#this is for everyone nursing a hangover on new year's day

[bekolxeram]

“10! 9! 8!”

The helicopter hovers in the clear, starry sky.

“7! 6! 5!”

The crowd on the ground joyously counts down, welcoming the arrival of a new year, a new beginning.

“4!”

Tommy turns to face the passenger sitting beside him, “are you ready, Evan?”

“3!”

Buck mirrors the pilots movement, “never been more ready.”

“2!”

They smile at each other, with a bright, hopeful glint in their eyes.

“1! Happy New Year!”

Their lips crash together as the crowd roars in celebration, their connection only broken by the deafening bang of a firework. Buck jolts around, but his expression soon softens up in awe.

The calm, dark night sky has been illuminated by bursts of shimmering gold, right in front of his eyes.

Here.

There.

Here again.

Pops of color are gradually thrown into the mix, turning the simple, elegant light show into a chromatic symphony.

Red.

Blue.

Purple.

“Wow… I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life,” Buck sighs, still awestruck by the aerial, front-row view to the fireworks.

“I love you, Evan. I can’t wait to start our future together,” Tommy cups Buck’s cheeks with both hands, pulling him in for another gentle kiss.

Something feels wrong to Buck.

“Um… Tommy, who’s flying the chopper?” he stares at the bare cyclic, free from the control of the pilot.

“No one,” Tommy says, a hint of sorrow appearing on his face.

Buck’s blood runs cold.

“What does that mean?”

“It means it’s not real, Evan,” the pilot smooths a thumb over Buck’s cheekbone, “you can’t fly too close to the fireworks in real life, or else you’ll crash and burn.”

“Am I… dreaming?”

“Yeah… it’s a nice one, isn’t it? Too bad you’ll have to wake up soon.”

“Wait, no! I’m staying here, I’m staying here with you,” Buck cries out. “Aw — My head,” a strong dull ache starts pounding his head.

“You can’t.”

“Just… 5 more minutes,” Buck pleads with all his might, fighting against the burn in his throat.

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

================================================

Buck wakes up in a dimly lit room. There’s a hint of familiarity to this place, but he can’t pinpoint it exactly. He can’t even focus for more than 2 seconds due to the throbbing pain in his head.

Feeling his jeans still on, he pats around to find his phone in a pocket. The bright light from the screen stings his dry eyes, after a few seconds to adjust, he sees a column of unread texts from Eddie.

Eddie: What do you mean “where are you”? In El Paso? With Christopher? Eddie: I’m coming back on the 4th. I’ve told you that already, why are you still asking? Eddie: Are you drunk? Eddie: Wait, don’t tell me you’re in my house. Eddie: Why do you have to pick NYE of all days to drunkenly invade my home? Eddie: I’m doing you a favor, you owe me a big one.

Snippets of memories start flooding back all at once. He remembers leaving Maddie’s house shortly after midnight because it was Jee’s bed time, but he didn’t want to go home to an empty apartment, he decided to head to a bar for drinks instead. The more he drank, the lonelier he felt, so he took an Uber to his best friend’s house out of habit.

His memories begin blurring from that point on, but he vaguely recalls breaking down yelling and crying at someone…

“Easy, there’s a bucket next to the bed. You don’t need to get up if you’re feeling sick.”

“Tommy…”

“I brought you an isotonic drink and some painkillers, just in case, but your head should feel better once you get your hydration level back up,” Tommy hands him the bottle and kneels down on the floor, next to the bed.

“How…?” Buck asks after taking a big gulp of the liquid.

“Eddie texted me last night, telling me Christopher wanted to wish me a happy new year over the phone.”

“So… he tricked you?”

“No, he absolutely blasted me for leaving you heartbroken and alone. He said every person in Los Angeles, men and women, would line up just for a chance to kiss you on New Year’s, but you were on your own moping around because of me instead.”

“Eddie?”

“Chris. He told me if I ever believed you weren’t serious about… us, then I would be, and I quote, ‘a fucking idiot’.”

“Oh, he’s all grown up now,” Buck lets out a soft chuckle.

“Um… I was thinking, maybe we could talk? If you want to of course, I understand I have no right to ask you for anything after what I did to you.”

“Later, maybe?”

Tommy nods.

“Can you just stay with me for a while?” Buck lifts up bedspread as an invitation.

Tommy agrees silently by climbing into the bed, lying down on the empty side and wrapping his arms tightly around Buck from behind.

Buck melts into his touch, and slowly drifts off the sleep once again.

[prythiansprincess]

chicken noodle soup.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader

song inspiration: is it really so strange? by the smiths

author's note: just a soft fluffy comfort fic cause i've been thinking about matty lately and i needed cheering up after the end of kwaf. let's all laugh at the fact that i set a 1k limit on this fic only to fail miserably lmao 😭

Mattheo Riddle was not a fan of Mondays. 

Most of the time, Mattheo spent the first day of the week nursing a hangover and getting higher than a hippogriff at the Astronomy Tower with his friends to achieve equilibrium. The only thing he looked forward to every week was the prospect of riling you up in class. To be fair, it didn’t take much to get under your skin. Being himself seemed to do the trick. 

As he walked through the castle halls, Mattheo smiled to himself as he plotted out all the different ways he could provoke you on this dreadful day. For some sick and twisted reason, he reveled in the fact that only he could manage to rouse such a violent reaction out of you. There was something satisfying about the way your eyes blazed, your rosy cheeks tinged with heat as you told him off.

Maybe he'd flirt with you today. Tell you how good you looked in your short little skirt. Watch as you turned as red as the tie around your neck. His pretty little Gryffindor good girl. In Mattheo's mind, you were his to tease and taunt.

With his usual swagger, Mattheo sauntered into Advanced Transfiguration fully prepared to test out his new tactics on his nemesis, but you were nowhere to be found. 

At first, he figured that you were just running late. Throughout the duration of your rivalry, Mattheo had never once witnessed you skip class. He would’ve bet his entire cigarette supply that you’ve had perfect attendance since first year. When Professor McGonagall started the lesson and you were still missing in action, Mattheo was understandably concerned. 

The uneasy feeling in his stomach didn’t mean that he was worried about you though. This was purely about mutual benefit. Mattheo couldn’t very well have his Transfigurations partner skipping out on lessons. Even though he regularly did so himself. But still, that was different. Everyone knew he was a delinquent. You, on the other hand, were anything but. Until today, you’ve probably never missed a class in your life. 

Mattheo waited. Surprisingly, the two of you had the majority of your classes together. All of which dragged more than usual since you weren’t there to yell at him for dicking around. When you still hadn't turned up for Charms or Herbology, he became convinced that something was horribly wrong. Missing one lesson was alarming, but three in a row? That was entirely out of character for you. 

When Professor Sprout finally dismissed the class, Mattheo sauntered over to Granger’s desk. As always, she was surrounded by her two dimwit friends who immediately tensed the second he loomed near. Potter and Weasley shot him matching menacing glares, but Mattheo ignored them entirely. 

“Granger,” he drawled, leaning against the wooden desk. “Care to tell me where my partner’s been all day?” 

The Gryffindor girl appeared a bit perturbed by the question. “Why do you want to know where Y/N is?” 

Mattheo sighed in exasperation and produced the set of notes he’d taken during class. A first for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually listened to an entire lesson, let alone take notes, but he knew that you would have a million questions for him when you returned. The notes were his way of saving himself from your relentless interrogation. 

“Figured the little know-it-all would want my notes.” 

“Y/N is feeling a bit under the weather,” Hermione said cautiously. “I can take the notes to her if you’d like.” 

“No.” Mattheo declared rather suddenly. He cleared his throat and attempted to smooth over the sharp response. “No, McGonagall tasked me with it. I don’t want her docking points from my house when she finds out that you did my dirty work for me.”

Hermione raised a brow. “Sure.” The quirk of her mouth told Mattheo that she wasn’t convinced by his excuse. “Well, Y/N is resting up in the tower if you fancy a visit.” 

After a quick detour to the kitchens, Mattheo made his way over to Gryffindor tower. It was surprisingly easy to gain access to the lion’s den. He simply threatened a third year to let him in and got on with it. They truly needed to upgrade their security measures. One glare was all it took for Creevey to crumble and cave. 

With a satisfied smirk, Mattheo walked past the gaudy common room. For Salazar's sake, hadn't the Gryffindors ever heard of subtlety? The decor consisted solely of crimson and gold and the furnishings looked like something out of that muggle show his nan loved to watch—Antiques Roadshow. Antique was right. The worn out couch that he passed looked older than him.

Merlin, now he was starting to sound like Malfoy. Mattheo hurried along before he caught the urge to fold origami notes and chuck it at Potter's head. Fortunately for him, the place was devoid of the Chosen One or anyone for that matter.

By now, his fellow classmates were all in the Great Hall eating dinner, which he was thankful for. It was no secret that Mattheo’s presence wouldn’t be welcome here and he wasn’t really in the mood to fight his way through the Gryffindors just to deliver a note from the kindness of his black heart. Thank Salazar that there wasn’t a single soul in the tower to bicker with. Until he reached your dorm, of course. 

The relationship between the two of you was volatile to say the least. Despite Mattheo’s reputation, you weren’t shy about telling him off. When you were first assigned as partners, Mattheo had fully intended to let you do all the work while he skipped class to smoke, but he quickly realized that this would not be the case. You hunted him down at his hideout in the Astronomy Tower and discovered him blissfully sharing some premium grade mirthroot with Theo and Draco. When you found him, you were so angry that you dragged him by the ear all the way to the library, much to the amusement of his friends. Needless to say, Mattheo never missed a study session again. 

In a way, Mattheo admired you for it. Aside from his friends, everyone in the castle feared him. It was sort of refreshing to have someone call him out on his shit. Especially if that someone was a funny, feisty, ferocious Gryffindor who he enjoyed pestering every chance that he got. Mattheo always did have a penchant for girls with an attitude problem. 

Even as he knocked on your door, the Slytherin boy couldn’t help but chuckle to himself when he heard you grumbling from the other side. 

“Oh, for Godric’s fucking sake, what is it now?” 

The door swung open, revealing a very pissed off Y/N. Clad in striped pajamas and fuzzy bunny slippers, you placed a hand on your hip and frowned. Even in the throes of sickness, you still somehow managed to inject venom in your glare. Mattheo grinned like an idiot. 

“Nice slippers, princess.” 

You huffed, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Riddle?” 

“To make sure my partner doesn’t slack.” He waved his set of notes around. “Don’t think your sickness excuses you from studying.”

“This is payback for making you revise with me after you fell off your broom and broke your arm, isn’t it?” 

Mattheo cringed as he recalled the quidditch accident that sent him to the infirmary for a week. In true Y/N fashion, you were sitting by his bedside with a stack of books in your lap the second he woke up. Madam Pomfrey hadn't even put his arm in a sling yet before you were drilling him on proper spell enunciation and wand movements.

“You terrorized the infirmary with your mnemonics,” Mattheo said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s my turn now. This is sweet revenge, Y/N.” 

You squinted at his barely legible handwriting. “I’m just surprised you took your head out of your arse long enough to take notes.” 

“Glad to see that illness hasn’t lessened your bite. If anything, those teeth seem a little sharper than usual.” He leaned against the doorframe and smiled down at you. “Feeling a bit feral, princess?” 

“Why don’t you come a little closer and find out?” you quipped, baring your teeth at the aggravating boy. 

The gesture appeared intimidating for a full second until you sniffled and launched into a coughing fit, which made Mattheo frown. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Of course I am. I regularly cough my lungs out on nosy Slytherins whose sole purpose of existence is to make my life a living hell.”

He pressed the back of his hand against your forehead. The way his brow furrowed strangely resembled concern. Mattheo trained his chocolate brown eyes on you, examining the rosiness of your cheeks and the slight pinch of discomfort in your features.

"You're burning up." Mattheo's hand dropped from your forehead to the side of your neck. He pressed his fingers against your pulse point, feeling the erratic beating of your heart underneath his touch. It was strangely intimate. "You have an elevated heart rate."

You flushed and swatted his hand away. "Well, yes. That usually happens when one is ill."

"Come on, you should sit down."

"Don't tell me what to do, Riddle."

Mattheo rolled his eyes before dragging you by the elbow. Your protests fell on deaf ears as he barged his way into your dorm and walked you over to the bed. You watched as he pulled up a chair next to you before rifling through the contents of his backpack. Out of the sordid mess of his belongings, Mattheo produced a small container of soup. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a spoon. 

“Here, have some of this. It should help.”

As soon as he pried the lid open, the heavenly smell of chicken noodle soup filled your senses. Mattheo scooped up an equal amount of soup and noodle and blew on it to cool it down before tilting it towards you. The sight of him offering you food like you were some helpless toddler was only slightly insulting. You swore to Godric that if Mattheo started making airplane sounds, you’d strangle the bloody twat.

 “I can feed myself, you know.” 

“Just eat the damn soup, Y/N.” 

You rolled your eyes in return, but obliged nonetheless. Despite the source, you could never resist comfort food.

“Chicken noodle soup?” 

As soon as you tasted it, you knew that it wasn’t just soup. It was your favorite soup. The very same one that Winky made every third Wednesday of the month. You knew because you looked forward to it every time. It was even marked on your calendar. That’s how much you liked it. 

Mattheo nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, I know it’s your favorite so I bribed Winky to make some.” 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “How do you know it’s my favorite?” 

For once in his life, Mattheo looked utterly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze and busied himself by stirring through the carrots and celery. “You, uh, mentioned it in class once.” 

You couldn’t help but smile. Maybe it was the fever talking, but you thought that was sweet. “You remembered that?” 

Mattheo looked up, a stray curl kissing the tops of his cheekbones as he met your gaze. The shy smile on his face was alarmingly endearing. Sometimes when you looked at those angelic curls and stupid big, brown eyes, you forgot that you were supposed to loathe him. “Of course. It’s my favorite too.” 

You chuckled, sniffling a little. “It’s like a hug in a cup, right?” 

The curly headed boy nodded. “It totally is.” 

After you finished the soup, you expected Mattheo to take his leave. Instead, he inspected the vials of potions laying out on your night stand. He read through every label, frowning a little. 

“You should really have some pepperup potion in here.” Mattheo remarked as he arranged the vials one by one. “Are you sure this dose is potent enough? Maybe you should ask them to brew something stronger.” 

“Pomfrey prescribed them herself. No offense, but I think I’ll take her years of healing experience over your expert opinion.” Mattheo gasped rather dramatically, which made you chuckle. “As much as I appreciate the notes and the soup, I don't think it's wise for you to stick around. I’m feeling a bit better, but I might still be contagious.” 

Mattheo shrugged. “It’s alright, I’m not scared of a little cold. Besides, I still have to go over the Transfiguration assignment with you.” 

“Aren’t you worried that I’ll get you sick?” 

“Not really,” he said, waving off your concern. “I know you’re going to pester me about everything you missed in class, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.” 

To your surprise, Mattheo’s notes were extremely detailed.  It was a bit hard to read given his boyish scrawl, but with a little help in translation, you were making great progress in becoming fluent in Riddle. The more Mattheo explained the concepts and ideas that were discussed in each class, the more baffled you were. You've always known that he was smarter than he let on, but this was borderline impressive.

“How do you know all of that?” 

“I asked.”

“You asked?” Mattheo stared blankly at your surprised expression. “You never ask questions in class.” 

“I never had to since you're always there interrogating the professor like the little know-it-all that you are. Thanks to your absence, I had to fill your role in class today.”

You grinned. It grew wider and wider, spreading until your cheeks hurt. Mattheo glared at your joyous expression. “What? What’s that shit eating little grin for?” 

“You missed me.”

Color flooded Mattheo’s cheeks. You were surprised to find how well crimson suited him. It was almost the exact shade of your house colors. “Don’t be ridiculous—”

“Riddle, you asked questions in class. You took notes for me. You brought me chicken noodle soup." Mattheo flushed as you pointed out the obvious. "You totally missed me.” 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll hex you.” 

“Admit it, Mattheo. Your day was utterly dull without me.” 

Mattheo rolled his eyes, sighing in defeat. “Fine, you’ve got me. I was bored out of my mind without you around. How else am I supposed to pass the time if you’re not there for me to argue with?” 

“There’s plenty of other people in the castle that you could bicker with.”

“Yeah, but they’re not you.” 

He seemed a little shocked by his own statement, but he didn't try to retract it. In fact, Mattheo almost seemed resigned to it.

“Careful, Riddle. It almost sounds like you have a crush on me.” 

“I’d have to be a bloody idiot to fall for a girl who absolutely despises me.” 

“That wasn’t a denial, you know.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose like the very idea of it vexed him, but you caught the little smile he hid beneath his fingers. Mattheo snatched the notes from your hands. “Focus on the lesson, will you?” He grimaced as soon as the words left his mouth. “I can’t believe I’ve just said that. Look at what you’re doing to me, Y/N.” 

“You’ll live, Riddle.” You poked a section of his notes that you hadn’t quite deciphered. “Now what in the bloody hell is the Gobstopper Ruffian?” 

“The Goblin Rebellion. Merlin, my handwriting isn't that bad.” 

“Are you kidding? A kindergartner writes more legibly than this.” 

The hours passed while you bickered and bantered. You hated to admit it, but you missed arguing with him too. Laying in bed all day had you positively bored, but yet time passed within the blink of an eye as you went back and forth with Mattheo. Somewhere between discussing the possibility of Longbottom running an underground exotic plant ring and arguing over the best Smiths song, the sun had set over the horizon. Mattheo rubbed his eyes and yawned. 

“You look knackered, Riddle,” you teased, patting the spot beside you. “Do you want to lie down for a bit?”

Chocolate brown eyes widened at you. “Lie down? With you? On your bed?” 

“Yes, that’s typically how people do it.” You smirked as he shot you an apprehensive look. “Unless you’re too scared.”’

Never one to back down from a challenge, Mattheo lifted the covers and gestured for you to make room. “Scoot over, then.” 

The jest seemed to have backfired on you because now Mattheo was crawling into bed and making himself completely at home. All the apprehension from earlier melted as he pulled you against him, his chest pressed against your back as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. You stifled a giggle as Mattheo released a satisfied little sigh. 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you until you were covered in the scent of amber, cinnamon, and leather. You never expected to unearth the fact that Mattheo Riddle was a great cuddler, but yet here you were, reaping the benefits of this newfound revelation. He slipped his fingers through yours and nuzzled closer. 

"Who would've known that Mattheo Riddle was such a great cuddler?"

"If you tell anyone—"

"You'll hex me. Put a curse on my family. Set my possessions on fire. Yes, I know, Riddle. You keep threatening me, but you never follow through. I'm starting to think that you're losing your touch."

Mattheo squeezed your hip before twining your legs together. "I wouldn't test me, Y/N. You're in a very vulnerable position right now."

You chuckled as he scooted even closer. "Maybe, but you won't do anything."

"Why's that, princess?"

"You like me too much," you retorted, chuckling as Mattheo buried his face in your hair. "One day without me and you're already a needy mess."

"You infuriate me," Mattheo whispered against your ear. "But you're also the best part of my day. I couldn't imagine fighting with anyone else but you, my dear nemesis."

"I totally loathe you, Mattheo Riddle."

He chuckled as you snuggled into him. "I loathe you too, Y/N Y/L/N."

The irony of the statement contrasted with how tangled up you were wasn't lost on you. For two people who supposedly hated each other, cuddling with your enemy had never felt so right. The steady beat of Mattheo's heart lulled you towards sleep. You were slowly succumbing to its hypnotic lullaby until Mattheo's voice broke through the silence.

“Y/N?” He murmured against your hair.

You shifted, your eyes feeling heavy as his warmth enveloped you. “Hmm?” 

Mattheo’s voice was low and gravelly, flowing like honey in your ears. “This is nice.” 

You smiled against the pillow, staring at your intertwined fingers. “Better than chicken noodle soup?” 

You felt him grin against your skin before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on your temple. “Way better than soup.” 

TAGLIST

@annaisabookworm @bubybubsters @criesinlies @niktwazny303 @therealallisonspear @athenalikethegoddess @clairesjointshurt @vixzwrites @elle4404

[neochan]

( 2:46 PM ) mark lee hates mondays.

he hates that its a brand new day. a new week. probably a new month. but the same old year. the same monotonous routine that came with mondays.

wake up. go to class. eat lunch. more class. go home. do homework. sleep.

theres nothing new about mondays.

so he hates them.

mark lee hates tuesdays.

theres nothing special about this day either. but each second reminds him of you. of sitting next to each other in the lecture that he didn't find so boring. because you were there.

now you're not. so he hates them.

mark lee especially hates wednesdays.

but doesn't everyone? its the middle of the week. no events. no drinking. probably a test. or quiz. or writing assignment. definitely homework he forgot to turn in on monday.

so he hates them.

mark lee despises thursdays.

who decided that the school week needed to be this long. same classes as tuesday. without you. without anyone. and it tears him to pieces. how is he supposed to sit through hour long lectures by himself and stay content?

he can't. so he despises thursdays.

on fridays, mark lee wishes he could disappear.

the day is nothing short of long, tortuous, and disappointing.

you left him on a friday. therefore he can never find the day exciting again. the hours are spent procrastinating school work he missed during the week. thinking of all the ways he could have been better. done better. loved you better. love you more.

what could he have done. what? what?

he hates fridays.

mark lee is fond of saturdays.

no school. no work. nothing but him and the bottle of alcohol he kept locked away in the bottom drawer of his dresser. hours spent drinking and crying and ranting to hyuck. hours spent missing you. hours spent numbing the emotions that drowned him on every other day of the week.

at least he wouldn't remember in the morning.

so he's okay with saturdays.

sundays are meant for nursing saturdays hangover.

he lays in bed. orders take out. and regrets all decisions made on saturday. especially when the decision leads him into someone elses bed. not yours. just someone elses.

and then maybe he can play catch up with his late assignments. probably not.

mark lee doesn't care for sundays.

he doesn't really care for any day of the week. they all remind him of you.

[sincerelyhecate]

you (hit me with a broom and) set my heart ablaze

Title: you (hit me with a broom and) set my heart ablaze (final chapter)

Pairing: Jason Grace/Percy Jackson

Length: 7.9k words

You can also read this on AO3.

∘◦ ☆ ◦∘

Six years later.

On a lovely Saturday morning, in the kitchen of Jason and Percy’s home, it isn’t strange for one to hear the screams of Piper McLean echoing throughout the cosy ambience of the place. Today the sound is shrill and delighted, whistle-like before devolving into banshee cackles, to the absolute indifference of everyone else in the vicinity. In her precarious clutch is a rumpled copy of the Daily Prophet hanging on for dear life, papers on the verge of falling apart from the way it’s shaken this way and that. Poring over the morning news next to her hysterical girlfriend (or rather, trying to), Annabeth makes a face, disturbed by the headline emblazoned on the front page.

Jason, who’s preoccupied with wardrobe preparations for the International Quidditch Gala this evening, which is to be hosted in London this year, cannot be bothered to investigate his best friend’s cause of hysteria. Piper hops on a mission to rupture her close friends’ eardrums at least three times a day, most of the time because of things as small as losing a game of Exploding Snaps, so the effort would’ve been for naught. You can even say it’s a regular phenomenon in his life. Non-indicative of anything in need of serious attention.

On the other hand, he’s dealing with a slightly bigger problem: everything for the gala should’ve been in order before noon, which is only thirty minutes away. His Percy, who is sweet and charming and would probably kill another man for him, has the unfortunate tendency to procrastinate whenever he gets ready (“Can’t we snog for just another five minutes, babe? Please?”); another regular phenomenon in this household. And tardiness is simply out of the question today, when both of them will be the highlights of the event tonight.

Thalia, nursing a cup of tea for her hangover, walks around the kitchen island toward the girls to take a curious look. Jason jerks in surprise, barely managing to catch the bundle of robes falling out of his hold, when she all but shrieks, “JASON, WHAT HAS THAT TWAT DONE TO YOU?!”

Uh, oh.

When he gathers enough courage to glance her way, his sister has collapsed on a nearby chair. Her sharp face paints a perfect mixture of devastation and rage.

“My sweet, innocent baby brother!” she wails to the ceiling, like there’s an unknowable power above that could answer her woes. Her fingers clutch tufts of her black hair in anguish, like he’s about to be boiled inside a bubbling cauldron right before her eyes. “Debauched and corrupted by that filthy, foul beast!”

There’s an internal defensive system in Jason that’s set up for Percy, activating automatically whenever the man is spoken ill of. It doesn’t care for the offending person, whether they’re family, friend or foe.

“Excuse me?” he thus demands, incredulous by his sister’s exaggerated lament. “That’s my fiancé you’re talking about. What’s even going on?”

“He’s what’s going on!” Thalia yells back, but it’s too late. Her words might as well be the passing wind by then. For Jason, a helpless romantic by default, has already found himself scatterbrained by the word he just uttered.

Fiancé.

Isn’t it so telling of his character that, even in the face of Thalia Grace’s unbridled rage, his heart still embarrassingly flips at the word for the nth time? It’s mad. It's invigorating at the same time. Every time he says it, it’s as if the word has been just newly minted into his vocabulary. Like the idea of it is just dawning on him for the very first time.

And really, can anyone blame his tongue when it tastes honeyed mead every time?

His trembling heart, when the man he’s engaged to is the one and only Percy Jackson?

The giddiness overwhelming his chest, when he’s due being wedded to the love of his life one day, the owner of his heart and soul?

Reality still hasn’t set in completely. One in which he’ll be tying the knot with his Hogwarts sweetheart. Promising a lifetime with him. Loving each other till death do them part, then reunite them in the afterlife. Everything feels like a dream still, rose-coloured and hazy, even when three months have already passed since he said yes.

Like second nature, his thumb finds the lovely band wrapped around his ring finger. A sweet reminder that follows him wherever he goes. Counting days, that seem longer the nearer the date of their happy end and new beginning.

Speaking of which, the date has been easy to decide. And Jason, on his part, thinks their choice is perfect. He knows Percy thinks the same too, so attuned with each other they are; two meshing gears in a well-oiled machine.

After all, what’s more romantic than to have your first kiss as a husband on the date you had as a boyfriend?

The story of their engagement day was an incredible one.

The talk of wizarding Britain for a month straight, it made the headline of the Prophet the very next day, dethroned the current It Witch Drew Tanaka in the cover of Witch Weekly the very next week (“The Wicked has fallen!” Piper had yelled), before making its home in the gossip column for at least three subsequent issues of any known wizarding publication.

Representing the UK, Jason had just sealed their victory against Peru in the World Cup finals that very fateful day. When he had presented the Snitch to Percy, as per their very own personal tradition, Percy had in turn knelt on the grass and stolen Jason’s heart once more. His adorably shaky fingers had unclasped the golden ball to reveal the most brilliant thing Jason had ever seen: a ring of rose gold etched in intricate waves, the head mounted with a sparkling aquamarine.

With the same solemnity, the exact sincerity, his voice held when he had first asked Jason to be his lover, Percy had said:

“Jason Grace, will you marry me?”

There was only one correct answer.

A photo, capturing the moment Jason had jumped into Percy’s arms before kissing him like his life depended on it, would make itself a permanent home on one of the walls of their hallway.

Later that night, with the warmth of afterglow still thrumming under his skin, and the sense of security taking form in the arms wrapped around him, he asked his would-be husband, “What would’ve happened if I’d lost the match?”

Percy made a show of humming in thought, complete with a contemplative frown. Apparently, via means Jason couldn’t even try to comprehend, he’d somehow colluded with the organisers to have the Snitch carry the engagement ring the whole game, with the goal of letting Jason unknowingly catch it.

“I wouldn’t know,” Percy decided, “because you didn’t lose.”

As his fingers drew shapeless patterns on Percy’s fuzzy chest, he mused, “I could have.”

“Nah,” Percy retorted, his voice taking on the stubborn edge that Jason was so intimately acquainted with. “I did my calculations, baby. I knew you’d win before you even got to the stadium.”

“Statistically, my darling, there’s always a possibility that I could,” Jason said matter-of-factly. “What would you've done, then?”

“My calculations were perfect, thank you very much,” Percy said, also matter-of-factly. “So, I still wouldn’t have known!”

“Have you already forgotten that time you’d lost a match against Hufflepuff? A team you had been one hundred percent confident you’d win against?”

“Oh,” Percy drawled. In the dim light of the bedside lamp, his eyes glinted like the rippling ocean under the moonlight. “I see how it is.” His lips, swollen from being kissed so much, bit back a smile. “Making your future spouse recall a traumatic experience now, aren’t you, Mr Jackson-Grace? Right after the best fucking sex we’ve ever had of all times? Shouldn’t you wait at least a month after the wedding to show your true colours?”

“Oh, Mr Grace-Jackson,” Jason replied sweetly, burying his nose into Percy’s sternum. He wanted to stay there forever. “You know I’d play all the cards in my hands whenever we argue.”

The throaty laugh escaping Percy’s lips was siren-like in its melody, stoking the fire within his chest brighter. He wished the sound could stay entrapped in his ear canals forever; he never wanted to stop listening to it.

“Well, if you wanna know so badly,” Percy relented. “In the almost impossible, purely hypothetical, higher-chance-Dumbledore-would-sooner-rise-from-his-grave scenario of you losing…I’d be thoroughly fucked!”

Their laughter twirled together in a dance above their heads.

“I’d probably have to steal the Snitch from the other team too,” Percy said amidst his giggles, “before they unknowingly take your ring across the ocean. Luckily for us,” he grinned, so beguilingly handsome. “I’m rather a prolific Seeker myself.”

His heart an ocean of bliss, Jason stifled a yawn and buried himself deeper into Percy’s embrace. How surreal it felt now, even after years of doing it; to lie in the arms of this beautiful man who wouldn’t just be his lover anymore. Who would also be his husband soon, his partner for life. A dream he didn’t have to wake up from, because it’s now the indubitable reality.

As he basked in such loveliness, a question formed itself in the back of his sleep-addled mind. “Darling.”

“Baby.”

“Should we go for the hyphen route, how do we decide the order of our surnames?”

“Let’s just draw lots tomorrow and call it a day,” Percy said.

“It won’t work with just the two of us, will it?”

“We’re hosting the get-together dinner with the Hogwarts lot, aren’t we?” Percy reminded him, finishing his words with a gigantic yawn. “Let’s do it with them, then.”

“Fantastic,” Jason mumbled. Despite the young night, sleepiness tugged at his eyelids. The rising and falling of Percy’s chest made it impossible to ignore. The cool sensation around his ring finger followed him into his dream, of an ethereal painting of rose petals on the sand and an altar by the beach.

The following day was an event in and of itself. After drawing lots five times in rapid succession, a couple of heated arguments between Thalia, Nico and Reyna that almost turned into a duel, and a chaotic coin toss that somebody had charmed into displaying heads on both sides, the decision was ultimately vetoed by the happy couple in the end.

And so, Jason was proud to announce that he would one day be known as a Mr Jackson-Grace.

“Jason! Jason!”

“Er, what?”

“Care to explain this?!” Thalia’s anguished voice pierces through Jason’s fond recounting of his most favourite memory. ”You’d never say stuff like this before! And to the press of all people? Are you out of your mind?!”

She snatches the newspaper from Piper before shoving the front page in his face. A huge moving photograph, of him smiling genially amidst the many blinding flashes of the camera, adorns half the page. In bold capitalised letters, the headline reads: 

GRACE’S SECRET TO PEERLESS FLYING: “I RIDE MY FIANCÉ EVERY NIGHT.”

His jaw drops against his will. Finding the sufficient words to describe the sheer absurdity is a struggle on its own. After a good ten seconds, however, amusement betrays him in the end. It’s hard not to join in on Piper’s shrill laughter, which has yet to cease after five solid minutes, when you also happen to be the reason.

Merlin. The press can be crazy at times, but he certainly didn’t expect it to be this insane.

“What are you laughing about?!” Thalia demands.

“Okay. In my defence,” he takes a deep breath to compose himself, his grin refusing to go away, “I distinctly remember saying to the reporters that I ride with Percy every night. On our broomsticks. Separately.”

“So that’s why people were giving me funny looks at Diagon Alley,” a voice, dear and familiar, says on his right, just as he feels an arm snakes around his waist.

“Percy!” He didn’t notice their fireplace going off when the man in question Floo-ed in.

“Hello, my sweet.” 

Jason sees his amused grin before his green eyes, still gleaming with the same kind of endearing boyishness from six years ago. As easy as breathing, Percy pulls him by the waist to plant a sweet kiss on the corner of his jaw, unbothered by the soot all over himself. As always, his black hair is a handsomely tousled mess, bangs draping over his lovely eyes gossamer-like. Jason waves the shopping bags away to fussily brush the dust off his fiancé.

“For the record, ladies,” Percy says, his eyes full of gratitude as he stares into Jason’s, “it’s actually every two to three nights.”

“Percy!” Jason admonishes, his reprimand ineffective by his own giggle.

“We should still sue the wankers, though! For all their worth,” Percy adds, serious yet unserious at the same time. He rests his forehead against Jason’s, and they share a fond, helpless grin.

“Merlin’s pants, Seaweed Brain,” Annabeth chastises as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Could’ve gone peacefully without knowing that.” Exasperated, she snatches the offending newspaper back, before flipping to a presumably less crazier section.

“And I would’ve hexed your stupid arse to oblivion if Jason didn't love you as much as he does, Jackson,” Thalia supplies. It isn’t as threatening as usual. Her fondness for their display of affection must’ve mellowed her down.

“Love you too, Thals,” Percy throws a cheeky grin her way, chuckling as they watch her face fight off a smile behind her cup.

Jason’s heart squeezes happily. To see two of his most favourite people getting on is a blessing he won’t exchange for anything else.

Percy lets go of his waist, but not before nipping his lower lip affectionately. The spoils of his shopping float along as he crosses to the kitchen, arranging themselves into the arrays of cabinets and drawers and the large refrigerator.

As a half-blood, Percy has insisted on retaining a portion of his Muggle lifestyle. They purchased a home in a Muggle neighbourhood as a result, a quaint double-storey semi-detached house fondly dubbed as the Cabin, a callback from Percy’s favourite place back in his mum’s hometown in New York. It’s only a twenty-minute drive away from the Jackson-Blofis’, filled with everything you could find in a cosy Muggle household. The only recognizable magic consists of the private Floo connection and the Fidelius Charm, to keep the press and some deranged Quidditch fans away.

Over the hours, more of their friends come over. Grover and his girlfriend Juniper; Leo, Hazel and Frank; Nico, Will and Reyna; and Rachel, the last to arrive with her makeup supplies for Piper’s MUA duties. With every familiar face popping out of the fireplace, Jason can see the ever-present smile on Percy’s gorgeous face growing wider, his own heart soaring higher in return. 

Times like this, when their loved ones are close, are the ones they appreciate the most. With everyone present, the walls of the Cabin would illuminate with the glow of camaraderie. Grover, Percy and Leo would run the kitchen to prepare culinary masterpieces. The ladies, a tightly-knit group as ever, would drag Frank in on one of their shenanigans. Nico and Will would hog the TV to watch some 90s soap operas. 

Jason is content watching from the sidelines, often with a mug filled with hot cocoa in hand, occasionally joining whichever faction that wants him around. He feels happy and included in all of them; it feels like the bond they share transcends lifetimes and worlds over.

Jason probably has the best team of stylists ever. Granted, it’s a ragtag team of his friends who don’t style professionally, only as a hobby, but boy do they come through every time he needs to look good in front of the camera. Their teamwork is a spectacle on its own, working seamlessly like a well-oiled sewing machine whenever Jason Grace needs a look (“Lewk,” Piper would always correct him) worthy of the male celebrities’ section of Witch Weekly. 

The process is simple and well-rehearsed, divided according to each member’s talent. Rachel sketches and colours, Annabeth measures and sews, and Piper paints the face. Hazel and Reyna assist on the side, while Thalia sips a glass of firewhisky nearby, occasionally giving her grunts of approval. The men know to stay clear, though Nico and Will would sometimes chime in to provide helpful input.

The theme this time is robin egg blue. Their suits, tailored to match as always, quality rivalling those of Madam Malkin’s, are embroidered gorgeously in shimmering threads to detail patterns of clouds and waves, illustrating the horizon parting the crystalline skies and the tranquil seas. To distinguish the wearer, Percy’s suit is of a slimmer cut to fit his swimmer’s build, whilst Jason’s tapers at the waist to accommodate his own shape. Instead of flowing around the body like Jason’s does, the shine of Percy’s dress robe magically ripples downwards, to mimic merry waves hitting a summertime beach.

When Percy twirls around to showcase his outfit, Jason has never seen a lovelier picture. How is it fair for him to fall for the most beautiful man in the world? He’s not sure he can survive their first fitting in the future.

Then, it is time for makeup. Though he knew he shouldn’t be looking down on Piper’s skills (which are godly, by the way, despite her aversion to wearing any kind of cosmetics herself), it didn’t prevent his usual unfair presumption: nothing she attempts could ever hope to elevate the perfect canvas that is Percy’s face. Perfection cannot be improved, after all, and Percy’s natural features were painted by the Muses.

But once she’s done, and Percy turns to look at him, lo and behold: once again, she has achieved the impossible. Clever enough to leave the canvas as it is, she’s added subtle yet intricate engravings to its frame, tastefully complementing the existing work of art.

Hazel voices out his thoughts helpfully: “Wow. Makeup is really a whole other branch of magic.”

“Funny, because this collection is all Muggle-made,” Rachel says with a sprinkle of smugness.

When his eyes arrive at Percy’s countenance from their frantic travelling up his physique, whatever air that was left inside his lungs departs in a sharp outtake of breath.

A poet would find inspiration from the glitter that hung from the curve of Percy’s long, rich eyelashes; compose songs in the subtle turquoise blended into his eyelids. A painter could paint flowers of the prettiest pigment if they extract the rose of his lips; sandy beaches from the smooth brown of his flawless skin; and the seashells dotting the sand from the shadows of his stubble. His hair, untameable like the roughest of seas, is now subdued to a windswept look that weakens Jason’s knees.

He's no artist, but a strong urge to get a drawing quill and a roll of parchment suddenly overwhelms his chest. A subject like Percy would only allow masterpieces to exist, even if made by hands as untrained as his.

“Breathe, guys,” Leo pipes up.

Oh. Being deprived of air for quite some time, his lungs have long caught on fire. The adrenaline flowing through his veins is better than Quidditch itself.

When did Percy close the distance between them? He’s a few metres away just a second ago, and now Jason can smell the seaside tang of his breath, its warmth caressing his cheeks like sea breeze. Up close, his sea green irises, left untouched by the makeover, turn out the most beautiful. Bright, earnest and pure, just like how they were in the trophy room a million years ago.

“I would kiss you senseless right now,” Percy says, his grin widening into that of the Cheshire Cat’s, “but I can’t do that without ruining our lipsticks.”

Jason’s own makeover has been nothing special. A dash of glitter here, a few brushes of rouge there, over and out. “Frankly, Jason, Mum would probably be pissed if she ever sees me touching your face up,” Piper says, the meaning of her words escaping his understanding. The mirror seems to agree; he hardly sees a difference after she's done.

Not that it matters in the end. After all, he’s always been a poor judge of his own looks. Though judging from Percy’s reaction, she’s probably done an exquisite job. And he only really cares for Percy’s opinion.

“Er, should we leave?” Grover says. “Looks like they’re about to undress each other again.”

“Ew!” exclaims someone else, but Jason is too entranced at this point to know who.

“Alright, everyone out!” Percy announces with a clap that resounds in his head, kind enough to break him out of his silly reverie. “Thank you so much for pretty much everything, but we’re about to head out, and we don’t want to be greeted by a pile of rubble when we get back.”

“Can’t even trust your own friends with house-sitting?” Nico says.

“I’m gonna fuck him as soon as we walk through the door when we’re back,” Percy replies with a shrug, “and I wouldn’t care who’s there to—”

Half of them are out the door before Percy could finish his sentence.

“Works every time,” Percy said, as soon as Thalia, the last of their friends, Floo-ed away in an angry burst of green flames.

“You’re a walking menace.”

“And you love me for it.”

“And I love you for it.”

Jason walks backwards as he guides Percy by the hand towards the back door, not at all worried of running into anything by accident, every inch of the Cabin long mapped into the back of his mind. The evening breeze greets them as they step outside, its scent a little damp and woody. Their most favourite spot to Disapparate together is the backyard, a shrine filled with all kinds of paraphernalia, big or small, narrating tales of their loved ones. Sally’s beds of roses, Estelle’s mini playground, Paul’s tools for his home projects, Thalia’s archery targets; things to miss when they depart, and to look forward to seeing when they arrive home. He already misses all of them. 

Right at the threshold of the pathway leading to their private Quidditch pitch, Percy loosens his hold to lace their fingers together. Where they've always belonged.

“You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

There’s a hint of a whine in Percy’s next words. “Can’t wait to get home already.”

Jason smiles softly. “I’ll be there with you, won't I?

“Oh!” Percy mirrors his expression. “You’re right.”

Home is wherever they’re together, after all.

Before the swirling darkness of Disapparation takes over, Percy’s warm face, evoking all good feelings within those privileged enough to witness, is the last thing Jason sees.

***

Percy isn’t the most self-conscious person in the room, but they really do make quite the pair before the press.

And Merlin, is he not made to be press material.

“And joining us for the gala this beautiful evening is the thrice world champion, the hottest Seeker in the scene, Jason Grace! And his wonderful beau Percy Jackson!” Despite the Sonorus spell casted directly to his throat, the interviewer somehow finds it necessary to shout his announcement anyway, like it’s the only way to be heard above all the clicking noises of the press cameras. His face, in Percy’s honest opinion, looks exceptionally punchable.

All around the press wall, which bears the logos of the International Association of Quidditch and its various sponsors, white flashes assault Percy and Jason’s visions blind as they try for smiles that might as well be grimaces. The only solace is Jason’s fingers intertwining his, a sweet anchor in a sea of madness.

Right this second is Percy’s least favourite part of this whole semi-famous thing he has going on as Jason’s partner. Not that he has any place he’d rather be other than by Jason’s side. Not at all. It’s just that being the centre of attention isn’t very kind to his temperament, and the noise and the flashes and the heat only serve to make things worse.

Ever his hero in shining armor, Jason does his best to direct all the attention to himself, cutting through the questions quickly so they can move on. In the meantime, Percy tries his best to maintain his dwindling composure and stave off his rising nausea. His vision flies everywhere, in need of something easier on the eye to help. Predictably, Jason’s perfect side profile does the trick.

“Hello? Earth to Percy?” a ping of a voice intrudes his already wobbling mindscape. He barely suppresses the urge to growl like a territorial wolf.

“Er, yes?”

“Other than staring at your fiancé all evening, which is understandable,” the interviewer jokes, like he ever has the right to, “what are you most excited for in this event?”

Deep breaths. Remember your PR training. Make Frank proud.

“Going home, definitely,” Percy says, his next words accompanied with a wink. “Jason and I have our nightly riding to do.”

Jason laughs before playfully pinching his side. “He meant broomstick riding, by the way. No funny headlines tomorrow, folks.”

“Or our lawyer will keep in touch!” Percy adds with a cheeky grin. Jason laughs again as he waggles his index finger at the interviewer—a lighthearted warning of a not-so-lighthearted consequence.

“Cheeky as always!” the interviewer says cheerfully. His posture betrays otherwise, visibly unsettled by the threat lurking underneath their unassuming smiles. “Now, Jason, what do you think of the new faces for this upcoming—”

Despite his discomfort for interviews, Jason glows like the star he is, the perfect picture of a celebrity sportsman. The marvel of his glasses perching on the strong curve of his nose serves as Percy’s distraction for the next few minutes of press torture. Then, before he can give in to Disapparating back to the Cabin on the spot, they’re finally, finally being led towards the heart of the celebration.

As they walk through the grand double doors and into the gargantuan hall serving as the venue, Jason’s hand around his own tightens in a quick squeeze, as if to say, ‘Good job out there.’

It could also mean nothing, but he finds himself preening anyway.

Out of biased nostalgia, he’s inclined to believe that the Great Hall back in Hogwarts is the most magical place when it comes to hosting a grand event. Now that he’s here, this place certainly gives it a run for its Galleons. The ceiling is conceptually familiar, charmed in a way to showcase the astral magnificence above, but the interior design, boasting impressive Ancient Roman architecture, certainly exudes more pzazz. Every inch of it speaks of grandeur, dialled up to eleven, regaled by the marble floor and the pillars of gold, giving off the illusion of an ancient godly residence.

In celebration of Quidditch and the sportsmanship it brings out of every attendee, waiters zoom around on leisure broomsticks, handing out glasses of overpriced beverages to those desiring to drink the night away. Replicas of the Golden Snitch flit over people’s heads, dangling lucky prizes to whoever manages to catch them by hand (no brooms allowed). Tables topped with crystal covers, decorated with swaths of silk ribbons, boast fancy china plates of culinary specialties hailing from every member country of the Association. The aroma hanging over the dining area is enough to make anyone with working taste buds salivate. The festive air is so electric, Percy could almost feel its buzz within his bones.

Merlin, he thinks ruefully, it’s gonna be a long night.

An event like this, in which the majority of its attendees are world-class athletes, can only mean one thing: good-looking people frolicking around everywhere. People whose winks can make the average Quidditch fan blush in an instant, whose musculature can make anyone weak in the knees…for those who are looking, this place is a prime opportunity for a prospective relationship, serious or otherwise. More than once Percy could recognize people he’d seen countless times in magazines, some of them legends whose active years even preceded his time in Hogwarts.

Despite that, it’s funny how nobody holds a candle to Jason. Pale in comparison, pitifully eclipsed, reduced to the shadows, by the walking sun by his side.

Jason’s ensemble for the night seems to agree with him, billowing around his fit body like a cool superhero’s cape. The eye-catching robin egg blue perfectly complements his divine exterior, making every feature pop; his eyes bluer, his lips redder, his hair as if spun from pure gold. Matching robes was probably the best decision they’ve ever made as a celebrity couple. Percy loves how it tells everyone else who he belongs to, who he belongs with.

I’m the luckiest man in the world, aren’t I?

“I heard Albus has already started his first year at Hogwarts,” Jason says out of the blue, eyes casted towards a corner of the hall, unaware of how musical he sounds in Percy’s ears. “He’s grown so big already.”

Percy follows his gaze to see the Potters, who—sans their infamous eldest child—are lounging around a table at the VIP section. Despite drawing every eye in the vicinity to their general direction, they mostly keep to themselves, only making polite conversations with the starry-eyed passersby when necessary. The boy in question, a downright clone of his legendary dad, is particularly gloomy-looking.

“And little Lily! It feels like only yesterday since she’s this small,” Jason says adoringly, hands shaped as if holding an invisible Quaffle.

“You sound like you’re the one giving birth to her.”

“Half of the League players think they did,” Jason agrees. He then sighs, in a longing way that makes Percy’s heart clench. “Having kids must be so lovely.”

“Wait ‘til we get home, baby. I’ll put as many as you want inside you.”

Jason pauses, eyes widening in surprise, before a hopelessly infatuated grin cracks his face.

“Oh my wonderfully vulgar fiancé,” he whispers, chuckling amusedly as he closes the already small distance between them. The azure of his eyeliner sparkles as he blinks at Percy, wondrous, like his offhanded dirty talking is ever something to wonder about. He noses Percy’s cheek, affectionate, as if they’re not at the edge of the polychromatic dance floor about to headline a ball. “You’re lucky I’m beyond head over heels for you.”

Overhead, the emcee announces their presence and implores them to take the floor. They walk hand in hand as they do, soaking in the cheers all over. As the band begins to play the flowy tune of an idyllic waltz, Jason turns around, places his hand over his heart, and takes a bow before Percy. The fabric of his robe flows around him majestically, in tandem with his elegant gestures. 

Mine, Percy thinks.

“May I have this dance?” Jason extends his hand out, offering a beacon of happiness.

Percy takes that warm, solid grip into his own. Goosebumps run down every inch of him as he feels the callouses that have long etched themselves into his own skin. Everything else tunes itself out. It’s a wonderful feeling that never ages: as familiar as home, yet so novel every time.

With Jason Grace, everything is a never-ending loop of a brand new experience.  

Jason’s other hand touches the small of his back. With a slight push inwards, he brings their bodies flush together. Like they’re created so, their fingers connect seamlessly. In a flash, the surrounding banishes itself into non-existence, and they’re left all alone.

“I’m all yours,” Percy replies, right before he’s brought to a twirl for a night to remember.

Ah. Twelve years old Percy would probably cry at the sight of them dancing like this. Maybe wish he’d grow faster just to rush headlong into this moment.

Twenty-four years old Percy is rather simple; he’s the happiest he ever feels.

This happiness will certainly grow when Jason walks down the aisle towards him in the near future, ready to proclaim their sacred, eternal vows.

But now?

To dance in their private bubble of bliss, while the rest of the world ceases to exist?

Nothing could ever compare—past, present and future.

“Ow,” Jason says as Percy steps on his foot.

Way to ruin the moment. “Whoops.”

“Oh, darling.” Jason’s voice is hoarse and thick. “I’m so happy I could cry. Thank you for snapping me out of it.”

Percy decides against admitting that he’s three seconds away from bawling himself. Blinking the sting away, he resorts to giving Jason something better: his most charming, carefree grin yet. “Anytime.”

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, aren’t I?”

Jason yelps a little as Percy pushes him down to kiss him deep.

“Get over yourself,” he says against Jason’s lips. Cradled in his arm, Jason’s broad back is pliant and warm. “I am.”

And thus the dance floor transforms itself into clouds for good. Everywhere around them turns into the vast blue sky, unlimited. Jason mirrors his face, all luscious pink and pearly whites, woven and painted and carved from the finest stuff of dreams, before he takes him for the soaring of his lifetime.

They stumble upon the Potters on their way to sneak out, not even an hour into the gala. It’s one of their signature moves in any event, common knowledge to any organiser at this point. One that Percy finds to be a lot of fun. Accept the invitation, create a spectacle, then ditch the place before the celebration reaches its peak.

He didn’t expect the most famous wizard in the world would also do the same.

“Hello, my good chaps,” says the Boy Who Lived. “Off to escape too?”

“Oh!” Jason exclaims, reverting to an eleven-year-old meeting his hero for the first time. “Good evening, Mr Potter, Ginny.”

“Funny how you call my wife by her first name but not me,” Harry Potter says amusedly. “Just call me Harry.”

Out of kindness, Percy does not point out the second flustered, “Oh!” coming out of Jason. “I’m so sorry. It’s the first time we ever talked, so I wasn’t sure if it’s proper.”

“Don’t sweat it, Jason,” Ginny says kindly. “A friend of mine is a friend of Harry’s.”

“Right,” Harry says.

“Right!” Jason says sheepishly. After a second of visibly collecting himself, he gestures towards Percy with a grand wave, like presenting a masterpiece. Always doing the most during introductions. “And this is my very lovely fiancé, Percy Jackson.”

Percy elbows him good-naturedly before giving the family a small wave. “Hi.”

“Go on, kids,” Harry says. “Introduce yourselves.”

Like Weasley-made firecrackers, so full of life: “Hi, I’m Lily! I’m a huge fan of yours, Mr Grace!”

The way Jason glows with adoration is one for the books. Percy almost feels jealous of a child. Almost.

“It’s an honour, Miss Potter. Please, call me Jason,” Jason says with a princely bow, rewarded with a giggle out of the youngest Potter.

From the other kid, an almost inaudible, “Hullo,” escapes. So faint, like the whisper of wind over the spindly branches of the Forbidden Forest. Percy has to strain his ears just to catch it. “Albus.”

“Hello!” Jason says. “I heard it’s your first year at Hogwarts, Albus. Having a good time over there?”

Wrong question. It doesn’t escape both of them the way Ginny whispers to herself, “Oh, dear.” Harry himself has gone stock still, exchanging a worried look with his wife.

When Albus says nothing and just toes the floor with one of his leather shoes, Jason takes the hint with stride and barely a crack to his charming demeanour. “Don’t worry if you aren’t. Hogwarts isn’t the end-all be-all of your life, and you’re barely starting! I’m sure you’ll get the hang of things soon enough.”

“School sucked for me most of the time too. ‘specially when I started,” Percy adds with a shrug. “You’ll be okay. Just find a cute kid to crush on secretly for five years like I did, and use that as motivation to survive your every day.”

“Percy!” Jason exclaims sheepishly, flustered.

“Fine. A best friend can work too!” He leans in so only Albus can hear. “Nerdy blond boys just worked better in my case.”

Oh, look. There’s a hint of a blush on those freckled cheeks now, barely hidden by the raised shoulders trying to cover equally pink ears. One way or another, his words have hit a mark within the boy. Mayhaps they’re kindred souls; he somehow knows their situations aren’t so dissimilar.

He pushes his luck just a tad further. “As long as they’re there, right?”

Though Albus is still adamant to not meet any of their gazes, a few seconds pass before he finally nods. The looks of relief shared between Harry and Ginny are palpable. Percy gives himself a mental pat on the back. Silently, he wishes the young boy all the best.

Maybe he can manage this whole parenting thing. In the far, unforeseeable future, perhaps.

“James didn’t come?” Jason asks the couple. His question is met with two pairs of rolling eyes.

“Oh, he was here. For all of five minutes,” Ginny explains with a hint of exasperation. “Off with his godbrother as soon as he got the chance.”

“I reckon he’s already home by now,” Harry adds. “Which is good, to be fair, because it’s way past their bedtimes. Well, then.” He gives a nod to each of them. “‘Till we meet again, gentlemen.”

“It’s nice meeting you lovely couple,” Ginny says as they all exchange their parting handshakes.

Lily gives them an enthusiastic wave in parting, and Albus finally works up the courage to look them in the eyes. Percy gives the kid what he dubs as his big brother smile, and is rewarded with another determined nod.

Once the Potters Disapparated in a deafening crack, Jason laces their fingers together. He sighs in fondness once more, blissfully unaware of its effect on Percy. “Kids are so lovely, aren’t they?”

And if that isn’t a blatant hint for what awaits him at home, Percy hasn’t a clue what is.

The moon is reminiscent of its shape during their escapade to the Astronomy Tower a millennium ago. 

There are no stakes this time, however. No risk of getting caught by professors or annoying caretakers and their tattling cats. No need to sneak around telescopes and globes while painstakingly covering their tracks. No sense of urgency of impending deadlines, of running out of time, or of counting days until one of them quit Quidditch for good. 

Because now, they have all the time in the world.

Percy and Jason’s private Quidditch pitch is located in a vast area enlarged by magic, its true form being a measly portion of their gated backyard. The spell, of course, was performed by the joint efforts of the brains of their gang, the pitch itself solely of Annabeth’s architectural prowess despite her supposed disinterest for Quidditch. The structure of the building is an almost one-to-one replica of the iconic pitch at Hogwarts, minus the colours of the four Houses found in the decor (which was replaced by their favourite shade of blue as per their personal wishes). Jason’s current team sometimes use it as their base, but most of the time, it is the only witness to Percy and Jason’s private, nightly riding.

Tonight, Jason has a little bit of a surprise for him.

“You still have that old thing?” Percy says amusedly, as Jason, in an impressive show of wandless magic, Vanishes the dust off a very familiar broomstick.

“It’s the broomstick I used when you beat me for the first time,” Jason says casually, slotting the handle between his legs, familiarising with the sensation of it underneath him. He’s never looked more at home. “You bet I’m gonna keep it forever.”

“And you think that’s gonna help you now?” Percy replies, making a show of looking unimpressed.

By today’s standards, the broomstick might as well be an ancient artefact. A far cry from Jason’s current beast reserved for tournaments, on which he would perform gravity defying moves like the god he is, a state-of-the-art, one-of-a-kind flying machine handcrafted exclusively for him by the top broomstick makers in Japan.

“If I can’t use any kind of broomstick to beat an old retired school player,” Jason says innocently, “can I even call myself one of the top three Seekers in the world?”

Percy rolls his eyes, prompting an amused snort out of his fiancé. Saying ‘top three’ was just another instance of Jason’s unnecessary humility; he’s officially the no. 1 player, thus the no. 1 Seeker, in the world.

Not that Percy would ever go down without a fight. Especially against the best opponent he could ever have.

Kicking off the ground on one of Jason’s spare broomsticks, which has seen his victory in the World Cup finals four years ago, Percy taunts, “Well, this school player is about to end his retirement just to kick your arse tonight.”

“Fantastic.” Jason’s scar stretches as he grins, the curve of his mouth wide as a hungry wolf's. Despite riding the school standard broomstick, his takeoff is as seamless as ever, like an eagle taking flight. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And just like that, they’re flying in tandem with one another, still mostly dressed from the gala. With the robe out of the way, the waistcoat hugs Jason in such a sinful way that emphasises his tight waist.

Percy can’t wait to strip everything off him.

“Remember this other old friend?” Jason says, unveiling yet another surprise as he unclasps his fingers.

The dark does nothing to diminish the golden shine flitting out of his hand. While every single one of the little buggers looks the same to Percy most of the time, he can tell the significance of this particular Golden Snitch. From the way Jason looks at it with an exceptionally adoring gaze, it’s none other than the one that had witnessed the day they became fiancés.

“You know how some old couples would renew their vows?” Jason asks. Percy nods slowly, his heart in his throat. “I was thinking of us doing the same thing.”

His pulse picks up speed. “We’re not married yet.”

“We aren’t, but in our case, I’m not talking about wedding vows.” A deep breath. An earnest gaze. Then, “I’d like a chance to renew our proposal.”

Percy’s chest is a limitless world, of which his soul makes its oyster. “Oh?”

“I never had the chance to propose to you back,” Jason says, a little sheepishly. “Mostly because I never thought I’d be able to outdo yours—the singular most magical thing to ever happen to me.” At the sight of that smile turning a tad more smug, Percy’s poor mind goes into overdrive. “But that changes now.”

“Yeah?”

In a steady voice, Jason announces: “I challenge you to a Seeking game, Percy Jackson. The first to catch the Golden Snitch shall win the chance to propose the other once again.”

The night can’t get any better. “Bring it on, Jason Grace.”

In this game of their own design, the rules are rather simple. The beginning entails letting the Snitch wander off for five minutes, exploring the nook and cranny of the pitch to find the perfect hiding spot, before the Seeking begins. Then, whoever catches it first wins. Simple and, with Jason as his opponent, bloody fun. After playing this game for probably a couple thousand times, Percy is proud to say he’s not falling off too much behind the best Seeker in the world.

(He has a rising suspicion that Jason is secretly training him to play professionally, but that’s a topic for later.)

The measly five minute period is usually the time they’d have a quick chat about nothing or anything. Which, to him, means everything. Sometimes, they’d taunt each other good-naturedly, or playfully try to jostle the other off his broomstick. Most of the time, though, they just revel in the evening air in companionable silence, soaking in each other’s wonderful presence.

Tonight is a tiny bit different.

Almost coyly, yet very coquettish somehow, Jason flies closer to hold his hand and play with his fingers. Embarrassingly, despite everything they've done in bed together, Percy’s heart skips a beat. Their engagement rings are off for now, carried away by the tiny flying ball for this silly little game.

“You know, darling,” his beautiful fiancé says, “we should try for a baby tonight.”

This is bait, he knows that much. But at this point, after years in this perpetually sweet romance, he might as well be an unassuming fish.

Desire pours out of his lips in a rich tone, sultry and deep. “Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t mind a head start for one before we take our vows.” Jason’s face is so close, their noses are practically brushing against each other. His scent, of butterbeer and strawberries and clouds and invigorating musk, is downright divine. “Build our own little family as soon as possible.”

It's probably bad to have a stiffy while flying, isn't it? That day, Percy learns that wood against wood is rather an uncomfortable combination.

“I’d love that.”

“And you’re gonna make it so good for me tonight, aren’t you?”

Oh, he’ll make it so good for him, alright. So fucking good, Jason won’t be able to walk properly for days. In fact, if there’s even a sliver of possibility that he can, he’ll have Jason out of the game for nine months straight.

“I’ll rock your whole world, baby.”

Like a goddamn puppy, Jason whines needily, before locking their lips together in a searing kiss. Percy momentarily forgets everything. Even himself. “Mhm.”

When Jason pulls back, his face is lovelier than the full moon. His half-lidded gaze is the epitome of allure, his lips a promise to bliss. Percy dies, then comes back, all within a blink of an eye. 

Filthily needy, yet so wholeheartedly sincere, Jason whispers hotly against his mouth: 

“I love you, Percy.”

No paradise could be better than this.

“I love you more—OI!” 

Like a balloon, his reply inflates and bursts into surprised, almost indignant cackles, right after Jason leaves him in a burst of wind. It’s answered with Jason’s own melodic laughter, peals of it ringing into the night, diminishing the farther he zooms away.

Looks like the bloke has some Slytherin in him, after all. Not that it’s a surprise; Percy has poured more than enough inside him, in more ways than one.

Oh, well. While victory is exquisite, he doesn’t really mind losing this time. He has long won. He’s now just indulging the rewards to his endeavours. In fact, there’s little to lose when it comes to loving Jason Grace. His soul is but a measly price.

Letting out a whoop of sheer, unadulterated joy, he presses his torso closer to the handle, summons every bit of his Seeking skills within his body, and rockets after his beloved.

Barreling against the chilly night air, he thinks for the millionth time: what an incredible thing, this love is.

And the world simply agrees. It is pure as the pearlescent moonglow bathing over the pitch, exhilarating like the roaring wind around him. Astoundingly magnificent, like the keeper of his heart soaring over the clouds on a broomstick, unstoppable by none.

Years have passed by, yet Jason still remains the boy that never fails to set his heart ablaze. Everlastingly bright.

The end.

[masterjedilenawrites]

What Happened Last Night (3)

Fives wakes up on New Year's Day with no recollection of the night before. Shenanigans ensue as he goes on a quest to piece together what exactly he and his brothers got up to on New Year's Eve.

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Part Three - 11:00 AM

Fives x fem!S/O | 2.5k words

Content: drunkenness, hangovers and related symptoms, memory loss, sexual references, cursing

Note: The clock's a-ticking and only some of these boys are making any progress on getting their shit together 😅

Fives barely got a hand up in greeting before Jesse was in front of him. Lightning fast, his clone brother had somehow covered several paces in the blink of an eye and his scowl was now mere inches away from Fives' tortoiseshell sunglasses.

"What the hell, Fives?" he snapped.

Fives tried not to flinch at the volume. "Uh..."

"Why'd you ditch me?"

Oh. He hadn't even realized before, but now it occurred to him it was odd that Jesse wasn't part of this mess, or any of the fuzzy few memories he had. How had he ended up spending a wild night with Tup and Dogma of all people, and not his partner in crime?

While Fives fumbled for a response, Jesse took notice of the girl in his shadow and dropped his grimace.

"Hey, sweet thing."

Faith started to blush just as Fives not-so-subtly stepped in between. Jesse was notorious for flirting with everyone, and flirting well. Fives was not going to let him steal yet another one of his crushes.

"Dude, I'm so sorry." Fives put his hands up in innocence.

"Sorry? That's all you have to say for yourself?" Jesse's anger was back on. "You tricked me into climbing that tree so you could sneak off and have fun without me. Don't sorry me."

"That was you?" Faith asked. Jesse only frowned deeper and Fives gave her a questioning look. "When my friends and I got there, there was all this talk about some guy who'd gotten himself stuck in a tree outside, thought he was a Jedi."

She was barely holding back her laughter. There was no flirting with her now. Jesse stepped back and set his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, that's right, I was the dumbass who thought there were real kyber crystals up in that tree. I thought that because my best friend told me and I trusted him. But it turns out, he just wanted to distract me so he could run off with all the pretty girls for himself."

"Dude, I was so drunk..."

"So was I!" Jesse threw his hands in the air. "You told me you were getting help. I was up there so long I got sober. Almost fell like fifteen feet trying to get down so I could whoop your ass. Only you and the others were nowhere to be found. Real funny."

"I... don't remember any of that." Fives wished he had. He couldn't imagine himself willfully ditching Jesse, even if he was inebriated.

"Stole my helmet, too," Jesse continued complaining. "And the girl I was talking to. I spent the New Year nursing a headache all alone in my bunk."

Jesse's eyes flicked to Faith and he lowered his hands. "I mean... I could've gone home with someone else, obviously. I just, you know... I didn't feel like it. Because this di'kut really pissed me off."

"Look, Jesse, I will make it up to you, I swear. But I'm serious, I can't remember a damn thing. Apparently Rex's helmet is missing, and Dogma too, and we barely have an hour before Rex skins us alive."

Jesse brought his arms back up across his chest and started smirking at Fives.

"Is that so?" He glanced over at Faith again, who ruefully nodded in agreement. "Huh. Serves you right."

Fives didn't like his tone, and he really didn't like being stuck in this predicament. Remembering their time crunch had set his nerves all alight with anxiety.

"You said your helmet is missing, too?" Faith tried to remain helpful.

Jesse stared unblinking at Fives. "Yeah. I thought for sure you would've returned it by now, that's why I'm here and not on the ship with the rest of the company."

"I don't know where anyone's helmet is." Fives put his hands back up with an exasperated sigh. "Look, can I use your commlink to talk to Hardcase for a sec?"

"No."

"Come on, man."

Jesse was already walking backward, his smirk becoming more prominent. "You didn't want me around last night, you don't get my help now."

"Jesse, come on, I'm sure I didn't mean it."

The clone disappeared around the corner he'd come from. Fives very much wanted to throw a tantrum right now. Screaming, kicking, the whole bit. But there was a lady present, so he settled for moans and restless pacing.

"It's okay," Faith tried to assure him, though she made sure to stay out of his way as he stomped around in distress.

"No, no, it's not okay," he bemoaned. "He'll go straight to Rex and tell him everything. Even if we find Dogma and that stupid helmet, Rex will still know we fucked up."

"Don't get ahead of yourself. We do still need to find your friend and that helmet. Let's just start there."

Fives sagged against one of the walls and took off the sunglasses. He blinked through the fluorescents at Faith's earnest smile. His shoulders sagged.

"Look, Faith, I... I appreciate all your help. I really do. But this is my mess and you don't have to--"

"Don't be ridiculous," she shook her head. "This is the funniest shit I've ever heard. I'm sticking with you to see how it turns out."

He would've hoped for something more encouraging, like Gee, Fives, you're the greatest guy I've ever met and of course I'm going to help you and then go out with you and possibly even marry you and have your children. But he supposed he'd settle for being her entertainment for the day, instead.

* * *

"What's up, hotshot? You find anything?"

Hardcase munched on a banana while holding the commlink between him and Tup. After they'd finished muscling down breakfast, Hardcase had insisted on finding some mid-morning snacks at a nearby market. They were now perched on a retaining wall outside, hoping the sun and fresh air would perk them up enough to pass off as deployable in an hour.

"Eh, not really."

Hardcase and Tup exchanged a sour look. What the hell had Fives been doing this whole time?

"But we've got some ideas. Well, one idea. Security tapes. We'll check the ones at the club, see if we can track down Rex's helmet. You guys look at the ones in Faith's building to see when Dogma left."

"How are we going to convince the building manager to let us look?"

"You're soldiers with the GAR, right?" came Faith's voice.

"We don't look like it, honey."

Hardcase had his magenta scarf wrapped around his head while Tup had both of their beanies wadded up over his cold hands. Tup's teardrop tattoo was also super inflamed from continually being rubbed at, though Hardcase wasn't going to tell him that.

"And what do we do after?" Tup added. "Footage will only show whenhe left, not where he was going."

There was static on the other end of the line for a moment, and then Fives barked, "I don't know, figure it out! You got the same training I did, I don't have to be the only one coming up with plans around here."

The connection ended. Hardcase hopped off the wall. "Well he sounds stressed."

"And you're not?" Tup rushed after him as they made their way back down the street toward Faith's apartment building. "You do realize we could be decommissioned for this."

"Lighten up, teardrop."

As his brother clapped him over the back, a sudden, unnerving sense of déjà vu overcame Tup. Hardcase had said that exact same thing to him before, hitting him the exact same way. He was sure of it. Except, the more he thought about how sure he was, the less real it then became. He clutched at his head with a small whimper.

"This is the worst. Why can't I remember anything? And why are you so kriffing calm?"

Hardcase shrugged as they came up to the apartment. He held open the door for Tup. "I'm not so good at remembering things anyway."

There was one other person in the lobby, standing by the lifts as if just coming off, and looking very confused. She had bright red, curly hair. When she noticed two clones approaching, she let out a gasp.

"Hardcase!"

He grinned. Of all the things that had been erased from his memory, he was so glad she wasn't one of them.

"Suzy!"

The girl rushed to him, curls bouncing, and threw herself into his arms. Tup made a gagging face.

"I thought I'd never see you again!" she said as Hardcase gently set her down. "It's been a rough morning but I cleaned myself up as best as I could and came over to see if maybe you were still here. But no one answered. Faith's not answering her calls, either."

Suzy frowned in worry.

"Oh, you're the one who's been calling!" Hardcase laughed, digging out her friend's commlink from his pocket. "Ours died so she lent hers. Said not to talk to any of her contacts under any circumstances."

"Is she okay?"

"Oh yeah. She's with Fives, they're looking at security tapes at the club. Hey!" A thought occurred to Hardcase. He was oblivious to how confused the poor girl looked, not having been in the loop on all the happenings and still nursing a bit of a hangover herself. "Maybe you can help us? We need to check the security footage here, see where Dogma went."

"Oh! Sure, I'll help!" She peered around Hardcase's muscular frame at the manager cleaning up behind the front desk. She squared herself up and winked. "I can get you ten minutes."

She shimmied across the lobby, squeaking about a lost earring, and the manager immediately went to help her look. As they knelt to peer under one of the lobby sofas, the clones slipped into the back room. There was only one holo-system, and Tup got to work accessing its security footage while Hardcase kept an eye out by the door.

"What a woman," he whispered in awe as he watched the redhead continue effortlessly distracting the manager.

Tup eyed him over the holoscreen as he sped through footage from the night before. "It's not nice to use her like this."

Hardcase frowned. "I'm not using her. She wanted to help."

"Because she likes you."

"Lots of people like me."

"She cleaned herself out of a hangover to find you. And you just put her to work."

"You're going along with it," Hardcase pointed out.

"I desperately don't want to be decommissioned today."

Tup watched the screen as Hardcase, Dogma, and Faith's friends tore down the hall toward her apartment. A bit later, he, Fives, and a couple others stumbled in. He resisted the urge to slow down the video and analyze it. He could barely recognize himself, riding piggy-back on some strange guy, laughing loudly and spilling beer all down the hall.

"I'm just saying, she seems like a sweet girl," he said to cover up his discomfort at watching himself. "You should at least try to see her again. Take her out, buy her flowers, something."

"And this is why you never get laid," Hardcase muttered by the door. "Find anything yet?"

Tup shook his head and watched another few minutes of footage speed by. Other people walked up and down, going to their own rooms. The timestamp changed from one year to the next, and Fives and Faith went into the hall and shared a kiss. A short while after, Hardcase and Suzy came out and gave each other hand jobs. Tup rolled his eyes.

Some of the other people they'd hung out with left one by one thereafter, and a little after one in the morning, Faith went by with Suzy hanging on her arm, just as she'd said. Tup watched unblinking as nothing happened for most of the rest of the night. And then, right before six, Faith's apartment door opened again.

"There!" Tup exclaimed, slowing the feed back to real-time. Hardcase abandoned his post and rushed over to watch.

Dogma came out of the apartment, carrying a pillow and a blanket. He paused in the hall, looking up and down, clearly disoriented. Then, with a yawn, he shuffled toward the right, the opposite direction of the lifts.

"Where's he goin?" Hardcase wondered out loud.

Tup kept the original feed up, speeding it up again to see if Dogma ever came back down the hall. Meanwhile, he tried locating the other cameras on that floor to see where their brother had wandered. 

"Hey!"

The manager appeared in the doorway, causing Tup and Hardcase to jump.

"Where does this hallway go?" Hardcase asked, pointing to the holoscreen. "Floor 11. More apartments?"

"You can't be back here!" was all the manager said, stomping into the room but not knowing what else to do about two oddly-dressed clones in his office.

Tup and Hardcase looked at each other and then immediately got up, running back out into the lobby. Suzy stood by the desk and only got out two words of apology before the pair had rushed into the stairwell. Even with a lingering hangover, months of relentless drills on Kamino in all states of health ensured they had the grit to skip up eleven flights of stairs without pause. They hurried past Faith's door, splitting up when the hall eventually forked, and meeting up when it rejoined on the other side of the building. They shook their heads. They'd each past about a dozen more doors. Dogma could've gone into any one of them, and could've possibly left since they'd all gone out that morning.

"Wait," said Hardcase, nodding toward another stairwell in the corner of the hall.

Tup couldn't help the whimper that escaped him. "So he left the building and curled up in some random alley in Coruscant. Great."

Hardcase pushed through the stairwell door anyway. After a few seconds, his head peered back through the door with a grin.

Tup rushed over. Lo and behold, there was Dogma. Only half a floor up, wrapped in a blanket and cradling a pillow, snoring softly.

"He was here the whole kriffing time," Hardcase started laughing.

Tup rushed over and shook Dogma's shoulder relentlessly. The clone grumbled and cursed under his breath until he finally opened his eyes and swatted at Tup's hand.

"Rise and shine!" Hardcase declared.

Dogma let out a garbled string of expletives.

"Aw, he's a grumpy drunk."

Hardcase and Tup grabbed ahold of each of Dogma's arms and hoisted him up, ignoring his protests. He didn't seem to understand where he was or what was happening, but at least he could stand between them as they helped him down the stairs.

"Time?" Tup asked.

Hardcase checked the chrono display on the commlink. "We can make it. We'll have to slap some sense into this one on the way."

Dogma said something in another language, or perhaps it was just nonsense. He was like a toddler learning how to walk and talk.

"Oh kriff, we still don't have Rex's helmet!"

"That's Five's problem," said Tup with a smirk.

Hardcase chuckled. "Damn, Tup. There just may be hope for you yet."

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[deathmetalunicorn1]

*APPERS*

NEW YEAR!

Christmas and new year with the Ror crew!

-The holidays were always a fun time around your home as you had such a big family to share them with.

-The Christmas season was your favorite as you went out and played in the snow, helped your family bake goodies, and decorate, go around to see the lights, and spending time with all of them.

-On Christmas Eve you spent the whole day watching Christmas movies, playing board games, which ended after Zeus flipped the board while Monopoly, claiming Nikola was cheating, which wasn’t the case.

-Then everyone paired up, you were with Kojiro this time, and decorated gingerbread men, having a contest on who’s was the best. Apollo and Jack ended up winning with a beautifully intricate cookie that looked like something someone spent decorating for hours, rather than the half-hour time limit everyone else had been given.

-Loki and you had both gotten into trouble, being chased by Odin after you both ran into his room, jumping on his bed screaming out, “It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!”

-He threw you both out the window, despite being in pjs, out into the snow, but Loki caught you, so you weren’t harmed, just cold as the rest of the house was quickly up.

-The day was then spent opening presents, having fun, taking pictures, and helping in the kitchen making a huge feast for dinner.

-New Years on the other hand was one that you didn’t get to enjoy the full fun of- mainly because you couldn’t drink the fun adult juice everyone else was drinking.

-When you pouted, begging them, they told you that you had to be of age, and since you were only 7- that was quite a while away.

-However, Eve was able to placate you, giving you your own flute of ‘champagne’, which was just fizzy apple cider, but you didn’t realize that, and you felt fancy too!

-You loved the idea staying up past your bedtime, having fun, dancing with Ares, Shiva, and Poseidon, getting to have late night treats and snacks, and you watched other places around the world shooting off fireworks as they hit midnight.

-You couldn’t wait to see the fireworks your family had planned, nearly vibrating with excitement as they all were amused seeing you so happy, as it made them happy.

-You made it to just shortly after 10, you were passed out on the couch, curled up wearing your party hat and several sets of bead necklaces around your neck.

-Your family couldn’t help but laugh, but did so after Hades put you to bed, after you got a little fussy from being so tired, almost being woken up.

-You pouted the next morning while many of your family was nursing hangovers, as you had wanted to see the fireworks, but Qin Shi Huang surprised you, showing that they had kept some so you could enjoy them that evening, at a more reasonable time.

-You swore to yourself that next year you would stay up to see the fireworks!

[roniinoodles]

john price x reader (eventually) 1/??

old west vibes. reader isn't mentioned in this first section. also not beta read.

He must have been half out of his mind when he decided to move out west.

Perhaps after serving so many years in the British military, he might as well have been. It wasn’t like he got much for it; other than one failed relationship, a handful of scars, and enough sleepless nights to drive a man to drink. It wasn’t like he had much in England anyhow, not after the divorce, not after his mother passed. The only thing really keeping him were the men he served with, and all of them were moving in different directions anyhow. Perhaps it hadn’t been insanity, more of a drunken decision taken too bloody seriously once sober. He overheard some gentlemen (one English and one American) in the pub, talking about how up and coming America was going to be, how a man could make something of himself in the freest country in the world. He had a thought right there, perhaps he should make his way to the land of opportunity, see what trouble he could find. The following day, after nursing (an all too common these days) hangover, that thought kept nagging at him, pestering him like a fly over a picnic. It took less than two days to come to a final decision: pack up the things he wanted to keep and sell the rest. After that, he sailed. Took what small amount of things he had, bought a boat ticket, and left. He thought at first he should be sad to see England grow smaller and smaller as the boat moved out of port, but really all he felt was relief. No more memories of the past, of his girl in the early years of a relationship, or his mother when she was still living. He was going somewhere to get new memories, maybe find someone to make them with. Anything was possible, or so he hoped. The first year in the States was hard, not because he didn’t have the money or didn’t have the drive, more of an adjustment to standards, to the way people spoke, what they meant when they did. He found if one shot straight then everyone would shoot straight right back; whether that be with words or firearms. It reminded him a little too much of the trenches during the war. Eventually though, he found himself a nice parcel of land. Just big enough for him, perhaps a family, one day. That first spring was spent sleeping in a tent, eating meals over an open fire, and waking up to the slightest snap of twigs in the nearby woods. It wasn’t much, at first, but soon there was a workshop. One he’d use to build things with; carve wood into furniture or signs, or damn near anything anyone could ask him too. He wasn’t a professional, but he knew how to work wood, always been fond of turning something simple into something grand. Perhaps that’s more hope than fact, but these days, it was better to have hope, especially so far from home and anybody one ever knew. It took longer for the house to get built, it was approaching that following summer when the last board was laid, when that last brick was placed. He’d spent too long over the summer getting the business started, carving wood into pieces fit to be sold, to getting commissions for small to large projects. The whole thing took time away from the house, but he didn’t mind, not when he had the workshop to sleep in. He’d also had to go about getting a wagon to haul his work from the shop to its new owner. Not to mention the upkeep of having a horse and wagon, hadn’t had the first since the war. He hadn’t owned that horse though, the military did. That next winter was a decent one, he had a roof, a fireplace, and a cot on the floor.   The next years brought more business, an actual bed, and people in town knowing him by name. Even if most of them just referred to him as the British fellow for the first two years. He’s pretty sure most of them didn’t think he’d make it. It’s always been a pleasure proving people wrong.

After some time, the loneliness set in. The house, that he built with a family in mind, seemed too big. The nightmares came back full force with nothing to distract him, unlike in the first few years he had a shop to build, and then a house. Now, he had nothing, but time.

Perhaps it was time to start thinking about that wife. 

[edens-trinkets]

i think the saddest part of burnt 2015 that i see almost no one talk about is that the paris gang weren’t just a kitchen staff. they were friends, guys. they’ve worked with eachother for YEARS. that sort of bonding doesn’t just go away.

like, we all know they worked terrible hours and then went to drink afterwards. but what about the softer moments? testing new recipes and tossing banter? celebrating birthdays with fancy cake and wine? helping nurse each other’s hangovers, taking care of eachother when one is sick, hazing new members of the staff, and just generally supporting eachother through tough times?

and i’m not just talking about tony and adam. i’m talking about reese and max and yes, even michel. they pushed eachother to be better and regarded eachother as (almost) equals. adam refers to them as his brigade thru out the entire movie. they all spent every single hour of the day with eachother for YEARS.

and it hurts when u think about it. adam loved working with them. he imagined that every single one of them would be by his side. he wanted michel and max and his old kitchen staff to work for him because they aren’t just the best of the best, they are his friends from paris!!!! they are the closest thing adam has ever gotten to a family!!!

and yeah everyone always hates michel for doing what he did—and rightfully so—but michel doesn’t have to be this one-dimensional character guys. like adam really did see michel as a friend. throughout the movie the entire kitchen staff DEPENDS on michel; they’re constantly asking him to handle the pass and shit like that. they TRUSTED michel guys. which makes his betrayal hit so much harder when u view michel as someone adam trusted wholeheartedly and genuinely considered as a close friend.

and also!! think about how tony must have felt!! when adam left jean luc’s restaurant had to be shut down. max was in jail and reese and michel left and adam was gone and tony didn’t know where he was. he thought adam was dead. legit tony lost EVERYONE HE EVER LOVED. he spent YEARS bonding with this kitchen staff and then they were gone JUST LIKE THAT. and even when adam came back, tony knows it isn’t the same, and he is desperately trying to piece together what the paris years were like before, even though that chapter of his life is over.

like. imagine u have nothing in ur life but then meet this group of ppl that push u to be better. and u spend years and years bonding with them. and then in a blink of an eye it is all just GONE. JUST LIKE THAT. LIKE HELLO?? THAT IS SO SAD

[sharkboyandlavalieb]

(I'm currently nursing a nasty hangover and am feeling emotional so please accept this and remember me as I was in my better days)

I have so many thanks...too many thanks actually for everyone that follows this sideblog. I've had it for YEARS, but never spent much time socializing with the fandom until the recent boom. I was immediately welcomed from so many people and it means a lot. ❤️

A huge thank you to my unhinged discord buds who listen to my ramblings, give advice/critique on graphics and gave rise to my ultimate 'ron is a grower' headcanon (we have pics for proof). you're all amazing @basilone @almost-a-class-act @cody-helix02 @currahee @latibvles @gorgeousundertow & so many others that I'm blanking on your urls 💗

Biggest appreciation to @snarkyliebgott for always sifting through my nonsense and responding with kindness and equal nonsense (i.e.: what would put easy company in a coma first). They're the first person I felt truly connected to in the fandom. I feel like I could write gibberish and they'd completely understand. I'll always support my georgian sugar plum peach!! ✨

@ronald-speirs - I think you were the first person to interact with my red cross graphic (the first thing I've made for this fandom since 2019) and you've been a wonderful friend ever since. Our convos (no matter how short) make me laugh every single time. You, your edits and screencaps are A GIFT!

@saturnwisteria - for always being on my dash and in my notes on both this account and my personal! I hope we can have more interactions in the new year!!

@mutantmanifesto - not only is your artwork breathtaking and amazing, but you yourself are amazing and so friendly to talk to. I get so excited when I see a new mention cause it means you've fed us another masterpiece we are not worthy of.

@ewipandora - I couldn't forget you on here!!! We just became mutuals this month but I already feel like we've been following each other all year! (your webgott kink post had me weak, thanks again for that bread)

@historyl3sbian - I really thought I was already following you and realized a few days ago I WAS A FOOL! Your text posts make me laugh every. single. time I never get tired of seeing them. Thank you again for letting me use them as inspo for my own unhinged creations. Keep being groovy ;)

also @mercurygray for creating this holiday positivity train and giving me the idea to make this post. It's what jolly ol' saint luz would of wanted.

xoxo - sharkboyandlavalieb

[anamelessfool]

[Instrumental]

Copia x Cardinal Marian, Copia & Terzo Domestic Fluff sponsored by @comp-lady's Domestic December

Link to Challenge Here

Words: 1426 AO3 Link Here

Tags: Duet, Singing, Being Silly, Holiday Doldrums

Dedicated to @delullu and @thew0man <3

Ficlet Below the Cut!

After the Solstice Holidays and before the New Year, it was rough around the Ministry compound. Not much to do except nurse a hangover and wait for the calendar to refresh you, to wash away the old year. Next year will be different. But right now, I got to lie the fuck down.

Papa Emeritus III would make it everyone's problem and start wandering the halls looking for some last minute pick-me-up from a sibling who was already either exhausted with him or disgusted by him thanks in part to his traditionally ridiculous behavior at the Solstice party. Sister would have nothing to do with him, which of course meant he would resort to the only two people whose job description required mandatory interaction: Sister's Personal Assistant Marian and his protegee Papa Elect Copia.

Which is why during this time Marian and Copia preferred to hunker down somewhere. And when Marian would get so sick of puzzles or hearing Copia crow about The Life and Times of JP Morgan she would demand a field trip.

Luckily at this time of year Copia’s beige LaSabre would have the snow chains on and they could go into town without careening off of a snowy cliff on the way there.

And in the nearest town there was a bar that, for a discreet twenty dollar bill it would be Karaoke Night any night Marian wanted.

“Here we stand…Worlds apart, hearts broken in two! Two! Twooo….” Marian scream-sang the words as they lit up across the video screen. From his place at a nearby table, Copia sighed wistfully. She was a terrible singer, he had to admit. Not a musical bone in her body. But her heart was into it. Always, fully.

Also watching her plush hips sway in time to the music was a bonus.

“Some day, love will find you! Break those chains that bind you! You know, I still love you—” Marian held out her hand to him, flashing a winning smile. Copia’s heart soared. “Even when we go our separate ways!”

A man wandered up to the stage and threw a dollar into the empty plastic pitcher for her. She blew him a kiss. Copia felt a little tinge of jealously bubble up in his throat but it was followed by another thought, this one much more thrilling. Doesn’t matter, she’s coming home with me….

“Closer to the heart! Closer to the HEAAAAAART! YEA-YUH!” And Marian jumped off the small stage, drink in hand, to wander back to Copia’s table and his nest of empty glasses with lemon slices.

“The song’s over?” Copia asked. Watching her sidle over to him, a smirk across her face put him in a certain way. He pretended for a moment she had eyed him from across the bar, a mysterious temptress. He a debonair scoundrel. His heart fluttered.

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine….

“No there's like a five minute instrumental section, get with the program,” she said. “Here, drink this.”

Copia did what he always did—immediately what was told. He took a sip from the tiny straw. His whole mouth was awash with acrid flames as the liquid scraped down his throat. He nearly arched and hissed like a cat. “W-what was in that?!”

“Long Island Ice Tea—I thought you'd like it. The most alcohol for the least amount of money.” Marian cackled. “Enough with that unsweetened shit. You're up next.”

Copia clutched one of his empty glasses of unsweetened shit. “No thank you. I enjoy just watching you.”

“Why not?” Marian scanned the room. There were a half dozen people besides them on this impromptu Tuesday night karaoke.

“I just….prefer…”

“There's like five other people here.” She gestured towards the bar. “Four now, because I think that guy over there is asleep.”

Copia idly tapped the glass, blinking.

“You know you're going to perform in front of thousands of people soon, yeah?”

“That's different. So many, and they're ah…they're a wall at that scale, really.”

The little [INSTRUMENTAL] blocks started filling across the screen. She’d have to start singing again soon. Marian threw him a determined look. A hungry look. Her eyebrows raised and her mouth quirked. “Drink the rest of that. I'll get you up here.”

Marian turned back to the stage and Copia watched her ass in her tight jeans cross the floor. Imagined his hands across the nipped in part of her waist. He knocked back the rest of the burning concoction and dealt with the pain.

Marian’s solo ended and someone in the darkness actually clapped. She did an ironic curtsy and the next song title appeared across the screen.

Copia bit his lip and gripped the empty glass.

He heard the song. The fake organ refrain. The plinks and chirps of the most perfect arrangement of notes he'd ever heard since Bach felt inclined to start writing.

It was his ringtone for years, when custom ring tones were a thing.

Are they still a thing?

The intro ended, and the lyrics flashed across the screen, unsung. The midi karaoke track blared without any singer. Without anyone to help push the song along and give it life.

Marian stood there, staring into his eyes. Her smirk transformed into a wild, toothy grin.

How dare she.

How dare she let this song run down.

This perfect song.

Copia blinked again, this time keenly aware of how heavy his eyelids had become. He got up and his vision swam a little.

Marian was right. That was a lot of alcohol for a sensible price. And maybe chugging it wasn't the best idea Copia ever had.

The eight inch step up onto the little stage brought with it a surge of emotion. He was already singing the song in his head, trying to keep time. He wanted his intro to be completely on time.

Copia touched her arm with one hand, then grabbed under her chin. Marian laughed, dropping the mic in his other hand. She winked.

The horrible rinky-dink light set up was still unnaturally bright and he shut his eyes tight, leaning into the mic. He had to recover. He owed it to the song. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me!”

Marian pulled another mic from the plastic pitcher nearby and joined in, trying to mimic the dulcet tones of Agnetha Fältskog the best a mere mortal could. “It was like shooting a sitting duck! A little small talk, a smile, and baby I was stuck!”

Copia made a little pleased grunt, a nod, then swept his arms out theatrically, continuing, “I still don't know what you've done with me! A grown-up woman should never fall so easily…”

Something pressed play in Copia's heart. The program ran without any doubt, dismay—there was definitely something beyond the buzz of a drink mixed with a heavy hand. For some reason he wanted nothing more than to give the performance of a lifetime. He put a foot up on the stool, leaning into the bridge. “I feel a kind of fear when I don't have you near… Unsatisfied, I skip my pride, I beg you, dear!”

Copia glanced over to Marian. She was red faced and giggling, the mic forgotten in her arms. He threw her his own smirk, pointing at her with an accusing finger. “Don't go wasting your emotion! Lay all your love on me! Don't go sharing your devotion…”

Marian stepped forward into him, and his hands automatically wrapped around her. Her fingers brushed the back of his neck and her lips connected with his. He tasted something tropical, warming him on this dreary winter December evening. The empty song continued, abandoned, but her kiss was consolation enough.

Marian couldn't resist a little bite as she pulled away. “Told you,” she said.

“Eh er-well..I was going to pick that one next anyway,” Copia huffed. He shifted his weight and through the bright lights he saw a curious gleam of metal in the far corner. A figure had slipped into the bar and settled behind a table, a large square-shouldered rectangle. With horns. With a metal mask.

“Omega?” Marian stammered. “What—”

There was a theatrically wicked laugh from behind them. Terzo was standing by the stage, leafing through the giant binder of songs and typing in numbers.

“You think you could keep this place a secret forever, fratellino,” Terzo sneered. The Infernal Eye gleamed in its socket. “We’re singing Super Trooper next.”

Bonus Organ Cover Of the Greatest Song Since Bach Decided to Dabble (Copia's words)

[bekolxeram]

Now that the tags are finally working, let me shamelessly put this here again, while it's still New Year's Day in parts of the world.

First quick ficlet of 2025.

Fireworks

bucktommy | rated T | 839 words

“10! 9! 8!” The helicopter hovers in the clear, starry sky. “7! 6! 5!” The crowd on the ground joyously counts down, welcoming the arrival of a new year, a new beginning. “4!” Tommy turns to face the passenger sitting beside him, “are you ready, Evan?” “3!” Buck mirrors the pilots movement, “never been more ready.” (Or a short, easy read for everyone nursing a hangover on New Year's Day)

Read on AO3

[lingshanhermit]

Lingshan Hermit: Have You Ever Thought About What All Sentient Beings Are Really Like?

A few days ago, I watched Hugh Grant's new movie about two church girls who encounter danger while preaching at a stranger's house. It's a horror film, but that's not the point. While watching, I kept thinking how simple their work was: they just needed to knock on doors with leaflets and invite people to church on weekends. In comparison, Buddhism is much more complex. Mahayana Buddhism is particularly complex compared to Hinayana Buddhism because it must confront the "self" of all sentient beings.

As Mahayana Buddhists, we vow to help all sentient beings achieve enlightenment, but have you ever thought about who these sentient beings are? Where are they? What have they experienced? What are their values, thoughts, and peculiarities? Are they willing to listen to you? And what kind of beings are they really?

Right now, just beyond your wall, a female neighbor is fretting over dozens of missed calls from her boyfriends on her phone. She just woke up and needs to take her son to kindergarten soon, then go downtown for errands, and later work as a hostess at night. She struggles to get up, nursing a hangover while brushing her teeth, examining her dark eye circles, and trying to perfect her lies. Thousands of miles away, someone works as a lawyer while dating multiple men, finding ultimate pleasure in different men's suffocating embrace each night, believing in and pursuing only such tangible pleasures. Some have written dozens of bestsellers, some own half of Hong Kong's wealth, some have hundreds of thousands of employees. Would such people listen to you? Even beggars can feel invincible nowadays, let alone these people. They might be polite and pretend to listen, but usually, such people don't really hear others because they're too confident in themselves. They're more accustomed to being commanders.

These people are all part of what we call "all sentient beings." All sentient beings include psychopathic killers, internet streamers, Princeton professors, battle-hardened lawyers with quick minds who excel at finding logical loopholes, people like John Hopfield, J.K. Rowling, and Musk. Of course, this includes your mother - they're all people brimming with self-confidence. About your mother - are you sure you can convince her? Or do you even want to convince her? Perhaps you'd feel more confident about converting Jack the Ripper to Buddhism than her.

This world has many beings with countless bizarre thoughts and habits. Some don't wear socks, some enjoy being whipped, some talk to themselves, some like smelling rotten apples. Strangely, whether rich or poor, whether three or thirty years old, whether a Nobel laureate or someone who only completed third grade or an extreme feminist, everyone firmly believes their thoughts are correct. If you tell them, "All your beliefs are wrong," your relationship ends, and you become their enemy. There are billions of such humans on Earth alone (not counting animals).

So, are you prepared? Your vow is to help all these beings achieve enlightenment, meaning you must guide them from their current state to awakening. Think about what kind of project this is. These people - some like smelling between others' toes, some enjoy fermented herring, some believe all religions are scams. You need to make them listen to you, convince them, inspire their faith, get them to meditate, help them gain experience, and ultimately lead them to enlightenment. You must face countless mental barriers, confront the world's most rigid things, battle with the "self" of both the world's smartest and most foolish people, find ways to open their hearts, make them listen, and begin practicing. This is far more challenging than just handing out leaflets. It's the world's most challenging and greatest project. And this is exactly what your teacher is currently doing with you.

Written by Lingshan Hermit on December 16, 2024. First published on December 17, 2024.

Copyright Notice：All copyrights of Ling Shan Hermit's articles in Simplified and Traditional Chinese, English, and other languages belong to the natural person who owns "Ling Shan Hermit". Please respect copyright. Publishers, media, or individuals (including but not limited to internet media, websites, personal spaces, Weibo, WeChat public accounts, print media) must obtain authorization from Ling Shan Hermit before use. No modifications to the articles are allowed (including: author's name, title, main text content, and punctuation marks). We reserve all legal rights.

灵山居士：你有没有想过一切众生都是什么样的众生

前几天我看了休·格兰特的新电影，电影里讲的是两个教会少女到一个陌生男人家里传教遇险的故事。电影是个恐怖片，但是这不是重点。我看的时候一直在想她们的工作可真是简单：只是拿着宣传单敲开别人家的门邀请他们周末的时候去教堂就可以了。相比之下，佛教可就复杂多了。比起小乘佛教，大乘佛教尤为复杂，因为他所要面对的是一切众生的“自我”。

作为大乘佛教徒，我们都发愿要让一切众生成佛，但是你有没有想过一切众生都是谁？他们都在哪里？他们都经历过什么？都有着什么样的价值观想法和癖好？他们愿不愿意听你说话？以及一切众生都是什么样的众生？

就在此刻，和你一墙之隔的女邻居正看着手机上几十个男友的未接来电犯愁，她刚刚睡醒，一会儿要送儿子上幼儿园，然后去市中心办事，晚上还要出去陪酒。她挣扎着爬起身，顶着宿醉一边刷牙一边看着自己发黑的眼眶一边琢磨着待会儿怎么把谎话编的更圆。在几千里外，有人一边做律师一边在和很多男人约会，每晚都沉醉在不同男人所带来的窒息般的至乐之中，她只相信这种现实的快乐，也只想要这种快乐。有人写过几十本畅销书，有人坐拥半个香港的财富，有人有几十万员工下属，像这样的人，他们会听你讲话吗？现在连乞丐都能觉得自己不可一世，何况是这些人。可能他们会表现的很有礼貌，会假装听你讲话，但通常这样的人都不太听的进别人的话。因为他们对自己太有信心。他们更习惯做指挥者。这些人他们都属于我们所说的一切众生。一切众生包括变态杀人犯，包括网络女主播，包括普林斯顿大学教授，包括身经百战思维敏捷又善于寻找语言漏洞的律师，包括约翰·霍普菲尔德、J.K.羅琳和马斯克这样的人。当然也包括你的母亲，他们都是对自己自信满满的人。关于你的母亲，你确定你能说服她？或者，你想说服她吗？相对于她，你或许对于说服开膛手杰克皈依佛法更有信心。这个世界有很多众生，他们有着千奇百怪的想法和习惯。他们有的人不穿袜子，有的人喜欢被抽打，有的人喜欢自言自语，有的人喜欢闻烂苹果。奇怪的是，不管一个人贫穷还是富有，不管他是三岁还是三十岁，也不管他是诺贝尔奖得主还是只上过小学三年级还是极端女权主义者，每个人都坚定地认为自己的想法是对的。如果你告诉他们：“你所有观念都是错的。”你们的关系就结束了，你就成了他们的敌人。仅仅是在地球上就有着几十亿这样的人类。（还没有算上动物。）所以，你做好准备了吗？你的愿力是要让这些众生全都成佛，也就是说，你要从他们现在的状态开始引导他们直至证悟。你想想这是什么样的工程。这些人，他们有的喜欢闻别人的脚趾缝，有的喜欢鲱鱼罐头，有的人认为所有的宗教都是骗人的。你要让他们听你讲话，要说服他们，要让他们产生信心，要让他们去禅修，让他们生起体验，最终你要让他们证悟。你要面对无数心的壁垒，要面对世上最坚固的东西，和世界上最聪明的人和最笨的人的“自我”作战，你要想方设法打开他们的心，让他们听你说话，开始修行。这可远比塞几张宣传单难多了。这是世上最艰巨和最伟大的工程。而这也正是你的老师正在对你做的事。

灵山居士写于2024年12月16日。首发于2024年12月17日。

[payte]

Slowly, as each person finally dragged themselves out of bed, everyone filtered into the kitchen just as Ryan had finished plating everything. As they talked about their resolutions, ate and most importantly, nursed their hangovers, the group began to feel better and ready to celebrate New Years Day.

[warrmonger]

Richard Grayson was making quite the name for himself at ShinRa HQ. He was young and idealistic, and as some of his comrades liked to point out, a damn showoff. Not that he could help it. He was a performer at heart – an acrobat. Flying on the trapeze came as easily to him as breathing.

He'd been eight years old when their act had been sabotaged – when his parents had fallen to their deaths. Dick had spent the years after that in the local orphanage until he was old enough to enlist with ShinRa.

He had proved time and time again that he was a demon on the battlefield. He treated everything like a game. He enjoyed the fight, the adrenaline, the way it got his blood pumping. He was cocky, but his record spoke for itself. Aside from a few blemishes early in his career, his success rate was perfect.

Which was why he resented being brought into the General's office for insubordination. He didn't follow orders. He did his own thing, but what did it matter when the mission had been a success?

"The mission was successful. I made sure it was. What does it matter that I broke protocol? You should know better than anyone how quickly things change out on the field. I did what was necessary to complete the mission and ensure everyone made it back in one piece."

there's a headache on the horizon ( one, surprisingly not named dick grayson ) but rather the sort that buds and blooms after a night of drinking. it'd been yet another sleepless one - another night spent half in the office and half at home, a glass of whiskey not far from the general's hand ( and certainly not far from his lips ).

by eight am this morning, he'd been feeling the effects of his own spoils. in the few minutes it'd take the aspiring SOLDIER to walk from wherever to heidegger's office - those 'effects' would feel like nails in his brain. of course, heidegger would not blame the night's exploits on the irritation that has lids twitch and head pound - he'd instead be blaming the unruly SOLDIER sat before him. the rather proud acrobat who'd made a name for himself not simply with skill but with stunts, too ( and not simply the athletic sort! )

in a sense - he isn't wrong. an unruly sort getting the job done no matter the cost. in a sense - heidegger can appreciate such a sentiment. perhaps even relate. but the paperwork? the press? the web one must spin in order to convince himself, the president and the public that this SOLDIER is worth the hassle ( and the headache? )

odin have mercy - it's no wonder his heart hurts on the best of days.

"strange that i see you sat before me-" a sigh "yet again" the hiss that sits at the end of his words welcomes a grimace; the general leaning back in his seat, a cold sweat on his shoulders and a pain screaming away inside of his skull.

"while i admit, your work is valuable... - your attitude-" heidegger leans forth, hands clasped - elbows on the desk. were it not for the heavy black beneath his eyes, the pale complexion of skin nursing a hangover and sickly tremble of his lips. he'd perhaps appear threatening. for now, all the general appears is - exhausted. one might even say, exasperated. "well-" he takes a breath "your attitude is chocobo shit."

chocobo shit; that's a new one.

"why aren't you able to complete a single mission without some sort of fanfare? are you desperate to become the next sephiroth?" warts an' all "at this rate - you're on a direct course for demotion."

[quotelr]

I’m really enjoying my solitude after feeling trapped by my family, friends and boyfriend. Just then I feel like making a resolution. A new year began six months ago but I feel like the time for change is now. No more whining about my pathetic life. I am going to change my life this very minute. Feeling as empowered as I felt when I read The Secret, I turn to reenter the hall. I know what I’ll do! Instead of listing all the things I’m going to do from this moment on, I’m going to list all the things I’m never going to do! I’ve always been unconventional (too unconventional if you ask my parents but I’ll save that account for later). I mentally begin to make my list of nevers. -I am never going to marry for money like Natasha just did. -I am never going to doubt my abilities again. -I am never going to… as I try to decide exactly what to resolve I spot an older lady wearing a bright red velvet churidar kurta. Yuck! I immediately know what my next resolution will be; I will never wear velvet. Even if it does become the most fashionable fabric ever (a highly unlikely phenomenon)I am quite enjoying my resolution making and am deciding what to resolve next when I notice Az and Raghav holding hands and smiling at each other. In that moment I know what my biggest resolve should be. -I will never have feelings for my best friend’s boyfriend. Or for any friend’s boyfriend, for that matter. That’s four resolutions down. Six more to go? Why not? It is 2012, after all. If the world really does end this year, at least I’ll go down knowing I completed ten resolutions. I don’t need to look too far to find my next resolution. Standing a few centimetres away, looking extremely uncomfortable as Rags and Az get more oblivious of his existence, is Deepak. -I will never stay in a relationship with someone I don’t love, I vow. Looking for inspiration for my next five resolutions, I try to observe everyone in the room. What catches my eye next is my cousin Mishka giggling uncontrollably while failing miserably at walking in a straight line. Why do people get completely trashed in public? It’s just so embarrassing and totally not worth it when you’re nursing a hangover the next day. I recoil as memories of a not so long ago night come rushing back to me. I still don’t know exactly what happened that night but the fragments that I do remember go something like this; dropping my Blackberry in the loo, picking it up and wiping it with my new Mango dress, falling flat on my face in the middle of the club twice, breaking my Nine West heels, kissing an ugly stranger (Az insists he was a drug dealer but I think she just says that to freak me out) at the bar and throwing up on the Bandra-Worli sea link from Az’s car. -I will never put myself in an embarrassing situation like that again. Ever. I usually vow to never drink so much when I’m lying in bed with a hangover the next day (just like 99% of the world) but this time I’m going to stick to my resolution. What should my next resolution be?

Anjali Kirpalani, Never Say Never

[grcveyacd]

🎉💋  + reverse ( gavin + winter )

gavin knew what day it was and had been invited to a few parties but he wasn’t really in the mood to get wasted, and spend the next morning nursing a hangover. not when he had a game in a few days, a game where he had been told by his coach that there would be nhl scouts at. so, needless to say, he was hellbent on honing in on some drills instead of drinking the night away. and with everyone busy for the evening, it left the rink completely free of distractions.  a few hours had passed when he had heard the door slam shut, causing him to turn away from the goal he was focusing on, so he could see who was coming in. brows lifted when he noticed winter, already towards the entrance to the ice, skates already replacing his normal footwear. “ what, no plans for the big night? “ the male chuckled, eyes rolling as he turned back to the goal, setting up his shot before hitting into the puck with the end of his stick. he watched as the puck slammed into the metal pole and slid across the ice behind him, nearly hitting into the other skater as he came onto the ice.  “ shit, sorry —- “ he gripped his hockey stick and skated over to the male, brows narrowing as he looked down at the puck that laid at his feet. “ — at least you didn’t fall? “ he offered, knowing deep down that if it had actually hit into the side of the male's skate, that he probably would’ve stumbled and fallen onto the ice. and that was the last thing that he needed to happen because, he was sure that winter would just hold it over his head. he reached forward with the stick, and gradually pushed it out of the way, allowing it to slide on the ice a couple of paces away so that it would no longer be in the skaters way.  “ i know technically nothing happened but, maybe i can make it up to you? “ he knew that he really didn’t need to, but he figured that it would earn him some brownie points if he did something. his hues flicked towards the clock, noticing that it was now technically midnight so, he could always just give him a new years kiss. it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about kissing the other in the past before but, he never really had an actual excuse until now.  without missing a beat, he turned back towards winter, and shifted closer, finger resting underneath his chin to guide him up towards him, lips pressing softly to his. his lips lingered on his for a moment before he pulled away, letting out a chuckle. “ don’t forget to stay on your side of the ice, winter. “ he teased, giving him a little wink before he skated off towards the puck that was long forgotten.