#but at the end of the dream somehow Patroclus was alive too

[numberonestuckyshipper]

What if: Steve and Bucky’s story but theyre from Ancient Greece

Does this exist?

[therainbowwillow]

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/641354616733401088/therainbowwillow

Epilogue! 

Here it is, the last part of this fic. And here is a sappy note from the author: Thank you all so, so much for reading my first-ever fanfic I’ve posted here! As I said in the very first parts, the hardest part of writing (for me) is posting what I write! To publish your art (written or drawn or sung, etc) is to show a part of yourself to the world and it is intimidating. The support you readers have given me has encouraged me to finish (me? finishing something?) this fic and has inspired me to keep posting my writing on here! Thanks a million for joining me on this trainwreck of a fanfiction.

Premise/last time (my last synopsis? AH!): Orpheus’s song succeeds. Hermes’s prophecy is fulfilled when Orpheus discovers his new immortality, at the hand of Hades. Persephone is allowed to choose where she spends her time, in Hadestown or up above. Eurydice and Orpheus look forward to their future, a lot longer than they had expected. Achilles and Patroclus are given a second chance at life and guaranteed a spot in Elysium. Hyacinthus stays with Apollo. Hermes is unemployed and tired but at least his son is alive.

It hadn’t taken Orpheus and Eurydice more than a minute to decide they wanted to go home. The Olympians had murmured amongst themselves. Gods, they had said, who do not have any desire to remain on Olympus? Sure, it wasn’t unheard of to live away from the city. But to visit only for hours? That wasn’t common. 

Hermes had understood in an instant. They had come to plead for their lives and they’d left with much more than they’d bargained for. They longed for normalcy. They’d said their good-byes to Apollo and Hyacinthus, shining with his newfound immortality. The journey home had felt short, Hermes had been half-conscious for most of it. Persephone and Hestia helped him down the ramp, leaving Olympus behind him. 

The train ride had been silent. Orpheus and Eurydice had sat side by side, hand in hand, never looking away from his bedside.

The flowers in the meadow turned their heads to Orpheus, God of Song, as he passed, though no notes touched his lips. Persephone helped Hermes inside and they’d slept. 

When he’d finally woken, Hermes found Orpheus and Eurydice outside his window, laying together in the meadow. They sat beneath a tree and Orpheus strummed his lyre, humming the notes of a new song, flowers blooming around him, warm raindrops against his cheeks. Hermes watched them from his bed, to weary to stand.

The sun, perhaps curious at the sound of Orpheus’s music burned off the clouds and a rainbow stretched across the sky. Eurydice was the first to notice. It was a novel sight after years without a spring. She pointed it out to Orpheus, who watched it, wide-eyed, and then switched to singing about the colors above him. 

...

Today, almost exactly a year after their original return, Orpheus and Eurydice would be married, in the light of spring. Orpheus stands beside his wife, sipping a glass of nectar. Eurydice frantically adjusts her veil. Orpheus sets down his drink and takes her hands in his. “Hey. You look great, love. What’s wrong?” he asks her.

“It’s just... we never could’ve done this before...” she sighs. “We could never have paid for all this. And now...”

“We won’t lose it this time,” he promises.

“I know. It’s hard to forget that we did once.”

He nods in understanding. “Let’s enjoy it while we can, lover. Sure, winter will be cold, summer will be hot, but it’s spring now!” He places his hands on her waist and sways back and forth. Eurydice smiles. She grabs his hands and spins him under her arms. 

“It’s spring,” she agrees. 

The guest list looks exactly as they’d agreed it would on the first train ride home. Hermes received the first invitation, as he still lived with the soon-to-be newlyweds. Persephone, residing nearby with her mother and son, received the second. Hyacinthus and Apollo were in attendance, and Achilles and Patroclus. Hera had blessed the wedding and Aphrodite had agreed wholeheartedly. In some stroke of madness or courage, Orpheus had sent a letter to Hades, inviting him to stop by. He hadn’t received a reply. 

Written inside the cards was indeed Eurydice’s poem, to which she had objected after the letters had been sent. Still, she’d slept with a copy of the invitation under her pillow for months.

The set-up had been easy enough. A few notes of coaxing and, as promised, the trees had laid their wedding tables. Iris, Goddess of the Rainbow, had given them a wedding arch of pure light. Persephone and Demeter had provided a feast and Hermes had delivered most of their invitations. 

Apollo walks Orpheus down the isle. He trembles with anxiety. Hermes hands Eurydice off to him and he clutches her hand, beneath their arch of light. “I’m gonna forget what I’m supposed to say,” he whispers.

She squeezes his hand. “Orpheus, you aren’t gonna forget.” He nods, hoping she’s right. 

And she is, of course. “I can’t promise you fair sky above,” he vows, “Can’t promise you kind road below. But I’ll walk beside you, love. Any way the wind blows. Walk beside me.”

“Any way the wind blows,” she swears. “I will.”

Their kiss is long and filled with love. Eurydice’s fingertips brush against the thin scar across her lover’s palm. The tiny gash that had decided their forever. 

The rest of the night is marked by music. Apollo is supposed to be the one performing, but Orpheus can’t help himself. Eurydice joins in, singing beside him, and soon the crowd is cheering for the newlyweds’ song. If Apollo is jealous, he doesn’t show it. 

At Orpheus’s allowance, he leaves his position on stage and spins out a beautiful dance with Hyacinthus. Apollo notices his lover has grown his hair out. He has it tied back in a wreath of purple hyacinths, revealing the gash over his eye, the mark of his death he’d always kept so desperately hidden. Apollo brushes his finger over the scar. Hyacinthus looks away. “Hey, I like it,” Apollo says.

“I wasn’t sure about it. I... I used to wear my hair like this. You know... before? I thought maybe-”

“I love it.” Apollo silences him with a kiss. 

The wedding celebrations carry on long into the night. Hermes looks on as Eurydice and Orpheus share their final dance of the day. Somehow, by some miracle, their tale had turned out this time. 

“Hermes,” Orpheus takes a seat beside him, as Eurydice prepares a snack inside. “Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

Hermes pulls his son into his arms. “I wish I could’ve done more,” he says. He opens Orpheus’s palm, examining his scar. “I wish it every day.”

Orpheus shakes his head. “You couldn’t have done more. I couldn’t have asked for a better father. You saved my life. Endured Hades’s wrath in my place.”

“And you saved me in turn. I couldn’t have asked for a better son.” 

“I wish... you hadn’t gone through so much for me,” Orpheus whispers

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Orpheus,” he says, honestly. They sit in silence for a moment.

“Do you still feel it?” Orpheus asks, suddenly.

Hermes narrows his eyes. “What?”

“His wrath.”

“Do you?” Hermes inquires.

“I never felt it the way you did. It would always... end. A few seconds of agony and it would all be over,” he says.

“That’s not an answer.”

He hesitates a moment. “I do,” Orpheus admits. “Aches and pains, bad dreams, however it manifests, I can always tell.”

Hermes nods his sympathy. “I understand.”

“You were worse. You... you were asleep for days, weakened for weeks. And when you woke... you looked older, so tired. I was afraid for you,” Orpheus tells him.

“Finding you in that cell, Orpheus... that’s how I felt. I wish I could take all of that pain away from you,” Hermes says.

“I’ll manage,” Orpheus promises. “However long it takes.”

“I know you will.”

Eurydice returns with a plate of fruit and glasses of nectar. She hands one to her husband and the other to her father-in-law. “Happy zero-th anniversary, Orpheus!”

He blushes a deep gold. “We’re married!” He remembers. “It still hasn’t sunk in yet!”

Eurydice looks up at the full moon overhead. The scent of cherry blossom is on the air. She sits beside Orpheus and rests her head on his shoulder. “I’m glad we’re here,” she tells him, softly.

“I am too.”

————————————————————-

Achilles and Patroclus established their residence in the countryside. In thanks for their protection of her daughter, Demeter provided bountiful harvests, year after year. They sat beneath their fig orchard and watched the stars, rejecting offers of glory in trade for the peace and quiet they longed for.

Decades passed and like all good things, their quiet lives came to an end. Achilles was the first to return to Hadestown. He fell ill in late winter. Patroclus never once left his side, providing food and drink and finally strong medicine until his lover breathed his final breath.

Patroclus watched the pyre go up in flames. He collected the ashes in a golden urn, half filled. His nights were cold and lonely and the harvest felt tedious. He watched the stars alone each night, just as he had promised he would. Finally, his time came.

...

He wakes, feeling unrefreshed. He pulls the cover back over himself and closes his eyes again. “Patroclus,” voice from behind him calls. A dream, he knows. He’d had plenty before. He shuts his eyes tighter.

“Patroclus,” Achilles says again. “Mind looking at me? It’s been a while. I missed you.”

Patroclus rolls over. His lover stands before him, young and healthy in a small bedroom. “Achilles?” he mutters. “This isn’t real.”

He prepares to turn away. Achilles takes his hand. His eyes widen at the touch. “No, Patroclus. You’re here!”

“Where ‘here’? Achilles, what is this?” he asks.

“Welcome to Elysium!” Achilles exclaims, taking a seat beside him. “Hades kept his promise.”

Patroclus blinks. “I’m... dead?”

Achilles nods. “Yes. Now we get to stay here. For real this time. I made Hades swear it, on the River Styx.” He brushes the hair out of Patroclus’s eyes. “If you’d like, I can show you around, but I’d rather you rest first. Dying is tiring work.”

Patroclus sits upright. “Achilles... I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I was afraid when Persephone brought you in that something was wrong. She told me that it was common, for shades who died in their sleep to stay asleep for days, even weeks,” he explains. “It wasn’t particularly comforting. I’m glad you’re awake.”

“I didn’t have coins to cross the Styx!” Patroclus realizes.

“I paid your fare.”

“What? How? You weren’t on the banks with me.”

Achilles shrugs. “Persephone told me she’d seen you so I worked on the factory assembly lines for a few days until I could afford to bring you over. I bet she would’ve done it anyway if I hadn’t scrounged together the change.”

“Thank you,” he says, gratefully.

“It wasn’t too bad. I hadn’t worked for years. Kind of refreshing, honestly.”

“Years?” Patroclus asks, alarmed.

“No one in Elysium works all that often. In the rest of Hadestown, most shades work part-time, with two weeks’ vacation to Elysium annually, plus weekends,” Achilles says. “And... oh, I shouldn’t tell you until you’re ready to see for yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Patroclus insists. “Please tell me.”

“The sky. It’s not the overworld, but it has its own beauty. It’s quite impressive, and it isn’t even finished. I guess if you’d like we could-”

“Yes!” Patroclus exclaims. “I watched the stars. Every night. It wasn’t the same without you, my love.”

Achilles helps him to his feet and guides him through the house. Through the door of their cozy bedroom, down a short hallway, they step down a flight of stairs and out the front door. It opens to a landscape of rolling hills under otherworldly green lights. The stars are swirls in the sky, illuminated in strange colors. “Stars?” he whispers in awe.

“Hades stopped trying to recreate the overworld. He made it... something else. It worked, clearly. Come, sit.” He shows Patroclus to a well-used patch of grass beneath a fruit tree and lowers his lover to the ground.

Patroclus twirls a blade of grass between his fingers. “This is real,” he observes.

“Orpheus’s song does reach down here. And Persephone keeps everything growing, especially this time of year, springtime in the underground. When she’s with Hades, it’s like summer. Underworld summer. Patroclus, I know it’s not what you’re used to, but it really is-”

“It’s incredible.” Patroclus’s lips touch Achilles’s and neither man pulls away, not for an eternity.

----(Decades prior to the deaths of Achilles and Patroclus)----

It had taken Persephone over two years to make her decision. She’d felt bad to keep her husband waiting all this time, but living up on top was bliss after all those long winters. It was summer of the third year when she finally returned.

...

Hermes arrives at her new residence, this one closer to Hadestown, looking awful. For a moment she fears the worst. That her husband had torn up the world all over again. But what he tells her is more frightening.

“Persephone, this summer’s been too long,” he announces. “Orpheus is powerful, but not this good. He’s been singing day and night to keep the weather in check. Singing for months There’s a spring and a fall and a winter, but it won’t last long. Next year, I’m afraid the crops will burn or-”

Horror fills her. “Is he alright?” She asks. “I knew it was getting hotter, but I never thought...”

Hermes sighs. “I’ve seen worse. But it’s wearing on him. He’s too tired to get out of bed these days. Eurydice’s there to help, of course, but he can’t do this forever, Seph. Not even a god can remain eternally awake.”

“I’ll go,” she agrees.

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m asking. Your mother can control the seasons. With her help-”

“No, I’m leaving. I’ve made my choice. Tell your poor boy I’ll come by one last time. Let him stop singing.”

Hermes accepts this. They walk up the railroad track in silence.

He gently opens the door of his and Orpheus’s residence. He hears Eurydice, giving words of encouragement.

“It’s been months,” Orpheus says, his voice raspy with strain. “I dunno how long I can stay up. Even gods sleep.”

“I know, lover. But you’ve done so well. Don’t give up now.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “Just... a few more weeks, right? No,” he corrects himself, “Months. It’ll be fall soon. Then winter, then spring.”

“Spring is break time.”

“I know. It’s only... it’s two seasons away.”

Hermes hears her miserable sigh. “You’ve been brave, Orpheus, to keep fighting.”

“I love you,” he says.

“I know.”

He gives a little yelp of pain.

“Sorry. I should’ve changed these hours ago.”

Hermes opens the door. Orpheus looks up from his bloodied fingers. He smiles. “Hey Hermes! I’m sorry, I have nothing for us to eat. The song stopped producing a few days ago and I’m struggling with the lyre now that my fingers... well... It’ll be harvest soon. It won’t be ambrosia, but it’ll have to do.”

“No.” Persephone sits beside him. “It won’t have to do. We can fix this. I’m going back to Hadestown. I won’t be long. Spring always returns.”

“You don’t have to do this!” Orpheus exclaims, “My song will be enough until it’s spring again. Don’t go back. Please.”

“I miss him, Orpheus. I do. I’m going... home.” It feels strange to call Hadestown ‘home’. It was most often known to Persephone as ‘hell on earth.’

“Only if this is what you want, Persephone,” he says.

“I do. Please get some rest. Starting now.”

He smiles wearily as he leans back against his pillows. “Thank you.”

“I love you, kiddo. I’ll see you when you bring back the springtime next year,” she promises.

He gives a little nod and he’s asleep, almost the second his head hits the pillow.

Hermes helps Persephone onto the train. Charon drives now, rather than himself. “Take care of Orpheus for me, will you? And give this to Dionysus.” She hands him a envelope. “He can come visit whenever he likes.”

“I will. If you need anything, just send a message.”

“See ya next spring!” She waves as the train pulls out of the station.

...

She remembers Orpheus, almost lifeless, collapsed in a booth just like the one she sits in now. Only three years. It feels like a century. How much he’s been through, she thinks. How much he’s changed. He isn’t the young man who’d collapsed at her feet in Hades’s throne room all those years ago. She has no doubt in her mind that he would’ve sung ‘til spring if she hadn’t gone.

The routine of the train ride is something of a comfort. She watches the scenery fly by outside her window. Green fields, nearly ripe for harvest. All thanks to Orpheus.

The train grinds to a halt. She steps into Hadestown, beyond the wall for the first time in so long. Bluish lights illuminate the stone walls of the city from above. The shadows cast by the buildings aren’t so harsh as they had once been. She raises an eyebrow.

She follows the streets down into the heart of Hadestown, hell on Earth. A young couple passes her, hand in hand.

“Hey, miss?” A woman calls. She turns. “I haven’t seen you around. Are you new here?” the girl asks.

“I- no. Not really.” Persephone looks up at the city skyline. Her husband’a tower is no where in sight. “Where’s the tower?”

“The tower?” The woman looks confused for a second. “Oh yeah! I’ve heard the stories! They took it down during the revolution. You want a glass of wine, miss? If not, the bar’s always open if-”

“Hush,” Persephone cuts her off. “If we’re discovered, there won’t be anywhere left.”

The woman’s brow furrows. “Discovered by who? Mister Hades frequents our establishment.”

“We can’t be talking about the same man,” she says, astounded.

“You sure you don’t want a drink? I’m new here, so maybe someone will know more than me.”

Persephone nods, numbly. The woman leads her down the same street she’d walked a hundred times. Instead of a thin, secluded allyway, the entrance to her old bar is well-lit and wide open. It’s exterior is painted with a mural of carnations. She steps inside and is recognized almost instantly.

“Lady Persephone!” The bartender calls. “We’ve missed you down here!”

“Ampelos,” she recognizes the young man, a lover of her son, Dionysus, and the best bartender around. “It’s been a while.”

“That it has! We didn’t think you’d come back!”

“Yet here I am. Where’s the tower, my friend? Or the throne hall, I suppose.” She inquires. “I should find my husband.”

“I’m sure Hades will stop by soon enough. Dionysus’s spring wine.” He hands her a glass. “Hades kept the recipe.”

“There’s no vineyards down below,” she corrects him. “How much are you smuggling?”

“None.” He shrugs. “Orpheus’s song changed a lot.”

“Did my husband put you up to this?”

“No,” he answers. “It’s been different since the revolution. We’re still rebuilding, so there’s plenty to do, but having our memories back is nice. So are the shorter shifts. Five day weeks, nine-to-four. The weekends, we do as we like and our two weeks’ annual vacation time can be spent whenever we please. Pay isn’t half bad, though we’re campaigning for more currently, hence the flower. It’s the symbol of our revolution.”

She blinks in disbelief. “Funny.”

“No, I’m not joking,” he protests. “Things have changed.”

Persephone shakes her head. “Not Hades. Hades is unmovable. He gave us a chance because that song made him soft. Nothing more.”

“You’re wrong. He didn’t come this far alone, true. It took a lot of willpower and good minds to convince him to let go of his iron grip on Hadestown, but we did it,” he explains.

The bell chimes at the door. Persephone freezes in fear at the sight of her husband. She’d dreamt it a hundred times, that he’d take away her last safe haven. “Hades,” she pleads.

He stares at her. “Persephone?” He waits for someone to laugh, tell him it had all been a joke. No one does. He moves closer. He doesn’t dare to touch her. He sees her eyes well with tears. “A glass of wine, Ampelos,” he commands.

Her lips part. “You know him?”

Ampelos shrugs. “Like I said. He’s a regular.”

“Hades...”

He cracks a smile. “I suppose I do drink more than I once did. I hoped you wouldn’t judge, Seph- sorry, Persephone,” he corrects himself.

She takes his hands. “Hades... you let us go. You let them go. It’s true?”

He nods. “I promised you change.”

“I didn’t think...”

“I don’t blame you. Persephone... why did you return?”

“The weather became hotter and hotter the longer I stayed. I couldn’t let the world die for me,” she says. “And Hades? I... I missed you.

“You made your choice?” His voice hasn’t lost its old commanding tone.

She closes her eyes and exhales. “I have. I made a promise too. I told them up on the surface I’d be back by spring.”

“I told you I wouldn’t keep you here,” he says, almost irritated. “But I understand your doubts.” Hades sips his wine.

“I’ll stay,” she promises. 

“For me or for them?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admits.

He nods. “Will you walk with me?”

Persephone takes his hand and leaves the bar behind her. The streets are cleaner, the air is easier on her lungs. The city is lit by beams of blue light, dazzling the buildings in colorful rays. Carnations are painted on some of the walls, leftover from the riots. “I stopped trying to make it look like it does up above,” Hades informs her. 

“I noticed.”

“Do you like it?” He stops to ask her.

“Yes.”

“The shades seem to prefer it too,” he adds.

“They’re happy, Hades,” she tells him.

“I feared they only kept up the ruse around me to save their skins.”

“No. It’s genuine. They smile. They laugh. I never thought I’d see the day,” she remarks.

They continue walking, past the crumbled remains of factories and newly opened restaurants. “Where are we going, Hades?” Persephone finally asks.

He shrugs. “Where do you want to go?”

She’s surprised at her own request. “Home,” she says. 

“It’s gone,” he responds, bluntly. “The tower fell before I returned.”

“Then take me to wherever you’re staying.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” she asks.

“I have no home. I held off. You were never happy in the tower. I wanted you to choose where we should reside.”

“I don’t understand,” Persephone says. “You don’t have a home on the surface. You live here year round. Why should my six months matter more than your twelve?” 

“You’re my wife.”

“And I’m telling you to pick a place. So do it.”

He guides her down the street in silence, away from the center of town. She recognizes the route he’s taking, remembers the last time she’d come this way. It had been no leisurely stroll then. She instinctively reaches for her pocket, retracting her hand when she remembers she’d left her flask on the surface. 

The tightly packed streets open to an empty field, a single dilapidated building at the far edge. Persephone carefully steps over the glass ruins of her now-fallen greenhouses. She rests her hand upon the door of the last building that stands. She exhales and pushes it open. 

The scent of flowers strikes her. Her jaw drops. The garden blooms before her, as if she’s on the surface. As if the vines cannot tell that the sun is a million miles out of reach. 

“Hades...” she whispers, rapt.

“It will improve in your care,” he says. 

“You did this?”

“I did my best,” he tells her, modestly. “Orpheus’s song does reach us.” He pinches a dead leaf between his fingers. “But it’s been quiet lately.”

She takes a seat on a bench in the center of the garden and pats the spot beside her. Hades joins her. “Last time I was here, I used these vines to strangle the man you sent to attack me,” she reminds him. “After he shot Orpheus, that is. I was too late. As always,” she scoffs. Hades says nothing. “No, you look at me, husband.” He turns towards her. “You’re trying. But it ain’t easy to forgive.”

He nods in quiet understanding. “What happened to him once I left?”

She shrugs. “Hermes could tell you more than I could. I spent time with the three of them when things got rough, just after we got home from Olympus. It took Orpheus a long time to get back on his feet, even with the help of your ambrosia.” 

She sighs, remembering those long, long weeks. “He’d sleep all day and wake up screaming. Some nights, he wouldn’t speak to us; he wouldn’t tell us what was wrong. He’d just cry and cry until he lost his voice or I gave him something to knock him out. It was unbearable. But we bore it, Eurydice and I, while Hermes slept. Eventually he improved, but even now, some days are harder than others.” 

“Whatever you did to him, it never went away,” she accuses him. “The same for Hermes. You couldn’t tell by looking at them, not anymore. But sometimes... sometimes I know it wears on them.”

Hades stares at the vines at his feet. “I would take it all back if I could,” he says, quietly.

“I know you would. I wish I could relieve their burdens, more than you know.”

“You have burdens of your own,” he reminds her. “The weight of their strife is mine to carry.”

She wonders if he wants her to refute him. “Yes, it is,” she simply agrees. “No amount of apologies, no amount of reform will ever take away that pain.” She stands and turns her back on him. 

He reaches for her hand. She lets him take it. “I know. I’m not asking you to forgive. I know you cannot forget. But we have another chance, Persephone.”

“I don’t know what I want, Hades.” 

“I’ll wait for you,” he promises.

[crollalanzaa]

My Haikyuu Thoughts

(reposted from twitter)

I started the manga 23/6/14 largely because there was a void left by me falling out of HP which RL and PJO wasn’t filling. I saw Hinata art on viria’s tumblr and was, ‘oh, who he?’  I think I watched a bit of the anime but had not thought much of it ???

So there was this kid who was irritatingly enthusiastic and embarrassingly bad at volleyball and it was all the cringe making stuff I hate because I’m not into vicarious humiliation, but as I read on, and he hit that perfect shot and yelled ‘ALL RIIIIIGHT!’ I was almost hooked.

Then he appeared and you know who I mean. It wasn’t the appearance at the middle school match but turning up at the gym, realising his place was now under threat, but going out of his way to make sure the two idiots bonded on court.

I was intrigued and more than a little koo-koo  over Suga, but still not absolutely hooked. The point where I knew this was not only my thing but a story which was going to reel me in was the Neighbourhood match. The drama of the Asahi/Suga/Nishinoya dynamic was one thing. Asahi calling for the toss still sends shivers up and down my spine and yet ... what hooked me was the adults leaving the match, their conversation as they went back to their normal lives They laughed with fondness and nostalgia about the drama of HS volleyball and   as an adult reading that, it suddenly transcended the kids/teen lit I’d thought it would be (nothing wrong with that -I often prefer this genre because books written for my demographic I find samey and overly romance or abuse based) because we had normal people like me who’d left their HS dreams in the gym (or the drama studio for me) but were happy(ish) in their everyday lives and enthusiastic about volleyball as a hobby. When Shimada put himself out to help Yamaguchi. When Saeko put herself out to get the idiots to Tokyo, it felt like they were falling for these kids and this team like me.

Reel back a bit. Hq had been going for two years when I jumped in. I binge read everything in two days, finishing at 112 (I think). Back in the day, my friend, we were relying on fan translations. There was no official site, and the translators did it all for love,  which was wonderful but there was a lot of debate about reading for free and waiting for the translation could be tortuous. I wanted to support Furudate but couldn’t buy the physical copies. It was suggested at one point that Eng speaking fans shouldn’t be a part of the fandom  - not by anyone remotely official, you understand -  but that was the state of things in 2014. I bought official merch instead and watched the anime while I waited for 113 to drop.

So forward to 117. If you ever want to know why I still catch my breath and laugh a little at the Daichi Dead moment it’s because we all had to wait for what seemed like twenty years to find out what the high heck was wrong with him. I genuinely thought he’d wrecked his shoulder and was distraught because there was no way they’d win everything with the Captain out!

(Of course I had no real idea about Ennoshita stepping up to the plate, but that’s another story) The discovery it was a tooth had me SCREECHING! So relieved. I yelled to one of my first hq friends (who’s now deactivated) and then casually went to France with friends -hahaha.

I’ve done complete 180s on so many characters now that it’s safe to say I never trust the initial narrative Kags, Tsukki, Yams (come on, he was Tsukki’s mate giggling in corners over Hinata’s ineptitude. It was only when he saw what Hinata could do he stopped being a sock puppet).  

 The biggest turn around was on Oikawa who I hated to the point where I threw things at my laptop when he appeared. It wasn’t so much him as everyone going ka-ka over him which pissed off my withered adult heart. What changed was forcing myself to write him for an IwaOi week. I reread/rewatched his story and through Hajime’s eyes I began to appreciate him. I wrote Philos as an Achilles/Patroclus reincarnation type fic and that led on and on. And this is what Furudate does so well. Gives you a ‘villain’ then adds the backstory so they’re a hero.

Disliked Tendou, too but his Farewell My Paradise, his acceptance of defeat and the way he was such a good sport about it, made me gasp. And I love love love his new career.

It’s the appreciation of amazing play by the opposition which made me fall hard for Inarizaki and Atsumu. (Look at him here! Punt him out the f*cking window!) I’d learnt not to automatically hate anyone, so I reserved judgment. Moment I decided I liked him? Setting for Kags.

Moment I decided I loved him - getting laughed at by Osamu.

Before this turns into an Atsumu appreciation thread, let me tell you about the characters I was indifferent to but then warmed towards. The main one was because one of my earliest hq friends (yes, you Megan) likes him and through her eyes I started to appreciate the hngg that is Konoha Akinori 

When I first started reading hq, I did some searches on tumblr and came across quite explicit Kuroken fanart, so I was understandably nervous meeting those Nekoma boys.   Although I’m still ultra fond of the kurokens I wrote, hindsight is a dreadful thing when you see how off your assumptions and hcs were. But in retrospect I don’t think anyone envisaged quite how dorky and shy Kuroo had been as a boy. The error I laugh over the most is somehow transplanting Yaku’s personality into Kai and vice versa, but that’s what happens when you write before canon is done. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Could I have held off writing for six years - nyope. Not a chance. Watching the story unfold, week after week, year after year has honestly been the happiest part of my life. Is that sad? Is it melodramatic? 

Perhaps. But it has brought me so much apart from a fantastic story. Found friends. A shelter from when real life’s shit. And so many laughs. I still on occasion burst out laughing in the street when I think about Hinata forgetting to spike, or a daft hc shared on twitter. Still sigh a little over the ppl who said they’d leave when their team lost. Remember the time I was warned not to celebrate the Crows winning because it would upset the Seijou fans. I restricted myself to a brief yay then deleted. All nonsense, because most of the Seijou fans I was friendly with accepted the narrative with a bit of wistfulness and looked forward to the next chapter. And for those who wept that Oikawa ‘deserved to win’ they received their own message from Tooru that his ‘worthless pride’ meant something and he was still a winner! 

Oikawa Tooru’s journey perfectly illustrated the idea that your life doesn’t end at High School, that your path is never fixed, and you’re not only made of your achievements but perhaps more so by the doubts and failures. We saw that more recently with the strongest player    Ushijima Wakatoshi whose recent backstory with Iwaizumi has at last made me warm to him. (Iwa-chan has this effect!) 

 There are so many stories to relate to. So many moments. Yachi and Suga overthinking. Kiyoko finding something else she was passionate about. Asahi returning. 

You all know I write and some of you know I’m an amateur actor - both of these rely on a certain amount of internal motivation but also external validation. What if the story flops? What if I dry on stage? ‘What if’ can become a never-ending mantra. So when Hirugami’s story appeared, where despite being amazing at volleyball it was making him miserable, until Hoshiumi suggested he could quit and that freed him - it sang to me.  I’ve been through ups and downs with writing, and much as I love acting it can takeover especially the worry that you’ll fuck up. I know I won’t set the world alight and that used to ‘Concern’ me, but partly thanks to this story and also my hq tl, I’ve realised it’s  unimportant.

If I fuck up on stage, I might throw off other people, but no one will die. If no one reads my fic, I won’t die. If I never write another fic ... no one will die except for the fictional characters and my headcanons. And even then they’re still alive in my head.

And look, I have so many ppl to thank who’ve made this journey with me and supported me all the way, but I’m too scared of missing people out and in a way everyone has helped. But none more than the creator. So Thank you Furudate and Haikyuu for everything. 

Great Receive!

[the-flavour-of-life]

A Letter for my Achilles

“We do not Remember Days, We Remember Moments…”

CESARE PAVESE

Dear Achilles,

This blog was inspired from the subtle, fleeting moments of happiness that I enjoyed with you. I was only ‘existing’ before, but you taught me how to “live”. I was always thrilled by the feel of the wind on my face, but you made me appreciate the subtle touch of the breeze… You made me fall in love with “dark” humor and “dark” chocolates, I was a complete cynic, only reading the words on the page, but you made me fall in love with them, you brought the words alive and made me see the beauty behind them. You made me fall in love not only with words but music, books, fiction and the idea of friendship and love. You helped me make peace with “the void”, you helped me give acceptance to the gaping hole in my chest and make it a part of myself.I was searching for meaning in life when I asked you, “Everyone needs some purpose for existence. Having no purpose for living is equal to being dead. And I am dead inside. So, What the hell are you living for?” And you came across and said, “I live for the moments” and that’s when, before I knew it, I started to believe again…

Just when I had given up on the whole idea of friendship and love, and looked at them as sheer exploits of fantasy fiction, you “became” my friend. It has always been difficult for me to define “love” and “friendship” and I don’t know why I have always felt the pressing need to “define” them so… Friendship for me meant “having each other’s backs”, like Naruto had Sasuke’s, like the Marauders – James, Sirius and Lupin had each others’, like Harry, Ron and Hermione…Friendship meant selfless bonds for me and somehow I could never find such friends in life, until you came. You were always there for me, always there to listen to me. You always had my back, you stuck up for me when no one else would, you fought for me and reinstated my belief in friendship.

I remember you saying, every relationship has it’s flaws… like how Sasuke was never there for Naruto, how Ron ditched Harry a couple of times because of jealousy, how Sirius betrayed Remus by playing that prank on Snape…but, that’s why you said you liked them, right? Because of the flaws…because we are all humans, and we are flawed… I was too arrogant and cynical, and quick to condemn them, but you made me see the realistic beauty of such a flawed friendship. Our friendship has flaws too but you never gave up on me even if I attached myself to you like a leech, you were always there for me. I am a difficult person to be with and yet you were always there whenever you could help it, you did everything for me as much was possible for you and words cannot suffice how much it all means to me…

I have the tendency to be very obsessive, possessive and “demanding” in my relationships with others. I get clingy, needy and desperate, maybe because of my fear of abandonment or FOMO. Maybe, because my core beliefs and ideals are drawn from fantasies. Maybe that’s why I have difficulty trusting others and making friends. But, you make me want to be kinder, more compassionate and more empathetic towards others, even though “my empathy is bumming me out”. You make me want to be a “friend” to somebody in a non-demanding way, to give everything and never expect anything in return. You make me want to be better than the self I was yesterday…

I live in constant fear of abandonment and my friendship and emotions can come across as very “suffocating” in nature for everyone. Maybe that’s why people leave… I am scared that one day you will leave me too, or one day our friendship wouldn’t mean a thing to you, maybe I will be “outta your sight, outta your mind”, maybe someday you will care less about me…maybe you already do, at this moment, while I am writing this letter (which I am never gonna send, and am sure you are never gonna read)… But it’s okay… because you don’t have to adhere to my ideals of friendship… it’s okay if you aren’t always there for me, it’s okay if you don’t care anymore… it’s okay to prioritize yourself before others (that doesn’t make you selfish) and you already compromise too much of yourself for others. You wear a fake smile on your face which hides all your pain and you go on putting yourself out there while masking all your anxiety and misery. I hope you don’t do that. Be Achilles. Put your needs above everyone else’s.

I want to tell you that every moment I spent with you I was happy and those are the kinda moments I am looking forward to share with many others in my life…

I loved our long walks and every conversation we shared, loved our discussions on books and movies, bitching about Rowling and our extremely flawed educational institutions, loved panicking before exams and our uncertain bleak futures, loved talking about our dreams and hopes and having a heart to heart. I love your taste in music and fiction, love your bad puns, love your sudden humorous quotes in between serious conversations, love the way you smile and help everyone. I love the way you reply to every meme that I share.

I loved the way you couldn’t stop talking about Tolstoy when you were high, loved the way you said my parents would still be “celebrating” my death if I ended up killing myself on New Year’s Eve, love how your words come out as completely insensitive while you are trying your best to counsel the other person.

I love the way you are always there for others, I love the way you subtly mask your pain from others and retreat into yourself, although it does makes me very sad … You are the closest manifestation of an anti-hero fictional character that I have actually come across in life.You are a great human being and more than that an amazing person, a great friend!

This is to tell you that there is someone who always has your back, who will always fight for you, who will never give up on you. I might give crappy, faulty advises and impossible, impractical solutions to your problems, maybe sometimes I won’t know what to say…but, I can promise you this, I will always be there to listen to you, you can always use my shoulder to lean on and cry. “When you are standing in the wake of devastation, when you are waiting on the edge of the unknown”, please know that you are not alone. I am always here for you, “ALWAYS”!

I will always be worried about you, I will always be wondering about how you are doing. Hope you are not in too much pain, hope you are not too sad, hope you are sleeping well without the nightmares, hope you are eating well and laughing with others. Hope you are not faking it all, hope you are taking care of yourself, hope you are actually “fine” and remember, Adulting means “You have to be “Okay” with not being “Okay” but I hope you are doing “Okay” wherever you are. Hope you are not masking your pain and repressing the shit out of yourself. Because Friends are not your “emotional punchbags”, friends are people who always have your back, who are always there to listen to you. And you have plenty of those and, I dare to say that I am one of them.

It is true that Life is meaningless and “the Universe is indeed, a cruel uncaring void” but to me, being a better friend, being a better person, making those bonds, having those deep conversations, the pain, the ugliness, the grotesque, the happiness, the laughter and everything we share with each other, gives me a sense of purpose. These fleeting Moments are actually “Moments of Being” and these moments define me and validate my existence.

Yours,

Patroclus.