#it’s like the fates were speaking to me…

[senascoop]

ꣀ꣒ ASKING ENHYPEN — HOW MANY KIDS THEY WANT? . . 엔하이펜 ☁︎

pairing, enhypen × afab reader . . . genre, scenario(s), fluff, reactions . . . word count, 190-240 each . . . [LIBRARY]

. , LEE HEESEUNG ☁︎ 이희승 !

“Hee,” you called quietly, sipping on your hot chocolate while the warmth permeated the serene void between you. You leaned against the armrest and kept watching Heeseung as he scrolled through social media to the sound of his almost inaudible humming amidst the stillness of the room. “You never told me how many kids you want,” you said as if you really were trying to find out.

Heeseung paused for a moment before a slow smile spread over his face, his eyes wide and animated as he put his phone down. It was clear that he had been waiting for this question. “Three. Definitely,” he said, nodding with the kind of certainty one might expect after years of pondering. You arched your brow, trying not to laugh. “But then what's it going to be like when you have three mini Heeseungs running wild? A nightmare,” you stated, looking at him impassively.

His eyes widened, and he shot you a mock parody glare that could only be described as mild offense. “What did you just say?” He said, leaning in closer and speaking as though utterly astonished. You just couldn't help it anymore: a laugh escaped you in the form of a chesty giggle, and you leaned back, confiding in your hot chocolate for salvation. “I'm just kidding!” you squeaked through the giggles.

. , PARK JONGSEONG ☁︎ 박종성 !

“Baby, how many kids do you want?” you asked, slipping your arms around Jay’s waist from behind, your chin resting on his shoulder as he stirred the steaming pot of noodles on the stove. “Did my cooking skills impress you that much?” he teased, glancing at you with a smirk. His free hand reached down to pat yours, resting comfortably on his stomach.

You laughed softly. “Maybe,” you admitted, your voice warm with affection. “But I’m serious. How many kids do you want?” Jay paused, the sound of bubbling noodles filling the momentary silence. His gaze grew thoughtful as he tilted his head slightly. “Two,” he said confidently, his tone steady. “It’d be nice to have one of each—a boy and a girl. Balance, you know?”

You grinned, nuzzling closer. “What if they’re both boys? Or both girls?” you pressed, curious to hear his answer. Jay hummed, as if mulling it over, before turning off the stove and setting the spoon down. He spun around in your arms to face you, his expression playful yet soft. “Honestly?” he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “As long as they’re healthy, I couldn’t care less. But if they’re both boys…” He paused, raising an eyebrow. “Double trouble.”

You giggled, swatting his chest lightly. “And if they’re both girls?” He grinned, pulling you closer. “Guess I’ll just be outnumbered, won’t I?”

. , SIM JAEYUN ☁︎ 심재윤 !

“How many kids do you want?” you asked, casually breaking the silence while the two of you sat tangled on the couch, the light of the television casting shadows. His gaze dropped unstably from the screen to you, amusement winking in constricted lines across his brow of confusion. “We already have one: Layla,” he declared, pointing to the dog stretched across his lap, her head comfortably laid on his thigh.

Rolling your eyes, you let out a huff. “Jake. I meant a human baby,” you explained, resting your chin on his shoulder to gauge his expression. He hesitated in thought, his fingers mindlessly playing with Layla's ear. “One is enough,” he said offhandedly between mouthfuls of popcorn, as though deciding the fate of your entire future after that bite.

For a moment, you grinned in mock disbelief. “One? Just like that? What if I want two?” He just turned to you, slipping into a devilish smile. “One is a smart number. Two? Think of the double the mess and double the drama. One? We can keep ‘em outnumbered,” he explained in a teasing tone, though his eyes sparkled with affection.

. , PARK SUNGHOON ☁︎ 박성훈 !

“Hey Hoon,” you said rather casually, tracing invisible patterns on the couch while leaning against him. “In the future when we have kids...would you want a boy or a girl?”

Sunghoon felt his face flush immediately; it was as if he had not expected you to ask the question. He nervously cleared his throat and shifted a little. “Is this a test?” he asked in a higher-than-usual voice. You could see the moment of hesitation that was thinking there could be something to it-a faint worry on the face of being caught in trickery, because he knew you would ask many innocent questions previously that often spiraled into an argument.

You shook your head, smiling and trying to play it light. “Don't worry, I'm just curious.” He paused for a second, biting his lip, returned his gaze to you, carefully considering his answer. “A girl...?” he murmured, a slight tremble in his voice. There was something very sweet about him being shy; you liked it. “A girl, huh? Well, I like that. Sometimes I think I'd like to ask you a real question: how many kids do you want?”

This caught Sunghoon off guard again because of your sudden shift; he blinked at this. He took a second, his face still a little flushed as he whispered slowly, “Umm... probably... one...?��� you blinked, trying not to laugh at how serious he was about it. “Just one? You aren't even considering the option of having a second or a third in the future?” He shrugged, his expression softening as he leaned closer. “One should suffice for me, especially if it is a girl."

. , KIM SUNOO ☁︎ 김수누 !

“Babe...” you started, your voice soft with a hint of nervousness as you gazed at Sunoo, who was casually sipping his water. You felt a flutter in your chest, wondering how he'd respond. “How many kids do you want in the future?” Sunoo didn’t even hesitate. His eyes twinkled as he smiled at you, the corners of his lips lifting in that signature grin that always made your heart skip. With a playful sparkle in his eyes, he held up three fingers, still holding his bottle of water, clearly not bothered by the question at all.

You raised an eyebrow, amused by how easily he had the answer ready. “Three?” you repeated, trying to hide your smile. It was clear he’d thought about this a lot, and you couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he was embracing the idea of the future with you. “Yep, three,” he confirmed, his grin widening as he swallowed the water. He set the bottle down and nudged your shoulder, leaning in closer. “You know, one for you, one for me, and one for us. Perfect team.”

Your heart melted at his words, and you leaned into him, feeling a warmth spread through you. Sunoo was everything you could ever want, and the thought of a future with him felt like a dream come true.

. , YANG JUNGWON ☁︎ 양정원 !

Jungwon wasn’t surprised by your random question—it was just another one of those things you did. As you straddled his lap on the couch, your fingers brushing through his hair, you asked casually, “How many kids do you want?” He paused, his lips curving into a small, knowing smile before planting a quick peck on your lips. “One,” he muttered against your mouth, as if it was the most natural answer.

You blinked, taken aback. “That’s it?” you asked, genuinely curious. You expected something a little more ambitious, but there he was, casually dropping his answer like it was no big deal. Jungwon stifled a chuckle, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Why?” he asked, genuinely curious at your reaction. You puffed out your cheeks in mock frustration. “Why not more? I mean, we’re both working, we can afford it,” you reasoned, trying to make your case.

He nodded, a soft smile still playing at the corners of his lips. “True,” he agreed. “But... the living costs, you know?” You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could get the words out, he pulled you closer, his hands gently resting on your hips. “One is still enough, sweetie,” he whispered, his tone light but affectionate. The sincerity in his eyes melted your protest away. “Fine,” you muttered, resting your forehead against his. “I guess one sounds perfect with you.”

. , NISHIMURA RIKI ☁︎ 리키 !

“Riki, how many kids do you want to have?” you asked casually, mushing against his chest, your arms lazily around his neck in your usual cuddle contentment. His hands are frozen. Random shapes traced on your back now are interrupted mid-motion. Before you could think, he switched positions: he flipped you onto your back and pinned you beneath him in one smooth shift.

“What are you doing?” you squeaked, heart thumping as his dark eyes watched yours. That was when he came closer, softly brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with a teasing smirk that left your stomach feeling some weird emotion. “We just became adults and you are already talking about babies?” he tormented in low teasing tones, the corners of his mouth twitching to stop a laughter. “You're bold, you know that.”

You opened and moved to argue, but he lowered his mouth and pressed a soft, deliberate kiss against your lips. Not to shut you up—this was the kind of kiss that turned your thoughts into mush and spread bright warmth across your cheeks. He pulled away just enough to talk, lips pressed close to yours, and whispered, “Why have kids when we can have fun?”

© senascoop | tumblr

[fiascox0xo]

Yes.

I can’t tell you how many time it was little tiny moments people talked to me/ or little talks or a sentence I had hung onto. Strangers who prob don’t even remember Meeting me but were the reason I decided to NOT GIVE IP ON HUMANITY AS A WHOLE. & NOT GIVE UP ON MY LIFE THAT DAY. Like - more times than I’d like to admit out loud - but it’s like something - the universe sent them at just the right time. God, Creator, Allah, Yahweh, or fate whatever you believe in - something bigger than yourself … is what they tell you that you NEED in recovery “God = Good Orderly Direction” for those who aren’t religious- and when my very “I def don’t believe in god or do church” buddy said that to me & told me that’s what kept him in AA I gave that a shot/

I went into every spirituality that allowed open practice (I respect closed practices & do my best to be respectful & learn from first hand indigenous to the culture… I don’t like misinformation or speaking in place of others on their faith. I’m neurodivergent and love information lol. I’m also eclectic in all my practices - take what you need leave what you don’t. <3 be respectful & genuine & I don’t really think you’ll have much to worry about if you’re coming from the heart.

the seventh fire prophecy talks about something- that hits really hard and I do believe in everything coming together ^_^ <3 ❤️💛🖤🤍 I believe in saving this planet because we’re supposed to be protecting the delicate eco system & the flora and fauna are just as important as humans are . The earth would be alive without humans….. they’re killing the earth because they lost the connection to he earth & forget they’re part of it 💔

Stop letting a few rich powerful greedy people control everything - they’re killing the planet.

GO WATCH FERNGULLY

“Never define yourself by your relationship status, your income, or your looks. It’s your generosity, kindness, and compassion that counts.”

— Unknown

[voxslays]

GOODNIGHT, MY LOVE

Featuring >>> Lucifer x Reader; In which, an attempt to kill baby Charlie goes south. Resulting in a soporific curse placed upon the reader, who struggles to deal with the aftermath of its affects.

Part Four Part Six

A/N: I wanna explain something really quick- i wrote how Lucifer lost his wings when he fell, which isn’t confirmed to be canon or not, however, I saw a theory about it (which I agreed with) and that’s why it’s in this chapter.

Lucifer wasn’t okay. It had been seven long, agonizing years since that fateful day—the one where you were lost to a sleeping curse cast by (Lucifer’s own brother, and also) heaven’s angels, the supposed divine beings. Lucifer had become a shell of his former self, consumed by grief and regret. He barely ate or slept, spending his days locked away in his workshop, tinkering with various rubber duckies to pass the time. He had never told Charlie what had happened to you—it was much too painful…and it was better this way. Charlie was too young to understand at the time, and even now it would still hit her hard, like a tornado. So Lucifer carried the weight of your untimely demise to himself, never outright confirming nor denying your fate. But Lucifer knew it was time to visit you—he just had to.

Inside was a beautiful atrium, surrounded by all of your favorite flowers. There were large apple trees that grew golden apples (that never rot, (thanks to the backflipping rubber duck 3000!)) and invasive rose bushes. Lucifer had never planted the roses, but it seemed wherever you went, roses followed. His steps echo softly across the marble floor as he walks through the atrium, marveling at the golden apples glistening in the moonlight filtering through the stained-glass roof.

The sweet scent of roses fills his nostrils, bringing back vivid memories he's fought so hard to suppress. "My love…" In the middle of the atrium is a glass coffin-like case. What was inside? You. You looked as peaceful as ever, as though you were only taking a small slumber. Lucifer approaches the glass coffin cautiously, his reflection shimmering on the polished surface. Inside lies your sleeping form, frozen in time. Your hair fanned out beneath your head, your skin almost luminescent under the ethereal light as your chest slowly rises and falls.

In your hand lies a simple yet elegant bouquet of white roses, which continue slowly rise up and down as you softly breathe. You're not dead—at least, not really. You're trapped in an eternal slumber, frozen in time. You don’t move in your sleep at all, the only sign of life is your shallow breathing—yet Lucifer refuses to let you go. How could he? The two of you have been together for thousands of years. That’s not something you can easily erase.

Lucifer reaches out, placing his gloved hand against the glass, gently looking at the white roses in your grasp. He slowly raises up his other hand, looking at his golden wedding band—before his eyes flick down to the golden wedding band on your own finger, mirroring his own. He remembers the day he slipped it on, all the joy, the happiness—now replaced by endless sorrow and loneliness. He straightens up, his mind racing with questions and unspoken words.

He ungloves his hand, pressing his bare white palm against the cool glass, as if trying to reach through to hold your hand. He stares at the rings, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Still married, aren't we?” His voice cracks slightly, emotion barely contained as he stares at your sleeping face through the glass. "You always wanted white roses, remember? I used to tease you about it…" His voice trails off, lost in memory "You always looked so beautiful next to them.”

His other hand reaches up, tracing the glass over your cheek softly. Tears threaten to fall as he continues speaking, voice thick with emotion "Do you dream of me? Or are you trapped… lost in some eternal, peaceful oblivion?" He asks, as if expecting an answer he’ll never get. Lucifer’s thumb gently strokes the outer surface of the glass over your sleeping form, creating tiny rainbows from the moonlight reflecting through the stained glass above. "When we fell… I thought losing my wings would be my greatest punishment. But now…” He pauses, trying (and failing) to keep his composure. “Now I know there's nothing worse than existing without you."

His voice breaks slightly as he looks at your peaceful face, a single tear finally falling down his cheek. “I miss you…” He stands there for a long moment, tears streaming down his face as he looks at you, lost in his grief. Finally, he turns away, walking back through the atrium, leaving the glass coffin behind, the sound of his quiet sobs echoing through the castle halls. "Goodnight, my love…"

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life - Part 3 (Finale)

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 8700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: I asked and you voted! One final part instead of 2! Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

A New Life Masterlist

The horses neigh and stomp at the ground, anxious to enter the city and start their path through its streets to the capital building where the Emperors were waiting for us.

Not us. Him.

The tent opens and Marcus strides out of it, his presence commanding. He’s dressed in a white and gold armor, a ridiculous color for actual battle but damn if it doesn’t leave me breathless. His hair sits in perfect salt and pepper curls, a new scar on his face a red line across his cheek, enhancing his attractiveness. Now I understand why Lucilla dressed me in a white and gold tunic - to match him. To show a team. To show my support of him. 

Marcus is lost in thought as he makes his way to the chariot where he is to ride and lead the procession, I'm somewhere behind him, not so far back that I’ll have to run to keep up with him at the end, but not so close that I take any attention from him. Not that Marcus would care in the slightest, but these Emperors are so damn picky. He doesn’t notice me at first, completely focused on whatever he’s thinking about until he nearly knocks into me. He steps back, an apology forming on his lips that dies there as he takes me in, his eyes roaming up and down my body. 

“You…you’re stunning.”

I can feel my cheeks warm and I glance away from him and back. “I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

Marcus scoffs. “This old thing? I feel ridiculous in it.”

I step up next to him and speak in his ear. “Well then I’ll have to help you out of it.”

A growl rumbles in his throat. “Let’s skip the celebration. Think they’ll notice?”

I smile. “They might.”

“Damn.” He tips my chin up and presses a soft kiss to my lips that starts to heat up when his chariot driver clears his throat. Marcus breaks the kiss, his eyes lingering on my face a moment longer. 

“Sir. Sir, it’s time.”

His eyes are glued to mine and I can see all the anxiety and worry building there, not just for himself but for me as well. “See you up on the hill.”

“I’m right behind you.”

Damn this city is loud. I thought we had a lot of people but they were nothing compared to this. Packed in tight and yelling their approval, I can barely hear myself think. Despite my rapid heartbeat that increases the closer we make it to the center of the city, I can hear them chant his name. Acacius! Acacius! Acacius! They love him. And I find my first commonality with the people here in the great city of Rome.

We turn down a street and head through these massive pillars and down another path, at the end of which stands a massive white staircase. At the top I see 2 men clad in white robes - they must be the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. My stomach turns immediately and I have a sense of foreboding, but that may just be my nerves. I’ve never met rulers of a nation this size before. Marcus hops off his chariot and walks back to mine, offering me his hand as I disembark.

“Are you ok?” He asks as I step down.

I shrug. “As good as I can be.” 

He escorts me up the stairs, pausing several from the top to drop my arm, a move we had discussed earlier, as the Emperors would want to address him directly. I watch him ascend those last steps alone, praying that everything goes alright.

Also to check out his thighs because damn.

Some words are exchanged between them that are lost to me, the crowd behind me is too loud for me to make it out. Then they place a crown of golden laurels on his head, which sends my mind whirling. He looks like one of the Gods themselves. He addresses the crowd with a raised hand as they all cheer and chant his name. Then he extends his hand down to me, his eyes immediately finding mine and trying to offer some comfort. I gather up my tunic and ascend the last few steps, happily taking Marcus’s hand. He gives it a little squeeze and some of the nerves leave my body. 

“Emperor Caracalla, Emperor Geta. May I present to you my wife, Cornelia.”

Pale makeup cakes both of their faces, coal darkening the skin around their eyes making them look less imposing and more…psychotic? Geta addresses me first, his eyebrows raised as his eyes rake over me and flick between Marcus and myself.

“General Acacius. You found yourself a wife. It’s about time.” He takes a step closer to me. “We all thought he would die without having heirs.”

I nod. “I see, my Lord.”

His head cocks to the side, his eyes still on me as Caracalla steps up beside him. “Your hair is absolutely gorgeous! That red is so vibrant!”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Their eyes are studying me, watching me and for the first time, I realize exactly why Marcus asked Lucilla to tutor me. 

“Come! Let’s celebrate and get to know your new wife!” They turn and head into the room behind them, marching up to a table with a few goblets of wine. Marcus looks at me and gives me a soft smile before offering his arm to escort me inside. A servant offers us both a glass of wine and I take it, copying Marcus. 

“We will have the games in your honor, Acacius.” Geta holds out his cup to toast. 

“That is not necessary. I am merely happy to serve Rome.” Marcus lifts his glass to toast, but Geta withdraws his own, Caracalla looking between them with disappointment. 

“Nonsense. We are celebrating your wins, Acacius.”

“The wins are not mine but yours. I do this for Rome.”

Geta stares at Marcus for several tense moments. “Then you’ll be happy to hear we plan on conquering India and many others next, under your leadership of course.”

Marcus’s shoulders droop ever so slightly. “My Emperors. I was hoping to have a break from war to spend time with my new wife.”

My heart swells, but then Geta interrupts my thoughts. “Surely it won’t take you that long to make babies?”

Caracalla laughs. “It might brother. He is old.” They laugh together, Marcus smirking at an attempt to join in the jest, but I’m seething inside. This old man could kill them in an instant. 

“Whatever time it takes, I’d like to make sure my wife settles in and is comfortable before I go off again.”

Geta studies him a moment. “Nimibia.”

I can feel Marcus tense beside me. “What of Nimibia?”

“Take Nimibia for us. Once you return, we will have the games and then talk of a break for your lovely wife.” Getas eyes find mine for a moment, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips before he looks to Marcus. “That is not a request.”

Marcus takes a deep breath. “As my Emperors command.”

Caracalla claps his hands together. “Excellent! And don’t worry about Cornelia. I’m sure she’ll have fun at court!”

It’s merely a week later when Marcus heads for Port Ostia, his troops sailing this time to Nimibia. We had said several long goodbyes as I held him between my thighs. His last kiss was hard and deep, pouring every ounce of love and worry into it. He pulls back and cradles my face in his hands, speaking so quietly that I can almost not hear him.

“Stick close to Lucilla. You can only trust who she trusts, yes?” I nod. “Say nothing to anyone. There are ears everywhere.”

“I understand.”

He kisses me again. “Please be safe, Cornelia. Court is deceptively dangerous.”

“You’re going off to a literal battle and you’re telling me to be safe?”

There is no smile on his face. “Some battles are fought with swords. Others are fought with words and they can often do more damage.”

He’s right. “I understand. If I miss you, I can simply go stare at your statue.”

Marcus groans, rubbing a hand across his face. “You’re never going to let me live that one down are you?”

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“I did not ask for that.”

“I bet not.” 

“Truly! I came back from a campaign and they demanded it. And now I have to stare at that thing every time I walk down that street. I try to avoid it.” We chuckle together at that and then fall silent for a bit. 

I smooth my hands down the front of his armor. “Listen here, Marcus Acacius. You-” I jab a finger at his armor. “-are not allowed to die. Or get severely wounded. I forbid it. I won’t allow it. Do you understand me?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he tries to remain serious. “Yes, ma’am.”

We watch each other for a few moments, Marcus brushing a few stray red strands of hair off of my face. One last kiss, a heated one, and then he abruptly spins on his heel and leaves, closing the door behind him. One might find this harsh but I get it. He had to make a quick exit. It’s too hard to leave otherwise. I walk to the window and watch him stride to his waiting horse, taking the reigns from the stable boy as he heads out of the city. 

The house is quiet, except for the street noise from outside. There is a servant wandering around in the kitchen, but I am truly alone in this giant city.

Alone in a city full of people, most of whom I can’t trust. 

It’s been 2 months and I am certain about one thing: I. Hate. Court.

The Emperors demand my appearance at nearly every single party they put on, some of them more mild but most of them are outrageous. They bring in people to fight to the death as they place bets, the blood and body parts splattering across the floor to cheers and geers. The first time this happened, I was not prepared. I practically ran from the room to empty my stomach into the first pot I could find. 

When there weren’t fights to the death, and even when there were, the amount of promiscuity made me extremely uncomfortable. I am not a prude by any means, but I also don’t care to partake in massive orgies, especially when I was not made aware it was that kind of party. Emperor Geta tried to get me to stay, talking to me as I tried to keep my attention solely on him. Eventually, the woman hanging off of him took his full attention and I managed to slip away. Thankfully, no one questioned my absence. 

I tried often to get out of these parties, choosing to spend more time with Lucilla or pretend I was sick. It worked sometimes, either I missed my invitation or I was too ill to answer it. I remembered what Marcus had told me about being careful so when Lucilla told me I would have to stomach at least a few parties to keep up appearances, I did. For Marcus. 

Another month goes by when I receive another invitation. I’m about to say my apologies, as I have no desire to be amongst all of the backstabbing and political plays, but the delivery boy taps the front of the letter, urging me to read it. I open the invitation and my stomach flips, my lips pulling up in a smile as tears drop from my eyes.

Marcus will be home the day after tomorrow, a successful conquer of Nimibia. 

“Let the Emperors know I will be at the welcoming ceremony.” The boy nods and turns, running back to the capital building. 

My mind is whirling with questions and scenarios, mainly wondering if he had been injured. I had only received one letter in his absence, and he told me it would be almost impossible to communicate once he reached a point. Still, it has been hard these last months without him. 

“Leta?” I call out and my servant comes around the corner. 

“Ma’am?”

“General Acacius is coming home. Come, help me figure out what to wear.”

Just like my initial arrival into the city, the crowds are massive and loud and for once I’m glad I’m at the top of these ridiculous stairs. Leta and I had chosen the same outfit I’d worn on that day to match Marcus. Before we head out of the capital building and wait at the top of the stairs, Emperor Geta walks up to me.

“Nervous?” His eyes study me.

I smile coyly, playing my part. “A little.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s fine. And if not…well I’m sure I can find a place for you here.” He takes a sip from a goblet, his eyes never leaving my face.

I swallow the bile rising in the back of my throat. “You are too kind, Emperor.”

He takes a step closer to me, too close in my opinion. He brushes my hair behind my exposed shoulder, his eyes tracing down my neck and across my collarbone. “I am nothing if not generous.”

Before I can say or do anything, a soldier walks in and salutes, his fisted hand tapping the opposite side of his chest. “Emperor Caracalla, Emperor Geta. They are in the city walls.”

Geta’s gaze is still on my face. “Come. Let’s go see if your husband is still…intact.” He offers me his arm and every fiber of my being wants to reject it. But I remember Lucilla’s words of warning. Always accept an arm from the Emperor. I put on that coy smile and take it, my stomach churning both at his touch and anticipation for what I’m about to see. Caracalla comes to my other side and we all walk out, Geta dropping my arm several feet from where they will great Marcus. I wait and try to remember how to breathe. The crowd gets louder and louder, their cries suddenly taking on a shape.

Acacius! Acacius! Acacius!

Relief washes over me as I realize they’re chanting his name, which means he must be on his chariot. I can’t see from my position, but a few moments later, Geta and Caracalla look down the steps and I assume he must be coming up them. I hold my breath, waiting for my first glimpse of my husband since he left nearly 4 months ago. 

Suddenly, he’s there. Dressed in white and gold, the sun shining down on his beautiful greying curls, a new scar across his cheek, but otherwise in perfect health. All limbs and no limping. I let out another sigh of relief, unable to stop a few tears from tracing a path down my cheeks. Marcus salutes the Emperors, pointedly not looking at me. I know he has to pay them their proper respects. It’s all part of the game. Some words are exchanged between them, but I only have eyes for Marcus, how he leans his head down so they can place yet another crown of laurels upon it, the way he stands strong, but trying not to impose. The way I can see how exhausted he is in his eyes, even though others may not see it. 

“Ah yes. Your wife. She is here.” Geta steps to the side, gesturing for me to come. I follow the command, my eyes on Marcus, seeing his face light up as his eyes rake over my body both in concern and something darker.

Marcus offers his outstretched hands to me and I take them, his familiar touch relaxing me even more. 

“My lady,” Marcus leans and plants a kiss to the back of my hand, standing back up to smile at me.

Marcus turns and addresses the crowd once more, his arm high in the air, before turning back and offering his arm to me, following the Emperors back inside the capital building. A servant comes and offers us wine, which we all accept. 

“We will have games in your honor. May your sword always be sharp and ready for Rome.”

Marcus shifts beside me. “Games are not necessary, my Emperors. I do this for Rome.”

Geta lowers his cup, the sip he was about to take abandoned. “Nonsense. We must give you the praise you’ve earned.”

“I am happy with no praise. I am only here to serve Rome.”

Geta studies him for a moment. “Well then you’ll be pleased to know we’ve decided to go after India next.”

Marcus clears his throat and I can feel him tense beside me. “Emperors, I was hoping to have the time off of war to spend with my wife that we had discussed before Nimibia.”

Geta looks at me and smirks. “Oh, I think she’s settled in just fine. Haven’t you, Cornelia?”

I plaster on as convincing a smile as I can. “Everyone here is wonderful. But I’ll admit, I have missed my husband and would love to have time with him, as husband and wife should.” 

“Mmm…” Geta’s eyes slowly move to Marcus. “And what say you, General Acacius? Would you let your wife keep you from doing what you do best?”

“May I speak plainly, my Emperors?” Geta cocks his head slightly but nods. “I was contemplating retirement. I am not getting any younger and my captain is more than capable of taking my place. It would give me time to start a family on the estate I am due.”

Caracalla stomps his foot. “No games, then? I want to see limbs being chopped off! I want to see blood! I want to see-”

“Brother! Enough. But you do give me an interesting thought.” He pauses, and I feel like I want to vomit. “We will have the games. And General Acacius, you are correct. You are due an estate at your retirement, anywhere of your choosing. However, it would be a great loss to Rome to lose someone of such skill.”

Marcus shifts slightly. “My Emperors, as I said before, my captain is perfectly-”

“I am not finished.” Marcus closes his mouth and waits. “As I was saying, your retirement would be a great loss to Rome. So how about this: you will compete in some of the battles in the games to represent us, Rome, as a sort of…farewell. If you win, you get to retire and you have my promise no one will bother you. If you refuse, you will leave for India immediately and you will continue warring in the name of Rome until the day you don’t return.” 

Caracalla claps and whoops, but all I hear is whooshing, the sounds from all around me fading into the background. Marcus? Compete in the games? The ones where people fight animals and each other and Gods know what else to the death?

“May I have a moment?” Marcus asks. Geta waves a hand, taking a sip of his wine and turning to talk to his brother, who is still animatedly waving his arms about. 

Marcus takes my arm and escorts me a few feet away, glancing around to make sure no one is in ear shot as he leans in, his eyes on mine. “I have to take this.”

“No! I have not been to these games but if they’re anything like the parties I was forced to attend, you cannot do it!” 

“Cornelia, I cannot keep going away to war. The moment I get back they will send me off again. And one day I may fall and not get back up, lost to another land.”

I lean up, pretending to kiss his cheek. “We could run away. Tell them no and I’ll sneak on the ships or take Caius. We could run away and start over somewhere else.”

“My love, you know they would hunt us down and find us. This is the Roman Empire. They own almost all the world.”

Tears well in my eyes as he pulls back. “I am afraid, Marcus. What happens if…if…”

He pulls my hands up and kisses them. “If something happens to me, go to Lucilla. Stay with her. She will get you out of the city safely. They won’t chase just you.”

“No, Marcus. You can’t.”

He presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I must.”   

The next day, Marcus and I sit in chairs behind the Emperors, his hand holding mine as they let loose some animals and fighters into the arena. The scene that follows is not a pretty one but I force myself to watch as the men mostly get punctured with horns or teeth, others being stabbed by their fellow fighters once the animals have all died. One man remained, brown hair and anger in his stance, and he was declared winner of that round.

There were several more rounds of this sort of thing. Sometimes the men would have weapons and other times not. The one thing that was consistent was the blood and gore and death. My stomach churned as I watched the blood pool in pockets around the arena, handlers carting away limbs as the crowd cheered. Then the Emperors stood, Geta turning to face Marcus and I as we stood. 

“Tomorrow, you will have your first match. Sleep well.” He smirks before leaving through the door, Caracalla following in his wake, his monkey perched on his shoulder. I start to say something but Marcus squeezes my hand, shaking his head slightly. It’s not safe to talk here. We hardly say a word to each other on the way back to our apartment, both of our minds on tomorrow. I let Leta go home the moment we come in, rounding on Marcus the second she leaves. 

“You cannot go tomorrow!”

Marcus beckons me to him as he walks to a small table to pour us 2 glasses of wine. He hands me one and we each take a sip, Marcus patting the seat next to him. I take it, setting my glass back on the small table. He speaks quietly, as if he’s afraid there’s someone listening. 

“There is more to this than you can see.”

My eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

He leans in closer. “There is a plan to retake Rome.”

“You mean, overthrow the Emperors?”

“Exactly.”

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

He shifts even closer to me, our bodies touching. “I have 5000 soldiers coming to Port Ostia. Men who are loyal to me as is my captain. They will march into the city and arrest the Emperors for crimes against the people.”

Nerves hit my stomach, both from relief and anxiety. “Then why don’t you move?”

“They won’t be there for another 8 days. We just have to hang on for that time.”

We’re quiet for a moment. “Who takes over?”

“Lucilla and those still loyal to her father have a plan. Rome will serve her people once more.”

Marcus cups my cheek, turning my face to look him in the eyes. “I know I am asking a lot of you, my love. I did not anticipate the Emperors asking me to compete, but I must keep up appearances.”

Tears start to well in my eyes at the thought of tomorrow. “But what if you-” he cuts me off with a kiss, his tongue pressing its way into my mouth before he pulls back, his forehead against mine. 

“Tomorrow is tomorrow. I may be older but I am still a soldier.”

I don’t eat the next morning, Marcus already gone before I wake. Leta dresses me in silence, this time in a black tunic laced with a gold trim, a red scarf to toss over my shoulder. She gives me a small smile. “To match General Acacius,” she says simply, having seen him depart this morning in his armor. 

An hour or so later, I’m sitting in the Emperor’s box, my chair moved to be seated between the Emperors. I clasp my hands together to keep them from fidgeting with my outfit, willing my legs to stop bouncing. A couple of battles go by but I pay them little attention, only noting that the same man with the anger in his eyes seems to have won some more, the crowd now starting to chant his name. Hanno! Hanno! Hanno! Once the arena was cleared and reset, the announcer clears his throat, addressing the crowd.  

“This battle will be different. General Acacius has agreed to compete in the fights in the name of Rome!” The crowd, momentarily bewildered, starts cheering and chanting his name. One set of gates open and several armed soldiers exit, walking to the middle of the arena. Then the gates on the other side open and the crowd goes wild. Acacius! Acacius! Acacius! Marcus struts out into the arena, sword in hand and determination on his face. I hold my breath and I swear my heart stops beating. A few of the soldiers step forward, meeting Marcus halfway. He salutes them, the hand holding his sword pressed to the opposite shoulder as he bows his head slightly, the soldiers copying him. 

And then, he dances. 

Marcus runs at the first soldier, slashing him down instantly with his sword, coming up to meet the next one. He gets tripped and lands on his back but wastes no time in slashing at their ankles, getting back on his feet only a handful of seconds after he fell. Another soldier slices him across the back and I gasp, seeing Marcus yell in pain before turning to slash at the soldier. 2 more rush him and he parries, a fist making contact with his cheek before he can block it. His sword rises and slices through 2 more soldiers within moments, leaving only one left. The soldier knocks him down but Marcus pulls him with him, angling his sword up so the soldier spears himself upon it as Marcus’s back slams into the ground, his chest heaving. 

The crowd goes wild, his name is chanted louder than before, deafening in the echo of the stadium. He rises to his feet, his sword at his side as he looks around, finding me in the Emperor’s box. He puts his fist to his shoulder in salute, bowing to not just the Emperors, but to me. A sigh of relief escapes me as I release the breath I had been holding for what feels like ages. Then a scoff of disappointment reaches my ears. 

“Damn. I wanted to see more blood!” Caracalla whines, his monkey screeching once at the rise of his voice. 

“Don’t worry brother. You may see more of it soon.”

Rage pours through my veins, my chest heaving against my will to not say or do anything. I swallow hard, turning my gaze to Emperor Geta. 

“My lord, may I go and see to my husband?”

His dark eyes bore into mine. “I think they have doctors there that would be better suited to tend his injuries.”

“You are correct of course, but some things require a woman’s touch.”

Geta smirks, the corners of his mouth ticking up in a more menacing way than I think he realizes. “Touche. Go to him.”

“Thank you.” I bow to them both and calmly take my leave, running once I am out of ear shot. I flag down a guard and demand he take me to where they have the fighters, specifically, the General. He escorts me across the arena and down a few tunnels until we come to a giant barred wall with a barred door set into it. He knocks and a man comes to it.

“Is the general here?”

The guard shakes his head. “Healer’s room. Next gate over.” I thank them both and run to the door, my hand raised to knock before I realize it’s not locked. I walk inside and see…no one. No one is here. I walk back outside and look around. Nothing. But then he rounds the corner, a man following next to him, trying to dab at a scratch on his face. He sees me and his entire demeanor shifts. I run to him, throwing my arms around him the moment we collide. He pushes me against the wall, his hands cupping my face, pressing his heated lips to mine, his thigh sliding between my legs. The man clears his throat but if Marcus hears him, he doesn’t acknowledge him. He merely walks me backwards to the healer’s door and kicks it open, the healer complaining and throwing his hands in the air when Marcus slams it behind us with his foot. 

He walks me backwards, our lips still dancing when my back collides with the exam table. He gropes at my tunic, bunching it up to my hips as he grips them, lifting me up on the table. He shifts himself and pushes into me with a grunt, my lips breaking the kiss as I gasp. His fingers are deep and bruising as he holds my hip with one hand, hitching my thighs around him with the other before slamming it down on the table, giving himself more leverage to thrust deeper and harder, the adrenaline from the fight fueling his desires. I bite his lip and he growls, pressing me further into the table with each thrust as I cling to his broad shoulders. My muscles tighten, my blood pulsing between my thighs as I cum, Marcus swallowing my moans with his mouth. He thrusts into me a few more times before he bites my shoulder, grunting and moaning as he spills himself inside of me. We stay like that, attached and breathing heavily for several long moments, his forehead now pressed to my chest. I raise an arm weakly, running my fingers through his hair. Finally he looks up at me, his brown eyes searching mine. 

“Did I hurt you?”

I smile, shaking my head. “You never do.”

He seems to realize where we are now, straightening up and pulling himnself from me with a hiss. I slide my tunic back down and stand up, adjusting my clothes. 

“I am sorry, Cornelia. I lost myself.”

I cock my head. “Sorry for?”

He gestures around. “It is…not exactly the most private place.”

I stand in front of him and grip him by the armor, looking up into his eyes. “You could fuck me in front of the entire Roman army and I’d beg you to do it again.”

His eyes darken, an eyebrow raised. “Oh really? Because I could make that-”

“Excuse me? Sir?” The healer is at the door, cautiously knocking and trying to avert his eyes. “I need to tend to your wounds. If…if I may?”

Marcus and I exchange a smirk. “Yes. I am…sorry. I get carried away by the sight of my wife.”

The healer chuckles, removing his hand from his eyes and looking at me before looking back at Marcus. “Don’t worry, sir. I have the same reaction to my wife. Which is why we have so many children.” 

The next night, we are wakened by a knock at the door. Marcus sits up and pulls on his tunic, gesturing for me to stay in bed. He comes back in a moment later, his eyes concerned. 

“It’s Lucilla. Did you send home Leta?”

I nod. “Yes. No one should be here until morning. Is everything ok?”

“I don’t know. Get something on an come out.”

I do as he says, quickly pulling over a tunic and a sleeping robe before I head out, seeing Marcus already pouring a glass of wine for Lucilla. She thanks him and takes a nervous sip, looking at me as I walk over. 

“Can I speak freely?” She addresses Marcus, glancing back at me. 

Marcus nods. “She knows. Is everything alright?”

Lucilla takes a shuddering breath and meets his gaze. “It’s him, Marcus.”

“Who?”

“Lucius. My son. He’s back.”

Marcus is silent for several moments, my mind trying to catch up. I do remember her mentioning a son at one point, but I assumed he’d died, as she stopped talking about him after a certain age. 

“Are you sure?”

She nods. “I went to see him. This Hanno? That is him. He hates me, Marcus.” Tears start to fall down her cheeks. Marcus takes her hands in his in an attempt to soother her. 

“I am sure that is not true.”

She nods. “He hates me for sending him away.”

“May I speak?” I ask, unsure of my place in this conversation. Lucilla looks up at me, her cheeks glinting in the candlelight with her tears as she nods.

“I was sent away when I was young as well. I don’t think he hates you. He may be upset with you but not hate. I’m sure you didn’t send him away for no reason.”

She shakes her head. “If he had stayed, they would have killed him.”

“Why?” I ask, still not entirely certain I understand Roman politics. 

“Because he is the only heir to the Roman throne. The grandson of Marcus Aurelius.”

I know that should mean more than it does to me, but I have heard his name whispered and seen busts of him, mostly in Lucilla’s home. I know he was her father and from what I gather, the last decent Emperor of Rome. When the Emperors still cared about the people. 

Marcus address Lucilla. “My troops are only a few days away. Then they will come into Rome to arrest the Emperors as planned.”

“But you will also have to enter the arena again during this time. What happens if you die?”

Marcus’s jaw clenches slightly. “My captain would still carry out my orders.”

Lucilla shakes her head. “I don’t know. This feels like too much time.”

“What if we..speed it up?” I ask. They both look at me questioningly. “It’s just…I’ve had to spend a lot of time with the Emperors over the last few months and…they each hate that they have to split the crown with the other. I can see it in their eyes, their small movements and glances towards each other. There is brotherly love, but there is a lot of hate and jealousy. What if we use that to our advantage?”

“How so?” Lucilla asks.

I take a deep breath, knowing that this will fall heavily on my shoulders. “We pit them against each other. Whisper in their ears rumors that they’d heard about the other one. Maybe about them trying to take the crown for themselves? Anything to drive that wedge. They may just off each other.”

Marcus looks at me. “This sounds very dangerous. And there’s no guarantee that it would be quicker than my troops.”

I take Marcus’s hand. “I’ve had to be around them for months, watching. Observing. Trust me, it’s right under the surface.”

Marcus and Lucilla exchange a look. “It could work, Marcus. She’s not wrong.”

“Yes but she will be in danger. I don’t want that.”

I squeeze his hand and he looks at me. “We’re all in danger the longer we’re here. You don’t think they would try to take you out just to have me? Why do you think you’re in the games? I can do this, Marcus. They would love the attention, especially Geta.” 

Lucilla thinks a moment. “They kill each other and my son takes over as heir. Assuming he would want that title. If not, we have a replacement. He already said he would happily stand aside for Lucius.”

Marcus shakes his head. “I don’t know-”

“It would mean far less bloodshed than a battle between soldiers. You know lives are bound to be lost if the soldiers enter Rome by force. This way, only 2 lives should be gone and Rome will be all the better for it.”

Marcus gets up and paces the room, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. Finally he sighs and comes back over.

“Let’s do this.”

The next day, I put on a tunic that Geta had complimented me on previously. Leta fixes my hair, half up with some braids pinned around my head. Leta leaves and Marcus takes her place, his hands on my shoulders. 

“Are you sure, Cornelia?”

I place a hand over his and squeeze. “This will work. I’m sure.”

An hour later, and I find myself tossing my head back with fake laughter at something Caracalla said. I gently touch Geta’s arm as tears stream down his face from laughter. 

“And his head just popped! Clean off! Rolled right across the floor!” Caracalla continues to laugh, turning to one of the men he has surrounding him, who immediately gives him all of his attention. I pick up my glass of wine, thinking of what to say.

“You’re so kind with that,” I nod in Caracalla’s direction, speaking to Geta as I take a sip.

“Kind? With what?” 

I turn and look at him, leaning a little closer, Geta matching my lean. “You allow your brother to go on and on about violence without worrying. It’s clear it means a lot to him.”

“Yes, I am kind…but…I don’t quite catch your meaning here?”

I look up at him, swallowing down the bile in my throat at his close proximity. “Weren’t the two men in his story brothers? Who both tried to control their family farm?”

He shakes his head. “So?”

“So..well, I just thought…oh nevermind.”

Geta shifts his body to face me, leaning closer. “Tell me. Speak freely.”

I hold my wine glass in front of my mouth, as if I’m telling him a secret. “Well, it’s sort of like you and your brother. Twins, having to share the crown. Him being above you being he was born first-”

“He is not above me!” Geta whispers angrily. 

I avert my eyes. “I am sorry, Emperor Geta. I was merely repeating what he’d said to me.” It’s not entirely a lie. I had heard Caracalla speaking about how he was born first and so he was first ruler. But he didn’t say it to me directly.

Fire burned in Geta’s eyes as they shifted from me to Caracalla. “And what else did my brother say?”

“Oh I shouldn’t-”

Geta grips my forearm tightly. “Tell. Me.”

So I launch into a small story I’d made up, planting more and more seeds of doubt in his mind.

That night at their dinner party, I walk up to Caracalla, speaking to his monkey. We chat about monkeys for a moment, Caracalla glancing over my shoulder every so often.

“I’m sorry, Emperor, is there something I’m keeping you from?”

“Hhmm? Oh no. It’s just..” He leans in closer to me. “Geta has been looking at me oddly all day. Like he’s upset.”

I glance over at Geta, who is currently involved in a conversation with a Senator. “I- well I shouldn’t say.”

Caracall looks at me. “Tell me.”

“Well, earlier I heard someone talking about how you’re first born so you’re the first Emperor.”

He nods. “I was and am.”

“Yes, well, Emperor Geta overheard that and was furious. He started telling everyone he was the main Emperor. Not you.”

“Oh really?” The same rage that fired up in Geta’s eyes now burned in his brothers. “He’s always been jealous of me!”

“Well, you do have a great monkey.”

Caracalla looks at me for a moment and then laughs. “You’re right! I do! Come, let me show you how he can dance!”

2 days and I’m spent. I cannot stroke their egos any more. Unfortunately, Marcus is to compete today, hopefully the last battle he will have to do. This time I wake with him, Marcus putting his head between my thighs before I can even move. When I try to pull him up, he declines, saying he needs to save up the energy. Something about it being good for battle. 

“As long as you come home and fuck me into this bed.”

Marcus groans, kissing one of my boobs. “That is a promise. But now, I must get ready or I will simply stay in bed all day.”

“That sounds better. Let’s do that.”

He chuckles, kissing me deeply before pushing himself up and getting dressed, the same armor as he’d worn a few days previously. He cups my face, kissing me gently before looking into my eyes.

“I love you. Be safe.”

Gods his eyes are all big and brown. “I love you. Please come back to me.”

“Now this is another special fight!” The announcer speaks to the crowd. “The strong General Acacius!” The gate at one end of the arena opens and Marcus struts out of it, sword in hand, as he walks to the middle of the arena as the crowd screams his name.The announcer waits a moment, letting the crowd settle a little. “Against the mighty barbarian, Hanno!” The crowd cheers for him too, a mix of names chanting around the arena.

I feel Lucilla behind me, trying not to make a scene. This is not something we anticipated. Marcus should not be fighting Hanno, I mean, Lucius, to the death! My pulse speeds up, my blood quickly pumping through me. Marcus turns, seeing Lucius angrily strutting towards him. But before he gets even part way, Geta stands and addresses his captain.

“Make sure your bows are fixed on Acacius. If he wins, kill him.”

“What??” I gasp out, staring up at Emperor Geta in complete shock. He smiles, the dark makeup around his eyes making them look even more menacing than usual. He sits down next to me, leaning in, a small hand placed on my thigh. 

“Do not worry, my dear. No one will question me and I will free you from this marriage so you can be with me.”

I can feel the color drain from my face. “Emperor Geta, I am..flattered, but I made an oath-”

“And I’ll help you to break it! My wedding gift to you!”

Shit. I flew too close to the sun on this one and Geta took it as flirting. I want to throw up, but there’s nothing I can do. They collide in front of me, swords slashing, Lucius headbutting Marcus as he stumbles, quickly regaining his footing as Lucius slams into him, Marcus using his weight to flip him on his back. Lucius swipes at Marcu’s feet as he leaps back, coming up to lunge at him again, the two men grappling. Lucius manages to slam his hand into Marcus, who relents, turning to shove Lucius into the ground. They roll, Marcus jumping up and to the side as Lucius swipes his sword, barely missing him. But when he rights himself, I can see that Marcus has no weapon. 

Lucius gestures to the staff on the ground with his sword and Marcus picks it up, both of them lunging back into battle, the staff quickly snapping in two. Marcus manages to knock Lucius’s head, momentarily stunning him enough he could get behind him in a chokehold. Lucius flings his head back and Marcus stumbles, quickly rallying with a sucker punch to Lucius’s stomach. They clash again, Lucius dropping to the ground after a few moments, getting back up with a smile on his face. They talk for a moment, but then Marcus throws his weapons on the ground, dropping to his knees, and raising his hand in surrender. My stomach churns and I nearly vomit. What is he thinking? 

“Acacius has raised his hand! He has surrendered!” The announcer yells. “Let the Gods decide!”

I feel Geta shift beside me, but I grab his arm. “Wait!” 

Geta looks down at my hand and then into my eyes. “My love, the Gods will speak through me and this will all be over soon.”

I squeeze his arm, willing my nerves to just give me a moment to think. “I know, but I think we should have a toast. After all, he is your General.”

Geta studies me for a moment. Then he nods and I feel momentarily relieved. “Good idea.” He holds up a hand to request a pause. “The Gods are…deciding!”

While he is distrtacted, I get up, taking the offered glasses of wine, my palla swiftly passing over Geta’s as I hand it to him, my own glass poised for a toast. 

“To us, my dear. And to the Gods.” Geta proclaims.

“To the Gods,” I say back, lifting my glass. I see Geta take a sip and turn to Caracalla, who was just taking his goblet from the tray, having had to adjust the monkey on his shoulder. He picks it up and nearly presses it to his lips before I grip his wrist. “Dont!”

Caracalla freezes. “What? Why?”

“It’s poisoned!”

And that is all it takes to crumble two Emperors. 

Caracalla stands up, pointing an accusing finger at his brother. “It was you! You tried to poison me!”

Geta’s eyes are wild. I can tell he’d thought about poisoning his brother. “I did not! Do you hear yourself, brother?”

But it’s too late. Caracalla’s eyes are wide and nearly black with rage as he steps closer to Geta. “You were always jealous I was first! First out of the womb, more loved by mother, and HEAD EMPEROR!” 

Geta’s fists ball up. “You are NOT first Emperor!”

Caracalla laughs manically and I take this moment to sneak out from between them. I don’t want to get caught in that. 

“Jealous! You can’t even admit that I have a higher station than you! So much that you try to poison me?”

Geta’s eyes are wild with anger, spit flying from his mouth as he steps up to Caracalla, yelling “I wish I had done it because you deserve to die!”

Caracalla gasps, momentarily frozen before looking down, the red blood seeping quickly through his white tunic, a knife embedded in him. Geta quickly removes it, watching as his brother drops to the ground, his body moving no more after a moment. Geta tries to straighten up, but he clutches at his stomach. 

“He…he was mad! He was…he would have…what…is happening?” Geta drops to the ground, groaning and yelling in pain as he clutches his stomach. A servant tries to help him but he yells in their face, the color draining from him as his breathing becomes labored. And then his gaze goes blank, his head dropping against the ground.  

For a moment, no one moves. But then the captain snaps me out of it as he commands his troops. “Keep your bows on him! Stand your ground!”

I quietly sneak to a soldier and, in a move Marcus had taught me, hit a certain spot on his shoulder that send him tumbling, but not before I grab his bow and notch an arrow, another in my hand.

“Move!” I yell and the crowd parts as I raise my bow and aim it at the bewildered captain.

I summon all the courage I have, not just for me but for protecting Marcus, and command “Tell your men to stand down!”

The captain just looks at me, almost smirking. “And what are you going to do with that, little girl?”

I loose the arrow and it glides into the pole just next to his head. By the time his head snaps back to look at me, I’ve notched the next arrow. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Look around. Your Emperors are dead from greed and jealousy. Drop your weapons and pledge yourself to your new emperor.”

Still bewildered, the captain takes a moment to respond. “And who might that be?”

“The grandson of Marcus Aurelius and heir to the throne, Lucius Varius Aurelius.” I nod towards Lucius in the arena, my bow still aimed at the captain. 

“Lucius…he’s alive?” The captain asks.

“He is.” Lucilla comes up beside me, addressing the captain. “I can confirm it.”

He thinks a moment. “Well then. Stand down, men.” He watches me as I wait, watching all of the archers to make sure they’ve all put down their bows. When I’m sure, I lower mine as well. 

The captain turns towards the arena. “Lucius Varius Aurelius! I pledge myself to you!” He salutes, one fist against his opposite shoulder as he drops to one knee, his soldiers all following suit. Soon the entire arena follows, everyone bowing to Lucius who, bless him, looks completely out of his element. He tentatively raises a hand and everyone cheers, chanting his name as it echoes across the stonework. 

As the crowd continues to chant and cheer their new Emperor, I drop the bow and run down the back steps, moving as fast as I can towards the gladiator entrance. The guards, having seen me before, fling the gates open and I sprint past them, moving quickly into the arena. The crowds are still chanting Lucius’s name, but my eyes are purely for one man. Marcus turns his head, seeing me coming for him and stands, his chest heaving from fighting and tension, but he still jogs towards me. We crash into each other, Marcus picking me up, his lips finding mine like they were meant to. He pushes his tongue into my willing mouth and I taste sweat and blood mixed in with his scent. The crowd notices as they change from Lucius to ooooo! I break the kiss, pressing my forehead to his for a moment before I look into his eyes, so soft and warm. A small clearing of the throat comes to me and we turn our heads, looking at Lucius.

“Hi,” He does a little wave. “Uh what the fuck just happened?”

We laugh, Marcus placing me back down on the ground. He drops back down to his knee, saluting him. “I, General Acacius, do pledge myself to you, Emperor Lucius.”

Lucius’s eyes widen even more. “What if I don’t want this?”

“You have a choice. If you think this is not your fate, there is another who will take your place. But he is happy to step aside for the grandson of Marcus Aurelius.” 

He nods, still looking uncertain. “But what if I don’t know what to do?”

I smile at him, stepping closer. “Your mother, and her trusted people, will guide you.”

He nods again, turning back to Marcus. “Rise. Or whatever.” He extends a hand and helps Marcus to his feet. “I totally would’ve had you.”

“Keep dreaming, Emperor.”

4 years later on an olive farm outside of the capital…

The light streams in through the window on my face, gently waking me to a new day. I blink my eyes open slowly, stretching lazily. I try to sit up, but a large arm wraps around my bare torso and pulls me close to his own bare body, burying his face in my neck.

“Marcus,” my voice laced with sleep. “It’s time to wake. The twins will be up soon.”

Marcus groans, a quiet “No” emanating from his chest. “Let the servants cook them breakfast today.”

I chuckle. “They do love Leta’s breakfast. But you also have that meeting with the other olive farmers today.”

Marcus starts to kiss a spot on my neck, applying more pressure so as to leave a mark. He lets it go, nuzzling the spot with his nose as the skin reddens. He continues to kiss my shoulder, gently pushing me on my back as he slots his massive frame between my legs. He stares down at me, softly pushing a stray hair from my face. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he says in awe.

I trace the scar on his cheek with my finger. “Not as beautiful as you.”

He kisses me and then pulls back to nip at my chin. “The farmers can wait. I plan on putting as many babies in you as you’ll let me.”

He pushes into me with a moan, my head pushing back into the bed as he gently slides his hips against mine, taking his time to make sure he gets evey sound, every ounce of pleasure he can from me. 

And when I come downstairs and see him play wrestling with the twins, I think about how lucky I was that my brother tried to use me as a pawn all those years ago. Sure, it was hell enduring my brother, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

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[lechrts]

Could’ve Fooled Me. ✷ Ollie Bearman

Pairing: Ollie Bearman x Schoolmate!reader

Summary: When Ollie does something “probably stupid.”

Word Count: 2.1k

Vera's Voice! this was so stupid not gonna lie. Jusr. Just read idk. Lmk. Bye. have fun.

Your dynamic with Ollie had always been a strange one. A mix of heated arguments and undeniable chemistry that made everyone around you raise an eyebrow.

He was infuriatingly confident, with that perpetual smirk like he already knew the answer to a question you hadn’t even asked yet.

You weren’t sure when your mutual distaste turned into something resembling... whatever this was. It wasn’t quite hatred anymore, but it wasn’t exactly a friendship either. It was more like a magnetic pull—one you both resisted fiercely.

Until, of course, you were paired for a history presentation.

So cliche.

“Fate’s a cruel thing,” You muttered under your breath the day your teacher announced the pairings.

Ollie shot you a grin as you plopped into the vacant seat beside him. “You know, if you wanted to spend more time with me, you could’ve just asked.”

You rolled your eyes, but the sharp pang in your chest at his teasing felt alarmingly like excitement.

It was supposed to be simple. You’d meet at his house, finish your slides, rehearse your presentation, and be done with it.

In and out, no distractions.

You stood outside his door, the chill December air biting at your fingertips as you hesitated. The nerves in your stomach were new, unsettling. It wasn’t like you hadn’t argued with Ollie a hundred times before. It wasn’t like you hadn’t sat next to him in class, stolen pens from his desk, or rolled your eyes at his sarcastic comments.

This just felt... different.

When he opened the door, wearing a plain sweatshirt and grey joggers, hair messy like he hadn’t bothered to tame it, you almost forgot how to speak.

“Are you gonna keep standing there, or are you coming in?” He asked, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Just soaking in the joy of this moment,” You replied sarcastically, stepping inside with mock dramatics.

When he led the way to his room, you were shocked to see how neat it was. It smelled faintly like him—some mix of cedarwood and mint that you hated how much you noticed. The space was tidy, a little more put together than you’d expected, with a sleek desk by the window and shelves lined with racing memorabilia.

“Wow,” You said, gesturing to the small shrine of karting trophies, back from when he still raced. “How modest of you.”

He smirked, sitting on his bed. “What can I say? I’m amazing.”

“And humble.”

“And humble,” He echoed, grinning.

You rolled your eyes, plopping down on the carpeted floor next to his bed and pulling your laptop out of your bag.

“Alright,” You said briskly, needing to focus. “Let’s get this over with.”

But working with Ollie was, as expected, impossible.

You closed your eyes, counting to three.

Do not murder him in his own home.

Do not murder him in his own home.

Do NOT. murder him in his own home.

“Fine. You pick the font,” You said, shoving the laptop toward him since he had been pestering you about the title screen for the past ten minutes.

“Gladly.”

He leaned over, now sat beside you ever since he joined you on the floor many moments ago. You hated the way your heart jumped when his arm brushed against yours. It wasn’t even a full touch, just the faintest contact, but it sent a ripple of awareness through you.

“So!,” He said after a moment, his voice annoyingly casual, “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you,” You said automatically, though it came out a little sharper than intended.

He glanced at you, one brow raised. “Yeah, right.”

You sighed, focusing on the textbook in front of you to avoid looking at him. “You’re just...distracting.”

“Distracting?” He repeated, his tone shifting. He leaned back slightly, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. “How am I distracting?”

“Because you never take anything seriously,” You said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “You joke about everything. It’s like nothing gets to you, and it’s—”

“It’s what?” He pressed, his voice softer now.

“Annoying.”

He didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched, thick and heavy. When you finally glanced up, he was watching you with an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“What?” You asked defensively, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” He said, leaning back against his bed. His smirk was gone, replaced by something unreadable. “You’re just....”

He shook his head, looking almost embarrassed. “Never mind.”

Your chest felt tight, like the air between you had shifted into something you couldn’t name. You tried to shake it off, focusing back on the slides, but it was no use.

When you reached for your pen, he reached for it at the same time. Your fingers brushed, and you both froze.

Neither of you moved, the air suddenly crackling with tension. His hand was warm, his touch hesitant but lingering.

“Um.. ” He said quietly, his voice lower than usual, clearing his throat as if he had something to say.

Your heart was pounding, so loud you were sure he could hear it. “Hm?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Do you really think I don’t take anything seriously?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it,” He said, his voice steady now. “Do you actually think I don’t care about anything?”

The vulnerability in his tone took you by surprise. You hesitated, then shook your head. “No. I just think... you hide it. Behind all the cockiness and idiocy.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his eyes searched yours, like he was trying to figure something out.

And then, suddenly, his hand was on yours again—not hesitant this time, but deliberate.

“Um.” You cleared your throat. “What are you doing?” You whispered, your voice shaky.

“Probably something stupid,” He murmured, and before you could respond, his lips were on yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was everything you’d been holding back since the day you met him—frustration, anger, and all the butterflies you refused to admit you felt. His hand cupped your cheek, pulling you closer, and your brain short-circuited as the world tilted on its axis.

You kissed him back, your fingers tangling in his hair before you could think better of it. It was messy, intense, infuriatingly perfect.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, the rosiness on both of your cheeks clearly evident.

“That,” You managed, voice shaky, “Was definitely stupid.”

“Yeah?” He said, grinning despite the pink tint to his features. “Then why’d you kiss me back?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came.

Because he was right. And, worse, he knew it.

You sat there, blinking at him, your brain still catching up to what had just happened. Ollie was looking at you like he’d won something—smirking, flushed, and utterly insufferable.

“Well?” He asked, his voice annoyingly smug. “No witty comeback? No insult? Should I be concerned?”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking off the daze. “I’m just... processing the fact that you have the audacity to act like you weren’t the one who kissed me.”

“Oh, I absolutely kissed you,” He said, confidently admitting it as he straightened his posture, “But you kissed me back…”

“With enthusiasm, might I add.”

You scoffed, though your cheeks were burning. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” He leaned closer, his smirk widening. “Because I’m pretty sure you had your hands in my hair. Very passionately..”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted to kiss you!” You argued, pointing at him.

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Right. You were just being polite. Kissing me back to avoid hurting my feelings?”

“Exactly,” You said, chin tilting up. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment. A... reflex.”

“Hmm,” He mused, clearly not buying it. He tapped a finger on his lips, pretending to think. “So, if I kissed you again, purely as an experiment, you wouldn’t kiss me back?”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said again, but you refused to let him see it. “Exactly. No hesitation. I’d push you away immediately.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning closer still. “Immediately?”

You hated how his voice dropped, soft and teasing, like he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you.

“Yeah,” You said firmly, though the word came out weaker than you intended.

His eyes flicked to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove it,” He repeated, his voice low and challenging. “If you’re so sure you wouldn’t kiss me back, let’s test your little theory.”

Your breath hitched as the space between you seemed to shrink. “Your ego is insane.”

“Maybe,” He said, grinning, “But, you still haven’t moved.”

And damn it, he was right.

You hadn’t moved.

In fact, you were leaning in ever so slightly, your resolve crumbling under the weight of his presence.

“Ollie,” You said, your voice more a warning than anything else.

“Hm?,” He hummed back, and then he kissed you again.

This time, you had no excuse. No reflex, no momentary lapse in judgment. You kissed him back because you wanted to—because, for once, you didn’t want to fight it.

But you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

When you broke apart, his hands still framing your face, you couldn’t help but smirk at him. “Happy now?”

He let out a breathless laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Very.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” You said, pulling back slightly.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m definitely getting used to it.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” He shot back, brushing a thumb along your jawline.

You swatted his hand away, though your heart was still racing. “This doesn’t mean anything, you idiot.”

“Sure,” he said, his tone so casual it made you want to throttle him. “It’s just two people who hate each other making out in my bedroom. Totally meaningless.”

“It was meaningless.”

“Right.” His grin was maddening. “That’s why you’re still blushing.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You just kissed me,” He reminded you.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t hate you!”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You glared at him, but it was no use. The butterflies in your stomach betrayed you, fluttering wildly every time he smiled at you like that.

“Well,” You said finally, attempting to stand up and closing your laptop, “This has been a colossal waste of time. I’m leaving.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Ollie said, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back down. “You’re not running away from this.”

“I’m not running away!”

“Then stay.”

You hesitated, your pulse quickening. “Why should I?”

“Because,” he said, his voice softening in a way that made your heart ache, “I like you. Even when you drive me absolutely insane.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in.

You wanted to argue, to deflect with some sarcastic remark, but the sincerity in his eyes stopped you.

“Fine,” You said after a long moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “But only because we still have work to do.”

His grin returned, but it was softer this time, more genuine. “Sure. Work.”

You straightened back up, opening your laptop and pretending to focus on the screen, but you could feel Ollie’s gaze burning into you. He leaned against the edge of his bed, his smirk far too knowing.

Far too confident.

And then, after a few moments of tense silence, you sighed and closed your laptop with a sharp snap.

“Hm,” Ollie drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “Giving up already?”

You shot him a look, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. “We both know we’re not getting any work done tonight.”

His smirk faltered for a second, replaced by something softer, something that made your breath hitch. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low.

Before you could overthink it, his hand cupped your jaw, pulling you toward him. And then his lips were on yours again, and this time there was no hesitation, no awkward fumbling.

It was pure, unrelenting gravity.

You kissed him back again, with everything you had, your fingers finding the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there was no space left between you. He tasted like spearmint gum and something undeniably him, something you couldn’t get enough of.

Ollie’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, like he couldn’t stand the distance. Your heart raced.

“You’re ridiculous,” You mumbled against his lips, barely able to catch your breath.

He grinned, his forehead resting against yours. “And you’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” You shot back, your voice breathless but still laced with defiance.

“Here we are,” He echoed, his fingers brushing along your jaw before tilting your head back for another kiss. This one was slower, deeper, like he was taking his time memorizing every detail.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was a terrible idea. But in that moment, with Ollie’s lips on yours and his hands keeping you grounded, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

When you finally pulled away, your lips swollen and your heart pounding, you stared at him. He looked just as dazed as you felt, his hair slightly tousled, his lips red from kissing.

“Yeah,” You said, breaking the silence, “We’re definitely failing.”

Ollie laughed, his smile so wide and genuine it made your stomach flip. “Worth it.”

You groaned, dropping your head back and covering your face with your hands. “This is such a mess.”

He laughed, tugging your hands away so you had to look at him. “Maybe,” He said, his tone softer now, “But, it’s a good kind of mess.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Your idiot, maybe,” He teased, leaning down to steal one last kiss before you could argue.

“Oh, hush it.” You laughed as the antics continued anyways.

And even though you would never admit it, you didn’t really mind whatever this was.

Could’ve fooled you.

likes, comments, & reblogs appreciated! ^_^ let me know if u wanna be apart of my permanent tag list!!! :3

tags! @planetpedri @halfwayhearted @wdcbox @freyathehuntress

[windvexer]

But considering then that maybe one should learn a form of banishing, just in case, but doesn't relate to the golden down practices, what could be a practice of banishing that is more connected to witchcraft ?

We are in reference to this ask about whether or not the LBRP is required learning for all sorcerers & practitioners (it is not).

Someone asked me for my opinions and I'm giving them! Please understand this to be a post full of my personal opinions and methods.

I think a fine way to regard any practical sorcery is to consider it to be a mundane action extended into the spirit world.

Therefore the best way for a witch to deal with banishment is to ask what you if you were in a nice Studio Ghibli anime where magic is tangible. If a rambunctious pig spirit were tearing through your house, knocking over furniture, what would you do?

Banish for your needs based on what you have. Any banishment spell is better than no banishment spell. Here are a few for the intrepid witch:

Ask It To Leave

This is a good starting operation, especially if you have ethical concerns. Especially helpful for troublesome household spirits and energies.

Go to where It is. If that is not possible, create a sympathetic image (drawing, sigil, poppet, etc.; then correctly consecrated*).

Speak to the image and tell it firmly and sternly to leave. Do not ask, do not show your belly. "You have got to stop coming to morning meetings, Greg. You have better things to do and you are not helping. I am sick and tired of hearing you before lunch, Greg. Stop doing it."

Open the Door and Smack It With a Broom

Another good starting operation, but you must have access to the location; best reserved for spirits or intruders.

Open all the doors and windows you can. Speak a prayer over the broom, vacuum, or mop; invite it to cast off its lampshade and glow with the vigor of four hundred generations of exasperated grandmothers.

Sweep out the house, all the while staying intent on the idea that the intruder is going to be chased out.

Close doors and windows after, as desired.

(Modifications on the above: blessed water in a spray bottle, rolled up newspaper swatting the air, and so forth; the studious witch will observe that if a place is consecrated to be other than what it is, things on other strands of fate can be swept away.)

Cast Dispel Magic (wizard 3 abjuration)

A fine early step, but it draws a line in the sand. It's more like a temporary ward, but it'll do in a pinch. It's also energy intensive, but requires no materials.

Using energy work, root yourself down into the earth. Call up a great deal of power from the earth into your body.

Coalesce a ball of power in your abdomen (or wherever suits you best; you must already know how to work energy in this matter to use this method).

In your preferred method, program the energy to be immensely banishing; envisioning ultraviolet flame can work well.

Expand the ball of energy outwards from your center so that it grows and eclipses the space around you, sending the unwanted thing out and away.

If possible, then work the far boundary of the energy sphere to become like a wall that can't be crossed over again.

Call the Magistrate

Not so harsh, but certainly drawing a line in the sand. This can be performed not only on spirits or intruders, but also on situations (to banish unfair treatment, etc), on people, and so forth.

Take one or three dried Bay Laurel leaves, or the equivalent crumbled. Say, think, or sign, "Bay Laurel, I call you here today to assist with removing an unwanted force."

Read over them the Orphic Hymn to the Sun, all the while envisioning that the leaves begin to glow with an immensely bright light, as if you're staring at the sun.

At the completion of the hymn, politely address the leaves and explain to them exactly what you would like chased away. Ensure you clarify if this thing may come back later, or never at all, and how far away from you it should go.

When you've said you part, seal the spell (classically, "as my will, so mote it be").

Use charcoal disks or your preferred method to burn the leaves. This should be done as close as possible to the thing intended to be banished. If burning is not an option, put them in some tap water and boil it on the stove until the scent diffuses.

(To further energize: read the hymn between three and nine times, each time following up with fervent prayers)

Call the Mob

Harsh. For use when you do not want to be polite. Can be directed at anything, but be sure there is no concern of behavior escalating; this is an aggravating spell.

Take one or three dried red peppers, or a teaspoon of red pepper flakes. Say, think, or sign, "Red Peppers, I call you here today to assist with removing an unwanted force."

Read over them the Orphic Hymn to Mars, all the while envisioning that the peppers ignite into a black and scarlet flame that's like hellfire.

At the completion of the hymn, rambunctiously address the peppers and explain to them exactly what you'd like chased away. Encourage the peppers to chase after the thing like the baying hounds of hell, to chase it to the ends of the earth, and past the earth, and so far away that the thing cannot be returned.

When you've said you part, seal the spell (classically, "as my will, so mote it be").

You should not burn the peppers at all unless you can do so outside, because breathing in pepper smoke is Bad. But fire greatly improves this operation. If possible, arrange the peppers around a candle and burn the candle to activate the spell. Otherwise, use the simmer pot method.

---

*Consecrated: In this context, to assign a new magical identity, purpose, and fate. This may be done organically during its creation, or all at once with a ritual. A poppet shouldn't be used in sympathetic magic until it has been magically given the true identity of the thing you want it to represent.

[thunderg]

Sweather Weather | Kim Taehyung x Reader

a/n: Hi! if you enjoy it, please like it, reblog it and comment, this helps me to keep going <3

Genre: Fluff, Normal au, Soulmates.

Warning: None...i think.

Wc: 1412

The store was quiet. It was noon, which meant there were no customers, allowing him to work with serenity and pay attention to the smallest details: the smell of the flowers, the soft ray of sunlight illuminating the room. He was in his element, so much so that he allowed himself to hum a song while preparing an order for one of his clients.

Taehyung had always loved flowers. He knew some considered it unmanly, but he didn’t care anymore, not when this job allowed him to be surrounded by beautiful things.

–Must be something~ –he sang as he placed the arrangement on the table.

Since he was a child, he had felt a special fascination with beautiful things. It wasn’t an obsession, but his appreciation was so evident that it was impossible to ignore. His mother often told him that in a past life, he had been an artist. Although said lightly, that statement always stirred up a strange feeling in him, a kind of nostalgia he couldn't quite understand.

He never wanted to investigate why he felt this way. He believed in cheesy things like fate, and hoped that someday, fate would clarify the doubt that tormented him. Yoongi, one of his older friends, had always thought his beliefs were stupid and childish. It wasn’t that the man was bad, he just... had very strong opinions. If you didn’t get along with him, you’d never earn his favor.

On more than one occasion, he had tried to convince him that things like love at first sight weren’t as pathetic as he thought. Of course, he had wasted an entire day of his life on the attempt. Fine, maybe he was a little stubborn on the subject, but who could blame him? His love for beautiful and cheesy things had grown so much that, by now, it was impossible to ignore—even for himself.

It was almost sad that, despite being someone well-versed in all the things women supposedly liked, he had never found the love of his life. Sure, he’d had a girlfriend or two, but nothing special, nothing that made him feel those butterflies in his stomach that everyone talked about. He longed to smile like an idiot just thinking about that special person.

Every day, he had to watch people get the things he longed for, with the bouquets he put so much effort into. Was he cursed? Was he so unpleasant to the female population? He sighed, defeated. It wasn’t worth thinking about, he tried to convince himself. However, this whole issue tormented him more than anyone would care to admit. Dying alone didn’t sound appealing at all.

The sound of the bell at the front door interrupted his train of thought. He lifted his head, almost gasping when he saw who entered the store. Damn, had he died or was he seeing an angel? The strangest part was that her face looked oddly familiar. Was she a model? It didn’t matter, his heart was racing, his hands were sweating, and his throat had dried up. How would he speak to her in this state?

The girl timidly approached the counter. At moments like these, he regretted not having hired someone to help him. She was so beautiful that it made him want to flee to the farthest corner of the room. He mentally prepared himself to be disappointed, to hear that she just wanted to order a bouquet for her cute, rich European boyfriend with golden retriever vibes. He almost scoffed at the thought.

–G-Good morning –she murmured, quickly correcting herself when she saw the clock on the wall–. Sorry, good afternoon.

Taehyung bit his lower lip, trying to hold back a smile. She was so adorable, embarrassed. It made him want to scream with joy. He took a deep breath and put on his commercial smile.

–How can I help you, miss?

The young woman nervously fiddled with the hem of her sweater.

–W-Well, I need a flower arrangement.

Here it comes –he thought–: "for my boyfriend." He was already ready to dismiss his fleeting crush.

–My friend’s boyfriend is having a dance recital, and she asked me to buy some flowers here.

He gave a soft clap, unable to contain himself. To his relief, it passed off as excitement to start working.

–What flowers do you need? Do you have something in mind?

She clumsily took out her phone, almost dropping it in the process.

–She needs lilies and pink peonies, with a card for a message… please –she said, looking at him with puppy-dog eyes.

Done. Now he was a puddle melted by this girl’s cuteness. How could someone be so beautiful and yet so adorable? It was unfair.

–Right away, miss.

As best as he could, he gathered the necessary flowers for the bouquet. He bit his lip; this bouquet had to be perfect. He didn’t want to look like a fool in front of her. He wanted to curse when he saw his hands trembling. This would make the task more difficult. He took a deep breath; he could do this, he had been doing this for years. He adjusted his glasses and continued. Once he managed to make something decent enough to justify the years he’d spent working, he took a card—small, discreet, just enough to be pretty. He grabbed a pencil and then looked at the girl.

–Alright, what should I write? –he asked.

She blushed furiously as she checked the order for her friend, avoiding his gaze in the process.

–G-Glad to have you by my side... –she swallowed nervously and whispered something more.

–Could you repeat that, miss? I didn’t catch it.

–I said… or have you on top of me, whichever you prefer.

She covered her face, letting her hair fall like a waterfall, as extra protection for her gaze, visibly embarrassed by her friend’s message. This time, he couldn’t contain his laughter.

–Wow, your friend is original –he smiled as he finished writing the card.

The girl stammered an apology, clearly embarrassed. He gently shook his head, amused by the situation, but when their hands brushed while he handed her the bouquet, a sensation hit him like lightning. Suddenly, images that didn’t seem his own but were terribly familiar formed in his mind: the sound of rain hitting the windows, a warm hug, a kiss that seemed to contain all the love in the world.

In that memory, he was hugging her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, where the soft sweater of the girl cushioned the contact. Her scent made him feel at home, and her presence filled him with a calm that made him drowsy. The gentle tapping of the rain accompanied the moment, while she, in silence, tenderly stroked his hands, enjoying both his company and the warmth he provided.

–I’m freezing, Tae. You shouldn’t hug me, you’ll get cold –she murmured, concerned.

–It doesn’t matter, I like being able to share my warmth with you –he responded with a calm smile. He loved knowing that, despite how old and worn-out his sweater was, it could still keep them both warm: him and the person he loved.

He took her chin and kissed her as if it were the last kiss they were going to share. And even if it were, Taehyung was sure of one thing: even if a thousand lives passed, he would make sure to find her in each and every one of them. His soul and his body belonged to her completely.

He regained his senses when he heard the girl shriek in surprise at the accidental contact.

–What was that? –she asked, stunned, while taking a step back.

He looked at her with a mix of amazement and happiness.

–We’ve found each other again, darling –he said with a soft laugh.

Suddenly, everything made sense. His purpose in life, all those inexplicable passions and desires. Everything clicked when he saw her again. He felt complete, as if the missing piece of his life had finally found its place. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, as if everything he had been searching for in his life had finally made sense. His heart was beating fast, but also with an unexpected calm, as if he were finally in the right place, with the right person. He would never be alone again, nor would he have to long for the ghost of a memory. She was there, in front of him, looking as unreal as the first time. And although he still didn’t know what would happen next, he was sure of one thing: he wasn’t going to let her go this time.

Masterlist

(Banners of @cafekitsune)

[waitingandwishing]

(Cross posted on Wattpad)

Prev - Next Chapter

Y/N sat motionlessly on the edge of her bed, her fingers absently tracing the rough, scratchy texture of the worn sheets.

Her gaze was fixed on the ground, her eyes distant and unseeing, the once brilliant color now dulled into a pale, lifeless gray.

She looked as if she were suspended in time, caught between the weight of the past and the crushing uncertainty of the future.

Her thoughts circled relentlessly, clawing at the fragile edges of her composure. ‘Mylo, dead. Claggor, dead. Vi, dead. Vander, dead.’ The names echoed like the toll of a bell, each one a dagger carving deeper into her chest.

And then there was Ekko. Ekko, whose fate she didn’t know. Was he alive, wandering aimlessly through the wreckage of their shared past? Or was he lost too, swallowed by the chaos?

The uncertainty gnawed at her insides. She clenched her fists, a cold determination solidifying within her. ‘If he’s alive, I’ll find him. I have to. He’s all alone now— no one to care for him. I’ll find him.’

The weight of the small gemstones in her hand pulled her attention. She turned them over slowly, their surfaces catching the dim light.

The soft blue glow flickered eerily, somehow both beautiful and deeply unsettling. They seemed to hold whispers of the lives they’d lost, their brilliance mocking her.

Her thoughts were abruptly shattered by a sharp knock at the door. She flinched, startled out of her daze as she quickly shoved the blue stone in her bag. The familiar voice on the other side made her tense.

“Silco,” she muttered under her breath, even before he spoke.

“The girl won’t eat,” His gravelly voice called through the door.

Y/N hesitated before responding, her tone sharp. “Her name is Powder,” She corrected, pushing the words through clenched teeth. “Have you made her something?”

“Yes, but she won’t touch it.” Silco’s frown was evident even through the door.

For a moment, Y/N stayed silent, staring at the door as if it were some insurmountable wall. Was this another of Silco’s manipulations? A way to force her out of her room? She could still feel the ghostly heat licking at her skin, hearing the crackle of flames consuming everything she held dear.

But then, against her better judgment, she stood. The quiet sound of the mattress creaking as she moved surprised even Silco. He watched her warily as she brushed past him without a word.

Y/N knew he knew her weakness. She knew he could use her against her, but right now all that mattered was Powder.

“Where’s her room?” she asked, her voice flat.

He gestured silently down the hallway, and Y/N followed his direction without looking back.

Standing in front of Powder’s door, she hesitated for a beat before raising her hand and knocking gently. “Bluejay?” Her voice softened into something almost unrecognizable, a sliver of warmth peaking through.

The silence on the other side was suffocating, stretching out long enough for Y/N to feel the weight of Silco’s eyes boring into her back. But just as she opened her mouth to speak again, the door creaked open.

“Hey—”

The word barely escaped her lips before she was knocked backward. Powder flung herself into Y/N’s arms, gripping her tightly as if afraid she might vanish at any moment. Powder buried her face into Y/N’s chest, her small frame trembling with gut-wrenching sobs.

“Wh-Where—” She choked out, her voice cracking between gasps. “Are you going to leave me too?”

The question hit Y/N like a blow to the stomach. Her breath caught, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. She looked down at Powder’s tear-streaked face, the raw desperation in her wide eyes. Y/N’s own tears began to pool, stinging the corners of her vision.

“Oh, Powder…” Her voice trembled as she wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl, holding her as tightly as she could. “Never… I promise I’ll never leave you. Never.”

Powder’s sniffles softened into quieter whimpers as she nodded, clinging to Y/N with all the strength she had left. Y/N reached up, gently wiping the tears from the girl’s flushed cheeks.

“What do you think about soup?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Powder nodded hesitantly, her gaze still wet and puffy. “The chicken one?”

“Your favorite one,” Y/N assured her with a faint smile, standing and lifting Powder effortlessly into her arms.

As she turned back toward Silco, her expression hardened again. “You have a kitchen, right?” She asked, her tone sharp with an edge of authority.

Silco nodded, his usual composure momentarily shaken. “Yes. Right down the hall.”

Without another word, Y/N walked past him, her grip on Powder secure and protective. Silco lingered in the doorway, watching the two retreating figures.

Powder’s red, tear-streaked face peeked over Y/N’s shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, Silco’s features softened.

He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he turned away, retreating into the shadows of the hallway.

_____________________________________________________

Blood trailed out of her stomach, thick rivulets soaking into the ground beneath her. It was warm at first, uncomfortably warm, but soon the cold of the earth seeped through her clothes, biting at her skin.

Y/N coughed violently, her breath hitching as her chest heaved, her vision swimming behind a veil of tears. She tried to move, but her body felt like lead. Every gasp sent fresh waves of pain slicing through her ribs, each one sharper than the last.

Her blood coated everything. Her hands were slick with it, trembling as they pressed against the dirt, but it only made the ground smear with more crimson. Her clothes clung to her skin, drenched in the cloying liquid. The smell of iron was suffocating, sharp and metallic, twisting her stomach in revulsion.

She hated blood. The sight, the texture, the smell, but now it was everywhere. It was hers, and it was under her nails, wedged deep. She’d never be able to scrub it out.

Was someone coming? Was anyone even looking for her? Y/N didn’t know. The thought sent a pang of despair through her, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sharp, searing pain that exploded across her abdomen.

She gasped, choking as her mouth filled with blood. The taste was bitter and metallic, flooding her senses as she doubled over and collapsed against the cold, unyielding ground.

Her cheek pressed against the dirt, rough and cool against her fevered skin. She lay there, motionless except for the shallow, uneven rise and fall of her chest.

Blood dripped from the corner of her lips, pooling in a slow, dark stain beneath her. Her gaze turned upward, past the carnage of her body, to the endless expanse of sky.

She thought of Jinx. Where was she? Was she safe? Her heart clenched at the thought of the girl finding her like this. Y/N didn’t know what was worse: Jinx witnessing her death or never knowing what had happened to her.

Y/N swallowed the pain, though it burned like fire in her throat, and gritted her teeth. For some reason, something or someone pushed her to get through this moment.

With a shaky breath, she forced herself to move. Her body protested with every inch. Her muscles screamed, her ribs ached, and her vision darkened at the edges, but she turned onto her stomach.

The dirt smeared across her face and clothes as she dragged herself forward, inch by agonizing inch. Every movement sent pain ricocheting through her body, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Jinx needed her, and she would crawl through hell itself to protect her.

“Mom?”

A small voice broke through the haze. Panic surged in Y/N’s chest, momentarily cutting through the pain. No. No, no, no! She wasn’t supposed to be here. She couldn’t see this.

“Jinx…” Y/N rasped, but her voice was little more than a whisper, drowned out by the sound of her own labored breathing.

“Y/N!” Another voice, deeper and gravelly, snapped her attention. Through her blurring vision, she could make out figures approaching. Silco, Jinx, and… Sevika?

Y/N coughed, her body convulsing as more blood spilled from her lips. She forced her head to lift, barely able to make out their faces before the weight of exhaustion pulled her back down. Her eyes fluttered shut as her body grew colder, the edges of her mind slipping further into darkness.

“Y/N!” Jinx’s scream tore through the air, raw and heartbroken. She dropped to her knees beside her, her hands hovering over the blood-soaked body. Tears streaked her cheeks, her face twisting into something desperate and anguished.

“Please, Y/N, please!” Jinx’s voice cracked as she shook her sister’s shoulders gently. “Wake up! You can’t leave me!”

Silco stood a few feet away, his expression frozen in a rare moment of shock. Y/N was meticulous, a fighter to the bone. For her to end up like this was unthinkable. His mind raced, running through the possible culprits. Someone had orchestrated this, and they would pay.

“She hates blood. Why is she covered in so much blood?” Jinx whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at Y/N’s form. Her hands trembled as she turned to Silco, her wide, tear-filled eyes pleading. “Save her! You have to save her!”

Sevika knelt beside Y/N, pressing two fingers to her neck. After a tense moment, she nodded. “She’s got a pulse,” Her voice was steady despite the tension in her jaw.

Without hesitation, Sevika scooped Y/N’s limp body into her arms. Blood seeped into her clothes as she stood, but she didn’t flinch.

“Get her home. Now,” Silco ordered, his voice low and deadly. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as his gaze swept over the scene. “Find who did this. And bring them to me.”

Silco watched them go, his jaw tight as he turned his attention back to the bloodied ground. Whoever had done this had made a grave mistake. And they would learn the cost of crossing him.

Y/N’s head lulled aimlessly, her expression peaceful as she seemed to drift off somewhere. It was a beautiful place, though she wouldn’t remember it when she’d wake up. But she knew it was beautiful.

‘You still have a promise to keep, Y/N.’

_____________________________________________________

“I must thank you, Y/N,” Silco spoke, his gravelly voice cutting through the stillness of the room.

Y/N sat across from him, her posture tense as one of Silco’s medics worked deftly to wrap the bandages around her wounds.

The faint scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mingling with the smoke curling from Silco’s cigar. “For taking care of Jinx.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat tight. There was something about the way he said her Powder’s new name, Jinx, that sent a prickle of unease down her spine. It rolled off his tongue too naturally, too comfortably, as though it belonged to her entirely.

“She’s my sister,” Y/N replied firmly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.

Silco tilted his head, the glowing ember of his cigar illuminating the sharp planes of his face. “And yet, I would think of her more as a daughter to you.” He exhaled a stream of smoke with deliberate calm, his visible eye gleaming with something unreadable. “She called you her mother, did she not?”

“She did,” Y/N admitted reluctantly, shifting under his piercing gaze. Her fingers clenched in her lap, knuckles whitening. “Whatever Jinx wants to call me, I don’t have a preference.”

“Oh, but I think you do.” Silco’s tone was laced with quiet certainty, the kind that cut deeper than any blade. He took another long drag from his cigar before letting the smoke escape in slow, curling wisps. The pungent smell burned in her lungs, making her feel as though the air itself were conspiring against her. “Jinx needs someone to train her.”

“Sevika can train her,” Y/N said curtly, her words more of a defense than a suggestion.

Silco merely hummed, his calm demeanor unshaken. “And you would trust Sevika with that responsibility?” he asked, his tone faintly amused.

Y/N feigned an eye roll, “No,” She admitted, pushing herself to her feet with a wince as the motion tugged at her bandages. “I’ll train her. If that’s all you wanted to say, you could’ve just come out with it. Whatever game you’re playing, whether it’s using Powder against me or something else, I don’t care.”

“Emotions are a volatile thing,” Silco murmured, ignoring her defiance. He turned his gaze fully on her, his infected eye glowing with eerie intensity. “Especially anger. You were reckless during your last mission, and that recklessness is why you suffered the consequences. Be grateful I decided to look out for you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, the sting of his words fueling the fire in her chest. “What? So now I’m in debt to you?”

“You are my daughter just as much as Jinx is,” Silco said evenly, his calm almost infuriating. He took another slow pull from his cigar before continuing. “I care for you just as much as I care for her.”

“We’re assets,” Y/N shot back, her voice sharper than she intended. Silco turned his head to face her fully, the soft orange glow of his infected eye swirling like a slow-burning ember.

“And is that what you truly believe?” he asked, his tone devoid of malice but laced with curiosity.

“I speak my mind, Silco,” Y/N replied, her voice cold.

“Indeed, you do,” Silco said, his lips curling into the faintest semblance of a smile. “I merely wish to express my gratitude. I’m glad you’re alive, Y/N. You fought with determination and skill.”

Y/N froze at his words, her body rigid. Gratitude? Praise? From Silco? It didn’t add up. What exactly was he playing at?

Silco leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “Despite our differences,” He said softly, his orange eye gleaming as it fixed on hers, “I care for both of you. Never doubt that.”

Y/N swallowed hard, suppressing the knot of frustration forming in her throat. Without saying another word, she nodded curtly and turned on her heel, stepping briskly out of the office. The heavy door closed behind her with a soft click, and she let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Dragging a hand through her hair, she muttered to herself, trying to gather her thoughts. (For those who cover their hair or don’t have any, my apologies for not being more inclusive!)

Her steps echoed down the quiet hallway until she suddenly stopped. A faint, familiar energy pricked at her senses.

“Jinx,” She said, her voice steady, “I know you’re there.”

Out of nowhere, the blue-haired girl landed on the floor with an exaggerated huff, as if she’d been caught mid-sneak. Her electric blue locks, now long and swept back into a messy ponytail, swayed with the movement. She looked up with a playful, slightly sheepish expression, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” Jinx asked, feigning innocence as if she hadn’t been caught red-handed.

Y/N crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘What’?” Her tone was sharp but not unkind, one hand shifted to her hip as she added pointedly, “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Jinx groaned dramatically, throwing her hands in the air as she plopped onto the floor in an exaggerated sprawl. “I know, I know! I tried! But I was bored, and I couldn’t find you!”

Y/N shook her head, her stern expression softening into a smile. “You really don’t make things easy, do you?”

Jinx perked up instantly. “So? What were you guys talking about in there? Sounded important.”

“Nothing important,” Y/N replied with a soft chuckle, her smile widening slightly as she crouched down to meet Jinx’s gaze. “But starting tomorrow, you and I have work to do.”

Jinx tilted her head, curious but intrigued. “Work? Like… fun work or boring work?”

“Training,” Y/N clarified, her tone firm but encouraging. “No excuses this time. You’re going to need it.”

taglist: @night-fall-moon @g0ul666 (If you'd like to be added tell me in the comments!!!)

[dcdreamblog]

A bit of an odd question but who was/is the best dancer in the JSA? The one mystery man who was only killed on the dancefloor?

Now this is a FUN question, though honestly one that would be hard to answer. I'll just keep it to the membership of the core, Golden Age JSA for simplicity's sake.

Let's check things off as we go.

Dr. Fate, Dr. Midnite and The Sandman: Were all noted as being incredibly mousy and introverted.

Charles McNider (Midnite): Was a lifelong bachelor who was always more concerned with his various intellectual pursuits. He didn't drink and his natural position at any function was in the corner, feeding our d'oeuvres to his owl.

Kent Nelson (Fate): Equally so, being a book learned archeologist whose wife was more likely to share a night at the library than the dance floor. At any social function, Kent and Inza Nelson truly only had attention for one another. You'd leave them alone at a candle lit dinner table and come back to find them sharing the light over some dusty scroll.

Wesley Dodds (Sandman): Was noted as being instantly eclipsed in any social or hosting capacity by his companion Dian Belmont. His teammates were often known to comment that the Dodds with and without his mask seemed like two entirely different people. Jay Garrick is once noted as saying that an unmasked Dodds "struck me most as a clerk, juxtaposed against Belmont's gothic elegance."

Starman: Would usually have been noted in a similar category to those above. UNTIL his marriage to Adele Drew. Drew was noted by a contemporary Daily Planet reporter as "Homely in appearance but of excellent humor and infectious energy" making her the perfect fit for the often melancholy intellectual she married. (That is NOT how anyone who knew her would describe her. Hippolyta once said Adele Knight was "Gorgeous of spirit and overflowing with love") While they DID dance, Knight was noted as being VERY unskilled, mostly floating along on his wife's ever present enthusiasm.

Green Lantern: Was an interesting conversationalist, and often popular at social functions, noted as having a voice for speeches. However his heavy build and more serious air kept him from being much of a dancer. (The only evidence I can find of him ever dancing is from memoirs about the reception of his wedding to his second Wife Molly Mayne (AKA Harlequin) which speaks more to the outsized effect she's had on him than anything.)

Wildcat: Any boxing historian can tell you that Ted Grant was not a sportsman known for his footwork. I read one account that described his style as "pouncing on the other guy and giving better than he got". Those more familiar with the sport can comment there. He was however known as a boisterous presence, especially when drinking.

Atom: Al Pratt was a man with a lot of good qualities. He had a lion's heart, he was loyal to a fault and he was tougher than a team of oxen. He was also 5 foot nothing and could be described as having two left feet if you cloned him and taped them together. His wife Mary wasn't known to be much better. Their "dancing" mostly included the two stepping on each other's toes, apologizing at the same time, and giggling about it.

The Spectre: ...let's be serious here.

Hawkman and Hawkgirl: Were just a TAD too self serious to be "cutting a rug" among the styles of the time. They were noted as accomplished classical dancers, the kind of couple that could draw eyes when something fancy was playing. As noted with the Nelsons above, though. It was often said that the two only ever had eyes for one another. It was running joke that the Hawks would always be the last to leave any function because they were slow dancing in each other's eyes 3 hours after the band had gone home.

Wonder Woman: Is a literal Queen. Not exactly the kind to be circling the floor at a cocktail party.

Hourman: For a born scientist, Rex Tyler was also known as particularly energetic especially in the aftermath of a battle. His wife, Wendi, being a stage actress was also trained as a dancer. Due to Rex's general lack of grace and Wendi's spontaneous, laughter prone personality however, their dancing was usually described along the lines of swinging each other around until they fell into a heap. Dr Midnite once said "It was common knowledge that any party where the Tylers only destroyed a single digit number of chairs was a sign of good fortune."

Johnny Thunder: DID dance. That does not, however, mean that he COULD dance. As the youngest and "hippest" of the JSA's number, he was always stumbling his way through the steps of this or that new dance craze that was sweeping the teenage population. He always seemed to be having fun, even if the flying debris of hands and feet made his space on any dance floor a rather wide berth.

Black Canary: I cannot describe to you the amount of a sexpot this woman was for her time. Like. Wavy hair over one eye, netted stocking, slit up both thighs, low cut, smoky eye shadow, wolf whistle, eye popping, hummina hummina AWOOGA sexy. Every single time the original Black Canary walked in the room, every monocle hit the floor and a bunch of upper class ladies discovered what lesbianism felt like. The woman could dance, and she could make the whole room WATCH her dance. But let's be clear in that no one was watching her "dance". You get me?

Mr Terrific: I mean obviously. There was not a single goddamn skill that one could quantify that Terry Sloane did not possess. All the big, fancy dance steps that people take classes for he could do inside, outside and backward inside an afternoon. Among his medals and accolades are evidently national ribbons in Salsa, Waltz AND Flamenco. He's Mr. Terrific. He could dance.

But then there's the actual ANSWER to the question.

The Flash: Jay and Joan Garrick were gaga for each other. Happily, loudly, publically, head over heels in love. The kind of love that starts a clan (which they eventually did, neither here nor there). The JSA is an organization RIFE with all time great love stories. But Jay and Joan Garrick were not a love story, they were the kind of light up the room, keep the conversation going, huddle the whole gang around the fireplace talking about nothing until sun up kind of couple. Socially, the entire JSA revolved around them.

And they danced. Boy did they DANCE. The kind of dancing that only a midwestern couple like that CAN do. The kind that got everybody up on their feet and clapping with the steps. The kind where a sweep of her simple dress somehow made her look like a twin city princess. The kind where a simple flourish and a dip made Jay seem like the most romantic leading man of all time. They danced because their happiness was infectious, and every time they did, a simple benefit party became a barn burner.

(A picture, originally secret. From Jay Garrick's bachelor party. June, 1947. For those of you wondering. That makes this June their 77th)

[sunshinerainbowsandlollipops]

Secret Santa gift for @marauding-almond! Merry Christmas and Happy New year! I hope you like it <3.

If you find a typo, please let me know so I can change it

"This year's been wild honestly," Sirius said, lazily throwing a leaf into the black lake and leaning back on Remus’ chest. It floated for a few moments before a bird nearby pecked at it - probably thinking it was food. The poor bird. 

"It really has," said James, "I mean if you had told me we'd be sitting here, at the Black Lake, with Slytherins, I don't think I would've believed it."

"I still don't believe it," Regulus grumbled, laying his head on Barty's chest. Barty laughed and Regulus smiled at the sound, revelling at the feeling of knowing that it was him who had caused it. 

"Ok, well if we're all naming things we can't believe, I have to say, I can't believe how long it took for those two to confess and get on with it," Lily said, nodding at Remus and Sirius, though it was really unnecessary. Everyone could tell who she was talking about. 

"She's right. Though to be fair, it took them about 5 years to realise their own feelings towards each other. Let's just be glad they got past THAT before 6th year," Peter said.

"You know, I can't believe we never figured out who charmed all the Slytherin banners in the common room to turn into Gryffindor banners. That was so long ago and still no one owned up to it," Regulus mused. Remus and Peter shared a look.

"Oh yeah that was us," Remus said casually. Sirius and James both sent him a confused look. Sirius spoke.

“No it wasn’t.”

“Yeah, it was me and Peter. You two were at quidditch practice, we saw James’ cloak, we were bored and thought why not?” Remus explained casually, not even looking up from where his hand was stroking his boyfriend’s hair. Barty on the other hand, looked ready to jump up and strangle both Peter and Remus. Thankfully for them though, Regulus was on his lap, so Barty had no choice but to stay put.

“IT WAS YOU TWO THIS WHOLE TIME? I spent ages trying to figure it out! I thought it was Evan sleepwalk-talking or something! I feel so betrayed!”

Remus and Peter burst into laughter. James and Sirius, after getting over the shock, joined them, patting them on their backs and praising them. Lily looked at the four boys with amusement (though Peter saw how her eyes lingered on James just a little bit more than the rest) while Barty and Regulus sat almost helplessly, still looking like they were trying to fit the puzzle pieces together. Evan looked a bit mortified, and it took Peter a while to figure out why but when he finally did…

“Wait, hold on, can we go back to the part where you said something about Evan sleepwalk-talking?” Peter said, still holding back laughter. Evan dropped his head into his hands, resigned to his fate. Barty and Regulus exchanged an seemingly exasperated look - but there was a slightly wicked gleam to it.

“Oh you know. Evan has this habit of sleepwalking, but sometimes he talks too. It leads to…incidents,” Barty started off, speaking louder than he really needed to, like had to make sure everyone heard.

“Yeah. Barty, remember that one time he accidentally cast an aguamenti charm and completely soaked himself in water? It looked like he had wet the bed!” Regulus picked up Barty's cue, also speaking louder than needed. Evan interrupted, finally having decided that he wasn’t having any more of this.

“Ok yeah, but remember that time at the end of 5th year- so last year I mean- when I accidentally walked into Barty’s bed and you thought he was cheating on you and you got so angry that you didn’t talk to us for a month? Even after I explained?” A smug look replaced Evan’s mortified one as Regulus coloured crimson and Barty smirked at him.

“Wait, was that why Regulus started talking to us? Because he thought you two were, you know, betraying him or whatever and I was the only other person in the school he knew? I suppose we have Rosier to thank for bringing us together then” Sirius jested. If it was even possible, Regulus burned a darker red.

“Ok haha very funny we should go back to the New Year’s party now.”

Peter saw the look of surprise on everyone’s faces - Regulus? Go back to a party? But everyone knew not to push him. Still no one moved, content to spend the night there, talking, laughing.

“We really should go back though. People are going to wonder what we’re doing,” James said, standing up and extending a hand to Lily. After a moment’s hesitation, she took it. A suggestive smile played on Barty’s lips at James’ words, but whatever he was going to say, he decided against it and pressed a kiss to Regulus’ head, urging him to stand up instead. 

As the eight of them trudged back up to the castle, James and Lily hung a little back, behind the rest of the group. Peter had a feeling he knew what they were talking about so he slowed down, waiting for them to catch up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked when they did. James and Lily shared a look and sighed, both turning their heads right to look at Peter. 

“Well, we want to kiss at midnight, but everyone’s going to know if we do,” James explained. Peter nodded, his earlier theory being confirmed.

“Right. Remind me why you don’t want anyone to know about your relationship again?” 

Peter was the only one who knew after he accidentally walked in on them kissing. That…was an interesting day, though it was not entirely unexpected. He supposed he had thought James would’ve told his friends straight away, and finding out he hadn’t had surprised him more than anything else.

“Because it feels so new and fragile and delicate. And honestly, it feels nice keeping it to us for now. Like our own secret. Of course, when we’re ready, I would shout it out to the whole world. My girlfriend is amazing!”

The two shared a loving look and Peter smiled at their affection. They made a good couple.

“Alright, well if I say that I don’t want to be kissed… and Mary has her boyfriend of course…Marlene and Dorcas…then Remus, Sirius, Barty and Regulus are already taken… and you two make sure to be together in between people who are already kissing someone… we can make it look like you two had no choice but to kiss each other,” Peter thought out loud. It was a very bad plan, but he knew no one would pay too much attention to it.

James broke into a smile and, after checking to see if anyone was looking, pressed a quick kiss to Lily’s forehead.

“See this is why it’s a good thing Peter knows, darling.”

“I suppose it is,” Lily sighed happily, clearly content with Peter’s plan, however vague it may be.

As they got closer to the Gryffindor common room, the Slytherins of the group held back as Sirius said the password (they had learnt to do so when Sirius had accused them of being spies a year ago). When the portrait swung open, Peter was immediately invited to the sound of laughter, music and chatter.

James walked in first, immediately being swallowed by the crowd. Everyone followed him in and started to mingle. Peter, as usual, made a beeline straight for the stairs to the dorms. They provided him with the best people-watching point since it allowed him to be above everyone else. A quick glance at the giant magical watch hovering in the middle told him there were five minutes till midnight. He supposed he should go find Lily and James to make sure they were in the right spot in a bit.

Quickly scanning the crowd, he found James laughing with his arm around Sirius, who was seemingly telling a very funny story. He found Lily not far from him talking to another Gryffindor girl, stealing not-so-furtive glances towards her boyfriend. He quickly scurried down the stairs to find his friend.

The crowd was dense, which meant he really had to shove people out of the way to get anywhere, but Peter had always been good at slipping through cracks. And honestly, it was always fun squeezing between the people; he would catch the most interesting snippets of conversation. Wrinkling his nose at a particularly squealy ‘he was so good last night!’, he finally reached James and tapped his shoulder. James turned to him and smiled, but Peter just grabbed his elbow and said, “It's nearly midnight.” As soon as James heard that, he grabbed Sirius’ arm and pulled him along too. He navigated James to Lily and then took them both to where he had seen Remus and the Slytherins (all lurking in the shadows like ghosts) and made sure to strategically place James and Lily in the middle.

As the minute closed, Peter saw everyone's conversations dwindle and every head turned to face the clock in the middle of the room. It had been a wild year, Peter thought to himself. A lot had happened and he found himself realising that he was glad he got to be a part of it. All of it. As the clock started counting down the seconds from 10, people joined in, counting out loud.

“10!”

Regulus and Barty shuffled further into the shadows - if that was even possible.

“9!”

Sirius pulled Remus out of the shadows.

“8!”

Peter saw Marlene and Dorcas rush down the girl dormitory stairs and mix in with the crowd. They had lost the two before they had decided to go down to the Black Lake and decided that if the couple wanted to find them, they would know where to go.

“7!”

“6!”

“5!”

Pandora, who had been missing for most of the party (something to do with New Years nargles? Peter wasn't sure) came and stood next to Evan, who wrapped an arm around his sister’s shoulder.

“4!

James and Lily shuffled towards the centre.

“3!”

“2!”

“1!”

The room exploded with “HAPPY NEW YEAR” and laughter and colour as people shared a kiss, shook hands, exchanged hugs. Peter smiled as he saw James holding Lily close and Evan and Pandora locked in an embrace. Which lasted for a total of 2 seconds. Evan let go and quickly pinched his sister’s cheek before she had a chance to do anything to him first. His friends came closer, surrounding James and Lily since they had been in the middle. Barty grinned.

“Finally managed to pull Evans, Potter?” 

Lily scoffed.

“Please. I just felt bad for him. Imagine not having anyone to kiss on New Year’s!” she said. “Unless of course, by choice,” she added apologetically, looking at Peter, Evan and Pandora.

Peter shook it off with a wave of his hand.

As a floating plate carrying drinks passed by the group, they each took one glass. Sirius lifted his in the air and said, “To Remus Lupin, for finally accepting himself.” 

And so they began their yearly tradition of toasting each other on New Year’s. Someone would start by toasting someone, whoever they chose. Then that person had to raise a glass to someone of their choice next. Since Sirius had toasted Remus, Remus spoke.

“To Lily Evans, for surviving another year putting up with James.”

“To Peter, for always being there for any one of us.”

“To James - He knows why.” 

“To Barty, for making my brother’s brother slightly less miserable!”

“To Regulus, for finally realising he’s a human! With emotions!”

“To Evan, thank you for bringing my brother and I close again. But if any of you tell anyone I said this, I will deny it - Or worse!”

Chuckling, Evan raised his glass last.

“To all of us! For finally realising that surprisingly enough, we make a good bunch of people!”

[maluuustrawberry]

Hey did you finish Undesirable Encounter Part 2 Ty 🥰🥰

Undesirable encounter

Part.2 (Claude Frollo X Reader)

A/N: Hi dear, sorry for the delay, I said I would do it hehehe. I wanted to thank you readers for your support and I didn't expect the first part to get so many views (I'm surprised, almost 500 notes) and a lot of people asked me for the sequel so I do. I did it with my best friend @thefanofnotredame, I hope you like it❤️. {If you haven't seen part one, it's here}

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It was morning, around 8 or 9 o'clock. You were already awake, but in your room. It was hard to stop thinking about the judge's fateful and unwelcome appearance in your store. As you sat in front of the window in a wooden chair, you sipped a hot drink in front of the only light in your room, which was white and dramatic, melancholy.

What made you think even more about the whole situation was the fact that tonight you were supposed to go to the palace of justice and deliver the damn cloak and pair of gloves to Frollo in person. The whole thing was uncomfortable, almost dark. Just thinking about that man's touch on your hands again... Argh! How horrible. But at the same time, there was something very... peculiar about the look in his eyes from before. That look that touched you - almost literally - with all that malice; it was almost a trap for something that, suddenly, in front of your bedroom window, began to attract you very much, almost like hypnosis.

Realizing that you were already too absorbed in your own thoughts and near delusions, you quickly shook your head and left the window, heading for your closet so you could change your clothes.

At the same time as this was happening, on the other side of town, the judge was in his palace of justice and completely isolated in his office. No guards entered or left where he was. He walked from side to side, looking like he was going to go mad at any moment. He wasn't even wearing his judge's clothes, just a baggy white shirt with brown pants, which stuck to his legs, and black shoes.

The judge seemed troubled by something he couldn't solve. A legal case? Criminals and murderers going wild in the streets of La Cité? No, it was something else. It was a person who kept him awake.

After meeting that seamstress for the first time, he couldn't stop seeing her in his dreams, his morning thoughts or even his everyday actions. He felt that she was following him in everything he did.

How? How could a woman of such a low class, compared to his own, bewitch the man of God? He looked out of the window at the grayish-white light and wondered: How could he, the judge who had humiliated her, look her in the eye again? Was he the one who was being embarrassing or was he the one getting embarrassed by the way the young woman looked? Everything - all those questions drove him crazy. He wanted to isolate himself from all these thoughts, because he knew that God could easily hear them at any time.

Frollo really had to do something about all those feelings. He couldn't get rid of them, either by shouting at the guards or by making a cruel judgment on some criminal. "God, what has this woman done to me?" the man asked himself, distressed and sitting down in the chair in front of his desk in his elegant office.

Suddenly, someone knocked on his door.

“Come in.” The judge answered, giving the person permission to enter his office, putting his arms on the table and placing a hand on his forehead, almost rolling his eyes with hatred.

One of his guards poked his head into the office, spying on the judge for a few seconds and then entering the office completely, closing the door behind him. The guard looked nervous, worried, but maybe it was just the way this place and the judge made him feel:

“Speak up. What happened?” Frollo asked, looking at the guard.

“Sir, we've already dealt with the problem.”

“What problem?” He asked, distracted and staring at the table with old paperwork and a pot of ink with an exaggeratedly large black quill.

“The problem, sir. With that bandit from a few days ago. He confessed that he stole a lot more than we thought, can you believe it? Jewelry, shoes.”

“Yes, and?” He lifted a sheet of paper from the pile, looking at some words. With that answer, the guard was startled.

“...what do you mean, sir?” The guard asked, almost in shock. “We've been trying to get a word out of this thug for days! He's so strong.”

“Are you finished?”

When the judge cut off the guard's speech in such a rude way, he raised his head at him with a very annoyed expression, as if he hadn't wanted to hear a word the young man had said:

“I don't care about this guy anymore. He's given us enough trouble. Throw him with those rabble of prisoners, tramps and criminals! Let's have a trial with him another day.” Rolling his eyes at the papers again, he pulled out one of the sheets and read it. He showed no real interest on it, not a single one, and the guard realized this quickly, frowning downwards.

“Sir, is something wrong?”

“Hm?” He moved his head to look at the guard, totally inattentive and with his mind on something else.

“You seem... I don't know... discouraged? We were too focused on the bandit issue.”

“I just lost interest, I have more important things to worry about.” The judge replied dryly and sighed. “I'll be receiving a seamstress tonight at the palace of justice, stay tuned and let me know if she arrives.”

“Oh, yes, the seamstress... as far as she's concerned, we didn't hear from her this morning. So, just to be on the safe side, we'll check on her later, since the delivery won't be until the evening. What do you think, sir?”

In the blink of an eye, the judge raised his head to look at the guard, almost as fast as a drop. He widened his eyes and almost let his mouth open wider than it should have, just for finally being able to talk about that subject that had only been stuck in his head and that was finally hanging over their conversation. "Oh, what a relief!", thought the older man to himself:

“I think it's very good, lieutenant.” He said, already with a slightly shrewd and debauched expression, arranging his arms on the table and placing an elbow against the surface near the papers, putting a hand under his chin, holding his head. “Well, you remember that she was suspected of helping and harboring those gypsies, don't you?”

“Yes, sir…”

“When you go there, keep an eye out if you happen to see any gypsies in that store. Make sure she's actually doing something good, because I don't want her to cheat me, or even try to.”

“But why would a mere seamstress have bad intentions towards you?”

Suddenly, Frollo cast a very threatening glance at the guard, slowly getting up from his chair and resting his hands on the table:

“You're not thinking of denying my order, are you?”

“B-But, sir, I…”

“Are you?”

The guard, his eyes wide with fear, began to stutter and placed part of his hand against his forehead, making a sign of obedience to an order:

“I'm not, sir!” He spoke, almost fearing for his life and looking up so as not to have his soul ripped out by his eyes.

“Good…” The judge sat down as if it were nothing and looked at the rest of the paperwork. “Go and see the girl and bring me news. I want it to be quick and brief, unless you want to join the bandit in being tortured too.”

“Y-Yes, sir…”

“Oh! You want that?...” The evil man cut the guard off abruptly, mocking his nervousness with an evil smile, while still looking at the papers and the table.

“I-I don't want to, sir, I mean...I...I'm going”

The poor man, practically submissive in his position, left the judge's office in almost the blink of an eye, afraid of being sentenced right there.

Even though the judge delighted in such agony coming from a 'little man' like the one in front of him a few seconds ago, he slowly wiped the smile off his face, because the image of the lady sewing appeared in his mind again. "What a curse, what torture! She must be a witch, that's for sure. That woman can't get out of my head, she's like a needle stuck in my skull!"

And so it went with the man, slowly becoming anguished inside every time he thought of the beautiful seamstress. In the blink of an eye, it was afternoon.

The seamstress kept moving around and always ended up bumping into one place or another, injuring herself on her frames and arms. All this was happening because she was so anxious, even if it was only to make a pair of gloves and a cape. After many restless minutes, you finally sat down to sew:

“Damn judge, damn man... he could ask for these things anywhere else, but no! He wants to torture me, to punish me with his hypocritical, petty, mean 'justice'!” The seamstress complained nervously as she touched up the fingertips of the glove.

Suddenly, you began to feel watched, so you decided to look up and were startled: a guard, not at all discreetly, was watching you through the window pane. It was the usual clumsy man, of course, but the fact that he was - of course - directly sent by Frollo made your blood bubble even more. Since you couldn't take your anger out on the man, you looked down after a few seconds and gritted your teeth with your mouth closed, but with your lips visibly curved, showing that you weren't happy at all.

It also made you a little tense and one of the reasons was that a gypsy woman was hiding with her daughter in the basement of your store, if they came out of there now, that would be it, but on the one hand you were a little relieved that they came before the guard arrived and stared at you at the door. It seems that Frollo knew what you were up to.

The poor woman was fighting against time. As she passed the thread and needle through the fabrics, she didn't realize that it was - almost literally - going by faster than the day. Even with blood, sweat and hatred, she finished her work and let out a great sigh, taking the air into her lungs as if it was the first time she had done this all day.

When you raised your head, to your surprise, it was still late. The sun was still setting and the sky was slowly losing its reddish hue. Ah, that was enough to blow your mind.

“... I can't believe it.” You said, almost without blinking and with a look of disbelief at the situation, looking sideways and putting a hand to your forehead. “My God... how? It can't be!”

Good. Now you had to wait until the evening. Of course, it would be just as bad if you ended things at short notice, but... waiting anxiously for that meeting with the man to happen was torture. Since when are you punished for beating the clock?

“DAMN!” You shouted, groaning in anguish and getting away from your desk to go somewhere else. “If he doesn't ask for me to be picked up with his carriage, he's going to hear some good shit! Sending some little guy to put pressure on me?! Well, how inconsiderate…”

And you kept talking as you paced back and forth as soon as you stood up, but you realized that time wasn't going to go any faster if you kept muttering your discontent. You had to calm down or you'd go mad. The seamstress decided to make herself a cup of tea in an attempt to calm her nerves and read a book so that time would pass more quickly.

*****

Night fell. The streets were dark; along with the curfew that had begun to apply earlier in the day in the city. As expected, no carriages passed your store. Well, what a surprise, huh?

Before the curfew started, the Romani woman and her daughter said they were going out, you insisted that they stay and come back to the Court of Miracles only in the morning, but they didn't want to bother you, so, to be safer, you recommended that they go out the back.

The seamstress was sorting out the judge's gloves and cape. After that, being a vain woman, you meticulously checked in your mirror that you looked good, that your dress fit you well and that your hairstyle was impeccable. Why this excessive concern? You didn't know, you had no idea.

Draping a shawl over your shoulders, you left your store and began the lonely walk to the palace of justice with the package. The cold evening breeze touched your face, the beginning of winter in Paris. Walking through the streets, you could see the stores and markets closing and residents heading for their homes, respecting the curfew while guards stood on every street corner, ready to arrest anyone who was bold enough to break the judge's rule.

Little did the seamstress know that, from afar, Claude Frollo was staring at her from one of the tower windows of his comfortable office, while you had to walk to where the man was. Poor woman, isn't she? Covering herself with a shawl so desperately not to be seen... wait. A shawl? Oh. Oh, my goodness.

When the man realized that you were wearing something to cover your bust and shoulders, he widened his eyes and walked backwards in surprise, but then began to make a serious, fearful expression. His mind started having those thoughts again, those unconscious and absurd thoughts.

With each passing second of waiting, the judge felt as if his self-control was going to fail him at any moment and almost threw himself into the chair behind his desk as he sat down, trapped in his sinful reverie. His body suddenly began to heat up, irritation gradually took hold of him and he regained his composure.

Finally, the girl reached the gates of the Palace of Justice. The guards who were there soon saw her:

“Is this in your hands the order of Judge Claude Frollo?” One of the tall men asked.

“Yes, he said to meet him now.”

“Very good.” He replied.

The men opened the doors of the place and you entered, almost quickly, making the men close the door faster than usual too, with his hands still on the thick iron rods. At that moment, they looked at each other and made a strange expression, with their faces a little closer:

“Is that pretty girl the seamstress?” The guard on the left asked, almost whispering.

“Yes, she's really pretty. But I didn't know that women could run their own business without their husband's supervision.” replied the one on the right, causing the one on the left to make a slightly annoyed expression.

“Yeah... I don't even know if they can, not like that. The crazy judge must have made her do something for him on purpose, just to embarrass her.”

While the men gossiped about the strange situation, you walked around the place with a somewhat cowed look on your face. The place seemed too gloomy to be focused on justice, almost like a gloomy marquis' castle, full of guards and torches in every corner. You looked up and the ceiling was higher than that of any house or mansion, and the colors were too dark to distinguish at that time. The seamstress began to walk faster and arrived at the judge's office. Anger gradually overcame you at the knowledge that you would have to see this man's face again and you regained your posture, taking a deep breath and knocking on the door, then hearing that authoritative, harsh voice you knew all too well saying "Come in"

If it wasn't already clear enough that night fell faster than a stone before, it would be even more so now, precisely because of the moonbeams invading the man's office, his face being the first thing you could see. When you entered the office and closed the large wooden door behind you, you could see the place around you better and even noticed a small fireplace burning in the corner of the room:

“Good evening, sir.” You said seriously, trying not to be nervous, but it was a little obvious, and you couldn't let go of the delivery in your sweat-damp hands.

Frollo simply looked at you without changing his cold expression. After watching you arrive through the window, he quickly changed and put on only his big judge's cloak over his ordinary ones.

“Finally.”

He slowly got up from his chair and put one hand on the table, leaning on it and stepping out from behind it, putting his arms behind him. You put the bag with the delivery on his desk, without looking at his face:

“Since I didn't take your measurements, I ended up using a previous client's size just for a base, but I can correct it if it doesn't fit.”

“Well, but, seamstress…” The judge quickly countered, in a false and mocking tone just to bother you. “How am I supposed to know, or rather feel, that this is the right size? My fingers aren't like any other man's…”

“By putting them on.” You answered in a tone as if you were stating the obvious, your gaze going to him now as you held the long cape.

With that answer, he made an offended expression for a second, but quickly rolled his eyes and closed them, taking a deep breath. As if nothing was wrong, he walked towards her and stood in front of her, looking haughty.

“Be brief. Let's see the package I ordered.”

The woman had to hold back the urge to roll her eyes in disgust at his haughty air of superiority. You showed him the cape, he could see a little of it from the fireplace:

“I made it from the pattern that would look best on you, in my opinion.” The cape seemed to be made of two fabrics, burgundy on the inside and black on the outside.

The man looked closely at the cape, even took it in his hands and brushed his fingers against your for a brief second, coughing in a discreet and slightly embarrassed way, a little electricity and adrenaline coursing through his body at the slightest touch, which, deep down, he craved. He disguised it:

“Not bad. Silk?”

“Yes, sir…” You nodded. “Can you turn around, please?” He was a little suspicious of your request and you held back a sigh. You couldn't believe that you had to explain everything to him. “To see if the size is correct.”

“That's fine.” He said irreverently.

As he turned, Frollo felt the girl's delicate hands brushing against his skin again, but this time on his neck - which made him clench his jaw as he closed his eyes. He didn't know if it was a common agony at being touched by commoners or if it was something beyond his own self-centeredness. And yet, the seamstress had no idea what her touch was doing to him, after all, she was only being professional:

“Is the length good, or would you prefer it shorter?” You asked, breaking the silence.

“It's perfect.” He answered quickly, as if he was going to have a fit.

You then removed your hands from around his neck and shoulders, folding the cloak and placing it on the table. Frollo could still feel the small flaming trail of the girl's hand on his body, which made him miss it a little and yearn for more. When he turned around, the seamstress was taking the black gloves out of the bag and he immediately held out his left hand to you, who found this strange since he could put them on by himself.

"Look at that." you thought a little annoyed as you put the glove on his hand. "He's so inconvenient... how can he be? He wants me to act like his maid, doesn't he? Do you think I'm honored to serve you? Idiot judge..."

“So, sir?” You asked, turning your gaze to his and pretending to look calm “Are you satisfied?”

“With what?” He asked, slightly startled and almost wide-eyed.

“...with the gloves and the cape, sir.” You answered, confused by his reaction and holding your hands together, your arms against your hips in a formal way. You even blinked a little, trying to understand the situation.

“Oh, yes. They're suitable…”

He answered in such a strange way that it only made the seamstress think that he wasn't in the best condition to be seen at that moment, as if he was bothered by your presence or even that he didn't really like your delivery at all. You didn't care, but deep down you were worried about something, you felt bad and it wasn't just because of the energy of the palace of justice or the man in front of you:

“I think it's over here. The value was eight pieces of silver.”

“Before you go, seamstress, I want to clarify a few things...”

Frollo spoke as he moved away from you, going to the door and turning the key in the lock. You watched this action and a shiver ran down your spine, your body frozen with fear and anxiety. By instinct, you took a step backwards and your hips ended up resting on the edge of the table, trapping you:

“Do you think you can outsmart me?” He put his hands together as soon as he closed the door, approaching you but standing at a ‘respectable’ distance.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I'm talking about, seamstress.” He spoke with hatred in his eyes.

“This Romani business again?” You asked, defensively and looking him up and down in disbelief. He couldn't have found out... “I told you I didn't help anyone and you searched my store.”

The older man didn't hold back his laughter when he saw you insisting on the lie. He had you trapped now, like a fly caught in a spider's web with no way out. He continued:

“You're a brazen viper…”

“Your Honor, despite your position, I will not accept being called that. If you want to have a normal conversation with me, at least be respectful.”

This took him by surprise. He hated that boldness, especially coming from a commoner like you - who had defied him before. His blood boiled with both hatred and lust as he recalled the moment before the first time he had been in your store, remembering how defiant you had been, but also your hands touching at that moment. Out of anger, Frollo stepped closer, taking heavy steps and cornered you, resting his hands on the table on either side of you. Your breath caught in your throat and you opened your eyes wide in fear and surprise:

“You're the one who owes me respect here, and don't change the subject. I sent one of my men to your store and received news that didn't leave me stunned: Two gypsies coming out of the back of your store... what do you have to say about that?”

It shocked you. You've been found out. Fucking guard...

Your heartbeat was racing from the truth being discovered and the proximity of the man, which caused you fear, nervousness and anxiety, leaving your legs weak. Claude laughed a little when he saw her silence and her expression and continued:

“It's a shame to see you lying and risking your life to save that gypsy scum who doesn't deserve such kindness…”

“Get away!” You murmured a little frightened and he didn't move, overwhelmed by hatred and the little lust present.

“Viper sorceress... What do you have to say about it? What's your defense?”

You put your hands on his chest, preventing him from coming any closer. He practically spat those words out of the hatred he felt for being tricked. With your movement, the shawl on your shoulders came down a little, the judge's heart pounded and he swallowed dry at the sight in front of him. As frightened as you were, you noticed that look on yout shoulders and that expression of disgust, but at the same time so lascivious... Then you realized something in his previous words that made you confused:

“Sorceress? Why are you accusing me of witchcraft? What evidence do you have against that?” You asked in a defiant and angry tone.

“There's no point in denying your crimes!”

“I'm not denying it, I'm not denying that I lied! And yes, I tried to save those Romanis, but I won't accept false accusations of witchcraft... What proof do you have against me? Tell me!”

The man froze. He just stared at you as if you were something that frightened him, or even something that he just wanted to touch. He looked as if he was going to pounce on the seamstress at any moment, as if she were prey. That animalistic feeling grew inside him even more under the moonlight and the light of the fireplace, the two of them staring at each other as if any false move would end in disaster.

Suddenly, the judge looked down in a reflective manner, his gaze almost trembling, while the sound of the wood burning became deafening and the flame that burned it seemed to be less warm than the sensation they both felt in their bodies, heating them up with adrenaline. He muttered something, but you couldn't hear it, which annoyed you a little and you asked seriously:

“What did you say? Speak loud and clear, what have you got against me?!”

“You've bewitched me!” He vociferated with hatred in his voice, and continued. “You've made me, a man of God, desire you as you've never desired anyone. The love of a convict!”

You were both silent for a few seconds, weighed down by the weight of your emotions, you stunned and he foolish:

“I don't know what kind of witchcraft you've done, seamstress, but you're driving me crazy. I've been thinking about you from the moment I laid eyes on you... and your shoulders... and your hands...” He turned a little to the side, looking at his hands gleaming in the firelight. “... So lacking in discipline and obedience, so blatantly... How could that attract me? It felt like a thousand demons were attacking me, with visions of a woman flashing through my mind and my eyes, and this woman… was you.”

He looked at the reddish fire in the fireplace with a little difficulty, intense. A reflection of his repressed emotions being exposed, in the midst of a chaos that could no longer be controlled. You were in shock. A shock so tremendous that you were speechless at such accusations, your heart racing like the judge in front of you, you felt hatred, but also pity... why?

You came out of your thoughts when you felt his hand in contact with yours that was resting on the table, squeezing it as if you were some kind of possession of his and his thumb caressing the back of your hand:

“But I can forgive you for this crime and pretend that nothing happened…”

He whispered close to your ear, his warm breath in contact with your neck making you shiver. Because he was so close, Frollo could smell the perfume on your neck. You asked, challenging him:

“And who are you to think that your forgiveness is so important to me? God, by any chance?”

With that answer, anger took over the judge's body and he gripped your chin tightly, forcing you to look at him, who had fire in his eyes. His fingers squeezed your cheeks:

“I swear to God, I'm going to break your arrogance, woman.”

Unexpectedly, you were surprised by a kiss on the lips before you could say anything else. Your eyes widened at the unexpected action and you tried to pull away, but he wouldn't budge; on the contrary, he pushed you harder against the table. You hated yourself for the next move…

In a second, you closed your eyes and returned the judge's kiss. Even though it was a rough, hateful kiss, it intensified, bringing out a confusing mixture of sensations. Frollo's hand, which was on your chin, slid down your face until it reached your neck, squeezing lightly, but not enough to suffocate you, so that a moan came from you. He took advantage of this moment to enter your mouth with his tongue, exploring it. An uncontrollable and overwhelming desire dominated them both, and they didn't care about anything else at that moment.

You broke off the kiss to catch your breath. You were confused by what had just happened and Frollo stared at every part of your face; your eyes, your slightly rosy cheeks and your beautiful expression... Frollo's hand didn't leave your neck, as if he wanted to show some kind of dominance there.

The two of you get closer and closer again, as if you were hypnotized and surrendering to lust to start another kiss. A sudden noise comes from the office door, which causes the judge to quickly let go of the woman and move away, pretending nothing has happened and his stern demeanor returning, but still with suspicion and desire present:

“Come in.” he allowed, before clearing his throat. And you quickly recovered before the door opened, straightening the skirt of your dress and draping your shawl over your shoulder.

The door opened to reveal the guard, who, upon entering, hesitated slightly as he realized that he didn't seem welcome at the moment. Even so, he insisted on saying something:

“Hello, sir… and miss.” Said the man, confused. “Am I in the way?”

“Be brief…” Frollo sighed and ran a hand through his gray hair.

The soldier looked at them both briefly with trepidation and decided to look away, trying to avoid the tension in the air.

“Well, er…” Before continuing, he coughed “I just wanted to ask your permission to start training this afternoon because we've been waiting and…”

He started babbling on about it, as well as being brief as he ordered, which irritated the judge, an irritation visible in his eyes. Frollo just nodded as if he didn't care and also seemed anxious for the guard to finish once and for all and leave. You just wanted to get rid of this embarrassing situation, you were afraid that the guard would suspect what was going on between the two of you and you wanted to get back to your store before you caused any more trouble:

“Well, since we've finished our conversation, I think I should go. Goodbye, gentlemen.” You said, bowing slightly as a gesture of respect and farewell.

Frollo was surprised by what you said and then raised his face with a different expression, as if he actually wanted you to stay, but you quickly fled the men's sight and left the judge's office, passing through the corridors that led to the exit of the palace.

As you walked down the street to your house, you were still thinking about what had just happened. You soon arrived at the store and quickly locked the door, as if you were being chased by someone, then leaned your back against the wall and brought your hand up to your lips. You'd just kissed the cruelest judge in Paris, you'd just kissed the man you hated and you'd fallen for your own hypocrisy.

Both went against their own laws. Both went against their own character. Both felt that everything was about to turn upside down. On the one hand, a judge on the verge of a moral collapse, on the other, a seamstress trapped in mortal doubt. The ending is almost as clear as glass: Grandiose changes and a drama that could end in either blood or something unacceptable to French society.

End...

[i-am-beckyu]

Patience is a Virtue and Trust is Earned

A continuation of my Christmas fic One Small Gift

AYOOOOO! 3RD YEAR IN A ROW I'VE WRITTEN A CHRISTMAS FIC! LETS GO! I've been writing this fic on and off for almost a year ever since posting the first fic and got a few people wanting a sequel so congratulations!! You got your wish!!!

I recommend reading the first fic if you haven't already as this fic references plot that may not make sense without context so please consider reading it first before reading on. I'm gonna ramble on at the end of this fic but without further ado, MERRY CHRISTMAS AND ENJOY!!!

cw: fear, lying, panic and anxiety, hidden identity, magic and a TONNE of fluff and whimsey!

word count: 9180

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Borrowers.

Tiny scavengers that take human things for survival.

Well, that’s what all the articles say.

Wilbur leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. His back popped from the unhealthy way he’d been hunched over his computer for the last few hours, but he hardly noticed as he scrolled the internet.

“Yet another useless article that tells me nothing about how to actually coax one out.” He sighed dejectedly.

Now you are absolutely right, he should be studying right now while at University and not googling Borrowers again for the millionth time, but it’s not like he wanted to risk doing it at home. No way was he going to jeopardise having Tommy leave.

It had been a few weeks since Wilbur had met the young boy that fateful Christmas Eve and he was positive they hadn’t left. Not when he was now able to recognise the tell tale signs of a scavenger living in his walls. But the man was getting a tad testy about not being able to speak to them in person. 

Over and over Wilbur had to tell himself that Tommy trusted Santa Claus, not him. If they ever got a tiny hint that he knew of their existence, then that would be it and the boy would be gone. If a Borrower was seen, the rule they set for themselves was they had to leave no matter the circumstances. Staying after being seen was an absolute no no and never worth the risk. The articles had been very extensive on that point.

His other option to try and unknowingly lure the boy out wasn’t going very well either. Every idea seemed either too obvious, or too dangerous to attempt. (No he definitely did not consider using a mouse trap…)

Tommy was smart enough to avoid those anyway.

But he couldn’t ignore the growing urge to speak to them despite how foolish it would be to do so. It’s not like he could just walk straight up to Tommy’s wall and be like: “Hi I’m Wilbur but you already know that and I know you’re living in my walls. Sorry for ruining your house and kidnapping you haha.”

…

Yeah that would definitely send Tommy packing.

So like anyone does when they’ve run out of ideas, Wilbur rushed to the internet and started doing his research.

Borrowers- who are they, and how to befriend one.

Surprisingly, it seemed there were definitely people who knew about them. The few articles proof enough; but no one seemed to know anything further or wanted to speak up about how they knew what they did. The few authors or bloggers he’d emailed ended up ghosting him when asked to elaborate or rudely shut him down (looking at you PandasCanPVP) and though it did make sense they didn’t answer his questions; protect the borrowers and their code etc, it was still damn frustrating that no one was open to helping him. 

He’d at least done a few things to aid Tommy a bit more. He left more food out for longer than required and on the lower shelves so the blonde didn’t have to go to such lengths for a meal, and he’d creatively turned an unused draw into a junk draw and filled it with a bunch of mismatched items with multiples of each so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about him getting suspicious. (He definitely did not smile when he counted 6 paper clips instead of 7)

But there wasn’t really anything more he could do in terms of coaxing Tommy out. Wilbur just had to hope that either his message as Santa got through to him, or that he’d catch sight of Tommy one day and have an opportunity to acknowledge his existence. He hoped for the first of the two, but he’d take either to just make progress with the boy at all.

At least he had peace of mind they were doing better now then they had been before Christmas Eve. Niki was an absolute legend for helping him make all those tiny gifts. So yes he owed Nicki a massive favour when he absolutely bamboozled her for showing up outside her front door in the middle of the night and begged her for help to make tiny clothes for Tommy without explaining what for and why he needed them done that night. And yes he’d had to suck it up Christmas Day when he was tired as hell from working through the night to do it, but not for a second did Wilbur regret it when he knew how happy those gifts would have made the Borrower child.

It took everything in him not to tell his family about the encounter too, not wanting to risk the blonde hearing him, but it was for the best. One day it was going to pay off and then he could properly apologise for what he had done and get Tommy home.

Even if it meant he’d never really get to know the little guy, he would do it!

And that was a promise.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

This Wilbur guy was weird.

Did he have any reasons to back that statement up? 

NOPE! 

Wilbur was just decidedly a wrong-un and that was a good enough reason for him to accept.

Tommy had been finding his time in Wilbur’s walls a lot more pleasant now that he had some proper supplies. Santa really did spoil him rotten with all the extra gifts and was making getting by so much more achievable than what he had been previously. Even before his kidnapping, living in the forest certainly did not come with quite the same number of luxuries that living in a Human Beans house did.

For one: Constant food source. 

Wilbur was one sloppy guy. 

Bean did not seem very keen on putting things away properly before he left the house for hours at a time for this ‘You-knee-verse-it-tea’ thingy he went to for school. Anyone normal would probably think he was a slob, but for Tommy it was the golden ticket to trying foods he’d never even dreamed of! Did you know bread could actually taste good when it wasn’t mouldy? 

Wilbur’s house was just a treasure trove of things to borrow from and Tommy had pretty much anything and everything he could ever want here. He still had plans to get back to his nook home, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stay for awhile longer while he figured out where home actually was.

There wasn’t really a rush to leave with all the snow still about anyways. He couldn’t be the bestest Borrower ever if he was frozen solid before he got home, but he couldn’t help but think about what Santa had said. 

‘He’s not as scary as you think’

After the whole meeting with the REAL Santa, Tommy hadn’t felt the same. After being so used to the isolation of the forest, physically talking to someone that wasn’t an animal or a tree had left the Borrower a tad empty. He’d spoken to someone, and they had spoken and listened back. The candy cane card sat in front of his bed and every day Tommy would wake up and reread the message and reminisce about that fateful night. 

It seemed bonkers to the boy, the idea of actually speaking to another Human Bean, but Santa’s kindness and words seemed to ring loud in his head. He’d been longing to talk to someone again for so long, and after observing Wilbur all this time; the Bean hadn’t done anything to suggest that they were a bad person. Believing that Santa was telling the truth wasn’t hard, but the thought of willingly revealing himself? Well it was easier said than done.

Because what if Santa was wrong? 

What if Wilbur was kind to other Beans but looked at him and decided he was more of a ‘Tommy shaped pet’ instead of an actual person? Just what would he do when he held all power over him? He would be powerless to stop them and could quite easily end off worse than where he started.

Tommy tried to shake the thoughts away before he thought too hard about it. 

Wilbur would never catch him.

That wasn’t going to happen if he could help it.

Speak of the devil and they shall appear, as the sound of faint keys being slid into a lock as it clicked, signalled the return of said Bean. The man gently opened and shut the door as they sighed before walking into the kitchen, as Tommy listened intently to their routine.

Put their bag down on the table. Open and close the fridge Shuffle through the cupboards for something to eat. Take out a box of half eaten crackers. Eat one and toss the rest on the bench for later.

Move into the bedroom to relax and close the door with a soft-

‘Click’

Tommy grinned mischievously to himself.

Now was his time to shine.

It might be foolish to any other Borrower to take food while a Bean was actively awake and home, but Tommy had seen Wilbur do this enough times to know now that that man was not going anywhere for at least another 20 to 40 minutes while they de-stressed their day away watching Tikky Toks on their phone, and there was no way he was wasting the opportunity to get food while it was easy access on the bench right now.

Silently, Tommy grabbed his hook and borrowing bag as he made his way through the maze of walls to the kitchen outlet. Just a quick trip and Dinner would be acquired. 

Easy.

With little effort, Tommy slipped the electrical cover off the outlet to the kitchen, double checking the coast was clear before making a move straight for the crackers. 

“Ugh, Seaweed again?” Tommy scrunched his nose up at the obnoxious packaging. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining about the easy borrow, but the blonde knew there were BBQ flavoured ones up on the high shelf he couldn’t reach. Stupid Wilbur gatekeeping his favourite snacks. Okay, unknowingly sure, but come on; Seaweed? The same stuff fish eat? Yuck.

Secretly the boy actually didn’t mind them too much but it does get a bit much eating the same thing 5 nights in a row. Better plan a supply trip to the high shelves next time Wilbur’s out to get stocked up with a bit more variety Tommy decided, as he opened his bag and stored a broken up cracker. 

As he gathered up his borrowings, the unusual pangs of an instrument in pain sounded down the hall. Tommy gasped as he sped up his movements before grabbing his hook and hastily making his way down to the ground. Another few pangs of an off note sounded through the walls as Wilbur messed with his guitar strings.

Looked like it was dinner and a show tonight!

Lady Life’s music of the Forest was good and all, but Tommy never knew music like Wilbur’s even existed till he got to experience it one night. It was just like tonight, Wilbur in the other room with Tommy borrowing before the man started doing what was called ‘tuning the guitar’ to get the instrument in the right key. 

Tommy thought he’d been destroying the poor instrument until they started playing a song he didn’t know. The brunette had talent and listening to them play felt like a private concert just for him. It wasn’t long before Tommy had crossed the kitchen and was back in the walls to Wilbur’s bedroom, nestled atop the Bean’s shelf out of sight in a discarded Beanie.

The soft strum of the guitar filled the room and Tommy found himself relaxing to the constant rhythm. It was easy to just let himself drift and sway with the melody. The way it put him at ease was almost hypnotic, but the boy found he didn’t care if it meant he could indulge in it forever. 

Wilbur had been working on this song for awhile and it had quickly become one of his favourites. There were many times he had wanted nothing more than to cheer and clap whenever the Human Bean had finished playing, but the lingering fear of being caught was ever present in the boy's mind. This however didn’t seem to defer his ever growing loneliness. 

‘Would it be so bad if he were to talk to Wilbur?’

‘What if he was one of the so-called good Beans?’

‘What if he had a chance to make a friend?’

Tommy peaked over the edge of the shelf down to where Wilbur was busy absorbed in his playing. How would he even approach them? It’s not like he could just walk out into the open and be like: ‘Hi I’m Tommy and I’ve been living in your walls ever since you kidnapped me and using all your stuff. Want to be friends?’

…

Yeah that’s definitely going to result in him winding up in a jar or something.

If only Santa Claus was still here. It was his suggestion to befriend them in the first place so he’d probably know exactly what to say and do. 

Wait, THAT WAS IT!!!

Why didn’t he think of this sooner? Why not just ask Santa what to do! It made perfect sense! He’s a Bean and talks to them all the time so obviously he would know exactly how he could approach them! 

Tommy crept back into the walls and quickly ran off in the direction of the house's study. 

He had a letter to write.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

“Okay, Dear Santa…” Tommy said out loud as he began to write in his best handwriting. 

As soon as he’d found an unused marker in the study, Tommy had been quick to fashion it into one his size from the red tip. His hands had been stained red, but red was the poggest colour ever so he didn’t mind. He had gone to start writing a letter with some borrowed paper back in his home that night, but quickly realised Santa probably wouldn’t be able to read his letter if the letter was written in his regular handwriting- AKA too small to read with Santa’s bad eyesight from being old. This would require a bigger piece of paper and writing with his Big Man writing skills!

That also meant needing a bigger piece of paper and room to write it which meant waiting for Wilbur to leave and that took far too long with it being a Sunday. Tommy had had to wait HOURS for Wilbur to leave to do the grocery shopping, but at least it meant he’d be out for awhile and the Bean had left the kitchen window open, so it was a good day to enjoy some fresh air, albeit if it was a bit cold still and windy.

So with his new marker in hand and a few sheets of Wilbur's scrap pieces of paper from the Kitchen, Tommy now had everything he could possibly need to write his letter.

“Dear Santa.”

…

“---Dear Santa?”

…  …   …

“Dear Santaaaaaaaa UGHHH WHY IS THIS SO HARD!?”

Well, everything but the right words…

“It shouldn’t be this difficult!” The boy complained, as he crossed out another attempt at writing. 

“Dear Santa, so you know how you said to talk to Wilbitch? How exactly do I do that?” 

Tommy groaned as he furiously scribbled over the dear santa line before flopping himself on top of the stack of papers. He had been trying to write this letter for 15 minutes and he was getting frustrated. He just didn’t know how to start the letter. 

Get straight to the point or ease into? 

Is there even a way to write a letter correctly? 

6 year old Beans do this for goodness sake!

He just wanted to ask for the best way to approach Wilbur without the worst occurring. He knew the Beans schedule so he could probably work out a good time to talk to them based on their mood but he also still had to get over the idea of willingly exposing himself and that he definitely needed Santa’s help with. Not to forget to mention he still had to thank Santa for all his gifts too! He honestly couldn’t thank him enough for what he had done and the Borrower wanted the old man to know that.

Perhaps just being honest would be the best way to write this? Get it all down in one go and out in the open so he and Santa were completely on the same page. It was at least worth a shot. Wilbur would be back soon and he needed to get something written before that. With a little more internal deliberation, Tommy took a deep breath, and began to write.

Line after line the Borrower wrote his letter- as well as stopping to rest his aching hand as the letter grew longer letting the words flow as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but then again he added pictures and doodles to make it better so he’s pretty sure that evens it out.

The last thing he needed to do was address the letter to Santa and get it to the letterbox. With his best precision skills, Tommy folded the letter in half and wrote on the front in his best writing.

TO: SANTA

NORTH POLE

Once he was done, Tommy stepped back to admire his handy work.

It was a bit wonky and anything but fancy, but for the first letter he’s ever written, it wasn’t too bad for a giant letter written by a Borrower.

Now all that was left was to deliver it. The boy quickly put his marker away into his borrowing bag and cleaned up the stack of papers back into a neat pile like how he found it, discarding any of his first bad attempts in the bottom of the bin where Wilbur wouldn’t find it, before moving to the window with the letter in tow. 

Now the best way to get the letter to Santa would be to post it and Tommy had seen some Human Beans put letters in their letter box before on the big black box, and then they were taken to be delivered like magic, so that made the most logical sense to him. He’d have to go outside to send it, but if he went now and waited till the sun went down, he would be able to scale the letterbox under the cover of darkness and do it with less risk. 

Tommy set the letter down beside him as he prepared to descend from the window sill to the outside world. The wind had picked up a little bit, but the Borrower was confident in his abilities to scale down the wall without any issues. Just like climbing up and down the trees back in the forest. Hook in, and descend down. Piece of cake.

Once he was sure his hook was secure, Tommy gathered up the letter in one arm before raising his other to shield his eyes from the setting sun, basking in the serenity of the afternoon as a chilly breeze blew through his golden curls.

Tommy exhaled a content sigh. He missed watching the sunset through the trees of the forest, the soft music of trees swaying and birds chirping as they did their birdie things. Hopefully he’d be reunited with his old nook and could enjoy them like he once did again soon. His letter was sure to fix everything. 

Santa would fix everything.

Tommy gently closed his eyes to savour the feeling one last time, but the boy lingered for just a moment too long as a strong gust of wind was all it took to throw the Borrower off balance and snatch his letter from his grasp, sending it flying off with the wind.

“NO!” The blonde shouted, watching as his letter drifted left and right off into the distance. 

It was almost magical in a sense, as he watched how it danced through the air and Tommy had to wonder, what if that was intentional. Santa had managed to do things he didn’t think possible with his magic, so perhaps he knew when letters were addressed to him and sent a magic wind to collect it for him?

Yeah that made sense! Good old Santa Claus looking out for his favourite Borrower! Prime he should have thanked Santa more in his letter.

Satisfied with coming to this conclusion, Tommy packed up his gear before heading back to the walls for a well deserved rest; blissfully unaware of the true whereabouts of his letter as it drifted through the wind over buildings and roads, before finally flying straight into a certain brunettes face on his way back from the shops.

“What on Earth?!” Wilbur grabbed at the piece of paper from his face prepared to throw it away before abruptly coming to a stop to read the bright, red scrawl across the front.

“Okay, interesting spelling.” Wilbur examined the poorly addressed letter. 

It was obviously a lost Christmas letter written on what looked like sheet music from some kid judging by the spelling and array of doodles. Little faces in the O’s to make it look like Santa, but obnoxiously written in capital letters to make it stand out. It made him think of Tommy and how he went into all the finer details of his life that he couldn’t help but opt to read the childish letter and pique his growing curiosity. 

Dear Santa

Hi, it's Tommy! TommyInnit the Borrower you spoke to on Christinimass Eve. I’m sure I don’t need to explain which Tommy to you being the most amazing Tommy to exist ever but anyways I’m writing this letter to ask for your help.

Firstly, thank you for all the pogger gifts. They’re all so AWESOME so thank you! (Like seriously, you are the Greatest Man alive- After me of course >:3 )

Anyways, the reason I sent you this letter. You know Wilbitch Wilbur? The Human Bean that kidnapped me? Well I’ve decided to be the bigger man and befriend him despite him kidnapping me and destroying my home (You know it’s still in his living room slowly dying? Weirdo).

Thing is, I don’t really know how to do that. I know you said I can trust him, but I’m still scared of what he might do to me if he finds out I’ve been using and taking his stuff. I know his schedule by heart at this point and wait till he leaves to get anything done outside the walls, but ever since talking to you I’ve felt so lonely. I loved talking to you but I know I can’t do that with you all the time so I’m willing to give the Bean a chance. 

Do you have any ideas for how I can talk to him?

Thank you for your help and if you do this I won’t even ask for a Christmas present this year!!! Seriously I won’t!!!  I would just like a friend.

From the coolest Borrower ever,

-Tommy

P.S. You’re the best.

Wilbur couldn’t believe his eyes.

It- It was a letter to Santa, from Tommy.

His Tommy.

This was it! This was his in, his chance!!!

Wilbur carefully folded the letter back in half and slipped it into his trench coat pocket before hurrying home, formulating a plan of action the whole way. Finally he had a shot to befriend Tommy and there was no way he was going to waste it.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Waiting.

Waiting..

More waiting…

Great. Just great.

Wilbur couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the clock on the class room wall. His leg bounced in anticipation as the minutes ticked by to the end of the day. He should really be listening to his lecturer, but it was almost impossible to do so when all the uni student could think of was getting home as quickly as possible.

The only way to catch Tommy would be by surprise, and to do that would be to break his schedule. 

Wilbur couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love a well structured schedule. It was the only way he found he really ever got anything done and if sticking to his timed out plan was the way to do that, then so be it. Sometimes that meant postponing other things like hangouts and was a pain, but right now it was his ticket to meeting one Borrower. 

His Plan- Get home an hour earlier than normal by skipping study and hope to catch Tommy in the open.

Okay, so yes the whole plan was just one big gamble. It’s not like he got home at exactly the same time every day so he doubted Tommy was going to be out borrowing still even if he was home early, but it’s the best idea he’s got. The letter said Tommy knew his schedule so being early was rarity for him. It’s not going to hurt to give it a try. 

He’ll either see Tommy, or he won’t. 

Wilbur idly traced the words of Tommy's letter as he sat and waited for his lecturer to signal the end of class. So much energy and bright smiles were hidden beneath the red writing and he wanted to know it all. 

After what felt like an eternity, his lecture finally ended and the brunette wasted no time in gathering up his things and racing out the door. He didn’t really need to sprint home, especially given that the roads were still a bit icy, but there was no time to waste. 

It only took a matter of minutes for him to reach the end of his street, huffing and panting. He took his time walking down to his house allowing himself to catch his breath and recompose himself for the task at hand. 

This was a stealth operation. No loud noises allowed.

Wilbur treaded lightly up to his front door, taking out his keys holding the key chains tight to prevent any jingling sounds before slipping the key in the lock. He turned the key as slowly as he dared, opening the door in a similar manner, before poking his head inside the door frame, eyes immediately looking to spots he thought the small borrower child might be hiding. 

No signs of Tommy.

Wilbur crept into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a loud click. “Shoot.” he muttered before slapping a hand over his mouth sharply, before realising his mistake as he cringed at the slight stinging pain now blooming across his jaw. 

‘Don’t talk, you idiot!’ Wilbur internally chastised himself. 

Ignoring his first blunder, Wilbur quietly shuffled across the carpet to peek into the living room. Nothing appeared out of place, and Tommy’s spot on the book shelf remained as empty as ever. 

‘Not here,’  Wilbur thought as he turned and tiptoed across the hallway. ‘Try the kitchen. Just slow and steady, keep quiet, move slow and steady and- ‘CREAKKKKKKK’  An old floorboard groaned loudly as it took the man’s weight. 

‘So much for stealth.’

Holding onto a sliver of hope he hadn’t messed up, Wilbur peered into the kitchen. Just like the living room, everything remained untouched and just the same as ever. Wilbur sighed heavily, dropping his bag loudly in defeat. If Tommy had been here, there was no way he hadn’t heard that floorboard move.

Resigning himself to his failed efforts, Wilbur didn’t bother to stay quiet as he trudged into the kitchen defeated. He flung the kitchen cupboard open, grabbing the BBQ crackers from the top shelf cracking the package open. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and his bag from the floor before moving off to his room. 

So his one and only plan didn’t work, now what was he going to do? Guess he’d have to try and think of another time to break his schedule that wouldn’t compromise his study life a different way. 

The brunette sighed as he grabbed his phone, chucking on one of his favourite playlists and booting up his Bluetooth speaker. Might as well do some study since he skipped his study block back at the campus. It was as he sat down his stomach suddenly grumbled. 

Oh, right- the crackers.

Wilbur rose from his chair and moved through the halls before abruptly coming to a stop and hiding behind the kitchen door. There was movement from the BBQ Crackers packet. The man’s breath got stuck in his throat as he watched a tiny blonde boy emerge from the packaging with a cracker looking extremely pleased with themself, as they set it down next to a little blue bag. 

Tommy.

Wilbur couldn’t help but stare as he watched the boy work. He should have known that Tommy would come out for food. It never occurred to him that he would try and get the discarded crackers when they were left out on the bench. It was dangerous for the Borrower considering he was home and could be seen, but it was easy access for the boy so of course the risk would be worth it.

With careful precision to avoid the creaky floorboards, Wilbur crept forward. Said blonde had crawled back into the Crackers packet and was distracted. He didn’t want to scare Tommy away, but the boy was far too close to the electrical socket and he’d determined it was a wall entry/exit a while ago. The last thing he wanted was for Tommy to bolt.

It wasn’t till he was about a step or two away that the Borrower popped back out of the bag with another cracker in tow.

It was now or never.

“Ahem,” Wilbur cleared his throat and tried not to feel guilty, as he watched the Borrower on the bench flinch, stumbling back in surprise. “Hi there.”

Wilbur remained completely still as he watched in anticipation for what the blonde would do next. Tommy’s face seemed to morph 100 different ways all at once before stopping at terrified as they processed the situation. The pure terror on the Borrowers face showed he knew there was no escaping this, as their eyes darted around trying to formulate the next best course of action despite their seemingly ‘dire’ situation, but Wilbur continued to remain calm. 

He needed Tommy to understand he wasn’t in danger. 

The silence stretched on for a few more moments, only broken by the sound of the cracker Tommy had been clutching to his chest, snapping into several pieces. The borrower was so frightened for being caught, he’d subconsciously been clutching the cracker tighter and tighter till it snapped. 

“Can I help with that?” Wilbur asked, pointing to the broken cracker in the boy's lap as he stepped closer. 

Tommy was fast to react. The blonde sprung to his feet, cracker and equipment forgotten as they bolted for the electrical socket.

“No wait, STOP!” Wilbur cried as lunged forward to stop the boy. Before he even realised what he’d done, he’d swept the Borrower up in his hand, the boy now kicking and screaming in his grasp. 

“LET ME GO!!!” he shrieked as they dug and scratched their nails into Wilbur's skin. 

Tommy felt the way the hand flexed as he did so, but his attempts weren’t enough to get the man to budge. This was only the second time he’d ever been picked up by a human, and it was nothing like the way Santa had treated him. It felt far too tight and confining and Tommy wanted nothing more than to be free of it. Tommy always knew that Human Beans could be fast, but he never realised just how fast they actually might be.

His futile attempt to make it back to the walls had been wishful thinking at best. Now the very real threat of his head being popped off for being caught stealing the Bean's food had his heart hammering out of his chest. He was going to continue his plans of bloody murder, but as his stomach lurched and he was lifted up and away from the counter, all attempts died off as he was brought closer to his impending doom's face. He couldn’t suppress the small whimper that slipped as his body shook as the Bean seemingly studied every inch of him, before their eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hey, hey it’s alright.” Wilbur reassured. “I’m not going to hurt you Tommy.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold. 

How did he know his name?

No, no he couldn’t have. He’d been careful. Never seen, not once. There was no way Wilbur could have known he was here let alone his name right? Right???

“How the heck do you know my name?” he spat. 

Did this mean they knew he was here? Had the Bean been trying to lure him out this entire time just so they could trap him and punish him for taking their stuff?

“Ahhh so about that..” Wilbur began before quickly adjusting his grip and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, thin piece of paper with red scribbled all over it. “I got your letter. It didn’t quite make it to the North Pole I’m afraid.”

Tommy couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was his letter to Santa.

All his worst fears were confirmed in the Beans grasp. If Wilbur had his letter then that meant he DEFINITELY had read it and would know everything!! As if magic wind was a real thing! Prime, why did he think writing to Santa when it was no longer Christmas would be a good idea? 

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you Tommy, I just want to talk honestly.” Wilbur tried to reassure as he placed the letter down. The boy only shook his head in response, trembling as they squeezed their eyes shut expecting the worst.

“Okay, I know you’re scared Tommy, but I’ve read your letter, and I just want to help you. You can trust me I-” 

“WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?!” The boy shrieked. “YOU SNATCHED ME OFF THE TABLE AND ARE HOLDING ME AGAINST MY WILL!”

“Well yes I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you, I just didn’t want you to run away!” 

“If you’re really sorry then you’ll let me go!” Tommy pleaded, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “Please just let me go.”

Wilbur sighed, realising his terrific plan to speak to Tommy wouldn’t get very far with their current circumstances. If the roles were reversed, he’d be rightly terrified out of his mind too. You’d think after all his research on Borrowers, this is something he’d be aware of. Looking around the kitchen, he knew he couldn’t just put them down on the bench and risk the boy making another run for it, and instead turned and headed for the dining room table, despite the boy's sniffling cries.

“Tommy, I’m going to put you down now.” Wilbur explained, trying to be gentle as he sat down on one of the wooden chairs.  “I promise I won’t hurt you and you can leave straight after, I just want to talk.”

The boy didn’t speak as he brought his hands down to the wooden surface and slowly released his grip. The blonde immediately wriggled out from his fingers and dropped to the table with a slight thud, but was just as quickly scooting away from his hands now he was free. Wilbur brought his hands away and slipped them under the table into his lap to be less intimidating, but could see Tommy was still highly on edge as they tried to gain distance. He was breathing heavily, eyes fixated on him with a terrified expression, seemingly knowing that he had no hope of getting away in the Beans presence. 

He felt bad for putting them in such a vulnerable position, but if he wanted any hope to get him home, then they needed to talk properly- face to face. 

“There,” Wilbur said, retracting his hands placatingly. “See, you’re fine.”

Tommy didn’t look particularly convinced, his eyes red from crying and snot running down his nose. Like seriously, who did this guy think he was? After the way he just behaved, why should he trust him?

“Define fine.” The boy snapped hugging himself as he turned away so he didn’t have to face the brunette's constant staring.

Wilbur sighed. Why did he have to be so stubborn? He’s the one that wanted to make friends in the first place.

Wilbur glanced at the letter he’d placed on the edge of the table. Tommy was the one that wanted to talk to him but was just unsure of how to approach him. But instead here he’d come waltzing in and frantically grabbed him without any consideration for how this would make him look. The boy believed Santa when he told him he was a good guy, but any truth in that was gone and rightfully so. In Tommy’s eyes, Wilbur didn’t deserve to be trusted. 

How could you trust someone that held your life in their hands?

Wilbur sighed as he knew how to fix this, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, but if he wanted Tommy to trust him then his actions had to match his words.

“Okay so I know I didn’t make the best first impression so how about we start over?” Wilbur tried even slinking down to be a bit lower so he wasn’t looming over him so much. “My names Wilbur and if you need anything you can just ask okay?” 

Tommy didn’t reply, even going as far to give him the finger which had the man having to suppress a laugh despite it being fair. He waited for the blonde to speak up a little longer but it didn’t seem the Borrower would be talking any time soon.

Sighing realising this wasn’t going to work, Wilbur stood from the table and walked back to the kitchen. Tommy remained still only glancing a little bit to the side when he heard crackling of plastic, before the heavy foot falls of Wilbur's return signaled he was back before something was put down behind him, and a chair was dragged out and around from the table facing backwards.

“So I don’t blame you for not trusting me. I should have realised how my actions would have affected you so I won’t keep you any longer.” Wilbur stepped back from the table and around to the other side where Tommy could see him and towards the hallway back to his room.

“I’ve uh- left the chair next to the table so you can get down with your hook and things, and I promise I won’t go looking for you, but if you ever need anything- please don’t hesitate to ask.” Wilbur took a deep breath and exhaled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I hope in time, maybe we could be friends.”

After waiting for a reply and receiving none, Wilbur turned and walked into his room, closing the door with a soft click before walking over and flopping onto his bed. He couldn’t force Tommy to trust him. He just had to hope giving them space might change the kids' mind.

The second the Bean was gone, Tommy didn’t hesitate to grab his things and descend down the chair with his hook. He then booked it for the nearest wall entrance he could find and didn’t stop running until he was back in his little room in the walls. 

His heart pounded realising how close that had all been and now there was no time to waste.

Hastily he began to load his clothes into his bag and supplies for the journey he had ahead. He couldn’t stay now Wilbur actively knew of his existence. He’d been at the complete mercy of the Bean and that was never going to happen ever again. He kept doing this until he had completely stuffed his pack. As he prepared to leave he made his way to the door and had one final look around at his home for anything he missed. 

He couldn't pick up on anything specific, not until his eyes landed on the card from Santa. All those happy days he had gotten from just waking up to a pretty card. His encounter with Santa the best day of his life and the reason he was so comfortable here now at all. The memory felt bitter sweet now though, as he trudged over to the card, picking it up harshly flipping it over for one last read.

Dear Tommy,

It was lovely meeting you and getting

to know your story. I figured you might 

like some extra gifts as well to help you

be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls.

I think you should try talking to him. 

You might be surprised. 

Sincerely,

Santa Claus

P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.

“Not as scary as you think my ass.” Tommy spat bitterly as he set it back in place. 

So what if he’d apologised a bunch of times? That didn’t change the fact he almost hadn’t been freed at all. Sure he’d escaped now, but Wilbur might have just made it look like he was free to go as an act to trick him into feeling guilty enough to stay to catch him later. 

But then again, he did apologise a lot and gave him a quick way back down the table. If he really thought about it, he hadn’t looked like he was going to hurt him or anything, just guilty he’d grabbed him in the first place. In fact he hadn’t really done anything besides scare the living daylights out of him by snatching him up.

It was perfectly logical for him to be scared of being grabbed, but apart from that, had the Bean actually done anything wrong? He was just reacting to the situation, and if he had read his letter, then maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought. 

But no that can’t be right? He can’t seriously be considering Wilbur not a threat after all that?

“Ughhhh my head hurts!” He groaned frustratedly before dropping his pack to the floor and flopping head first into his bed. Why do Human Beans never make sense? Tommy curled himself into the fabric squeezing the sock blanket tightly in his grasp. This was all far too much for him to think about right now. 

The events of the day finally seemed to catch up to him as he laid there, adrenaline wearing off, replaced with a heavy fatigue. Perhaps sleeping would be better than trying to leave right this second? Who knew when he’d have another chance once he started the move. 

Rather than fight it, Tommy soon fell asleep, snuggled in his bed, his thoughts dreaming of what ifs and Wilbur.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The next day, Tommy had yet to leave.

He’d spent most of the morning mulling over his options and what the best course of action was and was having a hard time making up his mind.

On the one hand, leaving meant he was 100% safe from Wilbur and whatever his plans might be, whether they be good intentions or not. But on the other hand, that meant giving up the space he’d spent so long getting right and traversing the winter terrain without a guarantee of finding a place that was safe to stay in. While the Bean knew of his presence, at least he had a warm bed and didn’t have to worry about frostbite. But of course that still left one problem: 

Wilbur.

The more he replayed yesterday's events over in his mind the more he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe Wilbur was one of the good Beans. It’s not like he’d ever met or interacted with one before he came here. Everything he knew of them came from stories and warnings from his parents about Borrowers getting trapped in Jars and what not, but there was always some truth in stories one way or another. 

Still though, he had one thing going for him that no other Bean did. Santa trusted him. And while Tommy may not trust him, (not completely anyways) perhaps there was a way he could test them.

Tommy had his borrowing bag strapped to his back and his hook and rope at his side as he sat perched atop the bookshelf in the living room, watching and waiting for Wilbur to enter. He’d test the Bean. See if he stayed true to his word and be in plain sight of the man and see if he was worthy of his presence. If he tried to catch him or hurt him in any way, all he had to do was get back through the crack in the wall and grab the rest of his things and book it out of there.

The blonde's knee bounced in anticipation. It was one thing trying not to be seen by a being 100x your size, but another to willingly just be waiting in the open for your maybe/maybe not demise to show up. Strange how the last time he stood out here, he did so waiting for Santa happily, but now it felt like he half wanted to throw up as he waited for the brunette to show.

His thoughts must have summoned him, because entered an exhausted Wilbur with a cup of coffee in hand before they plonked themself down on the couch. He took a long sip and sighed before putting the cup down and threw their head back against the couch. 

He looked sad. Big dark bags under his eyes and he was frowning as he stared up at the ceiling. Tommy couldn’t help but think that was probably his fault. Seems yesterday's events had affected Wilbur just as much as it had him and he did feel a bit guilty for that. Did he really care that much he’d lose sleep over him? 

Only one way to find out.

“Ahem.” Tommy cleared his throat and the Bean jolted up almost immediately, head looking around wildly for the source. 

“Hey, up here big man.” The boy called with a wave to down below and clenched his hook tightly with the other hand as the brunette's sweeping gaze snapped up onto him.  “Sorry if I- uh startled you.”

“No, no it’s fine, I just- I thought you left.” Wilbur said as he turned himself to be better facing the Borrower without leaving the couch. 

“Why would I do that?” Tommy asked even though he knew the answer. 

“Well, I don’t know I just thought- I’d scared you away.” Wilbur looked away, staring at his coffee as if it was far more interesting than the boy on his shelf. “I figured you’d have left because of how I- how I um..”

“Grabbed me?” Tommy asked, raising a brow as he did so.

“Yeah… I truly am sorry about that. I never should have reacted like that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I promise I never planned to do anything to you when I did, I just- my hand moved without thinking and yeah. I’m sorry Tommy.” 

“It wasn’t particularly nice of you.” Tommy tried to ignore the tingly sensation of phantom hands wrapping around him as he stood up. “I just felt so helpless when you did.” 

Wilbur nodded sadly in agreement. “Yeah I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you. Based on what I read in your letter, it must be really hard living at your size when everything is so big.”

“Well I was born this way. I learned to live cautiously to protect myself. You Beans are just too busy thinking of yourselves than about who else might be living out of sight.” Tommy glanced down to Wilbur and noticed how the Bean twiddled their thumbs in their lap, gaze now resting on the table and a familiar piece of paper. His Letter.

“Hey I’ve got to ask,” Tommy started as Wilbur brought his head back up to the shelf. “How did you get your hands on my letter? Last I saw it, it was flying out in the wind randomly to who knows where.”

Wilbur chuckled as he leaned over and picked up the letter carefully to admire the craftsmanship of it once more. “Well, I was walking home from grocery shopping the other day and it kind of just flew into my face. It was by chance that I decided to open it and read it that I noticed the paper was one of my discarded music sheets I use for scrap paper. Kind of connected the dots from there since it was my work and here we are.”

Tommy nodded as he listened. He supposed that made more sense than magic wind, even if the chances of it flying into Wilbur's face were bizarrely low. 

“Still a shame it didn’t make it to Santa. I wanted to thank him properly for what he did for me.”

“You could always write him another letter if you want.” Wilbur suggested. “I don’t mind helping you if you like.” 

Tommy nodded considering the idea before speaking up. “I think you might have to write to Santa for yourself though. You’ll probably be on his naughty list for a while when I tell him about everything that’s happened.” 

Wilbur smiled as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah I deserve that. I’ll have to really work hard to get back on the nice list then won’t I?”

“You sure will. Gonna take a lot to get back in his good books though.” 

Wilbur smiled as he set the letter back down and leaned back into the couch. “Do you have any ideas on how I could do that?”

Tommy scratched his head for a moment in thought.

“Well for starters you’d have to be extra nice and always use proper manners like asking before you do something.” 

Wilbur nodded as the boy continued. “And you’d have to always announce your presence coming in and out of rooms cause if you don’t that’s just rude.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but chuckle as Tommy kept listing nice specific things off. “Anything else?”

“Annnnd always leave extra food out on the counters- specifically the BBQ crackers and chocolate because that’s how you show you're being extra nice.”

“Right, well it sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me then.” Wilbur replied as he looked back up to where Tommy stood upon the shelf. The boy seemed rather pleased with himself before he realised he was in sight and timidly stepped back from view. 

“I’ve got to ask though, why are you still here? I assumed the last place you’d want to be is anywhere near me and well, yeah.” It was a question that was starting to eat at him as why the Borrower would go against the code and all the other things he had read about not making sense.

“Well initially, I was going to leave straight away, yes. But with all the snow on the ground and not knowing the area, it made the decision of leaving more complicated so I’m giving talking one last shot and then deciding.” 

Wilbur smiled as he felt warm that the blonde was at least giving him a chance, even if they had their hesitations. He didn’t blame Tommy for being wary after everything that had transpired but maybe there was still hope to salvage things.

“Hey Tommy, do you think maybe we could start over?” the brunette asked. “I think we got off on the wrong foot and I’d really like to show I mean you know harm.” 

Tommy stood back from the shelf edge where he couldn’t see the Bean. This was exactly what he wanted. A chance for the Bean to prove himself and he hadn’t even had to ask. 

Wilbur watched the bookshelf nervously waiting for a response. What if he’d over stepped? He didn’t have to wait long for an answer as the blonde came back into view with his arms behind his back, before breaking into a smile.

“Yeah, that would be nice. But don’t even think about putting me in a jar cause I know Santa and Santa will absolutely beat your ass if you do.” 

“And why would he do that?” Wilbur smirked teasingly.

“Because,” Tommy stated. “I’m his favourite.”

Wilbur’s heart melted as the boy blew a raspberry at him before pulling a bunch of different faces. In a way, he guessed it was true. 

Tommy was his favourite.

And he wasn’t going to mess this opportunity up a second time.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

In the days to come, Wilbur and Tommy began to slowly get to know each other. 

Albeit at a distance with Tommy still hiding on shelves and behind items that he was sort of a discombobulated voice, but it was a start and made the Borrower feel safer.

Wilbur didn’t mind in the slightest as they were actually talking and making progress! If Wilbur thought Tommy had talked a lot on their Santa encounter, well the kid had certainly been holding back as they chatted away about anything and everything they could speak on.

In fact, soon the two were bantering back and forth like they’d been life long friends and it didn’t take long for Tommy to start showing himself on the shelves. 

Wilbur was always super cautious around the boy and made sure to give him space, and even gave him extra warning about what he was doing to ease the boy more around his presence. While Tommy initially had his reservations, he was quickly beginning to see what Santa had meant in his card. 

Wilbur truly was doing everything he possibly could to show he wanted to help him and be friends and that gave Tommy the confidence to take the next step and actually be in close proximity with the man rather than the safety of shelves. 

Eventually, Tommy would tell Wilbur of how he came to be in his apartment and Wilbur would offer to take Tommy back to his home. It didn’t take long for the boy to realise how close he’d actually grown to the Bean and when the time came to actually go, the Borrower would decide that maybe the Forest wasn’t necessarily his home any more. 

From there, the two continued to grow closer and eventually table talks turned to movie nights on the couch, to hand cuddles on chilly days. And whenever things got too much, Wilbur gave Tommy the space he needed and one day Tommy realised that Santa was right.

Wilbur wasn’t as scary as he once believed. 

In fact, he finally had a friend he could depend on.

Just like he had always wanted.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Annnnnnnnnnnnd that's a wrap!!!

Thank you so much if you read the whole thing through. It was a lot of fun to write as it's not the kind of topic I see written about very often and especially not in a gt sense so I loved exploring what Santa is to a Borrower that lived outside most of their life never knowing about these things.

HUGE Thank you to @quotemenevervore for beta reading and helping me get unstuck to write the ending!!! Always very thankful for your input and so glad I got this done before Christmas like I planned <3

Thanks again to everyone who's stuck around and continues to enjoy my writing despite all the circumstances of previous creators constantly changing. As times gone on, while I still really enjoy writing these characters, new ideas to use them in the future have certainly been becoming less, so I still fully intend to finish JORNOS but after that's done, I have one more chapter fic I want to post and then I think I might explore some new characters. Dunno yet tbh. Work is being a pain and will probably continue to delay new stuff, but I'm certainly not done yet :3

Anyways that's my last fic for this year so Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and I'll see you all on the next fic <3

tag list: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @box-beanz @gracideaviolet @a-xyz-s

[jimmycarterghostland]

I finished my Worm read days ago. I'm going to discuss how I feel about the entire story as a whole here.

Some background: I discovered the web serial Worm years ago. I was either searching for the longest story or was searching for one that was one million words long. Either way, one of those things led me to Worm. Instead of reading it properly, I spoiled a bunch of stuff about it for myself, and would read random scenes out of order. And I would look up Reddit posts about the story. I tried giving it a proper read years back, but didn't get very far.

Months ago, I started that proper beginning-to-end read. A couple of days ago, I finished that read. I read the entirety of Worm. And it was worth it.

Before I started that read, I thought the Travelers were pretty cool. I ended up resenting them during my read. Not only were they rude to Taylor, but the Travelers didn't even like each other. That made it even harder for me to care about them, because they showed no care for anyone else.

Heartbreaker and his children, the Heartbroken, fulfilled this very specific trope of mine that probably doesn't even have a name. I don't know why, but I love it when a fictional male character has a lot of children by different women, making those children have a lot of half-siblings. Thragg from the Invincible comics fulfilled this trope too.

Heartbreaker was a villain I wanted to see a lot more of. He definitely had a lot of potential. I wish Wildbow had given him a bigger role in the story. I don't even think Heartbreaker had any dialogue. I wish Accord had had a bigger role, too, because he was another minor villain I found interesting, but at least Accord still had a decent amount of appearances in the story.

Speaking of Heartbreaker, his two kids Regent and Cherish were interesting. I actually liked Regent a lot. I was surprised that Cherish genuinely hated him and that the feeling was mutual. For a while, I thought that Cherish was going to betray the Slaughterhouse Nine and maybe team up with Regent and develop a friendly bond with him. I wanted that to happen. It didn't happen, though. Cherish ended up getting a fate worse than death. I feel bad for her, to be honest. I wouldn't wish her fate on my worst enemy.

I wish Regent had survived. He was a cool character. RIP.

My favorite character was Tattletale. At first, anyway. I think Taylor was my favorite by the end of the story.

Worm is the only superhero novel I've read. Reading it was nostalgic for me. When I was a kid, I loved reading superhero comics and watching superhero movies. The X-Men comics, movies, etc. is my favorite superhero fiction. Reading Worm fed my childhood obsession with superheroes. In general, people with superpowers forming teams and fighting other people with superpowers is something I love to watch or read. My own web serial, which I'm currently rewriting, has that.

I loved the dialogue in Worm. It was one of my favorite things about it. Those chapters during the final battle, when Taylor couldn't understand English, the lack of dialogue was a pain. Not just because a lack of dialogue can be boring, but also because Wildbow writes dialogue so well. I loved it when the characters in Worm would just talk to each other. And I love how characters tended to have unique vocabulary. Sometimes it fit their personality too, like Skidmark and his love for disgusting, inappropriate speech, because he's a disgusting, inappropriate person.

Something I had a problem with, though: a lot of times it wasn't clear which character was talking, and sometimes it was clear which character was talking but wasn't clear which one they were talking to during a group conversation. All of that happened a lot in Worm. Sometimes a dialogue tag would've been nice, with either a name or a pronoun.

The introspection was great. The inner thoughts of the characters never felt repetitive or anything. Sometimes certain phrases were used too much, like "The object was long as he/she was tall". And there were other repetitive phrases, but the introspection always felt fresh. I never had the impression a character was thinking the same thing took much.

Wildbow uses similes pretty well. I loved his descriptions. Sometimes I would read a sentence or a paragraph and understand exactly what a character was feeling. There was this one part when Taylor describes the terror she felt being like a gun being pointed at her for a long time, with her fear not rising or going down. I wish I could find that paragraph again.

The characters. The characters in Worm were amazing. They were so diverse with their own unique beliefs and motivations. It was realistic. A lot of them felt like real people. And there's some great character development. And because a bunch of the characters repeatedly make appearances throughout the novel, you see a lot of them and they make the book feel realer, and more "lived-in".

Worm is technically a multiple point of view novel. It's mainly told from Taylor's point of view, but it has a bunch of other narrators too. Wildbow is a master of multiple POV, which is also my favorite point of view to read and to write. The narrators in Worm have personalities and beliefs that show in the writing. Wildbow knows how to use introspection to demonstrate that. In the racist Hookwolf's interlude, he refers to Shatterbird as the racist term for her race, because he is racist. His inner thoughts fit his character. A non-racist character in Worm wouldn't have used that term. They would have used the proper word for Shatterbird's race. Hookwolf also has a hatred for cornrows, which is another example of his racism. When I read Hookwolf's interlude, I really got the sense that he was racist. Good job, Wildbow.

Worm has a lot of great instances of "show, don't tell". Like when he describes Leviathan as moving slower, because he's weaker, but Wildbow doesn't explicitly say that Leviathan was getting weaker. I loved that. Sometimes the reader has to figure things out for themself. There were some satisfying instances where Wildbow didn't spell out the obvious. I liked that.

I like how smart the characters were. Fictional characters being hopelessly stupid is something I really hate, but there was none of that in Worm. It was like everyone in this book was smart. Smart characters acting genuinely smart makes fiction more thrilling and fun to read or watch. It was satisfying to read intelligent characters showing actual cleverness. There was none of that "This character is stated to be smart but never does anything smart" nonsense.

One example of a character being genuinely clever in Worm is when Coil asks Dinah the chance of various individuals in their group, including themselves, surviving an upcoming attack, after she says there's a chance she will die in the next half-hour. The percentages is around the same for each of them. Coil does this to see if the attack will be an attack on all of them as a whole. This was clever. Another smart moment is when Taylor deliberately confuses Bonesaw to delay her attempt to get to Taylor's brain(which Taylor doesn't want to happen. Bonesaw is a really bad person). This moment probably wasn't extremely clever, but I think in real life most people would just pointlessly beg the bad guy to stop instead of actively trying to delay them.

Characters in Worm use their powers intelligently during fights, and that's what made reading this novel even more fun. It was intriguing.

I also love the stakes gradually get higher. The most dangerous villain is fought at the end, which is a good thing. Because the final battle in a book or other piece of media should be when the stakes are highest. If Scion was defeated in the middle of the novel and Lung was the final enemy to defeat instead, that would've been a terrible writing decision by Wildbow. Villainous Scion was much more of a threat than Lung was.

I really loved this novel. I wish more books were as great as this one. Worm is actually the web serial that made me start taking web serial seriously. I hope I will someday write a serial that's as great as Worm.

My rating for Worm:

4 out of 5 stars.

[1800i-dont-write-fanfiction]

(7) wife guy

Lavellan's current plight was entirely unknown to Solas. While this ignorance spared him the edge of immediate despair, it left him to languish in a haze of unfocused yearning. He sat cross-legged in his ethereal cage, resting his chin on his fist in glum resignation. The prison was nothing more than an infinite scroll of torment, every line etched with his regrets, written anew in painstaking, relentless detail. If only it were silent.

“Ellana knew the value of silence,” he murmured to himself, voice raspy with disuse. “She said it allowed the world to speak.” He rubbed at his temples. Even now, her wisdom twisted itself into his thoughts like roots overtaking stone. He looked up at the swirling currents of the Fade and frowned.

“Ah, but the Fade speaks constantly,” he continued, addressing no one. “Would she have found this place too loud? Perhaps I...” He trailed off, his words dissolving into the same void that had consumed his agents’ patience over the years. Those who remained—a dwindling few—had no doubt celebrated his disappearance as much as they lamented it.

He shifted to his feet, his movements languid. The act of standing felt hollow; a gesture of purpose in a place where none would be found. His steps echoed as he began to pace.

He was haunted by shades of friends, discarded and lost—agents he'd driven away over the years, where once there had been countless. True allies had always been few by his own design, preferring to walk the lonely path. “They were loyal,” he whispered, his voice laden with regret. “Though perhaps... too loyal.”

He recalled a young mage whose name he'd never bothered to learn, one of many. The unfortunate recruit, in a misguided attempt at kindness, had once dared bring him a meal unprompted. Seizing the rare opportunity, Solas proceeded to subject the boy to an excruciatingly detailed account of the Inquisitor's culinary preferences, which he insisted held strategic importance.

“The Inquisitor,” he began, his voice strained with an emotion masked poorly as necessity, “is not to be underestimated. Her methods are subtle, and her preferences—though seemingly benign—may yet provide insight into her plans. Fish stew, for example,” he continued, his cadence suggesting an air of somber significance, “a humble fare, yet laden with the quiet promise of calculated vulnerability. It speaks volumes... if one dares to listen.”

Clearing his throat, he pressed on. “It is vital you understand her preferences, should the matter become critical to our mission.” The mage had nodded, too polite, and quite frankly too terrified, to interrupt. “I expect you to remember this,” Solas concluded, his tone heavy with sentimentality. “In every detail, there is power. Such details could save your life.”

It was not only meals that served as the unwitting canvas for his grief. Even the act of breathing could spark reflection—a cruel and constant reminder of her absence. Once, a seasoned warrior known for his stoic discipline had joined their ranks. Solas had been mid-strategy discussion when the warrior’s heavy breathing caught his attention, unraveling his thoughts into a familiar spiral.

“Air,” Solas remarked, interrupting himself. “The Inquisitor used to breathe air. A calculated maneuver—effortlessly universal. Remarkable, in its subtlety. Even the act of breathing became a weapon she might wield against her adversaries.” The agent had left the following week, citing a sudden need for “spiritual clarity.”

A pity. He had been promising.

Solas sank back to the ground, the weight of his melancholy anchoring him in place. “I am but a shade of sorrow,” he whispered, his voice carrying the solemnity of a dirge. “Yet it is a fate I embrace willingly. For if sorrow is my only tether to her, then let it bind me in eternity.”

The words hung in the air, fragile. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he imagined the specter of Lavellan rolling her eyes. It was a small comfort.

Time stretched on, meaningless and infinite. The Fade’s currents shifted again, but the prison remained unchanged. Solas sighed, letting his thoughts drift to the one inevitable conclusion they always reached.

Perhaps it was no wonder his agents had abandoned him. Even he could not stand himself.

[talesfromawannabewriter]

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

He wanted his babies back. It wasn’t fair that they were cruelly taken from him and now the angels still refused to let him see them. No, it was more like they didn’t even know where they were. Adam: Please I beg of you let me search for my sons! A mother cannot live without their children. Adam pleaded with the angels. A young looking angel that appeared to be the high seraphim lookalike stepped forward. Emily: He’s right, if he was created to be a mother and co-create life then if we were to deny him his own children we would simply be committing cruelty. I even volunteer myself to help search for Cain and Abel

Sera: No Emily! Your place is here in Heaven. The fact of the matter is that we have no time nor resources to search for souls we don’t even know exist. Micheal: She is right.

The warrior of Heaven himself stepped forward as everyone else stepped out of his way. Bowing their heads in respect while doing so. This was the first time Adam got a good look at his mate’s brother. He definitely can see they were twins.

However, while Lucifer had a short stature and his eyes were filled with warmth when he gazed at Adam. Micheal towered over the first omega and stared down at him that chilled him to his bones.

Micheal: While it is unfortunate of your son’s passing they simply were not worthy of Heaven’s golden gates. Especially your eldest. Adam growled at the archangel

Adam: Watch yourself, that’s my son you’re talking about.

Micheal: (raises eyebrow) I would have thought your punishment would have made you submissive. Yet you still act against your nature.

Micheal grabbed onto the first man’s arm harshly and dug his nails in. Before leaning down and whispering

Micheal: I don’t care if they were your children Adam. You have done your duties and fulfillment of life and for that you earn paradise. But that doesn’t make you any more equal than the dirt that you came from. Now wipe your tears away and control yourself. You will see your other children soon. If they behave. If not then you already know their fates.

He let the omega go dropping him onto the ground as the youngest seraphim Emily rushed to his side. He turned to leave before giving his final piece.

Micheal: One last thing Adam. He glared down at the shaking man with the fury of a thousand suns. Don’t you ever in your life speak to me or anyone who is superior to you and your kind ever again. Or there will be dire consequences.

And so the warrior of Heaven left leaving behind a soul whose heart shattered once again.

—

Over the years as more souls descended in the dark pits of Hell. The population grew and with it so did Its power. Which in turn made Lucifer and Lilith more powerful and mighty. Since they were connected to Hell like no one else. Not even Cain and he was the first to descend after death.

Speaking of Cain, his life in Hell was exactly that Hell. While Lucifer was busy managing the affairs of the humans Lilith was busy tormenting him any chance she got. Regardless of the fact that she could not physically strike him or face Lucifer’s wrath she took to cutting him with something worse, her words.

She would abuse the defenseless boy, always reminding him of what he did. How his mother probably hates him for what he did to his own brother. It didn’t stop there, every little mistake or error that he made she would criticize harshly. Then of course there were all the names she called him.

Murderer

Mistake

Stain

Bastard

The last one was her personal favorite. Always reminding him that since she was the Queen around here and Lucifer chose her his mother was nothing more than a fun time that ended with him being made.

He tried to talk to his father about this but every time ended with his saying he was too busy or say he would listen only to tune him out. Was he really that unimportant to his father?

Things only got worse once Lilith started to sing to the sinners. Telling them that they were more than just demons. They were superior to the angels. He knew that she was just using them for her own gain. For what he wasn’t sure.

One thing he did know was that they were eating out the palm of her hand. It was as if she grew popular and beloved by the day. Which only served to fuel his resentment. Couldn’t they see she was nothing more than a lying back stabbing cruel demoness!? It didn’t matter though, he had no one to turn to. Not one single friend. Not even his own father.

He thought he would simply be alone for all eternity. In the castle with only an abusive step mother and absent father.

Then, as if he was being watched over, a group of angels fell from the Heavens. They were delivered into the darkness and into the royal family’s life. Especially Cain’s.

The First Anti-Christ

@things-arent-what-they-seem66

(excuse me for the long prologue)

Anti Christ, the child of the fallen one, the devil. Everyone knows of the name and what it means. However, they don’t know of WHO that child is do they? Everyone thinks that the child will make themselves known as they bring on the end of humanity. What people don’t realize is that the anti-Christ has already walked upon the Earth.

In fact he was the first to be born on the planet. You see he was one of the very first humans. The very first child and son of the mother of humanity, Adam the first omega. His name was Cain.

Now many must be wondering on how this came to be. Why did it happen. How and why did the first omega manage to give birth to the fallen one’s offspring. All will be explained here, in this story.

A long, long, long, time ago when the Earth was still young the creator of it had decided on what its final inhabitants would be. They were called humans, the very first of their kind. He made them into something special. With their names came their designations.

Lilith the first woman and alpha

Adam the first man and omega

He made the two to be companions, to watch over another as one would for a friend or as he hoped like siblings. However, his other creations had other plans. While the Lord was busy attending to his purpose of watching over the universe. The other creations, the angels went down to the humans and they told the two that they were more than just companions. They told them that they were mates and they would bring forth true humanity.

Both were confused and asked how? The angels told them that once a month Adam’s womb would welcome Lilith’s seed and instructed him for when the time came for Adam to lay on his back and to spread his legs for his mate. When they heard of this both were rather disgusted by it. They hadn’t known each other for long but they simply weren’t compatible in that way. They couldn’t even bother to be friends for they both had too many differences that often clashed with each other.

While Adam was energetic and outgoing, Lilith was reserved and careful. It would often cause arguments from the two, especially when it came to their duties. Their first duties, of naming and caring for everything in the garden. Lilith thought Adam to be immature. Adam thought Lilith to be demanding. Both seemed to think that nothing was ever good enough for each person. One thing they both could agree on is that they did not wish to be mates.

Still Adam did not wish to upset the angels and simply bowed his head and nodded submissively. They began to explain other sets of rules that both were to follow. Lilith as the alpha was to always provide and care for her omega. Adam as the omega was to always follow her way and submit to his alpha. Both were to bring children into this world.

Lilith would become the father of humanity. While Adam would become the mother of humanity.

Lilith, disgusted at the thought, disagreed wholeheartedly. She fled from the garden and away from the omega. Hoping to never set another foot in there again. She was found by someone, an angel of the Lord himself, whom she would soon call a friend and sometime after that a husband. Though she didn’t trust him at first she eventually told the angel of why she ran from paradise.

The angel was shocked and confused. Why would his siblings do that? Why would they mess with his Father’s creations that way? He wanted so badly to go up there and tell his Father of what they had done to Lilith. He knew that they would somehow find a way to pin the blame onto him.

That is why he came up with a new plan. To meet and talk to Lilith’s supposed mate. What he didn’t know at the time was that the omega was actually his true mate.

He crept into the garden, careful not to aware the elders of his presence. What awaited him in the garden was not what he expected. A true beauty, one that took his breath away. Though he had thought Lilith to be pretty. She was nothing compared to Adam.

His soft brown hair, honeyed eyes that sparkled, and tan skin that was splattered by freckles. His Lucious curves was enough to drive him insane. The angel managed to open his mouth and introduced himself. His name was Lucifer, the angel of light and God’s most favored son.

[koolaidashley]

Realized I’ve drawn this about the same time for the past 2 years so. Keeping the trend going !!! My 04 boys I will bring them back I prommy one day…

2022 and 2023 drawings under cut >>>