#people are very impressed now that they’re not thirteen years old and mean because I’m weird in their eyes

[the-siren-in-your-fridge]

Damn those pilots can sure twenty one!

[alphajocklover]

Hello, basic 40 year old flabby, short, wimpy nerd nerd here. Been trying and failing to get fit and transform into a stud since I've been thirteen to no avail. Pretty much decided that that the project is genetic. I don't suppose you can genetically graft me to a hypermasculine dad or maybe a hypermasculine brother so puberty could have dealt me a way different hand?

Huh. I’ll admit, I’ve never really done anything like that before. I mean, I’ve talked about changes that alter someone’s past in previous post, and I performed one myself using time travel (I fucking hate time travel), but what’s you’re asking is so much more intense. You want me to make it so that you grew up with a super manly dad or brother. You want me to make it so your genetics are different, your history is different, so that you’re basically an entirely different person. I’m not sure I’ve ever altered anyone that much before. But… I’m willing to give it a try.

You’re an only child right? And you never knew your dad? Raised only by your mom? Good, that will make this much easier. Now, I should warn you that we’re going to have to be very careful. We’re going to use an artifact that my Uncle left to me. I’ve mentioned him before. I really should tell you all about him one day. Anyways, what we’re using to change you might not look like much, but… it’s very powerful. We need to use it carefully.

Ok, I know what you’re thinking. It’s a little statue of a metal tree. Yes I know I sound crazy but in a world with time travel, an app that turns people into meatheads, and reflections that can swap places with the person they’re reflecting, I think you can give me the benefit of the doubt. The little statuette doesn’t look like much, but it’s one of the most dangerous magic items I own. It’s known as the Family Tree, and it allows the user to, well, alter their family tree. Literally. All you have to do is press your thumb to the wooden base, and the tree grows and changes until it resembles your own family tree, complete with pictures. Then it’s as simple as moving some things around, or adding a picture to the tree. So, let’s get to work.

You asked for a super manly dad, or a super manly brother. But since we’re already changing your family, why not give you both? First let’s change out your deadbeat dad for someone a little more… impressive. A real man, a man’s man, one so muscular and sexy that if he walked out on your mom you’d still thank him for the amazing genetics. But don’t worry, your new dad isn’t going to walk out like the old one. He stayed with your mom (who as it turns out is a real babe with the right man encouraging her), and raised you to be just like him. He taught you how to play sports, how to workout, how to shave your hairy face, even how to make a girl putty in your hands. You were always especially talented at that last one. You’re starting to remember it aren’t you? Everything your dad taught you, how far you pushed yourself because you wanted to make him proud. You especially remember him showing him how to throw a football. In this world you were a natural.

Next is your brother. I don’t wanna give away your identity, or his, so let’s call him Brad. He’s actually your younger brother, not your older brother. You were the one who taught him how to be a man, how to be a stud, and in doing so, became an even better one yourself. As reality changes you remember growing up with him, teaching him the ropes, playing and working out with him. You even remember the girls you’d sometimes fuck together. You remember the first time you and him spitroasted a bimbo, how hot the girl looked and how proud and manly your brother was.

But let’s move on to you. In this life you took after your dad and your little brother, being a natural stud. You were a strong kid, an active kid, but puberty hit you like a dump truck. You shot up, your shoulders widened, and you gained an almost obscene amount of muscle and hair. You’ve got a different personality too. Cocky and confident, a constant flirt and a total bro. You thought you’d never settle down, fucking a different girl every night. Until… you met your wife. Yes, in this world you have a wife. She’s a bit of a bimbo, but the kindest person you’ve ever met. She enchanted you, and soon… while, you were married, and have stayed married for almost 20 years.

You’ve changed your past, your future, and everything about yourself. You’re finally the man you always wanted to be… but your kids are really the lucky ones. They’ve got awesome genetics, killer bodies, and a great dad to show them how to use it, just like how you did growing up.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mabel’s Worry

Collab with @clownwry! They’ve been super sweet and very nice, and after getting inspired by this post, I decided to write a full on-fic about it... but then it spiraled out of control, so enjoy an angsty story featuring the sweater twins!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat up quickly, breathing just as heavy as an Olympic runner. She shook her head to clear it and she hugged her knees in self-embarrassment. It was just a stupid nightmare. Vague, no real plot, but still carried the overall message, the fear, anxiety, and still made Mabel’s blood run cold and sweat sparkle on her forehead. She needed to calm down, get herself together. Milk. Warm milk.

And so she quietly got out of bed and left her shared attic bedroom for downstairs. Despite being gone for nine months, she still knew this dark home by heart. She could walk it blindfolded if needed, but the moonlight leaking in through the triangular windows helped her in her journey. That and a small light coming from the living room. Like a moth to a flame, Mabel sleepily dragged her socked feet to the room and peaked through the doorway, half of her face hidden by wood and shadow.

Grunkle Ford was sitting in the armchair, reading a book in the light of a lamp. Mabel’s spirit was lifted, relieved and happy to see him, but she was hesitant to bother him. He was happy with his book, she really shouldn’t bother him with her own stupid problems. She should probably just go get her drink and go to bed and leave him alone. But then Grunkle Ford’s instincts alerted him of a spy and he looked up and instantly smiled.

“Mabel,” His blissful facial expression dropped suddenly remembering that she went to bed a few hours ago and it wasn’t quite daylight yet. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

This really wasn’t like her, for words to fail leaving her mouth, for her to be silent or non-vocal. But all Mabel could do was barely step into the light, hands behind her back, and shrug with her eyes to the floor. She was silent because she was afraid of what she would say if she dared to give herself the opportunity to talk. Ford grew more concerned, but he knew what to do; he had more practice under his belt now than he did months ago. He smiled softly at his niece, closed his book and sat it on the dino skull, and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Mabel looked up and bit her lip. The dame broke over her uncle’s kindness. With watering eyes she ran into his lap and clung onto him tightly, burying her face in his chest and whimpering as tears left her eyes. Ford hugged her back tightly and petted her soft long brown hair. The girl might be thirteen, but that doesn’t mean she would stop having nightmares or no longer need comfort. Moses knows, as much as he would deny it, Ford still had nightmares and still needed reassurance. Not to mention it was well-earned after everything he and his family had been through… everything he put his family through…

Mabel was mumbling something into his maroon sweater. Ford thought it was moans, sobs, but as he listened he could actually make out words. “M’sorry… m’sorry…”

“Hey, hey.” Ford said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear.”

“... didn’t mean t’bother you…”

“Oh,” Ford cooed as gentle as a lamb. “Oh, sweetheart, you could never bother me. Never.”

Mabel sniffed. “M’sorry.” Whether she was still sorry for bothering him or sorry for being sorry was a bit unclear, but Ford decided it didn’t matter.

“It’s alright.” Ford eased. “It’s alright, my dear.”

After a few minutes of letting Mabel cry into his chest, Ford could feel Mabel make a sharp shiver in his hold. He got a pretty good idea, and so he gently had Mabel let him go. She whimpered like a puppy denied a treat, but she watched with sparkling eyes as Ford slipped off his maroon sweater, revealing a thin long-sleeved white undershirt, and he sweetly pulled it over Mabel’s head and smiled at her. She helped him by slipping her arms into the correct holes and she grinned as she now wore Ford’s old red sweater. Nearly every day he wore a Mabel Sweater she had made for her, whether she mailed it to the Stan O’ War while they were apart, or she gave it to him in person. Only every so often did he wear his old sweater, but they were both glad he did.

Mabel allowed her head to sink deeper into the worn yarn. Her senses and lungs were drowned in Ford’s scent, which brought along happy memories and good emotions. She hugged Ford again and he happily held her, petting her hair and just being there. 

A few minutes of silence passed, and Ford made a prediction that it was a good time to check on her verbally. “Feeling better? Mabel?” He looked down and Mabel was asleep, one arm still around him, one hand holding onto his undershirt. Ford chuckled warmly in his chest, slowly stood, and carried Mabel to the attic to tuck her in.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dipper, they’re ready!” Mabel called.

Dipper hurried up the stairs and ran into his shared bedroom, plopped on the beanbag, and Mabel started the call on the laptop they had on the floor between the two beds. The grunkles answered at once, sitting at the table and grinning.

“Well hey there, gremlins! How was your week?” Stan greeted.

“Pretty good, just the usual school stuff.” Dipper answered.

“Did you get the package?” Mabel asked.

Ford grinned and picked up the large sealed box and placed it on the table. “Yes, perfectly intact! We picked it up in Pevek two days ago.”

“What?! And you haven’t opened it?!”

“Oh, well we thought we should wait until…”

“You two will freeze!” Mabel shook her head and smiled. “Open it and get warm!”

Stan rolled his eyes as he pulled out his pocketknife and cut the tape. “Sweetie, in the last two years we’ve been sailing you’ve sent us three trunks full of blankets, eight pairs of gloves, at least a dozen sweaters for each of us, six scarves…”

“Not that we don’t appreciate it, we always love your packages, my dear.” Ford interrupted. “But you work too hard. We’re never cold thanks to you.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Mabel said firmly.

“Oh wow! Mabel!” Ford gasped happily as he pulled out a new green sweater-vest with golden diamonds and a long-sleeved salmon button up. “This is beautiful!” Ford also pulled out a regular dark-orange turtleneck.

Stan noticed there had been two stacks of things. Ford had already taken out his stack, so the old conman grinned as he plunged his hand into the box and grabbed his new baby-blue sweater with a sailboat on it. “Sweet! And look here!” Stan pulled out another sweater, this one being a warm cream color with tiny pinetrees on the neck and wrists and waist of the sweater. “Wow, Mabel! Just when I thought your sweaters couldn’t get more impressive… this is so cool!”

Mabel blushed over the compliments. “I’m glad you like them. There’s still…”

“Oh, my dear, this must have taken you ages!” Ford pulled out one last item: a large knitted blanket to go with the others, this one made with very thick yarn that was as soft as the melody of youthful days. It was very large and could easily cover both men, and it resembled the sky perfectly, being dark blue with white specks.

“Thank you, pumpkin, this is amazing!”

Mabel grinned and said, “Just please stay warm.”

Ford smiled and nodded. “Of course we will. We’re always careful, my dear. And thanks to you I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be cold.”

Mabel wasn’t sure if she bought it, the number of times she saw their chattering teeth, tight jaws, and rosy cheeks and noses in pictures, but she decided not to fight it and she just smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are some benefits to living in the glorious year of 2014. Many different forms of communication allow people to keep in contact, no matter how far apart they are. So not only did Ford, Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, text every day and send pictures and emails, they always had their Saturday night/Sunday morning video call. Always. So, of course, Mabel and Dipper were a little concerned when no one responded to their text messages to ask if they were ready for the call.

“Hey guys! Ready?”

“Rise and shine, sleepy heads! Can’t wait to see you guys!”

“Are you guys okay? We understand if you can’t make it this week.”

“Is something wrong? We’re not mad, but could you please text us.”

“Guys, seriously, this isn’t funny…”

“If we don’t hear back from you guys I will call the FBI! The CIA!”

“You guys do know how to use your phones, right?”

“Are you guys hurt?! ARE YOU DEAD?!”

Dipper looked up from his phone and across his bedroom. Mabel was in Sweatertown on her bed, buried in her favorite nightgown. Dipper sighed and moved to sit next to her. “Mabel, it’ll be okay.”

“They’re jerks.” Mabel mumbled from within the maroon yarn.

Dipper smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll get payback when they finally answer.”

Mabel lifted her head just enough to peek at his twin. “But what if they never do…” And tears formed.

Dipper rubbed her back and said, “They will. I swear.”

But they didn’t. As time ticked from ten o’clock at night to midnight to even three o’clock in the morning, Dipper and Mabel stayed awake, waiting for a response, both of them knowing any attempt to sleep was futile. And when Mabel’s phone buzzed and rang for a video-call, they both dove and Mabel clicked the green button with a shaking hand.

~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his brother the mug of warm water. “You’re an idiot.”

Ford snorted and sipped the warm drink. “This isn’t coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee, you need to get hydrated.” Stan collapsed into the couch next to his brother. His eyes landed on the wall-clock, and he shot up quickly and ran for the bedroom. “DAMN IT!”

“What? What is it?!” Ford gasped.

“It’s Sunday!”

Ford groaned and slapped his forehead.

Stan grabbed his phone and found a dozen text messages from each kid and some missed phone calls. “Ah jeez, I know you’re wiped out, Sixer, but we gotta talk to these kids.”

“I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed, we’re calling them.” Ford hollered back as he loosened the grip of his blanket and Stan entered the room. His brother sat next to him and called Mabel’s phone.

At once Stan’s phone lit up with two distressed looking kids, both with wide eyes but missing their bedheads. “YOU’RE OKAY!” The two teenagers cried out.

Stan winced. “Kids, we’re really really sorry…”

“What happened?!” Mabel gasped. “Grunkle Ford, are you okay?! You don’t look very good, are you sick?!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I’m okay.” Ford eased. “I… erm, I fell overb-...”

“YOU FELL IN THE OCEAN?!” Mabel yelled in horror.

“Ssh, Mabel!” Dipper hissed, eyeing the door.

“Are you okay?! Are you on your way to a hospital?! Do you need anything? We can hitchhike…”

“Mabel, Mabel, please, I’m alright, Stanley’s been taking excellent care of me.” Ford said firmly. “I’m sorry we scared you, sweetie, but…”

“Well, good!” Mabel snapped, visibly angry and now full-on scolding. Stan and Ford glanced at each other nervously, getting flashbacks of scoldings from their mother. “You should be, knuckleheads! We can’t tell if you’re even still alive unless you tell us! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear?! If something happened to you… I’m glad you’re happy and doing what you love, but PLEASE don’t kill yourselves doing it!” Mabel bit her lip as she realized she was yelling, and she used the long sweater sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Aw, pumpkin, it’s okay.” Stan replied calmly. “You’ve got every right to be mad at us. I’m sorry, I should have at least texted you. But I honestly didn’t cuz I was busy keeping this dork alive.” Stan teased, elbowing Ford and making him smile. “So, yeah, that was really scary and that wasn’t fair, but he’s gonna be just fine and we’re both okay and you know that now. Right?”

Mabel held her knees and sunk her face into Ford’s old sweater, only her eyes and the top half of her face visible now, but she wasn’t looking at them. “Yeah… Yeah, okay…”

“Mabel,” Ford said firmly. “Mabel, look at me.” He waited until her eyes were on him, and he smiled softly and said, “We’re okay. I promise, we’re both okay.”

Mabel couldn’t help but return the smile. “Okay… okay…” She sniffed and lifted her head a little, but her chin was still happily buried in red yarn. “So, tell us what happened? Was it the Kraken again?”

Stan grinned at the opportunity for a story, and the kids happily sat and listened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Almost fifteen-years-old. Dipper should know better than to run off into the woods after a dangerous anomaly, but he did it anyway. Mabel stayed home to make sure the monster didn’t come back, and was soon reunited with her boys as they arrived, breathing heavily. Dipper was okay for the most part. His arm was hurt and he had a black eye, but he was okay, and their grunkles were only a little scuffed and there was a leaf or two in Ford’s fluffy hair.

Mabel hurried to Dipper, but instead of hugging him like the three guessed she would, she smacked her brother over the head.

“Hey!”

“Mabel!”

“You KNUCKLEHEAD!” Mabel screamed. “Don’t you EVER do that again, you hear?! Don’t you dare! What were you thinking?! You just HAD to go after it! Couldn’t go inside like a normal person!”

“Good to see you too, sis.” Dipper muttered. “I had it under control.”

“I don’t care! What if you never came back…”

Dipper blinked and interrupted her. “Aw, Mabel, that was never gonna happen.”

Mabel bit her lip, held herself, and looked away.

“M-Mabel, I’m really sorry…”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up first, and then we’ll talk about this, okay?” Stan eased, sensing that they needed a time-out. “C’mon, kid.”

Dipper sighed and followed Stan to the bathroom where they kept the first aid kit, leaving Ford alone with Mabel, who was well prepared to talk to her.

“Mabel, my dear, you have every right to be upset with him…”

“How could he do that?!” Mabel looked up at her uncle. “How could he think for a second it’s okay to just run off like that?!”

Ford chuckled a little to try to lighten the situation. “You know your brother. He has high ambitions and is extremely curious.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Mabel snapped. “It’s still stupid and selfish! I know he needs to do what he loves, but doesn’t he know how much I need him?! How can he just leave me behind?!”

Ford stared at Mabel. Her voice was cracking, her lip was trembling, and something in her eyes was screaming to be heard. Ford thought for a second, then dared to ask, “A-Are you talking about Stanley and I as well?”

Mabel sobbed. She yelled out in pain and collapsed on the bottom step, burning her face in her hands, and sobbed her heart out. Ford was stunned to hear her cry so hard, in so much emotional pain. She didn’t even cry this hard over any nightmares, and he had dealt with a handful of them. Poor Mabel was crying so hard and violently she gagged and retched occasionally, her body torn if she could cry or not but it was out of her control.

Ford got on his knees before her, but did not touch her. It broke his heart to see her so upset. And he and Stan had done this? Whatever it would take to fix it, he would do it. He was reluctant, but if sailing around the world with his brother was causing this much pain for their girl, then they would both agree to dock for good. “M-Mabel…”

“I understand…” Mabel mumbled through her tears and into her palms. “I understand why you had to go… why you both wanna go… b-b-but what if something happens to you?! How many times have you both gotten sick or hurt or nearly killed?! I miss you all the time and I’m always worried I’ll never see or hear from you again!”

“Oh, Mabel, sweetie…” Ford reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, but Mabel threw herself into Ford’s hold and he hugged her back tightly.

“I get it… I understand why you have to go… so WHY do I still feel this way?!” Mabel sobbed, clinging onto his uncle for dear life. “I’m so angry and scared and hurt! But I don’t want you to stop, I want you to sail cuz I know it makes you happy, but I need you to be okay!”

A lot of things clicked in Ford’s brain. Why Mabel always sent packages full of warm clothes. Why she always asked what they ate. Why she always checked on them. Why she was very observant and asked if they were okay if something was slightly off. Why she easily got worried if she didn’t hear from them. And why she always hugged them like she never wanted to let them go.

 Ford blinked his stiff eyes a few times and forced himself to keep it together. “I’m so sorry, Mabel. You and your brother are everything to us. I love you two more than anything. If… If sailing causes you this much distress we can…”

“NO! No no no!” Mabel screamed in horror, holding on tighter. “No, please don’t stop cuz of me! I don’t- That doesn’t matter!”

“Mabel Pines,” Ford said firmly and readjusted his hold on her so he could look her straight in the eye. “You matter.”

“I-I know. I know.” Mabel breathed. “But… please don’t stop sailing cuz of me. Please. I don’t want you to stop. But… I want you and Grunkle Stan to be okay. I… I can’t lose you…”

A large lump was in Ford’s throat. He tried to swallow it away, but it didn’t work. He compromised and took advantage of the silence. He cupped Mabel’s right cheek with his left hand and wiped some tears away with his thumb. Mabel covered his hand with hers and turned her face into his palm.

“I understand, my dear. I do. And I’m so sorry. I swear, we won’t stop sailing unless we want to. You have my word. But I also swear to you that Stanley and I won’t let anything happen. We;re too scared of losing each other to let anything happen, believe me.” Mabel moved her eyes to his. “We will always come home. I promise.”

Mabel hugged her uncle again and cried into his shoulder, leaving him to rub her back and pray she would be okay. Ford opened his eyes and caught the sight of his twin at the top of the stairs. He must have heard Mabel’s screams and come to investigate, but decided to stay out of it. But a look from Ford told Stan that Mabel needed him too, so Stan climbed down the stairs, sat behind her, and hugged them both.

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x3 thoughts

Brendan Hunt confirmed on Twitter that the writers wrote the first three episodes of the season with the intention of releasing them on the same day, just as they dropped the first three episodes of season one on the same day. Having finally watched the first three over three different weeks, I really wish they’d been able to launch all three on the same day. I really liked the first two episodes of the season, but the third episode really puts a lot of things into context. Between the political storyline, the return of Sassy (and a bit of a level-setting conversation between Sassy, Rebecca, and Ted) and Rebecca’s navigation of her professional life as an all-in club owner and her experience reconnecting to Nora...all of that feels like we’re done setting up the season now. Exposition complete—and to the writers’ credit, all three of these episodes are far more than exposition. A lot of story has happened.

So much so that this week’s installment has categories.

Sassy and Ted and Rebecca

Hahahahahahahahahaha

No, seriously though, I love that they are mature adults about this and I also love that Ted is Uncomfortable and, to be perfectly honest, I like that Sassy’s aggressive unfilteredness becomes an opportunity for the show to venture into more sexual references and humor about characters other than Keeley and Roy. It was a lot of information!

I’ve seen a couple of people express disappointment that Ted seems weirded out by Sassy discussing Nora’s impending first period, but I didn’t get the impression that he was grossed out by periods. There is a lot going on! Nora is right outside the room with the door open and Sassy has run through a lot of very personal topics! I felt like his reaction was more about the proximity issue in specific and the personal nature of the conversation in general more than anything else.

So many thoughts about the intersection between the biscuits and this conversation that it had to go in its own post.

Nora!

I LOVE Nora. I want every episode of this show to be about her. I want this sitcom to be called Nora Collins.

I love that Nora’s a little bit sassy (pun on her mother’s nickname only lazily intended) in the way a thirteen-year-old can be, but also enthusiastic about spending time with Rebecca and genuinely interested in meeting everyone her godmother knows. Rebecca genuinely hurt Nora, but Nora can clearly see that Rebecca is all-in on their mended relationship, and that gives her the space to be a bit teasing. She knows Rebecca’s weaknesses and has a little fun (the cooking joke when Rebecca offers to make popcorn?!) but also isn’t going to manipulate her or take advantage.

The British doll company and all the riffs on American Girl dolls, OMG. So good.

Like literally everyone, I am extremely into Rebecca and Roy actually being friends and exchanging words with each other this season. Now everyone in the group of four mains have had some great conversational moments with each other this season (I count Ted and Keeley being into Sharon’s bike as a great conversational moment, OK?!), with the exception of Roy and Ted. Cannot wait for that.

During the photo op with the team, Sassy and Rebecca remark on how Nora is loving and hating having her picture taken with Sam and the rest of the players, and that is THE experience of being thirteen years old, and Kiki May does an incredible job infusing all of Nora’s moments with the right proportions of enthusiasm to cringe. Thirteen years olds are constantly cringing but still full of spirit and life, and at constantly changing ratios, and Nora is the perfect embodiment of that.

My heart melted during the email-writing scene. Rebecca’s writing the email on Nora’s computer! In the guest room where her goddaughter is staying! They’re wearing pajamas! And Rebecca’s smile is so genuinely huge and delighted when she signs it “boss ass bitch.”

Led Tasso and Jamie’s Redemption

This was so stupid and I loved it so much. I love that Ted’s angry alter ego is absurd rather than scary, kind of like a parody of how worked up some men get over sports. I wonder if Led Tasso’s appearance in some way foreshadows a more uncontrolled, genuine anger from Ted in a later episode, because this Led Tasso dude is ridiculous.

Tentative kudos to Led Tasso for being able to point out the, ahem, clit of the soccer ball even from within a fugue state.

The entire Chuck E. Cheese exchange with Sharon was so hilarious and wonderful.

When Ted has the idea to bring out Led Tasso, Nate assumes he’s going to suggest that Jamie talk to Sharon. I absolutely adore the implication that Jamie’s growth over this episode is attributable to both Led Tasso and Sharon Fieldstone. Because while some players are still unmoved by Jamie’s willingness to stand up to Led, it didn’t go unnoticed! And then I was so proud of Keeley for refusing to take on the emotional labor of listening to Jamie when she was too busy with her actual job, and I felt that Jamie’s pretty immediate willingness to see what the therapy thing was all about was extremely in line with his character. He’s always seeking out Keeley to talk, and sometimes he actually means “talking” when he asks to talk with her! Jamie feels like someone who’s standing at a wall of doors, knocking on each one, trying to see what sticks. He really lacks foundation. I’m curious to know what he and Sharon spoke about in their session, but I like that the writers left the session private. The knowledge that he’s started seeing a psychologist is valuable information in and of itself, and Jamie’s decision to act in solidarity with Sam and the other Nigerian players is the perfect evidence that he’s thinking in new ways.

Sam and Dubai Air

Toheeb Jimoh is always great, but he’s so great in this episode. It’s cool to see his demeanor, pacing, and confidence shift as he becomes more at home with the team—and it’s also lovely to see that he, unlike Jamie, very much has a strong foundation in his home country, his supportive parents, his own moral center.

I like that Sam didn’t spend a bunch of time and emotional labor on teaching Jamie why caring about other people (and the environment!) matters, because that would’ve undercut the other political messages in this episode. Sam’s leading by example and everyone can either catch up or stay out, and it’s really great.

I really like the way they handled the press conference with Ted and Sam. I like that Ted gave the floor to Sam but prefaced that with very brief (for once!) remarks of his own. And I appreciated that Ted acknowledged his position of privilege, and that the angle isn’t that bad things never happen to white dudes but rather that when bad things do happen to people like Ted, it gets attention with so much less effort than when bad things happen to people who aren’t white men. Because that’s how privilege works—it’s not a shield that prevents bad things from happening to you, but it’s a safety net that ensures people will notice and address and even pitch in to take care of your bad things, often at the expense of the people who lack that privilege.

There’s probably lots of other stuff I could talk about, like the hilariously and realistically bad usernames on Bantr and Keeley brushing her snacks off the desk and into her purse and how things between Beard and Jane are clearly very, very bad and I’m worried about Beard and how it was soooo fun and lovely to see Shannon teasing Ted again (little coffee and football rituals before work are the kinds of details I absolutely live for) and HIGGINS PRETENDING REBECCA SENT HIM A BRILLIANT AND HEROIC EMAIL (which she does for real with Nora’s help just a couple scenes later!) and how delighted I was to feel that by this episode this season has really hit its stride and feels like a fully lived-in portrayal of the energized, loving, imperfect, busy, full place that is the whole AFC Richmond community. Honestly, Higgins pretending Rebecca sent that email because he wants to make her look good in front of her granddaughter is kind of the perfect encapsulation of what this episode felt like. This is a show about a bunch of imperfect people who want each other to succeed.

Edited to add: I was delighted to find out Ashley Nicole Black was writing for the show and the writing here did the opposite of disappoint! ❤️

[aknosde]

Omnes Una Manet Nox

The chronologically first installment of my Reyna Swap AU, Alea Iacta Est // Reyna Avilla Ramírez-Arellano // Fluff & Angst, but minor on the angst // the night before Reyna disappears //  tw: mentions past minor character death // light swearing // 4.4k

ao3

—————

“That went well, didn’t it?” Jason asks with that familiar, absently intense energy. They’ve just descended the steps of the Senate after their monthly meeting with the consuls.

The two consuls, in their late thirties, oversee all of Camp Jupiter. Of course, the legion manages their own grounds and budget, under Jason and Reyna’s command, but the little oversight they do get is from the consuls.

Johnson was one of New Rome’s praetors, a few years back. He doesn’t care much about the legion, being from a legacy family and largely skirting his training and service, and he never ceases to make that known. Malhill is the one that always gets under Jason’s defenses. He’s good on policy, good on veterans, good on kids, everything that they could want. But he was the legion’s champion only ten years ago. A direct son of Apollo, a talented archer but an even better bender of light, a legion praetor, and he’s had his eyes on Jason’s career since day one. Reyna’s seen the way he eyes Jason whenever she and Jason are in New Rome, already pegging him for a consul position once Jason’s old enough.

“It went well, Jace,” she says. “Your mission plan is flawless, the only thing that could make them happier is if you’d go on it.” She regrets the words as soon as they’re out of her mouth.

Her remorse is tangible, visible in the line of his spine, the way he taps the place in his pocket where Ivlivs would sit if they were not inside the Pomerian Line, the subtle flick of his wrist.

Not for the first time, she thinks about Mount Othrys. Everything it took from her. Sometimes when she sleeps–not often, but enough–it plays over in her head. But something is always wrong.

She’s leading the charge, but suddenly it’s Jason next to her instead of Michelle. Or Jason and Michelle run into the throne room, but when she closes the door behind them it locks. She makes it into the throne room, slaying all of the Dracaena, but when she enters Atlas is holding Jason over his head, instead of fighting him hand to hand. On the good nights, Michelle isn’t dead when she bursts through the door, on the bad, she watches Michelle die. The one constant is Jason, gold ichor dripping down his face in a horrific mask. When she and Jason land the killing blow, together, she can always see it.

He doesn’t talk about it, of course. Not about Michelle, not about his election, not about the mountain. But she can see it weighing on him through the big things, like how he hasn’t been out of camp borders since the battle, and the small things, like how he glances up at the stars, as if one will come down and crush him any moment.

She rolls her right shoulder, feeling the ligaments shift, as if it will rid her of the thoughts, prepare her for a topic of conversation that often hits a little too close to home.

“Did you hear how Johnson pronounced my name? He’s even worse than you.” Maybe the small huff of a laugh Jason expels is worth it. “‘Miss Ramírez-Arellano,’” she continues, in a nasally imitation of the consul.

“I don’t say it that badly.”

“You say it like a white boy who didn’t know Spanish was a language until two seconds ago.”

“Ramírez-Arellano,” he says, better than consul Johnson, but she still hates hearing it. That girl is long gone, the only thing connecting her to Reyna is Hylla, and although Reyna loves her sister, she’s grateful for the distance that keeps Hylla from being a constant reminder.

“‘We were– were very, erm, dazzled, by your most recent proposition.’” She continues the impression until they are walking through the Praetorian Gate, Jason half hanging off her shoulder and giggling like they’re thirteen again.

He has a nice laugh. A friendly one. It seems to feed off of her volume, her effort, fluctuating the longer he goes. He shouts at her to stop several times, but he’s doubled over in armor, snorting, and all she wants to do is make him laugh like this forever.

It only gets worse on the steps of the Principa, when he decides a good revenge plan is to trip her. The building is dark like the rest of the legion. Two lamps, invisible under the light of day, flank the double doors, but the light is faint and barely makes its way to the stairs, washing everything in a pale yellow. She side steps his foot–his sneakers have reflective decals on them for the sake of the gods, he’s an idiot–but he’s shifted his weight so much that he ends up tripping himself.

They stumble through the doors, still chuckling, and make their way across the great hall as quickly as possible. They must have gotten a new tender for the Principa, because the lights are off like they forgot that people actually live here. Only two people, but still. The darkness makes the place unsettling, and now she’s counting on Jason to keep her occupied. A job he seems all too willing to fulfill as he runs through the next set of doors, still in full armor, clashing against the wood.

Upstairs is worse, she decides. The abandoned lounge reminds her of her childhood living room. Any moment her father could rise from one of the low couches, ready to scoop her up and throw her in her room, that crazed look in his eye.

Something clangs and she jumps.

“What the heck is this?” Jason’s whisper-shouting when she catches up with him in the hallway outside their rooms. He’s partially on the floor–hands keeping him from being face flat–and something is crinkling under his knee.

For some reason all Reyna can say is: “Did you just say ‘heck?’”

“Shut up,” he whines, and she wishes the lights were on just so she could see his ears turning red.

“Of course, farm-boy.”

He’s sitting back on his heels now, she can see the object’s dark outline as he holds it up, rustling in his hands.

“Seriously, what is this thing?” he asks, looking up at her.

“A bag with my old clothes,” she says, squinting. “I was going to see if any legionnaires need some.”

“And you have it by your door so you don’t forget,” he says, explaining for her. In the stress of running for office, of war, she forgot the ways in which they are attuned to each other. She forgot that she doesn’t have to explain and defend her every little action to him. It’s sad that it’s taken her almost two months to remember.

He sets the bag back down, nudging it into almost its exact spot, and hefts himself to his feet with a sigh. His brow furrows once he’s standing, looking out into the middle distance, but he sees the quirk of her brow and quickly explains himself, “We have that meeting with the centurions tomorrow after breakfast.”

Jason is a social person. A true extrovert. He hates being alone, working alone, and the quiet that comes with both. So what he’s really saying is that he has work left to do and wants some company. And who is she to deny him that? “Do you want to work in the main hall, office, or my room?”

He grins, clapping his hands and then raises his palms to the sky. “Bedroom, praise Fortuna.”

“Five minutes, Sparkplug,” she says, bumping her shoulder into his own as she sidesteps him into her room. His eyes follow her as she goes, like she’s his North Star, and damn him for making her heart skip a beat, because in the empty space Venus’ words always echo. She stomps them down, before her face can fall, before the hollow silence can fill the hallway, and in their place she jams a smirk. “If you’re lucky I’ll even edit your speech.”

As her door clicks behind her she can hear him groan, “I just prayed to Fortuna.”

She stands with her hands on her hips, briefly surveying her room to decide what to do first.

Being praetor has its perks, like private bath and bedrooms across the hall from her best friend and king sized beds, but it also means she is no longer in the practice of keeping her space ready for inspections. Her comforter is pulled up, but her bed isn’t made, files are scattered across her desk and on her dresser, and her wardrobe is wide open.

She decides on doing everything at once, which involves a crooked path across her room as she shucks off armor, not bothering with her armor stand, and changes out of the nice clothes she wore to meet the consuls. All the while she turns on lights, puts on sweats, makes her bed, and tucks away files.

Jason knocks on her door five minutes later, that ever punctual bastard, just as she’s zipping her hoodie over her tank top.

“Help me, Reyna,” he says, holding a typed copy of his speech out to her in both hands like some sort of trophy. “You’re my only hope.”

She snorts, snatching the pages out of his hands. “Nice reference.”

He cocks his head to the side, brow furrowed, and she bets if he were actually a wolf one of his ears would be turned as well.

“You just made a Star Wars reference,” she says, but he looks just as confused.

“What’s Star Wars?” He asks warily.

She swears to herself in Spanish, because otherwise he’ll tease her about the legion’s anti-swearing policies, collapsing dramatically back on her bed, and sighs. “It’s a movie trilogy, wolf boy.”

“Ah.”

Another thing she forgot, apparently, is how little Jason knows about basically anything outside of camp. He says he arrived when he was three, and wasn’t even allowed into the city until he was eight, which apparently means he’s never been to a movie theater.

By now he seems used to her telling him about the more innocent aspects of the mortal world, and at the very least takes his lack of knowledge in stride. If only he would watch the movies and shows she’s downloaded on his laptop for him.

When she looks up after reading his introduction he is sitting at her desk, picking at some invisible blemish while subtly putting highlighters away, and looking around her room.

“If you start cleaning I’m throwing you out.”

He grumbles to himself, but she makes out a yes ma’am somewhere in the mix, so she decides to throw him a bone.

“If you want to occupy yourself I have a speech about legion veterans you can fact check,” she says, faux casual, not that he can tell. He needs to do something before he starts picking at his nails instead of the wood.

“Sure.”

“It’s in one of the red folders.”

“Would that be the one on the floor under your desk or the one on your dresser,” he says, sounding far too cheeky.

“The one on my dresser, and stop pretending you’re better than me, asshole.”

He clutches his chest dramatically, walking to her dresser. “Better than the best? How could I be?”

“Mmmhmm,” she responds, half ignoring him in favor of his speech, aware of the ticking clock.

It’s truly impossible for him to stay awake past ten, a fact that is only proven the next time she looks up and he’s asleep at her desk, pen still in hand and a research paper opened on her laptop. No matter how often she reminds him that the regimented lights out of the legion no longer applies to them, he just can’t seem to break the habit.

“Jason.” She nudges his shoulder, extracting the pen at the same moment so he can’t smudge her speech.

His head jerks, eyes alert, but voice groggy when he says, “What’s going on?” All legionnaires wake up in a similar manner, but for some reason it only strikes her as amusing when he does it.

She hadn’t thought of what she was waking him up for, besides a need to do it, and her mind wanders to the Forum, wondering if her favorite café would still be open at this hour. She’s starving, she realizes. Their meeting with the consuls had been pushed back and they had had to skip dinner to make it.

She grins. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh, yeah. How did you know?”

“Roof s’mores?”

“Reyna,” he drags out the last syllable, fading it into a sigh. “That takes energy.”

“Okay, but–” She holds her hands out, weighing them. “Would you rather spend the energy to just walk across the hall and go to sleep, or climb up to the roof with me and roast us a couple marshmallows?”

Jason looks at her like is that a real question? which had been her intention. She folds her hands into a pleading gesture and pouts emphatically–he’s always more flexible when she acts a little silly. “Please, Jace. I got that cheap chocolate you like. I’ll even get the stuff myself, you can go straight up.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes and she smiles, satisfied, and already on her way out the door.

The praetorian kitchen reminds her of office break rooms on television, besides the fact that it looks perpetually unnatural, mostly due to the fact that only three people go inside–her, Jason, and the Principa tender–and it’s always pristine. The only things actually kept in there are coffee, tea, and of course: her and Jason’s secret stash of s’more supplies, buried in the back of the cabinet with the untouched bowls.

By the time she’s through the roof access door, conveniently placed to hide it from the view of anyone on the ground, Jason is already sitting by the dark spot of ash that signifies their pastime. Because, yes, they started coming up here long before either of them were elected Praetor.

He’s a dark outline against the night sky, sitting criss-crossed and looking down at the façades of the other legion buildings, and briefly she has the thought that somebody could make a painting out of this. She slides her old Camp Jupiter ID back between the lock and door jamb, willing the thought to disappear with the potential of the fire alarm going off.

She shivers as she sits next to him, nose wrinkling with the cold now that she’s fully vulnerable to the elements. Without a word Jason removes his sweatshirt and passes it to her.

“I’m already wearing one.”

“Mine is thicker, trade me.”

And because he’s Jason, she does.

It’s slightly big on her, his shoulders just a few inches broader than her own, and a forest green. On the back is a printed vine of purple flowers and a date. She recognizes it as one of the prizes of the Ludi Florae, or Games of Flora, from Floralia last year. The festival sits right between April and May, and last year’s was the grandest of all. Or so Jason says. Everyone had been anxious about Mount Othrys, and apparently all of that energy had been funnelled into the events.

Reyna herself had been busy running for praetor. All she remembers from the festival is campaigning. And Jason, running up to her looking flushed, this sweatshirt thrown over one shoulder.

“Remember when I told you that you were the best, Jace,” she says sweetly once she is safely swaddled in his hoodie. He’s right–it is thicker.

Jason grins up at her, wrapping his hands around two marshmallows. “I may recall something along those lines having been said a long, long time ago.”

“Well, I just want to inform you that I retract that statement, because this sweatshirt is ugly and the cuffs are burnt.”

The electricity that had been slowly coursing over the ridges of his fingers flares for a second, and his hands fly open as if he was handed metal straight from the forges. “Oops.” Both of the marshmallows are burnt, but his lips are turned up in a poorly concealed smirk.

“I forget you’re a heathen,” she says primly, sticking her nose in the air instead of saying any of the less wholesome options at the back of her throat.

“Does liking burnt marshmallows make me a heathen?”

She pretends to mull it over for a second, extracting the rest of their supplies. “Yes. You have to buy the next bag because you’re mean and I say so.”

She takes the burnt marshmallow regardless, sandwiching it between her own chocolate and graham crackers. Jason takes three squares of the Hershey bar he likes for absolutely no good reason, and does the same. She shakes her head. He’s the fucking all American boy who sticks with the classics even when he doesn’t know they’re the classics. She has no idea how he does it.

They don’t talk while they eat, regrettably the silence reminding her of her childhood, no matter how hard she pushes against it. She looks up at the stars, trying to forget the cold kitchen, cold house, even in hundred degree heat. It’s times like this when the ring, and the chain she wears it on, weigh heavy on her neck.

It feels like a noose right now, just as much as it feels like freedom, like power, every other second of her life. Like a sentence, compelling her to pay for her crimes, to confess to them, to wreck her world so terribly that she would lose up from down and die. A fair punishment.

“What are you thinking about,” Jason asks a while after they’ve finished. She looks at him, sitting back on his hands, looking at her, not the sky. It’s dark on the roof, but the light from the street lamps seems to center around him. It glints off his hair, visibly blond even in the night, and pours into his eyes. They’re always so blue. So blue it looks fake. But they never cease to pull Reyna in. Sometimes she swears she can see lightning arc across his irises.

He’s always asking her questions like this. Innocent and curious, no ulterior motives, no goals. He genuinely wants to know. And if she doesn’t answer, he’ll drop it, because he always does. It’s not something she’s used to, even after all these years; this place she has in his mind, if not his heart. A place of utter respect. He doesn’t question her because he knows what she is thinking, and when he doesn’t, he accepts her. Would he still, if he knew what she did to her father?

She breaks his gaze with that thought. It’s too much. “My sister,” she says instead, and it doesn’t feel right to look back. Under oath, Reyna would say that Jason is the most important person in her life. Her best friend; the person she sees every day, talks to every day, eats with and works with. He is the closest thing she has to a family here. And she– And she loves him. Maybe as a little more than a friend. But talking about her sister while looking him in the eye feels too intimate, too intense. “She would like you.”

It is something to say, simply to say something, but maybe she isn’t wrong. There is something in Jason that reminds her of the Queen Anne’s Revenge, and not in the way that haunts her nightmares and twists her sheets around her until they become bonds she can’t quite break free of. Being on Blackbeard’s crew, that’s how Reyna learned hard work, in a way she never had before. It had instilled a drive in her, to change everything, to rewrite systems, to make something so beautiful it was unrecognizable. And perhaps Jason doesn’t have that same drive, but he knows the work. He goes out of his way to do it dirty and hard and long. He refuses to take the thousands of shortcuts he’s offered. And Hylla would admire that, she thinks.

“I had a sister,” he whispers.

For a second–just a second–she’s stuck. “What?”

“I had a sister.” He picks at a loose thread on his jeans for a moment, and that’s how she knows he’s serious, because he hates ripping his jeans more than almost anything else. He’s refusing to meet her gaze. “Thalia Grace.”

He says her name soft and tender. She can imagine him, standing over a hearth, cradling the name between his palms and looking at it the same way he first looked when he was gifted Ivlivs. Big, round eyes.

“That’s really nice, Jace,” she says, because he rarely surprises her, and for once she doesn’t know what to say.

He looks up at her, smiling tightly. His eyes are sad. Is that how she looks when she thinks about Hylla?

“You can tell me about her, if you want,” Reyna says when the moment becomes two, and then three, because Jason doesn’t bring up things he doesn’t want to talk about. But Jason also has his own ideas about debt, about worthiness, and it is clear to her that he told her about his sister in exchange for Reyna talking about her own.

He smiles at her. A real smile, if small. She feels warm, and it’s not from his extra thick sweatshirt.

“I don’t remember a lot about her, but… She had black hair. So dark, like the night. And her eyes, they were amazing. Bright blue, like a perfect sky. Sometimes I can see them, in this half-memory half-dream, and they’re so strong they look like how an electric shock feels.”

“Like yours,” she whispers, and Jason hums in a way that makes it frustratingly unclear if he heard her or not. She hopes not.

“When I was little,” he continues, after another moment of staring wistfully over the Twelfth Legion, “I used to imagine she was looking for me. That one day she would find me, here, be proud of me for– I don’t know what. Love me, or something. All that stupid shit.” He trails off again, picking at his nails, but she can’t bring herself to chide him.

There are things that she knows about Jason, true as the sun rising in the east and the pull of the moon on the tides and the sound of imperial gold on whetstone. She knows that he works hard, works with the public, flushes under the compliments of people older than him because he has never had a concrete parental figure. Not even one to hate, to fear, to mourn. She knows that he never trusts praise from these people because he knows his parentage, knows they know, knows that he is connected to his father in the eyes of these people in a way he doesn’t feel himself, and never will.

Truths of Jason that are pillars in her understanding of him, that were pivotal in their relationship. But like so many supports, they were never acknowledged. Truth has no need to be stated, and she has no compellence to state that which is unnecessary. He talks of Thalia, telling Reyna that he wants his sister to want him, to find him, and to love him not because he is a son of Jupiter, but because he’s him.

She doesn’t say, I don’t care about you because you’re the son of Jupiter, I care about you because you are my best friend. And she doesn’t say, I care about you because you listen to people, because you care about them and what happens to them so instinctively that I cannot understand it. She doesn’t say, I’m proud of you, and you should be proud of yourself.

She doesn’t say those things because he knows them, because they are truths, and truths do not need to be said.

But still, something must be done.

She– She’s always been bad at the physical things. She can do a handshake, a fist bump, but she has never been a hugger, no matter that Jason is. She’s never managed a hip-check, or a shoulder pat, or ruffled his hair in any way that wasn’t rough and meant to hurt.

But that doesn’t mean she can’t try.

She goes slow, leaning over slightly, feels the cool breeze breaking on her knuckles. Gently, perhaps more gently than she has done anything in her life, she takes his hands, detangles them, presses her finger pads against the bleeding bits where he’s torn his skin away. She closes her hands around his own, cups them in her palms.

He looks up at her, tears welled on his water line but nothing has spilled, and she feels his hands move in her own, feels him latch on, like when they were young and late for assignments, running across the grounds and refusing to leave each other behind. She looks into his eyes, wide. Electrifying. Just like she knew they were.

She waits for the moment to stretch and break, like moments oft do. Her last move is to give his hands a squeeze, hopefully reassuring, and he gives her another small smile and moves to wipe his eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, the one he’s still wearing.

“We should probably be going to bed,” she says, because she doesn’t have anything else to say. He laughs, wetly, but in that way everybody laughs when they’re told something they already know. It makes her smile; it’s special when he does it.

Everybody isn’t wrong, she thinks as she and Jason part ways outside their rooms, Jason Grace is special. But not because he is the son of Jupiter. He’s special because Reyna had never wanted friends, and here he is, her best. He’s special because he does things, normal things, and they make her smile. He’s special because he does everything in his power to ensure he deserves the love he receives. And gods, she thinks, does he deserve it.

She slips off her necklace and gets under her duvet cover, curling up and fiddling with the cuffs of his sweatshirt. Chunks of the polyester-wool fabric are hard and melted from undoubtedly unfortunate rendezvous with electricity. She finds one, right where his thumb would rest, and rubs it between her own thumb and index finger as she falls asleep.

When she wakes up, she’s on a school bus.

—————

Others in this series: Amicus Certus in re Incerta Cernitur

[lilyharvord]

Do you in red queen univeres is like harry potter. The silvers are like the pureblood family. Mare is a newblood like being a muggles born witch and Julian is more like Dumbledor or the Weasley what do you think?

I'm gonna say the universe itself does seem to lend itself to those categories! Or sub-catagories! It also very easily lends itself to a Hogwarts AU! PREPARE FOR AN AU UNDER THE READ MORE

I mean, Mare seeing her favorite big brother Shade receive a super pretty envelope from this strange school saying he is a wizard and is being offered a position in that school? Going to Diagon Alley with her family and Shade picking out a owl, and old faded robes cause he family really can't afford anything else. Then her hugging him tightly as he has one foot on this strange train and one foot on the strange platform that they had to run through a brick wall to get to?! Holding his hand through the window and running along side the train as he promises to write her every week before she runs out of platform and has to stop as the train pulls away and he is waving and smiling wildly at her. Her little hand slowly falling from her wave to be by her side and she wishes desperately to be on that train with him? ONLY TO RECEIVE HER VERY OWN PRETTY LETTER THE NEXT SUMMER? She gets to do the whole process! And she has all these fantasies about what it will be like based on the letters Shade sent her all last year. She wants an owl, or a salamander, or something like that. And she want to play the strange quidditch game he mentions. She wants to run up and down staircases that change. When she gets on the train with him, she practically pulling out of her mom's arms, and almost forgets to hug a very upset Gisa goodbye.

On the train, Shade tells her all the details, introduces her to his friends: ketha (a second year like him), Ada (a sixth year), and Farley (a second year that Mare is incredibly intimidated by until she sees Shade heart eyeing her every two seconds).

They tell her about the houses. Shade is more than proud to be sorted into Hufflepuff even though Farley teases him about it and Ada only smiles at the whole thing. But they all get quiet about Slytherin. It's not a house you want to be in, Shade says quietly. Mare doesn't quite understand. Cunning? what's so bad about being that? Smart and quick witted? Hell, there's nothing wrong with it.

Then she meets them. The Slytherins. And she sees why she shouldn't be a part of that House. But then she meets the strange, dark haired, blue eyed boy at the back of the group with her, who tries to sit in a boat alone until Mare clambers in behind him, cursing the fact that her socks got wet and they're going to be gross and her shoes will squelch while she walks. He seems a little uncomfortable around her big personality until she introduces herself, and he smiles and shakes her hand, quietly introducing himself as Maven. Nothing more. Mare doesn't mind, loads of people don't give their last names.

Then she's in the Great Hall, underneath the Sorting Hat, Shade smiling at her like a fiend from the Hufflepuff table while Maven is already sitting at the Slytherin one, slouched and looking just a bit upset. (It's not what you think y'all. it's because CAL's a Gryfindor, and their dad was too and he still wants to get his fathers love, and he pretty much just CEMENTED the fact that he won't get it now.) Mare sees him, and the Sorting Hat huffs and says, making friends already? Mare frowns and then thinks back it: he's lonely. And the hat laughs before saying: loyal then, hufflepuff might do you well. She makes a face and it laughs once again when she thinks: I can do better than that. And it seems to nod in understanding before standing upright and announcing SLYTHERIN. Maven sits up taller as Mare leaps down from the stool and runs to him with a big, shit eating grin on her face. Shade goes a little pale in the face but smiles at her nonetheless. It's his baby sister, and if she's happy, he is too.

She's very happy. Slytherin isn't all that bad. Maven's her friend and he's a very good one. He's smart as a tack, and knows all these neat tricks to get through work. But its when they go out to fly on the brooms where they differ finally. Maven is... not a fan of being off the ground. Mare... she could live up there. She tries to get him interested but he jut won't have it, preferring to bury his nose in books and study. (Mare wonders why he wasn't sorted into Ravenclaw like Ada, but she shrugs it off).

It's one day when they're all out walking and that girl Evangeline starts teasing some kid and throws his whatever in the air that things finally get interesting for Mare. In a very impressive showing of skill, she catches this tiny object while flying. IMMEDIATELY, the captain of the Slytherin team wants her as his Seeker. Its UNHEARD OF everyone argues. NO FIRST YEARS allowed! But it's vetoed, and Mare is allowed to play. Shade is more than proud, puffing out his chest, and forcing her to walk around with him so he can introduce her to his class and everyone as the youngest Seeker in years.

It's after she is sneaking out of the Gryffindor tower one night, having stayed to talk with Shade and Farley who is finally losing some of her Ice Queen exterior and even cracked a smile at one of Mare's jokes, that she almost gets in trouble. She is sprinting down the stairs of the tower when she runs smack into someone so they both end up tumbling down the stairs and hitting the back of the Fat Lady's portrait when they land. She stumbles over apologies, trying to grab her things in the dark (and pocketing one or two of his by accident), when she looks up. She's seen him before, she know she has, but can't remember from where. Plus, it's a little dark and she can't see him all that clearly. He's sitting there, tie undone, and shirt all messed up from falling, and rubbing the back of his head where it hit the back of the portrait when he looks at her. HE knows her. This the girl who is the youngest Seeker in years! They blink at each other, and she tries to take off, but he grabs her wrist, keeping ahold of her as he says: Thief! when he realizes she grabbed a few of his things. She looks down at the mess of things in her arms, and then frowns at him before saying, No! These are my things! he pulls out his wand and book from her hands and she's like: okay, well, those aren't mine, but whatever. And he smiles at her as he stands and she's suddenly craning her neck to look up at him, and LORD ABOVE what did he eat as a child?! She squints up at him, still trying to place him when he shifts his things to his other arm and holds out a hand for her to shake. She looks at it, and then takes it slowly. His grip is so warm and comforting, but not sweaty like some of the other boys her age. He shakes her hand and introduces himself as Cal, and THEN Mare knows who he is. This is Maven's brother. The older one, the perfect spitting image of his father who is the "Perfect Son." Maven always sneers just slightly when he says that, and now that she has met this Cal, she knows Maven is right. Turning up her nose at him, she spins on her heel and leaves, completely uninterested.

Okay she lied, she was a little more interested than she let on. She sees him EVERYWHERE after that. He raises his brows at her in the Great Hall, and even smiled and said good morning Mare when she walked by with Maven to Charms one day. After that day, Maven gets really sullen, and tells her that she shouldn't talk to him, that he's trouble. He's a third year, in line to be Prefect and Headboy at some point. She doesn't want to get mixed up with wet blanket like that. She agrees, but something about him, his eyes, the gentle smile, and way he'd looked at her the first time he saw her makes her heart do a little jig every time she thinks about him.

Before she knows it, its the first Quidditch match, and she's set to play. She steps out in her beautiful green and black uniform, and while she's in the tunnel adjusting the straps on her wrist guard with her teeth, someone laughs behind her and says: there is a better way to do that. She looks up, the laces half in her mouth, and a tiny bit of drool running down her chin to see Cal leaning against his broom. Of course he plays Quidditch, she thinks with a scowl. What perfect son wouldn't? He takes her wrist though and ties the guard gently, pulling the laces perfectly through the loops. Maven tried to help her with it this morning but gave up when he couldn't do it. Her face burns with embarrassment but he doesn't notice, or at least, he pretends not to notice. When he finished both wrist guards, he shoulders his broom and with a wink says, "eyes up and head up, dont want to take a Blunger to face on your first day." He strolls away after that, and Mare stands there, watching his shoulders as he leaves. How does a thirteen year old boy manage to look like that?! Shaking it off she steps on the pitch but... that's all she remembers. She takes a nasty blunger to side of the head and falls to the pitch floor. When she wakes up, the entire Slytherin team is around her and so is half the Gryfinddor team, Farley is grimacing as she takes in the situation, and Cal is leaning over her, shielding her from the son. She frowns up at him before saying, "you didn't say they moved that fast." He snorts to hide a laugh as the medics take her off the pitch. Good news? She learns later in the Infirmary, they won! When she went down, Cal, the Keeper moved as if to go to her and they were able to put the Quaffle in to get the final point! Her captain claps her on the back, and she tries not to puke when the movement jars her head.

The year ends uneventfully, and she waves goodbye to Maven as she disembarks and he leaves with Cal. A woman with matching icy blue eyes and stark, ash blonde hair frowns at her as Maven smiles and waves his own goodbye. She pointedly ignores Cal's title wave goodbye.

The next year is much of the same but there is a... current in the air, a charge that wasn't there before. Something is happening, something dark in the world. Shade and Farley go to Hogsmead and talk about it, but Mare can't go yet. She sits in a hidden alcove of the Astronomy tower, watching the world outside with her books open before her. Maven is quieter this year, but there is a strange new confidence and glint in his eye. It worries her. He is not the boy she waved goodbye to at the beginning of the summer.

One day while studying, she hears footsteps and looks up to see Cal pausing along side her. Her stomach flip flops when she sees him. The summer did wonders for him. Somehow, he is more attractive. She didn't even realize that was possible. And she REFUSED to admit that she thought about him a few times... well more than a few times... over the break. He smiles at her and before she knows it, she's leaning toward him to talk. She asks why he's not at Hogsmead and he grimaces before saying he is struggling with Diviniation and has to take an extra class on it every week. She laughs, and the smile he gives her when she does laugh turns her stomach to molten lava. He helps her out of the windowsill and they walk to the Great Hall together. Maven intercepts them before then, his eyes narrowing and darkening when Cal waves goodbye and heads on his way. Mare nudges Maven with her shoulder and teases him saying: are you worried I might like him more than you? Maven glowers at her, and she softens before taking his hand and promising him that Cal is "a complete and utter moron, who she could never like." It seems to relax him, but not completely. Again, Mare worries. He was never concerned about Cal or any of this before.

The year works that way though. She slowly get closer to Cal. They have this strange unspoken agreement to meet at HER windowsill once a week and then walk along the ground by the lake. One day, in the winter, she forgets a thick enough coat, and is shivering in her sweater until he shrugs off his cloak and drapes it around her shoulders. She blinks in surprise, before smiling and thanking him. It's far too big on her and drags on the ground a bit, but its warm and it smells like him. Which she is terrified to realize she kind of likes.

She starts spending time in the Gryffindor tower too, getting closer with Shade's friends, and sometimes, Cal is there too. He's not really a staple (he and Farley don't really get along, something about her calling him a Pure Blooded Hypocrite), but Mare finds she likes when he is around.

That summer is terrible. Maven doesn't write her as much as he promised. And the world is getting Dark™️. There are strange disappearances on the TV. Things are getting weird. Shade gets secret letters from Farley that he hides from her. When they go back to Hogwarts, things are... different. There are guards, there weren't Guards before. Maven looks more gaunt and haunted. Even Cal doesn't seem as cheery anymore. They're walks around the lake go from once to twice to three times a week. He tells her about his side of the Wizarding World, and she learns about a group that is known as the Death Eaters (who serve a mysterious Dark One that wants to eliminate the muggle population and the mud bloods). Mare frowns when he says that word. He says it quietly, like its something bad. She's not sure why, it's a word. When she asks Farley about it, her friend's face hardens and she tells her it's a nasty term that Pure Bloods use to describe the people like them. The ones who come from non magic families.

She finds solace in Quidditch, she even goes out when Cal offers to show her a few tricks, and that time... it is strangely magical. She finally gets to go to Hogsmead, and spend time with Shade and Farley there. They have a new little group, a taller fifth year named Tristan is added, Ada is with them, Ketha, and a couple of others. Shade tells her to go off and find something to do one time and she ends up spying on them. When she does, she overhears them talking about the Dark One, that they are back and that is the reason so many Muggles are dying and disappearing strangely. That Hogwarts might not be safe anymore. She confronts Cal about it one day, and he stops dead in the snow, spins on her and says never to talk about it. That the Dark One is dead, has been dead for year and that she should never mention them. She is taken aback, he's never seemed so concerned to desperate before. So she drops it. But things get worse over christmas break.

When she returns, Maven is almost cold with her. She tries to tease him like she used to, but he just isn't having it. She clings tighter to him, worried that things are not going well at home. She knows his mother isn't great, knows his father is an asshole. She can't understand how two people like that managed to make someone like Maven, and someone like Cal. But she tries her best to be a friend for Maven. She can't help but get closer with Cal. Something about him draws her in, and keeps her.

One day at Hogsmead, she runs into him (literally, again). She slips on the ice and he catches her, his hands grabbing her hips and pulling her close so she has to grab the front of his coat and cloak to keep herself upright too. They look at each other for a long time, confused and full of butterflies before she spots Maven at the other end of the bridge. She was supposed to meet him at the sweet shop but was running late. His eyes narrow ever so slightly at what he sees, and Mare pulls away from Cal glaring at him and adjusting her hair when he blinks in confusion. She turns on her heel and leaves without a word, taking Maven's hand in her own as she passes him and dragging him along.

That summer, something changes fundamentally in the world. The world actually gets even Darker. Shade gets more worried, and Farley starts showing up at thier house. Mare know they are seeing each other. But she keeps it to herself. When they go back to Hogwarts... there are Guards on the train. She walks down the hallway and runs into Cal on his way to his compartment. The train rocks as she is trying to pass him and she ends up in his arms again. She's fifteen, and he's seventeen, old for a sixth year. But in his Prefect uniform, he looks quiet attractive, and somehow he got MORE attractive over the summer. The flutters that had once been nothing but tummy flutters when she was elven/twelve are now full blown butterflies in her stomach. She would never admit it, but she had a dream about him over the summer. About his hands on her hips and the stone wall of the Gryffindor common room rubbing against her back as she pinned her to it. She doesn't pull herself out of his arms right now though, there is something comforting about being in his embrace right now, when the world seems to slowly falling apart around them. He lets her go, a falsh of something in his eyes before he smiles at her and says, safe travels.

When they get to Hogwarts, she knows there is something wrong with Maven. He looks like a corpse, his eyes are dark and his features are sharper than usual. She tries to get him to smile for her, but he can't seem to muster much. So one day, out of desperation, she kisses him. He melts finally, and she melts with him, burning like Icarus when he got to close to the sun. They become... a thing for lack of a better term. He clings tightly to her, pulls her away from Farley and Shade and her friends, pointedly makes sure she doesn't spend time with Cal to the point where he actually seeks her out one day, and Maven jeers at him until he leaves. It scares her, he was never hostile, never a person like this. When she talks to him about it, he raves about things she doesn't understand. An In fact, he seems almost angry with her. She can't understand, she tries to get it out of him halfway through the fall, and he turns around and calls her a nasty Mudblood, jeering at her about the fact that is lucky he even considers her a friend. It breaks her heart, shatters it into a thousand pieces. She didn't kiss him just because it might make him feel better. She kissed him because she wanted to, because she thought it felt right (she also did it because a secret part of her hoped that kissing him would make the dreams about Cal stop.)

She stops hanging around him, the other kids like him and the other Slytherins embrace him instead, folding him into their group, while she starts to gravitate to Shade and Farley again.

they go home for Christmas, and the world tilts completely on its access. There is horrible accident that kills a number of families, and Shade immediately packs a backpack that night to go see Farley. Mare forces him to take her with him. When they get to Farley's, everyone is there, all the people Shade has been friends with. She learns they are forming a group, the Scarlet Guard, to defend themselves. The Dark One is coming back, and they will be ready.

When they return in the spring, the teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts does not prepare them right. Mare feels like a child being handed a pair of children scissors to solve a grown up problem. She talks to Shade about it, and the group agrees. They need training. It's then that Mare does what cements her fate with Maven. She seeks out Cal. He is not looking too great either, there is something haunting his face and when she finally walks up to him one morning on the lawn near the lake, he looks at her suspiciously. She doesn't know why but she ends up curled against his side, sobbing. He's taken aback at first, and then soften, wrapping an arm around her while she tells him everything. With a tight jaw, and a nod, he agrees to help them training.

They form a secret group, and they start training. It's then that Mare starts to realize that perhaps she likes Cal more than she lets on. he's a good teacher, a very good one, and whenever he holds her hand and guides her wrist through a complex spell movement, she feels her face heat up. He's a sixth year, seventeen and on the cusp of greatness it seems. His OWLs were outstanding, he is set on the path she knows he wants. They train together privately. On a nondescript day like any other, she stays after to talk to him, and when she does, he kisses her. It turns her into a pool of liquid mercury, and when he breaks it off and gently caresses her cheek with his thumb she knows she is doomed.

They leave for the summer, and she writes him daily. He writes back, telling her about things happening at home. There are issues, his father is stressed, his step mother is being cagey, and Maven... he's not himself. She worries, Shade is a sixth year and she's just a fifth year, but the world feels like it is resting on their shoulders.

When they come back to school in the fall, Maven confronts her. He found the letters she wrote to Cal. He accuses her of a number of things she is horrified by. Cal steps in to push him back, and in a horrible moment, Maven draws his wand and puts to Cal's throat. The brothers stand like that for a moment, and Mare with her hand on her wand fears who she will have to point her own wand at. But Maven drops the wand, and that is that when he storms off.

The Scarlet Guard grows in number. And then it happens right before they leave for Winter Break. The earth shattering, horrible truth. The Dark One returns, and no where is safe. Hogwarts is under attack before anyone knows what is happening. Mare is fighting through the halls, throwing out hexes and charms she never thought she would have to use. She battles her way to Cal, who takes her hand and pulls her close. The Aurors arrive but they are not enough. Shade, Farley, Mare and Cal storm the upper tower. Cal makes them stay below in the hidden crawl space because Maven is up there and he can hear his father. When he gets up there, it is not what he thinks. Mare and Farley and Shade watch from below in horror as Elara uses the Imperius Curse to actually turn Cal on his father so he kills him. When that happens, the truth is revealed. Elara is the Dark One, or the new chosen Dark One among the Death Eaters. Mare storms up the steps before Elara can kill Cal, using the one spell she knows might end the duel. But Maven steps in and they end up dueling. With tears steaming down her cheeks, she tries to fight him off. But he is not fighting to stun her, he is fighting to kill her, to put her out of commission. She is disarmed, and in a horrible moment, thinks he will kill her. Elara is cooing at him to do it, to punish her for loving his brother instead of him. She pleads with him silently, begging him with her eyes not to. His lips twist as he struggles with the decision. It's too long, Shade and Farley get up the steps and force Elara and Maven to appirate away.

The world cracks open like an egg as war spills out after that.

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS LONG. ANYWAY, ENJOY EVERYONE. I'm not going back and rereading this so whatever you see is what you get XD

[kareofbears]

margin of error

Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.

Or, Sophia struggles to grasp why Akira and Ryuji don't follow her predictive algorithm.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Sophia knows a lot.

She can tell you almost anything in the known world in an instant. Calculate the radius of the sun. Who won Best Picture three years ago. The outfit to wear when you need to 'dress to impress.' Just yesterday, she was able to find them a bath, a takoyaki restaurant, and an overnight camping site within 0.3 milliseconds. That’s not very many seconds.

Sophia knows a lot, but that does not mean she understands much of anything at all.

She’s quiet while she’s propped on the phone stand, watching the rest of them lounge in the RV. There’s a shape to the interior that wasn’t there before—where it had been pristine when they had first gotten it, now it’s littered with crumbs and instant-food packaging despite Makoto’s half-hearted attempts at scolding them for it. Empty surfaces are filled with knick-knacks, stuffies and a plastic ramen bowl rattling gently along with the RV.

There’s a rare lull amongst them, a moment of quiet. Most of them were napping away the road, gently snoring and bodies jostling whenever a pothole hits, oblivious to the scenery that passes by. Only the soft tunes of pop music from the front and the hum of the engine broke the quiet.

Other than Makoto, there were only two people awake: Akira, scribbling in his journal, and Ryuji, watching him do it. They sat across from each other in the booth, with Ryuji’s chin propped against his hand.

Probability and pinpoint accuracy is what she excels at, and being able to apply them to her friends excites her. Not to mention, she hasn’t been wrong yet.

Idly, she runs the numbers—according to the data she’s collected from spending time with them, the silence will be broken by Ryuji within approximately two minutes. Pulling up a time from within Akira’s phone, she waits eagerly.

A minute passes, and then another. And another. Akira is still scribbling in his neat penmanship and Ryuji is still watching him doing it, unspeaking.

Frowning, she double-checks her calculations. No errors that she can see. It seems that he simply does not want to speak. This is surprising, and very unlike him. He is not usually this quiet. In the Metaverse, he is by far the loudest of them; calling on his Persona’s name can often leave her own ears ringing.

The real world does not stray from that data. His voice is clear in crowded areas, helpful in guiding their big group throughout bustling cities. He is often shushed by the girls when they are trying to sleep at night—Futaba even goes as far as to kick the ceiling from her bunk bed.

The data is strong and sure. There should not be a reason that she should be wrong in this assumption unless there’s a confounding variable that she had missed.

Akira looks up and catches his eye. “Am I boring you?” he asks quietly.

Ryuji shakes his head, grinning. “Couldn’t be happier,” he whispers back.

Sophia’s about to ask when Makoto cuts her off.

“Wake up everyone. We’re here.”

—

“Okay,” Akira calls. His voice isn’t raised, despite the crowded street of downtown Sendai, but they all straighten up. “We’re probably not going to spend too much time here, especially once we take over the Jail. Grab what you need now—snacks for the trip. Shopping. Souvenirs. Frozen pineapple. Any questions?” Yusuke raises his hand. “Yes, I’ll pay for you.” The hand falls back down, relieved.

“Cool. How about we meet back here…” he squints at the large clock hanging on the wall, hand blocking out the blaring sun. “In an hour?”

A chorus of agreements rolls through them as they rush out, excited to explore a new city. “Good speech,” Sophia pipes up from his hand. “Do you do them often?”

“I try not to,” he yawns. His thick black hair is even more unruly than usual, glasses barely hiding the light blue that’s beginning to form underneath his eyes. “Most of the time, they can handle themselves fine. All they need is a schedule and some rules to work with.”

When she doesn’t answer, Akira brings his phone up. “What? Did I say something?”

“It’s because she’s worried about you, you moron,” a disgruntled voice says.

Akira’s gaze flickers towards it. “You’re still here?”

“Of course I am,” Ryuji says. “You really think I’d leave without saying goodbye? Glad I didn’t either, cause you look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“Still pretty, though. No worries about that part.” He shoves his hand deep in his pocket, stray yen clinking against each other as he rummages. After a moment, he throws something at Akira. “Catch.”

He plucks it out from the air with ease. “Car keys?” he asks, surprised.

“Grabbed them from Makoto before she ran off for stationery shopping.” Ryuji reaches forward, gently turning Akira’s head this way and that, frowning. “I told you to quit staying up so late. You’re exhausted.”

“I am not.”

“He is,” Sophia refutes. “Last night, he had approximately four hours of sleep, with only four minutes of that being REM sleep.”

“I told you. She’s even bringing up computer stuff now.”

“I think you are thinking about RAM, Ryuji.”

“Whatever,” he shakes his head. “Look, just head to the RV, get some shut-eye. You can finally sleep in a proper bed that isn’t an overheating tent with three sweaty dudes and a cat. Oh, and trade phones with me.”

He hands it over without hesitation, sliding Ryuji’s phone into his own pocket. “Why?”

“You have the grocery list in here, yeah? Not to mention, I don’t want Sophia getting bored while you nap it up.” He looks down at her. “Hi, by the way.”

“Hi!”

Akira still doesn’t seem convinced. “But I promised Yusuke—”

“Who’s with Ann now, shopping like they’d die if they didn’t get the perfect skirt to fit her next shoot,” he says, uncompromising. “Chill. It’s fine. We’ll survive an hour without Joker keeping an eye on us.”

They stare each other down for a long moment with Sophia watching. She does not need to run the numbers on this one; Akira will not allow himself to go back to the RV.

To her surprise, he relents. “Twenty minutes.”

Ryuji scoffs. “We’ll see about that. You suck at waking up.”

“Shut up.” And then, quieter, “Thank you.”

“You know I got your back.”

He yawns once more, slowly walking back to their car. “Sophia, please make sure that when he gets the Pocky to get the strawberry one. Futaba won’t eat anything else. And also that Haru wanted doilies to make the place look nicer. White, if you can find them.”

“Roger that,” she replies, distracted. How is she wrong again? This is troubling.

“My hoodie’s in my bag if you get cold!” Ryuji calls out. Akira throws him a thumbs up without looking back. “Jeez, that guy. He’s gonna run himself to the ground before he’s thirty, I swear. Like some geezer with a bad back but with really good hairline or something.”

An old man with a thick head of hair shoots him a glare as he passes by them. Ryuji laughs, high-pitched. “Yikes, that was awkward. Let’s get out of here, we need to hit up the grocery store before they run out of carrots.”

Sophia doesn’t answer, too deep in her thoughts and running endless calculations.

—

It’s impossible for her to get a headache, but her code is trying its best to give her one.

Two mistakes now. That isn’t allowed to happen. She’s lucky that they were both relatively small errors, but it can easily become a bigger problem. What can she do?

Luckily, that had a very simple answer.

“Ryuji?”

“Hmm?” He peels his eyes away from scrutinizing the oranges in his hands, the wires from his earphones swaying when he does. After one too many strange looks when he talks to nothing, it was just better to act like he was on a phone call. “Yeah?”

“I have a question.”

“What am I, a teacher?” he snorts. “If you got a question, go ahead. Friends can do that.”

That’s right. They’re friends, and friends have trust in one another. Sophia jotted that down as lesson number forty-eight, thirteen days ago.

“Okay,” she says. Questions float around her, and she picks the one that’s giving her the most stress. “If I was not as useful as you think I am, would we still remain friends?”

The orange tumbles out of his grip, and he rushes to catch it before it hits the ground. “Wha—!” he stutters out. “Duh! Obviously! What the—where the hell did that come from? Did we do something to think that we’d just ditch you like that?” he lifts the phone so that she was eye-level with him. “Be honest,” he says seriously, quickly. “Did I say something to hurt your feelings? I do that sometimes, and I’m working on it, and I know that’s no excuse—”

“You did not say anything to hurt my feelings,” she says before he spirals even further. “In fact, I do not have feelings for you to hurt.”

Relief blooms on his expression, and he sags his body against the fruit display. “Okay, good. Good. Thought I was gonna get a heart attack. I’d be pissed at myself if I did, and I just know Akira would give me so much shit.” He sighs, ridding himself of panic before giving him her full attention. “So what’s up?

“Sir…” an employee shuffles towards them, hands shaking knees knocking against each other. He is afraid, she notes, but of what? “I’m sorry, but it’s against store policy to lean on the product. Please try to understand.”

“Oh, shoot!” Ryuji exclaims, straightening up. “Sorry, man. I didn’t even realize. I think I squished an orange, but I’ll buy it so your boss doesn’t give you hell for that one.”

The employee blinks. “You would?” he says, shocked. “That would be great, actually. Thank you so much!”

“Don’t sweat it,” he waves it off. Tugging the shopping cart, he places Sophia where they’d normally put babies. “Hope he doesn’t get in trouble. I feel kinda bad.”

She thinks for a moment. “Ryuji, why was that man afraid?”

Swiftly, red rushes to his cheeks. “That obvious? Aw, man.”

“I don’t know if it was obvious, but all the signs were there,” she says, watching as he ducks his head, embarrassed. “What is happening? I do not understand.”

“It’s just—” his eyes shift sideways, meeting the eye of a young girl. Immediately, she directs her gaze downwards. “I look really scary to people.”

“You do?” It isn’t in her program to doubt, but she is rather skeptical. During the entire trip, he has been nothing but kind to her. Yes, there are times when he has arguments with others in the group, but more often than not it’s him that’s being teased rather than the other way around. “Why? You aren’t even that tall.”

“Ouch?”

“I’m just saying that you are not scary to me, so I don’t really understand why other people would be.”

He sighs, picking up a box of miso unseeingly. “It’s a combination of a lot of things. My hair’s bleached, and people usually see that as like, punk or whatever. My posture sucks and my voice is loud.” Shrugging, he throws it in the cart. “It doesn’t really bug me though. At least that means strangers usually don’t bother the group, cause they think I’ll kick their ass.”

“And would you?” Sophia crosses off miso. Only bandages are left on the list, but the cart is filled with snacks, sodas, and a small cactus. “‘Kick their ass?’”

“No way. If I did, my mom would kick my ass, and I can’t pull that shit twice in a lifetime.” Pushing the cart, they slowly meander through the aisles, occasionally looking at what’s on sale. Ryuji tosses in rainbow marshmallows, and after a moment, reluctantly puts it back.

“But you know,” he says eventually. “If someone was bothering the group, it’s not as if I’d just let it happen.”

She considers his answer. “You are tough,” she concludes. “But not scary.”

“Uh, yes,” he says, unsure. And then, with more conviction, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Got it. ‘Ryuji is tough, but other people are terrified of him.’ I will make a note of that.” He looks like he wants to say something, but she keeps going. “Synonyms for ‘tough’: robust, stalwart, and strong. Would you say that’s accurate?”

He laughs, disbelieving. “No idea what the first two meant, but the third one isn’t right.”

“Why not? You can fight Shadows. Your muscle ratio is high. One time, when Futaba couldn’t unscrew her water bottle, you did it with no problem.”

“Because, Sophia,” Ryuji picks up gummy worms, and turns to her with pleading eyes. When she shakes her head, he puts it back on the shelf with a grimace. “Strength isn’t always about muscles and who can kill what. It’s more than that.”

It seems as though he doesn’t want to speak about this anymore, but the topic is too interesting to stop here. “Explain, please.”

“It’s...it’s like mental strength,” he says begrudgingly. “Like if someone failed an exam they studied real hard for, mental strength would help them get through a tough situation like that. Like Akira.”

“Akira has high mental strength?”

“Oh, the highest out of all of us without a doubt. The world could explode and he’d be all—” Ryuji lowers his voice by an octave. “‘Here’s what we can do,’ and then fix it somehow. That’s just the kind of guy he is. All plans and no fear.”

All plans and no fear is a good way of describing Joker. “And you aren’t like that?”

“No way. Have you ever seen me have a plan in my life? I’m more of an ‘act before I can talk myself out of it’ person. Usually works out fine in the end. Besides, he does it enough for the both of us.” His eyes light up. “Do you think if I get the panda bandages, it would work better in the Metaverse? Cause of the brain stuff?”

“I think so, as long as it makes people think it works better.”

“Great.” Ryuji tosses it in with the rest. “And I think we got everything! Let’s head out. If we’re lucky, we can grab some ice cream before we meet up with the rest of them.”

“Good job! But you may want to consider removing the orange soda. Makoto is already unhappy with how much junk food you are always eating.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the cactus though.”

It was only when they’re all sleeping back in the RV when she realizes that she never got to ask him her actual question. Actually, she ended up with even more questions than when she began.

Maybe she’ll have better luck asking Akira instead.

—

They, or rather Akira, have their knees buried in a patch of grass in the middle of Sapporo with a small pile of four-leaf clovers by his ankles when she decides it would be appropriate to ask him.

“Akira, can I ask—” she pauses, and tries again. “I have a question.”

His face is so close to the ground that even the dirt would realize that his glasses don’t have prescription, and people are shooting him worried looks that he completely ignores. “Shoot.”

“Actually, I have many questions, and I’m hoping you’ll answer all of them as honestly as you can in order to have the most accurate data possible.”

“Research?”

More often than not, Akira has been giving her information about the world that she does not have access to. Slang terms that Futaba yells out in frustration, Ann’s tendency to jump from one topic to the next with little regard to who she’s talking to. It’s all confusing to Sophia, so she makes sure to memorize all of these instances and bring it to him for clarification.

“Sort of,” she says. “Some of my predictions have been off lately, and I am trying to figure out why.”

“Sure. Oh, another one.” Gently, he plucks it from the soil and gently places it with the others. “For Haru. Apparently, she’s really struggling with economics, so hopefully this helps her out next semester.”

“How many more?”

“Four,” he replies. “Yusuke, Sojiro, Akane, and Ryuji.”

She frowns. “Ryuji already has one.”

“He’s going to need more than one.” Akira turns to her, distressed. “Entrance exams are coming up.”

“Oh.”

“Yup,” he turns back to his task. “Anyway, you had a question?”

“Right,” she says, clearing her throat: a sign of taking a more serious tone. “Why are you scared of Ryuji?”

Akira freezes. Sophia waits patiently. But after a moment, then two, then five, there is still no reaction from him. And then slowly, he faces her with a blank expression.

She has not known Kurusu Akira for very long—only a few weeks in fact. But in that time, she feels that she has come to learn a lot about him. For instance, he does not like pears. He also finds grocery shopping relaxing, and he would die for his friends. Another thing she has learned from him is that he is very quiet; even in the Metaverse, amidst the explosions and gunshots, he does not yell. It is not as if he has nothing to say, but rather he would rather express himself through gestures and the odd comment here and there. He is much happier to let the people around him carry the conversation for him.

Shock racks through her as he bursts out laughing. His shoulders move up and down as laughs pour out of him uncontrollably. “What—?” he tries, pushing his glasses atop his head. It’s almost hidden amongst his thick, black locks. “Did you seriously ask if I was afraid of Ryuji? Sakamoto Ryuji? Blond guy, helps out in the Metaverse? My best friend?”

“Um.” This was not what she was expecting, despite having no expectations to begin with. “Yes.”

He sighs, content. “I really have to thank you, Sophia.” Akira brings his glasses back to his nose, the corners of his mouth quirked up. “That was really good. Haven’t laughed that hard since Yusuke thought Italy was near Mexico.”

She tilts her head sideways. “I was not joking.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He sits up, crossing his legs over each other, giving her his full attention. “Tell me why you thought I was scared of him.” Even as he’s sobered up, he can’t quite finish the sentence without smiling.

“My predictions have been off lately,” she says, a wrinkle between her brows. “This is normal—predictions by their nature cannot always be right. However, I’ve noticed that they’re incorrect more often lately. I ran the data, and these errors are related to two things:” Sophia brings her hand to the screen so that he can see properly. “You and him, as a unit. Individually, there doesn’t seem to be any errors. It is specifically when you are being measured together that creates mistakes. My prognosis on everyone else in the group creates more stable and accurate results.”

Sophia twists her hair in her hands. “The only reason it would be wrong is because of a confounding variable. Maybe there’s something between the two of you that others do not have. So I thought that answer—”

“Was fear,” he finishes. There’s an odd tone in his voice that she doesn’t comprehend. His gray eyes, sharp but never unkind. “I see where you’re coming from. But, and I can swear on this fact—it isn’t fear. I am not, nor will I ever be, afraid of him.”

She deflates. Wrong again. “And he’s not afraid of you?” she asks, out of desperation than anything.

Akira thinks for a moment. “Do you remember when I was cooking, and Ryuji went in to smell the broth, and knocked the whole thing over and onto my suitcase?” She nods. She had taken many pictures of that moment. “He felt really guilty, but he wasn’t scared of my reaction. He was more scared that he had ruined my stuff. You know what I mean?”

“I think I do.”

He bops the top of his phone a few times, an odd resemblance of patting her head. “Cool.”

Sophia stares at the road past their garden of clovers. Cars speed forward, too quick for her to focus on what the driver looks like. It’s hot today, but she doesn’t feel it. She runs her data one more time. “Akira, do you love Ryuji?”

His hands do not pause. “I love all my friends,” he answers simply.

—

At the end of the day, it does not matter if her attempts at predicting the future are fruitless. If she is in fact humanity’s companion, her code makes sure of one thing above all else: to help humanity with any of their endeavors.

That’s a tall order, especially when there are 7,874,965,825 humans within that humanity at this moment. Sophia is only one being, and realism is etched into her. To make things simple, she gave herself a domain of discourse. A sample size. Narrowing what she can do, and who she can help. The entirety of humanity then, at least in Sophia’s mind, falls under the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.

Sapporo is freezing. Frosty. Crisp. Chilly.

“Fucking cold!” Ryuji shivers, jogging around them in an effort to get warm. “I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.”

“Even with the space heaters on, it seems that the winter isn’t interested in going anywhere,” Makoto says. She’s standing uncomfortably close to Ann, trying to leech off of her inherent heat. Actually, she wasn’t the only one—Haru is also inching her way to her. “It should probably get better once we start moving. Good thing we won’t be here long.”

Yusuke nods, unperturbed. “Yes, this should be a quick run. We’re just here to collect a desire gone astray, yes?” It seems that the ice does little to bother him. “Oracle, can you find its location?” No response. “Oracle?”

He glances to the ground, sighing when he finds her on the ground, eyes closed and breathing deeply. “Wake up,” he says, nudging her with his boot. When she doesn’t move, Yusuke throws an exasperated look at Akira.

Reluctantly, he nods. “Yeah, yeah, I got her,” he says, summoning Queen Mab. Instantly, the temperature seems to rise, just a little bit. Scooping her up, Akira shakes her roughly like a particularly malicious sack of flour. “Wake up, your space heater’s here.”

“This may be a quick run,” Haru says. “But it doesn’t mean we should take this any less seriously. Someone’s desire got lost on its way back, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, that sounds—Mona, get off my leg—about right.” Ann squints her eyes along the horizon. “It’s far, right? If we start moving now, we can probably work off the frost on our skin.”

“Yeah, it’s about…” Futaba yawns as Akira sets her on her feet. “Twenty-minute walk? Ten-minute run, but unless you want me slipping and turning the ice red, we’re gonna want to slow down.”

Akira touches his mask. “Agi.” A wave of heat rushes over them, and she sighs, grateful for the respite. “Hopefully that helped a little. But it won’t last long, and we shouldn’t waste energy warming up. Quick recap—someone lost their desire, we’re here to make sure it gets back. Our top priority is getting that desire back as quick as possible. Questions?”

Sophia raises her hand.

“Yup?”

“Did you say top priority?”

“Yes, I did say top priority.”

“Understood!” she chirps, making a note in her head. It was hard to concentrate when she felt like her insides were freezing up.

Another hand shoots up.

“Noir?”

“I don’t have a question. I just think you’re doing a wonderful job.”

“Thank you, Noir. Always a pleasure.” He looks around, nodding. “Alright. If that’s it, then let’s do this thing.”

They all move ahead, wary of their footing. Sophia frowns as she scuttles forward, scared of being left behind. There is no room for error here. If she feels that she is not useful in the real world, then she can at least utilize her talents here. And the first step to doing that is to make sure she is doing two things:

1) Not slow

2) Won’t trip

After a while, she looks up and feels her eyes bulge. How did they get so far already? Sophia can hardly see them anymore, especially with the slight fog that’s beginning to emerge. She has to get there faster.

Failed step number one already. For once, she’s glad she wasn’t hardcoded with emotions, or else humiliation would be overwhelming. Quickening her pace, she’s determined to do this correctly. One foot, then the next. One foot, then the next. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left—

She slips.

With a gasp, she moves to twist her body so that it wasn’t her head that would take the impact, and closes her eyes shut.

Just before she slams into the ice, arms grab her torso, swinging her forward. “Whoa there, shorty!”

Ryuji uses the momentum to swing her onto his back, and she latches around her neck, bewildered. “You okay? Almost got knocked out before any Shadow got to us.”

“Yes,” she replies, breathless. “Thank you for saving me. That would have been bad.”

“No prob!” he marches onward as if he wasn’t carrying an entire human being on his back while treading through sleet.

“...You can settle me down if you’d like.”

“I would not like.” He grins, boots finding matte ice with ease. “I kinda love carrying you like this. Not like I can do this in the real world, can I? ‘Sides, Futaba would chew my head off if I tried it with her.”

“Have you?”

“Maybe.”

She laughs as they finally reconvene with the rest of them. When Akira turns to them, his expression softens with relief. “All good?”

“All good,” Ryuji says. “Nothing Sophie and I can’t handle.” He raises his fist at her, and she bumps it enthusiastically. Lesson twenty-three: never refuse a fist-bump. It’s one of her favorites.

“Stop, stop, stop, stop!” Futaba calls out from beside Ann, arms were linked as if they were strolling through a park, and not a Shadow-infested land. “I said stop!”

“We heard you the first time!” Morgana yowls. “Are we here?”

“We’re close. Kinda weird though.” She smacks the side of her goggles a few times impatiently. “Nothing’s showing up.”

“Lucky!” Ann whoops. “Let’s get this over with and get some gelato!”

Rounding the corner of an empty street, Yusuke points forward to a glowing heart, beating in time to its pulsing light. “That’s it, I take it?”

“I can get it.” Sophia pats Ryuji’s shoulder, and he lets her down. “That way, we can finish this as soon as possible.”

She runs forward, eager.

“Wait—!” Futaba cries out from behind her. “We’re getting ambushed!”

As she says it, footsteps surround them, the clanging of weapons and the grunts of Shadows appearing out of nowhere. She starts to run faster, terrified of slipping but pushes on anyway. She can do this.

“Shit,” Akira hisses. “Sophie, come back here!”

Sophia ignores him, the Desire almost in her reach when she feels it. A cold breeze, impossibly colder than the temperature before, almost seems to pierce through her skin. She did not need to turn around to know what it was—every cell in her body is screaming it for her.

A curse. A strong one that would have no problem wiping her out like fly on the RV’s windshield wiper.

Would she at least be able to save the Desire? Even if she ceases to exist? Would it be worth it then? It should be, since this is what she was made for.

Something solid shoves her from behind, and she gives out a yell before hitting the ground, hard.

“What…?” she mutters, disoriented. Somehow, she isn’t dead, or even near death. Shaking her head, she grasps for the Desire in front of her before turning around.

Instantly, her heart stops. The Desire in her hand continues to pulse steadily as she stares down at Ryuji, collapsed on the ground.

“Skull?” she whispers. Leaning down, she can still hear his breathing, though it’s faint. Her hand reaches out, before she remembers. Top priority. The Desire needs to get to Joker first.

The ground begins to rumble, and Sophia looks up in time to see an arch of glowing white explode. Every Shadow is eviscerated, their ashes scattering violently at the aftershock of wind that follows from the impact. Concrete cracks, snow blows away. Without a doubt, it’s an attack from a Persona user, but she has no idea who it came from.

As the dust settles, stray bits of ice falling from the sky like hail, Akira shoots out from the fog. He’s moving faster than she’s ever seen him, and there’s a desperation to his movements that throws her off-guard. Maybe he didn’t see yet? Sophia steps forward.

“Joker!” she calls out when he gets closer, thrusting her hand forward. “I got the Desire!”

He rushes past her without a blink.

Akira skids to his knees. “Ryuji!” When there’s no answer, he pulls Ryuji to his knees, resting his head on his lap. Akira presses his fingers against the pulse on his neck, concentrating intensely. Then he grits his teeth. “I can work with this.”

More footsteps. Familiar ones. “Dammit, Joker!” Morgana says. “You can’t just throw around attacks like that, especially with such weak enemies. You know how draining that spell is.”

He ignores him. Akira removes Ryuji’s mask with great care, setting it aside, before touching his own. “Aid me, Sarasvati.”

“Joker?” she tries.

A floating woman donned in green with a delicate instrument in her long fingertips appeared from the fibers of his mask, her expression kind and tender.

“Joker.”

Healing power flows through his hands, so potent that it glows green. Sweat pours from his brow, and his wrist begins to tremble with effort.

“Joker!”

“What, Sophie?” he rounds on her, gray eyes intense.

“I got the Desire!” she announces triumphantly.

A beat passes. And then another. It was as if there was never even a deafening battle not one minute prior.

When Akira finally speaks, his voice is low. “Panther, take Sophie away please.”

Her breathing stops. She could not inhale the air even if it was demanded of her. Akira turns back to Ryuji, but Sophia’s eyes stuck to him—like she was hypnotized, cemented to the back of his head, unable to look away. Every inch of her body is numb, but none of it has anything to do with the cold.

Ann gently takes her hand, hot as iron against hers, and takes the Desire in the other. “Come on, Soph. Let’s go for a walk, huh?”

She lets herself be led away, blank and unseeing, a part of her staying wishing to stay behind to...what? She didn’t know. There’s so much she doesn’t know.

They keep walking, rounding street corners, quietly passing underneath frozen lamp posts. Sophia wasn’t sure where they were going, but she didn’t bother to ask. Eventually, they duck underneath a railing, Ann covering her head to make sure she doesn’t accidentally bang her skull against the metal. When they straight up, she blinks.

“A heater?”

“Yeah,” Ann sighs, flopping down on a toppled column as if it were a sofa. “I figured if we were going to talk, you might as well stop shivering during that time.” At her words, Sophia realizes how hard she was shaking. Ann pats the spot beside her. “Sit. Nothing a little girl talk can’t fix.” She does.

At her silence, Ann hums. “Cold, isn’t it? You guys haven’t stopped complaining since we got here. I’m super lucky that Carmen’s here to help me. Warms me up even better than this heater, if you can imagine that. Completely different from the real world, where we feel like we’re going to burst into flames any second.” She yawns. “But god, there’s no one in all of Japan that can run his mouth about the weather like Ryuji.” Sophia clenches her fist, but she keeps going, speaking almost wistfully. “I mean, he’s just so loud, you know? Like, how many times have we driven by cows on this trip, and he’d literally wake us all up just to show us? Not to mention, he eats up all the food and snores like crazy. God, one time I invited everyone over at my place, and he just slept in my bed when he got tired! Who does that?”

Ann sighs. “But man, I’ve never met someone more devoted to his friends than him. Sometimes, he’d even give ‘Kira a run for his money, the way he’d just drop everything and run to where trouble is. Day or night, that idiot would show up on your doorstep the minute you shoot him a text, wearing the most ridiculous pajamas you’ve ever seen,” she scoffs. “He started the Thieves with Akira, you know? All gung ho about justice and stuff, you should’ve seen it. And he had the spine to back it up, too.” She smiles, just a little. “Don’t tell him, but I think he’s really, really cool.”

A drop of water hits Sophia’s wrist. And another. And another, until her vision blurs and her chest is heaving. “I just—” she sobs without restraint. “I was just trying to help. I just want to be useful and do what I was made to do, and Akira said from before that this—this was the top priority, and I even made sure, so I asked, but when I finally got the Desire and I was so sure that I’d finally done something right...” the image of Akira’s cold gaze makes her flinch, hard. “He’s just so mad at me, Ann. And Ryuji—” she chokes on his name like a curse, her tongue tumbling over it as if it were getting caught in a lie. “He protected me from before, but he said he was tough, so I thought it was okay since the Desire was the top priority but he got hurt because of me.”

“I don’t even know what I’m feeling, or why I’m crying, or why you’re being so nice to me even though I know I did something bad! I just—” Sophia buries her face in her hands, muffling her scream. “I just don’t understand anything!”

Warm hands rub her back. “I know,” Ann says quietly. “You’re trying your best. We all get that, and we all think you’re doing an A-plus job.” She pauses. “Sophia, Ryuji didn’t take the hit for you because he was thinking about the Desire. He did it because he didn’t want to see you hurt.”

That makes Sophia peek up. “But that was the top priority, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh, but that wasn’t his heart’s top priority.” Ann pokes her temple. “That whole logic and calculation thing you have going on is good and stuff, but the thing about the human heart is that you can’t always choose why you do things, or how you react in certain situations. I bet you anything that he totally forgot that we were even looking for this thing when he pushed you,” she waves the beating heart in her hand, still glowing. “And that’s also why Akira got a little mad at you from before.”

She deflates. “He hates me,” she mumbles, feeling her insides churn uncomfortably.

“That boy doesn’t have the time in his schedule to hate anyone,” Ann reassures her. “He’s just...really, really terrified.”

“But why?” Sophia’s starting to despise that word. “He already knew that he was okay. Why would he still be worried?”

Ann looks up, thinking. “You really love and care about Ryuji, right?”

Love was still a foreign concept to her, but for once the answer came forth with ease. “Yes.”

“Take that feeling, that dense, little ball of love and adoration in your tiny body, and multiply that by about eighteen million. That’s probably about the range of what Akira feels about him.”

She quickly runs the numbers. “Whoa.”

“Yeah. Kinda scary, huh?”

It is scary. With numbers this high, she can only begin to imagine what it felt like for Akira to think that he might be seriously hurt, or even worse, dead. All because of Sophia.

“Hey now, I know that look!” Ann flicks her forehead. “I don’t want you to get all mopey about this. You said it yourself—he’s a tough guy. The toughest there is, but don’t tell him that. It’ll go straight to his empty head.”

She stands with exuberance, stretching. “Alright, I think we’re about done here. How we feeling? You ready to go back?”

No. Her heart speeds up at the thought of going back, her shoulders tensing in on itself, but somehow it would be worse to stay here. “I’m ready.”

“That’s what we like to hear!” Ann cheers. “No chickening out now, okay? You can do this.”

“I can do this.” Sophia repeats, and then, louder: “I can do this!

“Yay! And Sophie?” she looks up in time to see Ann giving her a warm look. “Just because you don’t understand something, doesn’t mean we love you any less. You are allowed to be confused and make mistakes. Do you understand that?”

Sophia smiles wide. “I understand.”

—

They were a block away from the rest of the group when Akira emerged from the fog. With his black attire and dark hair, he could have looked like a picturesque horror movie figure, but somehow his expression ruined that facade the moment she saw it.

“I’m going on ahead,” Ann says when Sophia stops in front of him. “Someone has to make sure Futaba doesn’t sleep on us again.”

“Thanks,” he answers. Then, to Sophia, “Hi.”

“Hi, Joker.” She’s been practicing her speech the entire way back, her points all lined up in her mind, all leading up to the big apology. “I—”

“Pause,” he cuts in, and she shrinks. Is he still mad? She can’t read his expression. He kneels in front of her, squinting, and it suddenly shifts to horror. “Did...did you cry? Did I make you cry?”

“No,” she says quickly, but he doesn’t believe her for even a minute. “Yes. Sorry.”

“Oh god, no, please don’t apologize. Shit,” he rubs the back of his neck, sighing. It’s guilt, she realizes with a shock. “I’m such an asshole. I can’t believe I let myself lash out like that. A thousand apologies won’t even be enough. I was scared out of my mind, but that doesn’t mean I can just treat you like that. I even sent you away, like you’re some sort of kid,” he winces. “I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me?”

She stares at him. “I was supposed to say that stuff.”

He looks taken aback by her words. “No? How could you have known that we would have been ambushed? Ugh, I’m so dumb. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.” Akira sends her a pointed look. “Though, you really shouldn’t split off from the group next time. Top priority means important, but above all else is your safety. Put that in your code.”

“I will,” she promises.

“Good. And the second priority is—” he reaches forward and engulfs her in a tight hug. “Is that you won’t ever, ever think that I’d hate you.”

She frowns. “How did you know?”

“A hunch.” Beat. “Also, Ann gave me a look.” He pulls back. “Are we still friends?”

Relief washes into her, crashing like a wave. “Of course,” she says, before hesitating. “Is…?”

“Yeah, he is.” Akira rolls his eyes, but there is no hiding the grin that takes over him. “A little too good, actually. He hasn’t stopped running around since I poured some energy back into him. I kind of think I overdid it, actually. Oh, and he’s excited to see you again.”

“He is?” she asks, hopeful.

“Absolutely. Asked about you the minute he came to.” Akira gets to his feet. “Shall we say hi?”

“Please.”

As they walk back, an epiphany takes over her. “Oh!” she exclaims, making Akira jump. “I get it now.”

“What’s up?”

“You love Ryuji.”

“That’s right,” he raises a brow.

She shakes her head. “You love Ryuji,” she insists. Even accounting for a margin of error, there’s simply no mistaking her results.

Akira stares at her for a long moment, before huffing out a laugh.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says softly.

The moment Ryuji sees her, she sprints, throwing caution to the wind as she leaps into his arms. He catches her without hesitation. “Glad to see you’re safe, shorty.”

Sophia knows a lot of things, but there’s also a lot she doesn’t understand. But that’s fine. She’ll get there, and her friends will be waiting for her when she does.

[wonder-womans-ex]

‘Cause Boy I was Made for You

By wonder-womans-ex for @inloveoknutzy Sweater Weather secret santa exchange 2020

When Remus Lupin was eleven years old, he learned about soulmates. 

“Almost everyone gets a soulmark on their nineteenth birthday,” Mr. Holliday, his fifth-grade teacher, had explained. “A design, like a tattoo, on their left wrist. And out there, somewhere, someone will have a matching one.

“Some people don’t get them until later—no one knows why. Some don’t get them at all. It’s rare, but some people have more than one soulmate, or their soulmate changes. 

“Can anyone tell me why this might be?”

Trust a teacher to turn this into a lesson, Remus thought, and put up his hand. 

“Because people change, and the person who your soul matches could change, too?” 

“Very good, Mr. Lupin.” 

***

When Sirius Black was eleven years old, his parents kept him home from school. Instead, they sat him down at the dining room table—which was only ever used for special occasions; he couldn’t fathom why this might be considered one—and told him three things. 

“One,” Walburga said, bony fingers and long nails that reminded Sirius of talons drumming on the centuries-old wood, “your career comes first. Always. No matter who your soulmate turns out to be or how you feel about it, you are expected to make the choice that benefits yourself and your role in this family.” 

“Two,” Orion put in, “you are the only person who can prove who your soulmate is. If the reality is something that puts your future or your reputation at risk, lying is the best option. Remember, listen to your head, not your wrist.”

“Three—” this was Walburga again, “—your soulmark, when you get it, will remain covered at all times. No one else is permitted to see it. Are we clear?”

Sirius nodded. 

“Speak up!”

“Yes, Mother. Yes, Father.”

***

When Remus Lupin was thirteen years old, he had his first kiss. It was with a girl from his first aid course to whom he’d never really talked before, and it was wet and clumsy and didn’t taste very nice. In six years when he got his soulmark, he probably wouldn’t even remember her name. 

***

When Sirius Black was thirteen years old, he fell asleep in math class twice. He’d spent the entire night practicing—under his father’s instructions, of course—and the words in the textbook began to swim in front of his eyes. 

His mother slapped him across the cheek when she found out. Though he told no one for a very long time, that was when he started drinking coffee. 

***

When Remus Lupin was fifteen years old, he googled what if your soulmate doesn’t love you. 

***

When Sirius Black was fifteen years old, he found out what it was like to be famous. He enjoyed it, at first. There was so much to enjoy: the attention from his parents, the people who recognized him in public and smiled, and the hockey. 

The hockey was everything. 

He wouldn’t have thought so, but it was freeing, really, to be on the ice, doing what he loved, and know that the whole world was watching. It showed him he was enough—better than enough. He was the best. He’d been working towards being best his whole life, and now he finally got to feel good about it. What wasn’t to like about that?

Amycus Carrow, apparently. The first guy on his team to notice he was different. “Queer,” he whispered, as Sirius packed his gear up. 

Sirius wasn’t sure who he was trying to prove something to by sleeping with Janie Clearwater—Amycus or himself. 

***

When Remus Lupin was seventeen years old, he and his mom picked his little brother Julian up from daycare. Jules had a crude drawing of a star on his wrist in green washable marker. 

“My teacher has one! So I wanted one too!” 

Remus smiled, ruffling Julian’s hair. 

That night, he locked his bedroom door and looked up Sirius Black. Video after video of slapshots, passes, interviews, until he finally drifted off to sleep thinking that’s the sort of person I want to be loved by. 

***

When Sirius Black was seventeen years old, he had his first panic attack. He wasn’t sure what triggered it; he wasn’t sure how he pulled himself out, but he ran a thumb over the red marks where his fingernails had dug into his skin and tried not to cry.

***

When Remus Lupin was nineteen years old, everything went wrong. He woke up on his birthday to his wrist itching, and it took all his willpower not to look at it. He wasn’t quite ready yet. 

It was like Schrödinger’s cat, he reasoned—if he didn’t look, he couldn’t confirm what had been nagging at the back of his head for a while now. He couldn’t deny it, either, but it was better than nothing. 

Julian ran to hug him when he got downstairs, grinning to show off his gap-toothed smile. “I got you a present! Wanna know what it is?”

“I think,” Remus told him, “I’m about to find out anyway.”

Two weeks later, Fenrir Greyback approached him in the locker room. 

***

When Sirius Black was nineteen years old, he found himself signed to an NHL team he wasn’t supposed to be on and with a soulmark he could make neither head nor tail of: a silver wolf and black dog, intertwined like yin and yang, two crossed hockey sticks behind them. He remembered, distantly, being told that soulmarks were meant to make sense. 

The black dog was probably meant to represent him—black dog, dog black (he still hadn’t forgiven his parents for that one)—and the hockey sticks almost definitely had something to do with, well, hockey, but the wolf he had no idea about.  

***

It is now that these two stories meet. There is a split second, a fraction of time, and it seems as though the whole world is holding its breath. Will their paths cross, only to continue on their separate ways? Will they travel together for a time, before they are destined to part once more?

“Hello,” says Remus, and when Sirius holds his hand out coldly, their fate is decided. 

***

“Pots, c’mere a second!” 

Sirius is happy, almost. He’s got the team—he’s one of them, now, really and truly, but there’s something still off. He knows what it is, but he doesn’t want to. 

“I’m coming, Captain! Keep your head on!”

James comes to a stop in front of him. “Hi. What do you need?”

“Please poke Dumo.” A few of the guys chuckle, and this makes Sirius smile. He likes making other people laugh. 

“What, and you needed me for that? You couldn't do it yourself?”

Finn walks into the room, then, jersey half on. “Why do it at all? What did poor old Dumo do to you, anyway?”

“Yeah,” Pascal says from where he’s sitting by his locker. “Respect your elders!”

“Elder, you say? Edging on retirement, are you?”

“Tais-toi!” 

Glancing over to Remus, Sirius allows the barest flicker of a smile to pass over his face. He gets one in return. 

“Alright, everyone get moving,” Coach tells them, opening the door and surveying where they’re all arranged, faces like guilty puppies. “You’re paid to play hockey, not sit on your asses and gossip. Practice starts in five minutes, or you run laps around the outside of the rink. In skates.”

Most of them groan, and Kasey downs a Powerade. “Well, boys, that’s my cue.”

James is the next to go, then Finn, then Logan. Leo and Talker continue their argument—something about George Harrison; Sirius isn’t really listening—out onto the ice, and Adam follows them with Olli and Nado close behind. Dumo winks at Sirius before he goes, too, and then it’s just the two of them. 

“What did he do?” Remus asks, after Sirius has laced and relaced his left skate three times. “Dumo, I mean.” 

“Nothing much. Just… well, if you must know, he put shaving cream in the fridge, once. Guess what I had on my waffles that morning.” 

“Waffles aren’t on your diet plan.”

“It was last year.”

“And you waited until now to get James to poke him?”

He knows Remus can see right through him. He always can. “Never question the methods of a hockey player, Loops.”

He meant it as a joke, but Remus stiffens for some reason, jaw clenching and eyes darting away. There’s an awkward pause before Sirius says, “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” 

“Right.” He clears his throat, trying in vain to find something else to say. He would be lying if he said Remus didn’t mean something to him—he knows it. But, after all, knowing something and acknowledging it are two very different things. 

Sirius runs the laps. 

***

That night, after practice, Remus is about to head for the bus station when Sirius steps in front of him. He’s walking backwards, even with his hockey bag slung over his shoulder, and Remus isn’t ashamed to say he’s a little impressed. (From a purely objective point of view, of course. It has nothing to do with Sirius and everything to do with the skill it would take, hypothetically, to do such a thing.) (He’s not fooling anyone, least of all himself.) 

“Want a lift?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that.”

Remus rolls his eyes; he pretends to think about it. “All right,” he says, finally. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I get to choose the music.”

Sirius lets out one loud ‘ha!’  It’s the most beautiful thing Remus has heard in a long time. (That would go well: “Oh, I’ve changed my mind. No need to put on the radio, I’ll be content if you just keep laughing.”) (There’s a reason people like him are off to the side, out of sight, instead of right in the spotlight with a microphone.)  

Remus is glad that Sirius waits until he’s parked outside Remus’s apartment building to bring up their earlier conversation. It says something that they say “So, about this evening—” in unison, but Remus isn’t going to think about that. 

“You go first,” Sirius tells him, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Please.”

“I suppose,” Remus says, slowly, “That I haven’t quite been honest with you. Any of you. I wasn’t always a PT.”

“Of course not. You’re my age. You can’t have always worked for the Lions—before that you were a teenager. A student.”

Remus shakes his head. “No. Before that I was a player.” 

“You played? Why’d you stop?”

“Bad hit,” he says, shrugging. “I’m over it. But I… I know what it’s like. The pressure. The rules. So, if you need someone to talk to… just remember—I know what the game does to a guy. You’re not the only one who’s been told to be something you aren’t by someone who forgets you’re a person off the ice, too.

“See you tomorrow, Cap. Thanks for the ride.” 

***

Sirius is probably the one person in history who has managed to burn eggs without even turning the stove on. 

“How on earth did that happen?” James asks when Sirius phones him. 

“I dropped them into the toaster—hey! Stop laughing! It could happen to anyone!”

“Yes,” he hears from the other end of the line, “But it didn’t. It happened to you.”

It takes exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after hanging up on James for Sirius to decide to call Remus. Cooking failures might not have been quite what Remus meant when he said Sirius could talk to him, but it’s the problem at hand right now. 

(Remus laughs just as hard as James, but at least he has the decency to apologize for it afterwards.) 

“Well,” he says, once he’s calmed down, “What are you going to eat now?” 

“I’m not sure. Cereal?”

“Practice is in two and a half hours. You need more than that.”

“I’ll be—”

“If you end that sentence with ‘fine,’ I’ll take the laces out of your skates and strangle you with them. Do you want me to walk you through, I dunno, a pancake?” 

“Sure. What do I need?”

“Flour, butter, eggs, milk…”

Twenty minutes later Sirius is left with milk on his shirt, flour in his hair, butter practically everywhere else, and a microwave that won’t start. 

“I think,” he tells Remus, “I should have cereal.”

“You are going to eat a pancake if it’s the last thing I do—”

“Why don’t you just come over here and make it for me, then? I’m sure you’ll have more success.” 

He holds his breath for a moment, hoping this wasn’t a step too far, before Remus responds. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be over in… half an hour?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Click. 

The instant the call is over, Sirius opens the freezer and grabs one of the popsicles he secretly has stashed there. They’re not part of his diet plan, but he needs one. Then he takes a sponge and starts trying to get the butter out of the sole of his shoe. 

***

The first thought that crosses Remus’s mind is that Sirius’s tongue is purple from one of the popsicles he thinks no one knows about. If Remus kissed him, he’d probably taste like grapes. (The thought is banished from his mind the moment it enters.) 

“So,” he says, surveying the damage. “I am going to teach you how to make a pancake.” 

Sirius, it turns out, is infinitely better at following instructions when they’re simple, and the two of them work out a system quickly. Remus makes the pancake, Sirius gets the ingredients. It works. 

“That’s salt, not sugar. Try again.”

(Most of the time, at least.)

 “Really?” Sirius is squinting at the package. “Why doesn’t it say so?”

“It does. Right there.” 

“How am I supposed to read that?”

“You need glasses, Cap.” 

“I have glasses. I just never wear them.” 

“What?” This is news to Remus. Visions of Sirius with glasses and bed hair are swimming in front of his eyes. “Why?” 

A shrug. “I look stupid.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’d be drop-dead gorgeous in anything.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Remus realizes that, yes, he said that out loud. “I mean, all those fangirls certainly seem to think so.” 

“Right. Yeah.” Sirius clears his throat. 

“Anyway, pancakes! I think these are almost ready to cook—can you turn on the element?”

“The what now?” 

“The element? The coil on the stove?” 

“Should’ve just said that in the first place,” Sirius grumbles. “Fucking Americans.” 

“Fucking French.” 

Suddenly, Remus has a spatula pointed at his nose. He has to cross his eyes to see it properly. “Say that again; I dare you.”

“Fucking French?”

“Awright, that’s it! En garde, bitch!” 

And so begins the great whisk-vs-spatula duel of 2020. There is very little batter left once they’re done—in the bowl, at least. Most of it is on their clothes. 

They look at each other. “Cereal?” 

“...Cereal.” 

***

Kasey’s eyes go wide—almost comically so—when they show up to practice together. 

“Cap giving rides?” He says, and Sirius isn’t sure what accent he’s trying to fake but he ends up sounding like a scandalized duchess from the movie adaptation of an Austen knockoff. (Maybe that is what he was going for. It’s hard to know, with Kasey.) “I thought the day would never come.”

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.”

Remus’s elbow digs into Sirius’s rib cage. “You don’t want to say that. He tried to make me shut up this morning—it’s something I’ll never recover from.” 

Sirius almost laughs at the expression Remus makes when he realizes exactly how that sounds. 

“He dumped pancake batter down my shirt!” 

“You didn’t!” The look on James’s face is aghast. “First the eggs, now this—what will people think?” 

Finn looks up from his phone. “Eggs?” 

“Sirius here dropped the eggs he was going to eat for breakfast into his—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” 

Dumo slings an arm around his shoulders. “The price you must pay for telling James to poke me yesterday. Learn from this, mon fils. Learn.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.”

“Treachery!” 

Shrugging him off, Sirius grins. “I am the kitchen monster. Cross me and I will slaughter you in a food war.”

“Try me.” This is Logan speaking; Sirius hadn’t even realized he was there. 

“You’ve been warned!” 

***

“Look, there are twenty-two hockey players in this arena, and I ain’t one of them,” Moody says, and Remus can’t be sure, but he thinks Sirius looks at him. 

***

“You’re favouring your right leg,” Remus comments as soon as Sirius is off the ice. “Want me to take a look?”

“It’s fine, really—”

“I’ll try again. Want me to take a look?” 

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Loops.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

They walk into the PT room in businesslike silence, Sirius hoping all the way that one of them will break it. Neither does, and it isn’t until Remus has taken off both his skates for him, now expertly examining his left ankle, that he realizes what he should say. 

“You mentioned you played, last night.”

The finger tracing his Achilles tendon stills. “I did.” 

“Were you any good?” He knows, somewhere, that he’s entering forbidden territory. He can’t bring himself to care. 

“I’d like to believe so.”

“Be honest.” Sirens are blaring in his head. He keeps going. 

“There were rumours…” Remus bites his lip, glances away. “People said I was set for first.”

“What? How come you never said anything? C’mon, you need to play with us sometime, just scrimmage or something—”

“Maybe. That hit…”

“Right. God, I’m sorry, Rem.”

If Remus’s Adam’s apple bobs at the nickname, Sirius doesn’t notice. He certainly doesn’t try his best not to jump to conclusions. (Double negative; that’s a yes, a voice that sounds suspiciously like James’s says in his head. Shut up, he tells it.)

“It’s fine. Really. I just don’t like talking about it. And besides, I like this. Working with the team, even if I can’t be a part of it.”

“You are. A part of the team, I mean. Just as much as I am.”

“Sure.”

There’s another awkward pause before Remus clears his throat. “So, I’m gonna put on some anti-inflammatory gel because it’s a little swollen, but don’t get used to it. I want you to keep doing some stretches, not too much pressure. Capeesh?”

“What the fuck is a capeesh?”

“Just say it.”

“...Capeesh?”

“Awesome.” 

Remus leans forward towards him, their foreheads almost touching. Sirius’s breath catches. 

It’s over just as suddenly. The tube of extra-strength Voltaren is in Remus’s hand, and Sirius feels stupid for thinking he was going to—

Nope. Not thinking about that. 

When he feels tears start to prick at his eyes, he glances up at the fluorescent lights overhead; at least then he’ll have an excuse. There’s a moth resting on one. Its wings flutter once, twice, then go still. Fragile things, moths are—maybe it’s died, maybe it hasn’t. He could read into that, but he won’t. 

He jumps when the cool of the gel on Remus’s hands touches his foot. “Hey!” He yelps, looking quickly down. 

Sirius hates to succumb to cliches, but he would be lying if he was to say his heart doesn’t still. 

Because Remus has pulled the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows, and his wrist is turned to the sky—to Sirius, who has seen that mark before somewhere. 

Somewhere. He’s kidding himself. He’s seen it every day whenever he bothers to look at his own soulmark, and he’s seeing it again now. 

“You know what, I’m fine,” he blurts out, shaking his ankle out of Remus’s grasp. “Thanks, though. See you later, Loops.” 

***

Remus stays there for a second, watching Sirius leave. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, and he’s not sure he wants to. 

When he gets up to leave, tossing the container towards the first aid kit on the bench and allowing himself a small smile when it lands perfectly inside, blood rushes to his head. He closes his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. 

And then he crashes into Finn. 

“Whoa, sorry,” Remus says, stumbling backwards.

“Nah, don’t stress it. There’s just something I want you to check on.”

Remus is hit by a sense of deja vu. He wonders if Finn, too, is going to leave without explanation. He follows him back into the PT room, Finn gesturing for him to lock the door. 

Though he may be the shorter of the two, Remus knows it’s his job to be the bigger person. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Finn waits another moment before yanking one sleeve up to reveal three paw prints, each no bigger than a thumbnail, clustered together—one forest green, one golden, and one a deep navy blue. 

“Your soulmark.” Remus doesn’t understand. “What? Is something wrong?” 

“There’s three of them,” Finn says. “Which means there’s three of us.”

“You have two soulmates?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine, Finn. It may not be common, but it’s not unheard of. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” 

“It’s not that. It’s… hey, you can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

“I know. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?”

“Right.” Finn takes a breath, squeezing his eyes closed. “What if I told you I know who they are? Or I think I do?” 

“Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Well, I’d ask you if they knew.”

“And I’d say I don’t think so. One of them’s pretty stubborn—wouldn’t see love if it stood up on the ice and sang the national anthem—and the other isn’t nineteen yet, so he doesn’t—I mean wouldn’t—have his mark yet.” 

“His?”

Finn’s eyes widen. There is a pause before he nods, slowly. “Yeah. Got a problem?”

“Trust me, I’m the last person on earth who’d have a problem with something like that. Hypothetically.” 

This, at least, earns Remus a smile. “Are you…?”

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.” Another pause. “What if I told you, still hypothetically, that they were both on the team?” 

“Then I’d say get the fuck out of here and win them over before they start thinking you’ve forgotten about them.” 

Finn, smiling ear to ear, starts to leave. “Wait,” he says, hand on the doorknob. “You said you were…”

“Gay.”

“Yeah. Do—do you know who your soulmate is?”

Remus opens his mouth to say ‘no.’ He really does. But what comes out—when he takes into account the look of recognition on Sirius’s face when Remus had his sleeves rolled up; the understanding that had passed between them outside Remus’s building (god, that was just last night); the way they’ve always just clicked—is most certainly not ‘no.’ 

“Oh, fuck, I think I do,” he says, and he and Finn run out into the hallway together. 

Sirius’s car is pulling out of the parking lot when Remus arrives, out of breath, at the front doors of the arena. 

“I don’t know why he’s in such a hurry.” Remus jumps. He hadn’t heard James come to stand beside him. “Just packed up his gear at the speed of light and left. Didn’t even shower; he said he’d do it at home.”

So Sirius had been so appalled—disgusted, even—at Remus being his soulmate that he’d left without explanation, with barely even a goodbye. There was a pleasant thought. 

He turns so his back is against the door, sliding slowly down to sit on the floor. 

“Y’know,” James says, sitting next to him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you needed a hug.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence before Remus says, “James?”

“Yeah?” 

“I need a hug.” 

James gives the best hugs. Everyone says so. But until now, Remus has never been on the receiving end of a true James Potter hug—warm, strong, and friendly as hell. (“I want that on a t-shirt,” James says when Remus tells him so.)

But eventually, James has to go, too, and Remus heads back to the PT room. He passes Logan in the hall, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a two-by-four. Maybe it’s Finn’s doing; he had mentioned that one of them was oblivious. Logan, Remus knows, is the definition of oblivious. 

***

“And I think that’s all,” Coach Weasley says, glancing around, “Unless anyone else has something to say? Moody? Cap? Loops?” 

“Actually, yes,” says Remus after a moment. “Checkups! Not naming names but Kris lied about his rib acting up so now all of you get to be interrogated.” 

Sirius swallows. He’s not anxious to be alone with Remus; not after yesterday. There’s no way there aren’t going to be questions. 

Kasey goes first, Remus taking just under five minutes to deem him ‘good to go.’ Kris, surprisingly, is only kept for eight, despite the claim of his ribs acting up again. Finn takes the longest—fifteen minutes—and as soon as he’s out he grabs Logan and Leo by the wrists and marches them off somewhere. Sirius’s turn comes last, right after Pascal’s, who gives him a knowing look as he enters.

“Hi,” Remus says, first aid kit nowhere in sight. “Sit down.” 

“Where?” Sirius gets only a shrug in response. 

He hesitates a moment, then sits on the floor, picking at the sole of his sneaker. 

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks suddenly.

“Fine. Ankle’s not bothering me any more.”

“No, I mean how are you feeling?”

Scoffing, he starts to stand up. “I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“Sirius Black, sit your ass back down before I make you.” 

Sirius sits his ass back down. 

“Good. Now, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m… confused,” he says, trying to be honest without being specific. “And nervous. And I cried myself to sleep last night, which I haven’t done since I was like seventeen, so there’s that. But mostly I’m just really fucking mad.” 

“At me.” It isn’t a question. 

“No, not at you! At me! At the—” he gestures wildly. “—Universe, or whatever. Can I go now?” 

Remus doesn’t even acknowledge his request. “So you’re disappointed.”

“...Yeah.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“I’m pretty sure you fucking know why.” 

“Maybe I do. But I’d like you to explain it to me.” 

The stupid thing is that Sirius wants to talk about it. He really does. And Remus is the only person he can conceivably talk about it to. But he still chokes on his words when he says, anger burning his throat, “It was never supposed to be like this.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Sirius practically screams. “Stop trying to fucking— psychoalalyze me or something, for fuck’s sake. You fucking asked, and I—” He tears his fingers through his hair, feeling his chest start to constrict. “Just stop talking!” 

The echoes of his shouts fade out too quickly, and the only thing worse than the voices is the sound of his breathing getting faster and faster. Remus’s hand twitches, as though he wants to touch him but thinks better of it.

“It was always supposed to be someone different. Someone faceless; nameless. Someone I could run away from. I can’t fucking run away from you, Remus.

“I always thought I could lie. That I could—pretend, or something. Just keep hiding. It was supposed to be someone I could hide from, because I’ve spent my whole life fucking hiding and that’s all I know how to do. It was never supposed to be someone I could fall in love with.” 

There’s a choked noise from where Remus is sitting on the bench, but nothing else. Sirius refuses to look at him. 

“And I just—I just fucking hate this, because all I’ve been told is that hockey comes before my dreams. And that’s made sense until now because until now hockey was my dream, but now there’s you. Yeah.” 

Remus, to his credit, waits until Sirius’s breathing has calmed down and he’s furiously wiped the tears from his eyes to speak. “What do you need?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean forget everything. Forget your family, forget the team, forget me—what do you need?  

“Right now? For the rest of my life? Because those are two very different things.” 

“Let’s start with now. Can I do anything for you? Can you do anything for yourself?” 

“I need a hot chocolate.” 

***

They wait until everyone else has gone, and then make their way outside to Sirius’s car. There’s only one other in the parking lot—a grey Toyota Remus thinks belongs to Nado, or maybe Kris. He’s not sure why he thinks it matters, because it doesn’t. 

Silence hangs around them the whole four blocks to the nearest Tim Horton’s. Inhale; exhale. Inhale; exhale. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything. 

That doesn’t stop Remus from hoping. 

He knows it’s wrong; of course he does. It’s Sirius’s choice, in the end, because Sirius is the one who will be most affected. His career, his life—all on the line if he decides to trust whatever plan the world has in store for them. It’s not like that for Remus. Not anymore. 

There’s a parking spot right outside the front door. Sirius pulls into it, but he doesn’t get out right away. He glances around, makes sure there’s no one immediately in sight, and then he looks down to where his hands now rest in in his lap. Slowly, he pulls up his right sleeve to expose, bit by bit, his soulmark. 

“I don’t know why I never guessed it could be you—Wolfy McWolf Wolf.” 

Remus feels his lips twitch upwards into something resembling a smile. “I could say the same, Dog Black.” 

When he puts his hand on the console, Sirius rests his on top of it. It’s not much. 

But it’s something. 

***

Sirius looks longingly at the Boston cream doughnuts. “Please. I haven’t had one in so long.” 

“Think again, Mr. I’m-on-a-diet-plan.” 

He’s not surprised. What was he thinking, having his PT as his soulmate? (Well, he wasn’t. He didn’t get to choose. But, he thinks to himself, the point still stands.) 

“I’ll have a medium hot chocolate, please, a plain toasted bagel,” Remus looks at him and sighs. “...And a Boston cream doughnut.” 

When the food is set down on the pickup counter, Remus snatches it before Sirius has a chance to. “Hey, this is my doughnut.” 

Sirius pouts. 

“You’re cute. Here.” He tosses him the brown paper bag, and Sirius removes his prize carefully. He‘s going to eat every piece of chocolate glazing if it kills him. 

Back out in the car—this is a conversation neither of them is willing to have in the public dining area—Remus chews on his bagel thoughtfully. Sirius tries and fails not to swear when his hot chocolate burns his tongue.

“Shit!” 

Remus glances over at him. Their eyes meet for a moment, then both look away. “So,” Sirius says after a while. “I think we need to talk.” 

“Yeah.” 

Silence, then—

“You go first,” they say at the same time, and laugh. Some of the tension is broken. 

Sirius reaches hesitantly to where Remus’s arm rests between the seats. He doesn’t need to voice his question—Remus sees it in his eyes; nods. 

Up close, he can see that there are a few differences between their marks. Nothing that could possibly mean they aren’t soulmates—just the discolouring on the dog’s tail; the angle of one of the sticks; the faded white gash that stretches from one side of Remus’s wrist to the other, separating the wolf’s head from its body. Sirius doesn’t quite know what he’s doing when he presses his lips to the scar. 

When he looks up, he sees that Remus is trying not to cry. And that’s when he makes his decision. 

“I want this,” he says, voice soft but sure. “All of it.”

[buchananbarnes1991]

Unus Annus Sentence Meme Starter

“Hey buddy buddy buddy buddy!”

“Our long time colleagues are 419 hours a day deny you here!”

“Peoples dream, must first be full of blood!”

“When we arrived in my backyard, we stopped the fire.”

“We quickly eliminated the enemy, and the fight was depressing.”

“Boy am I hungry!”

“Zip zap zop!”

“I don’t know if this was your idea, but we’ll roll with it.”

“This wouldn’t be the first time like, ‘hey I’ve got an idea.’ when we told you it weeks ago.”

“With the guidance of a guardian angel, you can do anything.”

“What am I teaching you how to do?”

“You don’t need to make it! I’m making it!”

“Have you washed your hands? You should wash your hands.”

“You can have the knife when you need the knife.”

“Close the door and never go back!”

“I want you to do something for me. Take a balloon, stretch it out..nice and wide.”

“Some of us are more gifted than others.”

“Okay, so what are we doing here? What is this?”

“I think that the way that I’d kill you is..’take you by the hands. come this way. I’ve got something to show you. just something you HAVE TO SEE.’ “

“In highschool. I dated a girl...her name was, Abigail. Very smart and driven. I was a stupid boy.”

“I still hadn’t let go, but they called me to tell me. She’d let go.”

“She looked down at the ground and then looked back up me. She giggled a bit and then said ‘Oh, don’t you know? I have feelings for Troy.’ “

“When you’re a late bloomer and you spend most of your time alone in a dark room with various ‘websites’,  it turns out that feeding my entire adolescences with perverted thoughts from various unsavory sources makes a distorted impression of the act of making love.”

“After about thirty minutes of dry thrusting, I found myself incapable of completion.”

“The first time I ever had sex, I had to fake my own orgasm..just to get it over with.”

“I too was a late bloomer. I didn’t know anything about intercourse or foreplay or anything.”

“We heard the tent unzip, her thirteen year old brother came through the tent! He didn’t see us. But, we were there. He said ‘Dinner’s ready.’ Under the protection of the sleeping bag we were replied ‘OKAY!’, He exited and I-- *giggles* exited.”

“I think that’s enough therapy for one day. Remember, it’s okay to talk about embarrassing of your life.”

“You stand here..I’m gonna take my shoes off.”

“I need to climb around you.”

“Using teamwork and trust and...t-t-t....team work, you get one person from one end of the body, all the way around to the same end.”

“You think you know us, but we only show you what we want you to see.”

“Let’s get climbing.”

“I thought we were gonna watch a movie.”

“And then I PILE DRIVE YOU’RE SPINE...paralyzed for life.”

“I AM ALWAYS STABLE. Don’t even try to unstablize me.”

“Felt like an emotional burden unloaded.”

“Death comes for all of us and we’ve gotta prepare.”

“It’s a beautiful world, with a lot of caskets.”

“I’m just thinking about America...it’s not a great time to think about America.”

“Can we see some different caskets? Can you show us some metal ones, some wood ones?”

“Let’s start with the highest! And then we’ll work down to where we’re comfortable.”

“Why is Mahogany like the universally known wood? It’s used in all the movies, everyone talks about it. If they want quality, they want a Mahogany.”

“Obviously it’s a beautiful wood, but what makes Mahogany so special?”

“With Mahogany if you look at it. If you pass your eyes to the side, it changes. It goes with you.”

“You are supposed to be buried in dirt. From dust to dust.”

“I don’t want it to be too comfortable. I’d like to stay alert.”

“I don’t know, what does it mean to be afraid? I’m not afraid of death.”

“I don’t like the feel of velvet. I mean, I’ll touch it.”

“Mmh....velvet...”

“That’s the thing! Like old production stuff was built to last, FOREVER!”

“For now you can kneel.”

“They’re Nigerian dwarf goats. They’re gonna be your yoga partners today.”

“I twisted a man into a pretzel. I could do the same to you.”

“I twisted myself into a pretzel.”

“It’s so much more fun to do a plank with a goat on your back.”

“The goats come to you. The motto that we like to have it ‘trust the goats.’ “

“Oh, wait. Wait! I didn’t know we were competing.”

“When I did hot yoga. I kicked everyone’s ass.”

“There’s a lot goatin’ on.”

“You flinchy bastard.”

“Alright, there’s a goat there.”

“I always tell people that they will fire their massage therapists because goat massages are way better.”

“Yeah, it’s real firm.”

“Ow, oh god. Your tallons!”

“Oh, tight pants..tight pants!”

“Those are quitters who think that you have to have the perfect conditions to do things but if you can do things in times of adversity that’s when you know you’re really committed to a cause!”

“Anyone want kisses?”

“It’s okay to show emotions.”

“CRY LITTLE BITCH, CRY!”

“No one’s crazy enough to do it!”

“We knew this year was going to be hell.”

“Hey! Seven days..”

“There’s always still time for things to go wrong.”

“We’ll save them for the future.”

“No, there’s no future.”

“I hope I die in a hilarious way. I hope my death can be told as a joke, like it’s so funny how I died. People can get one last joy. One last laugh.”

“I’m not afraid of death, but I am afraid of dying.”

“Okay, we only have our sixth sense to see with. Okay? Much like Bruce Willis in the show Sixth Sense, spoiler, I know it’s new. He sees dead eggs everywhere.”

“You can do it with dominoes too, but be careful with that one cause once to get a hundred or more dominoes and you spill ‘em all over, it’s gonna take all afternoon to set ‘em back up.”

“So you better fucking see with your brain or else you won’t be able to have a good time.”

“Ouch ouch ouch! That’s not an egg.”

“I think you need to go a little slower.”

“Oh...Puppies!”

“Should we turn on the emergency camper light?”

“I’m just such a neat freak.” “You know we need to try and escape.”

“What a profound man, that shot out the load that is Tony Stark.”

“This is a literal don’t show it. Oh god, all of his nudes are right there!”

“Gone gone, forever.”

“Two idiots cause ten care pile up from buttplug dropedge.” 

“Hook car batteries up to my nipples? I’ll say yes every time!” 

“I’m not a masochist. I’m really not. I’m glad I have this uninterrupted moment to talk about this. I’m not a masochist. I’m just curious.” 

“I’ve never been hit by a car, outside of my car? What’s that like? I DON’T KNOW!” 

“Sometimes, I am an idiot and..I match your intelligence level. THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT!”

“We’ve been edging father time for a year.”

“Recognize my face, thank you.”

 “Oh it was terrible. You didn’t tell me about all the bears along the way.”

“Nice camel toe.

“Do you want me to get nurse Tracy?”

“When we tried to crush those melons, SHE TOOK TWO!”

“I was thinking the other night, what if the next melon is [insert muses’s name here] skull?”

“I just like doing what I’m told.”

“A man of few words, a man of action.”

“Are our faces being used as Capchas’ now?”

“Thank you god, thats’s a good idea.”

“God said we could!”

“Doesn’t matter what you do, to keep it from ending. Once it ends. It’s gone forever.”

“I don’t know you but you’re here, a lot. I guess you’re fine.”

“I couldn’t get it off, I felt like I was gonna rip your skin off.”

“YOU WERE GONNA RIP MY SKIN OFF.”

“We got all this time that we can relax! We’ve got like a week to relax...”

“Neither of us have ever been pepper sprayed. Let’s get pepper sprayed!”

“It’s burning as if there’s some hot oil.. on my eyes.”

“My eyes are okay now.”

“This fucking sucks so bad.”

“I would not recommend getting pepper sprayed.”

“When I was a young lad. All I had was my imagination and the woodland creatures.”

“You shot me twice! I get to shoot you with a paintball at some point in the future.”

“There is no easy!”

“Math wasn’t my strong suit, nor was anything.”

“He’s an idiot but he can read well.”

“Look at me in the eyes boy, you’ll never be stronger than me.”

“How do you have time for anything, do you not sleep?”

“Your shirt needs to be off.”

“I think you just want me to take my shirt off.”

“Ugh...I’m fine.”

“I need gloves, I need gloves, hang on, I gotta get gloves!”

“I don’t wanna do anything with drainage.”

“What bone would you say hurts?”

“That’s what the picture said to do, breast feed your patient.”

“Your bed’s not very comfortable.”

“THE GONGOOZLER!”

“It not over, it’s close.”

“In six hours, we’re done.”

“It’s hard to say goodbye, but it’s important.”

“Beautiful, a sailor’s dream to come across the mermer.”

“DELETE ME!! CUT ME OUTTA HERE!!”

“I’m being an asshole now.”

“It’s not hope, it’s delusion.”

“You can’t speed your way into heaven!”

“Have you ever looked at your tongue too long in the mirror and it no longer looks like it belongs to you?”

“Biology is just a constant nightmare.”

[sodamnbored]

I so badly want a Roman prequel series. More than a Solangelo book. There could be so many great things in it.

Ideally, we’d get a series, basically original PJO but on the Roman side, presumably then following Jason in the same way we originally followed Percy.

But that would just be rehashing what we’ve already seen! Jason’s story would be too similar to Percy’s! - I hear you cry. But bear with me.

Yes: there would be some big similarities - following a son of one of the big three as he grows up and masters his powers and all that. And yes it would also conclude with him fighting a titan. But! I also think they’re different enough that it would read more as parallels than just copy and paste. It could be really interesting.

For one thing: Jason is starting way earlier than Percy. And I am desperate to know about the wolves thing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but all the info we have thus far is pretty vague, no? We know he went to the wolves when he was about two years old. But we don’t really know how long he stayed with them.

There’s the idea that he was raised by wolves (which don’t get me wrong I love that) and only went to the Legion when he was older - for parallels sake say about twelve. But we don’t know that’s the case for sure. He might’ve just spent the more or less normal time period with the wolves, or even if he were there longer than most - a year, two years even - he might’ve toddled off to camp still pretty young.

Cause this is another thing: we know very little about Camp Jupiter. In CHB you see for a fact that there are plenty of young demigods there, talking ten and under. Unless I’m mistaken, we never really heard mention of any little kids in the Legion right? Hazel was what, thirteen, in SoN, which is fairly young, but I don’t think there was any mention of anyone much younger than that. There was the little girl helping Terminus, but she was from New Rome not the Legion. And the Legion isn’t a summer camp of course, that’s a crucial difference.

They are quite literally an army, preparing for war should one ever arise. So do they have a minimum age requirement? Would not be unreasonable to assume they would. We know the majority of Legionaries are legacies from New Rome as opposed to actual half bloods, so it’s not unreasonable to think these kids live normal lives in New Rome until they hit a certain age and get conscripted/have the option to join the Legion for training.

If this is the case, then Jason might not’ve been with the wolves for years at all. He could’ve done his time and then been passed along to the care of New Rome. Set up somewhere to go to school and grow up and have something of a life to prepare him for his future in the Legion. That would be an interesting difference from Percy who had grown up not knowing about his heritage, for Jason to be fully aware of his godly parentage and to grow up knowing he was heading to the Legion as soon as he was old enough. I’m not sure about timings because in The Lost Hero pretty sure he’s fifteen and has twelve lines on his tattoo “for twelve years of service in the Legion” according to the wiki; but the wiki for the tattoos alone says the lines can be for years at Camp Jupiter or for completed quests and such, so it could mean he was toddling about CJ at three years old in mini Legionnaire armour like Caligula (oh the irony), or just that he crammed a crap load of cool stuff into just a few years when he was older.

So the series could quite happily start with him joining the Legion and maybe just summarise his life before that, have the important parts explained as relevant to the plot, I dunno. But it would give us more info on how Camp Jupiter actually works because personally I am clamouring for more info on the Romans.

Presuming that Jason is at least a Probatio by the time he’s about twelve (and it’d be cool to see him earn his full place in the legion too), that also means we’d get to see other people’s stories happening alongside his.

We know he fought the Trojan Sea Monster at some point, so that would be a cool quest to see play out. We don’t know a lot of other things he’s done, but we can assume he’d have been in the Legion when Reyna turned up, which would also be a really interesting story to follow.

We know from tSoM that Reyna and Hylla were on Circe’s island, when Percy was about 12/13, and it seems in SoN that he and Reyna were both around the same age, 16 or so. We know Reyna and Hylla spent some time after tSoM on Blackbeard’s ship before she made it to Camp Jupiter. So somewhere between ages 12-16, she would pop up at camp and I firmly believe she would’ve been Jason’s friend before they both became Praetors. And I would kill to see it. I wanna see them go on a quest together so badly. They would be an awesome team.

But we’d get to see Jason go through the steps, Probatio to Centurion to Praetor. We’d see him improving the Fifth Cohort’s standing in the Legion. We’d see Reyna become Praetor. (We’d ideally see Jason and Octavian gently bitch at each other like with Percy, but that’s just for me.) We’d get to see Jason and Reyna being Praetors together for a bit hopefully. That would be cool. And no doubt the series would conclude with their side of the Titan War, with Krios’ defeat - which would be so cool to see!

Being able to see more of their side of the war would also be really interesting as well. Because surely, there was more to it for them than just that one battle out of nowhere right? They must’ve been aware of the war and enlisted by the gods to help out right? Maybe there were some other titans for them to fight, maybe they had defectors too? Perhaps they were under the impression Kronos was still chopped up in little bits and Krios was running the show, either wanting to take Kronos’ place as the big cheese, or thinking the titans were working to reform Kronos, but they were kept out of Luke’s side of things so they didn’t realise that he already had been? Who knows. Certainly not me, cause we don’t have any books on it.

And there would be opportunities to have almost crossovers. Particularly regarding the war. They might just overhear things that don’t necessarily make sense to them but that we get, stuff like that. See some aftermath from one of Percy’s visits to the area. So many options.

Oh also actually, just for added angst and a different view than Percy’s, there was that freaking tragic bit in HoH I think where Jason thinks about his mother. The part about following orders and rules bothered him, but he insisted on doing so and keeping his promises because his mother had abandoned him and broken her promise. That would be an interesting aspect for the narration and his point of view because it’s the exact opposite of Percy. Percy doesn’t mind pushing the limits with the gods and exploiting loopholes or calling them on their faults, focused on surviving till the end of the day when he can go home to his mother and forget the gods and their stupid rules. Jason, on the other hand, doesn’t have anywhere to go back to. Camp Jupiter and the roles he’s given there are quite literally it for him, so even though he may resent it as much as Percy, he feels the need to bite his tongue and do everything in his power meet expectations and stay in line, etc. And yes, it’s for the benefit of others like he said in HoH, but maybe also the threat that if he makes too much trouble, where else is he gonna go and who else outside the Legion does he have?

Unfortunately we wouldn’t get to see Frank and Hazel come into it as newbies because that would’ve only happened after the war, so unlikely the series would continue after they beat Krios. But it’d still be a good set up to lead back into HoO alongside original PJO.

Also, I wanna know if Jason would’ve been particularly aware of his dad handing him off to Juno, or if she took a back seat until yoinking his memories out his head and dumping him on a dusty bus. I quite like the idea of him knowing, that she wouldn’t have been shy about popping up now and again as his patron, maybe sending him quests, offering occasional assistance like Poseidon did for Percy. Juno cared about her little champion, you can’t tell me different. I’d like to see her drop by from time to time. Or if he just accepted he was Jupiter’s and his dad basically never wanted to talk to him, and was a bit blindsided when Juno popped up after his hit on Krios.

Maybe he was just heading to bed after a long day of Titan slaying, thinking what he’d have for breakfast tomorrow and poof - Juno staring at him in his PJs, doesn’t he feel underdressed. Barely gets out an “um-?” before she’s like “got a quest for you. Surprise!”

(Since we got The Fall Of Jason Grace from Apollo in ToA, this series could be called something silly like The Rise Of Jason Grace to mirror it. I dunno.)

Either way, I need this. We deserve this. I will literally pay like 20$ per book if we could get this.

Wrote this hella sleep deprived and without sources and I’m still in ToA and haven’t read the extra books yet like demigod files and the Probatio one, so anything I’ve missed, had been answered, or is just plain wrong, let me know.

[yadds]

Heyyyy so guess who’s not dead!  Anyway, for anyone that’s interested, I’ve decided that I’m not posting ongoing works until I’m done with them then will post as I’m editing.  Sorry!  However, I do have an excerpt that I like a bit that can stand alone, so here it is!  Also, despite the sexual nature of the initial conversation, this is pre-starker and isn’t really much about sex.

Minor background info: Tony has come back from the dead and is still with Pepper but they’re having issues.  Meanwhile, the Starker bromance is developing and they hang out quite a bit.  

____________________________________________________________________

“Spit or swallow?” Peter asked out of the blue as they sat on the couch watching reality tv. 

Tony’s eyebrows were about to climb right into his hairline. “Excuse me?”

“Spit or swallow?” he repeated, over enunciating. “What are your thoughts?”

“Just to be clear, we’re talking about…” Tony trailed off slowly. 

“You know, bjs. Blowies. I’m sure you’ve gotten one once or twice,” Peter said with a roll of his eyes, tossing several pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

“Yeah, might have happened on a rare occasion,” Tony responded dryly. “Well, honestly I can take it or leave it on the receiving end, doesn’t make that much of a difference to me.”

Peter’s head tilted back and forth, considering, before shrugging. 

“When giving though, I generally don’t like either. Don’t get me wrong, I love going down on people and making them feel good, but I prefer if they don’t finish in my mouth. Obviously I’ve done it before and may very well do it again so I guess I’d probably say swallow? It’s already there, so why make a mess?”

Peter’s attention was now fully on Tony, the TV forgotten in the background. Tony glanced over and smiled wryly when he saw his gaping mouth and red cheeks. “What’s with the stunned mullet impression? Did you not literally just ask that question? Am I going senile already?”

Peter cleared his throat and turned back to face the tv again. “Uh, yeah, I uh I did ask. But I was thinking more on the receiving end - I wasn’t expecting you to talk about giving.”

One of Tony’s brows crept back up. “Oh? And why is that? Because you think I’m a selfish asshole in bed as well or because you think I’m shy?”

Peter shook his head quickly, not catching the amused tilt of Tony’s lips. “No, no of course not! I just didn’t know that you, uh, you know, partake, in partners of the, uh, male persuasion?” If Peter shoveled any more popcorn into his mouth after the desperate handful he just shoved in there, he was going to suffocate. 

“Huh,” Tony said thoughtfully. Had they really never talked about this before? “Well, weird phrasing aside (because that was weird, kid, what’s up with that?), I thought it was pretty common knowledge that I was bisexual.”

Peter shook his head again, glancing back Tony’s way. “Nope, definitely not. At least not in any of the articles or interviews online. I mean, yeah, there are a few sources that mention the possibility of you not being completely straight, but they all sound like speculation.” 

Tony was speechless for a minute. He watched Peter notice the extended silence and seem to realize what he just said, curling forward and burying his face in his hands, ears bright red.

 He finally gathered enough wits to say, “Well, then I guess it was just common knowledge among people who actually know me. SI probably paid off the men I slept with - because heaven forbid the infamous playboy figurehead be seen with a man back in the day. I honestly never paid attention to what exactly was in the press, just made sure I was in it. If I’d known, I definitely would have been more blatantly obvious.” 

He was quiet again for about five seconds before he pulled his leg up on the couch and fully turned towards Peter. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t just let this go. I knew you were a big fan, but sounds like you’ve really done your research, Pete.” He couldn’t drop the shit-eating grin on his face. 

Peter flopped all the way forward, shoving his face into his knees, groaning. “Can we not do this?” he whined. It only took another ten seconds of pointed silence before Peter broke. “Ugh, okay, so I may have had a crush on you when I was younger,” he admitted. “A teeny tiny, definitely not life-consuming, crush.”

Tony laughed. “And when was this?” 

“I don’t know, it started when I was like 13 probably.”

“And you thought you should google my sexuality to see if, what, you had a chance with the guy four times your age that you’d never meet?” Tony didn’t think he’d been this amused in a long time.  

Peter sat back up and peeked at him just to throw him a glare. “Yes, because thirteen year olds are so logical, especially when it comes to hormonal urges.”

“Never would have pegged you for being into older men.”

“Really? Because most people aren’t surprised - I apparently just radiate ‘twink with a daddy kink’,” Peter said matter-of-factly. 

Tony choked, coughing loudly. “I’m sorry, did you just, in a roundabout way, call me a Daddy? In a way that has nothing to do with my daughter?”

“I- can we talk about something else now?” Peter squeaked. 

“That...is probably a good idea,” Tony agreed, feeling his own cheeks heat. 

They both stared very intently at the TV, trying to think of anything else. 

After a while, Peter spoke up. “Why would you do it again?”

“What?” Tony asked, confused. 

“Sorry, I’m back on the spit or swallow question,” Peter explained. 

Now it was Tony’s turn to groan. “I thought we were talking about something else.”

“Yeah, something that’s not my personal and very embarrassing past. Now that I have the question, I can’t think of anything else.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. So why would I do what again, exactly? Give a blow job?”

“Well, I mean, that too, considering that you’re still with Pepper and I’m 99.9999% sure she doesn’t have the right equipment for that. But I was talking about spitting or swallowing. Why would you do either? You said you don’t like it.”

“Relationships are about compromise Pete, even in the bedroom. And I don’t hate it when I’m in the mood for it.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Peter said flatly. “Yeah, there’s gotta be some compromise, but that should be more along the lines of maybe trying new things that you may not have done on your own but are open to. Doing something you definitively, straight up don’t like in bed should not be one of them.”

Tony looked at Peter, perplexed. “I...don’t even know what to say to that. When did you become an expert in this?”

Peter shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much of my time as Spiderman is spent just lending an ear when people are having a hard time. And sex and relationships come up a lot because I guess it’s easier to talk to a random person in a mask than to someone you know. I try to just listen and not to give advice most of the time, since I’m not an expert and everyone’s situation is different, but sometimes people are in circumstances that are dangerous, emotionally and mentally. So I took a couple relationship health and psychology classes my freshman year in college and read up on some of these things to know what to say.”

Tony’s heart warmed, hearing how earnestly Peter wanted to help people. He smiled softly. “Never thought you’d use that on Tony Stark, did you?” he joked. 

Peter scoffed. “Please, you were like, the poster child for a lot of these issues. I like to think you’ve finally gotten wiser in your ‘old age’, but I’ve mentally given you several high-handed pep talks.”

Tony was taken aback. “Oh? And what was the subject of these pep talks?”

“Mostly self-worth and your complete lack of it.”

Tony chuckled again. “Well maybe you haven’t heard, but I actually have an unrealistically high opinion of myself, kid.”

“Yeah, do you think that if you keep talking about it loudly enough, you might start believing it?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me?  I am one of the richest, smartest people on the damn planet.  I single-handedly created a superhero while a prisoner in a cave.  I created clean energy that can power the planet and I’m pretty sure I’m damn close to being able to end poverty,” Tony rebuked, getting irritated.

“I know, so why do you still feel like it’s not enough?” Peter asked with a shrug, pointedly not looking at him.  “All those amazing accomplishments, things no one else would be able to do, but how often do you think about that instead of the few mistakes you’ve made?”

Tony crossed his arms.  “Get out of my fucking head, kid,” he grunted.

Peter turned to him with a grin.  “You think I should change my degree plan and become a shrink?”

“Definitely not.  You’re pretty much done anyway and I need you in my labs, not consoling lunatics like me.”

Peter reeled back exaggeratedly.  “You’re quite presumptuous, Mr. Stark, assuming I’ll be working for you.”

“You’d better,” Tony insisted.

“Is that a threat?” Peter asked cheekily.

“Definitely.”

Laughing, Peter settled back into the cushions and resumed his popcorn eating.

After several minutes of watching TV in silence, Peter turned back to Tony.  “You know I still think you’re just as amazing as you try to say you are, right?”

Glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head at Peter’s earnest expression.  “No clue why,” he said wryly.  “But yeah, I know.  Thanks, kid,” Tony said, smile soft as his hand came up to grip the back of Peter’s neck before pulling him into a hug.

Tony cleared his throat and sat back before saying gruffly, “Now shut up and watch...whatever the hell it is you’re making me watch.”

Peter snorted but kept his mouth shut.  And as he settled more comfortably under Tony’s arm, his back pressed up against Tony’s side as Tony’s arm draped across Peter’s chest, Tony had to wonder if this is one of the things Pepper had been talking about.

But as he felt the warmth of Peter pressed against him, felt the soft rise and fall of his breathing, felt the proof that Peter was alive and safe, Tony shook away the thought.

_____________________________________________________________________

So I’m starting to see a pattern - I tend to write like hell during the fall and winter and not during the summer at all. So apparently I have an off-season lol.  Hopefully the pattern continues for the next few months and I can get a few projects finished!

[aliceinreverselondon]

You Really Got Me – part 2: First Impressions (Kakashi Hatake x Reader)

(note: part 1)

“Will you finally tell us what she is, Kakashi sensei?”

Sakura’s question came before they even reached the elevator which meant she lasted a good two minutes before demanding answers. Letting out a long sigh, Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck. He sure hoped she would soon grow out of this slightly annoying habit of hers. Especially since Naruto was the same, but there was no chance he would change in the near future.

But he really did promise them to explain what exactly happened so he couldn’t back out now. Surprisingly, Sakura had hit the nail right on the head with her question. If he wanted to explain who you were, he had to begin with what you were. When it came to how well you knew each other, though, he would have to be careful not to give away too many personal details. No one needs nosy kids in their life.

As he pushed the button to close the door of the elevator, Kakashi let out a thoughtful hum. “Well, Y/N is a phantom. Do you know about them?” While Sakura and Naruto both shook their heads, Sasuke remained silent as usual. But this time it could be because he had already heard about her kind, as one could expect from a kid who grew up in the Uchiha Clan. “They are considered a type of tricksters, although they’re a lot more powerful as adults than your average trickster. Because of their unique abilities and backgrounds, phantoms are members of an organization that operates worldwide. It’s a lot like ANBU, except they’re independent of governments and only answer to one person.”

“So she’s an Alpha?” Sasuke asked, sounding slightly surprised for some reason. When he received a quick nod in response, he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the metal wall. “I thought they were more… serious.”

Kakashi shrugged and didn’t even try to hold back a short chuckle. “They’re not robots, they have different personalities. Y/N is… a wild one,” he added with a grin under the mask.

“Wait, what is an Alpha?” Naruto wondered out loud as his eyes scanned the faces of people around him, waiting to see who was ready to provide an answer.

“Are they the phantoms or the members of the organization?”

“Both, actually,” Kakashi replied as he glanced over at the girl. “Phantoms that aren’t good enough or simply refuse to be members of the organization are executed, this is why the two are the one and the same at the end of the day. Alpha is a nickname some gave them because you can say they are on top of the food chain. They usually work alone but every now and then they ask for the help of… specialists, humans or other supernatural creatures who have abilities or knowledge they need for the job. Those people, especially those who become regular aides, are called Betas,” he explained, this time looking at Naruto as he spoke.

The four of them left the building and Kakashi began to think about what else he should tell them about you. Your abilities? No, it would be better if you gave them a demonstration. How you met? Definitely not, his reaction to Sasuke’s question regarding your personality gave away more than enough already. To avoid further questions from the kids, he eventually decided to pull out his book and read on the rest of the trip to the restaurant.

For his luck Sakura and Naruto discussed this between themselves, occasionally trying to get some information out of Sasuke now that he wasn’t paying much attention to them. As long as they left him alone, Kakashi was okay with that. Especially because he wanted to think about the upcoming dinner with you. He wished it was just the two of you, though. After what he had done, he really wanted to make it up to you somehow. Well, maybe you could meet later to make this happen, once these three went to sleep.

Oh, how he loved and hated at the same time what you did to him. You were like a drug he just couldn’t get out of his system. But, to be honest, he had truly missed this high he was experiencing now thanks to you. He may have forgotten to call you but it didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about you once. In fact, every time he read one of the Make Out books, he couldn’t help but think about the two of you. Strangely enough, this was by far the most stable relationship he had ever had. Okay, not like he had so many other relationships in the past to compare it to but… It was still different. And special.

“You took your time, guys.”

When Kakashi looked up, his eyes fell on you as you watched them with a wide grin on your face. Tilting his head to the side for a moment, he put away his book and glanced at his watch. “You said fifteen minutes. It’s only been ten.”

“Duh, I thought you were ninjas, not a group of elderly people who went on a nice evening stroll,” you told him with a roll of your eyes.

He really wanted to laugh because he missed your stupid sense of humor, but it would’ve probably ended with him kissing you. And he wouldn’t have stopped at a quick kiss on the lips. Oh, no. If it was just the two of you, you would have skipped dinner altogether. But his mind was wandering too far again. He had to stop, damn it. “Very funny,” was all he said in the end.

“Is that blood?” Sasuke suddenly spoke up, pointing at your shirt.

“What?” You looked down and noticed the bloodstain on your chest. While you quickly zipped your red jacket to cover it up, you flashed a reassuring smile at the kids. “Don’t worry, it’s not mine.”

All three of them. All three of the kids opened their mouths at the exact same time, probably to ask for details, but Kakashi was fast enough to stop them with a pointed look. You had said it yourself back on the rooftop: there was something you quickly had to take care of. Knowing you, it was most probably an assassination and he didn’t want to talk about things like this tonight. Was it too much to ask for? Was a normal, delightful evening too much to ask for? Just one damn night.

After clearing his throat, Kakashi spoke up. “So we were about to get something to eat, right? Naruto, I’m sure you’re starving as always.”

But Naruto hesitated and scratched the back of his head as he flashed a sheepish grin at him. “Actually, as weird as it might sound, I have so many questions that I can’t even think about food right now.”

“Shoot.”

Were you seriously planning to answer his questions? “Y/N, come on,” he tried with a sigh.

“Don’t come on me. If he has questions, let him ask them.”

“We can do that inside.”

He had no luck because you clearly weren’t about to go inside anytime soon. Shaking his head, Kakashi pulled out his book and leaned against the wall of the restaurant. At least he had time to read a little more while the four of you talked. He already had a bad feeling about this conversation but for now, he decided to only listen and keep his opinion to himself. There was no need to interrupt you, he could do that if something went wrong. Which, knowing you, was highly likely.

“What kind of missions do you go on?

“Kakashi told you a few things about me, didn’t he? Well, covert missions, assassinations, manhunts… Usually, we go after supernatural creatures, but there are times when we assist in different cases too, like hostage situations. Since it’s really hard to kill us, we often help out when the situation is too dangerous for humans.”

“Cool. So what can you do?”

“Alpha’s are supposed to be powerful, right?” Kakashi looked up from his book and turned to Sasuke. Back when he had told the team about you, Sasuke didn’t seem very convinced about you being an Alpha. Sadly, he already knew where the kid was going with this, and he also knew perfectly well how you would react. But maybe he was wrong. “I can’t take you seriously enough to believe you’re one.”

“Excuse me?!”

Yes, this is exactly how he had expected you to react. “Oh, no, here we go,” he whispered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

You took a threatening step toward Sasuke who didn’t even flinch at first. “You wanna see powerful?”

But when your eyes turned black, all three took a few cautious steps back to build some distance. “Y/N, please, just let it go,” Kakashi told you as he put a hand on your shoulder.

“No, no, no, if he wants to see what I can do, fine, I’ll show him. And I know just the place,” you explained hurriedly. At least your eyes were back to normal which meant you managed to calm down a bit already. That was good. He didn’t need more drama out on the street. You pulled out your phone and quickly dialed someone’s number. “Hey, Kisuke, I’d like to ask for a favor. Can I use your underground training facility tonight? I need to teach some stupid brat a lesson… No, I don’t want to kick his ass, but he pretty much called me weak so I nearly threw hands with a thirteen years old kid… Cool, thanks, we’ll be there soon.” Once you ended the call, you turned to the kids and said, “Alright, we’ll order food and eat there. Let’s go, my car’s just around the corner.”

Note: Wow, I wasn’t expecting so many of you to like the pilot. But here’s part 2, I hope you’re not disappointed 😳

tag: @spn-obession​

[margridarnauds]

a@fallenidol-453 and @any59

YOU ASKED FOR IT. 

So, first off: Let’s start off with a story. I’m in my flat in Ireland, doing....Celtic Studies things. Namely, looking at Quinn’s workbook, flipping between it and Strachan’s paradigms, crying. Okay, not really crying, more “knitting my brows and scribbling furiously, because WHY is this language like this?” 

My housemate comes in with a friend of hers. We have the usual smalltalk, you know “What do you do here?”  “Oh, Celtic Studies.”  “Celtic Studies!” *I tense as I prepare for the inevitable “So, do you have any family.........” question* “Well, we just so happen to be fluent in Irish!”

Now, this is much rarer than a lot of people would think in Ireland, because the Irish education system is.........shit when it comes to teaching Irish. I literally never had someone in Ireland tell me, “Oh, I LOVED studying Irish! It was my favorite class!” And the more someone loves the Irish language, the more that they generally hate how it’s taught. So, I’m like “Oh, cool! Here’s what it looked like a thousand years ago!” and I show off my paradigms, going to the first page, which is the section on definite articles. 

There’s this moment of silence as she looks at it, HER eyebrows knitting just like mine were a few minutes ago. “Is that....Latin? It looks like Latin.” 

Now, there are two options with this story: One is that she was lying through her teeth about knowing Irish fluently in order to impress the naive American. Problem with that is that, of course, you risk being called on it. BUT the second is what I’m going with, namely that the language has changed a lot more than people generally think it has. (There’s about the same period of time between Old Irish and Modern Irish as there is between the creation of Beowulf and the present day. Imagine trying to read Beowulf without knowing ANY Old English and you’ll see the problem straight away.) This is actually a problem, because a lot of the time, people will see foreign-born Celticists writing in Old Irish/Middle Welsh/etc. and instead of thinking of us as professional scholars who are taking advantage of a dead language in order to send what are essentially very niche memes (not necessarily even “meme” in the sense of joke), they think “Oh! The dumb foreigner’s mangling the language! So funny!” 

...and yes. This has happened to multiple people I know, including myself. It’s annoying. 

So, how much has the language changed? There are essentially five stages of the language that we are able to trace: Primitive Irish, Old Irish, Middle Irish, Early Modern Irish, and Gaeilge/Modern Irish + Proto-Celtic which is the sort of shared ancestor between all the Celtic languages and the reason why some of these words are confusingly familiar and my brain needs about twenty minutes to reboot when I’m going in-between Middle Welsh and Old Irish. 

Going back to our friend, the definite article: In the modern language, there are two forms of the definite article, as you’ll learn in your very first lesson on Duolingo: An (singular) and Na (plural). You can see this reflected all over the place, probably most obviously in the names for instutions like “An Post” (the post office) and An Garda Síochána (The Guard of the Peace, the police force). 

In Old Irish? There were multiple forms of the definite article, and they had to agree with the gender, person, and case. In the Middle Irish period, those distinctions gradually fall away, becoming even pronouned in the Early Modern Irish period, leading to the language as we have it in the modern day. 

Some other changes: 

- Loss of deponents. Old Irish used to have a system that was like the deponent verbs of Latin, where you had words that LOOKED passive, but were active in meaning. As time went on, they totally dropped those, taking different approaches to how to deal with the old deponent verbs. (Sometimes they’d use, say, the verbal noun form AS the verb, sometimes they’d apply deponent endings to verbs that hadn’t been deponents before.....it’s a mess.)

-Loss of the neuter gender. Gone entirely, save for a few fossilized examples, though with some efforts to bring it back in some form in the interest of non-binary people. In the time of Old Irish, however, there was a full neuter gender, complete with a neuter article. 

- The loss of declensions. “BUT,” you might say, if you’ve studied Modern Irish, “Modern Irish HAS declensions!” And you’d be right! It does! Five, in fact.  .......Old Irish had thirteen. 

What happens over time is that people look at all those declensions and are like “That is an ASSLOAD of declensions, let’s simplify!” And so they start treating some declensions like they’re another declension, so the number of declensions goes down over time as the others all get sorted into new categories. 

Also, the categorization is different. In the modern language, you just hear that the declensions are decided by the endings, which.....is probably one of the reasons why so many people hate learning Irish, because it seems arbitrary, when, in reality, it isn’t. In Old Irish, we actually go back even FURTHER in time, to Primitive Irish (which ended around the 7th century) and, even further back in time, Proto-Celtic, because that is where the declensions actually come from. Irish used to look quite like Gaulish or Latin, with similar endings - “Fer” was “viros”, which became “viras”, “ingen” was “enigenā”, which became “inigena”, “rígain” was “rígainí” in the Proto-Celtic, “athair” was “ɸatīr” in the PC, “túath” was “toutā”, “Día” was “Dewos”........etc.

That’s why “fer” and “Día” are both o-stems, despite looking almost nothing alike, it’s why they behave the same way - They shared the same endings back in the day. That’s why we call them o-stems in the first place, it isn’t because of what’s IN them, it’s what used to be in them. 

“Ingen” is an a-stem for the same reason. 

“Rígain” is an i-stem. 

“Athair” is a r-stem. 

There’s METHOD to the madness, I promise. 

- There’s a loss of distinction of sounds - Old Irish was very strict on “This is spelled with an A and THIS is spelled with an O and those are TWO DIFFERENT SOUNDS.” Middle Irish was like “Eh? Let’s make it a general “schwa” sound.” So the spellings vary a lot starting in that period, Early Modern Irish only adds to the confusion (a favorite Celticist Hobby is pointing out the sometimes flat-out *weird* Early Modern Irish spellings of Old Irish names because *oh, boy*), and by the time you get to the modern language, a lot of things are spelled quite differently from what you’d think. Some consonants also soften in their sounds - the preposition “Co”, for example, becomes “Go”, “ocus” becomes “agus”, etc. 

- Univerbation. Essentially, Old Irish had a LOT of compound verbs like do-beir, do-gni, at-tá, ad-cí, ro-cluineathar etc. And, in the modern language, “do-beir” becomes “tabhair”, “do´gní” becomes -“á dhéanamh”, etc. Essentially, they took what’s known as the protonic form of the verb, which is the version we would use following a conjunct particle like “ní”, which expresses a negative form of an action, and they made that the regular form of the verb. They were like “Nope, don’t want to handle it, not today, Satan.” And sometimes, those forms would evolve as well, so I could be looking at a verb in Early Modern Irish, go “that looks vaguely familiar” and then realize that it’s a VERY mutated form of an Old Irish word. 

- The ~copula~. So, the copula is....an alternative to the substantive verb used in certain circumstances, indicating a state of being. Which seems really....grammar-y, but all that really means is that it translates out to “is, am, are” in English. If you ever read any medieval Irish texts, you’ll notice a lot of syntax that’s like “Cold is the wind from Norway”, “It is not a good thing you have done”, etc. The reason is because, in the actual Irish, all this would have begun with a form of the copula. It was a VERY popular way of starting off a sentence, instead of the usual Verb-Subject-Object form. In the Old Irish period, the copula was inflected, meaning that, like the definite article, it changed depending on certain factors, namely person, number, and tense. “Am” would be “I am” (”Am rí” - “I am a king”) “At” would be you (sing.) are (“At gataige” - “You are a thief), “Is” would be “he/she/it is” (”Is lóech” - “He/She/It is a warrior”), “ammi” would be “we are” (”Ammi druíd” - “We are druids/magicians”).....etc. Now, once again, starting in the Middle Irish period, you have people going “............that is an ass-load of work, let’s just use the third singular and call it a day.” This is why, in Duolingo, you have to say “Is cailín mé” a thousand times. In the Old Irish period, you would just say “Am ingen”, but, with that loss of distinction of the copula, pronouns become increasingly important to the Irish language. Some of this was already present in Old Irish, with the 3rd sing. copula being used for the sake of emphasis, “It is I who takes Bres to the trash fire, where he belongs”, sometimes with an emphasizing pronoun for added drama, but it eventually gets to the point where the others are consumed entirely. 

- Independent pronouns also come into their own, being uniformly used after the copula, with the infixed pronouns that had been uniform going away. So, for example, if I wanted to say “I kill him” in Modern Irish, I would say “Maráim é” - if I wanted to say it in Old Irish, I would say “Nan-Marbu”, with the no being what’s known as a meaningless conjunct particle (it’s there to say “LOOK! AN INFIXED PARTICLE!”).

- A lot of the verb forms, like the nouns, get smushed together - There were at least three different forms of the preterite (in Modern Irish, known as the “Simple Past”) in Old Irish, in Middle Irish, the S-preterite gradually grows to dominate, to the point where now, there is only the simple past, with endings varying depending on if you’re talking first or second conjugation verbs. Likewise, the future tense goes from having five different categories of future tenses to being divided into first or second conjugation verbs in the present day. 

Overall, there’s more, there’s a lot more, but I think that you can get the gist. When I see primitive Irish, I’m like “Okay, it’s Old Irish - The Latin edition”. It looks WEIRD, but it looks OLD and, for the most part, fairly recognizable. We don’t see it that often, outside of an ogham stone, that’s why we make such a big deal when we do. Old Irish, I’m like “FRIEND....who sometimes scares me”, Middle Irish, I’m like “Okay, this is a bit weird, but I can understand most of it, especially if I’m reading an edition where the editor explains things”, Early Modern Irish looks, to me, like everything’s been tossed into a blender. I KNOW that some of the words look familiar, but it’s HARD and it kind of hurts my brain to stare at it for too long. Modern Irish actually looks better, because it’s streamlined, the spellings are consistent, etc., but it still looks......almost eerie, actually. It also shows in how these things are taught - If you’re in an Old Irish program, you’re taught Old Irish and Middle Irish; if you’re in a Modern Irish program, you’re taught Early Modern Irish and Gaeilge (or you’re expected to know Gaeilge off the bat.) And what should probably be mentioned is that, actually, there was likely only ever a brief period where “Old Irish” was actually spoken or written - Kim McCone pointed out in an article that, actually, in some of our oldest, most sanctified sources for Old Irish, the Wurtzburg Gospels, we’re already seeing traces of Middle Irishicisms. It’s likely that, among the general populace, they were already simplifying their speech, but that the scribes who wrote this stuff down, that literary elite, took a conservative approach to the language, essentially a medieval Irish Academie Francaise, and they tried to preserve the “pure” form, only to lose the battle as time went on and even they started using these forms of the language. It’s also why we put SUCH a massive emphasis on dating....(besides the fact that it’s the closest thing we can come to dating anything, *badum tss*): Scribes, along with copying old texts, would actually sometimes put older forms of the words in newer texts in the hopes of it looking older or more authoritative. There are some bardic poems in the 16th century that are actually EERILY good. Likewise, you have some scribes looking at an older text and being like “Oh, that doesn’t look how it should! I should fix it!”, only to drop a Middle Irishicism on an Old Irish verb. And sometimes a scribe will try to correct the correction and makes it even worse. We have to analyze the whole text, weighing all of it together to see when a text might have actually been composed. 

We talk a lot about how Irish has survived over the years in spite of everything, and that’s IMPORTANT, but I feel like it’s also important to say that it’s changed, it’s reinvented itself. It isn’t static and it’s never really BEEN static, and I think, my ongoing confusion aside, that that’s really important. I can’t translate an 18th century Irish text, at least not EASILY (even though I want to do my PhD on an Early Modern text so RIP me), but someone who got their PhD in 19th century Gaelic Literature also can’t translate Old Irish (and yes.....it has happened where people act like studying Irish literature = being able to “explain” Old Irish materials to me. Because, again, Dumb Foreigners Can’t Know What We’re Talking About) We’ve got to work together to get the fullest possible picture. The language had a past, it has a future. 

[isitgintimeyet]

Just a Friend

Hope you enjoy the next chapter of this story. Thanks to you all for reading this. You comments are lovely to read.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Previous

AO3

Chapter 5: From Facebook to Friends

When I was a little girl, Uncle Lamb would sometimes take me into university with him. I would creep into the lecture theatre and sit at the back watching him as he enthused about Phoenician trade routes, or long gone military strategies. I didn’t really understand what he was talking about, but I loved it anyway. The passion he had for his subject matter thrilled me.

And once the lecture was over, I would join him in his office and we would squeeze together in an old armchair, drinking hot, sweet tea while he tried to explain the principles of a three thousand year old civilisation in words a seven year old would understand.

The armchair is now in my office at the hospital. It looks more than a bit incongruous amongst the standard NHS furniture. The rich green velvet fabric has faded to a shabby eau de nil colour and years of shuffling bottoms have left a large depression in the seat cushion. But I won’t have it reupholstered. I love it as it is. It’s a great reminder of my wonderful uncle. I sit in it and somehow it comforts me, like a soothing hug.

**********************

I glance at the clock as I walk into my office, paper cup of hot, sweet tea in hand, and head straight for Lamb’s chair. Gratefully, I sink into its depths and take a tentative sip of the steaming liquid before closing my eyes for a moment. The surgery was long; much longer than anticipated—having taken all morning and most of the afternoon, in fact. It had also been far more complicated—my original plans for keyhole surgery had to be changed, but, eventually, we completed the operation successfully. I’m always proud of my theatre team, but never more so than in situations like this.

And now, after hours of concentration, I feel in need of some light relief. I can go home, have a wonderfully reviving shower and then what? I know that Dougal is taking Geillis out for a meal tonight, so she’s not available. Mary and Anna are both working nights this week, so no joy there. Other friends live too far away for an impromptu midweek activity.  I could go to the gym. I should go to the gym. Or… more likely, I’ll go home, have cheese on toast, a glass of wine and watch ‘The Devil Wears Prada’ for the fifteenth time instead.

I reach for my phone to check for messages.  A notification for a Facebook friend request appears on my screen. I very rarely get new friend requests—other than the odd random gentleman hoping, I presume, to make some sort of connection. I always delete immediately.

And, yes, the request is from a gentleman—one Jamie Fraser. The profile picture is definitely Samsonite Jamie, even wearing the Scotland rugby shirt I fingered whilst foraging through his suitcase. I click accept. Why not? I don’t think I have anything too embarrassing on my posts. In fact, I don’t use it very often at all.

Neither, it seems, does Mr. Fraser. His cover photo shows a very youthful bunch of Scottish rugby supporters and his recent timeline seems to comprise mostly of being tagged in photos by Laoghaire Mackenzie. Is it my imagination, or does he have a resigned look on his face on each of their ‘selfies’?

My tea is cool enough to drink now without scalding my tongue. I put my phone down and take a large gulp whilst considering tomorrow’s workload. My job is a series of highs and lows. Today, for example, started as routine, slumped to a worrying low, before peaking at a very relieved high. Tomorrow appears to be an easier day, certainly—a review of patients’ case notes in the morning followed by an outpatient clinic in the afternoon. All follow up patients, and all doing well as far as I know, so tomorrow is shaping up to be a very good day.

I open up my phone again. Facebook messenger is encouraging me to ‘say hi to your new Facebook friend.’  Without thinking, I send a little waving hand emoji to Samsonite Jamie.

I have no sooner put the phone down than it pings. Waving hand returned. I smile. What are we… thirteen years old? Next I’ll be asking him out for an Irn Bru and a bag of chips.

Ping again.  

You owe me…

Shit! The stain on his t-shirt, no doubt. I watch the dots on the screen. Perhaps he’s calculating the cost of a dry cleaner, or a new t-shirt.

You promised me an ice cream.

You up for buying one for me tonight?

I hesitate for a moment. I hope Jamie doesn’t think I’m after him or anything like that. I mean, he’s not really my type. As I’ve said before, I’ve always been attracted to academic, cerebral kind of men like Uncle Lamb, rather than Viking marauders.

And I’ve never subscribed to the idea that men and women can’t be friends. One of my closest friends at university was a man—Joe Abernathy.  If it wasn't for the fact that he is currently three thousand miles away, working in Boston, I would be arranging platonic ice cream outings with him.

So, deciding I have nothing to lose, I type my response.

If you can get to the kiosk by 6:30, it should still be open

A brief pause, then the response.

Great. See you there?

****************

Even at a distance, I recognise him sitting at a table next to the kiosk. No white t-shirt today, it looks like some sort of check lumberjack shirt. I breathe a sigh of relief. Not what I would call ‘first date’ clothing. Which is handy, seeing as I’m wearing ripped jeans and an oversized Aran jumper. I’m clean, presentable and fresh-smelling but definitely not dressed to impress.

He stands up when he sees me and greets me formally with a handshake. His hands are warm and dry—no nervous, sweaty palms here, which is another good sign. His shirt is blue, red and cream flannel and actually quite hideous.

“I hope this ice cream lives up tae ma expectations,” he says with the merest hint of challenge.

I crane my neck and look him straight in the eye. “No doubt at all. Cherry bakewell, is it? Double cone?”

“Aye. With a flake too. Compensation, ye ken.”

He stands aside to allow me to make the purchases. Before accepting the cone, he picks up half a dozen or so paper napkins and stuffs them in the pocket of his jeans.

“I’m prepared fer ye now. Do yer worst, Ms Beauchamp.”

I ignore his clear inference and follow him to a nearby bench.

“I can manage to eat and walk at the same time, you know,” I say in mock indignation.

“Hm,” he replies. “All the evidence sae far suggests the contrary. I need proof afore I believe it.”

There’s a moment of silence as we both focus on our ice creams. I lick neatly all the way around, trying to prevent any rogue drips trickling down the cone. Jamie pulls the flake from his cone and consumes it in two mouthfuls. He looks at me and laughs.

“Caught me. I’m a bit of a bugger fer chocolate,” he mumbles before swallowing.

“Right,” he continues, much more clearly now. “I suggest we get all the boring stuff out of the way. Ye ken, name, age, family, job, blah, blah blah. I’ll go first, if ye like.”

I nod my agreement.

“Sae, I’m James or Jamie Fraser. I’m thirty years old. Since our last conversation I am most definitely single. I live in Glasgow, obviously, but grew up on a farm near Inverness. My parents still run the farm. I have one sister, Jenny, who’s married tae Ian, my childhood friend. I have one nephew—a grand little lad known as Wee Jamie and a wee baby niece, Maggie . And I dinna think it’ll be long afore they’re joined by others. They all live here in Glasgow. My job, weel, I have a business—FraserFood—recipe boxes delivered tae yer door.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve heard of that. ‘From farm to fork.” That’s you, is it?”

He smiles proudly. “Aye, it’s me and ma family. Looks like ma marketing manager is doing a fine job, then.”

“Oh, forgot tae say, after the blah blah, ye have tae tell one confession. Only a wee one, mind.” He takes a large mouthful of his ice cream.

I purse my lips. “Really, and what if I’ve nothing to confess?”

Jamie snorts with laughter and does a funny sort of blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes. Is he trying to wink? If so, he’s failing miserably. I try to look angelic and sin free. Judging by the look of scepticism on his face, It doesn’t seem to be working.

“Sae, my confession is, dah-dah-daaaah,” he does a fake fanfare, trying to build suspense. “I wanted tae be yer friend on Facebook because I wanted tae see if there were any photos of ye in Barcelona, with all yer...er… accessories.”

I feel myself redden. I’ve just remembered catching Geillis on Facebook the other day at work and I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.

“Verra interesting… in particular, the one with ye and six penis shot glasses. How d’ye manage tae get two of them in yer mouth at the same time?”

I inwardly curse Geillis and her desire to live her life through social media.

“Excuse me,” I reply somewhat primly. “I don’t think we’re at the Q and A stage yet.”

“So,” I continue in a lighter tone. “Me. Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. I’m thirty two and I’m a paediatric  orthopaedic surgeon, here at the children’s hospital. I love my job so much, I can’t begin to tell you. As of two weeks ago, I am thankfully single. I was born in Oxford and moved up here when I was twelve, when my Uncle Lamb became a professor at the university. He brought me up, you know. Raised me when my parents died in a car accident... I… er...I was four at the time.”

I can feel Jamie looking at me, but I can’t raise my eyes. Telling people about my parents never gets any easier, no matter how many times I say those words. I concentrate on picking bits of wafer off my cone and throwing them to the ducks loitering nearby, waiting for some sort of treat.

“So it always was just my uncle and me.” I carry on talking. “Then he died… seven...seven years ago…” I can hear my voice start to crack as I fight back tears. A hand creeps into my vision and I gratefully accept the proffered paper napkin and wipe my face.

“Och, lass.” He says softly.

I clear my throat. “I'm sorry. We were having a nice conversation and then there I go, getting all teary. It’s just, well, we were a team, Uncle Lamb and I… the two musketeers. He was my hero.”

Blowing my nose in a most unladylike way, I toss the napkin into the neighbouring bin.

“And that’s pretty much me. As for a confession, well… I suppose it’s kind of one.”

He raises one eyebrow quizzically, making a better job of that than the whole winking lark, I think.

"Ok, well,  when I had your case, I tried to ring before I emailed you. I called the number in your case… twice. A woman answered and told me I had the wrong number—"

"Laoghaire."

"I know that now. But she obviously knew how to get onto your phone."

"Why did ye no' tell me?" He smiles as he says this. It's not a reprimand.

"I would have but you seemed to be coming to a conclusion anyway. No need to add more fuel to the fire."

"Happen ye're right."

He notices me shivering and gets to his feet. “Aye, there’s a bit of a chill. Fancy a wee walk tae warm up and we can carry on wi’ round two. It’s a quick fire round.”

I stand up and we move away from the pond. The ducks have already lost interest in us since they realise that we’ve nothing more to offer them. It’s pretty quiet in the park now, the cooler evening air seems to have kept people at home. The gravel crunching loudly under the soles of our shoes, I glance down and notice Jamie’s doing a sort of awkward stuttering movement with his feet. He’s clearly trying to match his stride pattern to mine. Which isn’t easy when his must be a good few inches longer than mine. Nice, considerate gesture, though.

“Sae, quick fire questions and answers. Ye can go first,” he says generously.

It only takes me a moment to think of a question that I have been wondering about ever since I explored the contents of his suitcase.

“What were you doing in Barcelona? I mean the contents of your case weren’t really fun-weekend-away stuff.”

“Nah, ye’re right. It wasna a holiday—flying visit only. I was there on business—talking tae a food wholesale company. Serrano ham, chorizo, saffron, that kind of thing,” he explains, a look of excitement on his face. “We’re expanding our range, starting with Spanish influenced recipes. A full three courses ready tae prepare, plus wine delivered straight tae yer door. Dinner party FraserFood style.”

He can’t stop smiling as he talks about these plans. And his hands move animatedly as he continues to elaborate on his new venture. His business is obviously his passion. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t got the desire for a relationship with a girlfriend—FraserFood seems to be his one love. No girl could compete.

He stops talking for a moment. “And here I am, boring ye.”

I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s really interesting.” I don’t have to lie. It’s the truth. My mouth is watering at his description of albondigas and flavoursome chicken and chorizo with cannellini beans. I’m ready to sign up for this delivery service any time.

“Sae, ma turn tae ask a question. Tell me, d’ye like this shirt?”

I try to stifle a laugh. The question is so unexpected and the shirt so awful. Trying to be diplomatic, I search for the right words, evading the actual question. “I’ve only seen you in white tops before, no colours.”

He sighs. “Ye’ve only seen me twice afore... anyway I dinna think ye need tae say any more. I ken ye’re being polite, but ye’re a terrible liar. I can tell by yer face ye dinna like this shirt. Laoghaire hated it, always made me change it. I did wonder if that was jes’ her being difficult. But apparently no’.”

“Sorry, I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Ye dinna need tae apologise, Claire. Being honest is a good thing, is it no’? And friends should always tell each other the truth. And that’s what I think we’re going tae be, Claire— friends. D’ye no’ agree?”

I crane my neck  and look Jamie straight in the eye. “Yes, I do… friends.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s R&S - So-called Disparity (Eng Translation)

🍒This R&S (“所谓差距”) will not be released in EN or any server as it’s one of the cancelled R&S which came with the Dream Heart Lake gacha event!🍒

This is a full translation, so you can follow along with the narrator if you want to!

Summary: Goldman recognises that the gap between him and Victor isn't actually that large - it simply spans the Amazon River.

Cancelled Victor R&S:

> flashback 

> six out of seventeen

> paradise on earth

[ Chapter 1 ]

Goldman entered that university as the third highest scorer in his entire province. Before that, he always felt like students who jumped off buildings in high school were mentally weak, and were making a fuss out of nothing. It was only after entering university that he knew how blessed he was to be a frog in the well.

Goldman has always had a pretty good mentality. A normal person would require a semester to get used to the psychological gap of being a big fish in a small pond instead of a small fish in a large pond. However, Goldman only needed two weeks - to be more exact, thirteen days, to adjust. 

In his own words, it was something like this: “There is sky above the tallest mountain, and there is land under the deepest sea. This is very normal. I’ll never do something which puts me at a loss like jumping off a building. I, Goldman, have an eighty year old mother and an eighteen year old girlfriend--” before he could finish speaking, the neighbouring scholar snatched the reins of the conversation.

“I couldn’t tell at all. Just because you say something, it doesn’t mean it’s true. Show me a photograph!” The air in the surroundings of the dormitory, which was originally full of pretension, was altered by Goldman’s words.

In a sense, Goldman had a talent for being a “coordinator”.

The first time he heard of the name “Victor”, Goldman had experienced life as a university student for a month.

“Do you know the guy from 207? The one from the economics department... I can’t remember his name right now, but he’s the one who dresses very stylishly and always has a group of ladies running behind him.”

“Ah, I’ve seen that guy before. I think his surname is Gu. What about it?”

Goldman continued cutting voting slips for the student union, but his ears had long since developed a mind of their own, eavesdropping on the two people engaging in idle conversation. 

“He seems to have invested in a business run by a few third year students, and they even promised to return him thrice the principal amount in a month.”

“It’s obviously a trap.”

“Let me finish. I originally thought so too, but that guy actually bought a new car!”

“Could his family be wealthy to begin with? Come to think of it, being able to buy a car means the amount he invested as a principal sum must have been quite a lot.”

“Who knows. Anyway, he has been advertising for those third year students recently.”

“Are you stirred?”

“I am, but it was a recruitment for an intern assistant. The opportunity to earn thrice the amount is gone, tch tch tch.”

“If you think about it, If we could learn how to earn thrice the principal amount, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to be an intern.”

“It’s not rare to see such businesses come to a premature end halfway. What if you end up wasting your time if you can’t prove that you did an internship there?”

“That’s true. Also, I’m not even certain what it is they do... it feels a little weird and scary.”

The speaker didn't mean it, but the listener heard it. That night, Goldman knocked on the 207 dormitory, and heard the name “Victor” from the man whose surname was Gu.

Even though he just experienced the blow of seeing a Gold Olympiad medal in the room of this scholar, Goldman was not to be trifled with. If other people didn’t dare to test the waters, he won’t be the first one to stupidly try.

Which is why in the following year, Goldman adopted a wait-and-see attitude. 

-

[ Chapter 2 ]

Goldman interacted with Victor in person in his sophomore year, after he thought to look for an internship.

At that time, the newly established company which was still in its incubation stage was not Goldman’s first choice. But as a full-time sophomore, it was difficult to guarantee the prerequisite GPA in order to receive an offer from the top 500 companies. Which is why decided to try knocking on the doors of the new company.

At first, what went through Goldman’s mind was - if this company was unable to develop, he’d just go somewhere else. After all, there was still time to find other internships.

In the end, halfway through the interview, Goldman realised that the issue wasn’t whether he wanted to join the company, but whether it was willing to give him a fighting chance. Those who fluently recited their prepared lines and rehearsed repeatedly said that they failed to be accepted into the small company called “LFG”.

In actuality, Goldman’s self-introduction was cut short not even after thirty seconds, by a sharp-eyed man with short black hair.

“I only have one question. What will you do?”, with an emphasis on the word “you”.

Goldman noticed that when the young interviewer asked this question, the other interviewer had a hand to his forehead.

“Huh?”

In just two seconds, Goldman was left dumbfounded. However, as a student leader from the student union for such a long time, he reacted quickly after a slight pause, and started talking grandiloquently about his experience of attracting financial support for businesses.

This was an experience Goldman felt proud of and thought could prove his capabilities, which was why he was full of confidence as he talked about it. 

He didn’t expect that... it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the interviewer, who, at a glance, looked like he wasn’t good to get along with.

“I’m asking what you, Goldman, will do.” It wasn’t even a question this time. Separated across the table, Goldman could easily sense the other party’s brimming impatience.

“Ah, Goldman, don’t be anxious. What Victor means is that if you weren’t endorsed by the school, do you think that company would still support you? And what is the reason for that?”

Thanks to the other interviewer, Goldman’s interview could continue. 

When Goldman left the company, whatever impression he had of that “saviour” was merely an outline - his short hair was dyed brown, and he looked pretty easy to get along with. Apart from that... he couldn't remember anything.

The thing he remembered was that sharp gaze, that impatient tone, and that emphasis on “you”.

Oh, so that’s Victor. 

Always observant, one moment didn’t slip past Goldman: the interviewer with the genial expression looked at the CV on the desk before calling his name. 

But Victor didn’t.

On hindsight, Goldman wasn’t sure how he managed to pass the interview. Perhaps it was because Victor chose based on impressions?

Just like the moment he met Victor in person - even though he was stunned by Victor’s aura, there was a sense of expectancy and admiration in his heart. 

Vice versa - Did Victor also experience something back then - a shred of “good feeling” which explained why he allowed Goldman to pass the interview?

But Goldman would never have the courage to verify the answer to this question with Victor.

Even more so when the reputation of LFG grew, causing Goldman’s courage, which wasn’t very large to begin with, to shrink even further.

-

[ Chapter 3 ]

In the year of his graduation, Goldman had a few choices:

One - pursue postgraduate studies in his major as the top of his class. Two - accept one of the offers from the world’s top 500 firms. Three - continue staying in LFG and working together with Victor.

Goldman eliminated the first option - he was in no mood for further studies. Back then, the reason why he entered the country’s top university was to find a good job in the future. Now, since he already had the second option in front of him, doing a postgraduate wouldn’t mean anything to him. 

Goldman had a long struggle between the second and third options. He even specially called his parents in his hometown to seek their opinions.

“Being a trainee is essentially meant to train me to become part of the management in the future. If I go to that company, I just have to work hard and one day, I’ll make it big.”

“Mm, and a large platform means a stable job, and a broadened view. As for the salary... it’s around this amount at the start.”

“If I stay at my current company? I’d probably continue getting scolded by my boss every day. Although the prospects aren’t bad, it might close down anytime.”

“Boss? Oh, actually, he’s a senior who’s older than me by two years. I’ve interacted with him for two years, and he’s all right, just that his temper is a little bad.”

“How do I have a bad temper? Mum, you have no idea that compared to him, your son is piteous little sheep who hasn’t even learned how to hurt someone!”

“And I wasn’t mistreated or bullied. Your son’s skin is tough like iron! It’s not like you don’t know it. Also, I'm not the only one who gets scolded by him. If he only scolds me or can’t tolerate me, why would I follow him? Your son isn’t that silly.”

“Anyway... I feel that following him has enabled me to learn quite a lot of things. I’ve also thought about it - to use my youth to give it a try, and if I really can’t do it, I’ll find another job.”

“My classmates from different fields? They’re either inheriting a business, or going overseas for advanced studies, and can’t give me any advice at all.”

“I’ve been so worried these two days. Mum, which one should I pick?”

Talking garrulously on the phone, Goldman was best described as “a baffled person on the scene.”

[Note] The first part of an idiom is used here - “当局者迷，旁观者清”, which loosely translates to “The person at the scene is baffled, but the onlooker sees clearly. It refers to how outsiders tend to have a better perspective on matters.

He was completely unaware that he had already made an important decision during his discussion with his mother. 

-

[ Chapter 4 ]

Although Goldman had indeed made a decision after graduation that only a hot-blooded youth would, he wasn’t the type of person to get frenetically excited over something.

As a man, he even allowed himself to wallow in a gloomy mood for a few days each month. This “dejection every month” became all the more inevitable when his understanding of Victor gradually deepened.

At the very beginning, he wanted to learn things from Victor, and from LFG. Honestly speaking, Victor did teach him how to get multiple returns on a principal sum in a short period of time, and he was also exposed to the many rules of the market. But there were still many things that he just couldn’t get a hold of no matter how hard he tried. 

For example, strategising. For example, structuring.

The gap between himself and Victor... how should he put it, it wasn’t that large - it simply spanned the Amazon River. Even though the gap wasn’t as frightening as the Mariana Trench, it was still a distance that he couldn’t cross through sheer hard work. 

How did the proverb go? All roads lead to Rome, but some people were born in Rome. Whether it was Victor’s thinking or his vision, these were things Goldman couldn’t learn.

Sometimes, he felt discouraged when thinking about it. Despite being born into a good life and having handsome features, Victor was still so hardworking. In that case, was there even a point for a normal person like Goldman to work hard?

On one particular day, when he was harbouring such a dejected feeling, he accidentally spilt coffee outside Victor’s office. To make matters worse, Victor was sitting in the office, witnessing the scene of the coffee being overturned.

Goldman was certain that he would get chewed out by Victor: Just like the time when he made a mistake and missed an underselling opportunity, had an incorrect financial leverage, and pasted wrong labels on documents, etc...

Or maybe he’d hear a clicking of the tongue, or receive a glare. But he never expected that this time, Victor’s response only comprised of four words: To err is human.

“Boss, are you talking to me?” At that time, Victor was not yet LFG’s CEO. 

“...who else? Would I be talking to myself?”

Oh, it’s that familiar tone and familiar taunting, there’s nothing wrong - that was what the junior thought.

“Boss, are you in an especially good mood today?” At that time, Goldman was not yet as overcautious as he is.

“...I guess so.” A pause followed. When the senior opened his mouth again, it was uncertain whether it was an invitation or not. “The company going public is something that is more or less done discussing. When the time comes, I’ll need a CEO assistant.”

Such a light tone caused both parties to involuntary think of what happened during the interview a few years ago.

“...if you do that again.” his gaze was cast towards the mess on the floor. Victor’s tone was as calm as always. “I’ll do an external recruitment.”

Only after three seconds did Goldman understand what Victor was saying.

In just three seconds, the Amazon River became the limpid, clear stream outside his old home.

In this mirror-like stream, Goldman suddenly saw himself clearly:

Actually, Goldman had never sought to possess Victor’s air of a monarch.

To him, it was enough to be acknowledged by such a “king”.

After three seconds, apart from “dejection every month”, this little assistant had another motivation to press on.

-

Other cancelled R&S: here

Lucien’s cancelled R&S (by other user): here

[shadowhuntertrash]

Malec - "Umm...I’m kinda… chronically ill? So you don’t really wanna date me sorry."

Alec worked at a small coffee shop in the middle of Brooklyn. It wasn’t very well known but it was cozy and they had a lot of regulars. Alec typically worked the register due to his constant tiredness and inability to move around too much.

   Alec was diagnosed with lung cancer when he was twelve, they had all expected him to die by the time he was thirteen at most he would live to be fifteen, but here he was eighteen years old and still suffering.

   He often wondered if it was worth it, being alive. If being dead was the only way to stop the cancer why couldn’t it just kill him already? But it hadn’t and so he tried his best to live a normal life. Go to school, work, be a good sibling.

   He wasn’t sure when his last day would be, but he tried to ignore that. The only thing he did that was a conscious decision because of his illness was the fact that he didn’t make friends or bond with new people. It wasn’t fair when he was past his expiration date.

   Which was why he found it annoying and endearing at the same time when one of their regulars would ask him out every time they came in. 

   His name was Magnus Bane and the only appropriate way to describe him was sparkly. He was always wearing glitter, and he always had a smile. He was such a bright presence that you couldn’t help but look up when he came in.

   In all honesty, Alec would love to go out with Magnus, but he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to cause this stranger unnecessary pain so every day when Magnus came in at exactly noon and asked him out he said no. He had gotten creative at this point, it was basically a game.

   Every day went the same, Magnus would throw him a flirty wink as he took his coffee and would ask him to dinner or for a walk or for coffee (which Alec thought was the best date but he may just be biased) and every day Alec would kindly decline, “Sorry I have homework.” or “Sorry I’m not gay.” Which was the biggest lie he could tell but Magnus didn’t need to know that, not that he believed the lie anyway.

   So when Magnus came in that day, looking fabulous as always, and started flirting with Alec, Alec got annoyed. He wanted Magnus. He wanted to go on a date. He wanted to date, period. He had never had a girlfriend or boyfriend due to his illness and it was torture having to turn this incredibly hot guy down six days a week.

   Magnus winked at him when he handed Alec the money. Alec smiled politely back, wiping his hands on his apron before taking the money. “You know Alexander, I do love a man in a uniform.” Magnus said biting his thumb while he let his eyes travel unselfconsciously over Alec’s body. 

   Alec lost his cool and put his hand on the counter so roughly Magnus’ eyebrows raised. “Could you not? Maybe some people enjoy this but I don't. It's creepy, stop it.” Alec said, glaring at Magnus who actually looked a little sheepish. “I didn’t know it bothered you that much. I'm sorry.” Magnus said quietly looking at his shoes, a rosy blush rising on his cheeks. Alec cursed and closed his eyes.

   He hadn’t meant to hurt Magnus’ feelings; he was just annoyed. “I-I’m sorry that was mean. It doesn’t bother me. I mean it does but not for the reason you’re thinking.” Alec muttered under his breath looking anyway but Magnus.

   Magnus lifted his eyes back up, their normal light dimmed considerably. “Then why does it bother you, Alexander?” Alex blushed at the use of his full name. No one called him Alexander except his parents when they’re mad but Alec didn’t seem to mind much when Magnus did.

   Alec let out a deep breath and turned back to Magnus. “Well, you see… it’s just… umm… I’m kinda...chronically ill? So you don’t really wanna date me, sorry.” He said cursing his cancer for the umpteenth time.

   Magnus’ eyes widened considerably and he opened his mouth only to close it multiple times. Alec sighed knowing he had just scared this hot guy away. He turned away from Magnus and went to make his coffee while Magnus thought that over.

   He hesitantly stepped back towards Magnus who was staring at him again. Alec shifted awkwardly before handing Magnus his coffee. “I’m sorry, just so you know you don’t have to keep asking out of pity. I totally understand not wanting to date someone chronologically ill.” Alec said scratching the back of his neck, biting his lip. Magnus sat his coffee on the counter giving Alec a hard look.

   “Alexander, I apologize if I gave you that impression, it just shocked me is all. I would like you to know that I am still going to ask you out and it’s not because of pity I guarantee you.” Magnus said softly, Alec laughed a little. “I don’t think you understand, it’s not just chronic, it’ll kill me.” Alec said slowly.

   Magnus visibly flinched, frowning at Alec. “I will still ask you out unless you genuinely wish me to stop. As sad as that is, and it truly is Alexander, it just gives me more reason to ask you out now.” Alec stared at him for a few moments before slowly shaking his head, a smile crawling across his face. “Okay.”

   Magnus’ eyes widened again, a smile breaking across his face. “Wait really?” Alec laughed and nodded, laughing harder when Magnus jumped up and down. “Yes! I don’t have to drink coffee anymore!”

   Now it was Alec’s turn to raise an eyebrow, Magnus pursed his lips and looked at the ground. “I-I just mean, haha well, umm. I don’t like coffee.” Magnus said laughing again, Alec blinked at him in surprise. “Then why do you come here every day?” Alec asked confused. Who would come and get overpriced coffee every single day if they didn’t like coffee? 

   Magnus watched him with amused eyes. “It gives me an excuse to see you and ask you out every day.” Magnus says nonchalantly, the shy blushing side leaving as fast as it came. Alec laughed loudly, his head thrown back, eyes shut. “You came here, every, single, day, just to ask me out?” Alec asked incredulously, Magnus smiled confidently as he said, “Yep.” and popped the ‘p’.

   Alec laughed again before taking Magnus’ cup back and writing his number neatly on the side. Magnus looked at his cup as if it had just done something beautiful. “Ah, how cliche this is.” Alec shook his head a stupid smile still on his face. Izzy was going to freak out when he told her.

   Magnus shook himself out of his daze and raised his coffee. “Thank you for this and I will see you, Alexander, after work.” Alec nodded, watching amused as Magnus walked backward out of the coffee shop, not once hitting a chair. Alec knew if he tried that he would have fallen almost immediately.

   Alec turned away from the door, not bothering to try and cover his growing smile. He had a date with an attractive guy who didn’t care that he was sick. Alec grabbed his phone, thanking whatever god there was that it was a slow day at work as he pressed Izzy’s name on his phone.

   She picked up on the second ring and Alec smiled as her voice floated through the phone. “Aren’t you at work?” She asked him immediately. Alec rolled his eyes, smile never faltering. “You’ll never guess what just happened.” ____________________________________________________________________________

   Alec and Magnus ended up having a great date, which led to many more, and then they had been dating for three months.

   They were inseparable and when Magnus wasn’t at Alec and Jace’s apartment, Alec was at his. Alec’s health was getting better much to everyone’s amazement, Alec stayed cautious as he always was and Magnus was amazing and always asking if something was too much or if he just wanted to stay in. Magnus liked going on walks and so did Alec but he always had a hard time so Magnus would give Alec piggyback rides everywhere.

   They were in Magnus’ apartment watching Eli and Niomi’s No Kiss List when Alec felt a burning in his chest. He was rubbing his chest attempting to calm it before Magnus noticed. He was hoping that it wouldn’t be the start of something that would eventually lead him to the hospital but when he found it getting harder to breathe he excused himself and went to the bathroom to call Jace.

   He knew Jace would stay calm and make sure he was alright, he knew Magnus would too but he doubted Magnus’ ability to stay calm when Alec was in so much pain. 

   Jace picked up on the first ring with a chipper ‘hello!’. Alec let out a shuddering breath, his chest felt like it was caving in. “Hospital.” He said quietly holding his chest, waiting for a break from the pain. Jace’s playful tone left immediately. 

   “Alec where are you?” He asked urgently, his keys jingling in the background and then the sound of the door shutting. “Magnus’. About to leave.” He said weakly. Jace cursed and Alec heard his door shut. “I’ll meet you there.” He said before hanging up. Alec sat the phone down and looked at himself in the mirror.

   He was too pale and his eyes held too much pain. Alec cursed quietly, embarrassed at this having happened in front of Magnus. He was worried it would scare him off, seeing it in person as opposed to hearing about it.

   Alec walked into the living room slowly, walking getting hard with the lack of air he was getting. “Magnus.” He said quietly, too quietly since Magnus didn’t turn around and laughed at something in the movie.

   “Mags,” Alec said louder this time. Magnus turned around with a smile on his face, one that quickly fell when he saw Alec. “Hospital.” Alec said shakily as he walked to the door. Magnus cursed loudly and started frantically looking around for his keys. Once he found them he came over to Alec who was bracing himself on the doorway, breathing too heavily.

   Magnus watched him with wide eyes and Alec felt a wave of guilt wash over him for having scared Magnus. Alec tried to smile reassuringly, but it was interrupted by the worst pain yet. Alec gasped and his legs gave out sending him crashing to the floor. Magnus caught him before he fell, adjusting him so he could carry Alec to the car.

   Alec finally let himself cry and buried his head in Magnus’ chest whimpering softly. “It hurts.” He said quietly, shaking from lack of oxygen. Magnus was running now, he hadn't waited for the elevator instead running down the stairs. Normally Alec would be scared that Magnus was running so fast and concerned he would be dropped, but Alec couldn’t focus on anything other than the immense burning in his chest.

   Magnus kissed the top of his head murmuring a comforting, “I know.” quietly before finally reaching his car and setting Alec as gently as he could in the passenger seat. Alec just curled into himself as if he could protect his lungs from the disease currently killing him.

   He had a small moment of panic realizing that this could be it. He could genuinely, truly be dying right now. He quickly decided he would rather have died than have to endure the pain any longer. 

   Magnus was driving crazy and Alec wanted to tell him to slow down, to stop and focus, but he couldn’t force any more words out of his mouth. His vision was starting to spot, little stars messing his sight up. He closed his eyes instead, willing them to go away but they just got worse.

   Alec reached blindly for Magnus’ hand and Magnus quickly latched onto it. Alec squeezed his hand tightly, something he always did to Jace when he wasn’t able to talk anymore. It was comforting to feel Magnus squeeze his hand back. He was going to be fine, he had to be. 

   And with that thought, everything went black.

____________________________________________________________________________

   Alec had expected the event to scare Magnus away but Magnus did the opposite. He seemed to understand the severity of Alec’s condition and Jace had talked to him while Alec was unconscious. 

   Magnus was now constantly asking if Alec was okay and if anything hurt. It was annoying most of the time but it was nice to know Magnus cared so much.

   When they reached their tenth anniversary, Alec moved in with Magnus. It had been good timing since Jace had been wanting to live with Clary. Clary moved into Alec’s old apartment with Jace and Alec moved in with Magnus.

   When Alec’s birthday came around everyone threw him a big party, a ‘congratulations you haven't died yet!’ kind of party. Quite honestly Alec was also surprised. 

   He had never had much to live for, just his siblings, but Magnus made him want to live. He made him want to try things, not just to exist, but to make the best of it. For once he was living not to die, but to have fun. He was living for himself. Magnus made him happier than he ever thought possible.

   Which was why when the expected happened, he was ready.

____________________________________________________________________________

   Alec got a lot worse around the time of their one year mark. He found it harder to breathe a lot of the time as if an elephant had taken permanent residence on his chest. Alec knew it was coming, so did everyone else but Magnus refused to accept it.

   “You’re not going to die. It’s not allowed, you can’t leave me.” Alec frowned. There wasn’t much he could do about the fact that he wasn’t always going to be here. “Mags. I know you don’t like thinking about it but it will be so much worse if you don’t accept the fact that it’s happening.” Magnus glared at him. “I don’t want to.” He said as if that was the end of the argument. 

   “Magnus, stop it. I’m going to die and you’re going to have to find someone else to make you happy. You’re my boyfriend and I love you so much, but I am not going to be here and you have to move on when I’m gone. You have to.” Alec was winded by his short rant but he stopped breathing completely when Magnus said in a quiet voice, “I don’t want to be your boyfriend.” 

   Alec froze for a moment before looking away, embarrassed at the tears in his eyes. He knew this was coming so why was he getting so upset? “I-If you don’t want to be my boyfriend Magnus I am not going to force you to.” Magnus’s eyes went wide and he surged forward hugging Alec tightly. “God no. No, no, no. That is not what I meant.”

   Magnus was rubbing soothing circles on his back and Alec had to take a few shuddery breaths before he found his voice. “Then what did you mean?” Alec asked, weaker than he meant to. 

   Magnus pulled away from his with a determined look in his eyes. “We should get married. I don’t want to be your boyfriend that sounds too insignificant. I want to be your husband. I want to give you your happy ever after.” Alec froze again before shaking his head. “Mags no. I can’t do that to you.” Magnus shook his head, eyes narrowed in thought. “Yes, you can. I’m asking you, Alexander.” 

   Alec smiled sadly at him and shook his head. “It’ll just break your heart.” Alec said slowly, eyes cast downward. Magnus tilted Alec’s head up with his finger, eyes locked on each other. “Then break it, Alexander. I give you permission. Shatter it.” Alec faltered at that. Was Magnus so sure of this he would break his own heart?

   Alec watched Magnus for a minute before stating quietly. “I will but you have to really think about this. I’m serious, not some spur of the moment thing. Think about it, I probably won’t last more than three months.” Magnus flinched at that but nodded anyway, giving Alec a shy smile. The kind of smile that was reserved for Alec and Alec only.

   “I have thought about it. A lot. Alexander, I’m serious about this. I really want to get married.” Alec watched Magnus with contemplating eyes before a bright smile stretched across his face.

   “Okay.”

____________________________________________________________________________

   

   Magnus and Alec went and got married the next week at the courthouse. They were planning a wedding but they wanted to do this just in case something happened beforehand. Jace, Izzy, Clary, Simon, and Raphael were all there.

   Magnus and Alec both cried, both refusing to admit the fact afterward. 

   It was the best moment in Alec’s entire life and he thought back to that fateful day at the coffee shop and silently thanked his short temper.

   Alec and Magnus spent the next few months planning the wedding, they had moved the date around a lot but finally settled on waiting a month. Every time Alec looked at Magnus he felt a warmth bloom in his chest. 

   Everything about their everyday lives was great. Magnus had gotten a cat who he named Chairman Meow, Alec had pretended to hate him but Magnus often came home to Alec asleep on the couch, Chairman Meow nestled on his chest.

   It pained Magnus to see Alec grow weaker every day, it pained Alec to see Magnus in pain. They had many late-night discussions on what was going to happen after. Sometimes there were tears, other times there were laughs, but mostly they just held each other and thanked God for the time they had spent together.

   Everything was busy the day before the wedding. Magnus and Alec both had their suits and were spending the day together before tomorrow happened and they were crowded by everyone.

   They spent the day eating ice cream and watching movies. They played games and fondly referred to each other as a husband even though they had technically been married for a little over a month.

   That day Alec had felt more at ease than he ever had before. He felt at peace.

   That night when Alec woke up gasping for air refusing to go to the hospital Magnus had cried begging him over and over to not go. To not leave him. Alec had begged him in return to not be mad.

   Only when Magnus had forgiven him for leaving him did Alec reach out tentatively kissing Magnus one more time before falling into a peaceful sleep. 

   The only pain he could feel was the emptiness where Magnus had once been.