#The Aftermath of War

[lightwise]

Crosshair's Choice

Fine. We'll do it your way.

I won't leave you this time.

I've made my decision.

[nobie]

'The Bad Batch' — My top 10 fav episodes Color Palette (insp)

[mxliv-oftheendless]

Ok I know we all like to joke about how the Battle of the Five Armies is only a page long in The Hobbit but like. Sometimes I think about how what if Tolkien wrote it that way because he didn’t want his kids to hear about war.

[katerinaaqu]

Achilles and Patroclus: Friends Lovers or both? (An analysis based on Homeric Epics and some ancient sources)

Yet another analysis requested by my dearest friend @artsofmetamoor while we two explore the complexity of human relationships in our own projects including romantic relationships of various kinds, including homosexual and homoerotic material as well as more traditional notions of family and kinship along with the complexity of values such as companionship and friendship, which we hold in the same regard as in the above so here's one of the most discussed relationships in greek literature. Buckle up with me because it is gonna be a looooong ride!

Achilles and Patroclus are two figures of greek literature and mythology that sparked discussions and analysis from the very first time they were introoduced as characters in the homeric poems in 8th century BC and not for their heroics in Trojan War but rather the nature of their relationship. Not to mention in modern day times we also start the rather overused and kinda ridiculous joke of "Historians say" around. But there might be some truth in some concerns in regards to their relationship.

A small history of their family

Achilles and Patroclus were related by a distant ancestor, Aigina. Aigina had a son with Zeus named Aeacus who in turn got married and had Peleus, who has the father of Achilles. Patroclus comes from the same line for Aigina later marries Actor and has Menoetius with him. Menoetius marries his cousin Damocratea, also possible daughter of Zeus and had a son named Opus who in turn had Patroclus, making Patroclus and Achilles de facto first cousins by the line of Aegina

(Yes...sorry "Troy" haters out there...hahaha Patroclus really WAS Achilles's cousin! ^^; Not that it ever stopped anyone in greek mythology!)

Patroclus was ellegedly exiled from his homeland when he accidentally killed his playmate and he fled to the court of Peleus where he got adopted by him thus the two characters lived most of their childhood together. Patroclus by most accounts is quite older than Achilles so in a way he was also assigned not only as his playmate but also as his "squire" or protector in various occasions. Needless to say that of course the two of them developed a very strong bond together.

Greek Text

To be honest, every time some person who does support the theory of them being lovers is being asked on it and that person claims that "the greek text is quite simple really". Allow me to disagree though. It is not. Quite frankly if it were, it wouldn't have sparked the conversation even to ancient greeks themselves of their time!

Arguably Homer never explicitly describes them as lovers in his poems (as opposing to other figures in the text that are undoubtedly sharing sexual relationships in the Iliad such as Hera and Zeus, Paris and Helen or even, ironically Achilles with Briseis once she is returned to him). However one would be a liar if they denied certain insinuations of a romantic involvement betwen the heroes.

Φιλέω-ώ= to love < > φίλος=friend, companion (Substantive), beloved (epithet)

Quite frankly Homer as we said before he a master of words and none of his words is picked at random. And the term φίλος is no exception. The word is being explicitly used in Homer by various of characters. The term can be translated interchangably from either "friend" to "beloved" depending the context. One of the most infamous and touching moments this word is being used is at the lament of Achilles when his mother asks him to speak up on why he laments so hard:

With heavy groans, fast in feet Achilles responded to her: "Oh, my mother! The Olympians have done what they had predicted for me! But what joy remains for me, for my beloved comrade Patroclus is gone! I lost him! The one that I valued most among my other companions, equally to my own life!"

(Translation by me)

In here the concept of "φίλος" is clearly an epithet or plays the role of one since the actual word that we are looking for as a substantive is the word "ἑταῖρος" which stands for "companion" or "comrade" (a term used generally throughout the poems to indicate bonds in army or of friendship or even husband and wife at some cases). In here it clearly means "beloved" by the general text for the word "φίλος" is not used as a substantive. Other cases such as this appear in other parts of the poem even with the fullest form φίλτατος which means "the most beloved"

However it needs to be noted that the term φίλος as the essence of "friend" comes directly from this term "to love" which means someone "you are close with" someone "of your own kin" someone "dear to you". The ancient greeks do not seem to be making a distinction between love as in lovers and love as in family or relatives when using this verb and the words coming from it (one good example is Thetis referring to Achilles as "φίλον υἱὸν" which means "beloved son" and here has no romantic implications at all).

The term is being used interchangably throughout Homer to speak about characters with close relations of kinship that are not linked to romantic essences at all. For example the way Menelaus adresses Odysseus as such in the Odyssey:

Oh, how strange! That has come to my house the son of a man much beloved to me; who for my sake has suffered so many ordeals!

(Translation by me)

In here Menelaus again is usingthe term φίλος but he doesn't speak out of romantic intentions at all. He speaks with the warmest words but in here it is the most intimate form of friendship and kinship and is followed by the implication of gratefulness, how he adds up how Odysseus suffered "for his sake" aka to fight the war and be lost afterwards. And before someone says "it is not the same amount of warmth" one must think again because before Menelaus speaks about how because of the agony he feels for his friend he does not eat or sleep properly and given that it has been 10 years already since the last time they saw each other that is a damn long time.

But all of them I do not grieve as much, even if I mourn for them, as much as I do for one man, because of which I both detest sleep and neglect to eat, for there is no one of the Achaeans that suffered more than what Odysseus suffered and endured

(Translation by me)

So not only Menelaus feels like Odysseus suffered the most out of them (and strictly speaking one can look at fates of other heroes like Diomedes to see they are not far behind in suffering) but that the way he constantly wonders about his well-being makes him unable to sleep or eat and that seems to be happening for years and years which shows the true depth of their friendship.

So no, strictly speaking the word "to love" is not used by the greeks to imply only romantic love and it can be used pretty intimately even if it is not referring to romance. And the difference can be perceived by the same writer as well not just some play that was written several centuries later in which, inevitably, we could talk about some alterations of meaning to the words over the course of time

However there seems to be another phrase used to express intense feelings of love which is κεχαρισμένε θυμῷ which means "dear to my heart" and in Iliad ironically that phrase is spoken by no other than Briseis herself!

Oh, Patruclus! Dearest to my wretched heart!

(Translation by me)

This interesting shout of love coming from Briseis is also interesting for it could be implying both emotions of romantic love but also of affection in general. Which is another phrase that researchers have looked upon in search for hidden meanings of romance but once again it was often used either as such or with the term "φίλος" instead to speak of relationships of family or kinship. But grieving scenes such as the one of Briseis might also be indicator of romance although not exclusively referring to that.

The Lament

Quite frankly speaking, Achilles's lament is one of the most infamous and well-known in greek literature exactly because of its explicit nature. We do see characters lament in plays before but it is not as frequent to see lament SO strong coming from a male character and so openly (see for example in the Odyssey how Odysseus tries to hide his own tears many times or how his men are wrapped up in veils in lament for their own lives and their fallen comrades' but by n large the male lament is more subtle, more silent). Achilles is different. For example when he is first told about the news of Patroclus's death the result is nothing less but the ultimate emotional collapse:

So they spoke and black mist of distress covered him: With both his hands he gathered smoky sand and he poured it over his head and disfigured his face: his nectarous chiton turned black with ashes. And he himself dropped in the dirt and stretched over his lying (here: the corpse) friend/beloved pulling out his hair in lament. The slaves given as war price to Achilles and Patroclus, released a great cry of sadness and they approached all to the sides of mourning Achilles, beating their chests with their hands, and their knees each. Also Antilochus with them was lamenting and pouring tears holding the hands of Achilles: for he was moaning with his noble heart: worried that he would cut his throat with iron (here: a knife).

(Translation by me)

There is no words to express such an intense display of pain given by Achilles from second one when he receives the news of the death of Patroclus. He immediately pours ash over his head (quite a common trope for mourning done by many characters before.) and "disfiguring his face" which means he was digging his nails down his cheeks which was again a trope of mourning in greek literature. The intensity of his lament is so great that Antilochus feels the need to hold his hands just in case he would want to comit suicide in his pain!

Ironically for most part in this lament does it mention that Achilles was making any sound at all during the process, which somehow makes it even more disturbing to think that Achilles simply drops to his knees, covers himself in ashes and scratches his cheeks while lamenting over the body of Patroclus hardly making any sound at all. It is the slave women who arrive later that release the cries that undoubtedly are within the soul of Achilles. Somehow his lament is extreme and yet no audible hint exists for most part of the text EXCEPT the final one where it says "moaning with his noble heart". It almost seems that his body does most of the talking till the women arrive and cry out like he so much wants to and then his mouth also makes sounds. It is not a scream; it is a moan. It is possible of course that the clip refers to Achilles constantly moaning but I do like this as a possible food for thought that if Achilles was firstly responding to pain with his actions and then with his voice and in a way the moment he actually made a sound was the moment Antilochus truly began to worry!

There is a certain theatricality to this scene of lament and drama which of course as many analytics before me would say, it seems to be hinting to some other infamous laments of mythological characters and more specific the laments of Apollo. Apollo is one of those figures for whom we have no doubt he was lamenting his lovers and some classical examples are Hyakinthus and Cyparissus both of them transformed into a flower and a tree respectably. The associations of Achilles and the grieving god seem to be more than just a possibility here. Which of course enforces even further the idea of them being lovers. It is also the amount of time that Achilles mourns plus the intense way that he refuses to let go of the body of Patroclus to which he seems to be holding on from the 18th rhapsody when he first finds out of his death till the moment that she arrived with his armor one rhapsody later. Quite a gruesome scene is when she enters the tent and finds Achilles crying while clasping Patroclus onto him:

And she found her dearest son still lay there, clasping Patroclus and crying woefully and his comrades around him mourning

(Translation by me)

And at this point Thetis hasn't yet given nectar and ambrosia to the body of Patroclus to prevent the sepsis from happening, which happens a few lyrics later. So Achilles was holding the dead body for the entire day even after it was cleaned and prepared showing the intense pain Achilles was expressing and going through. And he seems unwilling to part from him till Patroclus's spirit itself arrives in his sleep and requests a burial so he can rest.

Of course it needs to be noted that intense lament is not exlusive to lovers in greek mythology. To name a few Athena grieves intensely the loss of her friend Pallas and by some accounts she does take her name as her epithet post-mortem. Antigone intensely mourns her dead brother and laments his disgrace when she finds that the ritual burial she performed had been disturbed. And the acting of killing oneself out of sorrow again is not strictly remaining to the love affairs. For example Ismene killing herself after learning the deaths of her family members in general and Antigone in particular. Another most prominient example is king Aegeus who throws himself into the sea when he sees the black sails of the ship coming from Crete, thinking his son was dead.

So the exessive expression of grief are not just dedicated to lovers or husbands and wives in greek literature but rather it is expanded to all people who mourn someone dear to them regardless of the nature of the bond between them. In the case of Achilles of course he does seem to be having a specially strong mental breakdown every time some important person in his life that is said to be romantically involved with him dies or is taken from him starting with Briseis for whom he expresses his emotions many times in the Iliad and she is the first reason of his anger, of course Patroclus and Penthesilea for whom he apparently has feelings for a few monets after he sees her face after she dies. In Posthomerica it is even said that his lamentover her dead body is "the same as the one over Patroclus" and of course Antilochus later according to the Epic Cycle when he died protecting his father, caused another explosion of anger to Achilles which was fated to be his last one.

It is possible since his love is clearly stated in the cases of Briseis and Penthesilea that the same can have occured for Antilochus and of course Patroclus which was the most heartbreaking of them all and for good reason. In fact the case of Patroclus seems to be that he plays every role in the life of Achilles. He is his friend, his companion, his squire, his advisor so why not his lover too.

The Same Urn

Now of course where people surely think they have a clear case of romantic bond seems to be the request of Patroclus to be burnt but his bones to be kept in the same urn that is to be used for Achilles as well. The passage happens in the 23rd rhapsody:

And one more thing I ask for you to excecute; do not place my bones apart from yours, Achilles, but together just like we were raised in your chambers, when I was brought to your land by Menetoios as a little boy from Opois because of the grievous manslaughter, for when I was a child I was foolish and killed the son of Amphidamas without wanting to, for I was mad over a game of dice: there I was accepted to the chambers of the horseman of Peleus who kindly took care of me and named me your squire. And the same way I want for my bones to be together with yours in the same golden box, the one your divine mother prepared for you.

(Translation by me)

So apart from the fact that it is a highly emotional scene, seeing your dead companion arriving at you and begging to be let go (this is literally Patroclus saying "Let me go, Achilles...just let me go" for Achilles literally refuses to give up his body not even for a burial) it is also the scene that seems to be winking to the fans of the idea of them being lovers as a proof that they are together. And quite frankly I can absolutely see why and it would be foolish to ignore this possibility especially given how tenderly Achilles calls him "my beloved" (or "as loved as my own life") after the whole request is done from the spirit of Patroclus which is more than clear indication for many accounts and that makes perfect sense.

The custom of co-burial was known in Greece from the earliest times of its civilization till the end (because quite honestly I am not sure the custom will stop existing in Greece since despite the lack of cremations, we still have the custom of common graves even if it is only for those who can afford have a family monument). We often find urns contain bones of multiple individuals and yes more often whatnot they are maritable partners and the obsession of words that mean "together" in this passage such as; "μή (...) ἀπάνευθε" (not apart), "ὁμοῦ" (at the same place, together) or "ἀμφικαλύπτω" (cover each other) seems to be pointing to the direction of a romantic relationship and it won't be the only time someone is co-relating the mingling of ashes and bones with "marriage" (and example is The Hunchback of Notre Dame, where Victor Hugo describes the way Quasimodo and Esmeralda's skeletons turn into inseparable dust as "Quasimodo's Marriage")

However on the counter-talk, co-burials were also common among family members (which is exactly what Achilles and Patroclus are). Ironically from the excavations to Mycenae several co-burials were discovered that were not related by blood but they were theorized to be connected to some relations of adoption (which again seems to fit the case of Achilles and Patroclus from the time Patroclus was brought in and ellegedly adopted by Peleus)

I am also convinced that the fact Patroclus gives us some good portion of his background story here was not just a random thing. It seems that Patroclus places emphasis on why he wants to be in the same urn as Achilles; because they were raised together, they were together all their lives and he wants them to be together in death as well. It absolutely could be a romantic insinuation on Patroclus's part however it seems equally possible that the background story serves as a lever to make the public understand how the two of them were raised together and wished to remain together. It almost feels like Homoer wants either to stimulate the idea that the past is an extra point towards their romantic relationship or yet another point of the closeness of their kinship or both (to me it seems the latter)

However another factor to this urn seems to be Antilochus. Antilochus who was close to the age of Achilles, the one who was in charge to bring the news of Patroclus's death to Achilles and the one that we saw consoling him and trying to prevent him from doing something foolish seems to be added to this circle. In fact in some future sources he is featured as the reason Achilles died, for he was driven in yet another furious attack against the Trojans, forcing them to fall back when he saw him fall dead protecting his father from the Ethiopian king Memnon. In some accounts, even possibly Homer included, is insinuated that Antilochus was also included in the funerary urn with Achilles and Patroclus although in the Odyssey it is clearly stated that his bones are not in it:

Your mother gave me this golden amphora (here an urn with two handles); a gift from Dionysus she said to me, made by the renounced Hephestus, in which lie your white bones, radiant Achilles, mixed with the ones of dead Patroclus son of Menoetius, but without Antilochus, whom he honored above all his comrades after Patroclus died.

(Translation by me)

So in the Odyssey it doesn't seem like they were indeed in the same urn (unless somehow Nestor could tell the bones apart and took them out? hehe) but they all thee of them are joined in one tomb and worshipped as heroes. So in a way Antilochus seems to join them just not in the same box. However the three of them are indeed seen together in the underworld as one trio literally. They are apparently joined after death according to what Odysseus saw in the underworld.

Once again seems like the romantic as well as the kinship theories could be true interchangably or even at the same time.

Ancient Greeks on their relationship:

As I mentioned above many ancient writers and not just the infamous "historians" everyone mocks on the internet, seem to have placed their own guesses and opinions on the relationships of the two heroes.

Aeschines seems to be contemplating the idea they are lovers (aka he says that Homer "hides their love") and he even reads Patroclus's story as "an intercourse they had once". He names their relationship έρως aka romantic love (eros). Aristotle in Nicomachian Ethics and Rethoric he uses the term "comrade" to talk of them, choosing to focus more on their friendship. His teacher Plato though was a different story. He was convinced that they were not only lovers but he had also figured their roles in their relationship as presented in his Symposium, naming Patroclus as ἐραστής aka "the one who gives love" and mentions how Achilles is in love with Patroclus. Plato remains one of the most...great "shippers" of the two having no doubt about their love affair. To the other end is Xenophon who is adamant that they are not lovers, in his own Symposium. A large number of greek writers seem also to comment on both possibilities, it seems to me quite interesting how many different readings the homeric poems provide.

More mordern readings:

While it is true that there is a certain confusion to the public since a large number of texts either were deliberately modified or genuinely mistranslated (given again how terms like φιλώ means "to love" in general in ancient greek and not just romantically or that the term ερώ does mean "to love as a lover" in some contexts but it also means "to desire very much" and it was used in various of contexts) and these double-meanings were taken advantage of to translate the texts differently and that is because when someone in modern times says "my beloved" by n large they refer to a lover which was something that was greatly hushed up in public

Of course as we stated above for ancient greece that was not the case since the term "beloved" could be used in various contexts and it showed intense emotions of kinship between two people regardless of the nature of their relationship.

However in some accounts the obsession upon trying not to show intense potentual homoerotic material made many of these translations unreliable. There were exceptions to the rule of course but the real breakthrough wouldn't really happen till later in the 19th century where we also have more samples of printed work. Translations like Butler at the end of 19th century are far reliable to the text and seem to follow the spirit of Homer. Quite frankly there was already a breakthrough to homoerotic material thanks to not only the neo-classisim but also gothic literature such as the vampire novelle Carmilla so many writers became more bold into translating the tender words of love as they were and leave the public decide upon their nature.

However this effort to hush up the tender words spoken in Homer out of fear that they might be interpreted as homoerotic created of course this modern uprage in which we have the other way round; that people are afraid to talk about friendhsip and kinship because they will be hushed up by the readings of the text as homoerotic

(see my other post for this)

This, in my opinion simply removes all the abive context; that love can be expressed between family members or friends or people who have been through a lot. Quite frankly as you can see not only I am not denying their energy as lovers, I like to believe I am also supporting this theory a lot because there is a lot of possibility in it just like there is on the direction of tenderness and affection. I do think today people are afraid to speak up on the other side exactly bcause nowadays the most famous way to see them is as lovers as opposed to the previous periods that did the other way round

Conclusions:

I have no doubts that Homer, even though not clearly speaking about it (for example referring to sexual acts) he seems to be insinuating that the two of them were sharing romantic bond or feelings for each other

(it needs to be noted that it is not entirely clear that if there WERE romantic feelings that they were confessed or known by both parties, which could potentially mean the two of them loved each other romantically but did not fulfill their love which could be another tragic note to their story)

Homer seems to be sending several hints to his viewers/readers that one could interpret them as lovers given the tender dictionary they use between each other and for each other, allowing his...fans to decide for themselves. It is also highly possible that he too saw them as star-crossed lovers, for he gives them all the elements of various other stories that involve homoerotic romance, even the tragic end to their story.

However I am equally sure that he also wanted to say that their friendship was of equal importance. There is no doubt that Homer considered them close friends (for he gives us a small hint of their backstory, how they grew together) and their story is being projected like many other duos and characters in the Trojan war that are linked together with bonds of kinship and companionship; stories that flourish at war. He might not straight out tell us that they are the case of story "from friends to lovers" but he absolutely seems to be letting us know that their kinship is there!

And I am grateful to Homer for his writing because it seems to me he wanted both sides to equally enjoy the story; whether they are those who do think their closeness is romance and those who think it is close kinship, strong family bonds or friendship. I am almost convinced that Homer deliberately used that as a way to please both sides of the audience or to give a more tragic aftertaste to their story since closeness is much more impactful to the face of separation.

I like them both and in fact I support them simoultaneously for honestly there is no best lover than your best friend; someone you can trust with everything you have. If I had to support one form of love, this would be it but at the same time I do support the idea that friendship is already a powerful bond of two people and that romantic love in this case would come as a bonus. Somehow Homer does seem to entertain this idea in his writing given again the extreme tenderness and the tragedy of these two while at the same time leaving the door open for his audience to speculate, make interpretations and enjoy the story in their own perspective.

If that is not art I dunno what is.

Okay guys this is only but scrapping the surface of this relationship that lasted for 3000 years now! Hahaha but I hope you like this! It took me several hours to synthesize but I hope you like it.

[commanderfoxdeservesbetter]

Time Loop Headcanon

Glasses clink for a toast. The sour taste of whiskey goes down Fox's throat with a smoothness he doesn't feel. Laughter rings around the table as Rex spills his drink down his shirt.

White teeth gleam in the dark bar from clones all around celebrating the death of the Sith and the start of a new beginning.

Fox watches his brothers with detached delight and wonders why a piece of him feels missing.

He sets his glass down, a small clink clouded out by the music pouring through the place.

He slides out easily with a comment of "getting some air" towards Cody to prevent him from following. He exits 79s with more than one shove, wiping at a stain on dress uniform. It shouldn't matter but still he grimaces at the sight.

"Stupid shinies," he mutters, shaking his head.

A clatter from the side of the building has him pausing. Fox tilts his head and debates. It's his day-off; he's not technically on duty and therefore, whatever is there is not his responsibility. A phantom crushing on his heart, a ghost breeze to his hand: it has curiosity building in his veins.

"Hello?" Fox calls out, walking slowly towards the sound. His hand goes to his belt and he inwardly curses at the lack of a blaster there.

"Who's there?"

In for a credit, in for a mile.

The shadows of the alleyway does little to hide the body standing there. His cloak however doesn't. It covers the person's face and a glance down shows his hands nowhere to be seen. Fox swallows and chances on the hope that he won't be killed immediately.

"Are you okay?" Fox can tell by the leaning of their body weight on the wall that they must not be in the best of shape. "Do you need help?" He's sure there must be a medic somewhere in the bar. Would they be sober?

Probably not but better than nothing, he supposes.

"Kot'e." Fox stops at the word. The head raises just a bit for a line of gold to pass through. "That was your brother's name before he changed it."

Fox's heart skips at the words. At the non-Vod voice that emitted it. Only the Vod'e know about that, and even then, it's not many who remember it.

"Ruse," he starts again, "was the name you wanted but-"

"Who are you?" Fox doesn't ask so much as demands.

The natborn grunts, their steps unsteady. The urge to reach out has Fox's fingers twitching but he holds back. He doesn't know this man.

"You told me," he stops. Starts again. "I thought-" he mumbles before huffing. Huffs then lets out a choked laugh. "Doesn't matter." he says loud enough for Fox to hear. "It never matters."

Fox isn't fast enough to stop his fall when he crumbles to the ground. His hood comes off, dark locks spread in a halo. For a darker man, he's pale and it surprises Fox to see blood when he lifts his hand back up.

He presses against the wound and the man grunts in pain. Fox opens his mouth to yell, call for a medic or help, or anything, but the man shakes his head.

"No." The word has Fox's teeth clinking together in a shut. "Please."

Fox can't move his hands to do the actions needed to stop the bleeding, to make it better.

He knows basic first aid and yet...his mind is blank. Completely blank. Except for the dark eyes that meet his.

It's the most beautiful color he's ever seen.

A tear slips down his cheek and the man chuckles. "'I've never seen you cry before."

Fox shakes his head slowly. "We've never met before." Despite the anonymity of this natborn, grief squeezes Fox's heart like a vice.

The man smiles slow, half-formed almost.

"Now that’s a lie." He swallows a cough, his chest rising in protest. "We're meeting right now." Fox hates the blood that splatters his teeth.

"Besides," he starts up again. "I know all about you." Fox raises a hand to the man's cheek when he coughs again and he leans into it as though he's been deprived of touch. "You're Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. Best soldier the Corries have and worst cook to ever step on Coruscant."

The chuckle that Fox lets out does nothing to stop the sob that comes after. Only his batch knows of his disastrous skill.

"Who are you?" He asks again and the man breathes through his nose.

He doesn't answer for several moments and Fox wonders if he ever will.

"If I tell you, will you promise not to leave?" Fox furrows his brows but nods nonetheless.

The man smiles. "Quinlan Vos. I married you three time loops ago."

Fox blinks. No clone has rights to their own body much less to marry. He's never met this man before tonight; nor, with a quick glance to the man's hand, does the man carry a ring.

Thoughts rush through Fox's head, question after question despite his analytics to the phrase.

Yet the only thing Fox can think to ask is "what's a time loop?"

The man laughs. Coughs again, blood staining his chin and Fox's dress uniform. "Hopefully, nothing you'll be caught in."

The man curls into himself as the next wave of coughs leave his shaking, and blood pours from the unknown wound.

It's this that snaps Fox out of his thoughts and he grabs the cloak to press against where he thinks the blood is coming from. "Medic!" He screams, and the man bitterly laughs at the call.

Fox's continuous yells gather enough clones to create action. A medic who's stupid drunk chugs water in an attempt to sober up but all it causes is puking and shouts.

Desperation digs into Fox's veins and he tries to stop his cries from being frantic. He can't crack.

He has to be calm. He has to help.

Why did he not call for help sooner?

"It's no use," the man says despite being crowded by useless clones. He pulls Fox close, hands shaking on his collar. He pulls Fox close enough to whisper in his ear. "I'm glad I got to love you, Ruse."

Fox's hands don't stop shaking for days.

[masterjedilenawrites]

List of books below, taken from the Star Wars wiki. Only included: Original Novels, Novel Adaptations, Script Books, and Young Adult Novels. Please no comments about books that are missing from the list... it is what it is.

The High Republic: Convergence - Zoraida Cordova

The High Republic: Path of Deceit - Tessa Gratton, Justina Ireland

The High Republic: The Battle of Jedha - George Mann

The High Republic: Path of Vengeance - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Cataclysm - Lydia Kang

The High Republic: Into the Dark - Claudia Gray

The High Republic: Light of the Jedi - Charles Soule

The High Republic: The Rising Storm - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Out of the Shadows - Justina Ireland

The High Republic: Tempest Runner - Cavan Scott

The High Republic: Midnight Horizon - Daniel Jose Older

The High Republic: The Fallen Star - Claudia Gray

The High Republic: The Eye of Darkness - George Mann

The High Republic: Defy the Storm - Tessa Gratton, Justina Ireland

The Vow of Silver Dawn - His Majesty the King

Dooku: Jedi Lost - Cavan Scott

Padawan - Kiersten White

Master & Apprentice - Claudia Gray

The Living Force - John Jackson Miller

Queen's Peril - E.K. Johnston

Queen's Shadow - E.K. Johnston

Inquisitor: Rise of the Red Blade - Delilah S. Dawson

Queen's Hope - E.K. Johnston

Brotherhood - Mike Chen

Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel - James Luceno

Thrawn Ascendancy: Chaos Rising - Timothy Zahn

Dark Disciple - Christie Golden

Thrawn Ascendancy: Greater Good - Timothy Zahn

Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil - Timothy Zahn

Ahsoka - E.K. Johnston

Thrawn - Timothy Zahn

Lords of the Sith - Paul S. Kemp

Tarkin - James Luceno

Most Wanted - Rae Carson

Solo: A Star Wars Story: Expanded Edition - Mur Lafferty

Rebel Rising - Beth Revis

Crimson Climb - E.K. Johnston

A New Dawn - John Jackson Miller

Jedi: Battle Scars - Sam Maggs

Lost Stars - Claudia Gray

Leia, Princess of Alderaan - Claudia Gray

Thrawn: Alliances - Timothy Zahn

Thrawn: Treason - Timothy Zahn

Rogue One: A Star Wars Story - Alexander Freed

Battlefront II: Inferno Squad - Christie Golden

Heir to the Jedi - Kevin Hearne

Doctor Aphra - Sarah Kuhn

Battlefront: Twilight Company - Alexander Freed

The Princess and the Scoundrel - Beth Revis

Alphabet Squadron - Alexander Freed

Aftermath - Chuck Wendig

Shadow Fall - Alexander Freed

Aftermath: Life Debt - Chuck Wendig

Victory's Price - Alexander Freed

Aftermath: Empire's End - Chuck Wendig

Last Shot - Daniel Jose Older

Poe Dameron: Free Fall - Alex Segura

Shadow of the Sith - Adam Christopher

Bloodline - Claudia Gray

Force Collector - Kevin Scinick

Phasma - Delilah S. Dawson

Star Wars: The Force Awakens - Alan Dean Foster

Galaxy's Edge: Black Spire - Delilah S. Dawson

Star Wars: The Last Jedi: Expanded Edition - Jason Fry

Resistance Reborn - Rebecca Roanhorse

A Crash of Fate - Zoraida Cordova

Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker: Expanded Edition - Rae Carson

[wormdebut]

Nightmares

CW: nightmares, sleep paralysis, hurt/comfort

——

When Steve has nightmares, they’re loud. He wakes up thrashing, screaming and clawing to fight against veiny fuckers, and nasty demon bats. Often wakes up yelling thinking he’s still pulling hell creatures off his friends, chosen family. Dustin, Robin, Eddie.

Eddie had almost stayed down there. Steve had to carry his near-lifeless body out. But they had heard something, a whisper of a heartbeat.

It was enough.

Steve had refused to leave Eddie’s hospital room. He made sure Robin and Nancy were posted by Max’s. One of them would come back and report, let Steve know her heart was still beating. Steve had felt Eddie’s heart beat, as weak as was, and he needed to stay near him, to make sure it kept beating. He needed to make sure it kept getting stronger.

He still had his nightmares. Always does, always will. They were awful in that hospital room.

He and the girls hadn’t made it in time. No heartbeat. He and the girls hadn’t made it in time. Dustin was gone too. He and the girls hadn’t made it in time. There were too many bats, they get Robin and Nancy too.

Steve still wakes up screaming and clawing. Fighting. The nurses stopped coming in to check, eventually.

Eddie stayed asleep. Stuck in the coma. Steve stayed with Eddie. Eddie’s uncle—Wayne—doesn’t know. Can’t. Not yet.

Hopper had shown up. Like he had risen from the dead. Steve cried in his arms, in the silence of Eddie’s hospital room. The only sounds, beeping of machines and Steve’s broken sobs. Hopper saying “You did good, kid. Everyone’s safe.”

Everyone wasn’t safe. Max and Eddie were still sleeping.

Max wakes up. Eddie doesn’t. Steve still wakes up screaming and thrashing.

The doctors say it should be any day now.

The last time Steve wakes up, screaming in the stupid fucking hospital, Eddie’s awake.

Steve had basically thrown himself out of his chair, screaming at dead things that had fangs and claws, had woken up when he hit linoleum. He had shaken himself off, as he had done every time previous, flicked his eyes over to Eddies hospital bed, and was met with wide brown eyes.

“Oh my god, Eddie.”

The second time Steve cries in that stupid fucking room, draped over the end of a shitty hospital bed, Eddie and Steve keep that secret between them.

——

When Eddie has nightmares, they’re all consuming. He had told Steve once, it wasn’t the nightmares that scared him the most. It was waking up frozen in whatever room he had fallen asleep in. Locked in his own body.

Steve couldn’t process that. He can’t imagine not being able to fight. He isn’t sure he would ever wake up if he couldn’t thrash his way out of those dark spaces. He admires Eddie’s strength, his vulnerability.

Eddie had come home with Steve when they had released him from the hospital. He’d been confused, but Steve had insisted—had the extra room.

Eddie had been staying in the guest room, but that only lasted a week. He had kept coming to Steve when he woke up screaming. Comforting him. Eddie had told Steve that he had heard Steve thrashing and fighting, screaming that stupid hospital room from hell, long before he had opened his eyes.

“I figured I was still in that frozen place, the sleep paralysis, but I couldn’t open my eyes.” Eddie had told him, as he wiped at Steve’s wet cheeks. Steve had apologized, face red with embarrassment, and Eddie had told him to never apologize for feeling. It was the first night Eddie stayed with Steve.

Wayne knows now, knows his nephew is alive, breathing. He knows something happened that he can’t be fully privy to—he’d have to know basics since the shady fucking government shoves money at them like it was candy, put the Munsons in an apartment, cleared Eddie’s name. Wayne knows that those of them involved in ‘whatever it was’ cope better together. He doesn’t push Eddie to come to the apartment, he knows he at Steve’s.

Steve think Wayne knows about them—which it’s new to Steve and Eddie as it is, but Wayne definitely knows. Steve doesn’t think he disapproves though. He’s seen the soft smile Wayne’s had as he watched Steve run his hand through his nephews hair, watched them watch each other. Wayne is an observant man.

But he’s not a man of many words. He only ever tells Steve, “Thank you for saving our boy.”

——

They watch each other sleep.

When Steve falls asleep curled up in Eddie’s side, he feels strong arms tighten around him like a cocoon. Feels safe. It doesn’t stop the nightmares though. Doesn’t stop the screaming, but when he does tear himself away from certain death Eddie is right there.

“It’s okay, Stevie. It’s over, we won. It’s okay baby.” He whispers, pressing kisses into Steve’s hair. Steve cries. He’s always fucking crying now, but Eddie doesn’t care. He holds him through it, until he can breathe again.

Eddie has a habit of falling asleep on Steve’s chest. Told Steve he likes to hear his heart. It makes Steve blush like a fucking idiot, but that beside the point, he falls asleep listening to Steve’s heart and Steve falls just a little bit further in love with this man, every time.

Steve watches as Eddie sleeps. He feels it when Eddie’s limbs lock up, thinks this is part of the ‘freeze’. He listens to the whimpers Eddie lets out, feels powerless to it. Runs his fingers through hair and whispers that he’s here, he’s right here and Eddie’s safe. He does it every time, and watches as Eddie pulls himself out of the paralysis, watches as Eddie’s eyes snap open and he heaves in a deep watery breath, buries his head in Steve’s chest and cries. Steve just does holds him tighter, lets Eddie cry and lets Eddie find his steady breaths, again.

It gets a little easier. They actually start to fall asleep together, instead of letting the other rest. They still struggle through most nights, but they do it together. Kiss away each other’s tears and fears of what they went through.

When Steve has nightmares, they’re loud.

When Eddie has nightmares, they’re all consuming.

But they have each other, and they get through it, together, every time.

[duketectivecomics]

‘Jason was Duke’s robin’ ‘tim was dukes robin’ YOURE ALL FOOLS

Steph as dukes most formative robin is RIGHT THERE

[july-19th-club]

house md wildest show on earth. a main character outright assassinates a known dictator, a moment that would be the very beginning or the mid-series crisis in any other show - an act which creates a power vacuum in a foreign nation already filled with child soldiers and genocide, and it's literally only brought up again throughout the season because that guy's wife divorces him over it. and occasionally to explore his relationship with who he is as a person and a catholic after having deliberately taken a life for what he calculates as the greater good, but mostly it's about his divorce

[kingstarkingslay]

Alternate AU where after the war and the death of his brother, Sirius builds a cabin in the woods by the creek for him and Moony to live in ( the woods help Moony’s transformations ), a quiet refuge where the waters whispered secrets of the past and he gets a small wooden boat to paddle along the tranquil waters.

He names the boat Regulus.

[backpackingspace]

I am once again thinking about how odysseus who witnessed the horrors that the captured women went through (one of his main duties in the iliad was taking the women back home and making sure they were as comfortable as possible and safe because he was the only one trusted not to violate them further due to his devotion to penelope. And in the odyssey part of the reason circe sent him to the underworld was so that he'd have to listen to all these women's stories (before he could talk to the prophet) ). Who was one of the few that saw women as people and respected their space and opinions. And was then put in those exact same situations. I don't have the motivation right now to do a full literary analysis of this (I'll site the sources too) but oh man one day I'm going to write a full essay on this.

[magicandmundane]

Something about Aftermath that I really love no matter how many times I rewatch it (or the series as a whole lol) is that extremely hopeful and excited feeling in the last scene. It’s nothing but potential, open roads and open skies. They can go anywhere, do anything, be anything. I know pretty much everything that happens after they shoot off into hyperspace by heart now, they’re going to face so much hardship and tragedy alongside all the good things, but that hopeful feeling never fades whenever I watch the stars in Omega’s eyes. The creators really make you feel everything she’s feeling about this new adventure.

Like they fucking nailed it.

[resurgentclass-stardestroyer]

[katerinaaqu]

It's you; always has been you! (A Neoptolemous songfic)

A song-fic I came up with on the spot today after talking with @smokey07 and the band Skillet! ^_^ Consider it a veeeeeery late birthday gift! As late as poor Neoptolemous was for the funeral of his father. TW: Violence and alcohol involved

He was staggering softly at his feet as the ground and the sand were too soft to support him. In one way he almost seemed uncomfortable not to be dressed in his armor and the fact that he had probably chugged the sweet wine of victory down faster than he should be didn’t really help his situation. Pyrrhus, or as he was known by everyone now, Neoptolemous totally seemed out of his waters dressed in soft chiton and chlamys instead of his father’s lustrous armor; the one blackened by the holy flame he dedicated to Troy. The celebrations to appease the gods seemed to be going well but in his mind all seemed pointless. The majority of the kings and soldiers had no idea on what had happened behind closed doors and behind conspiracies. Conspiracies were not his thing. He hated them. It was the fire of battle and blood that gave him life; inside Troy he had felt alive like he never felt before. His heart was pounding in his chest; hammering against his bones. It was the thrill of taking a life; feeling one’s blood running upon his spear that gave him life. He was training for it all his life and when he got it, it was like adrenaline had gave him life he never felt before; the smell of metal smelt sweeter than anything he had ever smelt before. It was the mixture between bronze and tin and tar along with the metallic scent of blood that made him feel alive. Perhaps that was the reason he was mostly drinking than talking in the party; parties were just not his thing; dull, meaningless ways of concealing the bloodlust everyone had felt, he was sure. Hypocrites! They pretended they yearned for peace and yet they were ready to eat each other’s flesh upon sharing the spoils! And, by the thunder of Zeus, Neoptolemous despised and loathed every single one of them for it! Every time his mentors or his elder peers were scolding him for making a comment about the war, he felt this contempt inside him to the point he wanted to scream to the heavens.

However there was one thing that Neoptolemous despised them more for; Calchas had said he had spoken to the spirit of his father, when he had demanded the concubine to his bed in the Underworld. Every single one of those old fools, the talkative old men, had got to meet his father, bond with him, talk to him… He, on the other hand had only heard of him from stories of his mother, stories of the others at the army and then his father’s ghost had visited them making one last request…

But he hadn’t spoken to him…

Neoptolemous absolutely despised them all for it. He was angry, furious even! Why! That was all he could think of; why them and not me! Why that couldn’t have been me? There was a primitive fire burning inside him; an insatiable thirst had taken him over and he somehow knew that fighting was not the option so he chose to drink that night, hopefully to erase this burning from his chest. He wasn’t used to strong drinks before and he never felt the need to indulge to it. However that night he just couldn’t take it. All the people he despised around him were talking and talking, speaking on their future plans and how their conflict had divided them; some of them already gone home and others stayed here to offer sacrifice some others didn’t even bother. The talk was giving him headache. These men he despised had met his father, they even talked about him once or twice before (even if they avoided the subject now). It was as if he weren’t even there, as if the throne he was sitting on was not for him but for someone else; wine was giving him a reason to pretend he was listening and hating every second of it. So when he couldn’t take it anymore and the sweet wine was not enough to erase the fire that was scorching him inside, he just stood up, not even bothering to mumble an apology or an excuse and he had moved slowly outside of that ceremonial or whatever the hell that was, dinner and found isolation to the previous battlefield. It was as if the ghosts of the dead were better company than all those who claimed to be alive. His unstable feet brought him to the ceremonial monument they had set for his father; a sema mentioning his name was set to the area of his burial. Although he was aware that the urn would be taken with them, back home. The monument seemed small and petty before him and yet it also seemed tall and dark and unfriendly. It was the first time he saw his father in more than 10 years when he arrived at Troy; barely had any recollection of his face and, by gods, he couldn’t even see his corpse! This monument was what greeted him upon arrival to Troy. He mopped some sweat off his forehead (when had he started sweating? The night wasn’t particularly hot. Maybe it was the wine that set his skin aflame) and looked up.

“Well?” he asked to the cold stone, “What do you think? Are you satisfied?”

There was no response. Of course stones wouldn’t talk back and yet Pyrrhus didn’t seem ready to accept that.

“I did what you ask… I gave you your whore as you asked of me. Are you happy now, father? Are you proud?”

The stone did not respond once more. Neoptolemous felt every inch of his young body trembling with primary rage; the type of rage that you would need an army to slay till it subsided. His turquoise eyes seemed to be sparkling like cold flames in the dark.

“So…you choose to appear to everyone else…except from me? Is this how you wanna play it, dad? Is it?”

The notion suddenly seemed hilarious! The idea behind it was such a tragicomedy that he burst out in a loud laughter. The laughter was cold, uncontrollable and bitter. His stomach hurt, his chest was palpitating for breath and yet Neoptolemous, the son of Achilles couldn’t stop laughing. He nearly fell down from his unstable feet; held up by a mixture of determination and luck.

“So after everything I’ve done for you…after everything I did to please you, to live to your name…THIS is what you give me? You do not even grace me with your presence!? You just entered my life and then gone and you have nothing else to say!?”

He swayed a bit in his place trying to find his balance and then looked at the stone anew. He refused to shed tears. He hadn’t shed any ever since he was a toddler! He wouldn’t start now.

“After everything I’ve done…” he repeated, “I’ll never be good enough will I? You will never be proud of me! I will never live up to your name! Tell me, dammit! Tell me why you showed your face to everyone but me?! WHY ARE YOU SILENT!?”

The last was a cry to the heavens, or maybe towards the Underworld. He no longer knew and in all seriousness he didn’t really care.

“I’ll surpass you!” he finally said, “Do you hear me! I will become greater than you ever dreamt to be! You can’t shadow my life like this! You cannot overshadow me!”

He had no idea what made him spew all that and booze made him unthinkable as to why he would say things he never admitted not even to himself. All his life he worshipped his father; he was raised to be his heir and his rightful descendant; his legacy. Right now, though, after the war and the conquest, after the atrocities he performed to his name and after this night he was feeling empty inside. What was his purpose now? Ever since Odysseus came to pick him up from Skyros he knew he would have to fight and finish his father’s war. What was left of him now? How would he proceed?

“It was never me, wasn’t it…?” he finally whispered, “It’s you…it always has been you!”

*

He didn’t return to the feast, that much he knew. He couldn’t go through another round of the old men talking and feeling their gazes judging him when he was downing one goblet after the other so he wouldn’t lose control. The bottling emotions were too much to contain. He wouldn’t wish for yet another headache like that. So he took the decision to stagger back to his tent. Perhaps, he thought, get some privacy and maybe some sleep. As he entered the familiar environment of his tent (no…his father’s tent) he came to face the several slaves and servants (his father’s slaves and servants) roaming about. He also saw old Phoenix in. Apparently the old man retired early. As he entered the eyes turned to look at him. Among them there was Andromache; his prize; the only thing that truly belonged to him in that tent! His pale red locks were messed up from wind and his own carelessness; his chiton was stained with some wine (he hadn’t noticed some had dripped there) and his eyes were flaming with unshed tears and rage. His prize eyed him and glared; a queen till the end even if tied with chains of slavery.

“What are you looking at, huh?” he challenged her stumbling in his tent and removing the chlamys from his shoulder

He let it fall on the floor. He didn’t care where it would end up. He slowly staggered to the small table and poured another goblet for himself as if by instinct. He had no idea what he was doing; he just felt the same irritation by sensing the eyes stuck on him; judging him! He took a gulp of wine trying to ignore it (“You shall never be your father”, their eyes felt to be saying).

“Son…” Phoenix began, “What’s this…? What’s the matter?”

Neoptolemous laughed again. It was a mocking, humorless laughter, indeed.

“What’s the problem, old man? Don’t I have your permission to retire to my bed?”

“Are you drunk?” the old man asked worriedly

“Not as drunk as I would want to be, I assure you!” Neoptolemous retorted finishing his drink

Once again he had no idea why he even said that. He didn’t drink away that night in order to get himself inebriated. Why was he admitting things he never intended?

“Control yourself, boy” Phoenix said in his sweet voice, “This is unacceptable behavior!”

“Would you dare to talk to my father like this, old man?” Neoptolemous demanded draining yet another cup, “I think not! I demand from you to act the same with me! I have proven myself to be his equal! Treat me such! And I shall do as I please! You have no right to count the cups of wine I drink. Save me the lecture!”

“Son…please…”

“I am NOT your son, old man!” Neoptolemous snapped at him, “I am Achilleides! Not your son! Stop calling me that!”

“Pyrrhus…please…” old Phoenix tried again

“Don’t you DARE use that name either!” the son of Achilles yelled, pointing his finger at him, “That name was given to me by my mother and father and NEITHER of them is here! I am Neoptolemous now! You shall NOT speak the name that is not here now!”

“My boy, please…please come back to your senses… This war has destroyed you, cursed the names of those who started it! What fate was to strike me, to see my dearest boy end up like this?”

He was met with yet another wave of uncontrollable laughter.

“That boy you THOUGHT you knew is DEAD!” the young man yelled, “You hear me! Dead! Gone! Forget he even existed in your mind! I have done so much in this war! So much for this glory you will never imagine!”

“This can’t be, Pyrrhus! Please!”

Neoptolemous almost pounced at him; like a wounded lion he huffed and puffed, waving his fist over the man’s face; his breath reeking of wine.

“Do you see this…?” he whispered in wild triumph, “Do you know whose blood is this?”

The old man seemed surprised. What? He couldn’t see the blood? He could see it as clear as day. Wasn’t there blood in his right hand; the hand that wielded and used the sacrificial knife? He turned to look at Andromache grinning triumphantly; self-complacently at her.

“It was someone you knew, by the way, madam! The same well as you knew your father-in-law! You see…my father wanted a concubine can you imagine?!”

He laughed mockingly, almost like a madman at the notion. He didn’t care what he was saying. He was too drunk to care.

“That was how far his legendary love for his dear comrade went! He wasn’t in the grave but a little and he already felt cold and needed company! Isn’t it wonderful?!”

He drained his last cup before throwing it to the other end of the room.

“So I provided it for him! Like a good son!”

“Monster…” Andromache whispered, tears almost burning her eyes

“I am sure you heard too…your dear mother-in-law losing her marbles! I heard she plucked a man’s eyes out before! Who is the bigger monster I wonder!”

“Curse you!” Andromache cried out, “You and your filthy kin!”

“Oh yes, you remember me, alright!”

He rushed at her, without even knowing what he was doing; red of wine and anger clouding his mind. He grabbed her chin. She tried to bite his hand but he held her closer, preventing her from doing so.

“You remember me, when I came to your husband’s tomb and took that crying brat away from you, right? You remember that much!”

She tried to pull back. He didn’t let her. He was stronger than her.

“Let me tell you one more little secret to your information…” he leaned to her ear before whispering, “I was the one who killed your little brat!”

Phoenix swore he heard the Erinyes coming down from heavens to deliver justice; this is how the wail Andromache made that made his ears suffer. The queen had her eyes set aflame as she screamed in lament.

“MURDERER! MONSTER! MONSTER!”

“Wail all you want!” Neoptolemous cried out in return, “You shall come with me, when I begin my true destiny! You will give me sons to continue my legacy, isn’t that what my father would do? Is it, old man?”

Phoenix didn’t know how to deal with this; the boy he had held as a toddler upon his knees who was excited to learn life was gone; in his place there was a madman, someone who was lost in anger and drink. He was too stunned to speak anymore; war had taken everything he had left inside him to fight for.

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?”

The familiar, strong voice of Odysseus made him thank heavens for the first time that week. The son of Laërtes, barged in the tent, with the son of Tydeus right behind him; obviously they were both alarmed by the cries they heard in the tent; possibly on their way to sleep or to walk about the camp to inspect.

“Have you lost your damned mind?!” Odysseus demanded, “Let her go!”

His strong arm grasped Neoptolemous and pushed him back. The youth was too distracted, too inebriated to resist and he ended up staggering backwards, nearly losing his balance if it weren’t for the table behind him to support himself (throwing down some things that resided on it that fell down with tremendous sound). The son of Achilles breathed heavily in rage upon the interruption.

“Stay out of this, old man!” he growled like a lion at the wolf that came to take a piece of his hunted meal, “This is none of your concern! She is my slave!”

“She is also a Queen!” Odysseus demanded, eyes cold like obsidian glass, “I would suggest you to pull yourself together and remember that!”

“SHE IS MINE!” Neoptolemous screamed on top of his lungs, “THE ONE THING I EARNED MYSELF! YOU HAVE NO SAY IN THIS!”

“Someone cannot handle their wine well!” Odysseus commented strangely calm, “I suggest you to stand by. You had enough to drink for one night! You are a king now! Act accordingly!”

“WHY YOU-!”

Diomedes rushed to grab Neoptolemous from the back, before he jumped upon his friend in his blind fury. The stronger and taller male, despite the fact that young Neoptolemous was obviously weaker in his inebriation, he still had to struggle a bit to hold him, for Neoptolemous was struggling as if to get away from Charon himself.

“Enough!” he said in his deep voice, “Easy!”

“LET ME GO! DAMN YOU!”

“Pull yourself together, boy!” Odysseus demanded again in his infuriating calmness, “You can boast your strength in battle all you want but now you seem like another drunk! Haven’t your tutors told you how strong the centaurs were in battle? And yet in the arms of alcohol, their actions embarrassed both themselves and their hosts! I would advise you not to fall to that path!”

“SCREW YOU OLD MAN!”

“Phoenix” Odysseus ignored him, “What is going on?”

“He…” the elder man gulped, “I am not sure…”

“Did you come to admire your work!?” crying Andromache interrupted, “Curse you, schemer! Come and muzzle your murderous dog now!”

“What did he say to you?” Odysseus demanded, suddenly his eyes becoming even colder; his face pale.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know! Liar! Heartless monster! You allowed him to take me! The man who killed my son!”

“Is that what he told you?”

His eyes scanned the place; the furious young king struggling in the arms of Diomedes who was trying in vain to calm him down, the old man Phoenix pale as a sheet and finally crying, furious Andromache.

“Well the kid is drunk! He doesn’t know what he’s saying! I was the one who killed your son!” the Man of Many Wiles lied, “I had promised to the council I would and I did! I threw him off the walls and I would do it again! As many times as I had to!”

“BASTARD!” Neoptolemous roared, “YOU SHALL NOT TAKE MY GLORY!”

“Stay put, you foolish child!” Odysseus interrupted, “You are drunk and furious. Calm yourself first! This isn’t you!”

He turned to the former Queen looking at her sincerely.

“This child lost his father too early! He tries to impress him in the underworld! It is not what happened! He is just drunk. Tomorrow he will come back to his senses”

And the king of Ithaca was met again with the flaming eyes of the former Trojan Queen.

“I don’t care for your reasoning or his! Murderer! Get out of my sight! Get out! GET OUT!”

“Gladly…” Odysseus mumbled, “Diomedes, are you coming?”

“In a minute…”

Odysseus nodded. Neoptolemous was almost limb in Diomedes’s arms for a little. He knew his presence would only agitate spirits further so he decided to walk away, leaving the tent. He didn’t wish to remain much, close to either Neoptolemous or Andromache. He exited the tent and only then the young king found his fighting spirit anew.

“COME BACK HERE, COWARD! LIAR! YOU SHALL NOT TAKE OVER MY GLORY! MY VICTORY!”

“Stop it, now!” Diomedes growled again before whispering to his ear, “Don’t you see? He just took the blame from you! You don’t want another stain in your name! Trust me, my friend, you don’t! Let him do it!”

As if a dam collapsed, Neoptolemous broke down; it was a scary mixture of laughter and tears; yes, this time Neoptolemous cried for real as he hadn’t cried for years! It was a furious, desperate cry of all the accumulated and bottled up emotions he had gathered up over the years and the last weeks of unstoppable battle; of slaughter. He was crying and struggling against Diomedes’s iron grip. The king of Argos looked at Andromache; she was staring in stupefaction.

“See…?” he whispered, “He is just a child…no older than what you have been when you married, probably… This war…broke many people…”

Words weren’t his strong point, he knew. That was Odysseus’s field and yet he felt this profound grief in his own heart and too many words seemed unneded. Somehow he could see Andromache looking with a mix of surprise, shock and perhaps pity. Neoptolemous doubled over and threw up on the tent’s floor, coughing soundly.

“GET HER OUT OF HERE!” Diomedes ordered Phoenix, “NOW!”

Phoenix didn’t even need to be told as he was already escorting Andromache out of the chamber, leaving the tent empty but the two men. Neoptolemous seemed to be struggling to stabilize his breathing as his system was rejecting the alcohol he was not used to.

“Easy…it’s okay…it’s okay…”

“Don’t you dare pity me!” Neoptolemous cried, “I don’t need your pity! I don’t need anyone!”

“Kid…I know how you feel…trust me!”

“How can you know?! Don’t pretend you know me! Stop acting smart!”

“I understand, kid…” Diomedes insisted, “I know this pain…I lost my father too! I was young, younger than you when I lost him but you and I lived the same long without him… I was forced to fight his war… I lived in war so far. Kid, don’t make the same mistake…”

“What should I do?” Neoptolemous cried again, “What’s left of me to do?”

For the first time his true age was shown; he was a child, younger than what he was and had such a huge name on his shoulders. He was the son of a demigod and he had already fought a bloody war…he had already been corrupted in it.

“You will find your way…you shall make your own legacy. I know you are angry but this is just not the way. Don’t live in his shadow forever!”

Neoptolemous moaned again and threw up some more trying to find his balance. Diomedes supported him upright, helping him wipe his mouth with a cloth.

“I…” Neoptolemous panted, “I…I shall be better than him! I shall surpass him!”

He was repeating the same tune, stubbornly. No, it was impossible for him to let go of the life purpose he had gone by since infantry. He couldn’t let go of the image of Achilles.

“After the war…I shall make my course! Wait and see, father! I will leave behind a legacy much bigger than what you ever imagined!”

He struggled to his feet only to be assisted to sit down a chair by Diomedes.

“The old man Nestor can have the urn!” the son of Achilles added, “Let him bury it to whatever place he wants along with his son or any other! I have no use for it! I shall not melt away like he did! I shall surpass him!”

Diomedes sighed deeply. Yes, he knew the symptoms. The child was in too deep, too profoundly deep to change now. And war had made it worse. Yes, he was no longer Pyrrhus.

He was Neoptolemous, the New Warrior, the New Conqueror

And it was never him…

It was always about his father…

He was not himself…

He was the Son of Achilles…

**

So forgive me if this seems messy for it was a random inspiration but then again maybe it is supposed to be messy after all. Neoptolemous is lost; his mind is a mess becaue he realizes that the war was never about him; that he lives under the shadow of his father!

Of course song-fc inspired by the amazing song by Skillet "It's not Me It's you"

I know that my friend said that Skillet is perhaps "too soft for the profound madness and sadness in Neoptolemous" but somehow I thought this is the back of his brain speaking, which comes up with wine.

The mentioned of the blackened armor is a dedication to the amazing comic page @smokey07 created here

So yeah dunno I thought that Neoptolemous with his anger issues he would be an out-of-control angry drunk so I made this! So random drama so forgive me my friend if it is messy! Hope you like it! I also randomly added Diomedes in a few minutes ago thinking on your headcanon that Neoptolemous follows Diomedes around, forming mutual trust between them

Ironically after war both kings have similar paths for different reasons; Diomedes is self-exiled from Argos and is off to Italy to found several cities while Neoptolemous begins the kingdom of Epirus in North Greece.

Also Odysseus, officially declaring he killed Astyanax a little thing my devious brain came up with to show why there is "confusion" between the sources as to who killed Astyanax! Hehehehe I know I am ranodmly evil here! (I am also winking to my fanfiction "Guilt")

Anyways I am eager to hear your opinions guys! ^_^

[muninnhuginn]

Also. I'm so not sure which direction it's going to take with Damian liking ancient history. It could just be setup for this one chapter, sure, but it seemed like something he genuinely had passion for. But. Something about politics and history and learning from the mistakes of the past so they're not repeated

[amandamadeathing]

@theonion headline for Hunter during "Aftermath"'s battle not-so-simulation.