes as he left for the night, and Regina’s sad eyes when he returned home.

“Regina, what… are we doing here?”

A lopsided smile that manages to stab at his heart forms over her lips. “Even I’m not cavalier enough to think I can handle my sister on my own…” She shrugs and nods toward the mausoleum, and for a moment, she looks so defeated. “There are some things the other half of me was just… better at.”

She leads him inside and his stomach churns. He tells himself that Zelena wouldn’t hurt her own daughter, he tells himself that this is all an attempt to hurt him and Regina, he tells himself that it has nothing to do with Esme. And as Regina opens the passageway to the vault, he tells himself that this feeling he has--the fear and the dread and the helplessness--will be worst of it.

“You should go first,” Regina says, looking back at him. “She trusts you.”

He nods and starts down the stairs, reaching behind himself and holding onto her fingers. In part, he does it because he knows how hard this is for her, how hard it is for her to come face-to-face with her other half--the part of herself she loathes so deeply; but there’s another part of himself, and in this moment it's the larger part, that does it simply because he needs her.

Their presence is unexpected and he can see it in the queen’s eyes as she turns to face them, her eyes widening a little at the sight of him and then her brow furrowing as Regina steps in behind him. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything; instead, he looks between them and for an all too brief moment, he can feel the presence of the woman he fell in love with and the woman he’s missed so deeply.

“Why did you bring her here?” The queen asks, her voice growling to mask her vulnerability as her eyes shift from Robin to Regina.

His heart aches at the betrayal in her voice; but before he can find the words to explain, Regina steps forward. “We need your help.”

“You need me ?” A bitter laugh rises into her voice. “Well, well, isn’t that ironic.”

Robin’s eyes shift between them; but once more, it’s Regina who speaks. “Zelena took Esme.” The queen’s face changes at the mention of the little girl’s name. He eyes widen and her jaw tightens and he can tell that she’s looking for someone to blame and that she wants to lash out. He watches as her trembling hands ball up into fists and he can hear shaky breaths growing louder with rage until she’s wild-eyed and seething. “I… can’t do this without you. I can’t help her,” Regina says, taking a short breath and swallowing hard in an effort to keep her tears at bay. “But you can. Because if anyone can stop the Wicked Witch, it’s… the Evil Queen.”

For a moment, the queen just stares at her--staring her down as if to measure her sincerity, as if to try to locate the trap. But in spite of everything, Robin knows she’ll do it because he knows what’s in her heart, and he can see that the queen knows that Regina wouldn’t have come to her if she weren’t desperate; and most of all, she knows that Regina would never use a innocent child as a bargaining chip. Her eyes slowly slide to him and she offers a fleeting, half-hearted smile, and for a brief moment, his heart warms at the realization that even if she’s unsure of whether or not can trust herself, she knows that she can trust him and he’d never do something to intentionally harm her.

“What happened?” she asks him.

“We were almost asleep and then… all of the sudden Esme was crying and there was a flash of green light,” Robin explains as Regina lets go of his hand and folds her arms over her chest. “And when we got to the nursery… she was… gone.”

Regina takes a breath and pushes herself forward. “I have something I think we can use.”

The queen eyes her as she reaches for a little box on a shelf and slowly, she withdraws a necklace that Zelena used to wear. “I was thinking a locator spell could…”

The queen reaches for the necklace and Regina flinches as their fingertips meet--and Robin watches as a dark grin twists onto the queen’s lips as she lifts it, dangling it in front of herself. “You can run, sis; but you can never hide. Not from me.”

It doesn’t take long for them to mix the potion, and for a few minutes, he’s glad for the distraction they create. He watches the way they move together, watching the way they seem to be one step ahead of the other, anticipating the other’s moves and needs, watching how in sync they are with each other--almost as if they’re one again.

The necklace begins to float away, and they follow it. With each step he takes his heart pounds faster and louder until it’s thumping his his ears and reverberating through his every nerve--and then suddenly, they stop. Regina grabs onto his wrist and the queen brazenly moves forward, an added determination in her every step. He’s seen this before--this side of her, that hell-bent determination that propels her toward a target and there’s a little part of him that’s missed it. He watches as she readies her hand, a little flame igniting in her palm--and momentarily, she turns back to them and he can see a matching fire in her eyes.

“It’s going to be okay,” Regina murmurs. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Robin nods--he knows that she wasn’t talk to him, that she wasn’t trying to reassure him--she knows better than anyone what’s at stake and that one ill planned move could cost them both everything. Her fingers tighten around her wrist and she takes a cautious step forward, following as the queen flicks her wrist and throws open the cellar doors.

He breathes an odd sigh of relief as he hears Esme’s quiet cries--and the queen hesitates for a brief second before pushing her hands forward, magic streaming from them. Robin’s eyes widen as Zelena stands, immobilized in the poorly lit cellar. Fear shines in her eyes as the queen laughs out and tells her this was almost too easy, that if the circumstances were different, she’d feel sorry for her. Regina’s fingers press harder into his wrist and her nails dig into his skin as the queen moves closer and reaches for the baby tucked into the crook of Zelena’s stiffened arm.

Esme lets out a muffled cry and her little pink clad feet kick back and forth--and Robin turns to watch Regina as a smile draws onto the queen’s face and she begins to rock the baby. She coos and sways and Esme’s cries grow fainter and when a little giggle escapes her, Regina’s breath catches in her throat and her fingers loosen on his wrist, releasing him.

Tentatively, he takes a step toward them as he lets out a breath of relief. His hand brushes at the small of the queen’s back and he leans in, kissing his daughter’s head as he says a million silent thank yous to any higher beings that may be listening at that moment. Just beyond them, Zelena continues to struggle against herself--enraged by the happy reunion playing out in front of her--and Robin watches as she catches the queen’s gaze. A little reluctantly, she transfers the baby into Robin’s arms--and Regina meets him as he takes  a few steps back--and all he can do is watch.

The queen waves her hand and immediately, Zelena is freed--and a deep laugh rises from the queen. “You’ve made a grave mistakes, sis,” the queen grows as Zelena’s eyes grow wild. “Had you forgotten who you’re dealing with?”

“On the contrary,” Zelena replies as her eyes slide from the queen to Regina. “I haven’t forgotten anything.” Robin’s stomach churns as Zelena turns sharply toward him, raising her arm as her fingers curl toward her palm. Her eyes are wild and a cackle rumbles from her chest--and it's only when its echo fades, he hears Regina struggling to breath. He calls out something he’s not aware of and the queen’s eyes widen--and just as she takes a step forward, Regina’s shoved backward and Zelena’s rage is unleashed on the queen. She lets out a sharp gasp as Zelena’s hand plunges into her chest and for the first time that night, fear registers in her eyes.

Robin crouches down to offer Regina a hand, pulling her up and and into his arms as they watch Zelena’s hand pull back, her eyes glowing with victory as she stares at the queen’s blackened heart--and then, her smile broadens as turns toward them. Robin’s arm tightens around Regina’s shoulders and his stomach drops with the realization that there’s nothing he can do--one misstep and they’ll both be gone.

Tears well in his eyes and Regina winces in pain as Zelena’s fingers squeeze her heart--and then Zelena laughs out. “For my entire life, I’ve watched you take what’s mine,” she snarls. “So isn’t it fitting that I take this from you? After all this time, I finally win.”

Robin hears his voice trying to reason with her--begging her to let them live, begging her to think of her daughter. It kills him to say it, to give her that position in his child’s life, even if for just a fleeting moment, but he’s desperate and he’ll say anything. The queen lets out a shaky cry as Regina starts to waiver--and he can feel them beginning to slip away. His heart aches and his stomach churns, and for a brief moment, just as he starts to take a step, he looks between them--and finds the queen’s eyes locked with Regina’s. There’s a glimmer of something he can’t quite place, but something they both clearly understand--and just as he takes a step, Zelena’s eyes widen and her fist clenches tighter on the heart. He calls out again--yelling an elongated “no” as he watches the queen drop to the floor--and then, as he turns back to Regina, he feels her slipping from his arm.

Tears well in his eyes and suddenly everything around him is blurry--and then, Regina slips away.

He winches, his eyes pressing shut and his chest tightening, arching as she shrinks away from him. He finds himself holding Esme a little tighter against his body, clutching her as though to shield her--in all the ways he thought this might end, he never quite imagined it happening like this.

Zelena shrieks forcing open his eyes just in time to see Regina--a very much alive Regina--plunging her hand into Zelena’s chest, and no sooner than she withdraws her heart, her fingers fold around it--and then, all that remains is dust.Robin’s eyes widen--and for a second, he doesn’t understand--and then, as he gaze moves from her hand to her face, a slow smile edges onto his lips because looking back at him is his Regina.

[viswas]

Shattered Illusion

Dear Aunt,

You were born in Gangapur, Bihar, the fifth child in a schedule caste family. You had three elder brothers and an elder sister. Your don't recall your father, he died of tuberculosis shortly after you were born. Your mother was the sole breadwinner, earning daily wages through labor in construction sites. Your brothers squandered their lives and times smoking marijuana and playing cards. Your sister was married off at a barely legal age.

In a place where getting children to go to school was an ordeal, you were the first person in a long time to clear secondary and high school examinations. I have heard mom tell stories of you studying under the street light, just like Ambedkar. You got admitted into a science college and completed your B.Sc Physics. You then found a job at the motor company in Samastipur and became one of the first literate wage earners in our village.

When you had some work experience in the motor company, you felt the need to study further. So you applied and got admitted to an M.Sc Nuclear Physics program in Calcutta, West Bengal. I vaguely recall our family's excitement when we had come to see you off at the Samastipur station. You were the first person from the village who was going to do a master's degree. You were going to be alone by yourself in a different state, hundreds of kilometers away from us. I didn't realize then what a momentous yet scary occasion it was for our family. I recall mom asking me to study and become like you.

One of my fondest memories from childhood is at the Samastipur railway station. While we waited for the train to Calcutta to arrive, you would play Snake and Ladders and Ludo with me. I was so happy once when the train was 12 hours late. You asked me to study English well, you said it was important. You bought me English comic books from the bookstore in the Samastipur station. I was hooked. There was nothing I looked forward to more than being at the railway station, first to receive you and then to send you off just so I could read English comics and play games with you.

I recall the orange pen-pencil with the metal clip that you gifted me when you visited us one vacation. I was in the fourth standard then. All I wanted to do was write until the lead was exhausted. And so I came back from school and started writing, though I don't think I learned anything from the process. I finished half the pencil leads you had given in two days. When the pen-pencil was stolen the next day, I was shattered. Not for the beating that mom would give, but because I loved the pen-pencil, especially because it came from you.

After your post-graduation, you went on to do your Ph.D. By then you had become a legend in our village. Later, you found a job with the department of atomic energy in the role of a junior scientist. That was the first time I heard the word 'scientist'. Science became my favorite subject and I started paying more attention to it in school. I remember you talk to me about rockets and satellites launched by India. I was blown away by the idea of going to the moon and distant stars. Any time after that, whenever I was asked what I wanted to become in life, there was only once answer. For the first time, I became consciously aware of the importance of studying. I wanted to study well and grow up to be like you, a scientist.

When they diagnosed the defective valve in your heart, I was shattered along with the rest of our family. I recall borrowing a biology book from my senior and reading about the anatomy of the heart. I didn't understand much. The doctors were going to perform a surgery to save you. The whole family left for Calcutta together for the first time for your surgery. I was excited and sad at the same time. Sad because I was afraid you might die on the operating table. Excited because I was going to a city I had always heard about but never visited. It was my first time traveling beyond Samastipur. Thankfully, the surgery went well. You came out healthy. You went back to work, became a scientist and then a senior scientist. You were a tour de force.

Then you got married. Your husband was a scientist too. You were my favorite couple. I wanted to live with you. You told me to study well and you promised to take me to Calcutta if I did well in my secondary school exams. So I studied hard and tried to follow in your footsteps. I topped my class in every exam. Mom was proud of me. You said you were too.

You then visited us on a long break. You had a baby boy, my first brother. He was so adorable. I took care of him like he was my own child. I looked forward to waking up in the morning just to cuddle with him while he was sleeping. I looked forward to playing with him when I got back from school. He was going to be my best friend. Then one day, you both were back in Calcutta and life became less than ordinary.

Eventually, all my uncles got married, and they all had their sons. But your son held a special place for me. Years flew past quickly. I never came to Calcutta for an education. Instead, I ended up in Jamshedpur for my high school. I stayed in the school hostel. I still wanted to become a scientist.

And then I heard you were a mother again. This time you had a daughter. I came to visit you during my vacation. Your daughter was the most beautiful thing I had ever laid my eyes on. One day, I hoped I would also have a daughter like yours. She was so cute, I wanted to steal her for myself and take her back to Jamshedpur. Silly me. I was very happy. She was my first sister, the first daughter of the generation in our family. She was going to be like her mother and make us all proud. I couldn't wait to see what life had in store for her. I didn't want to go back to Jamshedpur at the end of the vacation.

Life went by quickly. I completed my high school and went on to do my engineering, again in Jamshedpur. Another vacation I visited you in Calcutta, you had arranged an internship for me in your office. You were writing C++ code that operated medical imaging instruments. I finally got to see you at your best. I had so much to learn from you. Meanwhile, at home, your daughter and I were forming a special bond. She doted on me. She was young and she was already wise beyond her years. I saw you in her. When the internship ended, once again, I didn't want to go back to Jamshedpur.

Unlike you, my achievements were nothing to write home about. I had much more to do. After graduation, I got a job in IT in Bangalore, Karnataka. I couldn't become a scientist. But I loved computers, so no regret there. Mom wasn't too happy about me going that far and working. It was hard for me to convince her but I did. She couldn't believe the salary I was being offered. As long as I wrote to her often and visited her every six months, she was happy.

You continued to scale greater heights. You went on to become a chief scientist, divisional manager and finally the managing director. You reached the pinnacle of your career. I would talk proudly to my friends and colleagues about my scientist aunt. They too were impressed with your story. No one I knew had met a scientist in real life.

Years went by and I got busy at work. I enjoyed every moment of it. I loved solving problems using computers. I was being paid well. I got to travel a lot as a part of my job, so I went to the US, Europe, and Japan. Here I met different kinds of people and got exposure to different cultures. I fell in love with travel. I made it a point to travel every year for at least a month. My manager was a very agreeable person. So long as I met my deliverables, he was happy to let me take a month off every year. One time, I spent an entire month backpacking Rajasthan, Punjab, and Kashmir. Another month I split between Ladakh and Andaman. Another year, I took an unpaid vacation with paid leaves altogether for three months and backpacked seven countries in South East Asia. I was now experiencing a life more than ordinary, one conceived improbable for someone from Gangapur.

Meanwhile, I had graduated from comic books to fiction and non-fiction. I read biographies of historical figures, scientists, musicians and social activists. I read about social issues and dystopian societies. I read philosophy and religion. I read world history and Indian history. I even got back into comic books. They call it graphic novels these days. When I wasn't traveling the world, I was living vicariously through books. I read for that exhilarating feeling of magically being transported to another place and time, into the shoes of someone I would never be, to earn an experience I could never feel otherwise. Reading exposed me to the realities of the world we live in. I traveled the world through books. It was a replacement for real experiences, yet it drove me to travel more and seek new adventures. I was quenching my thirst for knowledge.

Through travel and books, I became more aware. I learned about women's rights and LGBT rights. I thought we were poor, then I got to know about Sudan. I learned about environmental exploitation and destruction, yet I found beauty in this world. I learned of oligarchies, dictatorships, and failed political constructs, but I also learned about panchayats and grass root development. I joined anti-corruption and cleanliness campaigns wherever I could. I wanted to deeply connect with this world. I wanted to make a difference.

From you, I learned the importance of education. From education, I learned about protecting humanity and the world we live in. I managed to gather moss from the stone that you had set rolling.

Then you changed.

When you shifted your daughter to a convent, you told me it was because you wanted her to have a better education. She said she hated the idea of losing all her friends from school.

A few years later, when she created a second Facebook account and sent me a friend request, I asked her why. She said she wanted a platform where she could express herself freely and wouldn't be judged by you. She said you were going through her Facebook Friends List and asking about every boy in it.

Once when she visited me on a vacation, I took her out shopping. She only bought slightly less than knee-length skirts and shorts. She said you would never buy such clothes for her, nor permit her to wear them. She asked me not to tell you. She would stock them at her friend's house so she could wear them when going out, without your oversight.

Meanwhile, your son completed his high school and wanted to do automobile engineering. He relocated to Delhi for this. You bought him a bike and supported his stay in a rented house with his classmates. You asked him to prepare for his GRE so he could do his masters in the US.

By now you had become the go-to person for advice for everyone in the village. When one of my distant cousins was about to complete her engineering with top honors, you advised her mother to get her married. You even selected a Bihari boy from the same caste for her to be married to. While she was waiting for her final results, she was fighting with her parents to be left alone so she could make a career. She hated you for it.

Two years later, when you daughter completed her high school, she wanted to study fashion design in Bombay. You were dead set against it. You didn't permit her to leave Calcutta. Your reason was the increasing prevalence of rape in society.

She called me yesterday. She cried to me about her fate.

Once a symbol of woman's emancipation, you are now the symbol of your daughter's oppression. I feel like I don't know you anymore. What have you become, a metaphor for the difference between literacy and education?

Sincerely,

your once loving nephew