#I'm a horrible friend really but I'm polite about it at least

[starpros-sunshine]

It is a bit cold and I am suffering a headache but at least there is audiobook and tea and kitty and Pokémon

[imagine-darksiders]

I’m having a really hard time right now. I just found out that my boyfriend of 2.5 years has been cheating on my physically and emotionally. Can I please request something fluffy and comforting of the horsemen reacting to finding out this news or just something fluffy with death? If not no worries, I hope you have a lovely day.

Oh my god that's awful! What a horrible, horrible thing for someone to do to you. I'm so sorry, I've channelled a bit of my own indignation into Death, War and Strife in these responses. I hope they bring you at least a little bit of comfort while you're going through so much. <3

Death:

This is… definitely going to be a problem for you.

Death never liked that sorry excuse for a human anyway… Never liked the way their eyes wandered in a crowd, even when they had your hand clasped possessively in theirs. The eldest Nephilim is an observer first, choosing to watch and wait for information to reveal itself, and after just a few days of watching you and your life-partner interact, he can already tell that there’s immeasurable love on your part, but very little on theirs.

Not that Death is any kind of expert, but he’s fairly certain love doesn’t involve draping oneself over another human while you’re still very much in the vicinity, a human who keeps shooting you quick, spiteful glances and grinning as they cling to your partner and bury their nose in their hair.

From his spot in the shadows, Death would watch your happiness wane, then vanish entirely. You’d turn away, and the Horseman had a sneaking suspicion that you were trying to convince yourself you were just being paranoid.

He had to stand there and listen, fingernails digging crescents into his palms as you quietly asked your partner about it later, politely mentioning how you weren’t sure it was appropriate for them to be all over each other like they often are. The subtle flirts that could easily be misconstrued as friendliness, the lingering touches on each other’s arms, the secretive rendezvous they’d tell you nothing about… You’d noticed it all.

Of course you did. They had the gall to be obvious about it. Death noticed too, and it was only because you told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to interfere in your love life that he didn’t pluck the little wretchs' souls from their bodies right then and there.

You were in love. You wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, but the old Horseman wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand by and watch you be treated with so much cruelty.

Your partner’s response to your observations?

‘You’ve been spending too much time around that Horseman. He’s making you paranoid. Are you looking for an excuse to leave me? I bet he wants that, doesn’t he!? Are you two fucking? Is that where this is coming from? Guilty conscience much!?”

If you hadn’t asked Death to take you somewhere outside the city at that very moment, he couldn’t have promised your house would be blood-free by the time it took your partner to finish speaking.

Since then, things have only been escalating. You found out your partner had their ‘friend’ over to stay the night while you visited the Forge Lands. You'd even asked them to join you on the trip, citing that the makers were dying to meet the lover of their favourite human, but of course, they'd brushed off your invitation as if it were an insult.

They’d neglected to tell you of their own plans, of course, and you’d only found out when you came home, crawled into bed with your partner and discovered a pair of shorts under the sheets. A pair that didn’t belong to anyone in your household…

Nothing came of it right away, save for you withdrawing completely, even from Death.

He was just about to stage an intervention when it happened.

It was, of all people, Vulgrim who alerted him. ‘That human of yours didn’t look well,’ he remarked casually when Death passed one of his Serpent Holes near the old Maker Tree, ‘Did you do something? I’m fairly sure they slept all night on that bench…’

It was all Death needed to hear.

Despair careens to a halt outside your door, his hooves kicking up sparks as they skid across the tarmac. Death has already leapt from the saddle by the time the horse stops, and wastes no time storming up the steps towards your front door, only to be given pause when Despair lets out a haunting whinny, drawing his rider to a standstill.

Twisting his mask around, Death squints over his shoulder and finds the steed’s big, skeletal head has pivoted to the right, ears pricked towards a streetlight that keeps its lonely vigil on the path opposite your home.

There, laying on a bench underneath its buzzing glow, Death spots a small figure trying to huddle into their coat for warmth.

Spitting out a curse, the Horseman turns and marches straight for the bench.

You’re startled by an ice-cold hand grabbing you roughly by the shoulder and hauling you over onto your back. Blinking back tears, the blurry image above you focuses until you find yourself peering straight up at the last person you wanted to see tonight. Well… Second to last.

A baltic chill rolls off the Horseman in waves as he glares down at you. “What are you doing out here?” he hisses, beating back the relief that threatens to dribble into his voice, “This is no place for a nap!”

Despite his gruff tone, he’s gentle when he pulls you into an upright position, kneeling down in front of the bench to bring himself to your level.

For several moments, you merely sit there and watch him check you over for injuries, your face a picture of bleakness, damp and sticky with tears. “I found their texts,” is all you offer him in the end.

Death goes very still then, darting his gaze to your face as a low hum starts up in the depths of his chest.

“They’ve been lying to me, Death… This whole time…” Crumpling forwards, you bury your face in your palms, shoulders heaving, “I …. I’m such an idiot! I knew! I knew, I just didn’t want to believe it!”

Almost at once, Death scowls, reaching forwards to slip strong, chilly fingers around your wrists and tug them away from your face. “You are many things,” he tells you sternly, “Hopeful, yes. Optimistic? Certainly. But an idiot? Never. There’s nothing foolish about expecting better from people you trusted.”

“I can’t believe it took me this long to-…” Sniffling, you let your arms go floppy in the Horseman’s grasp, shaking your head. “They’ve been going behind my back for months… They’ve been sending messages to each other… They said they can’t believe I still haven’t figured it out.”

“Do they know you’ve figured it out now?” he presses. If they haven’t yet, they soon will after a livid Reaper comes flying through the front door wielding a scythe…

Giving him a tiny nod, you whisper, “Yeah. Yeah, they know… Kicked me out… Told me they wouldn’t have had to cheat if I wasn’t being so suspicious and clingy…”

If he hadn’t spent so many eons practicing self-control, Death is sure the whole block would be levelled by now, with only you and the Horseman left standing. As it is, he isn’t the young, volatile force he used to be. He is, however, struggling to maintain that carefully concealed composure, for your sake. He knows it’ll only dampen your already dour mood if he were to start collecting souls…

Instead, he closes his eyes and focuses on the warmth of your wrists under his palms. Peeling his eyelids apart again, his gaze bathes you in a warmth of his own, the only kind he can give. Golden, ethereal light spills from his eyes and softly illuminates the tears on your cheeks.

“They… ‘kicked you out?” he puts tentatively, aware of the rough growl tinging his voice, “Of your own home?”

“…Technically it’s their home too.”

At that, the Horseman suddenly scoffs, sharp and cold. “Hardly,” he bites out, “You found it first. You had me check it for demon stragglers. Thane and Valus came and made sure it was structurally sound before you moved in! Your partner wasn’t around for that.”

With a grunt, he heaves himself to his feet, ebony hair swaying in front of his mask as he turns to stalk back across the street in the direction of your door.

In a flurry of limbs, you struggle off the bench, calling after him, “Death! Wait!”

He doesn’t, marching straight up the steps and curling his fist around the handle of your door.

“Oh god, what’re you doing? Stop!”

The Horseman’s shoulders rise and fall with a sardonic chuckle, and to your astonishment, he actually does stop, right on the top step, arm braced to rip your front door off its hinges. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he poses, “I’m taking you home.”

“I’m not-!” Shaky hands rake through your hair. “I don’t want to be in the same house as them right now, okay?”

“Oh, you won’t be,” he replies simply, a dark edge lacing the bass of his voice, “Not for long…”

And before you can stop him, before you can say another word to deter your apocalyptic friend from doing… whatever it is he plans to do, Death squeezes the door handle and wrenches the whole thing out of its frame, dropping it to the ground and sending splintered wood scattering across the steps.

You can’t bring yourself to go inside after him.

Like a wraith, the Horseman disappears into the darkness of your hallway, flitting through the house whilst you hover nervously at the bottom of your porch steps, heart in your throat and your elbows clutched tightly in sweaty palms.

It isn’t long before you hear a familiar voice exclaim, ‘What the Hell!?’ though it’s soon drowned out completely by a low, threatening rumble that sounds more like an earthquake than a Horseman’s vocalisation. The whole house even seems to shiver as the noise rolls through it, rattling the shingles and causing the windowpanes to wobble in their frames.

Your stomach drops like a stone when a shadowy figure emerges from the doorway moments later, holding another, far noisier shape aloft by the front of their hoodie.

“Death!” you blurt in shock, gawping up at your partner as they flail and beat their fists uselessly against the Horseman’s fist keeping them airborne, “Oh my god! Put them down!”

“In a moment,” he snarls, hauling your fellow human down the steps and out onto the street. For a brief moment, their eyes connect with yours, and you’re hardly surprised to see their pupils have shrunk to the size of pinpricks, delirious with terror.

“C-call him off!” they bark, earning a rough jostle from their tormentor, “What the fuck did you tell him!? Make this asshole put me d-ack!”

Letting out an inhuman growl, Death jerks to a halt and hoists your ex-partner higher into the air above his head. His arm doesn’t even quiver from the strain of keeping an entire human aloft.

Slowly, dangerously, he lowers your ex down towards his mask, fist twisted into the hoodie’s fabric with a silent promise to do the same to their neck. “You have no idea what you’ve brought upon yourself,” the Horseman seethes, “You will leave this place. You will leave this city. You will never return here unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

“What!?” they choke, giving up on hitting his impervious arm and instead trying to pry his fingers out of their hoodie, “Y-you can’t kick me out of Haven! Who the Hell do you think you are!?”

Hackles raised, Death keeps his head tilted back to glare up at them with wide, piercing eyes. “Who am I? Do you really need a reminder?” he laughs but it’s an ugly sound, dark and filled with the promise of pain, “Perhaps I should tell you exactly how and when you’re going to die, see if that jogs your memory.”

You can only watch on as your partner goes several shades paler than normal, shaking their head and begging Death not to tell them.

Cocking his head to one side, Death just shrugs a massive shoulder and says, “Suit yourself.” And with that, he promptly drops your ex on the road with a sickening ‘thud,’ turning his back on them as they writhe about, clutching at their coccyx and wailing in agony. It was quite the tumble.

As he passes you, Death catches your elbow in his palm, pulling you gently away from the human in the road. “Come on. Inside, now…Before you catch a chill.” Sparing a brief glance at the broken door as he guides you inside, he adds, “I’ll get that fixed…”

The night is still in its early hours, but you hardly feel like you’ll be getting much sleep. So, it’s with a heavy heart that you drag yourself into your bedroom, watched all the way by your ever-vigilant companion.

By his very nature, Death isn’t a comforting Nephilim. He’s grateful you don’t ask anything more than for his presence. You don’t expect him to hold you and stroke your hair while you cry against his chest, nor do you ask him to fill your head with pretty words about how you deserve so much better than your ex.

You don’t need to ask him for that. He does it of his own volition.

Instead, you’re content to sit on your bed with the ancient Horseman occupying the space beside you, an ever-constant presence, watchful and protective.

And if, after crying all of your tears out into the quiet night, you slouch sideways against Death and end up with your cheek pressed into his cool, bulbous shoulder, well… he’s not complaining.

War:

War was riding towards your home when he spots you stumbling in the opposite direction down the dark, empty street with a hand clutched around your mouth and your shoulders jumping with harsh, rapid intakes of breath. He’d been on his way to conduct another ‘welfare check,’ as you’ve recently taken to calling them, where he drops into your home just to make sure you’re safe.

So, to see you staggering outside without any visible protection has him spurring Ruin into a loping canter to pull up alongside you. Swinging a leg from his saddle, War drops heavily to the ground beside you with an almighty clang of steel, causing you to jump a foot in the air, as if you hadn’t even noticed him coming.

You really must be out of it to miss the largest Horseman’s approach.

What are you doing out in the city at night? He’s told you until he’s blue in the face how dangerous it still is for humans to wander around alone in the darkness, where demons could be lurking around every corner, sympathisers of the Destroyer or enemies of the Horsemen.

When you whirl around towards him, throwing your hands away from your mouth in shock, he catches his first glimpse of your face.

All at once, the titanic Nephilim goes from disgruntled to downright frenzied.

You’re crying. You’re alone, in the dark, with tears cascading down your ruddy cheeks, and he doesn’t know why.

His famously short fuse bursts into flames, whittling down to an explosion you can see coming from a mile off. Apoplectic with outrage, War surges forwards, crowding you against the faded brick of an old, tumbledown building as he darts his icy glare over you from head to toe.

You must be hurt, he concludes. Once he’s brought you safely into your home, he’s going hunting…

A wall of warm, unassailable muscle keeps you pinned as the Horseman surrounds you with his huge, encompassing gauntlets, their metal fingers splayed just inches above your arms with barely contained agitation. His anger only grows tenfold when you start to cry even harder, turning your face to try and hide from him.

“Who did this?” he rumbles, his voice rolling through you like distant thunder, warning of the storm to come.

“N-Nobody!” you blurt out in a sob.

The Horseman’s jaw clenches shut, canines poking out through a gap in his curling lips.

You know how much he hates being lied to.

Your eyes squeeze shut as you hang your head, lips pursed to hold back another miserable whimper. Under War’s attentive stare, you finally admit that your partner, the person you thought you’d spent the rest of your life with, has been cheating on you.

After an awkward moment spent explaining that cheating means seeking the affections of another behind your back, War’s lips peel back into a ferocious snarl, and the heat he exudes climbs higher and higher until it feels as though you’re standing in front of a burning furnace. Shyly, you tell him that you’d come home to find a stranger in bed with your partner, and you’d simply turned around and fumbled your way out of the house again, though not before taking an axe from the basement and destroying the fridge you’d just fixed, the television you’d scrounged up from a junkyard of course, the front door.

You were always busy in that house with a hammer and nails, fixing what the Apocalypse had broken. They were… good at telling you what needed to be fixed. Now, they can do it themselves. Ought to teach them some goddamn self-sufficiency now that you’re gone.

After willing his Chaos form not to burst out through his skin at the injustice of it all, with wild-eyes, War twists his hood in the direction of your old home, shoulders rising like the hackles of a beast.

He cannot allow this… this disrespect to go unpunished. The coward who did this will pay for his transgression. War’s scowl darkens. Behind him, Ruin throws his head back and bellows out a guttural whinny, pawing a molten hoof at the road until the tarmac starts to turn soft from the heat.

“War?”

Small, quiet, a far cry from the human he knows so well, you sound wounded though he can’t see any blood. You always told him the people who love you are supposed to protect you, to keep you safe and try to make you happy…

It had brought into question his own feelings on more than one occasion…

War knows how much you love the human you called your partner. He’s seen you sacrifice much for their happiness, not least agreeing to limit your exposure to the Horsemen solely because the Four made them so anxious. In War’s eyes, your loyalty to them was always admirable, even if it came at the cost of your closeness to he and his siblings, but now your partner has betrayed you in a way that’s cut you down to your core, spilling sadness out like a severed limb haemorrhages blood.

First thing’s first though… He has to get you somewhere safe. He knows without asking that you won’t be going back to your home… He’ll have to return in the near future to gather some of your belongings, but for now… Well, he’s been looking for an excuse to move you somewhere more secure. Somewhere off-world, perhaps. Like a fortress that he’s been fitting out to suit a very specific, very human set of needs…

Strife:

When he invites himself into your home in the typical, jocular fashion, only to find that you’ve locked yourself in your bedroom, sobbing under the covers, Strife’s first thought is ‘point me at the idiot I’m gonna murder.’

You don’t tell him what happened, not even when he wrenches your door off its hinges and throws it into the adjoining hallway before hauling his armour through the narrow frame to get to you. You know for a fact that he isn’t bluffing when he snarls, “I’ll kill ‘em. Just tell me who, and they’re dead.”

He’s killed plenty of people for lesser things than the unforgiveable crime of hurting his best and only friend.

His trigger finger twitches on the leather of Redemption’s holster.

It takes several minutes before he manages to coax the truth out of you, and when he hears you choke through a raw throat that your partner has been unfaithful, he’s…

… Conflicted.

First, there’s a surging upsweep of excitement. You’ve been spending less and less time with the Horseman lately, something your partner implemented after complaining that Strife would end up getting you killed someday. The nerve… You’re never safer than when Strife is at your side. Of course, there are times when he brings you to places where danger is present, but he’d die before he let said danger touch one, precious hair on your head. Now though, with your confession that you’ve left that cowardly human for good, Strife realises what that really means.

You’re free. You’re no longer tied to the arm of another, and he can finally have you all to himself!

Then, comes the guilt.

Selfish. How could he possibly be happy that your heart has been broken. Death always said Strife was sicker in the head than the rest of them…

Finally, every other thought he has is promptly buried by an uncontrollable, white-hot rage.

How dare they…

How DARE they!

Quick as a flash, he’s ripping Redmption from its holster and storming towards your bedroom door. His jagged edges are too sharp, too barbed and bristling to try and console you right now… He’d only end up hurting you…

“Strife! Wait!” you choke out, scrambling out of bed after him as soon as you realise his intent, “Stop! Wait, w-wait, wait! Don’t!”

It’s only the feeling of your tiny hands wrapping around his gun arm and clinging to it with feverish desperation that the red mist of rage starts to lift, leaving him huffing and snarling like an injured wolf in the doorway to your room.

“Please…” Your watery voice calls him back from the edge he’s teetering on, and he stiffens when you press your forehead into the swell of his bicep, as if to push your plea directly into his body. “Please. Don’t give me something else to have to cope with.”

It’s the only way to reach him.

Appeal to the trigger-happy Horseman’s soft spot.

You.

He loves causing trouble. But he hates when that trouble circles back to you.

With a deep, resonant exhale, Strife’s shoulders slump and he reluctantly slips Redemption back into its holster.

Then, in one, sweeping motion, he spins on his heel and bends down, scooping you off the floor, never minding the yelp of shock he draws from your chapped lips. You’d been crying for a while before he arrived.

The knowledge sets his temper flaring.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he forces the fire in his belly to quell, focusing on the cooling balm of having you held close to him.

With you in arm, he ventures into your living area and plonks himself down in front of the television on your sofa, causing its wooden frame to creak pathetically under his weight. Still bridling, he takes care in nudging a set of controls into your hands.

“Wanna watch somethin’,” he says churlishly, hoping you don’t think his mood is aimed at you, “Somethin’ funny… Cheer me up.”

‘Cheer you up,’ he doesn’t say, because that would invite a level of vulnerability that he isn’t ready to address just yet.

For you, it feels as though you’re sitting in the lap of a ticking time-bomb, though the both of you know that so long as you’re here, he won’t explode.

You’re still crying though, startled by a Horseman sweeping like a hurricane through your house, but at least you’re not alone with your thoughts anymore, nor the doubts or insecurities that keep scuttling like little bugs inside your head. Instead, you can focus on Strife, who eases his hissing temper back bit by bit, tipping you into his chest and curling his chin over you as he glares unseeing at the television screen.

There’ll be Hell to pay, owed by the human who did this to you. Of that he has no doubt. Oh, they’ll suffer, but sadly, he won’t kill them. Anyone who would look elsewhere for love when they had someone like you in their corner is the biggest fool in the Universe, and Strife intends to make sure they know it.

But for as long as you still draw breath, he doesn’t plan on letting another soul try to take you away from him again.

[bogkeep]

being in aroace education mode has me all fired up...... one thing i talk about a lot when given the opportunity is Deconstructing How We Think About Relationships - in short, if we put all of our relationships with other people into a pie chart the 'romantic partner' slice is likely to be a very small slice but gets a disproportionate amount of Relationship Infrastructure compared to other categories, such as vocabulary, rituals, attention and narrative scaffolding - entire systems such as dating / finding "the one" / break-ups / the relationship escalator, etc. on the flipside, 'friend' is such a vast category consisting of a plethora of different relationship, all ranging from Friendly Acquantaince to Extremely Close Childhood Friend You Share Everything With, but we have a lot less language and structure for how we think about these relationships even though many of them can be deeply important and intense to us.

the line between romance and friendship is really blurry, maybe even non-existent, but it feels like the way we think about these categories is that Romantic Partner is this one very specific, formalised box of a category, while Friend is a vast and vague landscape where anything can happen - and it's on this free real estate we have built structures like Queerplatonic Partner. the concept has probably existed since forever, along with many other different types of relationships throughout time and cultures, but it's our current attempt at having a Word for it.

are you with me so far? i want to write a blog post about Deconstructing Intimacy.

just putting a CW here that i'm going to say the word sex a lot and touch on the topic of sexual trauma.

one of the very thorny things about This Whole Topic is that sex and sexuality is extremely political. we just do not live in a world where there's any neutral ground to stand on regarding sex. every demographic comes with a lot of assumptions and expectations and moral judgement tied to sexuality. some demographics are desexualised, some are hypersexualised, some are Both At Once, and in addition to that there's lots of stigma, moralizing, pathologizing, and lawmaking. just a whole mess.

so all of That makes it kind of impossible to fully Dethrone Sex. and by dethroning sex i mean stripping it of the baggage it's accumulated in our cultures. Sex Is A Thing You Can Do With Your Body (And Your Mind?). this does not have to make it any less or more meaningful to you than what it already is. what each person considers intimate is very individual. many people find hugging completely inconsequential and will hug anyone at any time, and for some people a hug is A Lot. For some people, sex is a very fun and casual activity, and for others it's Sacred and carries a lot of meaning and a very close bond. sex is intimate - it requires trust and vulnerability.

it is not the only way to achieve trust and closeness, nor the only thing that requires it.

whenever i take the bus somewhere, i trust the bus driver to take me there safely. i put my literal life in a stranger's hands, but it's a very casual affair i don't think about too much. it's not an act of intimacy, just someone doing their job.

i think the way we talk about sexual assault as the evillest most horribly irredeemably worse-than-death thing, and sexual trauma as a unique kind of trauma amongst traumas, is... indicative. and please do not get me wrong, SA is a horrible thing in every way. it's a violation of trust, vulnerability and personal space. it's an abuse of power. those are the things that make it so horrific - but it's not unique.

an abuse of power, a violation of trust and vulnerability, can happen in so many different forms. emotional abuse, non-sexual violence, medical abuse, et cetera - i don't think it's possible to place trauma into a hierarchy from least to most bad. trauma can be incredibly complex and it's different for everyone. if one day the bus driver on a whim decided to drive off a cliff, i think that would severely fuck up my ability to trust other people to drive me around. if i trusted someone with my innermost thoughts that i have never shared with anyone else, and they used them to be cruel to me, that would severely impede my ability to connect with others.

i just... don't think it does anyone any favours to separate sexual trauma from all other trauma - making it seem like sexual trauma is The Worst Trauma Possible You Can Never Heal From, and on the flipside, make it seem like Well Your Non-Sexual Trauma Cannot Possibly Be That Bad.

TRAUMA TOPIC ASIDE, i think the concept of intimacy has a tendency to get flattened into just the one kind. there are many, Many ways for people to be intimate, many activities that require some form of mutual vulnerability or physical contact, but it seems like we're just very used to placing Acts of Intimacy into the Sexual category. kind of like a venn diagram where the two circles are Sexual Intimacy and Non-sexual Intimacy that are largely overlapping. but what if, instead, it's more that Intimacy is a really big circle, and sex is just one of the circles within it?

the way i think this slots into the whole Relationship Infrastructure thing is that We Like To Categorize Things. if we see two people being very intimate in a way that's not explicitly sexual, it's tempting to think ah yes they are in love AND they're having sex, OBVIOUSLY, because they are clearly capable of having that level of trust and vulnerability together. but what if they're not? does that devalue their relationship? does it make them any less close? these are very chewy questions to ask even without bringing shipping discourse into it, and i would prefer Not To because sexuality is political and there is no right answer.

another way this flattening can be frustrating is all the times non-sexual intimacy is treated as Sexual By Proxy. let's say, for example, you're telling a story, and all forms of intimacy within that story get read as metaphors for sex, despite your actual intentions. there's nothing wrong with using metaphors for sex, especially since Sex Is Political and sometimes we gotta be clever about the storytelling - but it can get very messy if people read sexuality between characters who don't have that, especially characters between which it would be very problematic to portray that. we gotta be able to tell stories about all kinds of close relationships, and surely it should be possible without bringing freud into it at every turn.

intimacy is context-dependent, i would say. a moment of vulnerability can be platonic or romantic or sexual or maybe something else depending on a situation and all the factors involved. human connection is an boundless spectrum, not just a couple boxes.

did any of this make sense? they're just my Thoughts, i'm not a scholar on this i just

[dearmrsawyer]

no year in review because it was all horrible really so instead i'm gonna take this chance to share a pile of incredible soc fics because they gave me somewhere else to be

these are all amazing stories and they made me feel a variety of things, and i've been compelled to return to all of them more than once. there are honestly more but this was getting very long. all fic authors thank you so much for putting such beautiful things out into the world ✨

To Everything There Is A Season by @basicbard, @ace-kaz-brekker

When times on the farm get tough, Jesper decides to make use of the old temple in the woods. Almost coincidentally, he meets a strange boy in the same woods shortly after. Are his prayers truly being answered? And why does the stranger seem to know so much?

Incredibly incredibly lovely little mythical fic that i am so enchanted by, this is a type of story that i'm always looking for and when someone who shares your interest happens to create it that is a gift from god, frankly

out of the forest (into a home) by stillthestars

Wylan is adrift in the city; Jesper and the rest of the Crows take him in. Daemon AU.

I have read this fic so many times, every couple of months at least, and the comments are turned off so i can never tell the author how much I love what they've created and i literally lie awake at night haunted by this (i do mean literally).

A Shot in the Dark by alex_kade

The Crows are on a treasure hunt, but when Wylan gets seriously injured the mission becomes one of saving their friend. OR yet another fic where Wylan is the bravest of brave little toasters.

The first in my love affair with fics where Wylan gets shot lol. "bravest of brave little toasters" lives in my head rent free always.

A Measure of the Sum of Parts by @kindness-ricochets

Wylan is trying to improve Kerch and Jesper is trying to be happy with his life. After an accident he heads for the Little Palace to learn how to control his abilities, and Wylan uncovers yet another dark family secret. Reunions in Ravka, political machinations, and the beauty of a strange little family.

The other fic i am biologically compelled to reread every couple of months. So so many fics by this author touch me, but this one is seriously everything to me.

Musée des Beaux Arts by @oneofthewednesdays

Six portraits of life and death in Ketterdam featuring the interwoven stories of Wylan Van Eck and Kaz Brekker.

One of the best fics i've ever read in any fandom, an utterly perfect character analysis fic about the Wylan/Kaz parallels

the handmaid by MaudeAlise

It’s a relatively straightforward job: Jesper will pretend to be the handmaid to the withdrawn and sheltered Van Eck heir, and convince him to elope with another mercher. That’s all Jesper has to do on his end, and then the Crows will walk away with 45 million kruge. It’s a simple task. Or it would be, if not for the fact that there seems to be more to Wylan Van Eck than meets the eye, and Jesper can’t help but be intrigued—and maybe a bit charmed, too.

Me reading this fic channeling whatever energy those instagram romantasy readers possess, like ok i get the feeling you guys are trying to express i really get it now. what on earth could be better than Jesper employed to be Wylan's handmaid. maybe nothing? SO compelling

under a merciless white light by @feelinglikecleopatra

Jesper decides to grow out his hair.

one of the most moving fics i've ever read ever, idek how to express it

Love is War (And War is Hell) by @silverbirching

Jesper and Wylan face their biggest challenge as a couple to date: dealing with a houseguest. (and that houseguest has done war crimes)

WIP. Nothing could've prepared me for how completely smitten I would be with the concept of Jesper and Wylan taking care of a wounded Ivan. Like i'm head over heels for this fic, its hilarious and sweet and emotional, it is just way too delightful, i can't handle it

Flight of the Butterfly / Symbiosis by @jazzythursday

travel time between Shu Han and Ravka. Jesper wanders onto the deck of the Hummingbird at night, restless and looking for… something, and finds Wylan instead. Conversations about sensitive topics ensue, and even Crows need sleep.

my fav missing scene fic inspired by SAB!!!! I was DESPERATE for more time on that ship and this fic gave me everything i wanted. the characterisation in this fic is flawless

If you hold me without hurting me, you'll be the first who ever did by gglow

Jesper and Wylan's first times at the Van Eck mansion, because we all need closure.

i can't get enough of fics set immediately after CK exploring how Wylan and Jesper settle into the mansion, this might be my favourite one i've read, its just so tender

somewhere full of bright colours and beautiful sounds by @jackwolfes

A Marya Hendriks Van Eck character study, aka Marya adjusts to life back in Ketterdam.

So many fics by this author, but i think about this fic all of the time. Its the fic i've always wanted and its everything i could've hoped for.

We're Gonna Need a Bigger Pentagram by @emmy-everafter

Nina Zenik is a vet med student who's almost done with her clinical rotations… but she's also secretly a very powerful witch. When someone brings a cursed, injured werewolf into the animal hospital, Nina decides to try to save his life, despite the bitter hatred that exists between wolves and witches. She enlists the help of her housemates, Jesper (who's also a witch), Inej (who's fae), and Kaz (who may or may not be a vampire). But breaking this curse requires more than Nina bargained for, and time is running out. Can the Crows save the werewolf before it's too late? More importantly, can they do it under the nose of their all-too-human housemate, Wylan? And--perhaps the most important question of all--will Nina finally get some decent waffles?

PURE joy, just made me so happy??? extremely delightful, fun, also super touching. Just so so so rich. One of my fav AUs, making all the crows a different creature and then putting them in a house together, A+.

To Live in Color by @sixofcrowdaydreams

As a child Wylan Van Eck was told by his father that domestic labor is all he will ever accomplish since he cannot read. He’s grown up cleaning his own family’s home. It’s not easy work, but it’s gotten easier over the years. If only he wasn’t so lonely. But now that his father has remarried and a has a new heir on the way, Wylan has the suspicion that he won’t be kept around much longer, even to clean. So for once in Wylan’s life, he decides to live for himself. Just this once. He’ll attend the King’s Masquerade Ball whether his father wants him there or not. However, his plan the night of the masquerade goes sideways when he meets a handsome sharpshooter and the criminal crew he runs with carrying out a heist at the palace. Wesper Cinderella AU

one of those perfect storm fics where not only is the writing wonderful, the characterisation on point, but the story itself is just SO engrossing. this was heartbreaking and uplifting

The In-Between by @sparrowmoth

Born into a world where a highly stigmatized and exploited series of genetic mutations can completely strip you of your humanity, Wylan has known since childhood that something was different about him. The same something different that is said to have killed his mother. Now, abandoned by his father, and his world shrunk to a cage, he must decide if to accept his fate or risk everything to change it.

WIP. The.... worldbuilding..... magnifique. this fic has me exclaiming GOD at least once a chapter lol. I haven't read many hybrid fics in my time but i fear i am now spoiled and no one can live up to this

Crows of the Saintly Days by Allthebestpeopleare

A very chaotic Inej, Nina and Jesper go to Ketterdam University. Things start to get interesting when Nina catches the eye of a cute jock in psych class, a very shy and sweet Wylan stumbles into their friend group, and a past associate of Inej's makes more and more appearances.

Prob the longest fic i've ever read, but genuinely would not sacrifice a single word. Weaves textfic and prose, and altho imo textfic can be kinda vapid/ooc what starts out as v light fun spirals into a wonderfully well developed story that really deeply moved me, and i loved the style!

Blood in the Water by hopeisbloody

Kaz Brekker runs the Barrel, his Wraith, and his Sharpshooter at either side for eternity. Jesper Fahey, ten years into his immortality, still a fledgling at heart, feels lost, alone, empty. Kaz and Inej have each other, and they have had each other for centuries. Even in their inner circle, he’s excluded from the millennia of memories they share. Their rule is disrupted. Bodies appear, drowned, drained of blood. Wylan is back, but what for?

This is one of the coolest Wylan characterisations i've ever read, such an incredibly engrossing story, I literally could not stop reading

We Keep This Dream Together by @magicandpizza

An entirely self-indulgent, vaguely chaotic, mostly sweet Six of Crows coffee shop/university AU, based (largely) on my experiences of the UK university system. Mostly focused on Wesper, but with sides of Helnik and Kanej too.

The most comfort fic ever, its not technically a Christmas fic (altho it does appear in a chapter) but feels like a Christmas fic to me because it makes me feel a sense of warmth and comfort that time of year embodies

a path to normal by seimaisin

Home is a difficult concept for Wylan and his mother. Jesper makes it easier.

so delicate and lovely, another fic set in the direct aftermath of CK focused on Marya returning home, which i can never get enough of <3333

In a Full Life, All Hearts Break a Little by alcove_words

Two years after the end of Crooked Kingdom, Jesper finally visits Novyi Zem and the father and life he left behind. But he isn't alone; Wylan comes, as well, determined to be supportive. Neither of them expects it to be an easy trip, but Novyi Zem holds more for both of them than they are prepared for.

Selling my soul for all fics set in Novyi Zem, but this one...... so SO beautiful. So conversation-based but full of story, so BIG hearted, such unbelievably beautiful writing.

Of Bronze and Blaze by amagicbeyond

This is a Wesper-centric reimagining of Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom, through the lens of the Shadow and Bones TV canon.

WIP. Oh my god????? Oh... my god. I don't even have words for this one, its just unbelievable

[itsybitsybluesy]

THE PERFECT ROMANTIC GETAWAY: ONE WEEK FOR TWO AT SCENIC, LAKESIDE MOUNTAIN LODGE

CHAPTER 1 / ELUCIEN / EXPLICIT / 1 OF 3

There was simply so much they’d had to extricate themselves from in the middle of Solstice season, Elain thought several times that they should really just call the whole thing off. “It’s never a good time for a vacation,” Lucien told her. “Which is why you have to take them.”

🎁  🎁  🎁 

LMAO HAPPY ACOTAR GIFT EXCHANGE @huntquinlan!!! surprise surprise, i accidentally revealed myself as your secret santa AND THEN TURNED AROUND AND DOUBLE-CROSSED YA BY PRETENDING I WAS YOUR NEW, DIFFERENT SECRET SANTA... did you guess? i am selfishly super happy i didn't have to switch, because i loved writing this and i also loved getting to discover your wonderful art! my only regret is that i couldn't write you asks in gossip girl speak the entire time.

thank you @temperedink for the generous beta read and thank you @acotargiftexchange for dealing with my mistake... i'm told at least once a year someone spoils the surprise and i am not that shocked that i did it my first time. just too excitable i guess!

have a wonderful holiday season, and i really hope you like this! i tried to take your Outlander hot springs suggestion and go somewhere new on the Continent (that is, ahem, quite obviously a lakeside town in japan i once visited in my early 20s). there will be three chapters total, sprinkled somewhat evenly over the next few days of the event!

LOVE U BESTIE!

xoxo,

itsy <3

(read it on AO3!)

preview under the cut:

ELAIN

She was slightly anxious the whole carriage ride as town streets turned to farms and fields and then to hills and valleys. There was simply so much they’d had to extricate themselves from in the middle of Solstice season, Elain had thought several times that they should really call the whole thing off. Nesta was just a few months pregnant and horribly sick in the mornings, sometimes only able to keep down the soothing bone broths Elain made her from scratch; Nyx was going through his first few challenges with his schooling and consequently driving court tutors to madness; Feyre and Rhys had their hands full and heads spinning with a squabbling pack of High Lords and uneasy, bickering detente with the human queens. 

Elain had been soothing and tending and chipping in and charming her ass off anyone that needed it. “I just don’t know if it’s such a good idea for us to leave now ,” she’d said to her mate, though it pained her to rain on his parade. 

Lucien was still splitting his time between Day and the apartment they were renting in Velaris, though Elain knew the constant winnowing didn’t always help with the question of what, exactly, to do about his inheritance: the title of Day Court Prince, Helion’s pride and joy, the golden boy he would have been, had he been allowed to grow up by his father’s side. The High Lord of Day seemed to have an endless fount of ideas on what Lucien should learn about in Day’s libraries, or why it was very important for him to accompany Helion to a trade meeting, or any number of other reasons to invite the current emissary of Night to stay another day, week, month. 

Elain knew there was no reason Lucien needed to keep going on Rhys’s nosy little reconnaissance missions or put up with the polite friendlessness that faced him in Velaris - just as she knew her mate still could not take the final step into the place Helion offered to him, the path that seemed to be open after so many decades thinking he deserved so little. It was Lucien who perhaps needed to spend more time communicating with his relatives and trusted friends this Solstice, and of course it was Lucien most convinced they should leave, Cauldron boil them all, because they wanted to and because they could. 

“It’s never a good time for a vacation,” Lucien told her before they left. “Which is why you have to take them.” 

“That’s not an answer,” Elain said loftily. “I think it’s you trying to avoid a Solstice visit with Helion.” 

“Forget Helion,” her mate said. “It’s me trying to whisk my gorgeous mate away for some actual peace and quiet.” 

And in the end, she’d agreed with him, in her heart of hearts so craving a day or two to just themselves. Lucien spared no expense or comfort, ever gallant and also very dramatic about his holiday plans; he worked with court engineers to spell their carriage against the winter cold so that he and Elain could enjoy a cozy, comfortable ride to their destination, laden with trunks of likely unnecessary furs and blankets and books and tea. He knew Elain still preferred real-time travel to winnowing, and he also knew it was a simple pleasure for her to not have to pack light. Across from her in the carriage, he sat with one hand stroking her own, eyes bright as he peered out the window. 

“Tell me again,” Elain said softly, “what this place is like.” 

“I don’t want to build your hopes too high,” Lucien said gaily, clearly proud of what he’d planned anyway. “After all, it was a suggestion from Eris, of all people.” It was his brooding, severe half-brother who’d told Lucien about the town and the inn, the mountain and the springs before it, about a day’s ride Northeast into the Continent. Only the Mother knew how, exactly, Eris had acquired this information, but Eris had heard about Elain’s dreamy musings on travel, exploring beautiful places and getting to know new people. Lucien expected it was ultimately fondness for Elain and not himself that had so inspired this exclusive recommendation. 

“That’s why I know it’ll be just perfect,” Elain countered. “Any place on the Continent notable enough for Eris Vanserra must be pretty breathtaking.” 

“It’s only a town,” Lucien said, grinning. “A town he happened to know, by a mountain, populated by quiet mountain people he probably terrified.” 

Elain curled closer to him and sighed. “Quiet people, how lovely,” she said. “What if I never want to return?” 

Lucien dropped a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sure I could handle your correspondence, be your emissary.” 

“No, I’ll make sure you’re enchanted into following my every step,” his mate replied. “So you can never leave my side.” 

He turned and let himself take a deep whiff of her hair and pearled, soft skin. “No enchantment needed, mate.”

[number1mingyustan]

Just in Case ☾

bestfriend!seungkwan x fem!reader

Warnings: kissing, cursing, explicit smut, marking, mentions of cheating, protected sex, riding, mentions of oral (f.)

Summary: It was always gonna be you

Word Count: 2.9k

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(a/n: i really meant it when i said I was planning to be more active. school is still kicking my ass and I've been so unmotived to write I'm sorry. i still have a bunch of unfinished drafts but there's no telling when I'll actually finish them)

You first met Seungkwan in December 2019.

You’d gone out to the club and accidentally spilled your drink on him. In a drunken panic you tried to help, but only ended up making the situation worse and staining his clothes.

However, he didn’t get upset. He just chuckled and told you it was fine and joked about how it wasn’t his best shirt anyway.

You offered to buy him another drink to make up for it, but he politely declined and made another joke about how you’d only end up spilling it on him again.

You apologized again and went your separate ways thinking it would be the last time you saw each other. But of course, fate has a weird way of bringing people together.

Less than 4 hours later he would find you, sneaking out of his roommate's room in his apartment with your dress on backwards.

It wasn’t unusual for Jeonghan to bring a girl home, but he never could have expected it to be the clumsy girl who spilled a drink on him just a few hours prior.

Jeonghan was the first to leave the club with you and Seungkwan went back home later that night with Seokmin.

He got up to get a glass of water before going to sleep and you were there, tiptoeing around his apartment and trying to go unnoticed.

You were doing a horrible job at being quiet, but luckily Jeonghan was a heavy sleeper. Such a heavy sleepover that he didn’t realize you and Seungkwan spent the entire night talking.

Conversation came naturally to you. He was shocked initially, to say the least. But he said one thing to you and the conversation ended up lasting for hours leading into the morning.

There was something so familiar about you. It felt like you’d known each other your entire lives and you could talk so easily. You talked about any and everything together like old friends catching up.

When Jeonghan finally woke up and saw you in the kitchen chatting it up with one of his housemates, he’d assumed you’d woken up just before him. Even now it remains a secret between the two of you that you never slept that night.

Since that day, Boo Seungkwan has been your best friend.

After that night, he invited you to roller skating after finding out it was something you both enjoyed. The two of you hung out more and more over time and you were eventually adopted into the friend group.

You got comfortable with all of them, Joshua, Jihoon, Seokmin, Seungkwan, and even Jeonghan. Despite the very one time hookup, you still consider Jeonghan to now be one of your best friends.

But you’ve always been closest with Seungkwan.

————

“We’re gonna get so fucked up!” You scream to Seungkwan over the loud music in the club.

He shouts back at you in agreement before taking your hand in his. He drags you through the crowd, navigating like an expert and ensuring that you stay close to him.

You make your way to the bar and order your drinks. The bartender is nice, but a little flirty. You can admit he's cute, but he's a little touchy and you're not really feeling him all that much.

Seungkwan can sense your discomfort and nearly startles you when he touches your waist. As soon as you realize it's your best friend, you melt into his touch and all your discomfort has dissolved.

"Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted him to get the message."

You nod. "I understand, thank you." You smile.

You both down your drinks easily and continue with your night out. You spend the new few hours dancing and singing along to the generic club music. Your best friend stays close to you and he looks out for you like he always does.

"You don't have to stay attached to me all night you know, it's your first night out as a single man in a while." You bump your shoulder against his playfully. "I don't wanna scare off any opportunities for you to meet someone."

"You know I didn't come here looking for anything," He gives you a soft smile.

"That doesn't mean you can't find something," You muse, raising an eyebrow.

He takes a sip from his drink. "Thanks, but no thanks. Let's just have fun tonight."

You shrug, bumping your glass against his before downing the rest of your drink.

The next few hours were spent dancing, laughing and drinking. It was nice to see your best friend let loose again, but the night eventually came to an end and he ordered an uber.

The ride was quiet, but not uncomfortable. The two of you sat leaned against one another in the backseat. The ambiance was comforting, set by the music playing quietly from the radio and the lights from the city surrounding you.

You two enter his apartment together and you immediately throw yourself onto the couch with a sigh of satisfaction. Your eyes fall shut and a smile appears on your face. "My feet were killing me."

Seungkwan crouches down in front of you wordlessly and helps you take off your shoes. You thank him quietly and he disappears into his bedroom.

When your eyes flutter open, he's re-entering the living room with something in hand.

"Here," He hands you a t-shirt of his. "So you don't have to stay in that dress either."

You mouth a 'thank you' before stumbling into the bathroom to change out of your clothes.

"You know," You plop down on the couch next to him. "You still haven't told me why you guys ended things.

Seungkwan sighs. "I know. It's nothing though, don't worry about it. Things just weren't working out, you know?"

"Yeah, it's a shame."

"You didn't even like her," Seungkwan chuckles.

"That's only because she didn't like me first!" You defend. "Never even understood that."

"She was just... nevermind. Doesn't matter now."

"No," You sit up and frown. "Tell me."

He sighs. "She was just kind of jealous of you. Ended up driving the whole relationship into the ground."

A beat.

"You guys broke up because of..me?"

Seungkwan leans his back against the couch. "Like not really... but yeah."

You frown. "Why would you do that?"

"You already knew she didn't like you Y/n."

"Yeah, but you ended a two-year-long relationship. What the hell?"

"Things just weren't working out."

"Yeah... because of me!" You sigh.

"You didn't do anything. She was just jealous and insecure. You ended up being the topic of conversation way more than needed and it was so frustrating. It was a constant argument for those two years and I got exhausted."

"I knew she didn't like me, but I didn't know it was that serious. I feel guilty as hell now, like I ruined your entire relationship."

"You didn't."

"But I did," You frown.

"Do you know how exhausting it was? For two years I had to put up with her turning everything into an argument about you. I was constantly being accused of something and then I'd have to be reassuring her and coddling her like a baby. It was like a never-ending cycle about the same thing Y/n. I could only do that so much before I lose my mind."

You frown. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, you didn't do anything wrong." He pats your head softly. "Seriously."

"I know I just... feel bad. I feel like I compromised your happiness" You pout.

"You could never. You're my best friend." He gives you a reassuring smile.

He rises to his feet.

"I'm getting tired, are you ready for bed?"

You remain silent, giving him a small nod. About 10 minutes later you find yourself laying in bed next to him. The lights are dim, but you can still make out the features of his face clearly.

You don't know why your heart is suddenly beating so fast. It's so quiet in the room that he just might be able to hear it.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"Huh?" You mumble. "Nothing."

"You know you can't lie to me," he grins.

"I don't know," You sigh. "You just feel so like... close right now. I don't know."

"Oh," He breathes out. "Do you want me to take the couch? It's never been an issue before."

"No!" You say a little louder than intended. "No," Your voice softens. "I just... what you told me earlier about Hayeon. Like, what if she's right?"

"That there's something romantic between us? I'm not sure I understand you Y/n."

"I mean, you just said it yourself. It's never been a problem for us to sleep in the same bed, but isn't that kind of weird? Like you and I have always been close... but maybe this is too close?"

"I think you're drunk and still hung up on my stuff with Hayeon.

"You're drunk too," You frown.

"Yeah, but I'm not speaking a bunch of nonsense right now." He pushes your hair out of your face softly. "Go to sleep Y/n."

"No," You protest.

"Y/n–"

You weren't really thinking when you kissed him. It just sort of... happened. Granted, he wasn't really thinking when he kissed you back either.

It felt so natural, like you were kissing a lover of 10 years. it was easy to melt into his touch, everything was just so easy with him. Your hands are in his hair, tugging lightly at the blue-tinted strands atop his head.

You let out a soft moan against his lips, pressing your body against his.

You feel like you're floating and drowning all at the same time. Floating on a cloud of bliss while simultaneously drowning deeper and deeper in him.

He pulls away, breathless with swollen lips. You both lay on your side, staring at one another. Neither of you really know what to say. Your heart is still beating out of your chest as you lick your lips slowly, relishing in the lingering taste of him.

"What the hell Y/n?"

"I'm sorry! I don't know," You panic, covering your face in embarrassment.

He sighs, falling onto his back. "Why did you do that?"

"It's not like we've never kissed before."

"Yeah, but not like that. The worst I've ever done with you was barely a peck. That was different."

"You felt it too?"

"What?"

You fall silent. There's a million things running through your head and they're all circling back to him.

"I don't know!"

"That's not a good enough answer.

"That's not fair to me," he frowns.

"Of course I have," he huffs out. "From the very first moment I met you, you made me feel something. It's been what, 5 years? When you left the bar that night, I couldn't stop thinking about you. I was convinced I'd never see you again. And then I did! Yeah you had just fucked my roommate and it was somewhat heart breaking, but from the moment I met you I knew I wanted you in my life. You were just... I don't know. You were shining a little brighter than anyone else in that club. You've got an aura about you that's hard to ignore."

You sit there, completely speechless.

"I know that I felt something for you since that night. I don't know if it really ever went away. I know I loved Hayeon when I was with her, I'm not saying I didn't. I don't know if I've been ignoring what I've felt for you, or if I really did get over it. But you suddenly deciding this now is confusing for me." He frowns.

For the second time that night, you act before thinking yet again. Your lips are on his and you find yourself melting into his touch. He kisses you back, pulling your body on top of his.

You don't know what you're doing or why you're really doing it, but it feels good. It feels right, like it's something you know you won't regret even though it may be confusing.

You straddle his lap and his hands rest comfortable on your lower back. His kisses are addictive, leaving you breathless with a fuzzy head.

You pull away to catch your breath, staring down at him with lust in your eyes. Wordlessly, you feel his shirt off your body and toss it onto the ground.

His eyes go wide and his breath gets caught in his throat. "Are you sure?"

"Never been so sure in my life. I want this... if you do too," you breathe out.

"Course I want this," He responds.

He pulls you back down and reconnects your lips with fervent passion. You grind yourself against him slowly, body moving on its own accord with his.

You tug at his shirt lightly and he breaks the kiss again to pull it off of his body.

"Shit," You breathe out. "Do you have any condoms?"

He nods. "In the drawer."

You reach over to his nightstand and open the drawer. You fish out the small gold package and tear it open with your teeth.

"You know, it's not safe to do that." he muses. "Could poke a hole or something."

"Oh well," You smirk, disposing of the gold packaging. "Maybe you'll just have to knock me up."

He raises an eyebrow at your statement. "Knock you up? But you're my best friend."

You let out a scoff and lean back, rolling the latex on his length. "Don't think.." You lift your hips, slowly sinking down onto him. You wince at the initial feeling. "Don't think I'd be on top of you like this if I was just your best friend."

He breathes out, tilting his head back into the pillow. His nails dig into your hips as he feels himself stretching you out.

You both let out a gasp as you start grinding down on him slowly. He holds you steady by your hips as you start to pick up your pace. you tilt your head back, gripping onto the sheets for support.

"Shit," he breathes out.

Your breathing grows heavier and you find yourself getting lost in the pleasure. It feels so good, so right. It's not fully processing in your head that you're riding your best friend right now.

"Should've done this sooner," You mumble to yourself.

Seungkwan can only nod in agreement. He's in awe watching as you bounce on his cock. The room is still dimly lit, but there's just enough moonlight seeping between the blinds for him to see how gorgeous you are.

He wants this image of you forever etched in his brain. He slides one of his hands from your hip to your inner thigh. Your pace is disrupted when you feel his thumb pressed against your clit.

"Oh fuck," You curse out.

He smirks to himself as he picks but the pace with his finger. You match his movements, falling back into your rhythm as ride him. He leans back deeper into the bed and pushes his hips up to meet you halfway.

His cock now brushes deep inside of you, hitting the same spot that has you struggling to stay quiet. Your nails are digging deeper into his bedsheets and you're whining out loud.

His thumb draws quick circles on your clit and his eyes never leave your frame. He watches you bounce on his cock, filling yourself up and cry out his name.

Fuck. He really regrets not doing this sooner.

He knows he won't last much longer. The intimacy and pleasure of it all is too intense. He applies more pressure on your sensitive bud, causing you to moan louder.

"Close," You warn him breathlessly.

He sits up on the bed, pulling your frame closer against his. His head falls into the crook of your neck. He sucks on your skin, nibbling softly and ensuring he marks you. He knows he might regret this in the morning, but he can't help himself. He has you now and he can't help but want a little reminder.

Moments later you're falling apart in his lap. You gasp your air pathetically as your hips lose rhythm and you tighten around his cock. He's losing his fucking mind.

You squeeze around him, driving him into his own orgasm and milking him for everything he's got. He groans into your skin as he spills his load into the condom.

Both your chests rise and fall against one another as you tap back into your senses. He places one last kiss on your cheek before he lifts you off his lap and lays you on the bed. He disposes of the condom and lays down next to you.

The room falls silent and neither of you is really sure what you should say.

You break the silence. "Now what?"

He shrugs.

"I feel like, like we need to talk about this."

"We should."

"Okay.... so.." You start.

He shushes you lightly, placing a finger on your lips. "Later."

You blink at him slowly. “What?”

He ignores you, pulling you in by the legs. “Later.”

“Is now a bad time?” Your voice is filled with confusion.

"No, it’s just you know…," he strokes your arm softly. "If we wake up tomorrow and decide this isn't for the better, I want to have at least had a taste."

You eyes go wide.

He smirks at you, pulling your body closer to his. "Just in case, y'know?"

You bite your lower lip, meeting his suggestive gaze.

"Yeah," You lean into his touch, allowing him to pin you down on the bed. "Just in case."

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© number1mingyustan - Do not repost without permission.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Bellowing Bull Calling Home

Please forgive me for not posting any stories in a hot minute! I've just been super busy and tired. I had a whole issue with my meds (thankfully it's been sorted out) and since I'm so angry I wrote something about König getting mad. I really like the idea of being yelled at by this man, so once I get to 500 followers, I might post some snippets of smut.

Also, I'm thinking about opening a Kofi soon. I don't make much money, but it would be a good place to post some more... Interesting drawings, so to speak. I could also take some comissions if anyone is interested. However, I'm not sure yet. I'm just floating the idea.

Anyways, enough about me! Time to read König getting mad because that's super hot.

TWs: König yelling and insulting recruits, slight allusions to degradation kink, allusions to a horrible government secret contained in a suitcase (you never learn what it is)

Wordcount: 4.1K

Art from This Post

Story below the cut

Bellowing Bull Calling Home

 Normally, visiting König at work was a laughable concept. A PMC base was no place for a simple civilian such as yourself, yet here you were with König’s (supposedly) very important briefcase that he’d been directed to hold close to his chest for the foreseeable future. You’d begged König to let you read them, but he had simply laughed you off and changed the locks on the briefcase again. He then politely hid it out of view to keep you from trying to break into it. You had no intentions of doing so, but apparently whatever was in there was important enough for König to go to such lengths to protect it.

Unfortunately, by hiding the suitcase to keep it out of sight and out of mind from your curious fingers, König had forgotten about it entirely when he left that morning. You wouldn’t have known were the suitcase not sat proud and regal on your humble dining room table.

Sipping your drink and leaning against the counter, you realized you had the perfect opportunity to try and hack the damned thing open. Whatever was in there had König muttering darkly under his breath and leaning away from your touch. Those accursed documents were driving a wedge into your relationship the size and depth of a canyon. Of course, you knew the case was tamper-proof. You knew that if you so much as cracked it open as much as a millimeter, it would most likely set off some sort of alarm if a proper code wasn’t punched in the top. You had the strange feeling, based on the hefty weight in your hands, that the case wouldn’t even so much as dent if you took a simple butterknife to it.

You swung it back and forth as you left the home, the weight of your relationship hanging with the suitcase in your hand. Making your way to the main gates of the base.

A soldier checked your ID before waving you through, getting another soldier to help make your way to your husband.

“So, I don’t know if he’ll be in his office right now, but we can swing by there first,” Horangi chirped as he followed behind you to a long, grey building that sat close to the entrance.

You passed through a series of doors under the judgemental stares of low-ranking officers as Horangi brought you down the linoleum floors to come to a plain wood door, its only decor being a brown and white plaque reading ‘LEICHENBERG’ in big block letters. Horangi flicked the back of his knuckles against the doors twice before rolling back onto the balls of his heels. He looked at the door expectantly, then to you, then knocked again.

“Sometimes I knock and he thinks he’s going crazy,” Horangi explained before turning back to the door, “what he doesn't know is that sometimes I’m walking by and I’ll knock on the door and leave before he can answer it. I don’t think he’s caught on yet.”

You shook your head tiredly. That would at least explain some of König’s strange tendencies as of late, at least. Friends like Horangi tended to shorten lifespans, so if König dropped dead on his next mission, at least you knew who to blame now.

Horangi pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the door to step through into the minimalist office. You balked at his gall, but the way the soldier swaggered through the doorway had you thinking that Horangi was far too comfortable with pushing his way into your husband’s office.

You barely got a chance to see your wedding picture on König's desk before Horangi cleared his throat.

“Whelp, looks like he’s not here,” Horangi sighed as he turned to face you, “guess I can just hand that over to him myself, if you’d like.”

You sighed, “I was really hoping to hand this over to him personally…”

“Why?” Horangi snorted, “so you can go fuck in a closet or something?”

“No!” you gasped, “I just… I wanted to see him. I never get to see him at work so, you know... I thought this might be a good chance to see what he's like at work.”

“Well who am I to deny such a fine and noble venture?” you could hear Horangi’s shit-eating grin through his mask, “if we’re gonna track down König, we gotta use plan B.”

“Plan B?” you asked warily.

“Plan B!” Horangi cheered before sauntering over and slinging an arm over your shoulder, “looks like we’re going on a goose chase today.”

“Please not a wild one.”

“It’s gonna be a wild one.”

You groaned as Horangi’s laughter echoed off the empty walls of König’s office. It figured that the one day you had to go to König’s work he’d be squirreled away into the farthest corner of the base. He had a habit of being in the wrong spot at the wrong time, which made you all the more anxious every time he was sent on deployment. It also had a tendency to haunt you in your daily life when he returned home to your awaiting arms.

Horangi trotted down the halls, conveniently pushing you past anything he considered a bit too explicit for civilian eyes and ensuring you were in front of him to prevent you from skiving off to some derelict corner of the base.

“König usually likes to go to the gym when he’s frustrated about something,” Horangi explained as he brought you from the main building to a separate section of the base. Once inside, Horangi rounded on the help desk like a tiger on a deer.

“So, Matrice,” Horangi drawled as he leaned his chin on the heel of his hand, somehow exuding smugness through his mask and sunglasses, “you wouldn’t happen to know where ol’ Col. Leichenberg is, would you?”

“Uh…” Matrice darted her dark eyes between Horangi and you, then down to the suitcase fearfully.

“König’s my husband,” you offered.

“König has a wife?” Matrice shook her dark curls as she tapped away on her archaic keyboard, “nobody ever tells me anything around here...”

“Well maybe if you actually came to the staff parties, you might get to know us a bit better,” Horangi slyly slid the dig into the conversation with serpentine ease.

“Horangi, last time I attended a KorTac hoedown you threw up in my car,” Matrice grumbled, “I’m never gonna be your DD again.”

“I don’t remember it being that bad,” Horangi snorted, then turned and muttered, “not that I remember that much anyways…”

“And that’s why I’m not your DD anymore,” Matrice scrolled through the page a couple of times before shrugging and turning to you, “sorry ma'am, but you’re outta luck here. Maybe try checking the cafeteria? It’s nearly lunch. Big boy's gotta eat."

“König would be the first out to lunch,” you grumbled after you thanked the woman. Horangi paid no mind to your whinging and simply turned you back around to head back to the main building.

“If it makes you feel better,” Horangi offered as he firmly pushed you across the road, “I think I saw him cut down on red meat the other day.”

“We’ll see how long that lasts,” you rolled your eyes. 

Horangi only laughed as he opened the door for you.

“I’m serious! He needs to watch what he eats!” you insisted as Horangi led you into the belly of the PMC.

“You know, sometimes I think about what your grocery budget is like, and then I think I'd rather go back to South Africa than have to pay your bills for a month,” Horangi chirped as he stopped you from missing a right turn, “watch your step.”

“You know it would be easier if you were the one in front,” you huffed as you swung down the bland corridor.

“I don’t like the thought of you being out of sight,” Horangi explained as he guided you around yet another corner, “König’s said some interesting things about you.”

“You guys talk about me?” you cast a glare over your shoulder at the tall Korean man.

“What else are we gonna talk about?” Horangi shrugged, “living on base isn’t exactly exciting. Dunno if you civvies got the memo, but there’s only so many times you can talk about special secret missions before it just gets boring.”

“Special secret missions?” you perked up.

“Cleaning duty assigned to whatever poor fucker got the shit end of the stick,” Horangi clarified.

You groaned, then complained, “Please tell me he doesn’t say bad things.”

“Not really,” Horangi replied, “but he tells me a little bit. Just the juicy bits.”

“Really?” you scoffed, “like what?”

“Did you actually forget your own birthday this year?”

You flushed, which seemed to be enough proof for Horangi to laugh at your humiliation.

“He told me you nearly had a heart attack when he told you,” Horangi snickered.

“Oh really?” the cafeteria came into view, “well has he told you he eats other people’s lunches as snacks?”

Horangi sighed, “I figured it was him. It’s not hard to guess that one.”

“Has he told you that he ate Stilleto’s cake?”

Horangi paused, “I thought he was a better man.”

“We both did,” you shook your head morosely, “but I guess she stole his evening snack or something?”

“Oh my God he didn’t try to justify it, did he?” Horangi groaned.

“I tried to explain it to him but he wouldn’t have it,” you pushed the door to the cafeteria open.

The massive room was empty save for a table of sergeants playing poker and a couple of officers sharing a coffee. The room was notably absent of any giant men with a propensity for malicious snacking. The warm and inviting smell of the room made you want to grab one of those dishwater coffees they served and kick up your feet, get a taste of the military experience, but the suitcase felt hot in your hands.

“Looks like he’s not here,” Horangi pointed out the obvious, “so maybe he’s outside training one of his teams? I hope not…”

“Why don’t we check?” you offered.

“But it’s so far…” Horangi trailed off weakly as you marched past him, “hey! Where are you going!?”

“To see König!” you called back.

Horangi rolled his eyes, but followed behind you regardless.

The outdoor training area had been split into three squads of men, each squad being led by a different officer. The first leader Horangi brought you to had looked you up and down suspiciously before promptly turning a shade of milk white when he spotted the suitcase in your arms.

“What the hell are you doing with that!?” the portly man squawked as he jabbed a finger at the offending black pleather suitcase.

“My husband forgot it before going to work,” you spoke softly, taken aback by the man’s animated reaction.

“Wh-König just left it at home?” the man’s pale skin was steadily flushing to a beet red the longer you let him sit with your answer.

“Can you show me where he is? I need to get this back to him,” you tried to calm him but he only grew steadily more upset.

“You’re telling me König left that suitcase in the hands of a damn civilian?” the man scoffed, “König’s an idiot, but he can’t be that stupid!”

“She’s probably telling the truth, Baker,” Horangi interjected.

Baker steamrolled over him with the grace of a bulldog chasing a rat, “So where the hell did you get that?”

“It was just on my kitchen ta-”

“It was on your what!?” Baker howled.

“Baker!” Horangi barked, finally making the man pause to let you breathe, “this is König’s wife.”

Baker’s eyes widened as his mouth dropped into a perfect ‘o’. He turned to you with a sheepish smile, “Sorry, ma’am, I… I should’ve put two and two together but just seeing a random civilian with that in their hands and… Well… You gotta understand, right?”

You tried to steel your nerves as you replied, “It’s alright! Don’t worry about it.”

“I really should apologize though,”  Baker blundered on, “I mean if I’d only known you were König’s wife I never would’ve-”

“Baker please,” Horangi pinched his nose bridge, “cut the shit. I’m really not in the mood to listen to you kiss ass for an hour straight.”

“Understood sir,” Baker snapped his jaw shut before subtly turning to you, “please don’t mention anything to König.”

“I won’t,” you assured him kindly.

“Thank God,” Baker quietly made the sign of a cross before returning back to his platoon.

Horangi dragged you along to the next platoon, quietly ignoring Baker’s inability to direct you to König. Instead you were brought before a short man with notably thick dark eyebrows, accentuating his severe browline as he scowled at his soldiers.

“G’day Horangi 'ow are what the hell is she holding,” the man glared at you as though you were but dirt beneath his steel-toed boots.

“This is König’s wife,” Horangi cut you off before you could even start, “she’s here to deliver what he forgot at home.”

The man’s dark eyes darted from you back to Horangi, “You’re tellin’ me big boy over there forgot the damn-”

“Don’t say it,” Horangi interjected harshly, “don’t you dare.”

“She don’t know?” the man whispered.

“Not a word,” Horangi’s threat was nearly lost under the shouts of men and the screams of whistles.

The man looked unnerved, but nodded along begrudgingly.

“Right, well, you’re lookin’ for the big guy?” the man glanced between you both.

“Sure are,” Horangi nodded.

“Well yer in luck!” the man’s face lit up, “big boy’s just over there.” With that, he pointed out into the distance at one big man sitting in a navy blue folding chair whilst commanding the smallest group of soldiers, no more than a squad in number. His back was to them, but it was clear it was none other than König. If nothing else, the mask on his face in the sweltering hot sun was a dead giveaway. It was a miracle you didn’t see him earlier.

“Damn,” Horangi spat, “you really think it would be easier to find him, but he’s damn good at getting lost in a crowd.”

“When ‘e’s in that chair it’s hard to spot ‘im,” the man chuckled, “now get outta my sight with that damned thing. Gives me the heebie-jeebies just lookin’ at it.”

You glanced down at the suitcase and back at Horangi.

“You don't want to know. Seriously,” Horangi muttered as he urged you onwards.

Instead of taking in the weight of Horangi's ominous utterances, you focussed on making your way to König with a skip in your step, eager to see your beloved husband. You were so eager that you didn’t notice how he tensed up as you drew close. Just as you were about to greet him, he slowly rose from his seat with a blood-curdling howl sent straight from hell itself.

“YOU!” König bellowed like a brazen bull, “JEFFERSON, YOUNG, MANDULU! GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. You had never, never, in your life ever heard König yell like that before. Sure he could curse up a wicked storm when he stunned his toe on the corner of your table, but this? This was another beast entirely. The mere thought of König yelling like this had been completely foreign to you.

“YOU USELESS ANIMALS,” König raged as he rounded in on the three cowering soldiers, “I have never, in my entire life, seen such incompetence,” König drew himself up to his full height, making even you shiver in your shoes, “and yet here you three are before me. What gives you the right to call yourself soldiers!?”

“I’m sorry sir, it won’t happen again,” the middle man’s voice quivered as he stepped forward for the others.

König’s laugh sounded downright demonic, “You’re apologizing for what? I haven’t even told you what you did wrong!”

You looked back at Horangi, who only threw you two thumbs up as he smartly backed away. You glared at his retreating form before König forcefully grabbed your attention.

“All three of you have been nothing but DEAD WEIGHT to the rest of your team. I’ve seen better performances from drunks moping up their own VOMIT!” König snarled as he drew close to the men, circling them like a hyena stalks its prey, “fucking Aziz is doing better than any of you. And Mandulu!” König clucked his tongue as the terracotta skinned man quivered like an aspen tree when König's voice dropped to a lull, “I expected better of you. You’re supposed to be up for promotion, yeah?" König leaned in close to scream, "DOES THIS PERFORMANCE WARRANT A GOD DAMN PROMOTION?” König’s face wasn’t even a foot from the man’s nose, leaning down and coating him with hot breaths from his draconic lungs.

The man, Mandulu, slumped as all fear left his body, totally replaced with encroaching shame. He dropped his head down, before tearfully admitting, “No sir.”

“THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!?” König screamed.

A part of you wanted to intervene. You felt like you were witnessing a torture session with how König rounded on this poor man, but something held you back. Maybe it was fear, but maybe, just maybe… It was arousal.

You hated to admit it, but something about watching König’s muscles bulge in his neck as his mask swayed forth when he leaned down over men who easily dwarfed you excited you. You almost wished that you were in their shoes, but watching was more than enough. He was a glorious sight, rage burning like the sun as he lorded over his men like a god. He was a mountain of a man with how he held himself up above his victims. You wished to lay before him like Prometheus, let him rip you apart with his talons.

“And you two,” König spat as he turned to the others, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING ON YOUR PHONES? What are you doing twenty feet off looking at the others while they work like ACTUAL FUCKING SOLDIERS.”

One meekly spluttered, “Sir we were just-”

“Just what? Laughing at Goetz?” you could see König whipping himself up into a frenzy as he hurled his next insults, “GOETZ HAD KNEE SURGERY THREE MONTHS AGO AND IS STILL HAULING YOUR USELESS ASSES ACROSS THE GODDAMN FIELD. AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING? PLAYING ON YOUR GODDAMN PHONES!!!”

You shuddered. If there was one thing König hated, it was soldiers on their phone during training. You gave a silent prayer for the poor men.

König stalked around them slowly, “I should have you thrown out. What would I be losing? Nothing! Not a single thing! I might actually gain something without you two dragging us down!”

The men cowered miserably. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for them, despite knowing the abuse was more than well deserved. From the sounds of it, it was a miracle König hadn’t beaten them to a pulp. Now that… That would be a sight to witness…

“ALL OF YOU,” König snapped as he finally stood to face the three men directly, “Mandulu! Give me a ten page report on all the reasons you’re still worthy of a promotion today at eighteen-hundred exactly, or you’re up for recycling. For the next half hour, you’re running laps around the yard. Maybe think how you'll structure your points, ja?” he turned to the other two, this time with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. You knew that under his mask, he was grinning from ear to ear through the fury etched into his face. “And you two!” he cackled, “give me your phones. For the next week, you’re going to be putting your phones in lock boxes. You’re going to carry those fucking boxes from the moment you wake up to the moment you go to sleep. If you’re good little boys, you’ll get your phone for an hour before lights out. Are we clear?”

“But sir, my wife-”

“I DON’T GIVE A GOOD GOD DAMN ABOUT YOUR WIFE,” König roared.

The man shrunk into himself like he’d been burned by the flames of König’s fury.

“You are to carry your phones in lockboxes for the next two weeks! Are we clear?” König snapped.

“Yes sir,” the two miserable whelps squeaked out before König finally relaxed.

The goliath finally stood straight before them, “All three of you! Dismissed!”

“Yes sir,” the three men saluted and slunk off miserably.

Just as Mandulu looked like he couldn’t be in any worse of a state, König called out, “And Mandulu?" the man raised his dark for eyes, "I’m disappointed.”

The poor man looked like his whole spirit had just been crushed to dust. His face crumpled in just briefly before he quickly turned his face and quietly left.

You watched the poor man leave with his tail tucked between his legs before turning to look at König. He was shaking his head slowly as he turned his back on his soldiers, all of whom were watching him for further instruction. He quietly turned to them, barked a couple of commands that had the soldiers scurrying into actions, then turned back to stare off into the distance. Incidentally, that was right at you.

“Ah!” König stiffened slightly as he locked eyes with you, “meine liebe! What are you doing here?”

“I brought this for you,” you held up the suitcase that had been weighing you down all day.

“Oh mein Gott,” König gasped as he rushed over, “ohhhhh mein Gott meine leibe I can’t believe you found this. I can’t believe I forgot oh mein Gott.”

“I figured you might need it,” you laughed as you handed the suitcase over.

“I knew I was forgetting something, but this? If one of my superiors saw me without this,” König shuddered, “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Well it’s a good thing I got it for you!” you smiled brightly before scowling, “it was really hard to find you though.”

“Oh?” König put the case down and put his hands on your shoulders, “where did you think I was?”

“Well, first Horangi took me to your office-”

“Please tell me he didn’t take you inside,” König groaned.

“He did,” you chirped, “but he did knock twice at least.”

“Well that’s something,” König grumbled, “so where did you go next?”

“We went to the cafeteria afterwards,” you placed your hands on König’s hips and shifted from side to side.

“You went to the cafeteria? Why didn’t you come here first?” König scoffed in mock offense.

“König,” you cupped his masked face in your hands, “I know you too well to not check the cafeteria second.”

König sniffed indignantly but let you continue your regales of your odyssey.

“So anyways, when you weren’t in the cafeteria, Horangi took me out here to find you! It took us a couple of tries, but we got here in the end!” you lightly kissed the inside of his wrist, making him chuckle sheepishly.

“So you saw all that?” König grimaced.

“All of it,” you told him, “I feel kinda bad for them though…”

“Ach,” König scratched the back of his head, “Jefferson and Young are fucking idiots, but Mandulu is usually one of my best. I don’t know what got into him today…”

“Maybe he’s going through a tough time?” you asked.

“I really hope not,” König winced, “if he is… Well, I can’t apologize. And if he were out on the fields it wouldn’t matter, so this is a good experience. Still,” König paused as he looked off to where Mandulu left, “I hope tomorrow is better.”

“Can't you go easy on him?” you asked hopefully.

“It’s because I like him that I have to be harder,” König patted your head lovingly, “if I’m soft, he’ll never be what he wants to be. If I’m hard on him, he might get to my rank in a couple of years.”

“That fast!” you whistled, “he must really be something special.”

“I was the one who put him up for promotion,” König brought his hands back to his hils, “but… You weren’t upset by any of that, were you?”

“Not really,” you shook your head, “if anything, it was kinda hot.”

“You thought me going red in the face is ‘hot’?” König shook his head in disbelief, “you’re a strange woman.”

“It’s cool to see you when you get all angry and stuff,” you chirped, then quietly added, “it would be hot if you yelled at me like that.”

“I don’t want the neighbors to know about your kinks,” König drawled as you blushed, “but if you really want, we could always try something when we get home.”

“Could we really?” you grinned eagerly.

“Well, not like that,” König pointed over his shoulder at where the three men had stood, “but I’m sure we can figure something out. Now,” he picked up the suitcase, “do you need a lift home?”

“I’ll be alright,” you assured him, “do you need me to go?”

“I'd hate for you to go so soon. If you like, I can meet you back in my office, but as you can see I’m a bit busy just right now,” König gestured over to the soldiers hauling a massive log over their shoulders from one end of the muddy field to the other.

“Can you at least give me a kiss before I go?” you asked.

“Of course,” König laughed.

Without missing a beat, König lifted his mask up to lean down and press a kiss against your lips. He held you tight briefly, then let you step back from his grasp. His eyes shone with an undying warmth as he took in your form once more.

“Colonel König has a face!” a soldier screamed in the distance.

König closed his eyes as he let out an exasperated groan.

“They’ve never seen your face?” you asked.

“They’ve never been on the field with me,” König explained before ruffling your hair, “now go to my office. I’ll be there soon, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” you blew him a kiss as you walked off back to the main building.

As you did, you could hear König raging and roaring at the soldiers from behind you. You felt bad, but you knew you’d be on the receiving end of König’s rage soon enough. Funnily enough, you looked forward to it.

Story Masterlist

[utilitycaster]

How can Molly's death be considered a major mistake? It's the crux of the entire campaign.

so I think about this a lot, because you're right, and it really comes down to like...a lot of factors in how people interact with fiction, and some stuff I feel about fandom.

The short answer is that Molly is some people's favorite character, and they really wanted to watch him for 141 episodes and not just 26, and they didn't get to, and so it's valid to feel sad about that. But I think what personally grinds my gears is the idea that it's a mistake and because this is a Fan Favorite character he SHOULD have come back. Setting aside the fact that he had both his fans and his detractors from the start and a lot of people (myself included) who found him irritating didn't say much for a good chunk of C2 because, well, he was dead, this isn't a fucking competitive reality show. You don't get to vote on your phones to decide who wins a resurrection.

I think the longer answer is that there is a certain type of person in fandom, born of a certain type of person in social media communities, who just...is not willing or interested in considering not just that their experiences, preferences, and philosophy are not universal, but also that they are not objectively best and correct and that everyone who disagrees is wrong. It's often really common in, though not exclusive to, people who have particularly limited experiences - young (like, teenager/early 20s), people who haven't lived in a diverse area or in multiple different areas, people who for whatever reason do not get out much - which both makes sense (haven't been exposed to a ton of different perspectives irl) but also means that you get people who, for all they may talk about global politics, kind of unconsciously seem to act as though everyone they interact with online is a variant of someone from the same 3000 person town in the United States in which they've spent all 21 years of their life. ANYWAY getting back to the main point I feel like Molly attracted a lot of that kind of person, who just...doesn't get that while Molly is, to them, a deeply validating expression of gender identity, for many people he is "guy you meet at your friend's birthday party in a two-bedroom 6 floor walk up and within 5 seconds he has pissed you off so profoundly with his overfamiliarity that you go into the kitchen and mainline as much vanilla vodka as possible to not stab this guy with a secondhand knife that says "CHEESE!" on it even though you hate vanilla vodka and it's summer in NYC and you're on the 6th floor in a small apartment with too many people so it's approximately 117 degrees Fahrenheit in this kitchen and the vodka isn't much cooler, and you succeed in this goal, and then after sending your friend who couldn't make it because they were at a family thing that weekend a picture of a rat on the tracks of the 3 train with a caption "this u?" at 1:54 in the morning you're like "so this guy Molly was there" and they're like "oh my god I met him at Cameron's last party, he SUCKS" and you're like "I KNOW". Like a lot of people just do not get that Molly was very popular with their circle, and also a lot of people either were neutral-to-not-feeling-it. This is before we get into the post-death idealization of who he was that takes him from "irritating but I think he'd have grown on me in some ways eventually had he lived" to "horrible and insufferable fake-ass bitch."

And then we get to the true impasse: the idea that something that does not fulfill every single one of your personal wishes might still be a great story.

I'm certainly not perfect, and there's things I thought I wanted for the end of C2 that I didn't get, and there's some things I do wish we'd have gotten to see (or that we'd have done in C3), but I like to think that I try to remain at least partially open to the possibilities. I like to think that my enjoyment of a story isn't contingent on whether one single character survives, even if they are my favorite (and I say this as someone whose favorite ASOIAF character was immediately Ned Stark, a statement that should surprise no one who follows me) nor that the story precisely reaffirms my existing worldview. I want stories to tell me something new and interesting that wouldn't come from my own head, and I want them to sell me on it. I think that a lot of people lost the thread of the importance of representation, namely, they forgot that while it's great to see people like you in a story, you should also be trying to see people not like you and perspectives that aren't yours. I am extremely defensive of my and other people's right to say "I didn't like this story and here is why" without someone being like "Give it a chance! Here's why I think it's good" but at the same time, there is a difference between "I really wish Molly had stayed alive and I don't like that he died," and "everything that happened after he died was A Mistake because it wasn't what I Wanted, and someone should fix this." Like that's what toddlers do. That's not an adult way of interacting with narrative.

So those people don't even get to the point of "the entire campaign is deeply influenced by the loss of Molly; that is what binds the rest of the Nein together and makes them what they are; the fact that Lucien wears the face of a departed friend is crucial to the entire final arc comprising about 20% of the campaign; and the fact that he does not come back, but someone new, with new chances and new choices to make does is emblematic of a campaign about people who find that they cannot undo their pasts, but neither are they trapped or damned by them." They're stuck at "guy I liked died and I'm throwing a tantrum 6 years later."

[queer-ragnelle]

I'm honestly kinda disgusted by the way a lot of authors just seeped their misogyny onto Guinevere to make her so horrible, lol. effectively destroyed a lot of people's view of her and she gets blamed for everything?? people keep shitting on her, saying Lancelot should be shipped with "someone better" and I'm just really annoyed because.. Guinevere is horribly characterized by these weirdos authors 💀. It does not take much to portray her as a complex character while also not making her shitty on purpose because you don't like her for her affair, lol.

I love her so much and it's disappointing how she's been treated :(( which is why I'll never be able to hate Guinevere or her ship with Lancelot

My friend it’s honestly so exhausting at this point. It’s not even limited to writing Guinevere herself as insufferable, but writing other characters behaving worse toward her than they ever were in medlit. Arthur hitting and degrading her when he cheats on her? (Warrior of the West by M. K. Hume) Lancelot using her for political gain and never loving her at all? (Enemy of God by Bernard Cornwell) Owain blocking her passage as she flees danger? (Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley) Agravaine threatening to rape her? (The Road to Avalon by Joan Wolf) Gawain threatening to rape her? (Guinevere by Lavinia Collins) WHO are these characters bro you got me fucked up!!! The subtext here is that the authors hate Guinevere (read: women) so much they’re willing to warp everyone around her to treat her like garbage!!!

“Guinevere is bad because she has sex outside marriage.” Yeah so does Arthur. He fucked his own sister. In the dark. Leading her to believe he was her husband. So there’s Mordred, but there’s also Loholt and Arthur the Less etc. Arthur has many bastards from his extramarital affairs. (Vulgate and Post-Vulgate) Yet he isn’t canceled. Hm. Wonder what the difference could be? Let’s investigate. Seems authors treat Morgause and Morgan similarly to Guinevere. Gee, what is the common denominator here? Meanwhile in medlit, Morgause didn’t commit any crimes—she didn’t rape Arthur to have Mordred, she never neglected her children, she never cheated on Lot, and she didn’t prey on young men, she had ONE consistent lover who was younger than her AFTER her husband died. And she was murdered for it. (Post-Vulgate) Yet every other author writes her as a rapist (The Once and Future King by T. H. White), child grooming (The Wicked Day by Mary Stewart), pedophile (The Book of Gaheris by Kari Sperring), trying to put one of her sons on the throne (many examples). Now, Morgan is evil. But not for lewdness, for trying to murder people. In literally every source. Hello. It’s very simple. These authors are ridiculous. They care more about highlighting their opinion that fictional women having sex is BAD than writing a good story. When there are plenty of actually bad things happening in medlit they could condemn instead. You know, like the misogyny? Burning Guinevere at the stake??? You couldn’t make this up. It’s the utter disdain for the material for me. Assuming these dumbasses are even reading the material. Write something else where I can’t see it. (To be clear, I don’t even hate all the books I listed as examples, but they are unfortunately examples.)

Thankfully I haven’t encountered the blogger discourse regarding this. At least not lately. My advice to anyone who sees people shitting on something you like is to block them. Just do it. Fuck that noise. It’s not worth it.

Also I have to laugh at ship discourse about Guinevere/Lancelot. Of all pairs! It’s so unserious. They’re not some random comphet duo from the newest tumblr trending fandom. They’re mythological characters from a medieval literary tradition. Lancelot was created for her. In the 12th century. That was 900 years ago. It feels juvenile to reduce them to ship discourse. Especially because the story is fluid, it can be reshaped to fit the author’s narrative. So if Guinevere sucks, it’s because they made her that way. This is the epitome of making up a girl to be mad at.

“Oh but in Knight of the Cart—” Shh stop talking. If you’re pulling out KotC like some “gotcha” about Guinevere’s treatment of Lancelot, then you’re lost, buddy. You may be seeking entertainment in the wrong place! Guinevere and Lancelot aren’t real. Nobody was “abused” because they’re characters, narrative tools, to tell a story. Guinevere is flawed. Nobody ever said she wasn’t. If that’s too much complexity for you then I don’t know what else there is to say.

Honestly? Nobody is obligated to like Guinevere. I think it’s stupid to dislike her but the real take away is—if you dislike Guinevere so much, hate her even, why the are you writing so poorly about her? She’s as old a character as Arthur himself. Show some fucking respect or get out.

Anyway I’m going to end this with a recommendation! Today I started the third book of Sharan Newman’s Guinevere trilogy. The first two, Guinevere and The Chessboard Queen were utterly AWESOME!! Lots and lots of named women, like Guinevere’s mother Guenlain, Cador’s wife Sidna and daughter Lydia, Guinevere’s handmaiden Risa, and so on. The one downside is Morgause and Morgan are your typical modern retelling baddies, but overall it’s two thumbs up from me. Many points of view, but Guinevere is fascinating and complex and most importantly she is beloved!!!!!! Really hoping it stays enjoyable through to the end. Miss Newman is still in print, so I encourage everyone to seek these books out at your local library or from your favorite bookseller. Here’s a quote from book 2, The Chessboard Queen.

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

1 trope in Zutara fics that I find absolutely delusional is how Katara's family and friends react when she runs away from Abusive Aang into Zuko Marx's arms.

It's so common to see some variation of, "Oh Katara, you lost yourself and your identity because of your abusive relationship with that misogynistic Aang. I'm so happy you seem like yourself again, Zuko is so good for you, he really understands you, you seem happier now"...etc etc.

And. It's just so transparently malicious and audacious.

Zuko literally manhandles Gran Gran in ep.1 and his family is responsible for Kya's murder.

Sokka has loved Aang as a brother for 3 seasons. Aang has brought joy and hope and a chance to end this terrible war. Sokka has literally protected Aang with his life multiple times in the show.

Aang was Toph's first friend. He immediately empathises with her when she speaks of how she was abused by her parents. Aang is the reason Toph felt free for the first time in her life.

Hakoda probably suffers PTSD because of the Fire Nation. They are the reason his beloved wife is dead. And then there is Aang, who sacrificed his freedom for Sokka and Katara in the first episode. And saved their lives many times over.

I could go on and on.

Any NORMAL reaction to Katara even liking Zuko from Katara's friends and family would probably be shock. Hakoda and Gran Gran would be deeply suspicious and disturbed. To be fair, let's say Toph and Sokka would actively try to be neutral, and make sure Aang AND Katara are okay.

But no. Instantly, all of Katara's friends and family turn on Aang, and begin to praise Zuko. Why? Because the author hates Aang, and loves Zuko. That's it.

I wouldn't even mind that, really IF the author was transparent about the fact that hey, this is OOC, I just don't like Aang and wanted catharsis.

But no. Instead it's "fixing canon" and "giving Katara agency" and "I'm a real Katara fan and wanted better for her." God.

Not only do they ignore canon, they also act self-righteous about it and say they're better than canon. You couldn't make it up if you tried. It's an SNL skit for 20 years.

Thanks for the blog, this was very cathartic to write.

I wouldn't necessarely say they'd all be disturbed by Katara liking Zuko - at least post-redemption Zuko, aka the only one Katara wouldn't hate - but rather that, unlike Zutarians, these people know Katara and thus know it would have no future.

They know Katara loves her tribe, they know she didn't really care about having political power, they know she longs to be a kid again, and they know that her temper is as bad as Zuko's and thus they would clash all the time.

They would be worried about this relationship hurting her, not because they believe Zuko is still a horrible person (they canonically believe he changed) but because these two are incompatible and trying to force a DOA relationship to work is pointless, exhausting, and could lead to a lot of resentment when things inevitably went wrong - they don't want Katara to be heartbroken over a miserable relationship, messy break up, and potential end of a good friendship.

And yeah, that bullshit "They always knew was bad for her and are encouraging her to run into the arms of the guy she doesn't even like" is already bad... but I'd say it's still better than the "Brave Fire Nation Savior (that gets written like a White Savior because Americans Be Like That) is going to save this Helpless Brown Girl that is being abused by everyone that is part of any culture other the Fire Nation because she needs to learn that The Fire Nation Was Totally Not That Bad Despite The Genocide"

[thenightfolknetwork]

There's a bit of a taboo amongst my genus. I mean, I can't know for sure about the whole population, but certainly in my family there are rules about what is and isn't appropriate to do when we exercise temporal fluidity. And that's for good reason--I get that. You can't just go about changing the tides of war because you feel like showing off your historical foreknowledge. Fine.

Recently, though, I've been spending a lot of my time in one particular period--just about a half-decade on the other side of 0 AD. It's been great! I'm a bit of a Classicist, and a Latinist at that, so obviously there's plenty for me to do in Rome. The food is good, the literature is fascinating, and the people--well, I've certainly met some people. Specifically, there's this one guy. He's older, for sure, but we're both adults and happy with what we have. It's hardly an exclusive relationship, so we don't get bored with stagnation, and not to brag, but his achievements are nothing to scoff at. In fact, not too long ago he put down the remnants of a veritable civil war over in Hispania. My interest in this period has been primarily academic in the past, but I feel like he and I really get each other. I know how he takes his wine and his sense of humor and how he feels about his family. I care about him.

But here's the thing: I know he dies. Soon. And quite violently. I've just gotten back to the twenty-first century recently for a family reunion, so of course "soon" is relative, but back in Rome there isn't much time left. I haven't spoken about this to my family. I know what they'd say. I should just let it happen.

Although, I mean, should I really? Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but I know for a fact Great-Grandma Margaret wasn't as rule-abiding as my mother likes to think--it's hardly a secret where (more accurately, when) she met Great-Nana Bonny. And, plus, lots of historical scholarship on the subject says, if my Roman friend hadn't died when he had, it probably would've happened sooner or later in a similar manner anyway (his approval ratings are not so high as of late). So is it really an interference if I warn him just this once? I mean, if he dies in another incident somewhere down the line--one of which I have no previous knowledge--then, fine, he dies. This isn't about preventing his death entirely. I understand that, in many ways, he is already dead. But I feel I would be a horrible companion if I didn't at least give him a heads-up. Just a nudge, you know? It's a politically unstable time back in the BC's. The line between this temporal reality and the other is so thin, and the difference is so small. Would my "interference" be so bad?

[Note: The sender later clarified that their letter ought to read "half century on the other side of 0 AD" where it here reads "half decade".]

I'm afraid I can't give you the kind of answer you seem to be seeking here, reader. While I am perfectly happy to help you talk through you moral quandaries, I must draw the line at making your decisions for you. You, and you alone, must discern for yourself whether or not such an act aligns with your own personal, moral code.

If an outside perspective will help, I will say that I'm not sure I entirely agree with your assessment of the circumstances here. I believe I have enough historical knowledge to infer which figure in history you're speaking about, which is, in itself, a concern.

It is a fact of existence that we shape the world around us. Even the quietest, most innocuous life casts its shadow. It is a fact to be embraced and celebrated – there is simply no such thing as an insignificant life. But neither is anything served by pretending that certain figures do not cast rather longer shadows than others.

It is one thing to consider fudging a timeline or two for the sake of someone whose impact reaches no further than their own village, or even their own country. It is quite another to speak of altering the timeline of a person whose existence left ripples across the surface of a significant portion of the globe!

I also don't necessarily agree with your assessment that your interference would not change anything very dramatically. Your friend's “approval rating” may not be great, but I am not at all sure it is universally accepted among historians that either his demise nor the manner in which he met his fate were inevitable.

Finally, you must consider the old paradox faced by every time traveller at some stage or another. You are an actor in this historical period, casting a shadow of your own, and you have no more idea than anyone else how that shadow may fall.

How do you know your warning might not precipitate the event itself? Alternatively, how can you be sure your warning is not already part and parcel of our historical reality? There is just such a warning made in most of the accounts I know, after all – if I am thinking of the right person, of course.

I cannot make this decision for you, reader. I cannot tell you what the right answer is, or even reassure you that there is a right answer. All I can do is to encourage you to think carefully about the risks involved, weigh them against your own moral judgement, and make sure that, whatever your choice, it's one you can live with. At the end of the day, that's all any of us can do.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[hero-israel]

Last week, in my Discord group of about 60 lifelong friends (and I mean really lifelong, danced-at-the-wedding, phone-call-for-the-divorce friends), one person posted a "from the river to the sea" meme they'd found on Twitter. I made clear that it was a huge problem, that person apologized and deleted it, everyone else seemed supportive and understanding.

And surprised.

Because none of them - not ONE of them - had ever heard the term before, nor knew what the river or the sea were, nor had any clue it could possibly be seen as threatening. That included the person who posted it in the first place. These are all college graduates, some of them with post-college degrees, all liberal Democrats who agree with everything John Oliver ever said.

The discussion went as well and as supportively as it possibly could have, but I am still floored by how.... remote the topic was from all of their lives. Including how remote it was for other Jewish members of the group (though I can't help but notice that those other Jewish members are unaffiliated and don't have kids).

I bring this up because it shows that social media really can exaggerate the scale of threats we perceive and experience. And if you had told me that more than a week ago, I would have cut you off and said "Of course, I know that, I'm not naive" - but it still would never have occurred to me that it could reach such a degree. How constantly reading updates on war and hate and protests and threats really can give a distorted and inaccurate picture of the world.

One time on Reddit, I noticed a pro-Palestine account that was positively obsessed with the "boogaloo boys," a purported sub-set of white supremacists. This person mentioned "boogaloo boys" probably 80 times a week, in the context of how their racial civil war was about to begin and would target Arab-Americans first. And it really began to look weird - a focus beyond their importance. I'm sure nobody would ever want to meet a "boogaloo boy," of course, but I also think this person made more posts about that group than the number of members there are in the actual group.

Has anyone outside age 18-23 and outside a college campus ever met a member of SJP? They're pretty horrible people, but they go tabling right next to all sorts of splintercranks who dissolve once you graduate.

There is a real perceptual, emotional downside to seeking out hatred and threats so one can announce "Aha! Look at all this hatred and threats!". It is not only privilege that allows people to avoid some problems and conflicts - it can also be demographic, political reality. It is important to know who hates and threatens us - and also to remain members of "the reality-based community." Internet discussions are not real life, college campuses are not real life, internet discussions among college students are the least real of all.

Scott Alexander touched on this - how certain political beliefs can be avoided even without conscious effort:

According to Gallup polls, about 46% of Americans are creationists. Not just in the sense of believing God helped guide evolution. I mean they think evolution is a vile atheist lie and God created humans exactly as they exist right now. That’s half the country.

And I don’t have a single one of those people in my social circle. It’s not because I’m deliberately avoiding them; I’m pretty live-and-let-live politically, I wouldn’t ostracize someone just for some weird beliefs. And yet, even though I probably know about a hundred fifty people, I am pretty confident that not one of them is creationist. Odds of this happening by chance? 1/2^150 = 1/10^45 = approximately the chance of picking a particular atom if you are randomly selecting among all the atoms on Earth.

About forty percent of Americans want to ban gay marriage. I think if I really stretch it, maybe ten of my top hundred fifty friends might fall into this group. This is less astronomically unlikely; the odds are a mere one to one hundred quintillion against.

[1d1195]

Protection III

Hi hi, here’s part 3. I am focusing deeply on the word ‘protection’ today. You can read the rest here: Protection

I am going to spoil the plot a bit by way of warning, but I want to be super up front about it. ***A horrible guy is going slip something in her drink about a third of the way through. Nothing awful is going to happen to her—she doesn’t even leave the bar with him (not with Harry around) but I want to make sure everyone is aware before you read. Please only read if you feel safe to do so.*** Men are the worst. Except Harry. Obvi. Otherwise this is going to be a little angsty and a little fluffy/comforting? That's the best way I can describe it.

My aim in these beginning parts is to really establish their little relationship they have going. A lot of that entails what she needs protection from--which happens to mainly be stupid men. I'm really aiming to contrast how lovely Harry is by comparison.

~6.1k words

Harry looked briefly at his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t miss the way she flinched as he touched her. Then flicked his gaze back up at him. “Take your hand off her yourself, or I will take it off for you.”

On this particular Friday, Harry was a mere three seats from her. Still at the end of the bar. Normally, she was at a table or dancing with her friends, so Harry was far out of view and earshot. He paid no attention to her or the many guys that were fighting for her affection. He thought it was funny to see the action up close. There was a secret message hidden in her eyes that one of her girlfriends seemed to know implicitly and she would come to her rescue, getting rid of the men surrounding her.

Harry scrolled through his phone, nursing his glass of soda water pretending it was gin and tonic with a lime. All the while, straining to listen to the dull roar of the crowd to hear the names of the people that dropped into her lap so he could run them through a background check.

She had to give credit where credit was due. Harry never looked miserable when he was out and about with her. He never told her no either—at least regarding where they could go. There was never a moment of the place was too sketchy. He let her figure that out, which in a weird way was comforting. If it was sketchy, with a previous agent, she was pretty sure she would stand her ground and stay there. Even if she felt weird. Now, she would simply look at Harry and he would hold the door open for her as they left.

“Hey,” this guy had pristinely coiffed hair. Like it was sprayed into place. She noted that his green pants had little blue whales embroidered on them—the same blue that matched his polo. It was like he just set foot off a yacht.

She had met his type several times over the years. He was definitely not the guy she wanted to be around. She missed his name as she thought about the last time she was forced to be with her dad on a boat. It was some networking thing—back when he was a senator, looking for support and aiming for a higher position. The escapade entailed him rubbing shoulders with his fellow governmental famous friends while she was stuck with their sons and daughters.

She hated their elitist conversations about how much money they had and why the wait at restaurants was getting out of hand when no one wanted to work—when she was certain the lot of them had never set foot outside of Mommy and Daddy’s bank to make their own money.

Fortunately, the guy in the weird pants put his hand on her arm, causing her to tune back in. She hoped she didn’t look ridiculous zoning out. Obviously, she hadn’t, if he continued talking to her. Her friend didn’t come over to interject either so maybe he was fine. She smiled politely at him, focusing on the one-sided conversation he seemed to be having. Maybe that was why he hadn’t noticed she wasn’t paying attention. He was merely listening to his own voice.

She thought about her flashcards sitting on her coffee table at home. That was better than listening to this guy. She pictured the words, the definitions, the pictures she had painstakingly drawn on each one over the last couple weeks. She had her third exam of one of her major classes in two weeks. She wasn’t struggling—especially if you looked at her grades, but it was because of the effort she put into her work to make sure it was top notch.

Where was her friend to get this guy away from her?

Oh well, at least she could imagine the different ring-structures while she zoned out.

Why did she even bother coming out tonight? She and Harry were in the middle of their latest rom-com when her friend invited her out. After the whole concert fiasco, while she was staying in for a week to ease Harry’s worries (and because he got yelled at—despite the fact everyone told him she would leave) she studied a lot. Meanwhile, Harry had created a list of every stupid rom-com movie he could find on Netflix and during her study breaks, they were slowly working their way through it. Being the scientist she was, she created a spreadsheet to rate each movie and list any additional comments. There were subcategories for their rating system, predictability, likability, casting, soundtrack, trashiness, etc.

“What are we going to do with this information?” Harry asked, looking at her laptop with her as she screen-shared it to her TV post-viewing Your Place or Mine.

“Ashton Kutcher gets a 10/10—"she muttered.

“You always give him a 10/10,” Harry reminded her.

“—and I don’t know. Nothing. It’s fun!”

It was the simplest fun she’d had in years.

Where was her friend?

She took a long chug of her drink, finishing it off and shaking the glass at the bartender while she mouthed “thank you.” She continued listening to the mind-numbing conversation this man was having with himself. It shocked Harry she could be so grumpy toward DSS but someone that was clearly boring the lights out of her was not subject to the lovely attitude he had been so lucky to see so many times over the last two and a half months.

Harry received an email alert that the check was completed. She may have missed his name, but Harry didn’t. He glanced through the details, finding public indecency from getting too drunk and showing off in public in front of a group of people he shouldn’t have. What should have been a short stint in jail, there was instead a fine was paid by someone with the same last name as him and no more record of the event. That was enough for Harry to get her out of there but theoretically if it was swept under the rug, then it wasn’t all that bad...marginally. So, he could leave him be. For now.

He also attended one of the private universities in the city. A red flag on her end for sure, but she had to have known that; he had been talking to her for over fifteen minutes and he seemed like the type to brag about where he went to school. So why was she listening to him? Harry swore if he had to listen to him fail to give her an orgasm tonight while he stood outside her apartment, he was going to lose his mind.

She sipped her new drink. Her fourth or fifth. Harry felt a little nervous given she hadn’t had any water and it had been hours since she had eaten. He wasn’t worried about her getting intoxicated—Harry remembered drinking significantly in college, but he didn’t want her to have a hangover or feel sick. He hated that and wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Well, except maybe this guy. He had to remember to ask what she was thinking about while he spoke because there was no way she was paying this close attention to the nonsense spewing out of him about NFTs and Cryptocurrency.

He leaned toward her ear and whispered something. It made her cheeks turn red. But when she smirked it didn’t reach her eyes. Of course, this idiot didn’t notice. But Harry certainly did. She shook her head at whatever it was. But he didn’t accept that. He leaned closer toward her. Sliding in between her seat and the occupied one behind her. He draped his arm awkwardly around her and Harry couldn’t take it.

Her friend must have left or simply wasn’t paying attention.

Harry tapped her shoulder. “Love,” he said gently as she turned to him. “Let’s go please,” his voice was even, pleasant. He wasn’t trying to make a scene. But she was on drink number five at this point. Alcohol tended to make her a bit feisty—or feistier as Harry would say. She narrowed her eyes at him with a smirk.

“No, thank you,” she said just as politely and turned her attention back to the guy beside her. Even though she didn’t want to. It was so stubborn of her. Stupid of her. In hindsight, if she just listened to Harry, she probably would have had a much more pleasant weekend.

Harry grabbed the barstool she was sitting on and spun her back toward him. His thigh touched her knee. He gripped the back of her seat, closing her off from the guy she was speaking to. He leaned closer to her she could smell his minty breath. “Now,” his voice was low. But she could practically feel the vibration run through her like a current. Harry was intimidating (and without a doubt hot, it was impossible not to notice, especially when he was so close, smelled so good, and she had a lot of alcohol swimming through her bloodstream). It felt like maybe this was a terrible idea having someone close in age after all. Someone that, in theory, she could date if he were anyone else. If he weren’t someone charged with protecting her well-being every moment of the day.

“You always want to ruin my fun,” she grumbled sipping her drink.

He shook his head. “I don’t, love. I really don’t. But I want y’safe. Let’s go.”

“Look buddy,” the moron said to Harry. He put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re having a grand time right now. She doesn’t need your help.”

Harry looked briefly at his hand on her shoulder. He didn’t miss the way she flinched as he touched her. Then flicked his gaze back up at him. “Take your hand off her yourself, or I will take it off for you.”

“Harry,” she hissed. Her eyes looked a bit glassy, and Harry thought she was probably feeling all four drinks she had tasted spin through her mind. The bar was hot, and confrontation was never off the table with her and probably fought well with the liquid running through her.

“Love,” Harry repeated.

“Don’t call her that,” the guy snorted. “It’s pretty pathetic you’re pining after her. There’s plenty of girls here that you could talk to. Why do you even want her?”

Harry looked at her directly in the eye, even though hers were struggling to see straight, her head bobbing ever so slightly. “I asked nicely, first. Please try t’remember that in the morning,” he told her evenly. In one movement, he grabbed the guy’s wrist off her shoulder so quickly and twisted it behind his back. Before there was any time to react from any party, Harry shoved him into the bar leaned close to the guy’s ear who let out the least manly squeal Harry had ever heard. “Public indecency charge and daddy covering up the charge doesn’t bode well for your limp dick, buddy,” he snarled in his ear.

“Harry!” She shouted angrily. Harry shoved him into the bar once more, causing him to grunt. In the next moment he grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door. She pulled against him shouting and smacking his arm, but he didn’t release her. He was only mildly irritated by her weak punches. She was pissed he was strong. It wasn’t fair. The bouncers at the door were privy to the situation. They understood all too well who she was and who Harry was. They avoided eye contact with the girl vibrating with anger.

Harry lost his grip on her for all of two seconds. He caught her around the waist before she could even run three little steps. Without much effort, he swept her wiggling form into his arms. Tossing her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing but a small bag of potatoes. Then he simply turned to walk the few blocks back to his SUV.

She did not like it. “PUT. ME. DOWN.”

“Y’know, I did m'training with another political family. They had a young daughter. After a long day, I had t’do the very same thing t’her. If you’re going t’act like a child. I’ll treat you like one. M’doing this for your safety.”

“You’re EMBARRASSING me!” She shrieked.

“Then jus’ listen next time. M’not waiting around for some financial know-it-all t’indecently expose himself around you or worse. I’m done with your reign of paperwork terror. Not for a bratty girl that jus’ wants attention,” it was a low blow. He knew it as he said it. Especially after her last threat when he called her a brat.

She hit him hard against his back. Clawed at his shirt. It was no use because his muscles were dense and had no give for her weak punches. She wondered if he could even feel them. “I am not a brat!” she hissed at him.

“You couldn’t fool me.”

She gave him a few more lackluster punches. Yelled so many swears she would embarrass a sailor. But after two blocks, her yells turned into grumbles. She muttered a few more choice words with Harry’s name attached as he carried her further down the sidewalk.

After a full three minutes of silence, she sighed. The rush of blood to her head was definitely calming her quicker than if she were upright. She felt woozy between being upside down for so long and the flush of alcohol in her bloodstream. “I won’t run,” she mumbled after a moment. “Please put me down, Harry,” she said politely. “I promise.”

Given that any time she uttered the word or swore to keep a promise, she did (with the exception of losing her phone), he almost immediately righted her. He held her steady by the hip for a moment until the blood went back to where it belonged in her body.

They walked in more silence, another block. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

"S’okay. It was rude of me. I didn't like what I saw on the background. Nor what he had t’say,” he shrugged. He was grateful she didn’t take off again. Harry didn’t want to fight with her.

She smirked. Her eyes fluttered a moment too long. If Harry hadn't been practically studying her every movement over the last few months he might not have noticed the extra twitch in her eye as she did. He looked at her curiously, only one extra second longer, before he decided to shrug it off as the alcohol. “Least I waited t’carry you till we were outside, yeah?” He asked. Harry was nothing but partial to constructive feedback at least. Especially in a moment like this. When it was quiet, just the pair of them. Like their coffee runs or while they were watching movies. When she wasn’t on display in front of her friends, and she wasn’t thinking about Harry like he was her enemy.

She nodded. Her head felt really heavy, suddenly. The last drink must have caught up to her more than all the others. Which sucked mainly because it didn't even taste good. It was like the bartender added extra salt to it or something.

“Yeah,” she mumbled and stumbled a bit. She managed to press her hand against the building they were walking nearby as she stopped to try and catch her breath. Her brain felt so fuzzy. She tried to shake her head of the fogginess, but it only made her dizzier. Harry grabbed her other arm and held her upright only briefly before she nearly collapsed.

“Whoa, love?” Harry asked quickly wrapping an arm around her waist to stabilize her.

"Something’s wrong...my drink was salty," she mumbled almost intelligibly.

Her brain automatically put it together, but her tongue felt too swollen in her mouth to explain it to Harry. She pictured drawing it. Benzene rings. 1-methyl, 7-nitro. She could have drawn them herself if she wasn’t so tired. They nearly danced in her vision, as if they were appearing out of thin air as they attached to the cells in her bloodstream.

Harry swore under his breath as the realization hit him shortly after her. He swept her back into his arms, this time cradling her against his chest. His heart raced with anger and worry. “Love? Y'with me?" He asked uselessly. She nodded anyway and gave a small sound that he imagined was supposed to be a word but didn't make it all the way through her lips. "Fucking hell," he hissed and hurried the final block to his SUV.

Harry drove as fast as he possibly could while keeping an eye on her slumping figure in his passenger seat. He barely had the car in shifted in park (in a no parking zone at that) when he rushed to her side. “Gonna get y’some help, love. M’so sorry,” he mumbled to her. Harry felt terrible. Horrible. He should have been faster at getting her out of there. He should have...

Well, he didn’t really have time for should haves right now.

He cradled her once more. While his heart was fraught with worry his brain was trying to sort through everything that went wrong so, very quickly...he couldn’t stop the thought of how natural it felt to hold her like this. He wished with everything in him, it was for something else. Maybe she simply drank too much. Or she fell asleep on the floor amidst her study session. Anything. Anything but this.

Harry sprinted into the emergency room shouting orders explaining who he was holding in his arms. As soon as they realized the gravity of the situation, he explained who he was as he laid her on a gurney. Now that she was going to get treatment and out of his arms, the worry in his heart escalated. So much so it must have been plain on his face. The nurses were putting IVs in her, a doctor flashed a light in her eyes and all the while she limply laid there. Like she was merely asleep on her couch in her flowery apartment.

“Did he—?”

Harry felt his stomach knot at the half-question. His heart filled with venom. He couldn’t hear the words. He didn’t want anyone to hear it. He couldn’t fathom someone—no, something awful and terrible hurting her like that. “No,” he snapped. He was mad that he didn’t see the drink. It had to be when she was yelling at him. and her fitful, spiteful drink of the same glass when he stopped paying attention to her for half a second. He must have thought she would have shaken Harry off. Leave her alone with the likes of him.

Harry thought it would have been a hell of a lot worse if she hadn’t sat at the bar this evening. Or if he didn’t hear his name when he introduced himself. If he didn’t get the background check back as quickly as he did and knew that an indecent exposure was enough to make Harry weary.

Harry was pacing the hall outside the room where she was being tested. He was thinking of ways to murder him in the time it would take for her to be ready tomorrow morning. Or arrested. He could call a tip to his friend at the local police station. He called the bartender to let him know. To keep an eye on anyone else at that bar and to get that horrible monster out.

Oh, he was so fucking mad. “Goddammit!” He shouted knocking over an IV stand with nothing on it. Some of the staff stared at him momentarily and the clatter he created. Harry ignored their stairs, running his hands through his hair and pressing his forehead to the wall as he knotted his fingers behind his head. The onlookers continued about their business.

The paperwork was going to be brutal. He was certain he would be fired. Worse, he felt he deserved it. It was the least that should happen to him because he basically broke the one rule he was expected to follow: he let something happen to her. Something that he should have seen and prevented before it hurt her.

There was a gentle tap on his arm. He turned his head from the wall. “You can see her now,” the nurse said softly.

Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew only family or emergency contacts were allowed to see her, neither of which he was. He probably should call her father. How was he supposed to have that conversation? Regardless, he knew she wouldn’t want to see him. Not after that. No matter how forgiving she seemed once he let her walk on her own.

“M’sure I’m the last person she wants t’see,” he admitted. “And m’not family.”

The nurse shrugged and looked at the tablet in her hand again and then looked back up at him. “Harry, right? It says you’re her emergency contact.” She held out the tablet to show him that it was Harry’s name and number under the emergency contact information bubbles. The word ‘friend’ was written as the descriptor for relationship.

He sighed, feeling a larger obligation to her. Although he wasn’t sure it was right for him, after she got hurt on his watch. “Is she alright?” He asked rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes, thanks to you. You saved her. These kinds of things don’t usually have such a bright ending,” she nodded with a smile. She reminded him of a mum. Her kind, gentle encouraging words. She opened the door to the room and gestured for him to enter.

Harry slipped quietly in the door. She looked as if she was sleeping, like when she fell asleep on her couch in the middle of one of their movies without Harry noticing and he had to pretend he hadn’t already seen half the movie without her. There was a tube of oxygen flowing into her nose, her head was slumped to the side. An IV still in her arm. God, Harry hated it; hated that this happened to her and he couldn't stop it in time.

“We’re going to keep her overnight just to make sure it all clears her system. But she’ll be fine. And it’s really a much better scenario than what typically happens.”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. Rubbing his hand over his face he nodded. “Thank you.”

“Can I get you a drink?” She asked.

“Please. Thank you, ma’am,” he said politely. She hurried to do that and then left them alone.

Harry once more watched her sleepy figure. He was so used to this, as he had told Niall. Most of his job was watching her sleep. The number of times he stood vigilant while she slept amidst her textbooks and a coffee cup nearly spilling out of her hand. She looked so peaceful. When she wasn’t arguing or yelling at him. But right now was different, and he hated watching her sleep. He wanted her to be awake, yelling at him or furiously telling him that Rachael Leigh Cook and Natalie Portman were not the same people.

She’s safe, she’s okay, and she’ll be alright. He repeated it to himself like a mantra as he watched her dream-struck face. He hoped she was having a good dream. Hoped that the night wasn’t on her mind and that she felt safe again.

He scooted himself forward in the chair so that he was closer to the bed. He didn’t like the angle her head was tilted. Carefully, he pressed his hand to the side of her neck and gently moved her, so she was more evenly centered against the pillow. On top of everything else, he didn’t want her to strain her neck.  She sighed softly; almost as if she melted into his touch. Harry felt the first bout of relief since they left the bar. He breathed out his own sigh. He propped his head in his other hand, gazing at her, his elbow resting on the edge of her bed.

He held her head up in that position the whole night.

*

She was quiet and groggy as he drove her back home the following morning. Wrapped his arm around her waist carefully and supported her weak frame up the steps to her apartment building. He didn’t let go of her in the elevator or when they were inside her apartment and moreover, she didn't protest. The rage Harry felt was as fierce as it was the night before. The only solace he had was knowing that poor excuse for a man was brought into custody.

Harry was dreading the paperwork he’d have to fill out for this one, but not even because he was annoyed with her. No, not annoyed; instead, he focused all his frustration and worry about caring for her.

She was silent, resting on the couch, her eyes still fluttering as if she needed to sleep more. Harry wouldn't blame her if she fell asleep again. It wasn’t her fault for the fatigue and exhaustion that wracked her body. Harry kind of hoped she would continue to rest for the afternoon. “Was supposed to study,” she mumbled.

“Sorry love; don’t think s’happening this weekend,” he remarked bringing her water and some toast for her stomach. Peanut butter slathered in one thin layer on the slice of bread, just as he had seen her do so many mornings before she headed to class. He sat beside her, holding the plate while she nibbled on her snack and was once more pleased that she didn't protest.

She was too tired to complain or argue or really do anything to torture Harry. Not that she looked for ways to torture him.

But specifically, it was never her intention to get hurt like this, of course. “I'm really sorry, Harry,” she mumbled. “Do you have to do the paperwork for it?” She asked. “I won’t tell anyone,” she promised.

Harry felt a twinge in his chest at her kindness that she was willing to lie on his behalf. That she was apologizing. He smiled sadly, and nodded. “I do, love. But s’okay. And...S’not your fault.”

“I should have listened to you,” she muttered looking down at her toast dejectedly. She messed up so bad. It wasn't supposed to happen like that.

“Love,” he said seriously. “I’ll blame y’till the end of time for you escaping or running away...this though? This is not y’fault,” he promised shaking his head. She frowned and didn’t speak. Her other security members would have blamed her. Because yes, he shouldn’t have spiked her drink. But if she were a pleasant person to watch, obeyed the rules like a lovely little pet, then she wouldn’t have had a sip of her drink to spite Harry and she would have left peacefully. And safely

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Can’t imagine what would happen if...” she trailed off thinking about if she managed to stay. She swallowed thickly, suddenly very frustrated and upset over her own stupidity for letting something like this happen. Letting someone take advantage of her. She should have been more aware. She shouldn’t have let her annoyance cloud her judgment.

“Love, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he promised. “M’sorry this did. Feel like I let y’down.”

She swallowed a piece of her toast realizing that Harry knew to put peanut butter on it, and she felt a bit overcome with emotion. It was sweet that he knew her. Her other agents would never do this for her. They’d make sure she was okay and stay far away from her. “I understand if you want to be reassigned,” she whispered.

He frowned, suddenly taken aback. He put the plate of toast on the coffee table. He rubbed his palms along his thighs. “Y’don’t want me t’be here?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No, I do...” she sighed. “But...this is bad, even I know that,” she admitted. “M’sorry. Really truly sorry I didn't listen. I know...I know how seriously you take your job and it wasn't fair to you to have to suffer through that either.”

“S’jus’ paperwork,” he shrugged. She looked up at his face, his green eyes were soft. There was no other way to describe it. He watched her eat and rest. Of course, she knew how much Harry hated paperwork. He moaned and groaned about it from her dining table almost weekly. She wasn’t part of the meetings, but she knew that he would get yelled at for this one. Even if it wasn’t his fault. But...he wanted to stay anyway. "The important thing is you're safe, love."

“You want to stay?” She asked in surprise.

He shrugged then nodded again. “S’long as you want me here.”

She thought Harry was a glutton for punishment, but she liked how nice he was to her. Maybe she would take it easy for a little bit. This really was a lot more than he probably anticipated.

“So...m’your emergency contact?” He asked with a smug little smirk. It made her rethink her kindness only briefly due to the way he looked so pleased with the notion.

For years it had been her father. She had been waiting for someone to come along and take his spot. She could have lied. Said it was always her main agent. It would have been easy to lie but part of her thought Harry would see right through her. “Who am I supposed to put?” She grumbled. “My dad? Fat chance of that.”

He smirked. “Glad I was there,” he nodded. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“I think I would have...gone a bit mad if I didn’t...get t’see you,” he explained.

Her lips turned up in a tired smile. Poor thing still weak and groggy. “Sorry you had to carry me, I know I’m not light.”

“S’not even on the top hundred things I was worried ‘bout, love. Y’shouldn’t worry ‘bout that either.”

She felt her face warm a bit and she nodded. “Do...you have to start the paperwork right away? Or can we finish our movie?”

He glanced at his watch and nodded. “I can spare the time t'finish the movie.”

*

Harry got the reaming of a lifetime. She wasn’t privy to it, nor heard any detail of it. But she could tell from the way Harry hardly spoke to her. He even tried really hard not to yell at her while she did stupid things like leave a candle burning while she napped. Or reached into the sink to get the spoon that fell in the garbage disposal. Or when she didn’t look at the active ingredients of her cleaning supplies while washing her shower down and got lightheaded.

He didn’t seem all that fazed though, and it kinda ruined her typical annoying fun with him even if she was taking it easier on him. Still, she wasn’t so heartless to recognize this was a job for Harry. She recognized how bad it was that something like this happened. Especially for Harry. But even so, because it was the first time that she ever found herself without control over herself. Her life was literally in Harry’s hands, and even if she didn’t know until after, she trusted that she would be okay anyway simply because Harry was there. Even if he was part of her detested security detail.

She was standing in the middle of her sitting room with the book from her shelf. She placed her mug of tea on the coffee table and pretended to read the back of her book with feigned interest. Glancing at Harry, staring at his computer, she wondered what was said or what he was told he had to do. He wasn’t even typing or moving the mouse, so she knew he was simply ignoring her. They hadn’t watched a movie in a week. “How much paperwork do you have to do if I die or something?”

His gaze flicked to her and then turned back to his screen--still no typing. “S’not funny, love,” he rolled his eyes. She liked the eye roll. That was the most interaction she had with him in a week. The most reaction she got out of him in a week.

“I’m genuinely asking.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “A lot, probably.”

She nodded. “Why?”

“You’re not supposed to die. Not while m’here. If you die, then I didn’t do m’job t’protect you. S’protocol.”

God, she hated that word. “That’s hardly fair.” She frowned. Harry noted her distaste seemed serious. “You have a mom and a sister who would be devastated if something happened to you—especially on behalf of me.”

He blinked at her curiously. He hadn’t ever mentioned his family around her. He was surprised she even knew he had a sister. She rolled her eyes at him as he tried to flesh through all their conversations to see when he slipped up. “You’re not the only one that can do a background check. You should really put a middle name on your social media instead of your last name. Makes it a little harder to find you. Don’t know very many Harry Styles around these parts.”

He smirked. She was pretty cute when she was a know-it-all.

“Finally. I thought my material was worsening,” she flung herself back on the couch. “I don’t know what they said to you, but can you just come over here so we can watch a movie? I feel like they forgot you were the one that got me out of that mess. I don’t think it’s fair they yelled at you because I was being a brat. Suddenly now they think I would listen? That’s on them more than anything,” she said assuredly.

Harry seemed to be having some kind of internal battle over by his computer. She began reading the first couple pages of her book while Harry tried to work through whatever it was that was bothering him before his resolve seemed to crumble, and he took his place on the other sofa. She closed her book.

“What are they like?”

“Who?” He asked. He bounced his knee with what appeared to be a bout of nervous energy. She wished she could reach out and still it. She didn’t want him to be nervous. Despite everything and all the reasons she didn’t like DSS, she really liked Harry. He shoved his hands into his front pockets.

“Anne and Gemma,” she smiled impishly. Harry chuckled because it was funny, she really did do her own little background check. He would have to view his social media profiles from his work laptop and see what he could find out about himself. See what she saw.

“They’re lovely women,” he said with a shrug. “My best friends, probably. Not much t’say.”

“Of course, they’re lovely,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re lovely. But what do they do? What are they like?”

“I’m lovely?” His knee stopped shaking. His eyes were so very green as he looked at her awaiting her response.

She glanced at him nervously--not because she was nervous around him...but because he was Harry. If Harry ever left she would have to have a serious chat with whoever decided the person in charge of her protection should be close in age to her. It was not good for her psyche. Or if he was going to be close in age, he couldn't be as hot as Harry. It was very unfair. “Well. Yeah. Not…many people put up with a spoiled brat like me. Even when they’re forced to.”

“Spoiled is not how I would describe you,” he shook his head. She didn’t respond and continued staring at him so she wouldn’t turn into mush at the barely there compliment he gave her. “Gemma is very sweet and funny. Intelligent. You would probably be best friends with her. If it wasn’t for escaping—Gemma is a good-two-shoes. She’s a writer—really into mental health. Mum would like all the flowers y’have. She works for a non-profit for domestic violence. She would probably want t’braid y’hair the way she braids Gemma’s. Gemma can’t cook—or she shouldn’t. Mum let me do most of the cooking. They crochet together a lot now these days. Every Wednesday night they get together t’have tea on the porch and crochet. They’re always sending new designs in our group chat.”

Her heart felt so warm as she listened to the adoration falling from Harry’s lips for the women in his life. She wished she had a sibling.

Or a mom.

...Or a Harry.

That sounded adorable.

--

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[looking-to-rattle-the-stars]

So I'm reading The Hobbit right--been going a bit slow because of travel and being suddenly called into work--and I just finished Chapter 9.

I cannot stop thinking about the friendship disparity between Bilbo and the dwarves. It's driving me up a wall in all honesty. Cause like, even if Bilbo didn't fully see them as friends in the beginning, he always refers to them as his friends or the dwarves. And he always seems, despite their complaining and his brief moments of "God I wish I wasn't here with them and their ruckus", to hold a high level of respect for them. But the dwarves don't return such a favor. They don't even start to like him until Chapter 8! It was always "Oh they forgot about him." and complaints about how he shouldn't be accompanying them.

Like, just to provide some quote examples (mainly for myself lol):

"Yes, lots,” said Bilbo, before he remembered not to give his friends away. “No none at all, not one,” he said immediately afterwards. (Pg. 35)

“What’s all this trouble? Who has been knocking my people about?” “It’s trolls!” said Bilbo from behind a tree. They had forgotten all about him. (Pg. 38)

“He wondered whether he ought not, now he had the magic ring, to go back into the horrible, horrible, tunnels and look for his friends. He had made up his mind that it was his duty, that he must turn back—and very miserable he felt about it—when he heard voices.” (Pg. 85)

The dwarves wanted to know why he had ever been brought at all, why he could not stick to his friends and come along with them, and why the wizard had not chosen someone with more sense. (Pg. 86)

“From which you can see that they had changed their opinion of Mr. Baggins very much, and had begun to have a great respect for him (as Gandalf said they would).” (Pg. 152)

“They all thought their own shares in the treasure would suffer seriously if the Wood-elves claimed part of it, and they all trusted Bilbo. Just as Gandalf had said would happen, you see.” (Pg. 162)

Like when they refer to themselves as Bilbo's friends it feels, at least to me, that they don't really see him as one. That they simply call him a friend because Gandalf is there and thinks highly of Bilbo. Or in like the way where they don't really see him as a friend they intend to keep, more of an acquaintance but saying "friend" is more polite/formal to do. Friend in the way where they are forced to be friends with each other but one thinks low of the other and therefore finds every opportunity to complain about it.

And then in Chapter 9 Thorin says to Bilbo, “A pretty fine burglar you make, it seems, when the time comes. I am sure we are all for ever at your service, whatever happens after this.” (Pg. 165) and I just crumple and fall over because I know how this story ends and what is to become of, at the very least, Thorin and his nephews. (I have been told that more of them die by LOTR, but I am unsure who!) And like perhaps you can argue that Balin had a bit more respect for him than the others, Bilbo does note how they get along a few times, but that is still 1/13. I am just head in hands.

And, since I already have a decent length post going, I cannot stop thinking about these quotes:

“There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something (or so Thorin said to the young dwarves). You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.” (Pg. 55)

“But all night he dreamed of his own house and wandered in his sleep into all his different rooms looking for something that he could not find nor remember what it looked like.” (Pg. 104)

LIKE JUST OH MY GOD. KNOWING ABOUT THE RING AND HOW THE STORY ENDS AND I JUST THE THORIN QUOTE AND APPLYING IT TO BILBO AND THE ADVENTURE!!! Like I don't know how to express the words right now but... the idea that Bilbo wasn't looking for an adventure but he found one and it offered him a sense of connection unlike anything in the Shire and embraced the "Tookness" inside of him which inherently reconnects him with his mother. And the second quote, I just- I don't know a lot about the ring. But my best friend has lightly explained some of the implications as they appear in LOTR, and I just... Bilbo searching for the ring in his dreams. Although I do also think that the quote would more relate to my previous sentiments with the first quote, but I just wonder if his dream was like that because of being in possession of the ring I suppose. Anyways it's 3am so time to go get some sleep!

[amazingmsme]

Restless ‘Til We Reach Home

A Lamb in Wolf’s Clothing (ch. 2)

AN: The long awaited second chapter & thunder saga is heeeere! I was getting ready to post it but stopped in my tracks when the thunder saga trailer dropped & realized how close it was & I knew what I had to do. Gotta say, Odysseus is real mean in this one. But hey, at least Hermes is there to balance it out!

Ch. 1 Ch. 3 Ch. 3.5 Ch. 4 Ch. 5

Polites felt as though he really needed to clear the air with Odysseus, but where to even start?

The captain was nowhere in sight, so he floated around the deck in search of him. He was still trying to get used to his new way of travel, but he liked to think he was getting the hang of it pretty well.

In the underworld, he couldn't fly. Then again, that was a place made for people like him. It was meant as a bastardized recreation of home, to provide the comfort of solid ground and company.

Polites thought back to Hades, and how despite how horrible he thought he looked, there was always someone around the corner who was worse. He had gotten used to the gruesome sights after a while. And as awful as it was to say, seeing them kept him humble. Because yes, things were bad, but at least he didn't have his entrails dragging behind him. Eurydice was one of the few who looked just as beautiful in death as she did in life.

Eurydice...

He wondered how she was holding up. It'd been hours for him since he'd left, but for her, who knows? Had only seconds passed, leaving her on the bank as she wondered what awaited him? Or had it already been a day, the loneliness beginning to set in? Even with the perspective of the real world, Polites found it difficult to gauge the passage of time down there. So wherever she was, however long it had been, he hoped she was doing well.

The sun was getting lower in the sky, inching towards the horizon. It would be dark soon. For now, the light shifted, reflecting off the clouds in vibrant golds and orangey pinks. It was the first sunset of his new life, signaling an end of an era and a new dawn on its way.

Night fell quickly, enveloping them in a blanket of stars and darkness. Polites looked for the moon in the sky, but it was nowhere to be found. Ah, a new moon.

If you were to ask him, he would say that the moonless sky was just as beautiful as a full moon night. He'd started various debates about it with other soldiers, encouraging them to just hear him out. Of course the full moon is beautiful, he never said it wasn't! The new moon may lack her silvery glow, but doesn't her absence make it all the more beautiful when she comes back? The darkness on nights like these provide the most clarity, offering to you all the stars you could ever wish to see.

Most people thought the night sky was only black, but oh how wrong they were. These are the impatient ones: those who never allow their eyes the time to adjust before they give up, going on about their night. But when you lay back and just allow yourself to study the canvas before you, the work of art will reveal itself with bold blues, greens, purples, and yes, even pinks.

Polites floated on his back, hovering mere inches above the deck as he stared up at the sky. By the Gods, how he'd missed it.

He didn't know he'd been crying until he heard heavy steps coming up the stairs, and he frantically wiped them away. He sat up just in time to see who was approaching.

Odysseus let out a startled yelp when he saw his friend's crumpled form lying on the deck, just as he looked before he died.

"Dear Zeus, you scared the shit out of me. What the hell are you still doing here?" he snapped, keeping his distance.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to startle you, Captain," he said earnestly. "I-I was just watching the stars. It's such a beautiful night..." he mused, gaze turning upwards once more.

"I didn't mean why are you out here. I mean why didn't you go back to where you belong?" Odysseus asked in a harsh growl.

The warm, soft smile that had found his face was gone in an instant, "W-What?"

"If you're really Polites, you should be in the underworld. Isn't that right?" he cocked his head to the side, taking a threatening step forward.

Polites stared at him in complete and utter shock. "Odysseus... Why would you say such a thing?"

"Answer the question."

"I WAS IN THE UNDERWORLD! You were in the underworld! But- we made it out, together-"

"No, you stowed away," he clarified harshly. "There's a difference." He had backed Polites against the rail, continuing to advance until he was so close, their noses were almost touching.

"I-I thought you'd be happy to see me again!" he cried defensively. There was a flash of sadness, of forlorn longing across Odysseus's face, but it was gone in an instant. Polites continued, "I know I sure was... until you opened your mouth."

Odysseus scowled, "If you really are Polites... and I seriously fucking doubt it, then you have no idea what we've all been through since you left. So I don't much care for your holier than thou judgment."

Holier than thou-

"Is that what you think of me?" he asked, genuine hurt laced in his voice. "That I thought I was better than you?" His voice began to tremble, but he fought against it, although his words still came out in a wavering rasp through his weakened vocal cords. "Because I would never think that." He couldn't believe he actually had to tell him this...

Odysseus didn't speak for a long moment. Despite their close proximity, Polites had never felt farther away from his friend.

"I don't know what to think anymore."

Polites shook his head, eyes flying wide open. "No! Odysseus, you know me! You know better than to think that!" Said man rolled his head to the side, glaring at him from the corner of his eyes.

"Do I now?"

"You should..."

Another long stretch of silence. The only sound was the gentle breeze catching in the closed sails, swaying them about and flapping the fabric. Small waves lapped at the hull of the ship, creating a soothing sloshing sound.

"Yeah well, like I said. Things have changed." He inhaled deeply, letting out a long, suffering sigh. "I really wish I could believe you," he said, eyes closed as he addressed him. He shook his head, the movement barely noticeable. "But I just can't."

"But you can!" Polites reached out instinctively to hold his hand, but Odysseus jerked his arm away before he could. And then he noticed the way he was staring at him, as if he was some kind of threat- some kind of monster.

The captain quickly schooled his emotions, taking a moment to himself before addressing Polites.

"So... what made you follow us?" he finally asked. A hopeful smile broke out on the spirit's face. Maybe he could convince him to see the truth through the haze of paranoia.

"Honestly, it wasn't my idea, but my friend down there, she told me I needed to go. A-and I thought... just maybe... you were looking for me," he admitted shyly, staring at the ground. He didn't like the way he could see through his own feet to the deck below.

Odysseus let out a shaky breath. "I knew it..." This was it!

"You really aren't the Polites I knew."

And just like that, the world came crashing down on him. His eyes were welling with tears fast.

"H-ho-how can you even say that?" he asked as he slowly sank to the floor.

"Because Polites wouldn't be so stupid as to think I'd risk the lives of my crew to rescue a dead man!" he screamed, spit flying from his lips with the passion of his outburst.

Polites took a step back: through the railing. He held his hands out in front of him, as if to protect him. But there's nothing to be protected from anymore. Nothing except the newfound cruelty of his old friend.

Tears threatened to spill over, but he blinked them away, shaking his head frantically. "Nonono, you don't really mean that. Y-you're just upset! Odysseus, please tell me you didn't mean it like that," he all but pleaded.

Odysseus opened his mouth to speak, but stopped himself short. He tried once more, but all he could muster was a simple, "I'm sorry." He hesitated before turning his back on him, marching off to patrol the ship.

Polites was left floating there, completely heartbroken by his reaction. Never in a million years would he have expected the venom shooting from Odysseus's mouth to be aimed at him of all people.

Polites let himself fade from reality, disappearing completely as he drifted up towards the crows nest. It had always been the most peaceful place on the ship, and tonight was no exception.

He floated on until he reached the top, sitting down in the tightest ball he could manage. He buried his face in his knees as sobs completely wracked his body.

Why would he say such horrible things? He knew he couldn't even begin to fathom how their journey's gone up until now, but it was hard to believe it would prompt such a dramatic change.

But the alternative; the idea that he had never truly know Odysseus, was a far worse thought.

He looked up at the dozens and dozens of stars stretching before him from every which way. He felt as if he were flying, falling up, spiraling out of control towards them. Would he be falling for an eternity? Or would the stars catch him in their net, allowing the darkness to swallow him whole and consume his soul?

How wonderful it must be, turning to stardust.

"Oh Eurydice... you were wrong. I never should've left." His voice was weak and strangled as he spoke, just as it had been in his final moments. He gasped through his sobs, swallowing the snot that rolled down his throat, making him shudder. His whole body shook with convulsions as he cried.

"They don't w-want me a-around anymore. I'm nothing b-but a f-freak to them," he spoke barely above a whisper, frantically wiping away tears and blood. He hung his head low in defeat and shame, "I should've just stayed in Hades with you."

"And she's what? Girlfriend, friend, come on fill me in," an unexpected voice rudely interrupted. Polites screeched in surprise, turning visible once more as he whipped around to meet the intruder. How the hell did someone climb up without a sound?

"If you'd like, I'll even give her a little message from you," the strange man smirked wider, twirling his long curly hair around a finger. Polites gasped and looked down to the man's feet just to be sure, and just as he thought: wings.

"Hermes? I-I'm sorry, but uh, what are you doing here, exactly?" he asked, his previous breakdown quickly replaced with confusion. Something he did not appreciate. He wanted, no needed to cry after all that. But even the Gods wanted him to suffer, it would seem.

"Well excuse you! Taking a page from the captain's book, I take?" he taunted before bursting into a fit of giggles. Polites stiffened and glared at the God.

"No. I'm just trying to mind my own business, can't you do the same?" he huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. Hermes squinted in the dark and gasped when he recognized the man before him.

"You're his little dead friend, aren't you? The one that used to be cute," he clarified in a teasing manner.

Used to be cute... That was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Hermes froze, mostly out of fear, when he first saw tears. "Um, what are you doing? Stop that," Hermes ordered, sitting on the edge of the crows nest. Polites looked at him in utter disbelief.

"I'm crying Hermes, what's it look like?" he snapped, and true enough, tears were once again rolling down his cheeks.

"Well, it's not a good look. Nope, doesn't suit you at all, really," he mused, looking the mortal up and down. Polites chewed the inside of his cheek, trying to be patient as he continued to glare.

"Oh really? And what, pray tell, would suit a face like this?" Polites asked bitterly, pointing at himself as he blinked back more tears.

"A smile, for one!" Hermes cheered, plopping down next to Polites and throwing an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close. Polites squirmed and shoved him away angrily.

"Leave me alone! I don't want to smile, okay? There's nothing to smile about! And you know what? Yeah, I'll say it! I was happier in the underworld!" Polites screamed, not caring how loud he was. In fact, he hoped a certain captain with his head up his ass heard him. He hoped the guilt ate him alive.

Polites hated the fact that he didn't really feel that way, that he was self aware enough to know it was just his anger talking. Because once it blows over, he'll be the one wracked with guilt.

Hermes reeled back from his words, a hand flying up to cover his mouth as he gasped in shock.

"Oh Polites, you shouldn't say such a thing! I mean, what if the Gods themselves heard you? Ahahaha!" he threw his head back, cackling at his own joke.

"I don't care anymore! Clearly I don't belong here! I-I should've just stayed..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it was such a touché subject," Hermes apologized, seemingly meaning it. Polites remained skeptical. "But I'm truly shocked by your little outburst. You were always the happy one, were you not? So what's changed?"

"Everything!" Polites cried. "Are you blind? How can you not see that everything's gone to shit?"

"Careful now, don't forget who you're talking to," he warned through pursed lips, trying to hide his growing amusement.

Polites sighed in defeat. "I'm sorry Hermes, sir, but I don't really care right now."

Hermes shook his head, a small frown etching its way onto his face. "Oh my, this really is worse than I thought," he muttered to himself, resting a hand on his cheek. Polites couldn't help but roll his eyes and turn away.

"Tell me something I don't know..."

Hermes sighed, staring at the back of his head with pity. "Odysseus can be... stubborn at the best of times. He'll come back around. You just have to show him that same, chipper, adorable Polites he knows and loves," he tried to encourage him.

"But that didn't work..." he said, voice shy and meek.

"Oh! Um, well then... keep at it!" he chirped, slapping a hand on his back.

Polites was more than ready to tell him to get lost, but the touch on his back stole away all of his attention. He turned to meet Hermes face to face, eyes wide in a mix of shock and excitement.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

Polites gestured at him wildly. "You just touched me! I mean like, actually touched me! I thought that was impossible!" Hermes opened his mouth to speak, but he rambled on, "Is that a God thing? Or can-"

"Shh, if you'll let me answer, I'll tell you!" he said before breaking off into giggles. Polites quickly shut up, hanging on his every word.

"It all comes down to intent. And, it works both ways. Here, shake my hand," he explained, offering holding it out for him to take. Polites looked at him skeptically before reaching out.

He tried to grasp his hand in his own, but phased completely through. "This is hopeless!" he whined in defeat. Hermes whistled and smacked him upside the head.

"Ow!" Polites yelped and flinched away, rubbing his head, more for show than anything. Hermes rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

"Oh please, I know that didn't hurt. Quit whining and try again." Polites grumbled under his breath, growing frustrated when he phased through once more.

"Try harder."

"I am!" he growled before taking a grounding breath. He tried again, and this time his hand firmly clasped around Hermes's wrist. A bright smile lit up his face as he met his gaze, "I-I did it!"

"Yeees, congratulations... You can let go now..." he prompted with a smirk.

"Sorry!" he immediately let go, yanking his arm back as if he'd been burned. Hermes chuckled and rolled his eyes.

"You're lucky it's me," he teased, breaking off into even more laughter. Polites couldn't help but giggle along with the infectious sound.

"I guess I am... So uh, t-thanks, for all that. I needed it."

"Desperately so," Hermes agreed. "But I single handedly saved the day, so you're welcome."

Polites snorted, "I wouldn't go that far, but you did make me feel a little better." Hermes cocked his head with an exaggerated pout.

"Aww, just a little? Are you sure about that?" he asked, and before he could answer, Hermes reached up to flutter a few fingers under his chin. Polites scrunched his neck with a barely choked back giggle, and the look he gave the messenger God was priceless. Hermes burst into hysterical giggles, flashing a sly grin his way, "Like I said Polites, it all comes down to intent."

He fished around in his bag, pulling out a gold drachma. "Catch," he said, tossing the coin his way. Polites reached out, snatching it in the air. Hermes gave an impressed grin, nodding in approval. "I expect you to practice. 'Til we meet again, ta-ta!" he waved farewell, hopping up on the edge of the crows nest and stepped off backwards. He swooped up in a backflip, definitely showing off as he flew away.

Polites stared at the coin in his hand, smiling softly. Maybe things would turn out okay.

~~~

Things always seemed better in the morning, Polites told himself. In the light of day, he would have a fresh start, a unique perspective. He just needed everyone else to come to terms with their new normal. So he went about the day like any other, floating down to the deck when the crew was called for breakfast.

He saw the few men spread out across two long mess tables, and he quickly spotted Eurylochus. He smirked and turned invisible, making his way over to him. He waited until he reached for his glass, and Polites placed his hand atop the cup, preventing it from being lifted.

Eurylochus stared at the cup with furrowed brows, giving it another tug. It barely budged under his hold. He looked around the table at the men around him, wondering if they had something to do with this. A few began to take notice and were just as confused as he was.

"Having a bit of trouble this morning?" Elpenor teased from across the table.

"Haha very funny," he said sarcastically, tugging on his glass one more time. Polites didn't fight back, and water splashed right in his friend's face. Anyone seated around Eurylochus had ended up in the splash zone as well.

The men who got drenched cried out angrily while everyone else erupted in wild laughter, and Polites joined them. But his laugh was loud and distinct, and a sound Eurylochus knew all too well.

He froze looked around the room, glaring at thin air. "Polites? Was that you?" he dared to ask. The unruly crowd suddenly grew silent, unsure if they wanted an answer. Then, a fork launched off of a plate, spinning in the air before it clattered to the table. Excited screams and cries broke out as some gathered around the fork, while the rest scattered as far away as possible.

"You think it really is him?"

"He answered us, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but what if it's a trick?"

"You're all playing with fire!

Not everyone was swayed, but it certainly planted the idea in their minds.

Polites liked pulling off these small, ghostly pranks. Mostly because, to him, it felt like magic. Just focus, and you can turn invisible. Focus even harder, and you can make things move. He had his favorite tricks of course: a self rowing oar, a lone mop swabbing the deck, but the funniest thing was when he'd hold something behind someone, only to hide it as soon as they turned around. And his audience seemed more than amused by all of this.

Up until the moment he decides to show his face again. Then it's all hushed whispers and adverted gazes, even from his best friends.

Elpenor frantically looked around his room for his other sandal. It had just been there a second ago, but now only one remained.

"O-okay, very funny. Now give it back," he demanded. He gasped and went stiff when he felt the mattress sink next to him, as if someone sat next to him. The temperature shifted.

"Looking for this?"

Elpenor chanced a glance in his direction. His missing sandal dangled from a mostly transparent hand. He gulped.

"Yes."

He reached for his shoe, but it was yanked out of reach at the last second, and again when he made another grab for it.

"Give it!"

"Then look at me!"

The request took Elpenor off guard. Polites sounded... desperate and sad. He had to look, no matter what the captain said. He wasn't here anyways.

He hesitated, but ultimately caved and looked at Polites. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this.

Polites was smirking at him, a warm look in his glazed eyes. Yeah, he didn't look the same, but he still looked like himself. A sob caught in Elpenor's throat.

He snatched his sandal without warning, quickly lacing them up before rushing out of the room.

~~~

"I don't get it Eurylochus. Are they really that afraid of me?" Polites asked after five days of strategic avoidance from everyone on board. He took a deep breath, thinking about how he'd answer the question.

"Maybe so." Polites scoffed and looked him up and down.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, deciding to put him on the spot. He stiffened, keeping his gaze trained on the floor, and he didn't speak. Polites deflated, "I knew it."

"Polites, trust me, it isn't like that," he tried in vein to reassure him.

"Oh please. None of you can even look at me," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Have you even seen yourself?" Eurylochus barked back, going on the defensive immediately. Polites floated a little lower to the ground, bottom lip trembling.

"Polites, wait-"

"No, no, I get it. I wouldn't want me around either."

Eurylochus had to force himself not to roll his eyes at the theatrics on display. This was typical for Odysseus, but Polites?

"I didn't mean it like that."

He looked up at him, and for the first time outside of battle, Eurylochus saw him look truly upset.

"There's not many other ways to take it, Eurylochus..."

Neither dared to speak for a long time. Polites took a shaky breath and finally broke the silence. "I guess I'll be seeing you around. But... you don't have to worry about seeing me," his voice sounded weak and strangled.

"Wait I'm-" Eurylochus spun around to stop his friend, but he was left alone on the deck. "Sorry..." he finished lamely, dropping his arm by his side.

He flinched when a hand squeezed his shoulder, but immediately relaxed after the initial surprise.

"It's okay, really. I-I think it's for the best if no one sees me for a while," he said, and despite being invisible, Eurylochus could hear the emotion in his voice.

"Are you sure?"

"M-mhm. I think if I stay, it'll just make things worse."

Eurylochus stared at the empty space the voice was coming from. "If you say so..." he reluctantly caved.

Barely anyone had seen Polites since. Sure, he made his presence known in other ways, and most of the crew seemed better off for it. But that's what hurt the most: he'd been right. Eurylochus was wracked with guilt, knowing it was their own reactions that drove him away. Even worse still, their captain didn't seem to care at all. In fact, it only seemed to upset him more with every interaction Polites attempted.

He stood behind Odysseus as he steered the ship. The men were gathered below deck for meal time, leaving the two of them alone for a rare moment.

"I know you're there."

"You should go down there. You need to eat too, y'know."

Odysseus couldn't help but roll his eyes. "What, and let you take the wheel?" Polites furrowed his brows.

"Would that really be so bad? I handled her plenty of times!"

"No, the real Polites did!" he snapped. For once, Polites snapped back, refusing to back down.

"I AM THE REAL POLITES!" he screamed, on the verge of tears. Odysseus merely gave him a cold, empty stare.

"Maybe if you were the first one we ran into down there, I could believe you," he admitted in defeat. There was something a softness behind his eyes that hadn't been there before, his shoulders heavy with grief.

"What will it take?"

"Huh?"

"Tell me what it'll take to prove myself," he pleaded.

They stared at each other for a long moment, seconds passing by in silence. "I don't think you can."

Polites refused to let it end like this.

"Your favorite color is red," he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Odysseus froze and turned to face him, a puzzled expression in place. He locked eyes with him and continued, "And your favorite food is Penelope's stew with fresh baked bread."

By now, Odysseus knew what he was trying to do, so he quickly closed his eyes in hopes of drowning him out. "Don't."

"You have a mole on your shoulder that looks like a comet, a-and you like sunsets more than sunrises, and you used to go pick flowers for Penelo-"

"Please, for the love of the Gods, just shut up!" he cut him off harshly. Polites snapped his mouth shut, obeying the command. Odysseus slowly opened his eyes and stared at his friend. "Why are you doing this to me?" he asked as tears finally spilled down his cheeks.

"I just want you to believe me," Polites insisted. Odysseus shook his head.

"I told you, I can't-"

"WHAT WILL IT TAKE?" he repeated, voice straining against crushed vocal chords. He was crying, and he didn't care if he was shouting. "You say you can't believe me, but you don't give me a fucking reason! And you won't tell me how I can win your trust back, and I just- I don't know what you want from me."

Odysseus thought long and hard about his answer. "I wish I could tell you."

"Then why don't you?" he pleaded.

Odysseus avoided looking directly at him, choosing instead to stare at a crack in the wall just over his shoulder. It was insulting how he thought Polites wouldn't notice.

"I don't know." Then, as if to add insult to injury, he marched straight ahead, walking right through Polites. It was just another way for Odysseus to assert the fact that he wasn't really "there." To prove to himself that he was right. And that hurt more than it had any right to.

But he was nothing if not persistent. When it became clear that Odysseus wasn't looking for a conversation, he thought maybe a few light hearted pranks were just what he needed to jog his memory, to open his fucking eyes and see that he was right there.

Polites could've sworn he saw him smile when he noticed the way he was making his cape billow behind him. The old Odysseus was still in there somewhere, no matter how hard he may be hiding.

But he was still more than skeptical.

~~~

Odysseus was making his way down to his quarters when he felt someone step on the back of his sandal. He turned around in annoyance, ready to chew out the culprit, but he was alone. He thought nothing of it and continued on his way. Then it happened again.

Odysseus sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back. "That you?" he asked in a disgruntled tone.

"What, can't even say my name?" he sassed in order to hide his true nerves when confronting his friend. He appeared behind him, arms crossed.

"Not sure it's really yours to say," he countered easily, the retort sliding off his tongue with ease. The smile he flashed him was cocky and vindictive; nothing like the way he used to grin at him.

Polites decided to go out on a limb and risk it, "Why are you so adamant it's not me?"

"Because if something's too good to be true, it is. But you know all about that, don't you?" he spat, words laced with poison. No, no, there was no way he was talking about that.

"Captain? What do you mean?"

"Oh I think you know," he said darkly. Polites didn't dare to answer. He only shook his head.

"The sheep, Polites. I'm talking about the sheep."

Polites couldn't believe his ears. He sucked in a sharp, shuttering breath in shock. "A-are you trying to say it's my fault that I was killed?" he asked in complete and utter disbelief.

"... If that's how you wanna take it."

He had no hope of fighting off the tears welling in his eyes.

"H-how can you be so- so cruel? It was a mistake!" he pleaded.

"Yeah? Well that mistake cost you your life! And not just your life! You think you can greet world with open arms, but you just can't. Only the strongest survive. And that's why I'm still here, and you're not."

The tears rolled fat and heavy down his cheeks, drawing clean streaks through the blood and grime smeared on his face.

"I-if that's how you r-really f-feel, then fine! B-be that way!" Polites was a blubbering mess as he tried to speak, and he couldn't stand it. He balled his hands into fists by his sides, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as possible. "Y-you'll never have to see me again, if that's what you really want!" he screamed back, allowing his own hurt and anger to boil out of him.

"Good!" Odysseus snapped, completely exasperated.

Polites was frozen in shock. "I don't even know you anymore..." he whispered, mostly to himself. Odysseus glared harder before he turned his back on him, marching down the hall to his cabin and slammed the door behind him. Polites was left alone in the room, feeling hollow and hurt.

Polites took a shaky breath. Why bother to fight a losing battle?

~~~

If barely anyone had seen Polites in the days prior, then he must have made himself truly scarce after his last confrontation with the captain. The playful, if unexplained, shenanigans were no more, and the crew fell back into their monotonous routine.

But remaining invisible for so long takes its toll, and he needs his moments of peace and quiet. And so, the crew took notice of the man sitting alone in the crows nest, his presence never faltering. At least this way, he can still be of some use to the crew while completely isolating himself.

By now, Polites hadn't moved from the crows nest in over a week. Even his practice with the coin was getting weaker. He sat with his knees pressed to his chest, desperately trying to shove the drachma across the planks. His finger phased through, making no impact on the piece of gold.

"How have you possibly gotten more pathetic than the last time we met?"

Fucking great.

[joels-golf-club]

Play Along

A/n: I'm writing this at literally 2 in the morning so this could very well be trash but we shall see. Okay so I hate the way I ended this but the rest is kinda cute so I'm posting it anyway, enjoy :)

All my works are 18+ MDI

Word count: 2K

Warnings: Literally just Joel being the best gentleman, Pre-Outbreak!Joel, Lowkey cliche, no use of Y/n, drinking, One creepy guy, reader is uncomfortable, slight unwanted touching, Joel (he always needs a warning), light swearing, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything.

It was supposed to be a fun night out with your best friend that you hadn't seen in forever. The plan was to go out to a bar your friend liked, have a few drinks, and catch up on what you had missed in the time you two had been separated.

But that plan quickly went out the window. You both showed up and chatted for a while but your friend quickly found someone she deemed worthy of her time and went to the dance floor, leaving you to nurse another drink alone at the bar. That honestly wasn't bad at first. Your drink was about as good as you good get in the small honky tonk bar, the music wasn't bad, maybe a little twangy, but nothing horrible, but then he showed up.

You don't even remember his name, James? Jason? You couldn't remember but you do know that he asked you to dance, and being a few too many drinks deep you said yes. At first he kept a respectable distance between the two of you and his hands stayed high on your back and arms as you danced to the music, but after a song or two his hands began to wander and he pulled you closer. It wasn't terrible until he pulled you flush against him and ran his hot, wet mouth down your neck.

"Okay, I'm getting hot, I think I need another drink! Let go." You shouted over the music but he seemed determined to stay with you.

"It's not that hot in here, just one more song, come on! Then I can think of something else we can do." The innuendo wasn't lost on you and you quickly sobered up a bit. He made another grab for your arm but you pulled it away at the last second and searched the room for your friend with no luck. It seemed she had gone home with that guy, or at the very least disappeared somewhere with him.

"No, I'm actually here with someone so I'm just gonna go find him. This was fun though." You tried to be polite whilst your eyes bounced around the room in search for anywhere you could go, at this point you were almost completely sober and just wanted a way out of this situation.

"Bullshit! You were alone at that bar long before I got to you. Now don't be such a bitch and come over here again!" John or maybe Jackson shouted a little too near to your ear for comfort, causing you to immediately flinch away.

Then your eyes landed on him. Dark messy hair and broad shoulders in a tight green flannel connected to long legs covered in tight dirty jeans. His back was to you and you prayed he was really as alone here as he looked because you made a beeline to him while tossing a, "There's my friend!" over your shoulder. You could tell he followed after you but you just walked faster until you were right next to where the other man stood near the bar counter.

"There you are babe! I've been looking for you!" You called to him and threw your arms around his neck before whispering in his ear when he stiffened at your touch. "Please play along, this guy won't leave me alone." The man didn't answer but he relaxed and wrapped his arms around you for a few seconds before pulling back. By now, the other guy had reached the two of you and glared at the man who now had his arm over your shoulder.

"Hey darlin', been looking all over for you. Who's your friend?" He was playing along to your great relief and glared just as harshly at the unrelentless man before you.

"Oh, this is, uh, Jason-"

"John, actually, and who are you?" John, it turned out to be, cut you off and looked the other man up and down, sizing him up.

"I'm Joel, how do you know my girlfriend?" Joel, stared right back and kept his tone clipped and harsh. Joel was a little shorter, but he was broader and filled out his sleeves much more than John did, no doubt intimidating the creep.

"Girlfriend? This bitch? Yeah have fun with that..." John quickly trailed off as Joel's glare deepened and he took a threatening step forward at the harsh words. John quickly took the hint and turned around and sauntered back into the crowd with a scoff and one last glare aimed at you.

As soon as he was out of sight you slumped down into one of the two empty bar stools while Joel took the other. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry for that. He just wouldn't leave me alone and I lost my friend somewhere and she's kinda my ride but I think she left with some guy so I didn't know what to do. God, you really saved my ass, I don't know what would've happ-" Joel cut your rambling off with a short bark of laughter and shook her head. He smiled in amusement and held out his hand for you to shake.

"Don't worry about it, sweetheart. It was my pleasure, I'm glad I could help. I'm Joel." You gave him your name and shook his hand in return.

"Thank again, can I buy you a drink for that? Like I said, you really saved my ass there." You grinned as you offered but it dropped when he flagged the bartender down and ordered you a drink instead.

"How bout I buy you one since you seemed to have a shitty night? And you said your friend left? I can give you a ride home if you'd like, darlin'." Joel offered in a deep southern twang that had you blushing, though you blamed it on the alcohol still in your system.

You shook your head a smiled. "Don't worry about it, please, I'll just get an Uber or something. I can figure it out, you've already done so much for me tonight." Truth be told, you desperately wanted him to drive you home. Joel was hot, he was also kind and a gentleman, but you didn't want to intrude on his night even more so you declined his offer.

He however seemed to have other Ideas, he raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "You're really gonna call an Uber alone at night? For some reason that doesn't seem like the brightest idea to me."

"Oh and going home with a stranger is any better?" You shot back but Joel just grinned.

"But we aren't strangers. You know my name and I know yours, and according to people around us, we are dating. If you don't want me to take you home, I understand, but I really wouldn't mind at all, and it seems the safer option anyway." You thought over his offer and decided was he right. Calling an uber when you were tipsy, alone, and this late at night wasn't a good idea. You're other option was to somehow get your friend to give you a ride like planned, but she was nowhere to be seen in the bar and she hadn't responded to any of your texts other than one over an hour ago saying she went home with the guy she met.

"Alright, you can drive me home. But you're just dropping me off, alright." Joel nodded and raised his hands in surrender.

"You have my word, sweetheart. I will only take you home, unless you ask for anything else." He threw a cheeky wink in with the end of his sentenced, and that paired with the pet name in his drawl had you blushing from your neck to the tips of your ears. You only hoped he blamed it on the alcohol in your system and the heat of the bar, but the look in his eyes said he knew otherwise.

"Great. Um," You glanced at your phone and saw that it was way past midnight. You had been talking to Joel in between sips of your drinks for well over an hour by now. "It's getting pretty late, do you wanna head out now?"

"Sounds great, darlin'." He fished out his wallet from the back pocket of those unnecessarily tight jeans and threw a couple bills on the table. You tore your eyes away from his ass when he turned around and your blush deepened when you saw the small smirk on Joel's face, he definitely saw you staring. "Let's go then, I'm parked out front."

He led the way out the doors into the chilly night air and opened the passenger door of a shiny black pickup with a large smile across his face. You grinned and stepped up into the vehicle. "I guess chivalry really isn't dead."

Joel just chuckled and shook his head, "Just keepin' my momma proud, darlin'." He winked at you and shut your door before walking around to the driver door. You gave him your address and he turned on the radio quietly as he began to drive.

"Thank you again for everything, Joel. You don't know how much you've done for me tonight." You sheepishly stared at your hands in your lap, the buzz of your drinks wearing off and an odd sense of shame filling you.

You looked up, though, when he reached over and grabbed one of your hands in his much larger grip. His hand covered yours entirely and it was rough with callouses. You stared at the side of his face with your cheeks slightly pink when he spoke. "Darlin', you don't need to thank me. You don't ever deserve to feel unsafe anywhere and I'm extremely glad that I could help you out tonight."

Joel stopped talking then, but he still lightly held your hand in his, you could've pulled away if you wanted, but you just squeezed his hand and grinned. A slow country song came on over the radio and Joel turned up the music a few notches. Quietly he began to sing along.

His voice was deep and smooth with a little bit of a rasp. In short, it was beautiful. You stared at his mouth as it moved to form the shapes of the words. You must have looked insane staring at him like this but when he glanced over at you Joel only smiled softly and continued the song.

The song just barely ended when he pulled into your neighborhood and turned into your driveway. You frowned as the night came to a close and slowly began to unbuckle while Joel walked around the front of the car to open your door for you. "Here you are, sweetheart. It's been a great night for me, I hope it was for you too after everything."

You smiled and hopped down onto the pavement and walked with him to your front door where you tried to linger and build the confidence to ask for his number. "It was wonderful meeting and talking with you. Thank you for everything once again." Joel smiled and nodded his acknowledgment before you began to unlock the door and he turned and walked back to his truck.

You had just about closed the door when you heard your name called out. "Hey wait! you left this in my truck." Joel jogged up to your front door once again and handed you something, it looked like a napkin or a paper, but you didn't remember having it before. It must've just been in your pocket and fallen out or something, you reasoned.

"Oh thanks, I didn't even realize. Goodnight Joel." You finally forced yourself to not chicken out and stood on your tippy toes to press a soft kiss to his cheek before you turned and walked back into your house, just barely catching his own goodnight to you.

It was only after you heard his truck pull away and the sound of his engine fade that you looked down at the napkin he had handed you. Once you processed what it had written on it in a messy chicken scrawl you sat at your kitchen table and a large grin took over your face.

Here's my number so you can buy me that drink another time. - Joel.