#ancient sky knowledge

[codexofforbiddenknowledge]

Stars… plasma lights in the dome above? Vedic cosmology and esoteric traditions describe the heavens as a structured energy grid — not infinite space. Explore the real nature of the stars in our latest YouTube video.

[son-of-avraham]

One of the classes I'm taking is History of Early Civilization and I'm really looking forward to week four when our schedule says we'll be covering Mesopotamia and Judaism. I'm crossing my fingers and toes that it will be good 😭

The funny thing is that we're also covering early xtianity and the schedule mentions that we'll need a copy of the Bible. Of which I don't have. So I'll have to use an online alternative. I used to have a copy, but as you can tell, I don't read it and don't particularly want to keep it

[starlight-eclipsed]

Hi! For Wild’s chapter in Like a Rag Doll, is it possible to get a translation for the old English sentence at the beginning? I think I got most of it but I am not sure about the “warden hi onyenes” part is supposed to be.

Thank you!

Hello! Just to be entirely honest before I share it--I absolutely based it off the stone tablets in totk. There are some other words that I researched before adding, but for the most part it was me squinting at the text and trying to figure out how the words worked XD

You did get most of it:

'Ond so the goddesse seyde tha a champion bith from the skie comen, to warden hi onyenes the wroth god of derknesse.’

"And so the goddess said that a champion born from the sky will come, to ward it against the wrathful god of darkness."

It's definitely not perfect, but I'm choosing to make it the consequence of time on poorly kept oral tradition.

But yeah, it's referencing how Sky had to hold back Demise, specifically the seals he would use. Hylia was 'speaking' in this part, as her plan to defeat Demise was explained to the audience ^-^

[taraxippos]

One of my all time biggest pet peeves with historical(ish) fantasy is when the writer constructs a religion with a clear bias that it's stupid and false and therefore only the Stupid People and/or commoners believe in it and all the smart/elite main characters are like, quasi-atheists or otherwise just routinely flout established religious conventions of orthodoxy and/or orthopraxy because they're Too Smart for it or etc.

It's usually an extension of assumptions that people in the past were just less intelligent than in the contemporary, just being like "I know that the sun is a star millions of miles away that the earth orbits, but this ancient religion describes it as a chariot flying through the sky" and not really bothering to learn the context and just (consciously or subconsciously) settling on 'that's a crazy thing to think and was probably believed in because they were Stupid'.

And that whole attitude pisses me off so much. People were as 'smart' 10,000 years ago as they are today. These beliefs aren't just desperate, random flailing to explain phenomena that could not directly be accounted for either, it's not like people just looked at the sun and went "Uhhh I don't know what the fuck that thing is, actually. I guess it might be a chariot or a boat or something?? Yeah let's go with that." and based entire religious practices on this. Every well-established belief system exists within broader contexts of cultural values/subjective perceptions of reality/knowledge systems/etc, and exist as part of a historical continuum of religious practices that came before. Even when not Materially Correct, they have context and internal logic, they're not always dead literal with zero levels of allegory, and they're never a result of stupidity.

[sistersorrow]

One trope that always tickles my brain in just the right places is a setting where the Horrors have been around for so long that society has shifted to account for them, and not in a bloodborne "we shaped our entire society around the worship of the blood of a dead god" way, I mean society goes on as usual and has so thoroughly planned around these things that the average person has passing knowledge of how to deal with them and they're treated more like bears: dangerous but ultimately mundane

You open a children's French textbook and see a chapter on how to speak basic French wards against francophone spectres

The local worker owned coffee coop made a land dedication to the ancient sleepers whose strontium bones were buried under the space they rent before the sky had a name

Checking for slumbering Old Ones is standard procedure when doing land and ocean surveys

Australia is exactly the same

There are archeologists who specialise in handling cursed artifacts and neutralising corpses that aren't as dead as they should be

There's an XKCD comic mapping shipping lanes over maps of known Deep One colonies which then concludes that boats, not the people manning them, the actual boats themselves, are naturally scared of sunken cities

The Vatican has the largest known population of bound demons on earth, which are mainly used in the training of exorcists

Scientific American is publishing papers on the buildup of plastic waste in the Backrooms

The price of selling your soul is considered taxable income, has a sales tax, and is subject to inflation

Overly Sarcastic Productions has a Classics Summarised video on the Hanged King's Tragedy

The city council mapped out the exact dimensions of a local ghost's haunting ground and that space is now the unused sub-basement of a shiny new Walmart

Zombie outbreaks are treated as a rare and usually seasonal occurance that is quickly dealt with by the WHO

[kerryshifts]

all dark, all bloody, my heart,

vampire things to script.

you resemble faith. there's something about you that makes others yearn a form of intimacy with you: if it's to hear your voice just once and then bragging about it for their entire lifetime, if it's to look at your eyes until madness consumes them, or if it's to ask you to bless them with your touch. a simple one. a pat on the cheek could make the strongest man melt in his boots.

your blood is comparable to a poetry of the renaissance era. whatever it's in your fangs, or from you, or someone's else blood you are simply using to make a statement.

your hair are worthy of being painted and being put inside a cathedral, that centuries later people would admire and think until their last breaths about which kind of face you could've have.

no matter how much of yourself you reveal, people will forever think of you as a walking mystery. to others, your mind is intricated, your laugh is haunting, and your eyes captivating. the only thing about you they can resolve is if your smile was meant to be taken as a problem or as a blessing.

it's an unspoken feeling that a simple home is not worthy of you. your face would make the royals kneel in front of you, and the keys of the palace can be given to you with a simple smile by you.

with your kiss you are not only giving love. it's like an unspoken ancient knowledge that you kept secret forever, it's something no one could ever forget. when you pull away, for them it's like an amnesia. your lips are the extinct fruit they always desired.

you roam the night. you afflicts people's thoughts and dreams.

people are just captivated by you. you are inspiring artists to make masterpieces left and right. your lies are someone's else truths.

there's something off putting about you. children never stop glancing and elders get chills in their bones at your perfume. there's a kind of depravity in you that only women understand and a deviance men aspire to have. you can disintegrate someone's sadness by thumbing their tears and give someone an eternity of nightmares with a kiss on their cheeks.

your look crafted by nature herself. you can give people's lives by entering in your life and taking it with you when you go away. your effect on people are an incurable poison or you have the energy to cure people's sickness.

your veins are visible and people worship them as they chant for the lightings sky after months without rain.

⠀ ⠀

[iydiamartinx]

THE WRATH OF ZEUS

Demi goddess! Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 630 synopsis: You and Jason watch the wrath of Zeus's storm in peace. a/n: I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post this since I'm not totally sure what this is. I was watching a lighting storm rolling in during the middle of the night and somehow I ended up writing this.

The storm began as a whisper—low, distant thunder rolling across the horizon like the warning growl of something ancient and immense. Lightning cracked the sky in jagged veins of silver, illuminating the dark clouds gathering above.

You stood at the window, mesmerized.

Born of the gods, a daughter of Hades, your bloodline bore dominion over death and shadow. Darkness bowed to your will, and yet… it was your uncle’s storm that caught your breath. Raw and wild, there was something awe-inspiring in Zeus’s fury. Something untamed. Beautiful.

Behind you, the bed creaked.

“What are you doing awake?” Jason’s voice was thick with sleep, rough around the edges.

You didn’t turn. Instead, you lifted a hand toward the heavens, to the storm creeping ever closer. A silent gesture to the sight that had you so mesmerized.

Jason moved to your side, arms wrapping around your waist, chin finding its place on your shoulder. His warmth settled against your back, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I may not be a child of Zeus,” you murmured, eyes fixed on the pulsing sky, “but my uncle’s wrath is a beautiful thing.”

Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall—soft at first, like fingertips against the glass, before the rhythm deepened into a steady, pounding cadence.

Jason hummed, the sound vibrating against your spine. “More like terrifying.”

You tilted your head slightly, just enough for your cheek to brush his. “But there’s beauty in such sheer power,” you said, voice soft, reverent. “I wonder who invoked his ire this time… perhaps some foolish mortal in need of reminding that the gods still existed.”

Jason let out a low breath, equal parts amusement and unease.

“You make divine retribution sound poetic,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth brushing your skin as he spoke. “You know most people see a storm and think: ‘maybe I should stay inside,’ not ‘ah yes, the heavens are smiting someone.’”

You smiled faintly, still watching the lightning arc across the clouds like the sky was being stitched open.

“Most people don’t have ichor in their veins and the knowledge the gods still exist,” you replied.

He was quiet for a moment, his arms tightening subtly around you, as though reminded of just how inhuman you truly were.

“You ever wonder,” he said after a beat, “if mortals ever really stopped believing? Or if they just got better at pretending they didn’t need to?”

Your gaze flicked to the window, to the rain now cascading down in sheets, drumming against the world like war drums muffled by time.

“Faith is a fragile thing,” you said quietly. “It survives in fear. In awe. In the moments when mortals feel small. Like now.”

Jason was silent, thoughtful. You leaned back into him, and he didn’t resist. His arms tightened again, chest rising and falling against your spine in a rhythm that felt steady, human, and deeply yours.

“I used to hate storms,” Jason murmured suddenly, voice low, meant only for you. “Back when I was a kid. They made me feel powerless. Helpless. Like the world was breaking apart and I couldn’t stop any of it.”

Your fingers curled around his, lacing together.

“And now?” you asked.

He paused, then leaned down to press a kiss to the side of your head. “Now, I’ve got a goddess at my side who makes me look at everything I thought I knew through new eyes. And suddenly… storms aren’t so terrifying anymore.”

A small smile curved your lips.

Outside, thunder cracked like the laughter of titans. But inside, you were steady. A being of divine blood and broken mortal boy, tethered together by choice not fate.

And for once, Gotham could rage all it wanted.

Jason had already found his calm.

[sh4nksslvt]

hellooo I really like your work and would like to request some angst

maybe like reader dies or gets close to it. some more uncommon charcters too like nami, usopp, or franky please!!

thank you for really cool work and I hope you can do this!!

hii! thank u sm~ oohh~ thats a great idea, ive decided to put them all together, hope u like it!

What Remains

The Straw Hats survive a Marine superweapon test — but only because you don’t. You made a choice to save them all, and they didn’t see it coming.

strawhats x platonic gn! reader tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, platonic bonds, grief a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Smoke curled upward from the scorched ruins of the Marine testing island. The sky was dim, bleeding orange as the sun tried and failed to burn away the choking clouds.

They found your body beneath the collapsed structure—arms still raised like you were shielding the others even in death.

It wasn’t the injuries that broke them. It was the look on your face.

Peaceful.

Like you knew.

ONE WEEK EARLIER.

"These weapons..." Franky said, examining the diagrams. "They’re worse than anything Vegapunk ever dreamed up. They’re built to erase islands."

“And they’re testing them here?” Nami’s voice trembled with disbelief.

Usopp peered over the map. “That’s not all. Some of this... it’s Poneglyph script. These freaks are mixing history with firepower.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just stared at the map. Quiet. Calm. Like a storm on the horizon no one else had seen yet.

“We have to stop this,” you said.

Of course, everyone agreed.

But none of them saw what you saw. None of them realized the cost yet.

Not even you.

THE BATTLE.

The Straw Hats split into teams. Luffy and Zoro drew the front lines away. Robin sabotaged the comms. Brook and Jinbei distracted the guards. Chopper tended to wounded civilians trying to escape.

You were supposed to go in with Franky and Usopp.

You didn’t.

You slipped away the moment they weren’t looking, whispering your last words to Nami before disappearing into the smoke.

“I trust you. Don’t look back.”

You found the core buried deep underground.

A thrumming vault of seastone and ancient script, glowing with stolen knowledge and raw destruction.

You knew what it meant.

You could read the Poneglyph fragments embedded in the weapons.

You knew what would happen if they were activated.

So you made a choice.

A selfish, irreversible choice.

You overloaded the core.

THE AFTERMATH.

When the blast hit, it carved a crater into the earth.

Luffy felt it first—his scream carried across the island like a cannon blast. “(Y/N)!!”

Franky’s stomach dropped. He bolted toward the smoke, ignoring everything—orders, pain, fire.

Usopp followed. Nami, too. She didn’t even speak. Her Clima-Tact sparked wildly, emotions bleeding into weather.

They dug with bare hands and bleeding fingers.

And finally, they found you.

Still. Burned. Crushed.

But unmistakably you.

And unmistakably gone.

THE SUNNY.

Franky hadn’t spoken in two days.

He sat in the engine room, back turned to everyone, arms blackened with soot and oil. He worked until his hands bled, building gods knew what.

Chopper had tried to check on him. Franky didn’t even look up.

Usopp wandered the deck in silence, eyes red, mouth dry. He hadn’t told a single story since they left the island.

He’d tried. He opened his mouth once to make a joke, and nothing came out.

So he just sat with your grave marker, talking to it like you were there.

And Nami—Nami was broken in a way no one had ever seen.

She didn’t cry loudly. She didn’t scream. She just shut down.

She went days without food. Sat curled in the crow’s nest, staring out to sea, clutching the note you left her in your final moments.

"Don’t look back."

She hated you for it.

She loved you for it.

She never stopped shaking.

NIGHT.

Luffy stood by the railing, his hat pulled low, wind in his face.

Sanji stood beside him in silence.

“You knew they were gonna die,” Luffy said suddenly. His voice wasn’t angry. It was hollow.

Sanji lit a cigarette, fingers shaking. “I knew they weren’t coming back.”

Luffy didn’t answer.

“They saved all of us,” Sanji added after a long pause.

“I didn’t want saving,” Luffy whispered.

Then he turned and walked away.

FRANKY.

The machine he was building exploded.

He didn’t flinch.

Robin found him hours later, crouched beside the wreckage, staring into space.

“They’d have slapped me for this,” he said quietly.

Robin knelt beside him. “For what?”

“For not stopping them.”

“They knew what they were doing.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

Robin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It never does.”

USOPP.

He buried the dials you used in a small, unmarked box.

Every trap you helped him design, every gadget you tweaked. Gone. Hidden away like a secret.

“I’m never going to be that brave,” he whispered.

Then he broke.

Ugly, shaking sobs that echoed across the deck.

NAMI.

She didn’t speak for three days.

Then, she found Franky. Slammed him into a wall.

“You let them go alone!” she screamed.

Franky didn’t fight back. “I know.”

“YOU PROMISED—YOU PROMISED ME THEY’D COME BACK—!”

He wrapped his arms around her mid-swing, held her as she sobbed, her fists pounding against his chest until they were too weak to lift.

ONE WEEK LATER.

Luffy called everyone to the deck.

No one knew why.

When they arrived, they found him standing in front of a small, newly-built monument.

A single beam of the destroyed fortress. Carved with your name.

And beneath it—your jacket. Cleaned. Pressed. Folded neatly.

Luffy didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

They stood together. Silent.

One by one, they left offerings.

Sanji placed a bottle of sake.

Robin left a single violet flower.

Chopper tied a string of charms around the wood.

Zoro leaned his sword against it for a moment. A quiet nod of respect.

Brook played a low, mournful tune on his violin.

Jinbei lit a lantern and pushed it into the sea.

Usopp placed a small slingshot on the beam.

Franky left a blueprint.

And Nami… Nami placed your note. The last one you ever wrote.

“Don’t look back.”

She whispered, “I’m going to.”

Then she walked away.

.

.

.

They kept your room the way it was.

No one said it aloud—but they all visited.

Nami would sit on your bed when the nightmares came.

Usopp would fix the shelves you always overloaded with junk.

Franky recharged your tools every week, even though you weren’t there to use them.

And Luffy…

Luffy would sit on the figurehead, facing forward, holding your jacket in his lap.

He never cried where anyone could see.

But the jacket was always warm.

As if it still remembered you.

[floatyflowers]

Dark Platonic Ancient Egyptian Deities X Reincarnated! Reader

Ra (god of the Sun and King of the Gods)

As the father figure of the pantheon, Ra takes a patriarchal protector role. He insists you stay close to him in his solar barque, safe from the dangers of the mortal and divine realms.

He grows obsessive about shielding you from chaos especially Apophis, even refusing to let you leave his sight during the night.

Ra often calls you his 'ray of light,' claiming that your presence eases his eternal burden of maintaining Ma’at (cosmic order).

Isis (goddess of Magic and Motherhood)

Isis becomes a motherly figure, fiercely nurturing and protective.

She insists on teaching you spells and protective charms, even if they’re far too hard for you.

She forbids you from interacting with anyone she deems 'unworthy,' claiming she’s the only one who understands how to keep you safe.

Her possessiveness is crude and unyielding; she uses her magic to track you and ensure no harm comes to you, even if it means manipulating others around you.

Osiris (god of the Underworld and Rebirth)

Osiris is calm but quietly obsessive.

He views you as a symbol of renewal and life, a bright presence that balances his somber existence.

Maybe that's because he knows that you are a reincarnation?

Oh wait, he is the one who had you reincarnated in the first place.

He tries to keep you within his underworld domain, rationalizing that it’s the safest place for you, free from earthly or divine dangers.

Osiris has a slightly eerie way of expressing his affection, saying things like,

“You belong to eternity, just like I do.”

Anubis (god of Mummification and Protector of the Dead)

Anubis is like an older sibling who takes his role as your guardian far too seriously.

He constantly watches over you, often from the shadows.

His possessiveness appears as distrust of anyone else, mortal or divine, who tries to approach you.

He justifies this by claiming his duty as a protector.

If you ever get hurt, even slightly, he blames himself and becomes even more overbearing, ensuring no one gets close enough to harm you again.

As for the person who harms you, they will get mummified alive.

Horus (god of Kingship and Sky)

Horus is fiercely territorial, viewing you as his personal charge.

He sees himself as your rightful protector, fighting off any perceived threats to your safety or happiness.

And it doesn't help that his mother, Isis, encouraged him to be like that.

He’s competitive, constantly trying to prove that he’s the only one who can protect you.

He often gets into arguments with other gods over who should have custody of you.

His eagle-eyed vigilance means you’re rarely alone, as he swoops in at the slightest hint of trouble or perceived disobedience.

Set (god of Chaos and Storms)

Surprisingly, Set sees you as a calming impact in his chaotic life.

Your innocent, pure nature makes him protective, almost soft-hearted in your presence.

He grows extremely possessive, believing that only he understands what it means to protect you in a world full of danger and betrayal.

Set doesn’t shy away from using intimidation or brute force to keep others away from you, including the other gods.

He is the first one who suggests that the deities should turn you into immortal or even a goddess.

Thoth (god of Wisdom and Knowledge)

Thoth is fascinated by your knowledge of the modern world and becomes obsessed with learning everything he can from you.

He is the only one after Osiris that knows that you are reincarnated.

He justifies keeping you close, by saying it’s for 'scholarly purposes' yet we all know that he enjoys your childlike curiosity.

He tries to isolate you, offering endless books and scrolls while discouraging interactions with others, fearing they might distract or corrupt you.

"I have found a new rare scroll, who about we read it both together instead of going out for a walk?"

Bastet (goddess of Cats, Home, and Protection)

Bastet is smothering affectionate, treating you like a fragile kitten.

She insists on keeping you within her temples, surrounded by her sacred cats.

She’s fiercely territorial and sees anyone approaching you as a threat.

Her claws come out literally if anyone tries to take you away from her.

Bastet’s love is suffocatingly warm, she showers you with gifts, affection, and constant attention, leaving little room for independence.

Sekhmet (goddess of War and Healing)

Sekhmet is a ferocious guardian, seeing herself as your warrior and protector.

She’s quick to destroy anything or anyone by draining their blood, but only those who she perceives as a danger to you.

And she perceives every human as a danger.

Despite her fearsome nature, she’s surprisingly tender with you, often calling you “little one” and insisting on tending to your needs personally.

She becomes enraged at the idea of you being harmed or taken from her, leading to bursts of divine wrath that shake the mortal and divine realms.

Sobek (god of the Nile and Crocodiles)

Sobek views you as a fragile, precious being who needs constant protection.

He assigns himself as your personal guard, often scaring off others with his intimidating presence.

His possessive attitude appears in his insistence that you remain near water, claiming it’s the safest place for you.

He has a soft spot for you, often bringing you gifts like shiny trinkets or freshly caught fish.

"Why would you need to cook the fish, my dear? it's better if it is eaten raw."

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part four)

Previous | Master Post | Next

Danny slowed his car down, staring at the black iron gate coming into view; Bats and ivy welded on in an elegant pattern, obviously more thought-out than The Drake's ducks had been. He had to give it to Tim, the kid had been right about how stupid the ducks looked.

Glancing around, Danny found he was completely alone on the dirt road. The gray sky slowly brightened as the sun climbed higher in the distance, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and birds chirped.

If it hadn't been for his experiences at Vlad's place, he would have found the scenery comforting, maybe even inviting. But the knowledge that this was the home of a billionaire, one that went out at night to fight crime like a furry on crack nonetheless, ruined it.

Maybe he should just head back to the motel...

...

Fuck it, when had Phantom ever backed down? That's right! Never! Danny was going to stick to his metaphorical guns and follow through with his admittedly stupid plan.

Taking his foot off the brake; Danny activated his intangibility, shared it with the car, and drove through the gate. (look, what were his powers for if not to make his life convenient? He deserved it after literally dying for them. AND the gate was probably locked. There was no way he could convince someone to let him in at this time in the morning, so...)

Danny kept an eye on his surroundings as he drove, he doubted Bruce Wayne would have ghost vultures working for him, but that doesn't mean Danny wouldn't be prepared if he did.

Eventually, a large building came into view. Its gothic architecture and obvious timely design set it apart from Vlad's modern monstrosity of a castle. Danny could just tell this was a home for a family with old money; the weathered roof and aged water fountain told stories of the people who used to live there. This was a home, not just a house.

Pulling his car over and parking, Danny quickly sent a mental prayer to the home's ancestors. He hoped they could forgive him for what he was about to do.

Grabbing his backup phone and his keys, Danny tossed the car door open and stepped out. Immediately his senses were clouded with grief and anger. It was so strong he almost lost his footing. The house was just drenched in the emotions, tendrils reaching out and wrapping around anything and everything.

Closing his eyes, Danny held his breath so he could focus on blocking the emotions out. (flashes of someone else's memories rushed past his mind; a glimpse of a young boy sitting in a library reading a book. An older man sitting next to him silently. In another flash, the two were now in a dark cave, the light of a computer the only thing illuminating them as the older man draped a blanket across the boy's back. whispered words of sincere promises echoed in his head.)

He had believed Tim, but he hadn't expected it to be this bad. Ancients, this was worse than when he had to deal with Spectra.

Batman definitely needed therapy.

...

Maybe Jazz should be Robin instead, she'd know how to handle this properly. but Jazz wasn't here right now, she was in Sweden learning all about mental health. Which meant Danny would have to do this himself.

yay.

He had two options; One, he sits down with the man and they have a sincere and very emotional conversation. Or two, he beats it into the guy's head that he needs to stop going out and trying to get himself killed. Based on everything he knows about Batman? It was going to be number two that was going to get results... Well, at least Danny had experience punching things until he got what he wanted. (even if it didn't always work.)

Shaking himself out of his mind, Danny started making his way to the front door. It was past five in the morning, Bruce should be home now. Whether he was sleeping like Danny would assume he usually did, was a different question altogether.

Glancing around the door, Danny found there was a large rope hanging to the left. Vlad had the same thing at his place, it was an old-fashioned doorbell.

shrugging, Danny pulled on the rope and waited.

and waited.

and waited.

After a minute or two, Danny pulled the rope again. Suddenly the door swung open to reveal an older man dressed in a nice waistcoat and trousers.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, a British accent completing the look.

Danny blinked for a second before quickly focusing back on his task. "My name's Danny. Bruce is being a dumbass who needs to take a chill pill and take a step back from hospitalizing criminals. Can I come in?"

It was the old man's turn to stare and blink at him. After a minute, the man stepped back and opened the door, his eyebrow raised. "I would like to see how you plan to tell this to Master Bruce. His office is this way, young man."

"May I ask what exactly you're doing here?" the man asked, closing the door behind Danny.

Danny shrugged, "I'm here to beat some sense into him. He's going to get himself killed and no one wants to see what happens when he does."

The butler, because the rich fruitloop would obviously have one, hummed as he nodded his head in agreement. "I see. Maybe this is what he needs then. he won't listen to me, no matter how much I nag him."

Nothing else was said as he guided Danny through the manor, eventually stopping at a fancy dark wooden door. "Master Bruce, you appear to have a visitor." Then He opened the door and gestured for Danny to enter.

He only had a moment to ponder how he should do this before he entered the room. He should keep his powers hidden, for now at least.

He was greeted with the sight of an exhausted man in a bathrobe sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He was clutching a very worn and loved book in his hands, his brows slightly furrowed. (Danny noted that it was the same book the kid had been reading, The Hero and the Crown... or something like that, Danny hadn't really gotten a good look at the title.)

The butler stepped back, closing the door, and stood next to it to maybe await his new orders. Ones he probably wouldn't get any time soon, if the way Bruce hadn't moved or responded meant anything.

Well, if the old man wanted to see this then who was Danny to stop him?

Stepping forward, Danny leaned over the desk and slapped the back of Bruce's head. The man swiftly turned and stared at him, raising one of his hands to touch his head in shock. Danny heard the butler choke in surprise but ignored him. He could only pray to Clockwork that Bruce didn't kill him for this.

"You are being absolutely idiotic, dude." Danny declared. "Do you think Jason would have wanted you to act like this?" Bruce stood up, his chair slamming into the wall, his eyes burning in anger. "No? Then get your shit together and be the man he would be proud of."

Bruce lunged over the desk, his fist pulled back to hit Danny. It was just like Danny expected, just like Tim had told him, the man was letting his emotions control his actions. Dodging to the side, Danny continued talking, "This going out every night, fighting more and more dangerous and outlandish people all by yourself? It's going to get you killed."

Bruce gave up on trying to punch him, instead, he threw himself forward and body-slammed Danny to the floor. Danny coughed, quickly blocking his face as Bruce took a swing at him. Using the man's blind anger to his advantage, Danny kicked Bruce in the chest and sent him flying into his desk. "Jason's dead. It sucks. and it hurts. It's probably the worst pain you've ever experienced, but there's nothing you can do about it."

Danny glared at the man as he scrambled into a crouch, waiting to see what Bruce did next. "Shut up," the man growled, shoving himself up and away from his desk. He picked up his stapler; he was probably either going to use it as a blunt weapon or throw it at Danny. Widening his stance, Danny got ready to dodge or lunge.

He remembered reading about him, online when he first became Phantom. He remembered reading about Robin and Batman and how they worked together to protect Gotham. How they tirelessly worked day and night to put their rogues away every time they got out again.

He remembered seeing pictures of Batman standing next to little Robin, a proud smile on his face as the police took the criminals away. Pictures of the man helping and protecting Robin whenever the boy couldn't handle whatever mess he had gotten into. There was even a memorable one of Batman scolding an obviously sheepish Robin, a knocked-out Riddler slumped behind him.

He had wished so badly for someone to help him back them, for someone to be his Batman when times got hard. He remembered how devastated he was when it turned out the only person like him was Vlad. Vlad, who had wanted to murder his father and marry his mother. Vlad, who had overshadowed people to gain more wealth and power. Vlad, who hadn't seen how wrong it was to try and clone him.

He remembered the comments and videos from the citizens of Gotham, cheering for their heroes when they succeeded in capturing the rogues. How they still supported them when they failed. It was nothing like Amity's reaction to him.

He remembered how Gothom reacted when Robin was pronounced dead. How the city had cried and raged. He felt it all the way over in Amity, the grief and anger. The whole city had come together to mourn the boy who protected them. Even two years later, Danny could still feel the echoes.

"Jason's dead. He's dead and gone and you're letting yourself get consumed with your grief. but you made a promise Bruce."

Danny knew he had, it was the same promise Danny had made just four years ago.

Bruce's eyes widened and the anger that was surging in his eyes froze for just a moment. His hand loosened around the stapler but didn't let it go. The butler looked concerned, unsure if he should interfere or not.

"You made a promise all those years ago when you first dawned that stupid bat suit. You promised to do everything in your power to help your city. To protect it. Robin made the same promise. When he took up his suit. They both did."

Bruce's jaw tensed, his eyes narrowing. Danny lowered his body, still ready to dodge at a moment's notice.

"You made a promise to your son, Bruce. Even if he didn't know it. One that you couldn't keep."

Bruce threw the stapler, making Danny jump to the side to dodge it. His mistake was not keeping an eye on what Bruce did after throwing it. The man quickly rushed up to him, eyes blazing in anger. "You don't know anything!" he cried, his fist slamming into Danny's jaw. Danny staggered back but ducked under the next punch.

"I lost my son! I wasn't there!" Bruce shouted, kicking Danny's legs out from under him. Danny's back hit the floor, knocking the breath out of him. Bruce followed him down, breaking his nose with another punch to the face. "I promised I would protect him and I wasn't there!"

Danny growled, catching Bruce's fist in his hand and sending a punch at the side of Bruce's head. Bruce tried to lean back, Danny's fist clipping his forehead. Bruce grunted, reaching up to grab Danny's fist to keep him from punching him again.

"You couldn't protect him! I get it, it sucks!" Danny shouted back, flashes of Dani's melting form grasping at his shirt in panic pulled to the front of his mind. "It leaves a black hole in the center of your chest! It sucks all the warmth out of you, leaving only the cold bitter knowledge that you couldn't save him!" (that he couldn't save her)

Bruce pulled his fist out of Danny's hand, slamming his elbow down into Danny's chest and twisting Danny's right arm sharply in an attempt to break it. Danny kept talking though, ignoring the pain as he pulled his arm out of Bruce's grasp, "But Jason made a promise! and you're doing nothing to keep it!"

Danny grabbed onto Bruce's bathrobe and flipped them so Bruce was the one on the floor now. Quickly reaching up, Danny grabbed both of Bruce's hands and held them as still as he could. Bruce was strong, but Danny had years of fighting Skulker and the other super-strong ghosts under his belt. "He made that promise knowing that you had made the same one!"

Bruce growled, throwing his head up in an attempt to hit Danny with it. Danny leaned back, accidentally loosening his grip just enough for Bruce to break out of it. Bruce shoved him off of him, making Danny slide back and hit a chair.

Grunting, Danny stood up and lunged at Bruce. Bruce dodged to the side, dropping down to pick the stapler back up. "I can't claim to know what Jason would have wanted," Danny spat, backing up to give himself more space as Bruce stepped toward him. "but I know as someone who made the same promise, I wouldn't have wanted you to change into what you are now!"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Danny, "Yeah, and what's that?" he growled.

"A careless, suicidal, moron," Danny growled back.

Bruce froze, stopping in place as he stared at Danny.

Danny took his chance to drive his point home; standing up straight, he raised his hands up in surrender. "He was your son. He looked up to you for protection. For guidance. And sure, maybe you weren't the best dad, and maybe you made mistakes. But you were his dad."

Danny stepped forward, watching as the butler stepped forward to reach out to the man. "and what kind of son would want his dad to kill himself?"

Bruce dropped his stapler, his eyes falling to the ground and catching onto the book he had dropped earlier. It was opened to the front page, written words in messy writing covering it.

"You need to stop, Bruce," Danny said, slowly crouching down and reaching out for the book. Bruce watched him as he stood up, the book still open to the front page in his hands. Jason's writing visible to all of them.

"you couldn't keep your promise to protect him. It sucks and it hurts. but you can keep his promise. The same promise you made all those years ago."

Bruce looked up at him, his blue eyes filling with tears, the butler's hand resting on his shoulder. Danny stepped forward again, holding the book out for Bruce to take.

"You can't protect Gotham if you're dead."

Jason's handwritten note stared up at them, the ink messy and smudged.

'to the best dad in the world and the many adventures we'll go on!'

and Bruce? Bruce crumbled to the floor with a sob, leaving Danny to stand in front of him. Blood running down his face, staining his hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pants, the book still held out with steady hands.

Next

[pedroscurls]

letters across time (one-shot)

summary: after having moved to rome for a fresh new start, you begin to receive letters from an unlikely stranger that you begin to develop feelings for... only to come to the heartbreaking realization that the two of you may never meet.

pairing: marcus acacius x fem!reader content warnings: angst (with a happy ending), strangers-to-lovers trope (?), mutual pining, mentions of war and death, sorry - i've got a lack of historical ancient roman knowledge but trying my best lol, deviation from the film (lucilla dies before marcus - sorry, wanted marcus to be single / widowed which only fuels his hatred for the emperors), reader has a nickname (rose), excuse my poor attempt at speaking italian, no use of y/n. word count: 9.4k a/n: so i'm really stepping out of my comfort zone with this one, but i've been obsessed with marcus a since gladiator 2 came out (and honestly who else hasn't lol). also a bit of a tidbit - my first ever tattoo is with the latin saying ad maiora so i had to fit it into this story hehe. if the characterization seems off or if the historical aspect of ancient rome / dialogue is inaccurate, please bear with me - it's my first ever marcus a fic and first time writing in that time period... anyway, huge thank you to @jolapeno for hosting this "dear-uary" challenge <3. my epistolary is letters and my prompt is here. hope you all enjoyed this!

Finally settled in, you walk out to your small balcony and take a seat. It overlooks the famous Colosseum and despite the sounds of chatter coming from nearby, you have to wonder how this place looked centuries ago. Rome had always been a place you wanted to visit, but never did you think that you’d move here. 

You don’t speak the language (yet), and the apartment you moved into was surprisingly affordable given the location. An elderly couple owns the small building and when you had approached them about a vacant apartment listing, they were more than eager to have you move in. It wasn’t at all luxurious–the apartment building. It was very dated, remnants of ancient Rome decorated throughout the building. It almost felt like you were transported back to that time period, given the decoration that filled not only your apartment but the entire building itself. 

The couple could speak a little English, asking plenty of questions that a usual landlord wouldn’t ask. 

American? Yes, you answered.

Married? No, you replied with a heavy sigh–memories of your last relationship flickering in your mind. 

A beautiful girl like you, not married? No, you repeated–now trying to end the conversation in hopes that you don’t have to go into detail why you uprooted your entire life into one suitcase. 

You had noticed the way the older woman’s smile drops, can see her eyes softening at the sight of you. It’s almost like she knows, like she can understand why you’re here. She’s the first one to say that you got the apartment–the brief meeting lasting only twenty minutes. 

It’s yours, she said. 

You had told them you weren’t sure you could afford it, given how close it was to the Colosseum and knowing that it was one of the hottest tourist spots. There’s a lot of foot traffic that surrounds this area and you’d be lucky to have found an apartment this fast. 

Whatever you can pay, the husband had chimed in. We will accept.

Then, the woman had touched your arm–gentle, light, almost feather-like and you could have sworn the warmth radiated throughout your entire body. This place, this couple–it felt familiar, it felt like home. 

You nodded in agreement and you shook hands with the husband before the woman hugged you gently. 

And now, sitting in your new apartment, this didn’t feel real. You still feel like you’re running, like you’re looking over your shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the sun begins to set, the sky soon turns a shade of orange and you let out a breath that you hadn’t realized you were holding. 

A flood of relief washes over you.

You’re safe. 

This is your fresh start. 

And you remember what the woman had told you when they had given you the keys to your new apartment: Ad Maiora, cara mia, she whispered, eyes staring into your own. A fleeting gaze of understanding. You asked her what that meant and she smiled, patted your hand and answered, Towards greater things, my dear. 

After finding luck with your apartment, you doubt that your luck would continue. But now, a month later, you have a steady job at a coffee shop that’s within walking distance and the elderly couple–Giovanni and Antonia–have begun teaching you Italian. Most nights, they invite you to their apartment for dinner where they ask you about your day along with a detailed lesson in learning Italian. Some nights, though, they ask you to teach them English–living so close to a famous tourist area, they encounter plenty of Americans and they believe it’d be good for business if they learned how to speak the language. 

Rome starts to feel more like home as the days pass. Giovanni and Antonia have welcomed you with such warmth that they soon find out the reason for you moving here. You told them you left America for a fresh start–having just gotten out of a very toxic relationship and a very meaningless job. You wanted more for yourself and you knew that staying in America was only going to keep you complacent, stagnant. 

Antonia had given you a hug at the end of that night–a hug that you had gotten so used to receiving, a hug that you found so much comfort in. They reminded you so much of your grandparents that had raised you–those were the only good memories that you dreamt of, a time where you could be a young girl again, running around in your grandparents’ home. 

You feel much freer, more at ease, safe now that you feel fully settled in here. And one day after work, you walk up the two flights of stairs to your apartment and unlock your door. There’s an envelope on the hardwood floor–almost like someone had slipped it underneath your door. There’s no writing on it, no name addressed on it, but you pick it up anyway and notice that it isn’t sealed. You set it on your small rounded table and walk to your kitchen to pour yourself a glass of wine–this is routine for nights when you don’t have dinner with Antonia and Giovanni. 

You take a quick sip of your red wine and then move to your bedroom, removing your clothes to change into much more comfortable clothing–shorts and an oversized crewneck, your hair now pulled into a messy bun. You’re barefoot when you walk back into the kitchen to retrieve your wine glass. As you pass the rounded dining table, you notice the envelope. Someone must have had to slide it underneath your door on purpose, right? 

You take the envelope and then walk out to your balcony, sitting on one of the seats as you set the glass on the small table. Slowly, you pull the letter out of the envelope and open it, the writing in neat cursive. You shouldn’t be reading it, especially if this was meant for someone else. 

Confused but intrigued, you continue to read. 

Lucilla died today. I was not there to bid her goodbye. I had given her a promise–that this campaign will be my last. All of Numidia–for the glory of Rome… all for nothing. Writing this journal entry surely is treacherous–I could be punished for it, but what is the point of it all? This is not Rome. This is not the Rome I had promised to fight for.  Lucilla–I am sorry, my lady. I will love you for the rest of my days and cannot wait until we meet again. Your blue eyes, your smile… Your laugh and your voice–I will carry it with me, my love. I will speak with the Senate. I will–I will do what is right, what must be done.  For you. For Rome.  Acacius

You’re unsure of what you just read. Lucilla. Numidia. Acacius. Rome. It almost seems like this is a journal entry–the feel of the paper, the cursive writing. Maybe you shouldn’t have read it, but you’re curious. Something inside you tells you to write back–almost like a tug, a pull that you feel in the pit of your stomach. So, you grab a piece of paper and a pen and begin writing–not in cursive, though.

Dear Acacius,  I’m so very sorry for your loss. I’m not sure there’s anything anyone can say to make things better and I’m not even sure if time helps either… Shit happens. It sucks, and I want to say that life goes on, but it doesn’t. At least not for the person who lives.  I lost my grandparents when I was eighteen–it crushed my entire world and set me on a path that I’m still trying to fix. I know this isn’t the same as losing a wife or a partner and I’m not even sure if I’m making any sense. I just–I know what loss feels like and it fucking sucks.  Anyway, I think this might have been sent to me by accident and I’m sorry that I opened it and read it. It wasn’t my intention. So, I’m just gonna send it back to you–somehow–but… I hope things get better for you, Acacius (really cool name, by the way!).  Best wishes,  A stranger

You fold your letter and place it into the envelope with Acacius’s original piece of paper. You then close the envelope, grab your glass of wine and walk back into your apartment, setting the envelope onto your dining table so that it’s visible for you tomorrow morning to ask Antonia about. 

The following morning after getting ready for work, you notice that the envelope is gone. You furrow a brow in confusion, beginning to turn over your entire apartment to find the envelope–contents of your letter along with Acacius’s journal entry inside of it. When you realize that you’re late for work, you decide to call in sick and quickly leave your apartment to descend the stairs to speak with Antonia. 

She’s in the community garden, tending to the roses and when she sees you, a bright grin lines her lips. She stands and pulls you into a hug without hesitation. 

“Cara mia, no work today?” 

You shake your head and ask, “Antonia, there was an envelope in my apartment last night. Do you know who might have slid it under my door?” 

“Envelope?” she shakes her head, confusion written across her features. “Like a letter?” 

“Well, not really?” you answer. “It seemed like a journal entry. They talked about Lucilla, about Numidia–”

“Lucilla? My dear, she was the daughter of Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius.”

“Wait, that was centuries ago.” 

Antonia nods. “And Numidia,” she sighs. “So very tragic.”

“Antonia, who’s Acacius?” 

“General Acacius?”

“G–General?”

“Cara mia, cosa sta succedendo?” asks Antonia. My dear, what’s going on?

You shake your head. “Nothing. Um, I’ll have to skip tonight’s dinner with you and Giovanni. Mi dispiace.” 

“Cara mia–”

You give her a hug and walk back inside your apartment, determined to find out more about Acacius. 

Marcus returns to his chambers, distraught and overcome with grief. His bed–once shared with Lucilla–now remains cold and empty. He can’t bring himself to lie in bed, yearning for his wife who is no longer alive. After Numidia, he was more than ready to return home–returning home meant returning to Lucilla, but when news of her death finally reached him, he no longer found the need to go back to Rome, despite the emperors’ orders. 

But Marcus was a man of honor. He would ask Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla for a period of rest from war, to fully grieve the loss of Lucilla. He can’t even think about attending the emperors’ ceremony that’s dedicated to his success in Numidia–how can he when Lucilla is no longer here? 

He hears a knock on the door and he walks–barefoot–to open it. He sees a chambermaid on the other side–she has a look of sympathy across her features with a hint of fear. 

“G–General,” she mutters. “There is a letter for you.” 

“A letter?” he asks, confused.

She nods and extends her hand. Marcus takes the envelope from her and gives her a single nod, dismissing her silently. She turns on her heel and Marcus shuts the door, walking towards the candle that illuminates a small table. He takes a seat, pours himself a cup of wine before he begins to open it. He holds two pieces of a paper–one he’s familiar with and when he opens it, he realizes it’s the journal entry that he had written–and the other, much more smooth, less texture, more white in color. When he opens it, his eyes widen at the writing–all capitalized, not written in cursive. 

He reads the first line and realizes that this is a letter to him. He reads it with interest, eyes still slightly widened at the choice of words that he’s not used to. 

Shit sucks. 

Cool name.

It’s signed A Stranger and he isn’t sure how his journal entry even got into the hands of someone else. He doesn’t have any information aside from the fact that your writing is unusual and the words you use are out of the ordinary. 

But, he finds comfort in your letter. He’s known loss before–plenty of his men understand what he’s going through–but somehow talking to a stranger who doesn’t truly know who he is provides a sense of relief. He doesn’t have to be General Acacius in his response to you–he can just be Marcus. 

So, he grabs a piece of paper and his quill and begins writing to you. 

Dear Stranger,  Thank you for returning my journal entry. I am not sure how that fell into your hands and it is quite alright that you read it. However, for some reason, I feel some relief knowing that I am not alone. Maybe my journal entry was meant to find you… Do you believe in that? In fate?  Anyway, I am sorry for your loss as well. Loss is… Well, it is a part of life but that does not mean that it is pleasant either. I am sure the path that you are on now will lead you to greater things. There is a saying–if you are familiar–Ad Maiora. It means towards greater things.  Also, what do you mean by ‘cool name’? It is quite interesting that my name is associated with some kind of temperature… unless I am misunderstanding.  In any case, you may call me Marcus. If you are comfortable, may I ask what your name is?  I hope this letter finds you well, stranger. And I hope I get to talk to you again.  Best wishes,  Marcus

He re-reads his letter, furrows a brow and sighs. It sounds desperate–a plea to get you to talk to him again because he feels less alone when he’s writing to you. He isn’t sure how this letter will get to you, but he keeps his journal entry and your letter and places his reply back into the envelope. 

Marcus spends the better part of his night drinking, having ended up falling asleep at his desk and the envelope magically disappearing by the time he awakes the following morning. 

You awake the following morning, having fallen asleep on your couch with your laptop and notebook scattered on the coffee table. You had spent the entire night researching Acacius. Antonia was right–Marcus Acacius was a General for the Roman empire, serving under the rule of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. Empress Lucilla was his wife, but had died while he was on his way back from Numidia. But all of this–it happened centuries ago. 211 AD. And Acacius ended up dying–right in the center of the Colosseum after he was forced to fight in the arena after the emperors found out his plan of treachery. 

There’s no way that the person you had written to the other day was the same man you had researched–he was dead. Surely, you can’t be writing to someone from a different time period and to someone who is no longer alive. Right? 

You sit up from your couch and notice the same envelope magically resting on your coffee table. Quickly, you grab it and pull the letter out. Same paper, same writing. 

It’s from Acacius. 

You read it quickly, a small smile lining your lips and a quiet giggle escaping you. You feel a wave of emotion when you read his reply; it’s obvious this man is clearly still alive but how could it be possible that you’re communicating with someone who lives in an entirely different time period? And how come the envelope is your only string tying you to him? 

After you finish reading his letter, you grab your notebook and pen and begin writing your reply. 

Dear Marcus,  You can call me Rose. It’s my favorite flower and I grew up helping my grandma with her garden, which was filled with roses.  You’re cute, Marcus. Cool name meaning… You have a nice name. I think that translates the same?  Ironically enough, Ad Maiora is something I’m trying to remind myself when I have tough days. A good friend of mine mentioned it to me when I moved here. It’s been something that keeps me going every day… the hope that I’m moving in the right direction.  And fate… I don’t think I believe in it. We all have free will and everything we do in life is a choice we make… like my choice in getting into a relationship with a really bad man. Would you call that fate?  I like talking to you too… and I feel less alone too. Can I ask a question, by the way? What year is it?  Best wishes,  Rose

You take Marcus’s letter and set it aside, folding your reply and placing it back into the envelope. You’re sure that it’s going to disappear during the night and you hope that you can wake up the next day with a response from Marcus. 

Marcus attends his ceremony, dressed in white and gold as he feigns a look of pride, a forced smile when he’s standing in front of Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. It makes his blood boil–the fact that these two young men are parading him around like he’s done something so great, so grand. All he can see is the unnecessary bloodshed, the bodies burning in that pit. All he can feel is the emptiness in his soul–Marcus doesn’t want to be here. 

And not once did they give their condolences over the loss of Lucilla. Marcus asks for a respite from this war, but they don’t grant him that luxury. He has a cut along the side of his neck due to Emperor Geta placing a sharp blade along his skin. As soon as the ceremony is over, Marcus retreats to his chamber where the envelope that disappeared that morning magically appears on his desk. 

Still in his white and gold attire, he quickly opens the envelope and reads your letter. He lets out a breath of relief as he sits down and reads your words over and over again. It gives him comfort–something he desperately needs right now. 

There’s something in the way your words put him at ease. He still has to put Lucilla to rest and he isn’t looking forward to it–that the next time he sees his wife will be in a coffin. 

He grabs a piece of paper and begins writing to you. 

Dear Rose,  That is a beautiful name and a beautiful flower. There are gardens filled with them here. Now, when I see a rose, I will think of you.  Cute–I have never been called cute before. That is certainly a first, thank you.  I believe in fate, Rose. I believe that everything happens for a reason… But I am sorry to hear that you had to endure a difficult relationship. It pains me to hear that you were mistreated and I surely hope that you are far from him now.  I believe that we have crossed paths for a reason. Maybe we will never know why, but I am surely glad that we did.  You can ask me any question you like and I will be more than happy to answer. It is 211 AD–do you not know the year? Also, I assume that you live in Rome since these letters are coming rather quickly.  The next few days will be… rather difficult. I am planned to bury my wife and I am not sure if I will be available to reply, but if you send me a response… I will do my best to write to you when I can.  I am not looking forward to saying goodbye to Lucilla. She was an amazing woman. She had to sacrifice a lot in her life–she was very brave, strong, resilient… I should have been there at her bedside. I should have held her hand when she took her last breath…  I failed Lucilla.  What kind of man does that make me?  If you choose to never respond after this letter, I understand. I just–there’s something in the way your words bring me comfort, puts me at ease, gives me a sense of relief… Anyway, I must go now. Until we speak again, Rose.  Best wishes,  Marcus 

He folds his letter and puts it back in the envelope, ensuring this time that he passes it along to the chambermaid. 

Later that night, you come home after having spent dinner with Antonia and Giovanni. You’re welcomed with the sight of the envelope sitting neatly on your dining table. You set your things down immediately and grab the envelope, taking the letter out and sitting down on the couch. 

Your heart breaks slowly as you read Marcus’s letter. You can feel his guilt through the words on the page and when he confirms the year he’s living in, it all but crushes you. This is a man that you’re slowly developing a friendship with and you know that it isn’t going to last long. 

As you continue to read his letter, you feel tears sting your eyes. So, you don’t hesitate to begin writing your response back to him. 

Dear Marcus,  With you, I’m starting to believe in fate. Would you believe me if I said the year I live in is 2025? I’m not sure how to explain how we’re able to exchange letters from different time periods, but… here we are. It’s possible. I just don’t have an explanation for it.  I can assure you that I am no longer in a relationship with that man and I am very much far from him. I moved to Rome about a month ago and I love it here. I can see the Colosseum from my balcony.  I’m sorry that the next few days will be difficult. I can’t imagine the pain that you’re feeling–losing the one person you thought you’d spend the rest of your life with. Lucilla sounded like a great woman, Marcus. I know saying sorry doesn’t change anything, but I don’t know if there’s even anything I can say to make things better.  I’m sure Lucilla knew… I’m sure she knew that you did your best to get to her. I’m sure she knew that you wanted to be there with her…  And you know, maybe you don’t have to say goodbye. The ones we love don’t ever really leave us, do they? We continue living to keep their memory alive.  You didn’t fail, Marcus. Sometimes, things happen out of our control. Not being there for her at the end isn’t a reflection of who you are as a person, or as a husband. I’m willing to bet that if you had it your way, you’d have been there for her. Maybe wherever you were… you wouldn’t have gone if you had a choice.  Finally, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, sorry.  I hope the next few days give you some closure, Marcus, and when you’re ready, I’ll be right here waiting.  Best wishes,  Rose 

You take his letter and put it on the pile you’ve collected before you place your reply back into the envelope. You turn your back for a moment to grab a glass of water and when you turn back around, the envelope is gone. 

Marcus awakes that morning to the sight of the envelope. He can’t explain how it just vanishes and reappears out of thin air on his desk. He pulls your letter out of the envelope and reads what you have written. 

2025? Surely, that’s a lie. There is no way he’s exchanging letters with someone centuries into the future. He has to wonder if this is some sort of joke, if maybe the emperors put someone up to this. As he continues reading though, he feels tears sting his eyes, threatening to spill over. Your words–it provides a sensation of warmth that blossoms in his chest. He wants to believe you, wants to believe that he’s a good man. 

Marcus rereads your last sentence repeatedly, commits it to memory as he begins thinking of what he has to do today. 

I’ll be right here waiting. 

He doesn’t have time at the moment to write you back, so he keeps the envelope and letter separate from each other. He takes one last look at your letter before he leaves his chamber. 

The next few days, you’re anticipating a response from Marcus. He did warn you that he wouldn’t write back until he’s able, but you still can’t help the disappointment you feel when the envelope doesn’t appear for the next few days. Antonia and Giovanni notice a change in your demeanor since you’ve been receiving the letters–they notice the excitement in your eyes, a much freer spirit, but you tell them it’s because you’re finally feeling more and more comfortable here in Rome. 

You learn more about Marcus through your research and you try to find someone who can explain the phenomenon that you’re experiencing. How is it possible that you’re communicating with a man from a different time period? Sure, there are theories about time travel but that never felt real to you. 

At the end of the week, you’re already getting anxious. It’s been four days since Marcus’s letter. You have to wonder what he’s doing, how he’s doing. You know how his life ends, and you have to wonder what would happen if you told him. That would change so many things, right? It would not only change history, but it would ultimately change the trajectory of how the world is now. 

On the fifth day, Marcus is exhausted. Saying goodbye to Lucilla had only fueled his anger for the emperors. He has a plan in place and he knows what end he will meet if he gets caught, but at this point, he has nothing else to lose. 

After he buries Lucilla, he finds some time to ask around if anyone knew a woman named Rose. When someone would respond with a nod, there’s a flutter of excitement that he feels in the pit of his stomach but he’s left disappointed every time. Every Rose he’s met so far has no idea of the letters and he’s starting to believe that maybe you do live in the future–centuries into the future. It leaves him with an unsettling sensation in his chest, a sad reality that there’s a likely possibility that Marcus will never get to meet you. 

Now, he finally has some time alone. So, Marcus sits at his desk, rereads your letter once more before he takes his usual paper and quill out to begin writing a response to you. 

Dear Rose,  I am sorry for the delay in my response. The last five days have been very difficult for me, but every time I saw a rose… I thought of you and it brought me a lot of comfort that I did not realize I needed.  I want to express my gratitude to you, Rose. Your last letter–I kept it close to me at all times during the last few days here. Somehow, knowing that you’re waiting for me helped me get through each day… and knowing that I get to write to you again helped me through the difficult moments I endured. Ad Maiora, I suppose. Towards greater things… and I think that greater thing is you.  I buried Lucilla yesterday. She still looked so beautiful, but she looked… peaceful. She endured a lot of hardship in her life and there is some comfort that I feel knowing she’s no longer in pain. She no longer needs to fight… and I believe you are right. The ones we love do not ever leave us. We keep their memory alive and Lucilla will always hold a special place in my heart.  I must be completely honest with you, Rose. I am the General of the Roman army. I have a lot of blood on my hands… all for the glory of Rome, but you are right. If I had a choice, I would have been by Lucilla’s side from the start. I am conflicted… It is difficult to fight for this version of Rome. So much bloodshed, so many lives lost… all for nothing. I should not be writing this–it is certainly punishable, but I am exhausted, Rose.  If you do live in 2025–which does not seem possible–how does Rome look like then? You say you moved to Rome. Are you happy here? I also tried to look for you. Asked around about you, but I did not get anywhere. There isn’t anyone by the name of Rose that knows about these letters. Do you really live in 2025?  Lastly, tell me more about you. I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose. I hope that is okay.  Best wishes,  Marcus 

He folds his response and places it into the envelope. Right before his eyes, it suddenly vanishes and Marcus is sure that he must be hallucinating. He’s exhausted and hasn’t had much sleep since he’s gotten back, but he has no other explanation for it. 

You awake the following morning to see the envelope on your coffee table. Excitement fills your veins and you quickly walk over to the envelope, carefully taking the familiar piece of a paper out. You begin to realize the letters you have begun exchanging with Marcus are becoming longer and longer–it brings a smile to your face and heat rising in your cheeks. 

You sit on the couch, pull your legs underneath you and grab the blanket to drape over your lap as you finally read Marcus’s letter. He thought of you–the last five days and he thought of you. When he finally tells you the truth about who he is, you feel a sense of relief. You had been afraid that you’d accidentally let it slip that you know who he is, despite already telling him that you live in the future. 

The last sentence in his letter brings you back to reality. You feel the pit in your stomach drop at the realization that this is as far as you’ll ever get with him. Sooner or later, this letters will end but you can’t help the feelings you’ve begun to develop for a man you will never meet. 

I want to spend as much time as I have getting to know you, Rose. 

It’s almost like he knows what will happen to himself–maybe he knows that the plan he eventually comes up with is a death sentence once the emperors find out. 

You know you shouldn’t get attached, but you get your notebook and pen and write back to him anyway. 

Dear Marcus,  I must say, it’s such a relief to hear from you. I wish I could have been there for you, with you… supporting you. If I’m being honest, it’s hard to hear that you’re going through a difficult time. Makes me want to go back into time and pull you into a hug. Do you think that’s possible? Time travel?  You sure know how to make a girl feel special, don’t you? You make me blush sometimes with the things you say. Are you sure you’re real? A lot of the men here certainly don’t talk like you do–you can definitely teach them a thing or two.  I'm starting to think our saying is Ad Maiora, isn’t it? Moving to Rome led me toward a greater thing… one after the other, and it finally led me to you. I’d say that’s fate, wouldn’t you?  And General Marcus Acacius–sounds so formal, so official. You must be very important, aren’t you? Like I said, I wish I could pull you into a hug. I hope, at least, knowing that I’m here to listen is enough though. Also, if talking about this is punishable, then maybe we should be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to you… Yes, I live in the year 2025. I’d be surprised if someone lied to you and said they knew about the letters we’ve been exchanging. Rome is… different than what you’re used to. There are no emperors. The colosseum is no longer in use–there aren’t anymore gladiators. I’ll attach a photograph of me and my balcony, maybe it’ll help you believe me.  Well, what do you want to know? I’m an open book, Marcus. Ask away.  Can’t wait to hear from you again. I have missed you.  Love,  Rose 

You sign the letter without thinking, but you don’t bother to change it or rewrite it after you realize the word you used. You hope it isn’t too forward or too insensitive. You grab your Polaroid camera and quickly walk out to your balcony. You face the camera to yourself and smile, pressing the button to take the picture. Once it develops, you go back inside and fold your letter. After a few minutes, the Polaroid develops and you look down. It’s a good picture and gives a good view of the colosseum in the background. 

Placing the letter and the Polaroid into the envelope, you close it and surprisingly see the envelope disappear. 

“So it is real,” you whisper to yourself, a smile lining your lips as you already begin counting down the time before you receive a reply from Marcus. 

Later that same night, Marcus sees the envelope on his desk as he gets ready for bed. He sits down instantly at his desk and uses his candle to illuminate your writing. 

But he sees the Polaroid and takes it out of the envelope. Marcus lets out a quiet breath when he sees you. He isn’t sure what exactly he’s holding or how this managed to capture a realistic photograph of you but he’s distracted by your beauty to even notice the colosseum in the back. He’s still reeling over Lucilla’s death, but there’s something in the way your smile and your bright eyes somehow puts him at ease. 

“My lady,” he mumbles. “Lucilla, if you can hear me, please forgive me. This woman–She is helping me through this, through your loss.” Marcus shuts his eyes, guilt and desire mixing together. Guilt because he’s still dealing with the grief of losing Lucilla, and desire because you are absolutely stunning. Marcus isn’t even surprised–this is exactly how he pictured you when you began exchanging letters with him. 

Marcus turns his gaze to your letter, but his eyes flicker to your picture repeatedly. You really do live in the future and you will always be so out of reach. 

Then, he sees the word you sign your letter with. A warmth washes over him. His lips curl upwards just slightly and he begins to write. 

Dear Rose,  This–This picture, it is you, yes? I cannot explain how something like this exists, so it must be true that you do live in the future. So far into the future.  But you are breathtaking, Rose. Absolutely beautiful. Your smile and your eyes… there’s a kindness and warmth to them. The man you had been in a relationship with before truly did not realize what he had because any man would be lucky to have you.  The colosseum in your photograph–it looks old. If what you say is true, no gladiators and no emperors, then can I ask… is your world a better place than what it is here? I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life. This is not to say the life I currently have or have led is not great, but a man can still dream, right?  A hug from you sounds very nice. I imagine that I would feel even more at peace with my arms around you. I am not too sure about time travel, but if these letters are any proof of what’s possible, then maybe time traveling is too. Though, if anyone is doing the time traveling, I would rather it be me. I do not want you to be in this time period here, Rose. I do not want you to be around such men because there are bad men here too. Maybe more worse here than there.  If I may be honest… I cannot stop looking at you. I believe I’m going to keep this very close to me from now on. I am sorry that I cannot provide the same type of picture of myself–we do not have this here… but maybe I can think of something else…  An open book, hm? Well, I know your favorite flower. I know that you are starting fresh here in Rome… I suppose I should ask what do you like to do then? If you are living in the future, what is there to do?  I am unsure if you have experienced this yet, but this envelope… it seems to be the reason why we are able to exchange letters. It vanished before my eyes the other day, Rose. I cannot explain how or why that happened, but maybe this is fate. Exchanging letters across time sounds impossible, but for some reason, the Gods wanted us to meet. That sounds like fate to me.  I will wait for your next letter, Rose, and I have missed you too.  Until then.  Love,  Marcus

He quickly folds the piece of paper and gently slides it into the envelope, not bothering to wait for it to disappear because his attention is pulled to your photograph. He brushes his thumb across it gently–wishing you were here. 

The following morning, you’re awake far too early but excitement fills your entire body when you see the envelope sitting on your dining table. You make a cup of coffee and open it, having grown accustomed to Marcus’s neat cursive. You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks when he compliments you, can feel the butterflies in your tummy. 

I think I will dream of this, of you, of a different life. 

You feel your heart tug just a little–the harsh truth that you will never get to meet him becomes more and more real as you continue to exchange letters with him. 

He’s seen it too–the envelope disappearing without a trace. You can’t explain how it’s possible and there is a part of you that no longer wants one. Time travel–there isn’t a way that’s possible and even if it was, how would it even work? 

You grab your notebook and quickly begin writing to him, setting your cup of coffee down. You lift the cup away from the paper, taking note that it left a coffee-stained circle at the top corner of the page. 

Dear Marcus,  You are very sweet… I’m sure there are more pretty women there. I’m just… me.  But Rome… it’s beautiful here. It’s always been a place I wanted to visit. I never did think I would end up moving here and now, I can’t even imagine ever leaving.  Considering your time period, I would say the world now is much better. I think you would like it… it might take some getting used to–it’s so very crowded here, but I think you would like it. I suppose that’s all we will have, isn’t it? Dreaming of a different life… Or maybe I’ll learn how to time travel and bring you here.  I love the beach. I love the water, the sunsets… It’s calming, almost peaceful to me. There’s just something about the sounds of the waves, the feel of the water, the sight of the sky that just puts me at ease. The beach was the one place that I felt like I could get away from everything. It became my safe haven, my safe place…  What about you? General Marcus Acacius–what do you like to do? I have also seen this envelope just disappear. I don’t have an explanation for it either, but maybe you’re right. Maybe there is a reason why we’re able to communicate across time. Do you think we’ll ever get the chance to meet face to face? You know, if I learn time travel…  Sometimes, when I go to bed, I pray that I dream of you. I think it’s the closest I can get to ever meeting you. I imagine what you would look like, what your voice would sound like… How it would feel like to be in your arms. I would assume I’d feel like how I would if I were at the beach–safe, calm, peaceful.  If by some miracle I’m able to time travel, may I come visit you instead? I think it would be much easier for me to go back in time rather than you come here. Some things might change if you were to leave your time period and come to mine… Looking forward to your next letter, Marcus. Love,  Rose

You fold your letter and place it in the envelope, already counting down the hours until you receive Marcus’s reply.

Marcus finally sits at his table after an exhausting day at the colosseum. He doesn’t find the violence entertaining like everyone else. It’s unnecessary and he wants no part of it, but he has to put on a facade for the emperors. He still plans on speaking with the senate, to conjure up a plan to somehow overthrow Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla. 

However, he’s conflicted with so many emotions. The grief and loss he feels over Lucilla lingers in his chest, but he feels hopeful–excited whenever he sees the envelope on his desk. If he goes through with his plan and he ends up getting caught, Marcus knows what the consequence will be. He knows that it’s ultimately a death sentence if the emperors find out, but his mind drifts to you whenever he thinks about what his end might be. 

His eyes drift to your picture on his desk, a small smile curling his lips. He dreamt of you last night, after he had written his response to you. He dreamt that he was in your world, somehow lying in a bed with you in his arms. It was the first time since losing Lucilla that he had woken up with a feeling of ease–just dreaming about you brought him that sense of peace. 

Marcus takes your letter out and reads it with a smile. Once he finishes reading, he begins writing back to you. 

Dear Rose,  I dreamt of you last night. The Gods answered me and I dreamt of you. I dreamt that I was in your world, sitting on that balcony in the picture I received from you. I have this image of you–smiling and laughing–ingrained in my mind. It puts me at ease. Talking with you has been my safe haven, I suppose. Things have been difficult here ever since I got back and it’s lonely without Lucilla. I am sorry to bring her up.  These letters have been able to get me through each day. Your picture, too. Lately, I have been dreaming of a different life than the one I am living. I have been a soldier for most of my life, Rose. I do not think there’s a day that has gone by where I have not fought… And it is tiring. The beach sounds like a great place to just get away from it all, I agree. Here, though, I like to go to the gardens. More so now than before. I am usually surrounded by roses and it makes me feel closer to you.  I am ready to retire, Rose. I am ready to spend the rest of my days in quiet–possibly far, far away from Rome. Maybe near a beach, hm? That would certainly be another place where I can be reminded of you.  I will pray to the Gods for a miracle that we get to meet one day. I didn’t think it would be possible to exchange letters with someone from a different time, so maybe being able to meet face to face may not seem so out of reach… I imagine that I would feel safe and calm with you near too.  Your beauty, your words… The way you have made me feel… It all reminds me of Lucilla, but in your own way. I am a man of honor, Rose, and Lucilla will always have a piece of my heart, but… you have become the reason why I am able to get up every morning. I look forward to the next time I see this envelope because it means I get to talk with you.  Maybe tonight, we can meet in each other’s dreams, Rose.  Until then, my lady.  Love,  Marcus

Days turn into weeks and your letters with Marcus become more and more frequent. You’ve tried to teach yourself the theories of time travel, but you’re just as confused as when you first started. The more you talk with Marcus, the more you begin to realize the magnitude of your feelings for him. You try to tell yourself that developing feelings for a man you won’t ever meet–a man who’s already dead–is only going to set you up for heartbreak. 

But despite knowing how this might end, you still exchange letters with him anyway. 

Marcus is set to meet with the Senate tomorrow and he knows that if he gets caught, it will be his death sentence. There won’t be any way that he will be able to get out of it. He holds onto your letters–and especially your picture–when the days and weeks become more difficult for him. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla require his presence at the colosseum and Marcus finds it increasingly exhausting to sit there and feign interest. 

When he gets back to his chambers every day, the envelope is there waiting for him. He reads your letters repeatedly before he can even write a response. The way you talk about your world–it helps him escape his reality. He begins to realize just how deeply he feels for you and it saddens him because despite how strongly he feels, Marcus knows that you two may never get the chance to meet. 

Later that night, you see the envelope and feel the excitement rush through you. However, once you open the letter and begin reading the words on the page, you feel your heart drop–tears building at the corners of your eyes. This feels almost like a goodbye…

Dear Rose,  I am set to meet with the Senate tomorrow. In secret. I realize that this might be the last letter I will ever write to you, but I will be praying to the Gods that it won’t be, but if it is… I wanted to write to you one last time.  You have given me hope, have made me feel alive when I had lost everything. Coming back to Rome after Numidia, after losing Lucilla–I could not find the will to live, but then I received your first letter. It was fate. You saved me, Rose. You continue to save me.  I wish I could see you. I wish I could touch you. I wish I could hold you. I know I said in a previous letter that I would want to spend the rest of my days in quiet… but I think that has changed.  If I had it my way, I would spend the rest of my days with you. I imagine what my life would be like with you. I imagine a lot of laughter. I imagine that we would be at the beach or maybe at the garden and we would have plenty of meaningful conversations. I imagine my mornings would be one of my favorite times of the day because I would get to wake up every morning with you by my side.  If this is the last time I get to speak with you, just know that you now also have a piece of my heart, Rose. I will carry your photograph with me forever. I will hold onto the conversations we’ve had and the letters we’ve exchanged.  If I do not make it… please remember that you deserve all of the good things in the world. You deserve to always be happy. You deserve to live your life the way you want. You deserve to be with someone who will cherish the very ground you walk on because you deserve nothing less.  When I sleep tonight, I will dream of you… like I always do, Rose.  Yours forever,  Marcus

You know what he means when he says he’s going to speak with the Senate tomorrow. You’ve read what will happen–after all, you know exactly how history plays out after having researched the history of Ancient Rome and Marcus. 

You can feel your heart breaking–the ache in your chest beginning to throb almost painfully. You know how Marcus’s story ends, but you can’t let him go. You had been hesitant before–altering history–but you have to tell him. You may never get to meet him, but you don’t want this to be the end. 

Grabbing your notebook, you begin to write your response. Almost fifteen minutes later, you fold it in half and place it inside the envelope, watching it disappear yet again before your eyes. 

Marcus awakes that morning with a knot in his stomach–his eyes glance over at your photo before he catches the envelope. He sits up from bed and walks towards his desk, pulling out your letter and reading it carefully.

Dear Marcus,  Don’t. Your last letter feels like a goodbye, and I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to say goodbye, not yet… Not ever. I shouldn’t be telling you this because I’m sure it’s going to alter my own reality, but I don’t care. I don’t want to let you go.  You’re going to get caught. No matter how many times you’ve rehearsed it in your mind, you will be caught. Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla will find out and they–they will not take it lightly. They will make you fight in the colosseum and that is where you will die. I know how your story ends and yet, I made a choice to continue exchanging letters with you. I knew that our story would only end in heartbreak, but maybe… Maybe there’s still a chance for us.  I am begging you, Marcus… Please do not do it. Don’t go to the Senate. Just–Just leave Rome. Live the rest of your days in quiet–away from war, away from the bloodshed, away from the emperors. You no longer need to fight and I understand… I understand that you made a promise to Lucilla, to yourself, but I cannot lose you and maybe this makes me selfish, but– You saved me too, Marcus.  I will spend the rest of my days figuring out how to transcend time… to find a way where you and I can finally meet. Fate brought us together, right? We will figure this out. I will figure this out.  This is not the end of your story, Marcus Acacius. Do you understand me? And this certainly isn’t the end of ours. At the end of the day, we still have a choice… If you decide to still go through with it, then I will understand. I know you are a man of honor, Marcus. And if you do decide that you will go to the Senate tonight, then I hope you know how deeply I feel for you too. I didn’t think I would ever love again, but you… You nestled your way into my heart and made a home there. I go to sleep dreaming of you. When I wake up, you are the first person I think of.  I love you, Marcus.  Yours forever,  Rose

He sits at the edge of his bed, rereading your letter over and over and over again. You know how his story ends and you know exactly what will happen when he goes to meet with the Senate tonight. He should have known that you’d be aware of his history–you live in the future after all. 

Marcus isn’t afraid to die–in fact, it’s something that he’s come to terms with a long time ago, but for once, he doesn’t want this to end yet. He doesn’t want to let you go either and maybe, maybe you two will never meet, but he would rather die an old man exchanging letters with you. 

He reads the last sentence repeatedly and he can’t help the way the words stir something in him–the butterflies he feels in the pit of his stomach, his heart beating faster–you love him. 

Marcus knows what he needs to do now. 

The rest of the day seems to drag on–the minutes trickling by ever so slowly. Even at work, you can’t concentrate. Antonia and Giovanni pick up on your distraction, but you reassure them with a fake smile and tell them that you’d just rather spend the night alone. 

You know it was selfish to tell Marcus the truth, to practically beg him to stay, but you couldn’t imagine continuing to live your life with the possibility that you could save his life. You had only been exchanging letters with him for a little over a month, but you couldn’t help the feelings that you had begun to develop for him. The way your heart races faster when you see the envelope, or the way your stomach flips when you read his letters. 

In your free time, you had been trying to learn how to time travel. It seemed almost impossible, but you didn’t want to quit. You couldn’t explain how you’re able to exchange letters with someone who lives centuries in the past–and if that was possible, then surely it was possible to time travel. 

Somehow. 

You enter your apartment later that night–you can feel the nerves settle in the pit of your stomach when you slowly open the door. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, heart rate slowly picking up when your eyes scan the dining table.

No letter. 

Your stomach drops, so you close the door and then move your gaze to the coffee table. 

Nothing.

Tears begin to pool at the corner of your eyes and you realize that Marcus had made his choice. You sit on your couch, bring your legs to your chest and cry into it. The sob builds and builds until you let out a quiet whimper, tears now streaming down your face. 

He was gone. 

Forever.

A week later and you finally get the courage to go back to work. When at work, you fake a smile–feign happiness, but when you get back home, you cry yourself to sleep. 

Antonia and Giovanni leave you dinner at your front door, but you don’t bother to open it. You aren’t hungry–you haven’t had an appetite since Marcus’s last letter. You wonder if he ever received your letter and if he did, did he read it? 

And if he did read it, what went through his mind? 

And when you admitted that you loved him, did that scare him away? 

When you open your front door later that night, you set your things down and begin walking into the living room until you finally see it.

The envelope. 

Your heart leaps out of your chest. 

You waste no time in opening the envelope, quickly taking out the letter and breathing out a sigh of relief when you see his familiar cursive writing. 

Dear Rose,  I am sorry that I have not written back to you. I had a change of plans after your last letter and had to strategically plan how I would be able to execute it.  I am no longer in Rome. You were right–I no longer need to fight. I faked my death–with the help of some trusting men of mine–and am far away from that place.  I am living the rest of my days in the quiet–I now live in a small village where no one is familiar with who I am or what I have done. It is almost like a fresh start–a chance for me to live a different life… a life that I might have chosen from the beginning if I had the choice.  I want to thank you, Rose. For telling me the truth, for warning me. I am much happier now than I have ever been, and I am more than ready to spend the rest of my days with you. Traveling to this village was not easy, but you gave me the strength–like you always do–to keep going.  I love you, Rose. I wanted to tell you that once I was safe–once I was finally settled in. Ad Maiora, right? Towards greater things... So, my lady, what do you say? Shall we continue our story together and maybe–one day–finally meet? Yours forever, Marcus

the end...?

[codexofforbiddenknowledge]

Is the sky a vast dome? The Book of Enoch and mystery schools suggest Earth is enclosed under a celestial barrier—the firmament. Discover what the ancients truly believed. Watch the full video now on YouTube 🌌

[thelotusrabbit]

DpxDc #6

Drop of a name.

Danny has existed for... a while.

His World stopped existing some time ago, as expected with every material thing.

Adjusting at the start was difficult. He tried to end his immortality several times, but after so long, his mind started to shift.

Humans live their lives with the concept of death as inevitable, the happiness in the moments, the growth you experience during the years.

That's how he was taught to think, it was normal.

But immortals don't think like that.

They think bigger.

Languages transform and disappear, and so do countries, planets, cultures, species, elements, resources, solar systems.... and the forms of the Ancients, as concepts change meanings.

Immortals born like that don't get so affectionate about the material world, but they love it in their own way.

This is how Phantom, The Ancient of Space and Ghost King, found himself fond of a world that developing quickly and seemed to attract a lot of trouble.

When a God drops his name in a world, they are making themselves known to it, giving people knowledge of their existence and will.

He watched as they developed, very similar to his original planet and he felt when his name was found.

He certainly didn't expect them to try to summon him.

The whole of the Justice League was ready for the battle of the century. An evil God was being summoned and they were Earth's last defense.

When the sky turned pitch black, suddenly, the universe was in front of them.

[thecupidwitch]

Sun Magick

What Is A Sun Magick?

The Sun (also called Sol) is the one and only star in our solar system. Throughout the time almost every culture has worshiped the Sun as either a God or Goddess. Ancient Shamans used the power of the sun to heal the mind. The Sun is associated with life, health and healing. The light of guidance and illumination is an important magickal symbol. Solar energy helps you center in your own power, like the center of the solar system. Planet Earth orbits around the Sun. Other bodies that orbit the Sun include other planets, asteroids, meteoroids, comets and dust. Generally, the primary stellar body around which an object orbits is called its "sun", and stars in a multiple star system are referred to as the "suns" of bodies in that system.

Correspondences:

Associated deities: Aditi, Ah Kinchil, Ama-Terasu, Apollo, Aten, Brighid, Dhatara, Frey, Helios/Sol, Itzamna, Lucifer, Mithra, Mystere, Nitten, Paiva, Ra, Savitar, Apollo

Colors: Orange, amber, gold, yellow, red

Animals: Lion, Sparrowhawk, Griffin, Hawk, Bees

Incense: Cinnamon, clove, pine, citrus, Benzoin, Pine, Frankincense, Labdanum, Olibanum

Crystals: Sunstone, Goldstone, Ruby, Carnelian, Amazonite, Citrine, Tiger's Eye, Golden Topaz, Fire Agate

Sun Associations: Success, Empowerment, Ambition, Enlightenment, Goals, Generosity, Spirituality, Male energy, Health, Vitality, The Gods, Joy, Freedom, Leadership, Matters of the heart, Creativity, Friendship, Growth, Personal fulfillment, Self confidence, Wealth, Individuality, Pride, Energy, Power

Plants and Herbs: Sunflower, calendula, marigold, daylily, orange, citron, saffron, pine, mistletoe, rosemary, buttercup, heliotrope, bay laurel, daisy, walnut, acorn, maize, wheat, hops, cloves, cinnamon

Sun Phases

Sunrise

when the sun wakes up and peers over the horizon. This phase is all about new beginnings, changes, health, employment, renewal, resurrection and finding the right direction.

The Morning

the sun is growing in strength, so it brings the magical power for growth, positive energy, resolutions, courage, harmony, happiness, strength, activity, building projects and plans, prosperity and expansion of ideas.

High Noon

When the sun reaches its peak in the sky at midday – work magic for health, physical energy, wisdom and knowledge. It is also a good time to pop your tools or crystals out that need charging. (Note: some crystals can fade in strong sunlight so check first before putting them out).

Afternoon

This is a time to work in your communication, clarity, travel, exploration and professional matters

Sunset

As the sun takes itself off down below the horizon, work magic for removing depression, stress and confusion, letting go, releasing or finding out the truth of a situation.

Sun Water

Sun water is very similar to moon water. But rather than being charged by the moon, it’s charged by the sun. Sun water can be especially useful for helping boost the energy of a spell, to help an intention grow, and to cleanse.

Instructions:

Get a glass bottle

Fill it with any type of water.

Leave the bottle with water out in the sunlight or shade (indirect sunlight) during any time of day and for your preferred amount of time.

Tip Jar

[theplotmage]

50 Worldbuilding Setting ideas for your fantasy book

Cities and Settlements

1. Capital City - The central hub of political power and culture in the realm.

2. Harbor Town - A bustling port city crucial for trade and naval activities.

3. Elf Village - A serene settlement hidden within a forest, home to elven inhabitants.

4. Dwarven Mines - An underground city where dwarves mine precious metals and gems.

5. Nomad Camp - A temporary settlement for wandering tribes and traders.

6. Market Square - The commercial heart of any major city, filled with vendors and artisans.

7. Sky City - A floating metropolis held aloft by magic or advanced technology.

Natural and Enchanted Locations

8. Mystic Forest - A dense, magical woodland filled with ancient trees and mythical creatures.

9. Enchanted Lake - A serene body of water with mystical properties.

10. Secret Cave - A hidden cavern that might contain treasure or danger.

11. Dark Swamp - A treacherous wetland often home to dark magic and creatures.

12. Forbidden Desert - A vast, arid expanse known for its harsh conditions and ancient secrets.

13. Floating Island - A landmass suspended in the sky, often home to unique flora and fauna.

14. Hidden Valley - A secluded, fertile valley protected from the outside world.

15. Charmed Meadows - Peaceful fields imbued with protective enchantments.

Magical and Supernatural Places

16. Wizard’s Tower - The abode of powerful sorcerers, filled with arcane knowledge.

17. Sacred Temple - A place of worship and spiritual significance, often protected by divine magic.

18. Haunted Castle - An ancient fortress inhabited by ghosts or malevolent spirits.

19. Necromancer’s Crypt - The lair of a dark sorcerer who practices necromancy.

20. Oracle’s Sanctuary - A holy site where oracles deliver prophecies and visions.

21. Magical Academy - An institution where young sorcerers learn the art of magic.

22. Alchemist’s Workshop - A place where alchemists experiment and create potions and elixirs.

23. Time Portal - A gateway to different eras, allowing travel through time.

Dangerous and Uncharted Areas

24. Ancient Ruins - The remnants of a once-great civilization, often hiding secrets or dangers.

25. Dragon’s Lair - The home of a fearsome dragon, filled with treasure and peril.

26. Cursed Forest - A dark, haunted woodland where malevolent forces dwell.

27. Battlefield - The site of a significant past conflict, often haunted by the spirits of the fallen.

28. Volcanic Wasteland - A desolate, fiery landscape wrought with volcanic activity.

29. Giant’s Keep - A massive fortress built and inhabited by giants.

30. Pirate Cove - A hidden inlet where pirates gather to plan their exploits.

31. Shadow Realm - A dark, parallel dimension filled with malevolent entities.

32. Frosty Tundra - A vast, icy wasteland where few dare to venture.

Cultural and Social Hubs

33. Royal Palace - The lavish residence of the ruling monarch and their court.

34. Thieves’ Guild - A secretive organization of thieves and rogues.

35. Warrior’s Training Grounds - A facility where soldiers and heroes train for battle.

36. Arena of Champions - A grand coliseum where warriors compete in combat.

37. Goblin Market - A chaotic and colorful marketplace run by goblins, offering exotic goods.

38. Hermit’s Hut - The secluded home of a wise hermit, often sought for advice.

39. Secret Hideout - A concealed refuge used by rebels or outlaws.

Mystical and Legendary Sites

40. Ethereal Gardens - Magical gardens with rare plants and enchanting beauty.

41. Celestial Observatory - A tower dedicated to studying the stars and celestial events.

42. Sanctuary of Lost Knowledge - A hidden library containing ancient and forbidden texts.

43. Sunken Ruins - The underwater remnants of a lost civilization.

44. Gryphon Nesting Grounds - A mountainous area where gryphons make their nests.

45. Spiral Staircase - An enigmatic, seemingly endless staircase leading to unknown depths.

46. Giant’s Keep - A colossal fortress built and inhabited by giants.

47. Protean Plains - A region where the landscape constantly changes, reshaped by powerful magic or ancient curses.

Adventurous and Explorative Spots

48. Treasure Hunter’s Camp - A gathering spot for explorers seeking lost relics.

49. Relic Seeker’s Cave - A cave rumored to contain powerful artifacts.

50. Explorer’s Outpost - A base for adventurers preparing for expeditions into unknown territories.

***

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[soulshaped]

let me get what i want this time

remus lupin x reader | friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, slow burn

a/n: please, please, please let me get what i want by the smiths will never ever fail to remind me of remus. i was going to make this one part, but i got carried away… there will be more parts i promise!!! this is year 1 

part two

wc: 5.1k

The moon taunts him from where it rests so very far, far away. It is the picture of serenity against the dark night sky and it seems to him as if even the surrounding stars kneel to its great light, head bowed, praying.

Son of the moon, obey me, let go and give in, give in to the wolf, just for the night

The voice is clear, booming and omnipresent, and Remus knows he can not escape it. But still, he is just a boy. He hasn’t received his letter from Hogwarts yet, and he does not know if he ever will. His bones begin to break, over and over again. The skin of his back tears, opening and closing to reshape itself over his growing form. He writhes on the cold, wet cellar floor until the transition becomes just bearable enough for him to roll to a stand, unsteadily. His teeth sharpen, his eyes darken under the moonlight. He is in complete agony, he is alone, and he is just a boy in the body of a wolf. 

The next thing he remembers is the sun kissing the horizon at dawn, waking up gently, like him. The lightened sky is just bright enough for Remus to see the silhouette of his fingers without squinting, confirming that he has the hands of a boy once again. It would be brighter if it wasn’t for being in Wales, if it wasn’t for the days of unbroken clouds above him. He’s not particularly sure where in Wales they are by now, having moved around so often and so quickly for as long as he can recall. Even his earliest memories are of packed bags, rushed whispers, night drives. Loving fingers wound tightly around his little wrists, pulling him deeper and deeper into the mountains. Away from his little home on the coast with the bushels of wildflowers and tall grass he yearned to play in. He wanted to stay there, he wishes he could’ve stayed forever, but it’s far behind him now. 

His father should be coming to free him soon enough. There are heavy metal bars on the windows above him, though Lyall’s magic was doing most of the work to keep the wolf’s chaos contained within the basement walls. Remus knows that he does not mean to be cruel – that his parents are only out of options, not of love. They tried for years and years to find a cure, or even temporary escape from the monster always lying dormant inside of him. The healers had nothing to add to the limited knowledge they had already acquired from ancient books, they knew nothing at all. So Remus knows his parents have only ever wanted what is best for him. But the cellar is cold and damp, his head is pounding incessantly and he yearns for laughter, he yearns for the house by the coast. He prays to a God that he’s sure doesn’t exist. 

Dumbledoor shows up at his doorstep a few moons later. He enters through the front door, blown like a great wind. Lyall and Hope greet him politely, but Remus can see the shock hidden beneath their calm demeanor. He can see how Lyall’s hands have a mild quake as it meets Dumbledoor’s calm, warm palm. Remus shivers too, in hope of a new life. He stands behind his father, but the older man spots him quickly and slips him a small grin. It was nearly imperceptible and it felt like a gift. The tea is still warm when Dumbledoor stands to leave. The meeting was short and concise. Remus would be attending Hogwarts come next September. The life he longed for suddenly seemed close enough to taste.

Fall comes faster that year. Just as the tips of tree branches begin to shine in a golden hue, Remus stands on a train platform surrounded by more people he’s ever seen. He finds his only comfort in his father’s warm, steady hand resting on his shoulder. The train conductor blows the horn in final warning and Remus turns to find his mother holding back tears. He can’t seem to find the right words to say. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, darling, don’t ever be,” Hope kneels down to meet his anxious eyes before continuing, “we only want what’s best for you.”

She picks up his case, pulls his nimble fingers over the handle and covers her hand over his in a quiet, gentle embrace.

“Hogwarts is waiting for you, Remus.” 

He smiles toothily and bids them a farewell, promising to owl as soon as he can. He braces himself as much as possible before stepping onto the train and is immediately overwhelmed by the flurry of fellow students rushing about the corridors, presumably searching for their friends. Luckily, he quickly finds an empty train cart. 

At least what he believes is an empty train cart.

In the very moment he sets his case down, a boy with brunette hair and crooked wire glasses pops his head out of what seems like thin air beside him. His head is excitedly floating about as his body (Remus hopes exists) is still invisible to the eye. 

“Hiya! I’m James Potter!”

“Um… wha-”

“Oh! Sorry mate, I was hiding from my friend, Peter. I really wanted to scare the trousers off of ‘im.”

James’ body is instantaneously visible as he grips a glimmering blanket in his hand. He bundles it up to rest as a messy lump in the space between them. 

“So… what’s your name?”

Remus opens his mouth to answer when he’s ambushed once again. This time, by a very flustered, freckled boy out of breath.

“James,” he squeaks in relief, “there you are, I’ve been looking for you all over this train!”

Remus assumes this must be the Peter that James was referring to. He looks towards Remus with a curious gaze, as if he was nervously sizing him up. It confused Remus greatly, as he didn’t really see himself as threatening, but maybe it was the scars. No one has ever really seen them, outside of his family and himself, so he couldn’t exactly predict a stranger’s reaction to them. He feels the heat traveling rapidly to his cheeks and turns his eyes to the floor. He can almost hear the wolf laughing at his own timidness. 

“Well, I was trying to scare you, but he found me first!”

“Who’s this?” 

“He was about to tell me before you rudely interrupted us, Pete,” James says without a hint of malice.

Remus looks up to be faced with widely different expressions. While Peter’s eyes are slightly narrowed, James’ eyes are wide and enthusiastic, paired with the widest smile he’s ever seen. It’s infectious and he can’t help but smile back. 

“I’m Remus. Remus Lupin.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lupin.”

“Hey! Who are you lot?”

Another head pops into the compartment, which seemed to be growing smaller and smaller by the second. Remus sees the long, black hair first, before a very clean, cut boy with striking grey eyes comes into focus. 

“I’m James Potter, that’s Peter, and that’s Remus. And now, you’re caught up!”

“My family hates yours,” the stranger declares confidently as he pushes in the rest of the way, “it’s perfect.” 

He plops down across from Remus and next to Peter in a great huff. 

“I’m Sirius Black. Anyone want a chocolate frog? I’ve bought about a million to just peeve off my mother.”

Peter jumps in excitement as Sirius empties an entire sack solely dedicated to chocolate frogs. Remus' stomach rumbles with anticipation, it was going to be a very eventful year it seemed. 

The journey passes too quickly, Remus thought, even quicker with the company. As the train pulls into the station, Remus can just make out the aged stone walls on the very top of Hogwarts’ pointed towers. As the carriages pull them closer and closer to the castle, Remus feels a pull of anticipation from the growing pit in his stomach. He knew what was to come in the Great Hall; the Sorting Ceremony had terrified him for weeks, ever since Dumbledoor paid him a visit in Wales. 

He knew Lyall was sorted into Ravenclaw when he attended Hogwarts, a house known by all of the wizarding world for their daring intelligence and wisdom. What if he was sorted into a different house, what would his father think? What if he was sorted into Slytherin? He had felt the harsh disdain and fear in Sirius’ gaze when Slytherin was brought up as a possibility, as if the entire house was a stain on Hogwarts itself. Remus swore he was going to be sick at this rate, maybe he could miss the ceremony entirely and be unsorted. 

Two girls and a boy with long black hair sat across from him and the boys in the Great Hall. His hair was much shorter than Sirius’, and it was cut bluntly, adding a harsh sharpness to his frown. One of the girls had red hair that flowed gracefully down past her shoulders that were bouncing in excitement. The other was more distracted, her nose buried in a muggle book he’d heard of once or twice before. She had an incredibly peaceful smile, in such great contrast to the other boy that it was almost amusing. The more Remus looked at her, the more at peace he felt – all of the noise in the Hall dimmed around him in the nearness of her calm demeanor, a needed break. He looked away immediately when she turned up to meet his unintentional stare, red flushing across his pale skin. But when he peeked at her again from the corner of his eye, he saw that she was turned towards the front of the room now with the same, kind and knowing upturned lips. 

To his relief and (equally as intense) shock, Remus was sorted into Gryffindor. All four boys now sit under the great red and gold banners together. James’ is unable to contain his proud exclamations at all of them, seemingly getting more obnoxious and simultaneously admirable by the second, while Sirius’ head seems to be forever hidden in his arms as he softly bangs his head into the wood he rests on. 

“I’m as dead as dead can be,” Sirius groans into the table, “Walburga is going to hex me into the next century.” 

James smacks a hand on his back, but leaves it resting there, gently. 

“It’ll be alright mate, we’ll be right there with you, together! We’re Gryffindors now! All of us! There’s nothing we can’t do, we’re unstoppable!” 

His energy was undeniably infectious, even pulling a smile out of Sirius who lifted his head to rest his chin on his hands instead. 

“Potter, we get it! Enough, please, for the love of Godric, just let us all eat in peace for a moment,” the red head, Lily, exclaims from a few seats away. 

The other girl, (Y/N), bursts out laughing with her head thrown backwards. 

“Girls… who even decided to invite them anyway…” James mumbles, only ever so slightly disheartened by Lily’s scolding. 

Remus smiles so hard, he finds his cheeks hurting from the tension. He hopes this feeling lasts forever.  

-

The fall of his first year passes in a blur. Sirius’ birthday is the height of the season, with all four boys deciding to pull their first grand prank in celebration. Though Professor McGonagall did not seem to appreciate the exploding toilets as much as Sirius did. 

Moons are just as difficult, even with Madam Pomfrey’s much needed aid, but Remus finds the break from his friends and schoolwork make his returns to normalcy more exciting than he could’ve ever imagined. It’s everything that he yearned for, and yet he’s still awaiting the inevitable fall of the curtain. To reveal what he’s secretly always believed, that this great life was never made for him, that there has been a grave error in placing him, of all people, in the midst of all of this incredible joy. He’ll wake up, one day, and the fantasy will cease to exist. It would be much more believable than his current reality. 

It doesn’t help that so much of what his friends know is a complete fabrication, but it does help that he is the only one constantly worrying about the entanglement of his own lies. No one, to his knowledge, has come to suspect anything, yet. Remus thinks that this may still be due to the distracting excitement of their first year practicing unbelievable magic, but he’ll never be one to kick a gifted horse in the mouth, however temporary. 

He tries to push aside these incessant thoughts and draw his attention back to his work scattered across the table before him. The library is eerily quiet as the evening draws to a close, but he welcomes the silence wholeheartedly. The joints in his knee continue to seer with pain with every wrong step, a result of the most recent moon, but he finds that the complete stillness of the library at this hour helps.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounds a few feet away and Remus jumps. In the same moment, a girl yelps.

“Shoot!”

Remus hurriedly glances around him to find you picking up a concerningly tall pile of books. He can barely see your face behind them. As he starts to arise from his seat to help, pain shoots so far up from his knee he can practically feel it in his throat. He sits back down quickly. 

You manage to balance the pile on the corner of the long table and stand back in a huff. Your eyes meet his own in shock.

“Oh! Remus, hi!”

“Hi, (Y/N). That’s a lot of books.”

“Tell me about it, I don’t know what I was thinking, really, taking out so many,” you sigh.

“Couldn’t help yourself, I suppose?”

“Seems like it, huh?”

For the most part, the first year boys in Hogwarts seem to be in a constant state of annoyance towards all girls, any girl. Godric knows Lily and James have been bickering non-stop since the Sorting Ceremony. 

But, Remus likes you enough, he thinks. You’re really nice to him and you laugh at almost anything. It makes him want to laugh and he isn’t used to it, it’s never come as easy to him as it does to you. He would never see peace again if he ever admitted his real thoughts to the boys, though. They would definitely think of it as a clear betrayal of everything they stand for – girls are the worst. 

“Sorry for the ruckus, by the way, you seemed to be really focused.” 

“It’s alright, wasn’t really doing much anyway.” 

“Well, in that case.”

You plop down into the seat across from him and immediately take the first book perched on the very top of your mountainous pile. He looks at you questioningly. 

“At least one of us should do something productive in this silent library.” 

So the two of you sit peacefully, on opposite sides of the table, reading. Remus isn’t sure how long you’re really there for though. The next thing he remembers is waking up and wiping the drool from his chin as Pince looks down at him in reprimand. 

“You have a bed, Lupin, I suggest you use it.” 

Remus clumsily shuffles to a stand and starts to gather his things when he spots a single chocolate frog resting inches away from his quill. There’s a note attached in scratchy writing,

‘Sleepyhead!!!’

A corner of one of his blank parchments is torn off. Remus carries the frog happily in the pocket of his robes as he limps past Filch, grumpily hanging Christmas garland in the halls. 

-

The holiday season rushes towards them in a hurry, carrying with it a new air to the castle. Maybe it is the layers of snow blanketing the surrounding land, barricading students indoors and leaving them to sprawl lazily across common rooms, deep into the night. Maybe it is the anticipation of their well-earned breaks, buzzing like electricity through their tired fingertips as they rushed to complete their final assignments. Or maybe it is, simply, a combination of all of the above, creating a surge of unrealized energy that seeped into the very walls of Hogwarts. Remus can nearly feel it in the soles of his shoes beneath him as he leaves his very last class before break. It seems as though his friends are a victim to this as well, considering he can hear their yells from three corridors down. He finally approaches the group, their noise reaching a peak as he nears, whilst James and Sirius wrap around his and Peter’s shoulders as they lead them back to the Gryffindor tower. Conveniently so, Remus supposes, as he hears several cauldrons explode at once behind them. By the end of dinner, rumors of ruined classrooms and chalkboards signed with utmost sincerity from the Marauders would be the talk of the school.

“The Marauders, huh?”

“I think it’s catchy,” James grins. “Don’t you think so, Remus?”

“Well, it’s definitely the best of the ones we came up with.”

“And it looks even better written down,” Sirius sighs happily. 

Peter squeaks, “For the whole school to see as well!”

Remus awakes earlier than usual the next morning, eager to soak in just enough of Hogwarts to get him through the holidays. The guilt of dreading his return to Wales is overshadowed by the upcoming full moon, the memory of the basement, and the tired eyes of his father that will follow. The reality of his life, despite his best efforts in ignoring it, is waiting for him on the train platform, just a few hours from now. The overcast sky mirrors his darkening mood, but the incessant snoring from the beds beside him inevitably makes him smile. He knows he will desperately miss the feeling of never being alone for long, even if it’s only for the next few weeks. 

As he swings his legs off the edge of his bed to come to a stand, he accidentally knocks something onto the floor. He doesn’t remember leaving anything at the end of his mattress the night before. It’s a bundle, wrapped (horribly so) in festive paper and when he picks it up gently, he finds more of them resting on top of his comforter. 

They’re presents. For him, supposedly, at least according to his name scribbled messily on the tags. 

The most expensive ones, a huge box filled with dozens of chocolate frogs and a brand new quill set, came from James and Sirius, respectively. Peter got him a box of Bertie Bott’s along with a nice note thanking him for his help in classes, wishing him and his family a Merry Christmas. Madame Pomfrey gifted him two small vials, a Pepper-Up potion and a Sleeping Draught, presumably anticipating his moon at the end of the month just as he was. 

There was one more, the only one addressed to him in fancy cursive. It was a muggle book, Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier, wrapped in a big red bow with delicate gold trim. It was in rough shape, clearly used, with small markings in familiar handwriting all over the text. He’d seen you reading it once as he passed you by in the halls, but he didn’t think you’d seen him. There was a note as well, politely wishing him happy holidays with your name written in the same pretty cursive at the bottom. 

“Found your presents did you, Remus?”

Sirius was sitting up from his open four-poster bed across the room, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“Uh, yeah,” he responds, quickly tucking the book under his covers. 

The curtains from the bed on his left rip open aggressively, revealing James’ wide smile, 

“Well?! Do you like them?”

“Of course! I’m sorry I didn’t–” Remus turns away, unable to stop his cheeks from heating up, but hoping he can still hide them. “I didn’t realize you guys were getting me gifts. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything yet.”

“Don’t worry, Remus, I’m sure we’ll like whatever you get,” Peter chimes in. 

Before he can respond, Sirius throws a quick glare towards Peter on the other side of the room,

“Remus doesn’t need to get us anything, if he so pleases.”

“We don’t need anything in return, Remus. It was just a little something from us, no biggie, really,” James responds, more sincere than ever before. It was almost unnatural, given his usual joking tone laced into his every word. 

“Thanks,” Remus directs at them before throwing Peter a smile, hoping to quell the much too wounded look on his face, “and I’ll definitely be owling you guys your gifts for Christmas Day.” 

They moved on from the subject quickly then, their stomachs rumbling out for breakfast. Remus reminded himself to carefully pack the book you’d given him in between his cloaks later, just so he was absolutely sure your note wouldn’t get damaged. 

-

For most students, returning to Hogwarts castle in the thick of winter was an unpleasant experience. Even after the constant excitement and adrenaline that comes with the holidays, students quickly descended into restlessness almost as soon as they stepped foot back on the snow-covered land. It wasn’t uncommon to overhear the groans and pleas for spring – the inevitable months of rain that would wash away the snow and bring new life. They were desperate for something brighter, something livelier. 

Luckily for everyone, the Marauders seized all of this pent-up energy with vigor. Winter was officially the season of mischief, and they had a high standard to uphold after their iconic pre-Christmas prank. Remus found himself returning to the dorm after long days in the library only to see Sirius and James whispering and cackling at the foot of his bed more often than not. To their credit, they had various texts splayed open on their laps, though none of them were related to their courses in the slightest. 

Remus, on the other hand, thought his research skills could be applied better elsewhere. He’s already read most of the beginner and elementary books in the library, after all. 

Ever since he found a hidden cubby behind a small tapestry in one of the corridors on the way to Transfiguration (completely by accident, it was Severus’ fault for practically pushing him into it), it was all he could think about. It tugged at his attention constantly – in classes, in the common room, in his dreams. His curiosity for all of the other hidden spots throughout the castle–there must be hundreds in an establishment of this age–could not be quenched, not until he’d found them all, or most of them, at very least. 

James’ invisibility cloak became infinitely useful for his purposes and given the endlessly gracious nature of his personality, he never once asked Remus what he needed it for. Remus would have told him, told all of them actually, if they asked. But they hadn’t yet, so he didn’t mind having a non-wolf related secret to himself. It almost made him feel normal. 

He didn’t need the cloak tonight, though. It was still early and a while before curfew; the sun had just set when Remus finished his work, casting the sky in a mixture of pink and purple hues as he walked along the open hallway past the Transfiguration courtyard. It is getting closer and closer to spring now, and he has been able to push his boundaries of discovery even farther than ever before with the weather on his side. He’s found nooks and crannies all over the castle, so many, in fact, that he’s begun to wonder whether he should draw up a map soon. He’s thinking about this one particular spot tonight, behind a statue of an awfully hunched back lady with one eye, that he’s sure is something… if only he could find just the right spell…

As he turns the corner, Remus stumbles upon the first spot he ever found, behind the tapestry, same as before. Almost mindlessly, he pushes aside the thick, dusty fabric, not knowing what he was expecting to see. He nearly jumps out of his skin when all he can see is a dark mop of hair hunched over onto a dim ball of light. As the thing, whatever it is, turns around, he opens his mouth to scream. For a second, he thinks he is screaming, before he realizes the sound is coming from your mouth instead. 

The gears finally begin to click into motion as his eyes dart from your familiar face (currently looking horrified) to the wand in your hand casting the Lumos charm. In your lap rests a rather large novel that you had snapped closed in your panic – it was The Count of Monte Cristo. 

“What’d you do that for?!”

“Me?” Remus gapes at you. “You! You’re the one curled up creepily behind the tapestry!” 

“Well… leave me to be creepy, then!” You huff. “What are you doing? Sneaking around peeking behind all of the castle’s tapestries?”

“I–I wasn’t… it’s none of your business!”

You narrow your eyes at him as the outer corners of your lips tug upwards slowly, as if directed by a puppeteer with a string. It sends a chill down the length of his spine, and he convinces it’s the residual fear from when he hadn’t known it was you. 

“Alright, then.” You drop your annoyance instantaneously, shrugging your shoulders as if you really can’t be bothered. 

“At least help me out of here, would you, Lupin?” 

He quickly wipes his hands on his robes, just in case, before offering up his palm. Your small hand slips into his with ease as he tugs you lightly up and out of the hole. It’s cold, much colder than his, but he tends to run hot. It feels nice. Once you’re in a standing position, however, you unfortunately take your hand back to rest on top of the book in your arms and Remus isn’t able to relish in the physical touch for as long as he would’ve liked to. 

“Shall we head back, then? It’s almost curfew.” You say distractedly, glancing down at your wristwatch. 

“Sure,” Remus shrugs. 

You don’t ask him again about why he was looking behind the tapestry, and he doesn’t ask you about your choice of reading spots. Thus, the pair of you are left in relative silence, with only your footfalls echoing along the cobblestone walls, in tandem. 

As the Fat Lady portrait accepts the password and swings open, Remus gestures for you to enter first. He quickly follows, stepping into the toasty common room to find you stopped in front of his friends and Lily, lounging on the couch. All of their eyes morph into various different expressions–confusion, suspicion, amusement, a mixture of all of the above. Sirius’ eyes look especially full of mirth, but just as he opens his mouth, Lily kicks him from where she lays on the carpeted floor. You and Remus exchange a quick, confused look, causing Sirius to actually scoff. 

“Well… anyway, bye Lupin.”

Lily walks over and winds her arm around yours, tugging you up the stairwell to the girls’ dormitory. 

Remus sits down in front of the fireplace, facing his best friends, looking down at him questioningly. 

“What?”

“He dares to ask us what?” Sirius guffaws.

“Are you two… friends?” James asks, one eyebrow raised in a slight curve. 

Remus shrugs, “I don’t know… I guess? I’ve only talked to her a few times.”

He doesn’t dare mention your Christmas gift, definitely not now, maybe not ever. 

Sirius frowns, clearly displeased with his response. “You better not replace us with her.”

“Of course not. Girls suck anyway…”

It lacks the confidence Remus was aiming for, but it seems to do the trick. Sirius laughs, James smirks, and Peter nods, all in agreement. They quickly move on to other topics, mainly discussing the upcoming prank they’ve planned. Soon enough, their yawns become more and more frequent and they head to bed. 

Remus finds it hard not to smile as he remembers your angry expression after being scared.

-

Spring comes and goes quickly, and not before long, the sweltering heat of summer becomes almost suffocating. The Shrieking Shack, in particular, is unbearable in the heat. Still, he is dreading his return to Wales. 

At the end of course exams, when all his first year work has finally come to a close, Remus gets a letter delivered directly from Professor McGonagall. The look on her face is unclear as she hands it to him–it doesn’t seem as though it is good news. But surely, if he was being kicked out of Hogwarts, if they decided that the wolf was too much, too dangerous, they would tell him in person and not through a letter. 

He sits on it for much longer than necessary. It’s one of the last nights in the dorm, when all of the other boys have gone to bed with light hearts, he sits with his own in the pit of his stomach. It weighs heavier and heavier with each breath, so he tears open the letter in a blind panic, just to try and rid himself of this feeling. 

His eyes scan over the words as fast as he can, but it’s a short letter and the meaning fails to make any sense. He goes back to the top, reading it slowly this time. It tells him to go directly to St. Mungo’s to meet his parents, as soon as he arrives at King’s Cross Station. It provides some vague instructions on how to get there, before ending with a few explanatory words. 

Please ask the front desk for Hope Lupin’s floor and room number upon arrival.

Remus is many things, but he is not shocked. He is guilty, for feeling so much dread about returning home, all while his own mother was sick and stuck in a hospital, likely wishing to be anywhere else. Maybe, if he hadn’t spent so much time angry at himself, angry at the world, maybe things would be different. Maybe if the wolf never existed, Hope would still be healthy. The stress, after all these years, couldn’t have been good for her health. Remus is many things, but he is not shocked. He was not foolish enough to ever let himself fully believe that he could be happy here, finally get what he wanted. Misery seems to always follow him wherever he goes, even all the way to Hogwarts, and he wonders helplessly if he will ever be free from it.