#yes even when people are suffering in real life

[soupradio]

I miss s1 y'all I'm so upset about this

I'm half asleep and Tumblr crash when I wrote this the first time this app is really trying to piss me off. This is more rant I don't think I added anything to the conversation but I had thoughts and I needed them out.

"use minorities as a way to push conservative propaganda to a left leaning audience in a palatable way."

First of all great phrasing second of all a lot of y'all are falling for it.

I don't think it's just that people like a character I think it's people who genuinely defend billionaires and bad people like a lot of y'all are showing your true colors when you defend the actions of characters like Caitlyn and Mel and even Viktor.

Yes all three of these characters are complex great but are you just saying that so that people get off your ass about your favorite character being also kind of a bad person.

"Stop trying to put your real life issues on a TV show/stop treating fictional characters like real people" What lens do you want me to view media through? Reality affects Media. When season 1 in its entirety was just a mirror for the oppression we see in real life? Did that slip past y'all? It's not just because you like the character it's because these are your real morals. Y'all might not want to come to that realization because you might realize that you're morals don't necessarily align with the shit that you post on your Instagram story.

Like they gave us a fascist cop, a classist billionaire, and a cult leader. None of which had to suffer by the way I mean the cop and the billionaire lost their moms but like that's it meanwhile zaunites are still losing everything and have for thousands of years them losing their mom don't make up for shit. And Zaun still helped them in that war and every single zaunite became a piltover apologist.

It almost feels like they hid these centrist fence sitting leaning right politics under themes of oppression and generational trauma and revolution and familial relationships, just for the lesson in the end to be forgive and hope that you're oppressors are nice to you. But a lot of y'all are eating it up.

Because you aren't just liking a character that's a fascist in the story You are defending the actions of a fascist. Your defending the actions of billionaires and bad people. Y'all are so quick to say eat the rich in real life but the second your favorite character is a billionaire you are quick to defend. That's pretty telling. This isn't just fiction.

And it feels like the creators also hid behind the fact that this fascist is a lesbian and this billionaire is a black woman in order to reel people in and almost put like hazy rose-tinted glasses over the fan base and y'all fell for it. If you do hate Mel it's never for the right reasons, you'll never criticize her for the fact that she's actually a classist. For the fact that she is probably benefited the most from the oppression of the undercity, and done nothing for them.

That's why I don't like her. If she existed in real life I would be against her whole heartedly I would have hope she didn't make it out of that councilor room too, Y'all don't like her because she's a black woman we are not the same.

Like the desire for representation overpowering your critical thinking. I can criticize Caitlyn and Vi's relationship and say it's not healthy without me being against lesbians. You can want lesbian representation and not accept every single piece of it that comes your way. Vi can be good representation while the relationship can be bad, Y'all keep saying you understand complexity and yet these basic things fool you.

Or maybe the creators are just stupid and a bunch of white people who can't read a room it's probably the latter

Arcane ignores all of the intersectionality that comes between race, gender, sexuality, social class and use minorities as a way to push conservative propaganda to a left leaning audience in a palatable way.

And it works, because you guys are out here loving a fascist and a billionaire.

It's a power fantasy they sell.

...or maybe the writers are just really stupid, dunno.

[kikyoupdates]

Changing Plotlines ⭑˚💞⭑ 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠

yandere!ocs x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, yandere reverse harem, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, isekai

A desperate cry on your deathbed leads to you being given a fresh start at life. You're overjoyed at having finally obtained a healthy body and a real chance at living normally, only to discover that you've been transported into a yandere game, where danger lurks at every corner. Determined to protect your new life at any cost, you vow to stay as far away from the major characters of the game as possible. But things don't always go as planned.

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When you arrived back at the manor, it was clear that you needed to get your shit in order.

The situation was crazy to begin with, but this newest revelation was something you just couldn’t wrap your head around. It was one thing to reincarnate into the past, or even in a separate world, given the very high likelihood of multiple galaxies existing. But this was just a game. It wasn’t real. So then, how was this possible?

Obviously, you didn’t have the answer to that question, and you weren’t even sure if you ever would find the answer. But that was really beside the point. It didn’t matter how you ended up here—what mattered was what in the hell you were going to do.

For the time being, you decided to lock yourself in your room and try to rack for your brain for just about everything you could remember. Thankfully, you’d just recently finished the game, so most of the details were still relatively fresh in your mind.

The most pressing issue was obviously that the game you found yourself in was by no means a happy one. It was marketed as a dark fantasy for a reason, because the love interests were dangerous and hardly good people. The yandere genre had become explosively popular over the course of the past decade. It was particularly enjoyable due to the strange thrill it provided people with, the mystery and suspense, but yanderes were far from desirable. The game had both a good and bad ending for each of the love interests, with all of the bad endings being remarkably messed up, and even the “good” endings were plenty concerning in their own right.

Which is why it was quite a bitter irony that the game was called Zodin’s Benevolence, given that there was nothing truly benevolent about the twisted challenges the protagonist was forced to undergo. She repeatedly found herself tangled up in all sorts of sinister plots after being adopted into a baron’s family and acquiring a noble status.

The good news was that you hadn’t been reincarnated as the protagonist, which meant that so long as you kept your distance from the main events of the storyline, there shouldn’t really be any reason for you to get dragged into that mess.

A grimace fell upon your lips. Thinking about it like that, it sounded a bit selfish to intentionally ignore a poor woman’s suffering, but you’d finally been given a chance at a proper life. The last thing you needed was to suffer a gruesome death at the hands of yanderes simply because you’d interfered with their twisted obsessions.

“I will do absolutely nothing,” you stated determinedly. “There’s no way my character even existed in the first place. When I woke up in this world, it sort of created a little slot for me to fit in. In other words, I’m a side character, and my actions should have no effect on the story so long as I don’t get involved.”

Yes, that was the plan. Do nothing. You could do that. You were very good at doing nothing.

The rules of this “game” you found yourself in—both literally and figuratively—were rather simple. Actually, there was only one rule at all, and that was to stay as far away from the protagonist and yanderes as possible. Which, given that you’d accidentally run into Cassius today, meant that you already weren’t off to a very good start. But a simple bump-in shouldn’t be reason enough for him to go after you with a vengeance. Apart from deliberating angering him, the only thing you could of think that would incur his wrath would be to prevent him from interacting with the game’s protagonist.

Speaking of... how far into the game am I at this point?

The game began with the protagonist being adopted by a kind baron after dutifully waiting on him during one of his trips to the countryside. She then proceeded to move into his estate, getting acquainted with her new life, and promptly beginning lessons at the renowned academy in Zodite’s capital city, as per her adoptive father’s wishes to grant her a formal education. This was the catalyst that set the plot in motion, because it was at the academy that the protagonist met the first yandere—none other than Cassius himself.

As far as you could recall, Zodin’s Benevolence began sometime early summer, because the baron encountered the protagonist while in the middle of a leisurely seasonal trip. Given how warm the weather currently was, summer was either peeking right around the corner, or already here. Which meant that there likely wasn’t much time left until the official plot was set in motion.

Although you had no concrete benchmark as to when it would officially begin, one thing was for sure. If you wanted to avoid an early death again, you would need to keep your eyes peeled for the protagonist’s appearance and keep her away from you by any means.

You frowned, nibbling on your bottom lip.

It’s okay. I can be selfish. No, I have to be selfish. It’s the only way.

Dying from illness was one thing, but the things those crazy bastards were capable of... you had a feeling that dying by their hands would be a million times more painful than anything you’d ever endured.

This new life had been placed right in the palms of your hands, and you’d be damned if you were going to let go of it.

“Mom, dad. Do you think it would be alright if I stopped going to the academy?”

After having discovered that you were in a yandere dating sim, that was the question you chose to ask your parents the very next morning.

Naturally, they were completely flabbergasted.

“Is this another one of your jokes? You wanted to go to school so badly up until now. Sorry, we’re just struggling to understand where all this is coming from.”

It had been your hope that in not attending the academy, you could prevent any run-ins with both the protagonist and the yanderes. But truthfully, you did want to go to school, because your sickness had prevented you from actually attending college back in your old world. It sounded like the version of you in this world was interested in pursuing an education as well, so perhaps it was for the best that you went. You couldn’t stand to see your parents’ disappointed expression once more, even in this reality.

From what you recalled seeing in the game, the campus was quite large, so if you were cautious, there was no reason for you to get wrapped up with the yanderes.

That being said...

You still didn’t want to be ill-prepared for what this world had to offer. There was only so much that had been outright stated in the game; you would have to find out the rest for yourself. One of the key points that you wanted to look into was the usage of magic. In this world, magic was mainly used through magical ores, which helped to supply certain buildings with things like electricity, heat, and even reinforcing walls with something akin to a barrier. Some people were blessed with magical abilities themselves, although it was exceedingly rare. The topic of mages had been briefly touched upon in the game, and it seemed as though with every passing generation, fewer and fewer people found themselves capable of such feats. Dwindling bloodlines, or something like that.

It did make you curious, though. Was it at all possible that you might be fortunate enough to be a mage yourself? If so, you could train your abilities to make sure that you would be able to protect yourself from harm in the event that something really did go wrong.

You didn’t really know how to use magic, though. After all, the game didn’t exactly expand on this detail very much.

So, you tried various methods to see if you could channel some hidden power. Reciting cringy incantations, straining your body so hard that it made you feel like you had to rush to the bathroom—you even drew a horribly misshapen pentagram on the floor of your bedroom, with leftover jam from your breakfast, and Lizbell nearly fainted when she saw the mess.

Needless to say, none of it worked, so you decided to just come out and ask.

“Can I use magic?”

For the second time that same morning, your parents gaped at you.

“My dear, what’s the matter?” your father chuckled. “You’ve been going full throttle since yesterday. Your mother and I can hardly keep up.”

“Does that mean I can’t use magic?”

“Of course not, good heavens. You know very well we don’t come from a family of mages.”

Despite their immediate dismissals, you knew that it was possible for people to potentially grow into their magical powers. Magical ability was traditionally passed down by blood, but it could just as easily manifest in an unsuspecting individual. Hopefully, that individual was you.

“I haven’t been able to use magic up until now, but something may have changed recently,” you persisted. “That’s what I meant. I’m wondering if my abilities have awakened by now.”

Fortunately, your parents had always been the patient sort, so they merely shrugged their shoulders. “If you're really still holding out hope for a thing, then you can always go and get tested at the Bureau of Magic.”

You decided to do just that. The Bureau of Magic’s central headquarters was a large, impressive building. You didn’t really know anything about this organization, but you were tickled pink by the thought of being magically gifted on top of having perfect health. You could already imagine it, shooting fireballs from your hands and creating geysers out of nothing.

You were going to be the best mage ever—

“Zero magical affinity,” the man testing you stated. “Although there are cases where people may develop magic over time, by looking at your mana reservoir, I can tell that there is absolutely no chance of you ever becoming a mage.”

Well, that was certainly a short-lived dream.

The man then frowned, peering closer into the strange device he was measuring your aptitude with. “Come to think of it though, this is really strange. Even average citizens have very trace amounts of mana in their system. Mana is present in all living things, whether or not they can actually manifest that mana and convert it into magical energy. I’ve never seen a case like yours before, not in all my years of working here. You’re an anomaly. Almost as if you aren’t meant to be a part of this world...”

Uh-oh. It sounded like he was starting to get suspicious, so you hurried to wave him off. “Your machine must be broken,” you dismissed flippantly. “Anyways, I’ve already lost interest in becoming a mage, so I’ll just have to take your word for it.”

“What? Miss, if you could just—”

“Gotta go, bye!”

Since magic was clearly a no-go, you figured you should at least have another plan to fall back onto. You were weak and sickly back in your previous life, but you had a perfectly healthy body in this one. There was no reason you couldn’t pick up a weapon and learn how to protect yourself. For instance, sword-fighting!

“You want to do what?” your parents blanched. It was the third time today that they were confused beyond belief, though they looked particularly horrified in this instance.

“Sword-fighting,” you repeated calmly. “I just think it’d be neat.”

“Oh, [Name], but why that of all things? Those blades are seriously dangerous, you know. You could hurt yourself!”

“Well, not if I’m good at it.”

“Someone in your position will never have to worry about their safety,” they insisted. “We can hire more guards to keep watch outside the manor if it’ll help you feel better. Come on now, what use have you for a weapon like that?”

“It’s not that I’m worried about my safety.” That’s a lie. “I just want to challenge myself and see if I can do this. Plus, I think it’d be pretty amazing if I could pull something like this off. I’d be bragging about it constantly.” Okay, that part isn’t entirely a lie.

Their reluctance was plain as day, but as expected—they just couldn’t seem to say no to you.

“Very well,” your father sighed. “But we’ll at least be hiring an instructor to ensure that you have someone watching over you and making sure you’re safe while you train. Please allow us at least this much.”

“Yeah, that’s fine!” you beamed. “I’ll learn faster with a teacher, anyways.”

So far, things were looking good. You had your plan to stay out of everyone’s way and make sure you didn’t become a target, and in the event that it all failed, you would at least have some way of fighting for your life.

“Oh, and uh, the sooner the better,” you said. “I’d like to start learning as early as possible, since I’m just so excited! Okay? Okay!”

You proceeded to skip out the room before they could mutter a protest.

It was actually incredible how much your parents loved you. They were parents from a different reality, but your parents nonetheless. In spite of their visible concerns to allow you to wield a sword, they’d managed to secure you a personal instructor in less than twenty-four hours.

Currently, you were out in the courtyard, eagerly awaiting your guest. You were dressed in a loose tunic and comfortable pants that were perfecting for working up a sweat in. It was a shame you couldn’t wear clothes like these more often, though you had to admit that your collection of dresses was rather delightful.

It was hot out. Definitely summer, you were sure of it now. It was a good thing you were starting your sword-fighting lessons so early on. Even if you never ending up needing your soon-to-be lethal skills, you would definitely feel more at ease knowing that you had them.

Your personal instructor was apparently a knight, so you were already inclined to trust that he had hands-on experience. You wondered what he’d look like. Knights in fantasy settings like this one were always so damn attractive. Hopefully he wasn’t much older than you...

Ah, focus, goddammit! What does it matter what he looks like? The most important thing is staying alive.

You lightly slapped yourself upside the head. Right. No distractions. You were no longer the same weak person from your miserable previous life. You were a living miracle, and a future sword-wielding badass.

Hardly a minute later, your tortuous wait seemed to have come to an end, and you were able to get a good look at your new instructor.

Wait, is that...

“Good day, Lady [Name],” the knight greeted, bowing his head courteously. “My name is Sergei Garin, member of the Cavalry Brigade. I am humbled to be in your service.”

You couldn’t quite seem to hide the shock on your face. Sergei Garin. You knew this character. Fortunately, he wasn’t one of the yanderes—otherwise, you would’ve probably feigned a heart attack to get out of this situation. No, he was nothing but a supporting character, although a character that you admittedly had a soft spot for.

Why did you have a soft spot for him? Well...

Probably because he was fated to die.

More chapters are available on Quotev!

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[acehazbin1]

Okay hear me out on this for the one and Only Emperor Caracalla. If you like this one- I might get confident enough to send another request for Emperor Geta lol. I didn’t see a rules- sorry -so if this goes against any just ignore this message lol.

Okay so I’m thinking you could do a fic or two of Caracalla with a motherly reader. Whether they’re a maid, concubine, etc. They just adore him “my sweet boy” and such. Sorry if this sucked LOLOL

“Motherly love.”

I loved this request! Sadly I didn’t see it straight away, but it’s a great idea!!

Notes: sorry if this is horrible I was in a rush! Also about the other series I’m working on the 3rd chap just been a busy January!

Mother!Reader & Caracalla (not romantic)

Cybele= Roman god of motherhood

……..

Emperor Caracalla was only nineteen when he took the throne alongside his twin brother, they were both immature and unfit to govern the Roman Empire. Yet somehow two years in Emperor Caracalla and Emperor Geta remained on the throne, sure Rome was starving and the wars were never over but he still held the power in his hands.

People thought he was ruthless, a real human being could never see the suffering on the streets and continue to throw banquets and parties. He must be a monster with a stone-cold heart… yet in the palace, many workers knew the truth. One in particular knew nearly everything about him if anything minorly or majorly impacted his life she would be the first to know.

“Cybele, Cybele!” Caracalla called out into the open space that was the fountain. She was washing sheets in the fountain, it was her duty as an assistant nurse to wash the bedsheets of the care beds. “Emperor, I wished you reframe from calling me that. It is disrespectful to Cybele.”

Caracalla's eyes found her and he started to make his way over towards the fountain. “Ah, but you are the goddess herself to me.” Caracalla flashes his golden tooth with a grin. “I am not yet a mother.”

“By blood no, but by your actions, they say otherwise.” Caracalla twisted his head a bit, she nodded her head while reaching into the water and twisting the sheets around. “Why did you come down to the servant's area? Did you have something to say?”

“Oh yes.” Caracalla eyes light up, “I thought Dungdus a new trick!” Caracalla whistled for the monkey and she came flying down the stairs. Caracalla patted his shoulder and the monkey climbed up, he then stuck out his arm and Dundgus climbed out. The brown monkey hung upside down on his arm for a few seconds, before jumping off.

“Oh, that was delightful.” She made sure to clap and smile, and he highlighted her comments. “You think so?” He stepped closer, “yes of course.”

Caracalla grinned from ear to ear, he sat down on the side of the fountain letting Dungdus run around the servants’ area. “I can teach her more tricks if you like?” Caracalla mused, which made her shake her head. “Only teach her trick if you want to, you don’t need to impress me.”

Caracalla's eyes went away from her face and he fidgeted with his shelve. “I- I don’t want to impress you…” He didn’t want to admit it, she felt her heartstrings tug. She dropped the bedsheets she was holding and cupped his cheek with her palm. “Oh my sweet boy it’s okay.”

Her voice was like honey, it smoothed him while sick in the head. Many times her voice was one of comfort when he had to visit the nurse, she sat by his side whispering things of comfort to help him through his mental anguish.

He nuzzled into her palm, as he whispered, “Geta tired to embarrass me infront of the senate today.” He would normally complain about Geta, his mind would twist the things that Geta did to protect him into horrible acts of envy. “What did he say?” She asked.

“He said that he should be the one to look over the spending of the army, but we both agreed that would be my job.” Caracalla said with his voice laced in spite. “Your bother can-“ “and when a senator implied that I was useless he didn’t even stand up for me!” Caracalla cut her off with more angrily whispering.

She wave him a dry look, “Caracalla.”

“It’s so unfair-“ “Caracalla.” “he always does this!” “Caracalla.” “I know he’s going to-“ “CARACALLA.”

She raised her voice which made him wide eyed and tensed his shoulders. He was so caught off guard by her yelling, he was used to Geta or the crowd at a game yelling but a servant wasn’t supposed to yell at him. Specially not you.

“I’m sorry you interrupted me, we talked about this before.” The maid said and rubbed his cheek trying to ease him out of his shock. She didn’t mean to yell at him, just hated when he never listened to reason.

“You- you yelled at me…” Caracalla choked, his eyes watered a bit as the shock wore off. “Shsh, I’m sorry.” He pulled away from her hand, as she tried to move it closer. It wasn’t like him to move away from touch, “Caracalla please.”

Caracalla feet tapped the group, his eyes switched back from the fountain to the palace. His head was spinning, he tried to push himself off the little wall he was sitting on to keep the water in before her hand held his wrist. “Caracalla listen to me.”

“I did not mean to yell, you did not mean to interrupt me. It was a miss understanding.” She breathed out but he looked away from her eyes trying to figure out if he should believe her words. “I- I…”

She got up quickly allowing the basket to dump into the fountain. She would deal with that later, she pulled him so he was turn around. He looked a bit terrified by the fact he was dragged back to her but she wrapped her arms around him.

It took him a second, his eyes still wide and wet, his hair messed up and his palms were shaky but he melted into her grip. He nearly let his hold body fall, it was slightly scary for her to hold up his body weight but she was just glad that he forgave her.

“My sweet boy.” She held him tight, “I’m so sorry,”

[poohsticksbridge]

In the midst of a largely enjoyable season of Amazon Prime’s/Sony Pictures’ adaptation of The Wheel of Time series, delivered by an outstanding cast and crew all deserving of acclaim (and renewal for future seasons), I see a lot of people responding with annoyance or dismissal of viewers’ issues (‘nitpicks’/‘complaints’) with certain season 2 character arcs.

Permit me to explain where one dense & annoying complainer (i.e., yours truly) is coming from. Because Nynaeve’s S2 show arc is potentially triggering for anyone who has lived experience with pregnancy or child loss.

Despite putting this assertion out there, I have seen — and been directly subject — to a range of responses that range from patronizing to downright heartless. These include:

How can anyone (read: these idiots) NOT see the character development that’s being set up?

People who criticize don’t understand/lack empathy for trauma survivors.

Critics who are (over)reacting need to shut up and deal with their own unresolved trauma.

And the evergreen refrain: they’re just fictional characters. Get a life. 🙄

As someone who has lost multiple pregnancies, and supported loved ones through child loss, excuse me when I say: hold my mother’s milk in a fucking cup.

Nynaeve’s arc this season was especially difficult to watch and process because she was the only character who went through it without genuine support or a single onscreen ray of hope for resolution/closure. The fact this will probably come 18-24 months from now, does not ease the immediate pain.

Let me offer a hypothetical comparator: picture the reaction from Egwene stans & the fandom as a whole, if the season had ended on episode 5. I can only imagine how that might have gone down.

As hard as I found Nynaeve’s arc, I was inclined to process it privately — until these kinds of comments started to show up in other’s posts and threads. Because I find the toxic positivity, fanlier-than-thouism and callous dismissal of others’ feelings even more triggering than Nynaeve’s arc.

Why? That’s the question I’ve been asking myself, because I too generally find fandom drama tiring. Here’s what I realized:

Such responses are trivializing and isolating. Very much the way grieving parents (or almost parents) feel after their loss, because so few people are able to relate. (Despite the growing exploration/exploitation of pregnancy and child loss in ‘entertainment,’ there’s still a very real societal taboo when it comes to talking about RL experiences.)

If you find my criticism, posts and replies to comments about Nynaeve’s arc tiresome, offensive or otherwise upsetting, feel free to ignore/delete/block/move along. Or, by all means, respond thoughtfully. But don’t tell me I don’t see/understand what the writers are doing (I’m not an idiot). Don’t tell me I don’t understand/lack empathy for trauma survivors. Don’t tell me to cool down/get over it/get (more) therapy. Don’t tell me I need to get a life. (My rainbow kid keeps me plenty busy, thanks.) And don’t expect me to shut up about my criticisms of a cherished character’s unrelenting suffering, and how it has been portrayed as robbing her of her signature competence and common sense.

If you’re still reading, thank you very much for enduring my rant. May those with differing perspectives enjoy their S3 longing, while I busy myself with fix-it fanfics and gratuitous Laneave smut.

[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

The custom of calling one's name 3 times in the funeral is also mentioned in Homer's Odyssey when Odysseus offered funeral to his men after Ismarus (Also mentioned to my Ismarus retelling to Part 3)

"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.

[gjsxj0]

mindless rambling in tags don't mind me

[atopvisenyashill]

do love how this is an asoiaf blog but i did not put either show in my top 10 this is the world we live in

[widevibratobitch]

omw to play emotional support for my mom disguised as ✨fun family bonding time✨ for the rest of the week <3333 there's something so deeply wrong with me uwu teehee

[averlym]

a word to the wise sometimes the only true rest is looking beyond what you thought was success

so true! adamandi is full of wise advice such as this, including: "and you'll never feel better if you - fucking die- you stupid ass!"

[bigcryptiddies]

Very good description of how it feels to discuss antiblackness in the current social climate

[apersnicketylemon]

I want to make something really clear that I think Anti-Choice people have failed to understand that Pro Choicers definitely saw coming.

An exception for Rape, Life of the Mother, and Incest mean nothing when you have to prove it in a court of law, or get a team of lawyers and judges to sign off on it which can take weeks or even months.

Weeks a person dying hasn't got. Women are now dying. Actually dying. Because hospitals legally could not save their lives until they could wake up a judge and get their lawyers, and another sides lawyers awake and up and figured out if it was actually necessary or not. All people with no understanding of medicine, and no attatchment to the person suffering who simply doesn't want to die.

There's a lot more I could cover, like the increase in illegal abortion, abortion tourism, the massive increase in infant abandonment... but I'm going to leave it here.

People are dying. People who should be alive. Who would be alive if abortion was legal and the hospital could have simply treated their patient without waiting for a dozen men with no medical experience in another building to decide if their patient actually needs treatment or not. And yes they do have to wait. Because if they don't they get charged with murder for trying to save a life.

Your policies are killing people. Not theoretical people. Not fetuses with no conscious thought or pain. Adults with lives. Teenagers with a whole life ahead of them. Mothers with children who need them. Real people with conscious thought, with fear, with pain. People who meet every definition of personhood.

[tenok]

.

[kira-akira]

What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

[mad-hunts]

as far as jack could tell, jervis was really out of it; and it made him wonder it was due to something that had happened while he was out with his father, or when they'd gotten here. perhaps both. jack gnawed on his bottom lip, his eyes darting to jervis's hands, which were flexing like he was struggling with something. an eyebrow rose as jack contemplated asking whether he needed some pain medication.

since he didn't receive an answer to his question yet, jack figured he might as well introduce himself. ❝ uhh, well, you don't have to talk to me if you aren't feeling up to it. my sister told me that you fainted in front of her out there — so, i understand if you're still feeling sick. my name is jack, ❞ he scratched at the back of his neck as he continued to observe jervis. whenever the man tried to get up, jack approached him and was about to caution jervis that maybe he shouldn't by lightly touching his shoulder.

but he remembered matilda telling him something about the other really not liking to be touched, so he merely was going to verbally tell him. up until jervis laid back down himself, anyhow. jack couldn't hold himself back from frowning at his poor present state before venturing out of the room with a 'i'll be right back.' and indeed he had been, with two different vials, alongside a few syringes to inject into that IV bag: should jervis want to be medicated. jack figured it'd be easier to just do that rather than forcing him to swallow anything.

he placed those also on the table before tilting his head at the quote jervis had said until it clicked a few seconds later, ❝ that's a quote from through the looking glass, isn't it? and one that the red queen said in the story if i remember correctly. she was basically teaching alice that staying in the same place is falling behind, right? ❞ jack squinted his eyes at that before a thought came to mind. a soft snort left him, but one that was done of an innocent sort of amusement rather than malice. ❝ that is a kind of roundabout way of talking about survival of the fittest. but hey, lewis carroll was all about the whimsy of things, i guess. and its no big deal. ❞

jack pretended not to see the tears that the other shed for jervis's own sake. the blood on his lips was something he couldn't ignore, no matter how hard he tried, though. jack grabbed a washcloth from his pack and held it out towards's jervis's hand. once it was out of his hand was when jack set down that teacup, the slightly too long stripped pants he wore swaying across the ground. ❝ mm, you and dad were both asleep for nearly four hours. sure — i don't think that's silly at all. i keep something on me all the time from when my brother, julien, was still around. ❞ the bracelet he showed the other on his right wrist then seemed to be made up entirely of tiny conch shells.

julien was a big fan of the sea, which jack thought made his death all the more crushing. after seeing the state that the stuffed animal was in, he figured that that bunny must've been really loved; though it didn't really matter by whom it was. the end result was the same, as love changes you. jack knew this well as he'd never wanted anything more than to be embraced by the warmth of it.

he quickly shook that thought off, only to grab the two vials he got from the fridge once more. ❝ eh... the four hours actually went by rather fast. ❞ jack cleared his throat then, ❝ you know, i couldn't help but notice that you aren't looking so hot still, and so i grabbed some meds for you. but i won't force you to take them. i have a pain reliever as well as something that relieves vertigo. are either, or both of these, something you want? ❞

Eigengrau.

A faint hum buzzed in his ears; his mouth was so dry it felt like he’d swallowed a wad of wool.

The thin sheet beneath him brushed his fingertips as Jervis flexed his hands, cracking his eyes open a sliver. The room tilted, everything blurring at the edges. Ah… so he had fainted. Just as he’d suspected. No glasses, then.

"Hey. Ahh, you're awake… That's awesome. How are you feeling?"

The new voice was barely a whisper, young and uncertain—belonging to a boy, maybe sixteen or eighteen by the timber. Was this another of Barton's assistants, a friend of Matilda’s, or perhaps her brother? Jervis couldn’t quite remember; hadn't Barton mentioned something about having more than one child?

He winced, his body feeling heavy, leaden; aching everywhere. Slowly, he exhaled and tried to push himself upright—tried being the keyword. The effort brought only a wave of vertigo, dizzying and blue-hot, making his vision swim.

… ohh, god…

He swallowed thickly, curling into himself. Something wasn’t right. His glasses and gloves weren’t the only thing missing. He was in his socks, jeans, and a now damp charcoal t-shirt, his body slick with cold sweat. His graying auburn curls clung to his neck in tangled ropes. His boots were beside the cot, his messenger bag on a desk across the room. His overcoat and maroon button-down were draped over a chair.

A flicker of discomfort in his right arm. Burning. Tugging.

Jervis glanced down at the source: a plastic tube. A peripheral IV catheter.

"Ah, you know... 'It takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place,'" he muttered, his voice clipped and hollow; Bermudian accent casual, almost detached. He turned his eyes to the boy; offered him a faint, strained smile. "Keeps things interesting, I suppose... but I appreciate your concern, lad."

He lifted his fingers to his cheek, feeling the moisture trickle down—salt on his lips. Tears, sharp and stinging. Jervis flinched and quickly scrubbed them away with the heels of his hands.

Cold metal pressed into his spine, tight around his neck—the chain with his and Sylvie’s wedding rings twisted against his skin. He must’ve been thrashing in his sleep. There was blood on his lips.

"Forgive me…" His vision swam as he watched the boy set a teacup on the small table beside the cot, just within view. "But I'm afraid I've rather lost my sense of time. How long has it been since I…?" He paused, his voice barely steady. "... if... if you don’t mind, could you please reach into my coat pocket? You'll find a small cuddly toy. A rabbit..." He rubbed his mouth, lowered his eyes. "It sounds foolish, I know... but it... it was my daughter's, you see..."

The boy nodded, moving quickly to retrieve the toy from Jervis’ coat pocket, and placed it on the table beside the teacup. The bunny was missing one of its button eyes, its white fur faded and matted. A pink satin ribbon around its neck was frayed and tattered.

“Thank you,” Jervis said hoarsely. “I must have been out of it for quite a while.”

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Shit Fae!Danny Has Said While Living With Waynes

Danny, making a 'got your nose' gesture: Hey Jason, look, I've got your name!

Red Hood, who suddenly can't remember his own name: What the fuck

Bruce, in a tired dad voice: Danny, please, we talked about this, return your brother's name back

Danny: Oh, come on, it's not like he even uses it

Jason, thankfully remembering his name: And I repeat, what the f u c k

Steph, at dinner: I was wondering, what do faeries even eat normally? Like, flowers and stuff?

Danny, his eyes two black voids inside his eyesockets: The souls of the innocent

Steph: So that's a 'no' on the flowers?

Danny, back to normal and shoving a bagel in his mouth: I mean, I can, but would you want to stay on the crumbs-only diet when you are in a 5-star Michelin restaurant?

Tim: It's actually 3-star. Michelin rating system only has three stars, not five.

Dick: Are you saying that people are basically food joints for Fae?

Damian, at Constantine: It would do you well to choose your wording better when speaking to fair folk-

Danny, very much a fair folk, appearing out of thin air in the Cave: Yolo, s'up bitches, guess who's back in town!

Damian: -even when they do not necessarily do so themselves.

Constantine, looking between them: Are you sure you're the human and he is the changeling?

Tim, 46 hours of no sleep: Hey, if you can take a name from someone, does it mean you can take, like, other things that have no real shape or form?

Danny: Names do have shape and form, they even have taste. Yours is like a ping-pong ball made out of really dense cotton candy with banana-caramel flavor.

Tim, losing his touch with reality: Dense banana cotton candy...

Danny: By the way, I know you wanted to ask me if I could take your need to sleep from you, and theoretically, the answer is yes.

Tim, his whisper full of hope: ...will you?..

Danny: No. Either go to sleep or keep suffering. I'm not here to make your life easier.

Danny, after a half-an-hour rant on the Fae customs and traditions: -and Fae never tell the truth, but also never lie. It's a work of art, you know, say what you want but never in a way that makes sense.

Jason: So Fae just like to fuck with people.

Danny, looking him in the eyes, smiling and winking: Sure, humans are very fuckable.

Bruce, trying very hard not to pay attention to this: Can you make an example?

Danny: Sure. I lied.

Bruce: Where?

Danny: :)

Bruce, feeling like he is about to lose his mind: W h e r e ?

Alfred, right after he heard Dick's muffled screaming in the hallway: Young Master Danny, would you mind returning Master Dick his ability to talk in coherent sentences?

Danny, obediently standing up and walking out of the library: ...okay.

Bruce: How come he always listens to you?

Alfred: He knows what I will do if he doesn't.

Danny, returning to the library: He will change all the silverware to iron-ware. As well as the doorknobs and hairbrushes and lightswitches and everything else.

Alfred: Did you fix Master Dick's shoes?

Danny: I did. But I still think that making all of his shoes left ones was funny.

Alfred: Indeed, it was.

| <-prev | next-> |

There's also a fic now.

[spacelazarwolf]

apparently a bunch of ppl on social media are trying to call for a boycott of rick riordan because of this statement in a blog post:

Becky and I are just back from a busy weekend with events at the Boston Book Festival and New York Comic-Con.

Before I get into that, however, some words to acknowledge the ongoing horrors in Israel and Gaza. As many of you may know, I am no longer on social media. My accounts post only updates on my books and related projects. I do not read posts, reply to posts, or share my thoughts about world events on those forums. That doesn’t mean I don’t have strong feelings and reactions. It means I am offline as completely as possible, except for the occasional blog post like this one.

I will say this: Over the last eighteen years, I have received many fan letters from young readers, both Israeli and Palestinian, who often told me that my books helped them escape the fear, grief and anxiety they were dealing with at the time. Some had lost family members to violence. Some were writing while in the distance they could hear explosions, gunfire, and the launching of rockets. They used my books as a way to escape into another world, where the monsters were fictional, and where demigods usually saved the day. While I am always glad that my books can help young readers find joy during difficult times, my heart breaks every time I hear about the things they have to deal with. I am grief-stricken by the horrific events now unfolding, especially because I know that they are part of a long historic pattern that has been robbing too many children of their childhood and perpetuating hatred for far too long.

I am also quite aware that when anyone, myself included, tries to speak about this issue, the reader is waiting to pounce, thinking, “Yes, but whose side are you on?” That is exactly the wrong question. If there are two sides to this issue, those sides are not Palestinian/Israeli or Muslim/Jewish. The two sides are humanitarian and dehumanizing. Dehumanizing has a long evil history. It is appealing and easy to buy into, because humans are tribal animals. We are hardwired to think in terms of ‘us’ versus ‘them.’ We are the real humans, the good guys, the ones with God on our side. Those other people are evil monsters who don’t deserve empathy. Hate mongers have thrived on dehumanizing for as long as there have been humans. It provides them with a purpose, a way to rally support, power, and scapegoats. It is easy to point to atrocities committed by our enemies, while justifying or minimizing the atrocities committed by ourselves or our allies.

Humanitarianism is a much harder sell. It requires us to empathize, to see other groups of people as equally deserving of dignity and quality of life. It requires not always putting ourselves and our needs first. But in the long run, humanitarianism is our only hope. If violence could end violence, if we could put an end to “those other people” once and for all, human history would read very differently than it does.

So yes, I am appalled by the Hamas attacks on Israeli civilians. I am appalled by the suffering of Palestinian civilians in Gaza. Both things can be true. Both things must be true. My thoughts are with all the people who have died, who have lost loved ones, who have had their worlds and their lives shattered, especially the children. More death and violence will not break this cycle, which has been going on for generations. There is no military solution. Even since I first wrote the post, only twenty-four hours ago, the Israeli government’s brutal retaliation against the entire population of Gaza has reached genocidal proportions. This is not only an atrocity. It is folly. Answering misery with misery only creates more fertile ground for extremism, dehumanizing the “other side,” letting hate mongers thrive, stay in power, and reduce us all to our most monstrous impulses. The only real solution is treating each other like equally worthy human beings, and negotiating a peace that allows all parties a chance to live in security and dignity, with hopes for a future that does not include bombs and rockets and gunfire. This means security and support for Israel, yes. It also means a secure Palestine which is allowed to get the international aid and recognition it needs to build a viable state.

Do I think that will happen? Unfortunately, no. Humans are simply too selfish, too ready to blame “the other” for all their problems, too ready to dehumanize, though I also believe, perhaps paradoxically, that most people just want to live their lives in peace and have a chance for their children to have a brighter future. The problem is when we don’t allow other people to have those same hopes and dreams — when it becomes a false choice of us versus them.

What can I do? I will continue to write books that I hope will give young readers some joy. I will resist the urge to demonize entire groups of people. I will call for less violence, not more violence. And when asked whose side I am on, I will tell you I am on the side of humanitarianism.

So with that said, I return to the world of books . . .

honestly, if you have a problem with this statement, it’s probably because he’s talking about you. this is exactly what legitimate activists (as in not just random westerners who share social media posts but on-the-ground activists who are doing real work) have been saying for decades. and i think all this really speaks to just how disconnected a lot of westerners who claim to be pro palestinian are from those activists.

if you can’t read a statement that says “i am on the side of humanitarianism and less violence” without immediately jumping to cancel them, you are the problem being discussed in the above statement.