The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Remus Lupin could barely keep his eyes open.

"I'm exhausted," he said to an impatient James Potter, who was currently sitting by his bed and saying "Remus-wake-up" over and over again. "Terribly, horrible, fantastically exhausted. My eyelids hurt."

"Yeah, it was really hard to wake you up," said James.

Remus didn't like the way that James was looking at him.

"Well, I wasn't the one who suggested going to the Forbidden Forest on a school night," Remus complained. "Seriously. We didn't get back until the AM hours. I'm not nocturnal, James."

James laughed rapturously at that (which didn't make sense, because James hadn't even gotten the hidden werewolf joke). "Oh, please," said James, hitting him a bit. Remus laughed and swatted him back. "You loved it."

"Yeah," said Remus. "Yeah, I did. But you know how irresponsible I am. It's not kind of you to tempt me into breaking the rules." He gathered together his clothes and went to the lavatory to change... and then he froze.

There was a horrible, awful, shooting pain crawling up his leg. He dashed to the lavatory, shut the door behind him, and rolled up the leg of his trousers as quickly as possible. The bandages that Madam Pomfrey had set on the recent full moon were soaked in blood—what was left of them, anyhow.

He unwrapped them to inspect the wound. It appeared as if the wound had sealed and then reopened... but why would it do that? The silver and Dittany didn't heal the wound completely, but it did seal it well... unless something else had reopened it. Remus remembered scraping his leg against a stick in the Forest the night before. That had probably done it, as well as decimated the bandages. How hadn't he noticed? He'd been in pain the night before, but he'd figured that it was just from traipsing about in the Forest... his leg had hurt all evening...

Well, what was he going to do now?

He couldn't very well go to the Hospital Wing; there was blood all over the lavatory now. He had a small phial of silver and Dittany in his pocket (he never went anywhere without it), but that wouldn't help a non-magical injury caused by a stick—that particular concoction only sealed werewolf bites or scratches—and besides, it was too late to apply it now and still get good effects. He had bandages in his suitcase, but he couldn't get to them now...

He gritted his teeth and swallowed his pride. He was going to have a heck of a time explaining away this one.

"James!" he called as calmly as possible.

"Yep?" said James, who—from the sounds of it—seemed to be fighting Sirius over the last sock. Remus never understood how they lost their socks so quickly.

"I need your help. Tell Peter and Sirius to go down to breakfast without us."

"What?" said Peter; he sounded quite hurt. "Can't I stay?"

"Not now," said Remus—the less people who witnessed his injury, the better. And Remus had a hunch that James didn't mind blood all that much: he'd been terribly excited about his Quidditch injury. Yes, James was the chosen party for now, even though he was acting a bit suspicious for some reason. "We'll be down in just a second."

He sat and breathed slowly until his friends left the room—in through his nose, out through his mouth—and then James knocked on the door.

"Are you starkers or can I come in?" he said.

"You can come in," said Remus. "S'not pretty, though." He rolled the leg of his trousers down so that James wouldn't catch sight of any of his scars, but there was still blood dripping on the floor. It had begun to bleed freely when Remus had removed the bandage, and the blood was now forming a small puddle on the floor. His trousers were wet, the pain was searing, and his hands were covered in blood. That was almost symbolic, in a way. He'd literally been caught red-handed. He chuckled at the morbid thought, even though it wasn't funny in the slightest.

James opened the door and then opened his mouth. He did not close either for a very long time. "What?" he finally said. "What the... Remus?"

"I told you it wasn't pretty," Remus mumbled. "I cut my leg on a stick, I think. In the Forest. That's why I needed you to get Sirius out—you know, since he doesn't much like blood."

James' mouth was still open. "Merlin's beard, Remus, you're gonna die. Let me get Poppy."

"I'm not going to die!" said Remus. "It's just a bit of blood."

"A bit?" said James. "That's nearly as much as when I broke my arm! Maybe more! Here, let me..." He reached out to roll up Remus' trousers, but Remus swatted him away.

"No!" said Remus, more pain shooting up his leg at the sudden movement. "Get me my wand; it's in my bag. I don't want to track blood all over the dormitory."

James returned with Remus' wand, and Remus hesitated. "James... may I... do this alone?"

"Why?"

"I dunno... it's just... probably bad, and I'm self-conscious." It was the worst excuse ever, and James was going to argue back—alas, Remus couldn't come up with anything good. Not in this state.

But, to Remus' great surprise, James simply said, "Okay." Then he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Remus blinked.

That was pleasant.

He rolled up the leg of his trousers, now that he was alone, and whispered, "Ferula"; immediately, relief washed over his leg, effectively removing about seventy percent of the pain. Then he rolled the fabric back down and hobbled out of the lavatory. "Not sure what to do about the blood," he told James. "There's some on my bed, isn't there?"

"I'll Vanish it after I take you to the Hospital Wing," said James. "It's no problem. I'm good at Vanishing."

"Thank you," said Remus. "Thank you so much, James."

"It's what friends do," said James, shrugging. He picked up Remus' robe and helped Remus put it on over his pajamas—which was mildly humiliating, but also very nice of him.

Remus suddenly remembered that all of this was very suspicious. The fact that he was bleeding so much over something so small... the fact that he hadn't noticed all night... the fact that he probably didn't seem to be in pain... yeah, it was all pretty incriminating. He'd told James once that he had an extremely low pain tolerance, so none of this was adding up at all. He hadn't even noticed a severe leg injury. How weird was that?!

The truth was, he had taken a sip of Pain-Relieving Potion the previous night for his leg, and maybe he had taken a little too much; one sip went a long way. But he couldn't tell James that. "I guess I should probably explain," he said. "Part of my illness is a... lack of blood clotting, which creates a lot of... bleeding from small instances. It's why my pain tolerance is so low. But right now, I'm not actually in pain; I'm just bleeding..."

James held up a hand. "You know, Remus, I was thinking about what you said the other day." He opened the door for Remus and let Remus lean on him as they walked to the Hospital Wing. Remus was very grateful in a way that words didn't quite describe, and also very humiliated. Madam Pomfrey could see him ill. Professor Questus could see him ill. Professor Dumbledore could see him ill. But James was not a person who had ever seen Remus horribly injured like this, and Remus had no desire to let him do so. Unfortunately, it was inevitable.

"I didn't know you could think," said Remus.

James chuckled and hit him. "You said that we don't need to know your backstory to know you—and I kind of agree. You do have a complicated backstory, and I do get the feeling that there's something you're not telling us... but, just like you said, your secrets aren't you. I talked with Sirius a bit last night, and we decided that we're not our family, we're not our past, and we're not our circumstances... all that matters is that I know who you are, and you're my friend. Your personality has got nothing to do with your background. I don't care if you murdered someone. I don't care if you're Voldemort himself. I don't care if you're a Death Eater, secretly a vampire, or Dumbledore pretending to be a student so that you can spy on us. I've spent a year with you, and I know you, and I needn't know anything else. That's all that matters, right?"

Remus was completely stunned at James' sudden eloquence. "So... you'll stop trying to fit me into one of your theories?"

"Yes. I'm done speculating." James turned to look directly at him, and he was very, very close. Remus could see the flecks of brown in his hazel eyes. "I've got you figured out already. You're Remus, you're funny, and you're a great friend. That's all there is to it."

Remus smiled. It was a kind gesture, and he could finally breathe freely now that James wasn't actively watching his every move. He wondered how much time he had left now. Probably way more than he'd had before—perhaps he'd even make it to third year. "Cheers, James."

"No problem, mate."

"You wrote that speech last night, didn't you?"

"Took me half an hour, at least."

"At least you're honest."

"Honest, beautiful, athletic, clever, humble, incredible..."

"Incredible...y idiotic."

"Should've let you bleed to death in the dorm."

"Should've bled all over your Quidditch gear."

"Oi! Uncalled for!"

Remus smiled again. For someone who was currently bleeding out and in incredible pain, he sure had been doing a lot of that lately.

James had a lot of questions, but he held them back admirably. He found that, if he bit his tongue as hard as he could, he could successfully prevent himself from blurting "I KNOW YOU'RE A WEREWOLF AND I DON'T CARE". James seemed to remember an incident in which first-year Remus, upon being told by Peter that he was a good friend, panicked, left the dormitory, wandered the corridors, and ended up in Questus' classroom. No, James couldn't just blurt it out. He had to plan. He had to process. He had to get Peter and James on board.

Right now, he had to hold his tongue... but it was so hard!

"Popppyyyyy," said James, dragging his friend through the Hospital Wing door. "Remus is injured."

"What?" said Poppy. "Where?"

"Leg," James heard Remus mumble. "I must have cut it on something."

"Oh, of course. You students—always cutting yourselves on things. I'll heal it up right away. You can go on to breakfast, Mr. Potter. Lupin will be out momentarily." She gripped Remus' shoulder (the right one), and James slid his arm out from under Remus'.

"He'll be down for breakfast?" James asked eagerly.

"He is looking peaky," said Poppy, frowning. "I'll keep him here for a bit longer."

"Madam Pomfrey!" Remus protested.

James shook his head. "Now, now, Remus," he said sagely. "Listen to your superiors. That's what I would do."

"Yeah, right," Remus scoffed, and Poppy led him to a bed. "Go clean the dormitory before Sirius sees it."

"Getting bossy, aren't we?" said James. "Yes, your Majesty, King of Hogwarts..."

"Out!" said Poppy, and James complied with a perfect Pureblood bow and a not-so-perfect-Pureblood guffaw.

James walked back up to the dormitory, ruminating on the puzzle pieces that fit together so well now. Remus probably had a lot of scars from where someone had tried to restrain him on full moons—that's why he didn't want to show any skin. And maybe werewolves didn't feel pain...? No, that wouldn't explain Remus' low pain tolerance. Maybe werewolves only didn't feel pain around the full moon... yes, that would explain it.

He hoped that Remus had caught the intricacies of his speech. He didn't want Remus to know that James knew quite yet for fear of scaring him off, no, but he'd made sure that he'd covered all bases.

"I don't care if you murdered someone..." He didn't know whether Remus had ever bitten or murdered anyone. He probably had. James didn't see how he'd be so ashamed of being a werewolf otherwise, because it was so cool. "I don't care if you're Voldemort himself. I don't care if you're a Death Eater..." That told Remus that James didn't mind him being Dark, not really. It wasn't by choice or anything. "Or secretly a vampire..." That was close enough to a werewolf, wasn't it? It checked the box in the "not-human" category. "Or Dumbledore just pretending to be a student so that you can spy on us..." That was because Remus really had been pretending all this time.

James thought about the puzzle pieces once again—the tiny inconsistencies in Remus' stories, the tiny quirks of his personality... oh, everything fit so beautifully; even more so than it had in the Remus'-mum-is-a-werewolf theory.

Remus is a werewolf. Remus is a werewolf. Remus Lupin is a werewolf. The words floated through James' head, unbidden, a little like a catchy song. And James supposed that, technically, werewolfry was catchy, too. Just in a different type of way. James wondered what it would be like to be a werewolf. James Potter: Werewolf. It might be fun, if there weren't so many injuries involved.

Finally, James arrived back at the dormitory and Vanished all the blood, as promised—but helping Remus wasn't the only reason that he'd come back up here.

Remus had grabbed his Visiting-His-Mum Satchel on his way to the Hospital Wing, probably out of habit. But when James had retrieved Remus' wand from his open bag, there'd been bundle of papers inside. James knew that it was terribly wicked... but he had to know for sure. So he'd taken the papers and stashed them in his pocket. Now that he was alone, it was the perfect time to read them.

He reclined on his bed and pulled out the papers, heart beating wildly and the catchy tune of RemusisawerewolfRemusisawerewolf echoing through his brain.

Dear Professor Questus,

James closed the letter suddenly. This felt like a horrible, awful invasion of privacy. Should he do it? His mum and dad had always taught him to be better than that, and James was a terribly honest, wonderful, brilliant person who mostly—usually—frequently—sometimes listened to his parents.

But he had to know, didn't he?

Yes, he did.

He opened the letter and began reading once again, mind made up.

Dear Professor Questus,

I am still in the Hospital Wing, unfortunately, and I am bored out of my wits. There is good news, though: Madam Pomfrey now has forty-NINE potions in her cupboard. It was forty-eight last time. Yes, I'm sure; I counted them eighteen times. I don't recognize the new potion, actually—but with my luck, I'll be taking it within the next couple of hours.

I feel as if I've taken THOUSANDS of potions. Coming back from summer vacation has made Madam Pomfrey extra fussy (don't tell her I said that). She says I'm thin and stressed and ill and all that. She wanted me to stay for SIX DAYS originally, but that was unacceptable (even though it would allow me to miss a couple D.A.D.A. classes, which would be lovely)!

Mum wrote me the other day; her letter was so many pages that I thought that the owl would collapse. AGAIN. She must be extremely worried and boring to be around. Dad sent me one, too, and he also sounded worried—but then, he always sounds worried. Typical Dad. Let me know if he wakes up one day and has half a head of grey hair, because I wouldn't be surprised one bit.

Just so you know, this is my third draft of this letter; I don't know which one I'm sending yet. I'm just very, VERY bored and I have to do SOMETHING. Madam Pomfrey won't let me do magic this month (says it's too distracting. I think she expects to either eat or sleep all hours of the day, which is unrealistic. I'm not a robot!).

James and Sirius and Peter

James stopped reading and stared at his name for a bit, written in Remus' small, light handwriting. He hadn't really expected Remus to be writing John about him, for some reason. But here it was.

James and Sirius and Peter have been extra boisterous this month. James is flying nearly every day to practice for Quidditch tryouts. When he comes back inside, he COMPLETELY forgets how to use an "inside voice". All of them do, actually. Even Peter, and he's not usually that loud. Well, sometimes he is. The thing about Peter is that he's always either very quiet, which is lovely, or very loud, which is not. There's not much of an in-between. James and Sirius are just always loud!

Pensley, for all her talk about how she could cure me, hasn't visited me once to see if it worked. It didn't, by the way—you know, in case you were wondering. And I'm very glad that she didn't visit me, but it really only speaks to her character that she didn't. If she had, she'd probably have caught me working on the HOURS of homework that she gave us. She hasn't even assigned a textbook! She take points off our essays if we miss something in the curriculum, but how are we even supposed to know what the curriculum IS?

Thank you ever so much for recommending Practical Defense, Year Two. That's definitely the one that she uses (even though she didn't issue it because she "doesn't like textbooks"). Peter and I are actually getting good marks, even though we have to spend hours learning the material. James and Sirius don't talk about marks, but I'm pretty sure theirs are horrendous.

I'm throwing out this letter and starting over now. I'm very bored.

I'll write to you again in exactly twenty seconds,
R.J. Lupin

James smiled. The letter was so painfully Remus—and even though he didn't directly reference being a werewolf, it fit James' theory perfectly. "This month", "cure me", "come to visit me in the Hospital Wing"... they all implied that it was ongoing and regular. In fact, everything about the letter—the soft normality of being in the Hospital Wing and taking potions and being bored—implied that it was ongoing and regular. James looked at another page of the bundle he'd nicked, and it was the same letter, except rephrased and in more formal language. The next paper was the same. But the next was in different handwriting that James recognized as John's.

Lupin—

Your friends suspect, but I think you already knew that. Don't worry; I wrote Potter a very firmly-worded letter about invading your privacy. It was very good, if I do say so myself—I do believe I've bought you some time. Even so: it's borrowed time. They're clever, and I'm surprised it's taking them so long.

Now stop worrying, you idiot. Breathe. It's not that hard. (Which is what I told you on the first December full moon, if you remember anything before the concussion took effect. I know I said I'd never mention that day again, but it's far too much fun.) Enjoy the time you have with them, and we'll figure things out as we go. Emotions are pointless, and you're one of the most emotional (and therefore pointless) people I know. Calm down. The Dark Arts wait for no one, you know—even people with incessant worrying tendencies.

Additionally: I now own a cat named Werewolf. Thanks for that; this is all your fault.

To respond to the other parts of your letter: I'm surprised you're a cat person, the Thestral plan is sound, Shakespeare was stupid, your father is very intense, and Practical Defense Year Two (though I think you've read it already).

Don't call me Professor.

—J. Questus

The parchment was rounded around the edges and smudged in various places, and James got the feeling that it had been read many, many times. It sounded just like John. And what was more, it confirmed James' theory.

John was helping Remus keep his werewolfiness a secret. "December full moon"? That confirmed it even further. "A cat named Werewolf"? Even further. "I'm surprised you're a cat person"? That was the cherry on top.

Remus was a werewolf.

Now stop worrying, you idiot. Breathe. It's not that hard.

Was Remus really that worried about James and Sirius and Peter finding out? Did he really trust them that little?

And what was this about a concussion? James deduced that John was probably trying to keep Remus under control (he had to be an Animagus, like James had thought Remus to be before this recent development) and had accidentally given him a concussion or something. What could John's Animagus form be? Something with claws, something with teeth, something big and strong enough to keep a werewolf under control? A dog, maybe? A wolf?

Was John a werewolf, too? That would explain why he and Remus were so close. Maybe John was a werewolf, and then they transformed together, and kept each other under control? That would be so cool!

James pulled out the next paper. This was a letter from Remus' father, even more crinkled and well-read than John's.

Dear Remus,

Your mum and I miss you so much. In fact, I caught her in your room the other day, sleeping in your bed. She's an odd one, your mum. You'd better believe I made fun of her for ages.

She doesn't like to cook alone—without you around to help her, she asks ME to do it. You should be glad that you're all the way in Scotland: I managed to burn the peas, step on a slug, spill the flour, and get butter in her hair (that one was on purpose). I thank my lucky stars every day that your mum is not a witch. I'd probably be walking around with ducks for hands and a pumpkin for a head if she was.

I miss you I miss you I miss you, and no amount of saying it will ever convince you exactly how much. I miss you more than I miss Rose, and she was the coolest. I miss you more than I miss your mum while I'm at work. (You know, I made a point of not putting up her picture in my office at work. I have your picture—it's the one from last summer with you and me hiding in the kitchen, waiting to jump out at your mum. I have Garrison's picture—just a picture of the cupboard, really. I have Bufo's picture—and you know exactly which one. But I don't have Mum's picture. She gets on my case every day about it, and then I tell her that "I have the real thing right at home with me every day; a picture couldn't begin to do you justice, my dear," and then she hits me with a pillow because she knows I'm making things up to annoy her.) I miss you.

James skipped to the end of the letter; it felt weird reading private sentiments that Remus' parents had meant only for Remus. James' parents wrote things like that all the time (though they didn't tease each other as much as Remus' parents seemed to), but it was less weird when they were for James. Then a word caught his eye and he immediately started reading again.

The September full moon is approaching, and I'm terribly worried. The last two weren't very good on you, and I'm very worried that the new location will make it worse. Promise me that you won't stress too much. You seemed quite upset when you wrote us about the meditation with Professor Pensley, but I think that you should try it—anything that might make it easier for you is worth trying. And, even if it doesn't work, you need meditation more than anyone I know. You tend to be a bit emotionally turbulent (you get that from me, unfortunately), and perhaps it'll be good to clear your mind for once.

Questus has been trying to convince us that you shouldn't do the meditation at all. In fact, he wants us to complain to the school. I can see why you like him so much; he always seems to be on your side. But I disagree with him on this topic. Just because there's no known cure doesn't mean that there's not an unknown one, and just because it probably won't cure you doesn't mean it won't be beneficial in some way.

But I'm sorry—I've been talking of werewolf-related topics for far too long. I know you don't like to talk about it. Give us a rundown of your injuries after the full moon, all right? I know it's better at school—more space and all that—but it's still a new location, and I worry.

I assume Questus told you about the cat. It's a very quiet cat, and it sort of follows him everywhere. Every single time he shows up at our place, the cat is walking at his heels. At this point, it'll randomly wander into the house and assume its regular spot on the arm of the chair where Questus usually sits. I don't think he's given it a name (he usually just calls it "the cat"), but I don't think I've ever seen him so... well, indifferently affectionate... towards anything before. It's quite funny.

Anyway. I hope you're having fun at school, I wish all the best for you, I miss you, and I love you! I can't wait to see you (but not too soon. It's nice and quiet around here without you—just kidding!).

Love,
Dad.

James put down the letter.

Remus was a werewolf.

"Transformation". "Full moon". "Werewolf-related topics". The phrases bumped around in his brain, adding to the Remusisawerewolf tune and turning into a full-blown symphony: complete with full orchestration, loud timpani drums, and a soaring melody in the strings.

Why was it so surprising? He'd already known. He'd already been sure. So why was it so shocking? There was just something about his theory being confirmed—totally and completely confirmed—that made him feel a little sick.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf. A creature of the Dark. A terrifying monster that killed people. And he'd been keeping it from them.

The last thirteen-ish months had passed smoothly, and James had spent many of them with... a werewolf. James had been flying, showing off for Peter and... a werewolf. James had been talking between classes to... a werewolf. James had helped... a werewolf... to the Hospital Wing. James had teased and wrestled with and talked to... a werewolf. The word just didn't fit Remus.

Even more surprising, John had a cat.

James laughed aloud—a stifled, sobbing sort of laugh—and put the papers down. A photo fell out, and James picked it up.

It was a photograph of Remus and his mum and his dad—and it was just like Remus, to carry around a photo of his parents at all times. Remus looked to be six, and his father was gripping his right shoulder as if he expected Remus to fall. He did look like he was about to fall, actually—he was more pale and sickly than James had ever seen him. Remus' father was smiling, and so was his mother, and the edges of Remus' mouth quirked up for a few seconds and then fell, like he was trying to hold a smile and failing.

Remus raised his arm to tug at his mother's sleeve, and James noticed that his hand was wrapped in bandages. Did being a werewolf really make someone so sick and injured? Someone was doing a very bad job of keeping Remus under control on the full moons.

Then the Lupin family left the frame, presumably to open presents or have a meal, and James was left staring at the room. There was a Christmas tree up. This picture had been taken at Christmas. It had been Christmas, and young Remus hadn't been happy. That was just sad. James couldn't imagine not being happy on Christmas.

Then James noticed another photograph attached to the first with a paperclip. His own face jumped out at him.

It was the Marauders at a Quidditch game. James knew this photo; it was one of his favorites. They were all clad in Gryffindor colors, Sirius was trying to steal Remus' scarf, Peter was beaming at the camera, and James was laughing. James usually paid attention to his own face in pictures, but now he was staring at Remus'. He'd always known Remus like this—full of life and color and excitement—but, apparently, Remus hadn't always been like that.

Hogwarts had done that. Sirius had done that... Peter had done that... he, James, had done that.

To tell the truth, James had doubted for just a second that Remus was the right person to be James' friend. He hadn't even realized that he'd been doubting, but he'd definitely doubted a little. Even though James' father didn't believe the lies society had told them, James had—only a little, but he had. And he'd thought, for just a few seconds, that Remus was, in fact, the monster that normal people made him out to be.

But now he didn't, and the thought had been so fleeting that James hadn't even registered thinking it until it was over.

James Potter had had many missions. To make the Quidditch team. To play professionally. To defeat Voldemort. To get a new broom. To be the richest and most famous person in the whole universe.

But now his mission was to make sure that Remus knew that he could trust him... to make sure that Remus was always as happy as he was in that second photograph... and to keep Remus at Hogwarts for as long as humanly possible.

"I solemnly swear it!" he whispered to nothing, because solemn oaths always made things more fun.

Then he put the papers under Remus' bed—maybe he'd think that they had fallen out—and traipsed downstairs for Herbology.

He'd missed breakfast, but he didn't mind.

AN: Hey guys! I got some questions about updates, and I figured I'd answer them here. A few PSAs for the good of the group (oops-cant-say, this is mostly for you, though I have been asked some of these questions multiple times!):

1. No, I won't be speeding up updates :( Trust me, I'm sad about this one, too—I really liked waking up nearly every other morning and reading new reviews! But I'm the type of writer who needs a buffer to maintain continuity and quality—if any of you have ever written a sprawling, super-long story like this, you know that continuity is HARD. I edit previous chapters as I write to delete plot points that didn't work out like I thought they would, add foreshadowing/build-up, etc. I'm actually trying to maintain my buffer, which means I'm writing a chap for each one I post—that means I'm writing two 3-5k chapters a week. That's a lot. So no, I won't be speeding up... but I'm SUPER honored that people like my story enough that they want more :D

2. Of Marauders and Monsters, the first story in this series, is finished, and this is the sequel. This IS Marauders and Monsters, it's just the second installment! It's quite literally a continuation of Marauders and Monsters, so I'm not sure how else you'd want me to update that fic XD

3. If you're one of those lovely people who waits with bated breath every Update Day for the notification, you should be aware that I, while consistent in my update schedule (I love schedules!) am not consistent in my exact posting time lol. I update whenever I have time. It takes me about an hour to do a final edit of each chapter before posting, so I update whenever I have a free hour (and those are hard to come by!). I do evenings on Sundays and Thursdays EST, which means that other time zones may get the notifs on Mondays and Fridays! And, by evening, I mean anywhere from 5pm to 1am (again: EST). Depends on how busy I am! Unfortunately, I can't schedule updates and I do have a life lol, so they won't be at the same time every day (that's a lot of work)!

Thanks so much for reading :) Things are starting to get exciting...