#egalitarian character

[moghedien]

It does genuinely shock me how few people in the DA fandom are willing to acknowledge that the Grey Wardens are kinda extremely horrific and fucked up

[pastelicide]

⛔️//BARBIE SPOLIERS//⛔️ (btw if y’all don’t wanna see spoilers of the film I highly recommend to mute Barbie so your tl is not invaded)

-

-

-

-

-

Idk if this is an unpopular opinion but I kinda like how Barbie shows some grace to the Kens/men in the film instead of completely demonizing them for following patriarchy? They didn’t go about it perfectly though so this is my semi-analysis to work out my feelings.

Basically, Kens were treated lesser than Barbies, and Barbie was not kind towards Ken. Obviously, he’s not owed nor entitled to Barbie’s attention at all times of the day, or her affection, and it’s understandable why she didn’t find it comfortable to be around him. However, Barbie did treat Ken as her accessory, and that dynamic resulted in Ken relying on her as his sole purpose (which reflects in Barbie and Ken marketing in the real world). His arc was to figure out that it’s okay to be alone because he is Kenough as is. Ken doesn’t need Barbie, and Barbie doesn’t need Ken. They are enough as individuals instead of a doll and her male accessory.

Another unique take on patriarchy hurting men is how the Barbie CEO (the guy Will Ferrell plays) is depicted. He’s obviously a greedy buisnessman, but unlike the other guys in office, he actually has a passion for Barbie, even if misguided. He’s the only man to wear pink accessories in the real world and talks about Barbieland like it’s a real alternate universe, and actually cares about what little girls look up to. He also admits at the end that he always wanted to be comfortable enough to want to tickle and be tickled by other men in a platonic manner. To me at least, he reminds me of boys who had an interest in playing with dolls but were denied it because it wasn’t “manly” and it was “gay”.

Finally, the biggest thing that stuck out was Allan and how he was the only guy to not fall for patriarchy. On my first viewing I did wonder why Allan specifically disliked the way Kens were handling things but it stuck out that Allan is Allan. He doesn’t have identity issues bc he’s not a Ken. He never has to question his worth bc his story doesn’t involve being tied to Barbie (instead being considered in a marriage with Midge/a gay counterpart to Ken). His doll line was discontinued and for the most part was it’s own thing. Narratively, it makes sense why he would dislike how the Kens were beginning to run things.

The way Ken’s turn to being an “antagonist” was fueled by his desire to be accepted by Barbie romantically (or even platonically) and not because he genuinely believed that women are lesser. It reminds me of boys who never worried about girls and women until men in higher positions (podcast dudes, “alpha males” etc.) tell them that they should view women as lesser. Then, these boys change, and begin to categorize women which in turn, influences them to view women as lesser. They may have been good guys, but unfortunately, it’s up to them to find out who they really are and if they still remain misogynists, then they’re no longer good.

Really hoping this film inspires guys that women isn’t an end goal and that they are good enough as is. They don’t need to base their self worth on anything except themselves and only then, they will begin to respect women bc they too, are also victims of patriarchy.

With that said, the one legit criticism I have (not including minor nitpicks) is that Ken should have apologized to Barbie like she did to him. Ken obviously was hurting, but he raided her house and tried to change the constitution in favor of Kens while hurting the Barbies. And again, it was all for her validation. He still hurt Barbie by doing something that was horrible to her and never said sorry once. I do feel Barbie should have apologized regardless, but Ken should’ve also said something because lashing out is different than changing Barbieland into his own thing. I get it was a subtle criticism that total matriarchy wasn’t the move either, but Ken still damaged Barbie’s things and changed her friends because he felt hurt.

Anyways, this movie is great and a 10/10. Greta Gerwig is up there as one of my favorite directors.

{TL;DR}: Barbie is a pretty great view on how patriarchy hurts both men and women by trying to impose impossible standards on both genders. While it does have some problems, it does criticize both patriarchy and, more subtly, matriarchy while promoting equality because we are all equal and we are Kenough. Also it’s a great film.

[bonefall]

alpha chad girlboss leafstar and her himbo boytoy malewife billystorm

Billystorm the trophy husband and Leafstar who once unironically opened up a meeting with, "To whom it may concern,"

[teafiend]

[imaginarianisms]

the children of king aegon iv targaryen & captain bellegere otherys.

bellenora otherys-targaryen: born in the maidenvault in the red keep the same year the princesses of the maidenvault were imprisoned, bellenora inherited all of her mother's great beauty & took after her in the refined etiquette of a courtesan. under her mother's tutelage, she learned from the matriarch not only the art of a courtesan, but political intrigue & using daggers. graceful & elegant, bellenora became popular in king's landing & singers wrote tales of her great beauty after the death of king baelor. she grew weary of her royal father's antics, however, & decided to make her own destiny across the narrow sea. after his death, she sailed to braavos & became a courtesan under the same title as her mother: the black pearl of braavos. bellenora was said to be the most beautiful woman in all the world in her day with singers making songs about her beauty, seamstresses begging to make her the most beautiful dresses, showered with gifts by goldsmiths, bravos killing each other in her name & merchants, nobles, princes, & even kings vied for her hand in marriage. wedding a sealord, she became wealthy for the rest of her long life living in luxury, with her descendants continue the courtesan tradition to this day: house otherys.

narha otherys-targaryen: born in the maidenvault two years after her elder sister, narha grew up a rebellious child, a perfect combination of both of her parents. wild almost from birth, narha took the path of her mother, becoming a pirate queen. seafarer by nature & by trade & skilled in blades & archery with a goldenheart bow, her vessel the black dragon's goldenheart has made port in hundreds of docks across westeros & essos & sailed as far east as the dark city of asshai-beyond-the-shadow. eventually she stopped sailing & settled down south in the summer isles & became the ruling princess of the summer isles in her own right after uniting the princes & princesses of the summer isles under her rule to fight against the ghiscari slavers. after the war, she established her own dynasty, under her rule, the summer isles prospered in a way they haven't in centuries, even when westeros was long at war, with trade growing to westeros & essos, & her descendants still widely respected to this day.

balerion otherys-targaryen: the only son of the three, balerion, named after balerion the black dread, the largest, fiercest & most terrifying dragon ridden by aegon the conqueror himself, from his namesake balerion was destined to become a fierce warrior, born two years after his sister, growing up in the maidenvault & was raised by the many ladies who lived there until his royal father demanded to see his second son. it was said for quite a long time that balerion was aegon's favorite son, unlike his trueborn son daeron by his wife naerys... that is, until daemon waters (later known as daemon blackfyre) was born years later. he grew up to become a warrior then as a retired pirate, he was once captain of his own crew until he retired to become a bravo, using both his skills as knight & a water dancer to fight in the streets of braavos to defend his elder sister's honor, was briefly exiled from the city after an altercation with the sealord's son where the latter was slain after he insulted his family & in that time of exile he headed east towards volantis & valyria & was rumored to follow the rhoyne to its headwaters & explored the shadowy depths of the forests of qohor & then upon returning became the first sword of braavos then he went on to gain his own titles & rose to become the sealord of braavos: balerion otherys, son of the black pearl, the black dread, scion of braavos, the summer isles & old valyria & keeper of the three dragon eggs lady elissa farman gave to the sealord of braavos all those years ago, the very three petrified eggs that would eventually come to hatch over a century later into queen daenerys i targaryen's three dragons: drogon, rhaegal & viserion.

[amplexadversary]

.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

I get why people opt for joint last names when they get married, but to me it is a mere shade away from true independence. You recognize the antiquated implications of subsuming yourself in the familial identity of your partner by adopting their surname, and instead seek a more egalitarian representation of your person by creating one new surname out of two. This decision however belies it's intention by honoring the patriarchal naming conventions that preceeded it. This is why I believe that when people seek to get married they should be made aware that they and their partner can just make up a new last name to share and also that the character limitations/length cap for it should be extinguished so you can get a little crazy with it. Emojis kaomojis and ascii and all. The new era of surnames should look like light novel titles. No more Bob Smith-Johnsons. The age of Bob Vow of Eternal Bloodlust: Cursed Eyes of the Twilight Moon ~Reverie for the Cyber Witch~✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ is now. If important government software crashes from being unable to accommodate these changes it is what it is.

[navree]

I know that Grrm wants the Targaryen to have their tyrant in Maegor but c'mon there was no need for making him Antichrist reborn again, ruled for 666 had a knight named Lucifer fights for him lmaoo like ok we know grrm he is bad he isn't meant to be liked but cmon

I'll be honest I'm fine with Maegor being an utter bastard, mostly just because I think that there is a deplorable dearth of characters who are bad people Just Cuz, everyone's out here being all conflicted and tortured by their own evil and Klaus Mikaelsoning their way through villainy (and I love characters like that I do, I've been in a "reread Batman comics" phase and Jason is my sweetest and most beloved boy for a reason) and nobody's just bad for the sake of being bad. So Maegor having this potential for intricacy early in life (which if you look through my Maegor tag you know I adore) and then once he gets power turning into an utterly evil figure the more he wants to hold onto it is very very fun for me and I don't mind it.

Plus there's a lot to play with in the idea that Maegor was always the unfavored in the eyes of his family until he stole the crown and he decides he's never going to not get something he wants ever again, if he wants it he's got it and he doesn't care what he has to do or how far he has to go anyway not just because of the worsening madness within him and all that (man was out ehre killing things when he was a kid I can humanize Maegor as I often do but that's still part of the homicidal triad) because at this point the only person who matters to him is him. Love that for the man, honestly.

[probablybadrpgideas]

Book of Exalted Deeds -- teaches you secrets of goodness, smites evil readers.

Book Of Vile Darkness -- teaches you secrets of evil, corrupts good readers.

Book Of Neutral Blandness -- teaches you secrets of neutrality, doesn't really care whether you read it or not.

Book of Tedious Forms -- teaches you secrets of law, chaotic characters can read it but they have to fill in Form 13(b) first and take it to Desk A in sub-facility 19, so none ever have.

Book Of Zany Plans -- teaches you secrets of chaos, heists lawful readers using a mascot head, box of mousetraps and a recording of a Justin Beiber concert.

Book Of Mediocre Bullshit -- teaches you unimpressive commoner knowledge, is slightly annoyed if cool people read it but not enough to do anything.

Book Of Gay Shenanigans -- teaches you secrets of gayness, presumably something happens if a straight person reads it but no-one knows for sure because there aren't any in the D&D world.

Book Of Meta Knowledge -- teaches you weirdly personal things about your players. Not sure what that means and there's no effect if you read it, but you feel like someone somewhere just got really sad about what it said.

Book Of Unpleasant Goblins -- hollowed out, an angry goblin is lurking inside to steal your kidneys. The goblin is at least highly egalitarian so will attack anyone who reads it, goblin or not.

Book Of Empty Pages -- doesn't contain anything or do anything. Not sure what you expected.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

There are so many places in the Villeneuve Dune adaptations where he just...takes all the narrative pieces that Frank Herbert laid out and subtly rearranges them into something that tells the story better--that creates dramatic tension where you need it, communicates the themes and message of the book more clearly, or corrects something in the text that contradicts or undermines what Herbert said he was trying to say.

The fedaykin are probably my favorite example of this. I just re-read a little part of the book and got smacked in the face with how different they are.

(under the cut for book spoilers and length)

The fedaykin in the book are Paul's personal followers, sort of his personal guard. They show up after his legend has already started growing (the word doesn't appear in the book until chapter 40) and they are people who have specifically dedicated themselves to fighting for him, and right from the moment they're introduced there is a kind of implied fanaticism to their militancy that's a bit uncomfortable to read. They're the most ardent believers in Paul's messianic status and willing to die for him. (They are also, as far as you can tell from the text, all men.)

In the book, as far as I can remember (I could be forgetting some small detail but I don't think so) there is no mention of armed resistance to colonialism on Arrakis before Paul shows up. As far as we know, he created it. ETA: Okay I actually went back and checked on this and while we hear about the Fremen being "a thorn in the side" of the Harkonnens and we know that they are good fighters, we don't see anything other than possibly one bit of industrial sabotage. The book is very clear that the organized military force we see in the second half was armed and trained by Paul. This is exacerbated by the two-year time jump in the book, which means we never see how Paul goes from being a newly deposed ex-colonial overlord running for his life to someone who has his own private militia of people ready to give their lives for him.

The movie completely flips all these dynamics on their head in ways that add up to a radical change in meaning.

The fedaykin in the movie are an already-existing guerrilla resistance movement on Arrakis that formed long before Paul showed up. Literally the first thing we learn about the Fremen, less that two minutes into the first movie, is that they are fighting back against the colonization and exploitation of their home and have been for decades.

The movie fedaykin also start out being the most skeptical of the prophecy about Paul, which is a great choice from both a political and a character standpoint. Of course they're skeptical. If you're part of a small guerrilla force repeatedly going up against a much bigger and stronger imperial army...you have to believe in your own agency. You have to believe that it is possible to win, and that this tiny little chip in the armor of a giant terrifying military machine that you are making right now will make a difference in the end. These are the people who are directly on the front lines of resisting oppression. They are doing it with their own sweat, blood and ingenuity, and they are not about to wait around for some messiah who may never come.

From a character standpoint, this is really the best possible environment you could put Paul Atreides in if you want to keep him humble. He doesn't get any automatic respect handed to him due to title or birthright or religious belief. He has to prove himself--not as any kind of savior but as a good fighter and a reliable member of a collective political project. And he does. This is an environment that really draws out his best qualities. He's a skilled fighter; he's brave (sometimes recklessly so); he's intensely loyal to and protective of people he cares about. He is not too proud to learn from others and work hard in an egalitarian environment where he gets no special treatment or extra glory. The longer he spends with the fedaykin the more his allegiance shifts from Atreides to Fremen, and the more skeptical he himself becomes about the prophecy. This sets up the conflict with Jessica, which comes to a head before she leaves for the south. And his political sincerity--that he genuinely comes to believe that these people deserve liberation from all colonial forces and his only role should be to help where he can--is what makes the tragedy work. Because in the end we know he will betray all these values and become the exact thing he said he didn't want to be.

There's another layer of meaning to all this that I don't know if the filmmakers were even aware of. ETA: rescinding my doubt cause based on some of Villeneuve's other projects I'm pretty sure he could work it out. Given the time period (1960s) and Herbert's propensity for using Arabic or Arabic-inspired words for aspects of Fremen culture, it seems very likely that the made-up word fedaykin was taken from fedayeen, a real Arabic word that was frequently used untranslated in American news media at the time, usually to refer to Palestinian armed resistance groups.

Fedayeen is usually translated into English as fighter, guerrilla, militant or something similar. The translation of fedaykin that Herbert provides in Dune is "death commando"...which is a whole bucket of yikes in my opinion, but it's not entirely absurd if we're assuming that this fake word and the real word fedayeen function in the same way. A more literal translation of fedayeen is "self-sacrificer," as in willing, intentional self-sacrifice for a political cause, up to and including sacrificing your life.

If you apply this logic to Dune, it means that Villeneuve has actually shifted the meaning of this word in-universe, from fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for Paul to fighters who are willing to sacrifice themselves for their people. And the fedaykin are no longer a group created for Paul but a group that Paul counts himself as part of, one member among equals. Which is just WILDLY different from what's in the book. And so much better in my opinion.

[neechees]

Native fans have been talking about this for a while but I actually think it's good that they're reducing the Sokka's sexism plot line because it's just so weird that they focused in so hard on the Water Tribe apparently being misogynist but there weren't any other misogynist plot lines for the OTHER Nations, so this just kind of reads as the Water Tribe being uniquely demonized for no reason.

This is also weird because the Inuit (who the Water Tribe take influence from) were traditionally very egalitarian and valued women's work, while the cultural eras that the Fire & Earth Nations were based on (Imperial Japan & China) weren't exactly known for equality between men and women. So this just kinda reads as Native men being demonized & went out of their way to do it despite the cultural time period inspirations.

But I know how white ATLA fans treat the Native characters anyway.

[explosionshark]

Part of why it's so frustrating to me that we didn't have the opportunity to spend more time during Vi's pit fighter era and Caitlyn's dictator phase is bc like. Well, I mean those are both hugely significant and interesting ways for them to cope that are deeply reflective of the fundamental differences in their characters

Vi, an undercity kid that spent most of her formative years imprisoned, seeks out pain and oblivion. She finds herself lost and abandoned and immediately reaches for what she's most familiar with - violence. The self harming nature of her fighting career is obvious but I think the other stuff we see in the montage deserved more time too. She drinks to an unhealthy excess, blacking out, getting into more violent altercations. We don't see her seeking out any form of intimacy or connection with people - there are no depicted one night stands or groupies. Instead we see her hallucinating Caitlyn and reacting violently when a guy tries dancing with her.

Whether it's an intrinsic part of her or a trait that was cultivated through trauma, we know that Vi doesn't have many close relationships, but she loves the people near to her fiercely. It's kind of heartbreaking and so fucking interesting that when she's apart from Caitlyn she doesn't try to fill the void with other people. She just misses her.

Vi reacts to being left behind by isolating herself further. She reacts to being hurt by piling more hurt onto herself, channeling her pain into aggression, and when she's not fighting she's trying to numb herself with alcohol. It's a brutal montage and I really wish we'd been able to dive in more to Vi's self destructive tendencies.

Caitlyn meanwhile also reaches for the familiar but in a totally different way. We see her indulging her privilege in a very particular way. Unlike Vi, instead of fully isolating or burying her pain, we see her hold her grief tight in both hands and use it as fuel. She channels her pain into obsessively hunting down Jinx and suppressing Zaun through her increasingly militarized policing campaign. She becomes a workaholic who can't ever stop focusing on her agenda, even as the doubts she has continue to increase. She's stone cold sober in every scene and the combat practice she undertakes at Ambessa's side is controlled, goal-oriented and the complete opposite of Vi's reckless prize fighting.

Instead of solitude, we see her take up with a subordinate that she doesn't have a strong emotional attachment to and take comfort in sex within a dynamic where she perceives she has total control. Maddie doesn't mean enough to Caitlyn to meaningfully challenge her, which we see as Caitlyn ignores her advice and pulls away from her in bed. Hooking up with someone under her is a move that it's hard to imagine the idealistic s1 version of Caitlyn ever approving of and that's why it's so interesting to me. I think it highlights how much of s1 Caitlyn's morality is related to her resisting the ability to abuse her privilege as a favored daughter of Piltover. In s2, she forgoes her earlier attempts for egalitarian reform and justice in favor of indulging more wantonly with her baser impulses for control and power and immediate satisfaction. It suggests this beautiful death by a thousand cuts of her moral center as she loosens her grip on her noble ideals and gives in to this rash impulse, and that pragmatic cruelty, and this selfish want until she's in so deep she's become the sort of brutal oppressive force she had once tried to tear down.

The difference between them in this part of the show is so striking and it's a shame to me that we never get to really see them confront these versions of each other.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

This is a bigger problem in the fanfic realm as well, because I have recently frequently been running into the problem of being drawn in by shippy fanfics that involve things like captivity, enslavement, and other scenarios that inherently constitute reduced autonomy and thus dubious (at best) consent, but actively refuse to engage with those implications.

And it's frustrating, because these are scenarios that I find compelling, and that have the potential for very rich emotional work. I like the juxtaposition of physical pleasure or emotional fulfillment with feelings of fear and violation, and the shame and self-blame that those feelings bring about. And I like digging into an experience of love and desire that is frighteningly selfish in its negligence towards the personhood of its object.

But I see so many of these fics that are explicitly framed as seeking to avoid these story elements - they'll have an author's note or something at the beginning with something like "I know this is problematic, but I've tried to mitigate the dubcon elements as much as I can!" And I find this... deeply frustrating! Because it's seeking to ameliorate the very dynamics that make this sort of story interesting to me!

And by the refusal to engage with the inherently nonconsensual aspects of these premises, I'm not necessarily referring to fantasy romance plot scenarios in which the characters overcome the violence of their initial dynamic to live happily ever after in a more egalitarian relationship. I can understand that these plots are living inside a sort of non-diegetic BDSM fantasy bubble, and they are still engaging with and deriving their initial eroticism and intimacy from violence implicit in their premises, while using the fantasy aspect to mitigate the actual "realistic" consequences of that violence. (I read some danmei novels that did this in ways I found really enjoyable; I think Hannigram also arguably fits into this mold in certain ways, especially considering that it is a fantasy about the parts of abuse that can feel intensely thrilling and that can make you feel recognized and known in ways no one else can.) What I'm referring to is, well, a refusal to engage at all with that violence and violation; an implementation of these premises that feels like just another pretext for introducing the characters and getting them into a relationship, without attentiveness to the implications of the specific pretext in play.

And there's something worth probing at with these kinds of authors' notes in the sense that... there's a lot of concern in fandom nowadays about "romanticizing" rape and abuse, and the seeming necessity of portraying perfect negotiation and consent in fanfic. And yet these sorts of paratextual framings seem to me to be dangerously mistaken about what consent even is - to be conceiving of it as a magic script with no interpersonal or situational antecedents, one that intrinsically smooths over systemic power differentials or lack of personal trust.

I wonder also if that's actually related to the simplistic approach to textual criticism that I sometimes call "checklist criticism" - the idea that a text can be deemed harmful or not, problematic or not, -ist or not, simply by going through a list of "is x present? check yes or no" bullet points, rather than taking a more holistic approach to the relationship between textual production and broader systems of power, being attentive to the specific premises and genre/stylistic aims of a text, etc. Possibly that's too much of a reach for what is ultimately a complaint about the difficulty of finding really juicy darkfic, but it's worth considering.

[contentloadingandstuff]

Equals - Yae Miko x Kitsune!Male!Reader

A/N: Something experimental today. It's an idea I've been sitting on for quite a while now. If you want to, I'll make more. Enjoy. CW: Mentions of abuse and dubious consent, discrimination, societal misoginy (kitsune culture and stuff), objectification, sexism and the aftermath of life under these. For context - a female fox is called a 'vixen', and a male is called a 'dog'.

The era of Kitsune is long gone. 

Taking a stroll through modern Inazuma, one would never believe that there were once as many youkai as there were humans living on the islands. Tengu, Oni, Bake-Danuki and among them, the ascended foxes - Kitsune. As their demonic fellows, they too had an island to call their own, one that has now been swallowed by the sea for centuries. There, Kitsune created a nation of their own, their hearth, their home. Alongside with houses and streets, they quickly formed a culture that would echo for millennia, right until the fall. 

Many elements of it leaked to the general heritage of Inazuma - the festive masks are one such example, followed by the entirety of ritual practice carried out within the shrines scattered across the land. After all, it's the very reason why a kitsune traditionally stands at the helm of the Grand Narukami Shrine. The same is the case of fox warriors - never has history witnessed a dog lead units of his kin or other peoples to war, at least not one that isn't an exceptional, legendary character of some kind. The reason for this state of things is not easy to find as few cultural sources remain, but scholars did not give up on their research. They sought the input of Yae Miko, one of the only Kitsune remaining in Inazuma, who gave them a simple answer - males are very rare. Satisfied, they placed her answer in the books, and the discussion was closed. 

But Yae Miko, as is customary for the current Guuji, kept the truth for herself. In truth, she decided to conceal it because it's an aspect of her kind that she is anything but proud of, even if she never took part in it. What was ordinary for foxes in their nation's prime would be unacceptable even for humanity of that age. 

There happen to be two ways a Kitsune is created. Primarily, it's through the union of two ascended foxes - a kit conceived this way is immortal and sapient from the beginning, gaining the ability to transform in just a few years of life. Even with a single birth usually resulting in three to six newborn foxes, dogs are rare, with one being born in every fourth or fifth litter on average. The second way of creation doesn't favor them either - so far, there have only been a handful of wild dogs that lived long enough to become ascendants, further reducing the introduction of males into the population. Luckily, evolution had it that those rare men welcomed into the world were incredibly resilient to illnesses and injuries, even by Kitsune standards, letting them live and spread their genes for generations to come. With the proper approach, the Kitsune weren't in any way threatened with extinction. 

As is commonly observed by historians, culture reflects the nature of a species, and such is the case for Kitsune. Over the years, the female-dominated society came to a simple conclusion: males are rare and must be protected. This prime example of a logical takeaway soon led to another, less egalitarian idea - something human researchers would refer to as infirmatus sexus, observing such inequalities in some cultures of their own. Kitsune believed that males must be protected, yes, but thought of them as inferior in intelligence and overall wit, as they rarely ascended from the wild. The vixen majority had no issue with this idea and the society turned matriarchal, increasingly more restrictive towards the men. But it was justified, in their eyes - they were required to prolong the species, right? As time went by, so did the objectification of the male sex progress ever further. 

Before the fall, society was based around large family units - lines ruled over by the oldest vixen, referred to as the matriarch. Beneath her were others - first, her own daughters, followed by those of her predecessor, then their offspring and finally, at the lowest rung, the foxes that just stood up from four paws. Dogs were not subject to this hierarchy, as they were dispensed with as objects with a clear owner - usually the matriarch. She had the right to mate with him, and when a change of power came, so too did the patriarch - usually switched for a younger male from another family, the further, the better. Similarly, male kits stayed with their father (raised, of course, under the careful scrutiny of the vixens) until they were of breeding age to be pawned off to another lineage for political favor, land, rights or simply cold, hard currency. 

Dogs that were too old to produce offspring or simply infertile were disposed of, in ways more or less kind, depending on who happened to own them. The majority got to stay as authorities for the youth and priests, and those with no luck were sold to slavers or human poachers. 

You were born into one such lineage on the fringes of the nation. You still recall the drawings of your infant self - an adorable pup with a pristine but messy white coat, two little ears pointing out, greedily taking in the sounds of the world. Allegedly, you had four sisters, though you never seem to recall their names. The first memories of young Y/N were primarily centered around your father - a towering, muscular fox with a gleam of wit in his eyes and grey eating away at his own fur. Despite his young age and fitting appearance, you always saw him as wise and ancient - maybe because of the hair, darkened by stress and exhaustion. He was cynical at times, but loving nonetheless. One of the fondest memories you had was when he would lift a panel from the floor and let you run free in the forest outside. There were rules of course - don't let anyone see you and come back before the first rays of sun. You enjoyed your time of unsupervised play, chasing squirrels and exploring the woods, always coming back through the same crawl space before it dawned. Your father would wash all the dirt off and send you to sleep with a warm hug, asking you to keep quiet about your adventure. Of course, you nodded along, but being a kid created the inevitability of a slip up. After you mentioned it to your female playmate once, you were taken away from that house and never saw it again. 

You don't know what became of your father. You didn't even get to know his name. 

The new house was larger, and so were the girls inside. While you didn't like playing with vixens at home - there was always an adult watching and you would get relentlessly berated for injuring yourself even in the slightest - you at least had somebody to have fun with. There, you had nothing. Lady Matsui, your owner and wife-to-be, simply had you locked in a room with books and toys to get yourself busy in the few free moments you had. You hated it there, but any mention of it would get one of the toys you had taken away. Any sign of disobedience to your caretakers, especially during exercise or classes, would get you punished. Matsui didn't seem to have patience for you, and was constantly complaining; she wanted a husband with red fur, not white fur. You were simply a temporary solution, and by the end, you would have all her deepest fantasies memorised. You were never part of them - as she said, you shouldn't get too attached. You were to be replaced shortly, after all. At least the food was alright. 

Years went by and it was clear that Matsui would have to begrudgingly accept you as her permanent husband. She didn't take it lightly at first, but after a time of angry outbursts and drinking, she had a sudden change of heart. “If I'm to own you”, she said, “I should at least train you properly”. And trained you were, both physically and in mind. Your free time was reduced to null and your days became dedicated to working out and studying. Sometimes the two were mixed - you had to recite the rules while doing push-ups. Good boys always sleep at night. Good boys thank their mistress for food. Good boys always listen. Good boys never question what they are told. Then, you were served unsalted, nutritious foods. Raw vegetables, slightly cooked meat, plain rice and raw fish made up your diet - all natural, as your Lady wanted. All tasteless. Any fussing, talking back, crying, making mistakes or disobeying would quickly put you in the punishment room. She would slap a bamboo cane on your hands and butt until you were red, sore and bleeding, she would make you kneel on small rocks or sit up the wall for hours, sometimes she would whip you. “Military discipline”. All the while she constantly announced her displeasure with your existence.

No matter how muscular you were made to be, it was never enough. So your diet was changed, shrinking endlessly to meet her impossible standards. No matter if you were tall, it was always too short for Matsui. So you were made to hold on to a bar with rocks tied to your ankles to stretch you out. Your knees still hurt sometimes, the skeletal deformations made permanent by this regular exercise. No matter how much stamina you had, you always ended mating too early. So you were trained, day and night, forced to perform through pain, distress and exhaustion. Sometimes Matsui had balls or parties held at her estate, and you were the main entertainment. You would dance, sing and play any instruments they wanted, but your wife and her friends were never there for your artistic skills in the first place. Your cries, moans and screams were much finer. Now that you think about it, her friends were likely never allowed to mistreat the dogs of their houses, so they took out their frustrations and carried out their wildest fantasies on you - without consequences. They were smaller, they were lighter, they were physically weaker than you, and yet you couldn't defend yourself. It would only make things worse - far worse if you did. You felt filthy. You felt humiliated. Afterwards you cleaned yourself frantically, but the feeling of their hands on you never faded. 

You ended up rubbing so hard that your body bled. 

You became a reclusive, quiet fox. Saying anything more than what was expected of you usually ended up badly, so you decided it's better to just stay silent. Taking your punishments and abuse with silent resignation was the only way of survival - without entertaining whimpers and pleading, Matsui and her vixens quickly grew bored of you. Instead of releasing your pain in front of them, you resorted to crying silently in your room, screaming without making a sound in the moonlight. You did all the things every male did - trained, ate, rested, had sex, attended events as a decoration and primarily - mated. Unlike your father, you never had the chance to raise pups. The female kits were always under the care of the vixens, and you didn't have the luck to sire any sons - for which you were always berated and beaten by your owner, even when she was pregnant. To her, she said, you were useless. Worthless. Even as a breeder. Still, despite not being able to hold your children in your arms, you did your best to learn of them. Some of your caretakers were kind enough to let you know their number and names. You diligently noted these details on a piece of paper, writing the names you would give your daughters if you could. Naomi. Ai. Juri. Kana. These and many more were the only connection you had to your little ones. 

It was the only good thing you left behind when you got the chance to flee. 

Internal rivalry between daughters, sisters and mothers was commonplace, so much so that it sometimes evolved into internal wars - you made use of one. Matsui made quite the negative reputation for herself, not just by mistreating you, but by cheating other families. They were out for blood, and although they wanted to steal you away for themselves, Matsui’s heirs decided that you deserved a chance. Once the fighting broke out, they took you away, threw you on a small boat you had no idea how to pilot and kicked you out to sea. 

It was hardly pleasant at the moment, but you would always thank them for taking pity on you after you landed in Inazuma. In the human nation of thunder, everything felt foreign. It was a bigger island, with long stretches of empty fields between sparse human settlements. These smaller, mortal creatures were quite the nuisance to you - although you saw a few traders in your life, you never got to take a closer look. But, instinctually, you know that stumbling into the view of a human guard was a mistake. You ran away and tried to hide amongst the jagged cliffs near the island's largest mountains, but you had unknowingly walked right into the hands of another, pink haired vixen. 

Your arrival in Inazuma was noticed instantly. After all, humans haven't seen a fox other than Yae Miko for a few centuries now. When she initially heard the news, she couldn't believe it - definitely, it was just another poorly-observed monster, or a mere trick of the light. But she still wanted to confirm that rumor, and the moment she saw a white pair of ears amongst the usual crowds of Inazuma City, she had a single thought - to catch you. Snatch you right up in a net, for whatever silly, selfish reason, if only to touch you and ensure you were real. It wasn't a surprise for her that you panicked and hid as quickly as you showed up - you had reasons to believe your freedom would be unwelcome. Finding you was barely a challenge for her nose, and with the help of a few shrine maidens, you were captured and brought back to her residence. 

What an incredible sight, you were. Definitely one for very, very sore eyes - Miko has long since abandoned the hopes of finding a partner of her own species and having a litter, which definitely contributed to her cynicism and general exhaustion with life. But here you were, real and in the flesh. An actual dog. A handsome, muscular dog. Soon enough, however, Miko's initial excitement dwindled and the factual gravity of things reached her senses. In front of her, curled on the floor, was a dirty, underfed, terrified creature. For somebody that, in the post-cataclysm circumstances of human society she was born into, would shake every room he would enter, you were frightful and quiet. You needed proper care, so Miko announced you would be staying with her until further notice. She then rolled up her sleeves and got to work. 

There was no doubt that you could understand her, and speak by extension, but you were significantly suspicious of her. Surely, she would want to chain you down again, you thought. She might even be worse than Matsui for all you know. Each meal she offered could contain one of these strange powders they made you eat when you were misbehaving, putting you to sleep and letting her do Archons-know-what to you. So you pushed the bowl away, and her alongside it. You had to stay strong. 

—

She takes the handle into her hands and, as gently as she can, pushes it down. The room before her is bathed in darkness, but her eyes pierce through it without issue. The matches she left on the table are untouched. 

What a surprise, she muses. 

From the moment her foot stepped over the threshold, there has been a pair of eyes boring into her frame. Miko casts a discreet glance towards the bedside corner. The resting spot itself was stripped of everything besides the mattress, now placed into a cozy nest of blankets and pillows in the safest spot in the room, the point furthest away from the door. From there your E/C surveyed Miko's every move. A part of her couldn't hold a smile. The unfortunate circumstances aside, it was quite adorable. 

“Good evening.” Miko says, picking up a candle from the shelf. She puts the plate of food she brought on the table and lights it, illuminating the space with a warm, flickering light. Placing the candle close to herself, she looks directly your way. 

There is no response. Your eyes continue staring at her, unblinking. 

No luck just yet. But I clearly have his attention, at the very least. 

A sigh escapes her lips. Miko takes the plate and steps a bit closer to you. “You clearly don't trust me. I can assure you I mean you no harm, and that I won't do anything against your wish, but I bet you want to see for yourself. And while that is alright, I doubt you will get to, the way things are going now.” She crouches down, placing it on the wooden floor. “You must have been through a lot, but please, you need to eat. I don't know what you enjoy the most, so I feel like this is the right place to start.”

Again, you remain still. Up close, Miko can see the blank expression on your face, dirty with mud, sweat and dried blood. Miko rolls her eyes, but manages to silence the groan of frustration before it forms. By no stretch of the imagination was she the best person to take you in, but if not her, then who?

Do you want to be difficult? Fine then. Two can play at that game. 

“Alright then. Suit yourself - if you don't feel like helping yourself to this positively scrumptious meal, I will.” Miko takes the single pair of chopsticks she brought in her hands and lifts a piece of sushi from the plate up to her mouth. She hums ostensibly, enjoying the taste of cold-smoked salmon. 

Something moves in the darkness. Your ears are fully up and pointed her way, like radar dishes picking up every crunch and smack of her lips. The plump, snow white rice and the bright orange salmon exude a tempting smell, reminding you of just how hungry you are. If she eats it without problem, then you should be fine too…

You slowly creep forward, the blankets and pillows around you silently falling as you stretch your aching arms and legs. Miko pretends not to notice you, but in reality her ears tell her exactly what's going on. She observes as your hand emerges into the light, your eyes never leaving her figure. Her sharp eyes instantly notice how chewed your fingers are, with no white nail to see. You snatch the piece of food and sniff it. After making sure it's alright, you bite into it. The delightful taste of well-seasoned rice and real, fresh fish lights up your senses. 

You reach for another. And another. And another. Before long, Miko is pushed back in your priority list and you sit in front of her, wolfing down the food straight off the plate in her hands. The vixen smiles. 

Finally, you're eating. It might not be much, but it's a start. You are just like a stray cat, aren't you? Scared, neglected and mistreated. Afraid of every shadow. 

She delights in watching your ears tremble under the speed of your eating. 

Such a cute creature. Who would ever want to hurt you? Certainly not me. Miko tilts her head. I wonder if I can…

“Thank you for the meal.”

Your sudden words make her pause. She never once doubted you could speak, but at the same time she didn't expect you to open up at something as simple as food. It was important nonetheless - if you spoke once, it would be just a matter of time before you speak again. And then she could learn everything about you. Who you are, what you like, and most importantly, who hurt you. 

“Do not mention it, little one.” She slowly stretches out her hand towards you. “May I?”

You stop eating for a second before bringing your nose closer to her hand. It smells like salmon. You return your attention to the delicious sushi on the plate. 

With a hum of satisfaction, she places her hand between your ears. They fold to the sides, making way for her. Miko rubs her hand over your grimy, brownish fur. It was white once, for sure, but now that colour is just barely showing in places. No worries - she would wash you and make sure your coat will return to its undoubtedly splendid layer. 

“I'm here. It will be alright.”

There's a long road ahead of us. But you won't have to walk it alone, dear. 

Thanks for reading!

[teafiend]

These two will never not make me squee ✨🥰☺️ And Brother Jing, you never fail to make me swoon over your dull, bland coolness 🫡✨ Thank you 👏🏽🙏🏽

[amjustagirl]

title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list

a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.

Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 

He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  

“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 

“That’s cos she’s amazing -”

“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”

“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 

“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 

Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 

“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 

He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 

“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  

Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 

Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.

Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 

As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 

Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 

Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 

“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 

You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 

Did you say something to him last night? 

It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 

Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 

“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 

“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 

“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 

He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 

“Tetsuro?” 

He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 

He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.

Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 

Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 

You’re gone. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.

He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 

“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  

His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 

You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -

Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 

It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 

Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 

He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 

“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 

Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  

He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 

“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 

You don’t seem to hear him. 

“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 

You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    

“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 

The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.

You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   

He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 

“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”

He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  

Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.

The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 

He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 

“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 

“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 

“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 

“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 

“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 

Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”

He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “

“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.

“Guys, I’m fine - ” 

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 

Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 

Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 

“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 

“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 

“But I didn’t know -” 

“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”

 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 

Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 

Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 

“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”

“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.

“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 

Step one. 

He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 

His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 

Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 

“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 

He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 

“The girls?” you ask. 

He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 

You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 

That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 

That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 

You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 

“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 

That gets your attention. 

“Really?”

He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 

“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 

“I won’t”, he promises. 

It’s time for him to level up.  

Step two. 

He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 

“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 

He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 

You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 

In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 

“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 

In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 

You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 

“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 

Step three. 

To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 

“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”

“What made you fall in love with her?” 

“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 

“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 

“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 

“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”

“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 

Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,

“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 

His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 

He can do that. 

“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.

That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 

But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 

“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 

He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 

The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 

His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 

A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”

“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 

He will. He will. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 

He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 

“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 

You goggle at him. 

“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 

You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 

Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 

“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 

His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 

Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 

“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 

He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 

“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 

“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 

“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 

His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 

His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 

“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 

He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 

When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 

“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 

He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 

His nights are still plagued by nightmares.

Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 

Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 

You’re there, until you aren’t. 

It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown. 

He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 

“You’re - you’re still here.” 

You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 

He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 

“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 

The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 

Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 

It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 

“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”

He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 

“Tetsuro -” 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“You don’t”, you agree. 

He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”

“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 

“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 

“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 

The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 

“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 

“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 

 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 

“Is this what flirting is like?” 

He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 

“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 

Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 

“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 

The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 

“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 

He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 

You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 

The girls giggle, but he protests. 

“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 

Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 

You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 

Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 

You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 

“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”

“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 

It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 

He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 

“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 

“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 

“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 

“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”

He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 

A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 

Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 

You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 

He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 

“You kissed me second!” 

“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 

You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.

“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  

Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 

“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 

“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”

Both of you are doing alright.

a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?