#the circumstances are not circumstances if you make them your choice.

[frogeyedape]

Important thing to notice here: hitting a child AFTER they've run into the road is not a preventative measure. It is REACTIVE.

Let's look at the scenario again, shall we? Unattended child [she says her child will never be unattended but may run unattended into the road. Ignore the straw man and make the good faith assumption that "running into the road unattended" here means "child with attendant parent moves away from parent into the road"] runs into the road: parent is by definition not in reach to prevent this. Child is pursuing some goal [chase toy, go toward friend, whatever] and only thinking about that, child is caught [while in the road, but did they notice that detail?] and hit and probably scolded. Child's pursuit of goal is interrupted by pain caused by distressed parent; child in pain picks up on parental distress but not WHY they're distressed. Child likely does not associate "be in road" with "pain," and almost definitely doesn't associate the ACTUAL danger moment [being NEXT to a road and going INTO the road] with the pain. Therefore the reactive punishment does nothing to prevent future instances of "being in the road," or of "GOING into the road."

A brief diversion: both operant and classical conditioning require repetition, and stimulus/behavior must be *very closely paired in time* in order to work. A natural consequence is much more likely to be paired with its stimulus (touch hot stove, get burned). Hitting your preverbal doesn't understand you child teaches them that the natural consequence of being NEAR YOU is pain.

Now, let's talk about child developmental psychology and a perhaps surprising fact that makes all this operant/classical conditioning argument moot: children understand what you say long before they have the skill to say what you say. Preverbal children are in fact NOT completely noncomprehending *of language,* of social skills. You can talk to your baby before they can even crawl adeptly and they won't understand yet, but your speech builds neural pathways. You can talk to your adept crawling pre-toddling baby and model How To Cross A Road Safely before they have ANY chance or ability to run into a road. You can make clear, every time you come to a road, "What do we do? We STOP, and look both ways, and if it's clear [and I'm with you] then we cross." [and I'm with you] is up to your discretion. You carry your baby across roads many many many times in your child's life before they can walk. Repetition is key, remember?

You can model How To Play Near A Road Safely every day [hold/constrain a non-walking child, have a walking preverbal child hold your hand, keep modeling STOP at every road, and tall about it!]. Kids are frightening smart, very very good little statisticians--if every time you and your child come to a road you STOP [and also look etc if the plan is to cross], the months and YEARS of repetition will make the statistic clear to your child: when approach road, STOP. When going from grass/dirt/sidewalk to road surface: STOP first.

Model the age-appropriate behavior. Speak to your kid like they understand, cuz either A) they don't yet, but they WILL, and what you say now affects what they learn or B) they DO understand part/some/all of what you say and can listen and *choose what to do*. Treat your child like an agent, capable of agentive decisions, capable of CHOICE, show them how to make safe choices, talk about it!

The single most overwhelming thing I remember from young childhood is adults/older kids assuming I didn't want or couldn't possibly utilize any kind of agency/choice in my circumstances, the sheer FRUSTRATION of being disregarded as a living thinking *choosing* creature. Giving your child agency, assuming they HAVE agency, is vital to helping them learn *how to use their agency.*

When people get pregnant, they will give up smoking, give up alcohol, give up coffee and soda, give up fondue and raw cheese, give up cold cuts and sushi, all because they have heard somewhere, from someone, that these things can be bad for the baby. They don’t know the research, haven’t looked at the studies, can’t talk about sample sizes and control groups. But their dedication to their future child’s safety is so strong, their caution is so overpowering, that they give up these things just in case. 

So it baffles me when those same people will insist on spanking their kids. 

Even when they are shown the research.

 Regardless of what the experts in the field say. 

No matter who says it. 

Or how it is said. 

People are so invested in this ability to hit their kids without judgement or consequence, that it absolutely confounds me. 

[saveyourblood]

Pretty Boy - Ch 15 (Buddie x Reader)

Summary: Buck’s hands trail down to your hands. He takes his in yours. “Do you love him?” “Buck.” “I know you love me,” Buck continues, playing with your fingers. “You know I love you. But I’m asking if you love him.” The one where you’re an advanced paramedic, Buck and Eddie are firefighters, and you think you might be in love with both of them.

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10 | Ch 11 | Ch 12 | Ch 13 | Ch 14

(gif made by me) Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: angst, discussion of feelings (idk it feels worth a warning)

You slowly blink awake, wincing at the harsh sunlight flooding Eddie’s bedroom window. You roll over and sit up, stretching your hands over your head. You let out a groan as your spine cracks in protest.

You yawn, rubbing your hand down your face as you walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Your throat dries when you see Buck and Eddie sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hey,” you greet awkwardly, then make a beeline towards the coffee maker.

“You aren’t supposed to drink coffee if you’re…”

“If I’m what, Buck?” You chuckle lightly as you grab a mug. “You can say the word ‘pregnant.’ It’s not a curse or something.”

Buck lets out a breath that resembles a laugh. “Right. Sorry.”

You shrug it off. “Besides, pregnant people can have 200mg of caffeine a day, which is about a cup and half of coffee.”

Buck looks at Eddie.

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Are you gonna take it away from her? Because I’m not.”

You lean against the counter with a satisfied grin.

Buck takes a sip of his own coffee. “So, we’re really doing this?”

Your grin fades and your mouth fills with sand. “Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, this isn’t how I imagined it happening, but… I always knew I wanted at least one kid.”

You’re not naive; this is far from the ideal circumstance. Your jobs are demanding and unpredictable, and adding school on top of it, your life is already chaotic. Adding pregnancy and an eventual baby to the mix? You have no fucking idea how you’ll make it work.

But… you should make it work. Because even if it’s the wrong timing, you have a lot of factors working in your favor. You have a successful career that earns you a decent income. You have not one, but two committed partners. You’re nearing your 30s. It’ll probably never be a ‘good’ time to have a kid, so this might be as good as it’ll get.

At the end of the day, though, you’re only in it if they are, too.

“What do you boys think?”

“I think…” Buck starts, then leans back in his chair. “I think it’s your decision.”

Oh. Wow. He’s… considering other options. Or at least, he’s putting those options on the table. And you know why: it’s because he’s a good man. He doesn’t want you to feel trapped. He’s giving you an out.

But you don’t want an out. And him giving you an out means you can’t help but wonder if he also wants an out. And thinking about that makes your heart fall into your stomach.

“Okay,” you eventually say. You somehow manage to keep your voice level. “Eddie, what about you?”

Eddie breathes in through his nose. You watch his chest rise and fall. “Honestly?”

You nod. You want — need — nothing but complete and utter honesty.

“I’ve always wanted Christopher to have a sibling.”

You smile. You can see Buck nudge Eddie’s foot under the table.

“But, of course, it’s your body, so it’s your choice,” Eddie quickly adds.

You set your coffee cup on the counter behind you so you can wrap your arms around Buck’s shoulders. “I wanna do this.”

Buck turns in your arms to look up at you. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

A smile creeps across his face. He gently pulls your arm so you’re to the side of him. He sets a hand on your stomach. “There’s a baby in there.”

You run a hand through his hair, then look across the table at Eddie. “ Our baby is in there.”

Eddie smiles. You cock your head, silently prompting him. He takes the hint and pushes away from the table, joining the two of you on the other side. He stands between the two of you, setting a hand on each of your shoulders.

“Hey, you have a pregnant girlfriend now, so you can’t be doing stupid shit,” you say softly, wrapping your free arm around his waist.

Eddie’s smile softens a little as he nods. “I’m gonna talk to Bobby, get set up to talk someone.”

“Good,” you say, kissing his cheek, “because we need you around. All three of us.”

Eddie kisses your forehead, then the top of Buck’s head.

Eddie doesn’t talk about his feelings. It’s probably because he grew up in a house where people didn’t talk about their feelings. Sometimes, though, Eddie really thinks it’s just the way that he is. Some people have no problem discussing emotions, and some people… are Eddie Diaz. It’s not a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

“So… what would you like to talk about, Eddie?”

“I… don’t know,” Eddie says with a sigh.

There are a lot of things he probably should talk about. There’s probably a lot of childhood trauma to unpack, and don’t even get him started on the dead wife and sudden single father thing. He could talk about his parents or his time in the army. The thing is, though, is he doesn’t want to talk about any of that. He’s not here for his inner child, or his dead wife, or his parents, or his army buddies.

He isn’t doing this for himself. He’s doing it for you and Buck.

Eddie opens his mouth, then closes it. He furrows his brow in contemplation. “Nothing I say leaves this room, right? I mean, if I tell you something, you can’t tell my captain, right?”

“As long as you don’t plan on hurting yourself or anyone else, nothing you say leaves this room,” Frank replies.

Well, if that’s the case, he may as well talk about the actual reason he’s here.

“My partners are worried about me,” Eddie eventually says.

“Your work partners?”

“No. Well, yes, technically, but…” Eddie sighs again, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “God, this is so stupid.”

Frank doesn’t say anything, waiting for Eddie to elaborate.

“I have a girlfriend, I have a boyfriend, and we all work together. She’s a paramedic, he’s a firefighter.”

“Do they know that you’re dating both of them?”

“What? Oh, yeah, they were dating each other before I started dating them,” Eddie explains. “It’s… complicated.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

Eddie shrugs. “I guess. That, and the fact that she’s pregnant.”

Frank pauses, looking up from the binder sitting in his lap. “...Are congratulations in order?”

The question brings him back to his conversation with Buck, the one they had before you woke up.

“So… we both want this.”

“Of course.”

“Okay, great! But… if she doesn’t… we have to respect that.”

“Of course.”

“And we have to mention it right off the bat, just in case.”

“Okay.”

“We can’t influence her decision in any way.”

“Alright, Buck.”

“It’s her body, so it’s her choice.”

“Yeah, Buck, I get it!”

He smiles. Eddie hopes you know how much Buck loves you. His smile falters a little. He hopes you know how much he loves you.

“It’s a good thing,” Eddie confirms softly. “It’s great, actually. I’m excited to be a dad again.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m here because my parents are visiting.”

If Eddie’s going to therapy, Buck figured it only makes sense if he also goes to therapy. When he initially brought up the idea, you were supportive, of course, but you also poked a little fun, which he should have expected.

‘ You just have to do everything Eddie does, huh? I’d make a joke about following him into a burning building, but given our job, it doesn’t feel appropriate. ’

In Buck’s defense, he isn’t just doing it because of Eddie — he’s thought about going to therapy for a long time. So when Maddie said their parents were coming to town, Buck figured it was the closest thing to a sign from the universe he would get.

“Well, if them visiting brings you to therapy, something tells me the relationship isn’t great,” Rosemary notes.

Buck figured it was a conflict of interest if Frank was also his therapist, so Bobby set him up with Rosemary instead. She’s a nice-looking woman; not in the sense that he’s attracted to her, but in the sense that she looks like a nice person to be around. Her hair is light grey and curly, and her circle frame glasses cover the smile lines around her green eyes. She looks like someone’s sassy grandmother or maybe a fun great-aunt.

“It’s not great,” Buck says with a light chuckle. “It always felt like it was me and my sister versus them.”

“How so?”

“They… didn’t pay attention to either of us.” It sounds so juvenile when he says it out loud. “I mean, it felt like they only cared about me when I got hurt; I was a pretty reckless kid.”

“Sounds like they were a contributing factor to that,” Rosemary observes. “Children tend to take attention however they can get it, even if it means hurting themselves or others.”

“This sounds crazy, but… it didn’t even feel like I was fighting a real person. They were just a moving punching bag.” Eddie laughs humorlessly. “Kind of an oxymoron, isn’t it? I would spend the whole day helping people, then I would turn around and hurt them.”

Frank taps his pencil against his binder. “You said you didn’t feel like you were fighting a real person. Tell me more about that.”

“What’s there to tell? That’s how I justified it. It’s how I… coped, I guess. If they weren’t real, I wasn’t hurting anyone, and if I wasn’t hurting anyone, it meant I could keep doing it.”

Frank hums in acknowledgment. “How do you cope now?”

“Huh?”

“You changed the way you act, but that doesn’t change the way you feel,” Frank says. “It doesn’t change the fact that you need an outlet. So, how do you cope now?”

“I cope by avoiding them.”

“You’re having dinner with them,” Rosemary points out. “How well do you think avoidance will work when you’re in the same room with them?”

Rosemary may look like someone’s fun great-aunt, but she speaks more like the drunk uncle — with brutal honesty. Buck appreciates it, but he also wants to wince every time she opens her mouth. It’s a confusing combination.

“Probably not that well,” Buck eventually says.

Rosemary smirks. “So how do you plan on getting through it?”

“Maddie,” he says instantly. “Like I said, it’s always been me and her versus them.”

“Even though Maddie’s the one that invited them. Without telling you.”

Yeah, Buck’s been trying not to think about that too hard.

“She wants her daughter to have grandparents,” Buck says.

“What do you want?”

“I want this. It just… isn’t how I pictured it.”

“You didn’t picture yourself marrying Shannon. You did that.”

“Yeah, well, my family was happy to hear about that one,” Eddie expresses. “This? Not so much.”

“You’re afraid of what your family will think.”

Eddie scoffs. “I’m not afraid — I know what they’ll think. And I don’t want to deal with it.”

Frank turns his head. “You must love them a lot.”

Something about that sentence makes the back of Eddie’s throat burn with bile. “W-what?”

“You think your family will be disappointed in you, which will hurt them. You don’t want to hurt them because you love them.”

Eddie’s jealous of you and Buck for a lot of different reasons. He’s jealous of Buck’s close relationship with his sister. He’s jealous of your skills and ambition. Not once, though, has he ever envied either of your family dynamics.

Until now.

See, Maddie figured out the whole ‘throuple’ thing pretty quickly, mostly because Buck can’t lie to her. It took her a while to adjust, but she doesn’t care — she doesn’t judge. The only family you have to tell is the 118. Buck doesn’t have a relationship with either of his parents, and you don’t talk to your only living parent.

He’s jealous of how easy it is for the two of you. Neither of you has to explain the relationship to your elderly grandmother or preteen son. Sometimes, it seems like the two of you get all the good parts of being together, and he gets stuck with the sucky parts. It’s not fair to feel that way, he knows that. But he can’t help but feel it.

“My parents had a lot of expectations for me,” Eddie says. “Dating two people at the same time and possibly knocking up one of them? Not one of the expectations.”

“You’re not going to tell them, then.”

“I just don’t see the point. All I would be doing is giving them more ammunition.”

“Hmm.”

Buck narrows his eyes. “What does ‘hmm’ mean?”

“Well,” Rosemary sighs, “from what you’ve told me, it sounds like you aren’t all that interested in establishing a good relationship with your parents.”

“I’m not.”

“So why not tell them about everything ? How you feel, your relationship…”

“Because it would end in screaming and crying,” Buck says. “I don’t think that was Maddie’s intention when she invited them.”

“Do you always base your actions on what’s best for others, not yourself?”

Eddie gets done before Buck, so he takes a seat in the waiting room; they scheduled their appointments at the same time so they could carpool.

Buck walks out a few minutes later. Eddie pockets his phone and greets him with a smile. “How did it go?”

It probably would have hurt less if Rosemary just slapped him across the face. As it turns out, healing isn’t supposed to be comfortable. Really, Buck would describe it as painful, like the dull ache of a tooth growing in. It’s the type of pain that’s ultimately worth it, but when the end isn’t in sight, it just hurts.

“Fine,” Buck says simply. “You?”

Eddie isn’t sure if he and Frank click. Then again, Eddie isn’t sure he’ll click with anyone who expects them to bear his soul to them. It’s hard to feel comfortable around someone whose every other sentence makes you itch. It is not a simple surface discomfort, either: it’s the kind of twinge you can feel in your bones.

“It was okay.”

“How was it? Did you boys share all of your deep dark secrets?”

“That’s next week,” Eddie jokes. He kisses the top of your head as he walks by you in the kitchen.

Buck grins, taking a seat next to you at the table. “What have you been up to?”

“Homework,” you groan as you close your laptop. “God, all of this better be worth it.”

“It will be,” Buck promises, setting a hand on your knee.

You smile. “Oh! I have something for you both.”

Eddie frowns, sitting across from Buck as you dig through the backpack on the floor beside your chair. You return with a series of black-and-white photos. You hand one to each of the boys.

“I went to my OB a few days after the ER visit,” you explain. “I wanted to make sure I actually had something to tell you.”

The ‘baby’ isn’t more than a white blob on the sonogram; you can barely make out the difference between the butt and the head. When you were in the office, all you could feel was shock. Now, though, watching the men you love stare at the sonogram with wide eyes… you feel nothing but joy.

“It’s a girl,” Buck says, pointing at the white blob. “I can tell.”

“You can not ,” you snort. “It’s literally impossible.”

“Trust me, it’s a girl,” Buck says. “Don’t you think, Eddie?”

You both look at Eddie. He’s staring at the picture with watery eyes.

“Eddie?” you ask softly, reaching out for one of his hands. “Are you okay?”

Your voice snaps him back to reality. He looks at you, then the sonogram again, then at you again. He lets out a breath that sounds sort of like a laugh.

“I’m okay,” he assures. “I’m… I’m just so happy.”

His response makes your eyes well up — damn hormones.

Eddie scoots out of his chair and leans over, pulling you into a hug. Moments later, you feel Buck wrap an arm around your shoulders, and without looking, you know his other arm is around Eddie.

“So… really, what did you guys talk about?”

The three of you are lying in bed. Buck is laying on top of Eddie, who has his arm wrapped around you. Buck has an open hand set on top of your stomach. They both turn their heads to look at you.

“Unless you really don’t want to talk about it, which I would respect,” you quickly add.

Buck shrugs. “I mostly talked about my parents.”

You raise your eyebrows. You shouldn’t be so surprised: out of all the topics in Buck life that require therapizing, his parents is probably at the top of the list.

“Funny, I talked about my parents too,” Eddie mentions.

Buck turns his head so his chin is resting on the space right below Eddie’s sternum. “Really?”

“Yeah. I told Frank how excited I am to be a dad again, but I don’t think my parents will be thrilled.”

“Were they happy the first time?” Buck frowns.

“Not… exactly,” Eddie cedes, “but I think this time, it’ll be worse.”

“I guess I luck out in that area,” you note.

You know that polyamory is still a very taboo topic. The people in your little bubble are supportive, but they’re just that: in your bubble. You know the rest of the world, including parents and other family members, won’t accept your relationship so easily. It’s easy for you to shrug that reality off, considering you don’t have any family you’re worried about disappointing. You know Eddie doesn’t have it so easy.

Your phone rings on the nightstand table. When you pick it up, you see that it’s an unknown caller. You recognize the area code, but it isn’t one in LA. Hell, it isn’t one from California.

You click ‘accept’ with a frown. “Hello? …That’s me, yes. Why are you calling me?”

Buck and Eddie share a confused look before turning back to you.

“Yeah. …Mhm. …Oh. Okay. Yeah, I’ll… figure something out and call you back. …Thanks, you too.”

You hang up and set your phone back down. You stare straight ahead, your eyebrows still pulled together.

“Who was that?”

“Stillwater General Hospital in Seattle,” you say slowly. “My, uh… my dad is dying.”

[lol-jackles]

Hi, you mentioned TW recently and I remembered what a disaster it was. The lack of effort and interest in making things work makes me wish that production had never seen the light of day.

But it also made me think of the problem it caused, which now seems to have been overcome. I'd like to get your opinion on this: how do men/friends handle the situation when they work together and attempts to take over the business or franchise arise? I know that the business factor has to be considered, but my question is, once the issues are resolved, does the esteem and image remain? Is it a case of forgive and forget, or forgive but don't forget?

It is worth noting that in the TW case there were interviews and accusations, some of them false and outright lies, which to some extent protected and attacked the public image, and of course a legacy was at stake. On top of that, the way it was publicised was sordid and generally a real mess.

Is it easy for men to forget these actions, do they forgive or do they hold grudges?

I ask because I think you can shed some light on this doubt, and you are aware of the whole context. Thanks for reading.

Forgive but don't forget. When the boundaries between work-friend and actual friend are blurred, it often falls on the betrayed to take a step back and determine what are the facts i.e. did he sabotage me or did he act without me in mind?  Did he put his interest first and it resulted in me suffering harm?  Depending on Jared’s answer, it may change how he sees his circumstances.  Then there is the added complexity of competition for jobs in an industry with 97% unemployment rate. 

On top of that is the natural competitiveness among males, even between friends.  Men go through the competition phase with each other in order to determine hierarchy and once that’s established, they then “reconcile” and move into the cooperative phase.  The difference between men and women is men are not supposed to leave the cooperative phase while women have no problem going from competitive to cooperative and back to competitive phase.  It’s why “frenemies” exist among women more so than men.

Jensen goes back to competing with Jared because of the scarcity of jobs in the post-SPN era and due to the codependent-ish nature of their friendship, Jensen is also competing for Jared to show that he is good enough for Jared because from Jensen’s perspective, he has known for at least 2 years since before season 13 that Jared was leaving Supernatural and to him, that also means Jared has been leaving Jensen for 2 years. In my experience from witnessing some real life enmeshed and codependents, people like Jensen don’t feel good enough and so tries to take the “mature” route by avoiding talking to their friend while feverishly working at themselves or at their jobs.  In Jensen’s case, the prequel-turned-retconned-sequel.

Jared is not competing with Jensen because he has a thriving career, and in the post-SPN era Jensen’s actions didn’t cost Jared’s career, such promotion or a job. So it makes it possible for Jared to forgive Jensen if he choose to see the betrayal as mistakes that wasn’t malicious, but as business actions.  Plus Jared may feel he partially owes his success to Jensen for talking him out of breaking is SPN contract after season 3, thus saving him from getting blacklisted by furious producers for costing them lucrative syndication deals.

Finally, Jared can forgive Jensen because he’s a friend, not a spouse.  We can tolerate a lot of red flags in friends, my friend can be bad with money and make very questionable life choices, and if worse comes to worse down the road, I’ll just stop hanging out with my friend.  But those same red flags can’t be tolerated in potential life-partners because the stakes are so much higher: buy property together, combining finances, raise a child (or pet) together, and rely on each other 100% when times get rough i.e. ill health.

[moe-broey]

I am a normal man who is obsessed with Alfonse Fire Emblem. Come closer -- wait nevermind don't worry about it 🧍👍

[thursdayisbetterthanfriday]

Some of the most intelligent people I know are continually asking questions which, in many circumstances, would get them labelled as idiots by some. The point is, they're not afraid to admit their ignorance AND they're also not afraid to use that as a springboard to find out more. It's an excellent attitude which allows them, and those they work and interact with, to be more accepting of their own limitations and can allow those with knowledge to share and help them to better things.

You'll sometimes see the above Awareness/Knowledge matrix cited when people talking about knowledge. I like to use it as a demonstrational tool for people.

If you don't ask questions, then your known unknowns remain unknown. It doesn't end there however, as the Unknown unknowns you would likely have uncovered by asking the question remain unknown. In other words, your ignorance compounds like bank interest. But take the opposite. Asking questions can not only help you turn Known unknowns into Known knowns, it can also uncover new Unknown unknowns which you hadn't considered, and might be crucial to what you're interested in, or doing.

In fact, if you assume each question uncovers a uniform number of Unknown unknowns each time, and you seek answers to all questions (a highly unrealistic example, but go with it for now) you can see even only 2 unknown pieces of information per question can quickly balloon to if you try to get answers to them all. If it's 4 then, well, just note that the y axis here is logarithmic. This is a feeling familiar to anyone who has done a Wikipedia binge or has encountered a human child. This is likely overwhelming, but note that this is more of an illustration of how much information can compound over time.

Asking questions also allows others, who know Unknown knows relative to you, to do the same. It's really a win-win situation if done right, creating a kind of compound interest of knowledge that builds over time. But unlike bank interest, the rate isn't fixed. One question can uncover multiple Unknown unknowns which become Known unknowns, leading to quadratic, or higher, rates of knowledge depending on how much time you have to find answers.

Not only that, by helping others do the same you can get increasing compounding knowledge as you both turbocharge each other's knowledge.

Luckily information usually isn't just individual, non-linked, snippets. It often, contextually, ties into itself, giving a network effect which can allow you to assimilate new information and fit it into frameworks of understanding that you already possess. If you're new to a subject, such as a small child or a first-timer amateur, you'll need to acquire knowledge to make your own internal information base but, again, this will compound its usefulness over time. As you gain more knowledge, it allows you to create your own internal knowledge structures which make it SO much easier to understand the world, and means you get to better know which questions to ask.

Anyway - It can be difficult to ask questions at first, and create new habits, but it's often worth the effort. By inspiring others to do the same you can significantly increase your collective knowledge base. Or if you want, which is also a completely legitimate choice, you can choose not to know. Knowledge gathering is a time consuming task after all. Just don't judge people for wanting more.

Just remember: There's no such thing as a stupid question, if it leads to you gaining understanding more about the world.

There's a whole demographic of people who are profoundly incurious and just assume everyone else is too, so when they see something unfamiliar they immediately rush to declare that not only have they never heard of it, none of you did either. You're just pretending. You had to look it up, don't lie. You didn't know this

And like, so what if someone had to look something up. That's how you learn new things. People usually say this about knowledge that's pretty damn basic, but I can't get over how they're not only scornful at the idea of people trying to learn something new, they casually assume everyone else is, too

[feroluce]

Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed. 

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light. 

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

[brionysea]

for the record I'm keeping my #arcane and #arcane critical tags separate because 1) it's rude to go into a show's main tag to complain about it and 2) this way I can still go into the arcane tag on my own blog to enjoy season 1 stuff without being perpetually disappointed by season 2

[francesderwent]

the problem with the “do you have interests you don’t talk about on tumblr” poll is it seems to have never considered the possibility that whatever is received is received according to the mode of the recipient

[ramshacklefey]

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and The Things They Carried rewired parts of my brain. The Odyssey was a real treat. (Especially when some of my classmates who found the language rather opaque started gathering around me at morning homeroom to hear my retellings of last night's reading assignment.)

But I know some of you probably have or had a miserable time in English class, and that may have been partly because your school didn't properly prepare you for reading the books ahead of time, so you were just totally at sea all the way through.

If that's the case, here are some tips for getting more enjoyment out of a book you're struggling with!

Look up summaries of individual chapters (CliffsNotes usually has these). Then go back and read them. Having an idea of what's happening might help you follow along with language or writing styles that you're struggling with.

Let yourself skim over particular passages you're baffled by and latch onto the ones that make sense. Finding points that you can follow might help you make sense of the trickier ones by providing context.

If you don't understand a character's motivations, especially in older books and books that take place in a foreign country, it might be because you're missing context. That's okay, and your teacher isn't expecting you to have encyclopedic knowledge of the historical and cultural context for a book.

But also, even in the most unfamiliar circumstances, you can look for things that make sense to you. The characters are still people, and regardless of context, people are still people.

But also, sometimes you just can't relate to the character. That's ok. "Well I would never ____" Yes, but this person did. And here's why. In the world they live in, it made sense or it was the only thing they could do. And there are people in real life who do that. Now you've seen a little bit of why.

You don't have to like all the characters. Some characters (even the protagonists) you're supposed to hate. Sometimes that's because the author is saying, "This bastard is fucked up, but do you see how he got that way?" Sometimes it's, "This bitch made every wrong choice possible, but damn if it didn't make some wild drama."

Remember that sometimes the author may not explain exactly why something happens because it's supposed to be a bit of a mystery at first! Keep reading and see if it gets explained later!

Look up words in the dictionary!!

If you're having trouble keeping a lot of characters in your head, make a cast list. "John is Mary's brother and he's a bit of a dick."

It's okay if there are books you simply do not vibe with. Give them a fair shake, but really, even the kids who love English class are gonna have books they hate. I despised a few of the books I read for school. But remember that struggling with a book and not liking it aren't the same thing!

And for the love of everything holy. Ask. Your. Teacher. Questions. Write them down while you're reading and ask! If you're scared to ask in class, talk to them at another time! But I can guarantee that if you didn't understand something, some of your classmates didn't either. If your teacher is remotely competent, they'll be delighted to answer your questions.

And there are no questions too simple to ask in class!! "Why did this character do this thing?" "What's up with this sentence?" "I tried reading this, and here's what I think the events of this chapter were. Is that really what happened?" "What the heck is a ____?" "Why was this bit in here? It doesn't seem like it's important to the plot." "How do we know that ____ theme is in here?"

Yes, there are themes and symbols and motifs and whatever else in books. Your teacher isn't just making it up. People tell stories for a reason. The author is trying to communicate something to you. "Well why didn't they just say that?" Because saying it in a story shows you something about it. I can tell you, "Love isn't always enough to save you." or I can show you that by telling you a story about two people who fall in love and then get their shit wrecked. I can tell you, "This war happened and it was awful," or I can show you the people who were in it and what it did to them. I can tell you, "The government is a corrupt pile of festering feces," or I can show you what might happen if we keep going on the path we're on.

And you might not agree! You can say, "No, it wouldn't happen like that." You can say, "But this war was worth it because it resulted in this." You can say, "Actually, this particular social outcome seems pretty rad to me." That's okay because stories are a conversation, not the word of God from on high. But again, give the author a fair shake.

The most important thing is that you don't just give up if you're struggling. You're in school to learn! So accept that there are things you don't already know.

I straight up do not trust you if you did not enjoy a single book you had to read for English class. I know they assigned some real stuffy stinkers and the curriculum varies across districts but not one? Not The Outsiders? Not The Picture of Dorian Gray? Not Fahrenheit 451? Not even Frankenstein? Damn. That’s crazy.

[maliciousalice]

Hear me out (or don't... it's fine I'm just venting and mean) yeah um I don't believe Chakotay was saved in Prod*gy s2.

[choices-binglebonkus]

What are some tropes you guys dislike in Choices?

I personally don’t enjoy the Chosen One trope where the MC is powerful and special for the sake of being powerful and special. Wasn’t super fond of it in Hero, but I think that’s just because we never got any further lore or clarification on the MC’s origins since the series ended abruptly.

Loathed it in The Elementalists, though.

[katerinaaqu]

Oh. My. GOSH!!!! This looks amazing there my friend! Hehe sure it wasn't the initial thought but boy oh boy did you deliver as always! I am so sad that this doesn't have more attention because it deserves it! Honestly I fear I am not good for your posts here! Hahahahaha!

For starters I love it how the arm that holds the knife comes first to this since as you say it is a critical part for his story and the way he went by with his knife and all and how in a way even if he did build his own empire or kingdom he fell by the knife as well given the circumstances. I also love how the second focus here is the eye the way that it truly reflects the pain in him and all. I really adore it how he is the main focus in this image and how the blood seems to pass from his hand and over his eye like that! It almost feels indeed like blood is passing every aspect of his life! Even his mourning moment! I also love how we have the small cameo of Andromache and Helenus who stick together with each other and I actually love that even if we do not see details on their face, I can almost see the wonder and partial pity mixed with contempt in Andromache and the way Helenus pulls her aside like "Leave him alone have his moment".

Dunno indeed whether Helenus would be more compassionate to Pyrrhus or not given that he is a Trojan too not to mention how brutally Neoptolemus killed his father on the altar but the fact that Helenus was also rejected by his people or rather he felt so when he didn't win the hand of Helen somehow makes me wonder how deep would this man's bitterness go for his own people and how far for the Greeks? Could it be perhaps that this was the reason Neoptolemus entrusted him with the rule of that portion of his kingdom even giving him Andromache as his wife? Was Helenus closer to Neoptolemus? And if yes why? He would have no real reason to like the dude unless we say that his bitterness for his father's choice went THAT deep. Perhaps in a twisted psychological thing he saw Neoptolemus as the best of two evils given how potentially Odysseus didn't like persuade him to reveal the prophecy with sweet talking and sweet wine. Probably he physically and psychologically tormented Helenus to get the information out of him. Could it be that Helenus saw in a twisted psychology that leads almost to some sort of Stockholm Syndrome saw Neoptolemus almost like his "savior" in this case? Or at least a better choice than someone like Odysseus? Gosh too much to wonder about as an aftermath of that bloody war And of course Andromache who would have absolutely no reason to like Neoptolemus. I also wonder what her relationship with her own children by him would be? Would she love them as her own or would she hate them as his? Gosh that woman surely suffered enough! But I love how SOME part of Neoptolemus seems more "righteous" here, how both Helenus and Andromache seem to be free to walk, not tied with chains and all and they seem to accompany him so maybe just maybe Neoptolemus tried to do SOMETHING right here? Maybe not.

Anyways I got overly off topic here! But yeah I really like their designs and the way you designed their clothes even if they are so briefly shown. Last but not least I am IN LOVE with adult-like Neoptolemus here and the way he wears the lion skin over his shoulder! Dude are you pretending being Heracles?! Hahahahaha! Either way I love it as well as the way he stands over that tombstone they set with the few offerings! Man the fall of Phoenix truly must have crushed him inside even if he doesn't say so! And I absolutely LOVE the simple yet powerful effect of the shadows here! How Neoptolemous seems to be covered with a shadow that starts from the grave of Phoenix! As if he has just lost another piece of his out there; another person he looked up to! Whilst Andromache and Helenus are stepping out at the light as if they now are set for rebirth while Neoptolemus is set to sink more and more in his own shadow and sadness!

Dude I absolutely LOVE this!!! And as you can imagine I just HAD to write something about this given how few pieces centered on Neoptolemus we have out there!

*

The old man was dying.

There was no doubt about that anymore and they didn't need the physician to tell them that. Years of warfare and sorrows and worries in combination to the long trips of the sea could break literally any person, both physically and mentally yet alone someone as old and frail as Phoenix. The old man was constantly covered in furs despite the fact that the weather was not particularly cold; shivering in his illness and fever. The rocking of the ship seemed more like torment than actual lullaby to him and not even when he was practically stuffed with chamomile teas and milk from white poppy to ease his pain did the old man stop moaning and complaining for the cold. His reason and sharp mind seemed lost now under the mist of illness and old age. There was not much one could do but expect the worst to come. Neoptolemus was silent looking at that frail body that had lost almost all meat and flesh in their trip shivering under the furs. His face was pale almost as much as the old man's and his soul was disturbed and foaming like the waves under the oars of his ship. They were heading north. They needed as much help as they could get! The old man was always there for him. Neoptolemus was not mentally prepared for a world without him. He had spent weeks and weeks practically DEMANDING from his physician to keep the man alive at ANY cost. They had tried warm spiced wine and broths and drinks and drugs only to keep the man afloat. Neoptolemus was never more desperate in his life.

"My lord...he is tired!" his physician had employed him, "Please, any more is just a torture for the old man! Not even Asclepius himself can save him! Just let him die in dignity"

"Listen here, you old fool!" Neoptolemus had growled at the poor man grabbing him by the shirt, "I ordered you to save him! He is Phoenix! He is the man that raised my father! There is no way in all hells of Tartarus that he can die like this! You shall save him or I'll have your head for this!"

Oh, how much had he yelled! He had screamed and threatened but now even Pyrrhus, Neoptolemus, the son of Achilles was silent and almost motionless. He could do nothing else but stare at the bed that was attended by one slave and that body he admired and respected be now eaten up like a corpse being eaten by a worm. He even felt disgusted. How was it possible for such a man end up like this! THIS is what death would do to people? He never realized that the disgust was deeply rooted to his self blame. He remembered the physician. Maybe he should have heeded his words and allow the old man die with dignity a long time ago. Was it his mistake that he wanted to hold out to the last moment?

"Water..." the old man begged, "Please...w-water..."

The slave brought a small sponge to his lips and drained some water in that dry mouth. Neoptolemus could not watch anymore! He felt like drowning! He almost screamed to the slave to leave the old man alone and let him die! But his heart once more wouldn't let him to.

"Neo...ptolemus..."

The voice made him stop in his track. It was Phoenix calling and despite the weakness in his voice he seemed bright as he was before this illness stroke him. Despite the weakness in his voice he was back at his old self.

"Old man..." Neoptolemus heard himself whispering and almost ran by his side but something inside him stopped him.

Instead he slowly walked there and looked down at the man that had raised him before. He was sure his face was cold like stone and yet the old man didn't seem to care. Even more disturbingly he seemed to be able to read the uproar inside his soul. That old, wrinkled hand got out of the covers and held his. Neoptolemus felt the flame under his skin more intensely.

"It's okay...son...you are strong. It will be alright"

He was literally dying and he was trying to console him?! Neoptolemus didn't know if he had to scream or cry for it.

"I know you shall be a great king....people shall remember your name...your legacy shall live...my son... Pyrrhus..."

What a weird way to say it! He almost sounded lilke a prophet and Neoptoplemus had one of them with him already! Before he had time to respond, Phoenix pushed him away. He had no time to think or protest for he heard the old man breathe out and then he remained still. It was the same stillness that took over Neoptolemus; as if a cold wave had passed through his body. It was as if he was frozen solid.

"Old man..." he whispered, "Phoenix..."

The slave that was over him shook her head negatively. The others made a moaning sound and doubled over. Neoptolemus didn't need to have the intelligence he considered himself to have to understand the move. He didn't need to have the sharp eyes to see the scratches at the cheeks of the slaves they caused themselves or see their movements of beating their breasts or hear their moans to realize what had happened.

The old man had died.

It was as if finally he had reached the realm of the passing over; his soul leaving his body. The old man had protected him from yet another miasma at the last moment by pushing him away so that he wouldn't touch the dead! If the situation was any different then Neoptolemus might have laughed. He had killed so many people and yet the old man wanted to spare him from touching a dead body?! What an idea!

"O-Oi..." he whispered, "This is not true is it? Get up, old man! Get up! You can't be...this can't be true! Get up!"

There was no response. That filled him with deadly fury! How DARED the old man play with him to check if he had a heart in his chest! How DARED he to do that! He made a step forward.

"Cut this out, old man! Get up! Get up! Damn you get up! You-..."

The slave that grabbed him made him realize that he must have been ready to run at the bed. He could hardly feel yet alone understand what he was doing. It was the fury the only way he knew to show grief! It was the only way he ever learnt!

"Let me go! Damn you! Damn you! Old man! Get up! Get up! You can't be...you can't leave me too!! You can't! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you! Damn you!"

"My lord..."

The second pair of hands appeared. His slave, Helenus, the Trojan prince and prophet of Apollo. He was holding him firmly. Neoptolemus felt his old warrior muscles beneath his robes. His eyes were almost aflame in fury but Helenus didn't stop; he had seen plenty of death himself, plenty of misery, to be afraid of his new master's potential rage.

"It's over" Helenus said firmly, "Please! Stop this! He is with the gods now...he served his purpose on this life...don't make him have regrets...."

Was it this annoying calmness inside that man's eyes that set Neoptolemus aflame or was it his grief? He didn't know but for once Newoptolemus saw only red. He then felt the sound and feeling of flesh under his hand and before he knew it he saw Helenus stepping back, holding his cheek. His lip was bleeding however the man was standing firm.

"Please" he repeated in that annoying calmness, "Let Hermes claim his soul. You can kill me if you want, you can tear my flesh apart with your bare hands but please do no further here. This place is already contaminated with death. Do not contaminate it further!"

The son of Achilles saw his hand trembling. For one second he saw blood on his fist; the hand that held the sword and the knife. He gasped and stepped back. Wiping his hand to his robe.

"We make port!" he ordered loudly, "We shall bury him at dawn!"

"As you wish..." Helenus whispered bowing his head.

The young king stormed out of the room. He did not feel talking to anyone! On his way out he saw Andromache. His other slave and concubine. She was holding a baby in her arms; the child she had with him at Troy before they departed. Molossus would be his name, Neoptolemus had decided, "tall" "fierce" and "strong". For one second his mind ran back to her face as she held her other son back then; the one he violently yanked away from her arms. She was holding that baby like her life depended on it. This baby she had now she was holding it soullessly, almost out of pure obligation. His eyes shone warningly at her gaze.

"What are you looking at?" he snapped at her before running past her to the edge of the ship. He wanted to demand salt water to cleanse himself. How strange, he thought, so much death and he felt the need to cleanse himself now!

Andromache entered the chamber and her face turned to concern, running to Helenus.

"Are you okay?" she affectionately touched his cheek

Helenus winced and flinched away.

"I'm fine. It's just a minor cut!" he affectionately touched her cheek, "You must get out of here! Do not let yourself be contaminated by death..."

Andromache laughed soullessly.

"How can I be more contaminated than what I already am?" she whispered for his ears only, pointing at the baby in her arms, "How much more can this dead man contaminate me than that monster that sleeps with me and makes me carry his offspring with my king's blood still on his hands!"

"Sh!" Helenus silenced her softly, "Don't speak like that, my queen, he is our master now! If we want to survive we need to be smart."

"I don't care...." Andromache whispered

"But I do" Helenus whispered and blushed, "I care, my queen, I don't want to see you destroyed! This..." and he pointed at his cheeks, "Is nothing. He didn't mean it. I knew he would be unpredictable in his grief. But in his rage, my queen, make no mistake, he is kind to us while we are kind to him. He has a heart for justice deep down"

"He's a monster!"

"He might be..." Helenus agreed, "But even monsters have their reasons. We are here, away from the eyes of our conquerors. He trusts us. Let's not spoil everything..."

He kissed her forehead.

"Be strong and be brave, my queen"

"I no longer am a queen!" Andromache whispered sadly

"You are to me. You always were and always will be"

****

The funeral was small and yet Neoptolemus made sure nothing was missing out of it. He brought magnificent sacrifice at least as magnificent as he could. His slaves were using sulphous to cleanse the ships while the rest of them gathered around the pyre where Phoenix would be burnt with all his possessions and his armor, as he should be. Neoptolemus was standing still most of the time as the offerings were being made. As a prophet and an ex-priest of Troy, Helenus made the funeral prayers and offerings and cut the throats of the sacrificial animals. And then came the flame that was set upon the pyre. Neoptolemus's eyes reflecting the flames, feeling the warmth on his face.

"PHOENIX!"

the cry that was aimed for the dead to find his way to the underworld was heard. Neoptolemus didn't make a sound. He hardly moved any muscle.

"PHOENIX!"

He felt like ready to explode hearing the men speaking up the name that was not meant to be spoken the same way ever again. The man that raised him was gone. He died in the trip towards their destiny. Yet another father figure, the only one he truly had, was gone.

"PHOENIX!"

He gulped. He could do nothing else. He just remained there. He hardly moved as the slaves gathered the ashes and the bones and placed them at the urn or when that urn was placed on the ground and the monument was set over it. Some additional offerings were made. Neoptolemus remained unmoving; no different than a statue or a stone. He didn't move not even when most had long retired towards the funerary celebrations and games which Neoptolemus himself had dictated. Phoenix was dead, burnt and buried; away from their home, away from their homeland and away from the land he would aim to build his legacy. He could hardly feel his surroundings. Andromache slowly was taken away for last with Helenus and he was finally left alone. Staring at the cold stone for one more time just like with his father...

"Atta..." he heard himself whispering

It had been years since the last time he did and yet now it came so easy to his lips...along with the pair of tears that came to his cheeks

"Atta!"

He knelt by the tomb, touching the cold stone with that blood-stained hand of his...

"Why...you too...why everyone leaves me! You were supposed to be with me! You were supposed to stay with me...!"

What a childish notion! What an idiotic idea! Phoenix was old. Many men before him had kicked the bucket earlier than that and yet the idea of a world without the old man seemed surreal almost fake. Neoptolemus couldn't remember a day in his life in this world where the old man was not there!

"I will do it, old man!" he whispered to the stone, "As you said; i will make it happen for you! You will be proud of me when my name will live for all eternity! You'll see! Wait and see! I'll make you proud!"

Neoptolemus allowed himself to be Pyrrhus one last time...for this man that raised him but when he stood back he was Neoptolemus again; his eyes cold and calculating. The flame inside them that was burning was indeed what Andromache had predicted; the thirst for conquest. That was the last stop of vulnerability, Neoptolemus thought! No more weakness, no more crying! He would make it happen! No matter what the cost!

He turned around...and left.

The only thing left behind was a white flower by the grave.

And even that seemed stained with blood...

*

Hehehehe sorry sorry couldn't help myself! Sorry this is messy I wrote it on the way and no planning was included here! I just thought that it would fit! Sorry if it is sloppy!

Now the "prophetic powers" before death seems to be a common factor for homeric characters who "predict the future" before they die for example Patroclus or Hector

The "prophecy" is inspired by history because not only does Alexander the Great keep the vision of Achilles alive because he descends by the mythical Molossians by Pyrrhus but also we have an actual historical king at the area named Pyrrhus thus in a way the name and the legacy continuing

"Atta" as spoken by Neoptolemus is a real word in ancient Greek that appears even in Homer: ἄττα literally means "old man" but is also a way for children to address a father figure like "uncle" or "dada" so in one way I wanted for the last moment Neoptolemus call Phoenix in a way "father" or "dada" but due to the complexity of the word I thought it would be more fitting to leave it untranslated.

Neoptolemus most likely will be from now on on his way for both his top and his rock bottom.

So yeah...random inspirations. Sorry again this is not like my other fic. Is more sloppy but I hope not terrible

Challenge Time!:

We know that Neoptolemus, according to some sources, started his trip to Epirus to start his own legacy and kingdom along with Phoenix and also his newly acquired slaves; his concubine Andromache and Helenus the prophet. However old Phoenix dies along the way and Neoptolemus has to stop and offer him a burial before continuing

So the challenge goes such:

Neoptolemus genuinely crying over dead or dying Phoenix showing there is still some emotion and emotional connection under the Visage of warrior and king and our psycho that we know.

For me Neoptolemus is kind of associated with blood and the color red (surprise haha), not in a sense of active battle, combat and injury resulted from it but “blood on your hands”, unnecessary violence and innocent casualties.

Just to justify why I have to add it all the time while drawing him.

Oh yes and cameo from Helenus and Andromache.

[buggiecrossing]

nalu needs to stop reading stuff that makes hyr mad. friendly reminder to protect your peace and to not let your emotions overcome you to the point you sink to the opposing side's level. la paz sea contigo

[ame-to-ame]

public transit... *collapses to the floor*

[snekdood]

saw a post yesterday that was like "if you dont have trans women as friends u gotta think about why that is" and i really had to restrain myself from saying "it goes both ways my friend!". if you dont have any trans men as friends, ya gotta think about why that is also!

[hirokiyuu]

(ripping my hair out by the handful) Sol Is Not Trapped In The Time Loop Sol Is There Because They Choose To Be