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[amazingmsme]

Restless ‘Til We Reach Home

Anywhere I’d Follow You (ch. 1)

AN: happy underworld saga release day! Literally the day we’ve all been waiting for! This fic is my pride & joy rn so I hope y’all like it! Be sure to buckle in cause you’re in for one hell of a ride! The underworld saga is literally everything I could’ve imagined & more, & it makes this chapter hit so much harder. & I wouldn’t have it any other way 💗

Edit: omg I can’t believe I forgot to add the ghost!polites playlist that I so lovingly created! My sincere apologies to anyone who read it without the intended listening experience

Polites woke alone in the darkness. Or at least, he thought he was alone, until he felt a body shift next to him. The sky above was an inky black, completely devoid of stars. It didn't feel right.

He jolted upright, the ground underneath him rocking with his movement. No, it wasn't the ground, it was wood. He was on a small boat, and the bodies around him were his fellow soldiers. Most still remained unconscious.

"Odysseus!" he called out, but received no answer. "Eurylochus!" His voice echoed down the approaching canyon, bouncing back until it met his ears.

"Shhhh," a husky voice sounded from above. Polites startled and looked up, seeing a cloaked man standing at the back of the boat. His face was concealed by the hood pulled over its head, the only discernible feature being two bony hands peeking out from his sleeves. They clutched onto an oar, thrusting the boat further on its journey.

Polites crawled to the edge of the boat and leaned out, and he was greeted by perhaps the most beautiful sight. They were floating on a glowing river, the water a brilliant blue green. It was as he was staring into the ethereal water that he realized why the sky had no stars: they'd all fallen in the river.

The awestruck smile fell flat when he took a good look at his surroundings.

Everywhere he looked was gray and rocky and completely devoid of life. He heard people moaning in the distance and could see them trudging along in mindless huddles. Small fights broke out amongst them, and Polites could see fires burn in the distance.

He had to be dreaming, he was sure of it! He pinched his arm as hard as he could until he yelped from the pain. When he didn't wake up, he reached his hands into the water, splashing his face repeatedly.

"Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, wake up!" he yelled each time the cool water hit his skin. His vision blurred as the water dripped down his face and his eyes filled with tears. His shoulders shook as he sobbed, leaning over the edge of the boat. He could feel when they hit the shore, but he didn't budge, even as everyone else filed out.

The ripples around the boat began to calm, and soon enough the surface of the water was as smooth as glass. His eyes met his reflection and he jerked back, rocking the boat slightly. Hesitantly, he leaned back over the glowing water to get a closer look. Ripples sent minor shockwaves through his reflection, slowing until it showed a clear picture.

A choked gasp escaped his throat as he clamped a hand over his mouth. He looked up at the ferryman, who nodded solemnly. The tears he'd been holding back finally rolled down past his cheeks.

His head hung low as he cried, and he could feel each tear drip from his nose or chin. When he opened his eyes again, he saw tiny dots of red on his toga. Hesitantly, he reached up to wipe the tears from his face. When he pulled away, his hands were stained red.

He thrusted his hands in the water, scrubbing furiously to rid them of the blood. The stream before him turned a pale pink before the current carried it away.

Polites knew exactly where he was.

At first he tried to lay low, but he had always been outgoing and friendly, even to those who weren't so friendly back. But it quickly became clear that down here, no one wanted to talk to him. Or so it would seem.

Polites got into the habit of exploring the underworld every day. There was nothing to do but wander aimlessly or work, and Polites much preferred the former. It was while on one of these walks that he spotted a young woman kneeling by the riverbank. At first he thought nothing of it, but the closer he got, he could hear her quiet sobs and sniffles.

He approached cautiously, waving when he felt he was close enough to warrant a greeting. "Well hello there!" he said in a chipper voice, offering a shy grin. She looked up at the stranger before her, yelping and falling back onto her hands. He was quick to put her at ease.

"Hey hey, it's okay! I'm nice, I was just crushed by a cyclops," he explained his appearance, aiming for humor. The girl's lips twitched in a fleeting smile.

"Oh! Um, I'm sorry..." she apologized, and he waved a hand dismissively.

"Why? You have something to do with it?" he joked, smiling when she giggled, shaking her head.

"Noho..."

"Then you have nothing to apologize for!" He turned to her, holding his hand out to her. "I'm Polites." She studied him, chewing her lip before she accepted it.

"Eurydice."

"Ah, what a lovely name for a lovely woman," he complimented. Her smile was tainted with sadness. "I'm sorry, are you alright?" he asked gently. She shook her head, plastering on a fake smile.

"I'm in Hades, why wouldn't I be fine?" she tried to joke like he'd done moments before, but it fell flat.

"You know, if you need to get something off your chest, I'm all ears. I was practically the sole shoulder to cry on for 600 men." His tone made it impossible for Eurydice to discern whether or not he was being serious. Finally, she decided, "Yeah right."

"No really! Well, obviously not all of them took me up on my offer, but I'm a great listener," he offered with a warm, genuine smile. She let out an amused huff.

"I know it sounds stupid, but... I really thought I was gonna bust outta here." Polites placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"I don't think it's stupid at all. I mean, we all want out-"

"No, you don't get it!" she spun around to face him, tears in her eyes. Polites held his hands up in surrender on reflex, his entire body tense. Eurydice heaved a sigh, burying her face in her hands. "I was so close..."

Polites was almost afraid to ask, but, "C-close to what?"

Eurydice looked up with wide, tearful eyes as she stared longingly out into the distance. She spoke breathily as her mind began to wander, "Freedom."

Polites couldn't believe what he was hearing. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Wait, you mean you were trying to leave? How?" he asked desperately, the wounds on his face and body starting to bleed.

"I wasn't on my own. Orpheus came for me."

"Orpheus?" he questioned.

"I died on our wedding day..." she answered, trailing off as she stared at the ground. "And he risked everything to come save me. We could've made it out and we'd both be happy. Start a family..." she took a grounding breath, drying her eyes. "I never did get to hear how his song turned out."

Polites perked up slightly. "Oh, he's a musician?" he asked. She smiled as she remembered her love.

"Mhm. Said he was gonna write a song to fix what's wrong with the world," she said, amusement clear in her tone. "Guess he hasn't finished it yet."

"Well, sounds like he's got his work cut out for him. I can't imagine it'll be easy for him, without you," he said softly. A sob caught in Eurydice's throat as she looked away, closing her eyes softly.

"Don't. Please."

"Sorry," he immediately apologized, feeling rather guilty.

"It's fine. It's not like it's your fault or anything."

Polites looked at her, mouth slightly agape as he tried to decipher whether she was teasing him as he'd done earlier, or if it was sheer coincidence. The subtle twitch of her lips was all he needed to know. He barked out a laugh, bumping their shoulders together.

"Well would you look at that! Looks like someone's getting their sense of humor back!" he praised, making her roll her eyes.

"Never left," she lied. Her gaze locked on the Palace of Hades, and Polites followed her line of sight.

"He had something to do with it, didn't he?"

Eurydice took a shaky breath and nodded. "Yeah."

"They usually do. Even when you don't think so... They do."

~~~

Life in Hades is not what Polites expected.

For one, he didn't know where the crumbling rubble ended and the new scaffolding began. Every day it seemed, the underworld would change ever so slightly. Buildings and complex machinery were all being built before his very eyes. It was nothing like Polites had ever seen.

Slowly, copper and iron replaced stonework as buildings all but erected themselves, and horseless chariots carted material to various work sites. The grand palace in the center of the underworld has all but doubled in size in the short time he's been here. And jutting out from the southern east corner, stood an imposing factory spitting black smoke. It felt... wrong. Almost as if Hades had tried to tuck it away out of sight, only for his greed to force it to grow until the rocks could conceal it no longer.

He said he was doing this for them; that he was creating a greater home for their eternity. So then, why was he turning the air thick with smog? Why must the tortured souls carry the burden of his progress?

Nothing was right anymore. Then again, nothing had been right for a long time.

~~~

Polites never thought he'd grow used to the underworld, but with Eurydice, he found a flow. They steered clear of the mindless work convoys, with their bowl shaped helmets and tools in hand. They marched along packed gravel roads in uniform lines, singing in a low, menacing chant.

They didn't stray far from the riverbanks, and when they did, chose to walk through rolling fields of nothing but dead grass and dirt. They found solace in the few crumbling ruins that have yet to undergo renovations.

Shriveled vines choked out the grand archway the pair sat under, but not even the resilience of nature could last under a God's iron grip. Polites closed his eyes, trying to picture the lush foliage that swallowed the rubble of a once ancient building. When he opened his eyes, he was met with the disappointing reality of thick, dry vines sprawling over crumbling stone as if caught in a wooden spiderweb.

"You ever made a flower crown?"

The question came out of nowhere, catching him off guard. If asked, he would deny the way he had jumped at the sound of her voice.

"Um, n-no, I can't say I have."

When Polites didn't elaborate, Eurydice continued. "My sisters and I used to pick flowers in the meadow behind our house and we'd spend hours weaving crowns and necklaces while we talked." She smiled at the fond, distant memory. Polites smiled back.

"That sounds really lovely," he assured. He saw the longing in her eyes, could feel the ache in her heart. If only he could ease that pain...

"It was. I think you'd really like it. Heh, too bad I can't teach you."

"Yeah, that's too bad," he lamented in agreement before an idea struck him. "Or, you know... we could still try," he suggested, holding up a handful of dry vines and twigs. Eurydice's face lit up with a smile as bright as the sun.

"Really? You mean that?"

"Well, I mean, I'm sure yours turned out much better than whatever we can make down here, but-" his rambling was cut off when Eurydice slammed into him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck in a grateful hug.

~~~

Polites had lost track of how long he'd been there, though he was grateful for Eurydice's company. It was the single source of comfort since he'd awoken in the underworld, the one reminder that there was once a time when things were good.

They would walk along the riverbanks, sharing stories from their lives. Eurydice once said that Orpheus would've liked Polites, and he swelled with pride. The feeling would've been mutual, he assured.

He can't help but to picture his friends meeting this lively young spirit, ripped from the Earth too soon. He thinks they'd like her too.

There were no days and nights here; everything ran together in one big screaming haze. At times, Polites thought they were the only souls down here who weren't screaming...

He missed being alive. He missed his friends, missed the way the sun warmed his skin, the way the sea would taste on the air, the way the wind would whip through his hair. He missed food, and feeling hungry, or tired. He missed the way he could feel his heart race in his chest when Odysseus would put himself in harms way, only to come out unscathed.

He always came out unscathed, no matter the challenge.

He was walking alone, trying to clear his head when he heard his name being called. "Polites! Polites!"

He turned to see Eurydice running towards him, feet pounding against the rocky shore. He met her halfway, picking up on her sense of urgency.

"Eurydice! Is everything alri-"

"There's a ship," she rushed out breathlessly. His eyes went wide and he scanned the horizon.

"Of course, the ferryman brings people-"

"No, I mean a real, living ship!" she emphasized with a playful punch to his shoulder. He smirked down at her, bumping their hips together.

"You know ships aren't really alive," he teased, tilting his head back to laugh at his own joke. She rolled her eyes, snatching the bandana from around his head. His hands flew up a second too late as he turned to face her. "Hey!"

She giggled, waving the bandana out of reach. "I'm being serious!" she insisted through a smile. He snorted, snatching the cloth from her grasp playfully.

"Yeah, that's why you stole my bandana," he taunted, shooting her a grin.

"You weren't listening! Just look!" she pointed in the distance. Polites looked up to humor her and gasped when he saw a large ship creeping up the river. It was much closer to them now. He took a step away from the bank.

Eurydice smirked, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "You believe me now?" He nodded wordlessly, mouth gaping open in shock.

They stood like that, just frozen in awe watching it get closer. The figures aboard the ship were now visible, and Polites shaded his eyes, squinting up at the deck. Did he really see what he thought he saw? Was that really...

"Steady as she goes men!" A figure paced around the deck, barking orders and securing the ship. Polites would know that voice anywhere.

"Odysseus?" he asked, barely aware he said the name aloud. Eurydice gasped and snapped her head to look at him.

"Odysseus? Like, like your Odysseus?" she asked frantically. Polites looked back at the ship for some other kind of proof, spotting Eurylochus at the wheel.

"Yes, I'm sure. Look, there's Eurylochus," he said, pointing at his friend.

She turned to him with an expression on her face that he hadn't seen since the day they first met.

"You have to go."

His head snapped down to look at her, "What?"

"They came here looking for you! I mean, why else would they come all the way here?" she asked, clutching to the fabric of his toga. "You're important to them, Polites. You're the missing piece, they need you," she pleaded.

The ship was right in front of them now, Odysseus clutching the rail of the ship with a horrified look. When his eyes landed on Polites, he froze, all the color quickly draining from his face. He turned away abruptly.

"I-I don't know Eurydice. That doesn't really seem like- I'm sure there's gotta be another reason!" He wasn't sure why or how they were here, but he had a hard time believing it would be for him. It would hurt too much, getting his hopes up like that.

"A reason to go through the underworld?" she asked incredulously. Her expression softened, and she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "They've missed you."

A sob caught in his throat. "Yeah, I miss them too."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

He turned to her, tears in his eyes. "B-but what about you? You can't come, and I can't leave you!" he said, gripping onto her hands for dear life. "Y-you'd be alone again, I can't do that!"

"Shh, hey, hey, look at me," she said in a soothing voice, but Polites could see the tears shining in her eyes. "Don't think of it like that, okay? You're doing this for me." She squeezed his hands so hard, her knuckles were turning white. Funny, how even their spirits react like they still have blood.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, but a soft hand cupping his face brought him back to reality. "Hades only made sure I couldn't get out, just to spite our love. He won't notice if you escape, I promise," she reassured. He placed a hand atop hers, still shaking his head.

"You can't promise that-"

"Maybe, but I can try. Please Polites," she was practically begging at this point. "One of us has to see the sun again."

A sob shuttered through his body and he surged forward, grabbing her in a tight hug- their last hug. Maybe the last hug he'd ever be able to actually feel.

"I don't want to leave you," he muttered into her hair. He could feel her tears begin to fall down his arm like raindrops.

"Me either, but you have to. It's your only chance." She held on for a few more seconds before allowing herself to slip away.

"Goodbye Eurydice. Thank you for... everything."

"Farewell Polites. I know you'll keep them safe."

He nodded to her before turning towards the ship, marching along the shore. He got about halfway before her sweet voice called out to him.

"Polites, wait!" He stopped in his tracks, turning just in time to catch her in his arms. Her hands carded through thick black hair as she squeezed him tight. She kissed his cheek, pulling away to whisper in his ear, "If you ever come across Orpheus, please tell him I'm okay."

"Of course. You have my word," he promised.

When Eurydice pulled away, a small amount of blood was smeared on her lips and cheek. Polites decided not to dwell on what that meant.

~~~

Polites jogged along the riverbank until he caught back up with the ship. He waded into the water, trying to figure out how to get back on the ship. He saw a rope nearby and grabbed ahold, climbing up. The rope swayed with the ship as if it were weightless, making it more difficult to ascend.

The rope slapped against the side of the ship, sending Polites hurling through the hull of the ship and into the lower deck. His body tumbled and hit a few crates, causing them to come crashing down.

"Oh no no no!" he muttered, trying to restack them, only for his hands to phase right through.

On the deck above, Odysseus heard the commotion and ordered one of his men to investigate as he continued to warn the others to stay on guard.

He trudged below deck, not expecting what awaited him.

Polites yelped when he heard a clatter behind him, turning to see one of the soldiers standing in the doorway, his sword laying on the ground before him. He opened his mouth to speak, but the man turned on his heels and scrambled up the stairs.

"Captain!"

Odysseus immediately ran to the soldier's aid, hand on the hilt of his sword. "What was it?"

"I-it was Polites, Sir..."

The captain bristled at the name, turning his back on the man.

"Impossible."

"But I'm telling you, he was right there!"

Odysseus sighed, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to me, brother. This place is not to be trusted, okay? Nothing that you see or hear is to be trusted. Those were Circe's words. Got that?"

The man nodded, though he was clearly still shaken up. Odysseus sighed once more.

"Come on. Why don't you show me where he was," he said, deciding it might be a good idea to help put both their minds at ease.

Odysseus crept down the stairs carefully, eyes scanning the shadows for any intruders.

"Hello? Anyone down here?" He was met with silence. He didn't know how tense he was until his fears were put at ease. It was empty.

"The boxes must've fallen on their own, it's been a little bumpy. Let's go," he ordered, picking up the discarded sword and holding it out for the man to take.

Meanwhile, Polites was crouched behind a barrel on the upper deck, watching what few soldiers remained. They all looked so different, but none more than Odysseus. He watched as his friend marched up the stairs to resume his task of guiding the ship.

But... his directions didn't sound right. The way Odysseus was leading them would pass by two guardians, and more would surely die. Odysseus didn't know his way around here like he did, to no fault of his own. But Polites couldn't let that happen.

He made sure no one was looking when he crept from his hiding spot.

He stood behind Eurylochus, hesitant to speak. But the fork in the river was approaching.

"Actually, you're gonna wanna take a right," he said from behind. Eurylochus jumped at the unexpected voice, turning to face him. His face morphed in terror as he saw the man before him.

"CAPTA-mmm!"

"Shhh!" Polites shushed, slapping a hand over his friend's mouth. Eurylochus tried to shove him away, only for his hands to phase through his attacker's arm. His eyes were wide with fear as he fumbled for his sword, still trying to steer the ship through the narrow waterway. "It's me! You have to trust me!"

"I don't think so."

Polites turned to see the tip of a sword pointed at him, the eyes of Odysseus staring him down with a vengeance.

"Captain, I-"

"SHUT UP!" he yelled, taking a step closer. Polites let go of Eurylochus, shying away behind him. "Now who are you really?" he all but growled.

Polites furrowed his brow in confusion. "Do... do you not recognize me?" he asked weakly. Odysseus let out a low, sadistic chuckle, and it was hard to believe this was his beloved friend.

"Ohoho I know who you want us to think it is! But we've been through enough, I know a trap when I see one. So I'm only asking one more time." He pressed the blade to where his throat would be. "Who. Are. You."

"Odysseus, it really is me! W-why don't you believe me?" he asked helplessly, realizing his sword wasn't the only one trained towards him.

"Why should I?"

"B-because I'm trying to help you!" he insisted. There was a long stretch of silence before Odysseus answered.

"I don't believe you."

Odysseus reared back, preparing to strike. Polites panicked, he didn't know where else to go, where to hide. On instinct he clutched onto Eurylochus for protection.

He opened his eyes, and Eurylochus was gone. No, that wasn't right... he could still hear him. He sounded... scared.

"Captain... help me," his hand raised on its own towards Odysseus. No, that wasn't his hand...

The soldiers had cowered back when Polites disappeared; they were all clearly on edge.

"Eurylochus?" Odysseus asked carefully.

"He's here."

Polites had to speak up, he had to make them listen.

"Please, I'm just trying to help." He spoke with a double voice. "I know a better way. Please... you have to trust me. I'm- I'm not a god, or whatever you think I am," he pleaded. "I'm me."

Odysseus glared at him, lips curled in a sneer. A tense silence fell over them as the seconds ticked by.

"Fine." He stepped back and lowered his sword. "As you were." When no one moved, he repeated himself in a harsher tone. "As you were!" They immediately broke up and returned to their posts, keeping an eye on their new passenger.

"Are... you gonna stand there the whole time?" he asked carefully.

"Yup," Odysseus answered, popping the p. "Are you gonna hide the whole time?" he countered.

Polites took a breath to ground himself. By the Gods, it felt good to breathe again... But this wasn't his body. These weren't his lungs…

"That depends. Are you gonna pull your sword on me again?" he asked.

"Only if you try anything." That was as good an answer as any, he supposed. Polites sighed, stepping out of his friend's body.

Eurylochus gasped as he regained full control of his limbs. He lurched forward, using the steering wheel for support. He glared at the spectral intruder.

"What did you do to me?" he demanded. Polites held his hands up in surrender. "I-I don't know! I was scared, I panicked!"

Eurylochus glared down at him, getting in his personal space to get his point across. "Don't do it again." A gentle hand on his shoulder snapped him out of it.

"Eurylochus, why not get some rest? Feel free to use my quarters," Odysseus offered. Eurylochus nodded in thanks, but not once did he take his eyes off Polites.

Odysseus was steering now, his mind elsewhere as he thought of what the prophet Tiresias had foretold.

"There is a world where I help you get home, but that's not a world I know..."

"You're gonna want to hang left, there's some larger rocks.

"I see a man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you."

"Captain?"

Odysseus didn't like who he was becoming, but each challenged left him more broken than the last, and the mosaic he was creating of himself was more of an abomination.

"Captain watch out!"

Odysseus shook himself out of it, cutting the wheel to avoid the boulders. Polites watched him carefully, waiting for his friend to thank him and smile like he used to.

That moment never came.

Polites crossed his arms and huffed, "You're welcome."

Odysseus clenched his jaw. The imposter's tone was light and teasing, and so much like the friend he knew. But the underworld was nothing but lies and deceit, danger lurking around every corner. He was sure the man before him was nothing more than a farce.

"Just stop pretending," he sighed in defeat.

"Come again?" Polites asked, cocking his head. Odysseus tensed at the disgusting cracking sound the movement made.

"Nothing. Just- no more talking until we're safe."

We. Polites smiled as he stood next to his friend, just like old times. It never occurred to him that he wasn't meant to be included in that statement.

"Okay Captain."

Polites remained by his side, offering directions whenever they're needed. He doesn't dare speak beyond that, knowing how testy his friend can be when he's trying to focus. Not to mention he seemed like he was in a bad mood to begin with.

He had no idea.

"Alright, it shouldn't be much farther. Just go straight through there," Polites guided, pointing towards a cave on the horizon. The smallest amount of sunlight shimmered through.

"Everyone! Full speed ahead!" Odysseus yelled across the ship, men scurrying about the deck.

Odysseus kept his eyes trained on their destination as he spoke. "Thank you... You can go now."

"Oh! Right, you're- you're busy. We can talk later," Polites said, backing away. "I should probably go apologize to Eurylochus." He turned to make his leave, but Odysseus stood guarding his path.

"Stay away from him," he threatened, face shrouded by long, matted hair and hidden behind a thick beard. His once warm gaze turned black as he trained his weapon at Polites for a second time.

If he were still alive, his heart would be pounding right out of his chest.

"Odysseus? You're scaring me," Polites said, looking him up and down.

"AND YOU'RE SCARING EVERYONE!" he screamed, surging forward. Polites is taller than him, even when he's not floating, but Odysseus's presence towers over him.

"Wha-what?" he breathed out, backing himself against the rail. Odysseus kept him trapped there for a few more seconds before turning away. Polites spared a glance and saw every pair of eyes resting solely on him, hushed whispers floating about as hands hovered over their own weapons. He looked back at his captain with wide, fearful eyes.

"I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to..."

Odysseus ignored him, not so much as a glance his way. And that hurt.

"Odysseus?"

"Don't call me that," he snarled, finally looking over his shoulder. Polites couldn't help but snicker.

"Don't call you by your name? Okay, Captain," he teased, hoping to catch a glimpse of that brilliant smile.

"Knock it off! You're not as funny as you think you are," Odysseus snapped, making him pout.

"Ouch. You know, my new friend Eurydice thought I was hilarious. She-"

"I don't care."

Polites felt his phantom heart sink at those words. Odysseus had never spoken to him like that before...

"Oh. O-okay. I'll just, um, I'll go."

"Good riddance."

Polites tried to stifle the hurt gasp he let out, biting his quivering lip. He just wanted to disappear. He didn't want to be here, but he didn't know where to go. After a moment, Odysseus chanced a glance over his shoulder and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Finally. Thought he'd never leave." Polites felt tears well in his eyes despite his confusion. He was still here, what did he mean? He reached a hand up to rub his tired face, only to freeze. He couldn't see himself. To test his theory, he raced down to the middle of the deck and stood there, but no one paid him any mind. He got his wish. They got their wish.

He disappeared.

Polites felt himself sink through the floorboards, but didn't care enough to stop it before he plopped down below deck. He landed flat on his back, not bothering to get up. What would even be the point?

Finally, he sat up before drifting into a standing position.

~~~

Eurylochus couldn't sleep. How the hell did Odysseus expect him to rest after all that? His mind was reeling, and in all honesty, he was completely and utterly confused.

Trust nothing in the underworld.

Circe's instructions. More importantly, Captain's instructions. Up until now, he thought that was to be believed. Everything down here was a wicked and cruel trick. And yet, this vision of Polites had seemed so real. More than that, it felt real. He had no idea what it did to him, but in the moments he was possessed, he knew what it was thinking: what it was feeling. And it was scared, hurt and confused: like a wild animal backed into a corner. But nowhere could he feel any kind of ill will towards any of them. And that scared Eurylochus just as much as it perplexed him.

He gave up on sleep and decided to go back to the upper deck. He navigated the narrow halls and froze in his tracks when he came upon the transparent image of his fallen friend.

"Eurylochus!" Polites startled, standing up a little straighter when he noticed him.

Said man recoiled as he was addressed, and watched him with a careful eye, his hand hovering over his weapon.

"Please don't," he said, cowering back towards the shadows. "I just want to apologize for earlier. I-I didn't mean to do... that."

He was met with nothing but silence.

"Eurylochus? Say something," he pleaded. He noticed the way Eurylochus stared at the ground instead of him.

"You're not really him, are you?" he asked skeptically. Pilotes felt his shoulders sag in defeat.

"You too?"

Eurylochus dared to meet his gaze. The expression he wore was that of skepticism and a hope long lost.

"I'm not convinced yet." As he walked past, he paused at Polites's side. "So convince me."

His words caused a smile to break out across his face as he turned to his friend. Eurylochus looked shocked before his expression melted into something softer.

"That's a start, I guess." He abruptly continued on his way, not wanting to linger with their friend's spirit. Polites was left alone in the dark, his thoughts serving as his only company.

He didn't emerge from the lower deck until he was sure they were well out of the underworld.

[amazingmsme]

Fanfic writers are like crows. If you give them treats (comments) they will bring you shiny things (fanfic)

[amazingmsme]

I saw a very blunt Instagram comment today that told a writer, "AI is going to steal your job soon. You may want to choose something else." It was so nonchalant and casual, like what was just said wasn't heartbreaking to hear.

Can we writers just make a pact just to... not quit? Can we not give in so easily? Can we actually fight to keep our professions and continue to share our own original work? I will never expect writing to be my main source of income, but that does not mean I'm so willing to give it up for the sake of some robot.

[amazingmsme]

Epic the video game, polities ghost encounter.

[amazingmsme]

Reblog so everyone can hear what they need.

[amazingmsme]

No see results option, I'm forcing you to perceive yourself. rb for more results plus

[amazingmsme]

The Joke's That Make You Laugh

Notes: Inspired by this post by @nhasablogg because I've been fixated on the concept ever since I saw it. Anyways, Wonka gives off insane lee energy and I refuse to believe he wouldn't get up to shit like this. Based on the new Wonka movie.

Summary: Wonka's newest chocolate creation has him in stitches.

Willy's heart raced as he looked down at the creation on his table. It was a beautiful thing. The appetizing treat curled slightly into a bow with golden tendrils spanning out into dozens of soft barbs. It very nearly seemed to flutter with the breeze flowing in through the window with how lifelike it appeared, though Willy knew this was impossible.

A feather. A simple creation when compared to the hundreds of wonders Willy had stocked his factory with, but its appeal was not held in its design. It was in what it could do.

He sat back in his chair, holding his chin as he stared at it. His leg jumped and jerked under the table in an unsteady, anxious rhythm. He and the feather held a silent staring contest as he debated adding finishing touches. Behind it sat several copies of the same chocolate in a pile—he always made sure to create back-ups. Perhaps he should add speckles to the top for realism, or splatter a black coating on the quill to appear as ink. None of this mattered, really. If he was being honest with himself, the chocolate had been finished thirty minutes ago and all of his tinkering and fussing was mere procrastination.

Willy wasn’t embarrassed. That was silly, after all, to be embarrassed of something that no one will see but you, that impacts no one but you. Not quite nervous, either. He had wanted to try creating something like this for a while now, even if the idea hadn’t quite formed into a coherent thought yet. He was excited about this. He wanted this. No, if he were to put it into words, it was a vague apprehension, a worry that it wouldn’t work, or worse, that it would work too well.

He tapped his fingers against the table. He leapt to his feet. He paced around several yard before whirling back to face the innocent feather.

“It’s just chocolate,” he muttered to himself. “Familiar territory.”

Before he could overthink it anymore, he snatched the treat and popped it into his mouth.

He rolled the chocolate around with his tongue. White chocolate, notes of hazelnut, all with a sweet vanilla glaze. It was, as always, delicious. He held it in the pocket of his cheek, allowing the warmth of his mouth to dissolve it.

Stalling.

Willy frowned, before determinedly swallowing it.

The effect was not instantaneous. He had made sure to calculate in a slight delay as there had been some fear of choking by accident. He was hyper aware of his own nervous system, unsure if what he was feeling was a tingling sensation or merely the butterflies swooping in his stomach.

Now that he had done it, worries began to flood Willy’s mind. He was alone, as he often was. There was Noodle and the rest of them, and the Oompa Loompas of course, but not here, not in his personal bedroom, not in his factory after hours. Sometimes they would stay late to finish up orders, and the Oompa Loompas slept here at the factory. If something had gone wrong, it would only be reasonable to get him. What if someone came in? What if it didn’t fade out in time? What if he had gotten the calculations wrong and it never wore off?

What if it was a dud and he was working himself up over nothing?

Just as he was about to go and check if the door was actually locked, however, Willy felt it. It was faint at first, a mere spark of something in his stomach. Soon, however, the spark multiplied until it was less of a spark and more of a crawling sensation over his lower abdomen, like spiders with feathers for legs.

“Oh. Oh.” A grin was breaking out across his features, his legs far less steady than they were mere moments before. He thought about making a break for the bed, but the sensation was only getting worse, and he found himself crumpling to the ground, arms wrapped protectively around his stomach.

It tickled. God, it tickled. More than he had anticipated, despite having created the recipe himself. It was spreading out from his stomach now and heading toward his sides. He dug beneath his coat, his own fingers gripping frantically at his undershirt in an unconscious effort to stop the feeling. Giggles welled up in his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep them in. But it just wouldn’t stop. It was all just so intentional and teasing. Swipes up his sides, pokes at his ribs, fluttery fingers scuttling across his hips and down to his lower back. It was an overwhelming force of gentleness that he couldn’t fight off no matter how much he wanted to.

He knew logically that the chocolate was merely activating his nervous system and making his mind believe that it tickled when in actuality he was fine. One of the core ingredients to the chocolate was a rare hallucinogen he had found while out on his travels that was meant to interfere with one’s nervous system.

The idea for a tickling chocolate was one he had been working on for a while by then (secretly, of course, in the late hours of the night when the longing for it transferred into a desire so intense that he thought he might actually die if he didn't have it fulfilled), so when he stumbled across the plant, he knew immediately what to do.

He had tweaked it of course, taken out any dangerous elements, and only added in enough for about twenty minutes—nothing too crazy. So, rationally, he knew there was nothing really happening to him.

Still. It felt real.

Red crept up Willy's neck, tinging his ears as he twitched and jerked away from his invisible oppressors. It was a strange feeling, being tickled by one’s own mind—no pesky hands to fight off, no people to plead to. Just a grown man giggling to himself on his bedroom floor. And the only person he had to blame for this was himself. All of this was going on in his own mind, after all. As such, it was easy to convince himself that all he really needed to do to get it to stop was stop believing that it tickled at all—even if it was a goal that he hoped to fail at.

Willy forced his eyes open, taking deep, shuddering breaths. He glared firmly down at his own legs, holding the image of them in his mind. He could see nothing touching him, therefore there was nothing touching him. Thus, his mind had to be wrong in its attempts to convince Willy that something was squeezing devastating pinches higher and higher up his legs.

“It doesn’t tickle,” he gritted out, his wide grin saying otherwise. “It doesn’t… mmhmm… doesn’t tickle!”

Fingers crawling up toward his torso.

“Doesn’t—”

Scribbling over his stomach.

“Ti—”

Thumbs digging into his hips.

“—ihicKLE! Oh, what’s the pohohoint!” He doubled over at last, cackling wildly as he held his stomach. “Why does it hahave to tihickle so much!?” To who he was speaking, he couldn’t say, but some part of his mind was convinced that if he put the information out into the universe that maybe it would lend a helping hand. When that didn’t work, he attempted a more accepting method.

“N-now, now,” he assured himself, as though condoling a wailing child. “It’s just, ah, tihickling! Nothing t-to get so wohorked up about!” This was answered by several rapid-fire pokes to his ribs that sent him falling back and rolling about the floor. He knew it was impossible for the tickling to in any way be impacted by himself, as proven earlier, but it was starting to feel a tad bit personal as time went on.

Willy’s shoulders scrunched as soft touches flicked behind his ears, seeming to almost kiss his neck. He covered his face, groaning into his hands. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. How was he going to survive the next fifteen?

Willy continued to lie there as he waited for the chocolate’s effects to wear off, squirming frantically in desperate mirth. What he didn’t see was the shadow of a man right outside his window that he had failed to notice in the excitement of his creation. They perched on the sill, observing him carefully until Willy’s laughter transformed into a few trickling giggles as the effects of the potion wore off.

They watched him as he carefully stood up, still a bit wobbly from the tickling, and walked over to lock up the remaining chocolates on the table in a little sealed jar that he shoved behind some books on his shelf.

It wasn’t until Willy had finally gone to bed that they emerged, shuffling carefully into the room and quietly sneaking over to the bookshelf. They scaled the wood paneling with ease, careful to make sure Willy was still out. The tickling had exhausted him, however, so it seemed, and so the man had no trouble sneaking behind the books and opening the little jar, sticking his orange hand inside.

The Oompa-Loompa smiled as he beheld the ornate sweet. It was true he was no longer conspiring against the chocolatier, but he hadn’t yet lost his penchant for mischief. Besides, it was just tickling—a harmless prank. He shoved the chocolate pieces into his pockets, quickly hopping down from the shelf and sneaking out the window before his plans could be ruined.

He held high hopes that this was going to be an eventful week.

[amazingmsme]

sometimes i need to remind myself that i'm writing fanfiction for free and i'm allowed to have a shitty sentence or two

[amazingmsme]

Alright, to ao3's soon to be arriving Wattpad Refugees, a basic guide to general user culture:

1.) Unlike Wattpads vote system that let's you like each chapter, the ao3 equivalent kudos only allows one per work. Everyone is generally quietly annoyed about this. To engage with each chapter, you're heavily encouraged to comment. Trust me, it makes people's day.

2.) Ao3 has no algorithm. By default it's latest updated work first. You can find things to your taste through searches, filters and tags.

3.) 'No archive warnings apply' and 'user has chosen not to use archive warnings' mean two very different things. No archives warnings means the work is free from any content that could require a warning tag (character death, graphic depictions of violence, non-con, etc). User has chosen not to use archive warnings means it could contain any of the warning content, be it hasn't been explicitly tagged. Treat it like an allergen. No archive warnings apply is allergen free. User has chosen not to use archive warnings, may contain traces or whole chunks of the allergen. If you're likely to have a bad reaction, maybe don't take the risk.

4.) Speaking of warnings, ao3 has very few restrictions on the type of work that's allowed. Whatever your personal thoughts or feelings on that are, thats how the site is. You're likely to run across some dark subject matters and a lot of people are uncomfortable with reading that. You're well within your rights not like these works and have your opinion on whether they should be allowed, but harassing the authors of such works (or any works) is more likely to come back on you than them. Ao3 operates on a strong policy of 'don't like, don't read'. Use the tagging system to your full advantage to only engage with the kind of works you want to see.

We look forward to welcoming you all and seeing the fantastic works you create. Happy writing!

[amazingmsme]

Henchman: "Whatcha got there?- .w."

Villain, holding a Tickle Ray Gun in one Hand and a Beverage in the other: "A Smoothie."

[amazingmsme]

If you leave a positive comment on my fanfiction be sure I'm gonna read it everyday and cherish it till the end of the world

[amazingmsme]

[RUINING THE LIVES OF PEOPLE WHO ARE NOT REAL] i am playing. With my touys

[amazingmsme]

[amazingmsme]

[amazingmsme]

Brotp questions for Thomas and Arthur? Good ol’ Shelby boys:)

KISSING YOU ON THE MOUTH AAAHHH I LOVE THEM!

1. Who’s more ticklish? This is so hard, but I think it would be so cute & funny if it was Arthur. Cocky big bro who’s actually way more ticklish than the younger siblings? Sign me tf up!

2. What kind of tickles are they sensitive to?

For both of them, rough tickles are more effective, especially if they want any chance at escape before they face retaliation

3. Which role (lee/ler) does each of them hold?

It really depends on their mood, because I know Tommy can be a fucking wicked ler, but he rarely lets himself indulge in any sort of fun or shenanigans. Arthur on the other hand is more in touch with his softer, maybe even a little goofy side. He loves nothing more than to sneak up on him when he least expects it & tickle the shit out of him

4. How did they discover each others’ ticklishness?

Being the older brother, Arthur always knew from a young age, because he was actually a pretty good brother when they were all young & he liked to wrestle with his lil bros, & even Ava! (She always complained, but that never stopped him) Tommy found out when he was a little bit older when he roped in John to get their revenge

5. Who’s more likely to instigate a tickle fight?

Arthur! He’s so tired of seeing Tommy so serious & stressed out all the time, so he’s gotta stir the pot & add a lil spunk to their mundane days. Tommy’s attacks are mostly revenge based, & he’ll find any excuse to attack him. Oh, Arthur drank the last cup of coffee? Say your fuckin’ prayers

6. How often do they tickle each other?

Not too often now that they have a business to run, but whenever they notice the other has been particularly down in the dumps, they can’t help but try to cheer them up!

7. Who’s the least likely to ask for tickles?

Literally neither of them would ever be able to bring themselves to ask for it. Well, MAYBE Arthur could muster up the courage to mumble something to his wife, but that’s a hard maybe. They just both have so much toxic masculinity, I cannot see this ever happening. But that doesn’t mean they can’t tell when the other is in need of a lil pick me up

[amazingmsme]

Stupid in Love

Summary: Nick Miller is completely, 100% normal about all things Jessica Day. Including her smile, her laugh--ah, fuck. He's doomed. NickJess ft. pining!Nick

Anon: I just saw you write for New Girl! I am in my yearly rewatch of the show so I am so happy you write for it! Maybe the loft gang and CeCe can be playing a game of true American and somehow during the game it comes out that Jess is incredibly ticklish. Everyone is too focused on the game to use it to their advantage at the moment, but nick remembers and maybe later when him and Jess are together, he decided to test his new found knowledge and see just how ticklish Jess really is.

While this isn’t set during a particular episode, I was thinking HEAVILY about s2 ep15, Cooler. One of the greatest episodes of the whole show, hands down. I just wanted to write pining Nick tbh.

True American is the best goddamn game ever invented. It defines a man at his core level. Everything that’s ever mattered to Nick is on the line in this game. His dignity, his pride, his dignity…

He honestly can’t remember what they’re playing for. Something involving the sink. Or a drink? Unclear, but irrelevant. Nick is the king of an aluminum can palace and his citizens will thrive under his leadership. This is his birthright. 

They’re playing True American: Catan Edition tonight. Each player defends their own small nations and attempts to crush the others, throwing their leaders to the molten lava below. It’s the smartest thing Winston’s ever come up with. 

“Duel for my amusement,” Nick slurs, waving his paper towel roll scepter around. The cardboard crown on his head slips down over his eyes. Cece blows a raspberry at him. He lobs a balled-up piece of paper at her. 

Jess plays a fanfare into her backup kazoo—Schmidt threw away her main one—and draws angry eyebrows onto the smiley face of her country’s flag. A declaration of war. 

Sober Jess is all for political progress and human rights, but Drunk Jess? Maniacal, power-hungry, and so very hot.

Focus, Miller. 

“Two, four, six, eight! Who do we appreciate?” Jess climbs onto one of the kitchen chairs and puts a colander on her head. A warrior’s helm. Nick smiles at her. 

In their corner of the living room, Winston and Schmidt whisper furiously. At some point in the last hour, Winston had ascended to Grand Advisor of Schmidt’s Creek. Schmidt had lost the ability to speak after can number two, when Cece had flirted him out of all of his natural resources and a third of his land. Nick had been trying to think of how to poach Winston to Nicklandia, but he couldn’t think of a plan that didn’t involve saying ‘please’ until he passed out. 

“Schmidt’s Creek will not challenge today!” Winston crushes his beer can against Schmidt’s forehead. Schmidt doesn’t even blink.

“Ruth Gader Binsburg! I challenge your weird little colony, Jess,” Cece shouts, messily hopping onto the chair next to Jess. They start some combination of swatting at each other and clutching on for dear life. Schmidt looks up at Cece like a drunk, lovesick puppy. Nick rolls his eyes.

Thank god he doesn’t look like that.

Does he look like that?

Shit. He’s missing the game. 

“Yeah? Guess what—” Jess knocks her knuckles against the colander helmet, winces, and then points at Cece— “I’m the Queen of England, bitch.” 

Nick’s not sure what’s elapsed in the apparently three years since he was last paying attention, but he knows by the way that Cece gasps that someone’s dying on the living room and/or kitchen floor tonight. Jess cackles and puts her hands on her hips. They start yelling, but even if they’re saying real human words, which he’s pretty sure they’re not, he’s not processing it. Jess looks so stupid in that little holey hat—someone should invent a word for that thing—and she’s adorable. 

Nick leans his cheek on his palm and smiles wider. Does she know her nose scrunches when she’s annoyed? 

Nick leans a little too far and loses his balance. Half of his aluminum fortress tumbles down. When he looks back up, Jess and Cece haven’t budged. Or blinked. Cece squints at Jess and it’s clear the conversation has ascended to psychic levels that even Drunk Nick can’t access. He tries though. Mostly gives himself a headache. 

Something in their eye conversation must shift, because Cece gets this look on her face. Like pure, concentrated mischief. The aura off of her is so powerful that everyone scoots back a bit. Cece starts stretching and cracking her knuckles. 

“Waitwaitwait, Cece, you don’t have to do this.” Jess holds her hands up in immediate surrender, but she’s smiling hard enough to brighten the room. A little nervous giggle picks up in the back of her throat and she starts to turn pinker than the boxed rosé that forms her section of the living room. 

“Oh, but I do. Surrender. Now.” Cece points to the floor. Which is lava. Cruel way to go. 

Jess looks at her best friend with the kind of profound resignation only possible when piss drunk. She sighs deeply, staring at the floor…

And then launches herself at Cece with a war cry. 

Cece doesn’t even flinch. She catches Jess, smirks, and starts tickling her sides with vicious precision. Jess lets out a giggly shriek and crumples, sinking right down into the lava. The colander tumbles off of her head and rolls into Nick’s fortress. 

The sound worms itself into Nick’s brain, taking up residence alongside all the other little Jess things that drive him nuts. It distracts him hard enough that by the time Winston arises as Supreme Leader of the Loft, Nick can’t even trace the path of his defeat. 

………

Even when sobriety beats them over the head the next morning, Nick can remember nothing but the sweet music of Jess’s laugh. And the shape of her smile. 

God he’s hopeless. 

The slow march of the week brings some relief in the sense that a) Nick remembers that he really doesn’t do the whole ‘feelings’ thing and b) alcohol makes anyone look like an angel walking the earth. He is a grown ass man and Jess is an annoying little craft goblin. He can be normal. She’s normal. No need to get worked up over her.

“You look like Mr. Rogers’s grumpy cousin.” Jess snickers, fiddling with the sleeve of Nick’s hideous cardigan. 

“You done? You finished?” He pulls his sleeve away from her. It’s really Schmidt’s, which she very well knows. Nick’s only wearing it because Schmidt’s being weird about Cece again, and the only way to survive that is to bend to his will. Schmidt’s already dehydrated himself twice this week trying to show off his muscles more, Nick doesn’t want to add to that by making the guy cry. He’d never stop.

Jess, however, doesn’t seem to understand the magnitude of this manly sacrifice. She’s too busy laughing at him. 

“Mmmm, no, I don’t think I am. You look like a Muppet.” She pinches his cheek. He rolls his eyes. 

“Well, that’s just a compliment.” 

“No, no. You look like the bird. The bird with the eyebrows—“ Jess pauses as her giggles overtake her— “You look like Sam the Eagle.” 

Jess folds over into his shoulder with laughter and smacks his chest. The warmth of it almost distracts him from the comment. 

Almost. 

“Yeah, laugh it up, Jess. C’mere—“ He drags her across the couch by the ankle and latches onto her sides. She makes that adorable sound again, that giggly shriek, and flails like a worm on a hook. She tries to push his face away. He swats her hands aside like it’s nothing. When reaches for him again—futile, really—he snatches her wrists in one hand, pins them down, and tickles with the other. 

Her whole face burns. He chooses to ignore it for both of their sakes. 

“Let me know when you’re ready to apologize. Take your time.” He does a little pinchy thing with his fingers and Jess lets out a high-pitched mess of syllables. She throws her head back and cackles, arching up into him. 

“Hmm, yeah, see none of that sounded like ‘You’re the best, Nick Miller’. Try again.” He pokes all over her torso, fast and wild. He lets go of her and adds his other hand into the mix. Every time she tries to talk, he speeds up, making her laugh at his silliness along with his hands. She kicks her legs and lets out a little giggly growl. Nick smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. 

“Nick!” She grabs his wrists but doesn’t stop him. His stomach flips. She’s so overwhelming. 

“That’s my name.” He skitters his fingers up her ribs to distract himself from the lump in his throat. 

Jess flails and nearly takes them both off the couch and into the next life. Nick catches himself before he collapses on top of her, but it puts their faces mere inches apart. The space of a breath. He can see the faint freckles across her nose, all brought forth by the pink flush down her cheeks and neck. As she catches her breath, lips parted, her laughter simmers low in her chest. He brushes her hair out of her face. His hand lingers on her cheek. 

Her eyes crinkle when she smiles. Does she know that? 

Nick gets the deep, burning urge to kiss her senseless. To download all these embarrassing, vulnerable thoughts from his brain to hers. To show her how deep this goes. To drink of her like the wine at restaurants he can never afford. 

No. Not like this. She deserves better than this.

Than him.

He starts to pull away, awkwardly clearing his throat. Jess surges forward and Nick’s stupid little monkey brain gleefully claps its hands together, shouting this is it! It’s happening! Nick’s brain activity screeches to a halt. He stares at her mouth and freezes. 

Jess flips them over and starts tickling his ears like some kind of insane supervillain. 

“No! Jessica!” He turtles and attempts to fling himself to safety. All he accomplishes is hanging off the back of the couch, leaving his knees in reach of Jess’s evil nails—

One day he will be smart about Jessica Day, but he concedes that it won’t be today. But as she destroys him and Schmidt’s stupid, hopefully inexpensive cardigan, he secretly hopes the day never arrives. 

[amazingmsme]

I write my best work for the fics only I care about