#considering printing out the outline and eating it because then maybe something will get DONE

[erinwantstowrite]

Dude, you good, man?

(Though, maybe I should also run off in the woods, so no more college finals)

i was having a bit of a spiral and thinking about my childhood urge to run off into the forest forever but then. my cat screamed at me. and it dawned on me that he would not survive in the forest and we can't be separated so maybe i shouldn't crash out just yet

[ri-ahhh]

good vibes

sometimes best friends get a little curious

warnings: badly written smut

***

“Gray, can you help me with this?”

Inspired by your best friend’s new affinity for minimalism, you had decided to clean out the junk drawer of your nightstand. You had been hit by one of those random whims to do something productive, and the mess in there had been bothering you for months.

But now, even though it’s practically empty and a good few pounds lighter after removing nearly all of its previous contents, you’re struggling to shove the damn thing back into the nightstand. The solid wood is heavy, and the high of accomplishing something is starting to wear off in wake of the frustration that the stupid thing just won’t go in. It’s like a reverse of the prank Jim pulled on Dwight when he jammed his drawers to only half open; yours will only half shut.

The final straw is when you pinch your finger between the drawer and the corner of the opening in the nightstand, and you let the whole thing fall to the floor with a heavy thump that your downstairs neighbors will most definitely not appreciate.

“Ow, fuck!” you exclaim, holding your finger with enough pressure to keep the throbbing at bay for a moment and to check if your nail broke. “Gray!”

A dark head peaks around the doorframe, handsome features drawn in concern. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks, stepping into your bedroom.

It always takes you by surprise somehow, how much space he takes up in here. He’s shirtless and still slightly sweaty, having taken advantage of your apartment gym while you did your cleaning thing.

You pout at him. “I need help.”

Grayson rolls his eyes and chuckles, glancing at the drawer on the ground as he puts two and two together. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says as he strides next to you and squats down so he’s level with the nightstand.

“Shut up,” you mumble, flushing as you suck the little spec of blood off your cuticle (the biggest casualty from your drawer mishap) and shove his giant, rounded shoulder with the other.

He barely budges, and squints at the open space. “There’s something stuck that must have fallen from the top drawer when you took this one out.”

Before you can even think to stop him, he’s pulling the top drawer — your underwear drawer — out of the nightstand now. And there, right where you left it that morning on top of a pile of skimpy lace and cotton, is your hot pink vibrator.

Grayson stares at it for a moment, and you can tell he’s processing what it is before smirking as you gasp and snatch it away from his curious gaze. “Nice.”

You scoff. “Don’t be gross. Girls masturbate too, Dolan.”

“I’m well aware,” he retorts, eyebrow raised at the way you’re hiding the object behind your back as if he’ll forget about it if he can’t see it. “Fingers don’t get the job done?”

You don’t think you’ve ever blushed this hard in your life. But, after all, it’s just Grayson — he’s your best friend. And, with his track list, there’s probably nothing the man hasn’t seen.

“I keep my nails too long,” you say with more confidence than you really have. “Plus it’s just... better.”

“I’ve never seen a girl use one in person,” he says. He looks at you and cocks his head. “You should show me.”

A purely instinctual bark of laughter escapes your lips. “In your dreams.”

“You are,” Grayson admits, his smile cocky but soft. “Way too often lately.”

You pause and consider that, your belly heating and head swimming momentarily at the idea that you might have some semblance of the same effect on him that he does you. “Only because we’ve been spending so much time together the past few weeks.”

“We can over-analyze the reasons later,” he says dismissively. “I’m serious, I’ve only seen these things in porn. I wanna see first hand what they do that I can’t.”

You can’t resist digging at him a little. “And here I thought fuckboy extraordinaire Grayson Dolan had seen it all.”

“I’m not a fuckboy,” he says pointedly. “That implies a certain level of shitty behavior that I don’t believe in.”

“Fair enough,” you concede with a shrug. You really look at him for a moment, and much like the urge to clean, a similarly sudden wave of “fuck it” overtakes you. You bring the vibrator back into sight, and watch him look at it curiously again. “You’re telling me you’ve really never had one of your little girlfriends use this with you in the room?”

“Nope, I swear,” he says with an insistent shake of his head, hazel eyes wide as he realizes you’re maybe about to actually agree to his suggestion. “Please?”

Are you really about to say yes to this? You take in his shirtless self, muscles bulging from their recent exertion, skin a leftover honey bronze from the summer, eyes warm, lips pink and inviting...

An idea hits you.

“Fine,” you say, crossing your arms and smirking up at him. “But you have to do it with me. Jerk off, I mean. It’s not fair if I show you mine but you don’t show me yours.”

His arched brows shoot up into his flop of hair with surprise, but it only takes him a second for a wide, crooked smile to break across those lips you were just admiring. “Deal.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin won’t leave your lips. “That was way too easy.”

“What can I say? I have no shame,” Grayson shrugs, dropping the drawer he was still holding onto your bed. He reaches down and picks up your favorite leopard-print thong, letting it dangle from two of his thick fingers. “These are cute, by the way.”

“Don’t push your luck here,” you warn, only half-joking; you’re still a little cautious about this whole plan, no matter what your pussy is telling you right now at the thought of seeing Grayson completely naked.

He follows you without question out to the living room. You choose the couch rather than your bed for a couple of reasons. Easier to see. Less intimacy. He can take his pick of which one he wants to think was your driving force behind it.

You settle on one end of the couch, and he the other. You’re surprised to see the half-hard outline of him already through his sweats, and it’s truly pathetic how fast it has you clenching your thighs together.

“How do we start?” you ask, head tossed back with an embarrassed, breathless giggle. Your toes wiggle next to his against the middle seat cushion. “I didn’t think this far.”

When you look back at him, Grayson is staring at you with a surprising intensity. He’s got a palm over his sweats, right over his dick, and your eyes are drawn there for a hot, sticky second. His hand itself is turning you on, wide and veined and masculine.

“Let’s talk,” he finally says, drawing hour gaze back to his handsome face. “What do you like?”

“What do I like?”

“Yeah. Like... what’s your favorite position?”

You’re catching on. It’s not the most conventional dirty talk, but the simplicity in just learning these new things about him so casually is kind of hot in its own right. The thought alone makes your nipples tighten behind your shirt — his shirt, you’re just now realizing.

You hope he can see them through the thin white fabric as you answer, “Doggy.”

“Mm.” The corner of his lips turn up in a quick smirk and his hand starts to move over his crotch in slow strokes. “I think I like missionary most, to be honest. The kind where I’ve got her legs pushed back or over my shoulders. Super deep. Eye contact. All that.”

Fuck. “So we’re opposites,” you grin, and to Grayson’s visible approval you allow your legs to open some — his eyes zero in on your center, hidden beneath your tiny sleep shorts. “Do you eat pussy? I can’t get the vibe if you do or don’t.”

He looks genuinely offended, and pauses the motion of his hand, eyes meeting yours again. “Of course I do. Wait, do you really get the impression that I wouldn’t?”

You shrug and drop a palm to rest low on your belly. “I just have it on good authority that Ethan does it very well and very willingly. And you guys are so opposite. You just never know.”

Grayson deadpans you, his breathing picking up along with the movement of his hand again. “Are you asking me to eat you out? Because that sounds like a challenge you know I can’t refuse.”

“No. I like the idea of being your first ‘something,’” you say. Grayson’s dark eyes glance to the object in question clutched in the grasp of one hand, then follow the fingertips of your other as they start to trail lightly across your waistband. The heat of his gaze makes your pussy throb, and you’re actually getting more and more excited about this. “And I thought tonight was about what you can’t do.”

“Tonight, maybe. But then there’s always tomorrow,” he says, voice low and gruff. He squeezes his dick through his pants and growls a little. “Fuck. Can we — fuck, your tits look so cute in my shirt. And it’s taking everything in me not to rip off those damn shorts.”

“You wanna see my pussy?” you ask in an almost-whisper, lip caught between your teeth. His words and the neediness behind them flood you with confidence and desire. The vibrator is warm and heavy and apparent in your hand, calling your name as your body heats steadily at the sight and sound of Grayson a mere six feet from you.

“As much as you wanna see my dick,” he counters, and his fingers finally hook teasingly in his own elastic waistband.

You’ll feed his ego, if that’s what he wants. You’d expect nothing less from him — and, to be fair, he’s not wrong.

“That must be a lot, then,” you say, and then you’re both pulling down your pants and underwear until you’re naked from the waist down and he is completely.

Your legs close shyly once your bottoms are discarded to the floor, the hand cupping your pussy trapped between your thighs. You’re nervous again for a few seconds, but then you see his cock wrapped loosely in his big fist, and you can’t help but relax again.

Dicks are ugly, in a general sense, but not Grayson’s, you think. Long and thick, ridged on the shaft and swollen at the tip. You instantly think about what it would taste like, or feel like buried inside you. Because he’s definitely got the vibrator beat in that department.

“Lemme see,” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath and obey, knees still bent but parted as you move your hand from completely covering your center to tracing the smooth skin with your middle finger. Grayson groans, and his hand leaves his dick long enough for him to spit in it for lubrication when he instantly returns it there.

“I can see how wet you are,” he says, and you wonder if he’s even talking to you or just making an observation.

You answer him anyway. “You have a nice dick.” Your fingers migrate to your clit, and you twitch with a little gasp. “Big. I always kinda wondered if you were just compensating.”

“Of course not,” he grins, and it just makes him way too sexy. His teeth gleaming in the low light of your living room, tattoos covering his legs — one of them bent on the couch and the other planted firmly on the floor, muscles hard... you don’t even realize you’re sucking your fingers into your mouth so they’re nice and wet when you bring them back to your clit to start rubbing slow circles in time with the strokes he’s giving his cock.

“Damn,” Grayson mutters. His eyes are wide and fixated on your pussy, and his hand starts moving quicker. The beats of his chest pick up, too. “Can you use it now? Please?”

You nod, starting to feel desperate for release yourself. You push the button a couple of times until the silicone buzzes to life on a medium setting; there’s enough teasing going on between you and Gray, and you don’t need anything other than a good, steady vibe to help get you to the edge.

“This isn’t gonna last long,” you admit, gasping when you trace it against your pussy so it can become coated in your arousal.

If Grayson responds, you don’t hear it, because as soon as you directly stimulate your clit with the vibrator, your mind is going blank as you moan wantonly. Definitely not going to last long.

He speaks, and your eyes open at the sound of his gravelly voice. They lock first on the rapid pumps of his fist over his cock, then on his face with his brows drawn and his jaw clenched.

“Feel good?”

“Really good,” you whimper, tugging on your nipple through your shirt with your free hand. “God, you’re so hot, Gray.”

“Yeah?” His voice turns a little whiny in the sexiest way possible, but still low and a hardwire to your pussy. “You’re fuckin beautiful. Can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

You moan quietly and press a little harder with the vibrator and finding the perfect spot with the perfect pressure. Your back arches and you instinctively fling a hand behind your head to find a grip on the back cushion of the couch. “Fuck!”

“Oh, shit, are you really gonna cum already?” Grayson asks in disbelief.

You whine out mindlessly in affirmation. Your breaths come sharper, you moans higher pitched. The wet noise of Grayson’s fist moving faster and faster on his cock prompts you to let your eyes open to watch him, and all it takes for you to fall over the edge is to watch him watch you.

Your legs shake and you whine pretty moans as the continuous vibrations drag out your orgasm perfectly. You come down just in time to hear the rough groan and raspy grunts of Grayson cumming too, and open your eyes to the glorious sight of his head tossed back so his thick neck is open and begging to be sucked on. His balls are drawn tight, abs clenching, fingers and chest painted with white streaks that you’re kind of sad you missed.

Something tells you this might not be your only chance to see it happen, though.

You turn off your vibrator when you become far too sensitive to take any more and toss it to the side. Your body slumps into the couch cushions, and the room is silent other than both of your heavy breathing for what feels like ages as you both come down.

Grayson shifts at the end of the couch, and it prompts you to do the same. You reach to the floor for your shorts and pull them hastily back up your legs, mind still hazy as you sit up and tuck your legs beneath you. You stare at him unashamedly, not feeling nearly as awkward as you think you should, all things considered.

Gray pulls his underwear on, and reaches his hand out to you. You take it with a sheepish little grin, and let him pull you closer.

“So, be honest, was it really the vibrator that made you cum that fast, or did I have any part of that?”

You laugh and slap his chest playfully. “Maybe when I find out what your mouth can do, I’ll consider you competition for the vibrator. You need to be knocked down a peg or two, Dolan.”

“Hm. Well, like I said, we always have tomorrow.”

[kuekyuuq]

Conveniences, files and fingerprints [6x08]

So, now in 6x08 we've got this scene of Andrea as Acrata browsing NC's Luthor Mansion.

In Lex's office, aside from various birthday cards (from his bud Vlad P? among others) and the EXACT reference of the episode (incriminating evidence no Lex Luthor should have on his desk), there's this wonderfully eye-catchy and turned-on light-tablet with files of some of the Superfriends on it. ...the convenience in this scene is mind-boggling.

Okay, friendly reminder that Lena used Myriad on Lex, so he forgot Kara was Supergirl.

Now, what caught my eye on these files:

Apparently Lex and whoever created these files (the DEO?) don't know Alex is Sentinel. Which is funny, considering the other information they have about her on these sheets... including the ones about her former boss. (Or was that pre-crisis? I get things mixed up these days.)

While J'onn's file contains the info that he assumed the identity of Hank Henshaw, it seems to lack the information that he's a shape-shifter (and a Green Martian)

Now.

The Fingerprints.

First of all, there are 2 ways fingerprints can be collected from surfaces. One would be imprints or indents (like when molding clay/wax). And the other occurs on surfaces as residue of moisture and grease on a finger pad - a negative image left by what's between the ridges, whirls and loops that make the familiar fingerprint image.

..They've got several prints from J'onn, which makes sense, maybe... as in his file-appropriate Hank Henshaw form he hardly wears gloves. In his green and suit-up version, tho, he wears gloves. So, my question is, if his shape-shifting is accurate down to the fingerprints, then congrats, they have Hank's prints, but not the Martian Manhunter's? The joy of identifying your shape-shifter suspect you've got in custody...

The shot only showed one of Sentinel's fingerprints being recovered... which almost surprised me, as Alex is not very consistent in wearing her (magnetic) gloves in the field, nor if they cover her fingers or not.

And then, there's Supergirl.

Who never wears gloves.

But then again, the 4 prints they've got are not very clear ones.

Which begs so many questions...

Is that because Kryptonians don't have fingerprints? No swirls and ridges, but much smoother / uniform - yet still as textual / grip'y?

Is that because she doesn't normally build up sweat and grease under the yellow sun to leave behind 'negative image prints'?

Is her grabbing things that leave entire indents of her hands so forceful that the metals melt to a degree under that pressure she doesn't leave behind finger-pad indents?

Those could be good explanations, right?

Except, the show never gave any indication...

She's been close to other humans - e.g.: Cat's son Adam; they kissed, held hands... if Kara had 'alien' finger-pads, would he not have noticed? Or Lena, during one of their pre-reveal hand-holding-sessions?

The common residue-fingerprints also occur by outside contamination - to illustrate: Kara eating pot-stickers with her bare hands should result in her leaving behind prints on the next smooth surface she touches. Her shaking hands, fighting in dusty conditions.... and then touching ANYTHING else... Is it really that hard to check a scene, match with any onlookers uploaded web-video and find her prints? (Why this hasn't been done yet by anyone to figure out her identity is baffling. But so are glasses and a ponytail... so, yeah.)

Wouldn't a Kryptonian's unyielding skin indent most any surface with their prints if not constantly incredibly careful?

...how would have Lena's alien-detection-device reacted to Kara's finger-pads? I always assumed it was about the item reading heat-signature and somehow genetics on a general level. But does that mean aliens generally have different pads altogether? (which actually made sense)

So. Does Kara not leave fingerprints? 'Cept for some blurry outline smudges?

If so, why?

Really. I am asking. For science.

(Also for fanfic-reasons, because apparently fanfic-authors like to write their stories much more coherent and (internally) canonically accurate than the show's writers themselves do.)

No, seriously. The whole fingerprint topic always interested me. Now, the show did 'something' with it. So 'something' about Kara's fingerprints should be canon now. C'mon, show! Give me answers!

Lastly, in a shot that features people's files and their fingerprints, Acrata herself touches surfaces without any fingerprint-preventions XD

[saturnsummer]

permanently inked (G rated)

notes: since everyone freaked out over beam’s tattoo on twitter, i was very much inspired to write a situation when joonhwi gets a tattoo and sol finds out. here's a G rated version, which slightly more details than my twitter one!

joon has always liked the idea of having a tattoo

no, he doesn’t mean the kind you see on mafia gangs or yakuzas. he means the dainty one of fine calligraphy and those minimalistic arts.

but he was never certain of what to get. a ramyeon bowl seemed like what a child would think. having inked the name of his mother or father seemed…too odd. after all, he didn’t grow up with them.

but his uncle…it was a different story.

his uncle from the beginning was his superman. from a young age, he loved sitting in the lap of his uncle while reading reports and asking his uncle the meanings of words of ‘perjury’ and ‘defamation’.

even after his passing, when all the truth had been dug up, he tried all he could to stay angry at his uncle. but all he found was guilt, shame, and regret.

but why does he so badly want something to remember his uncle by?

so when he found himself looking at different tattoo designs, he knew that he wasn’t going to be forgetting about this idea any time soon.

he scrolled through many, many ideas. traditional calligraphy. pictures and outlines. but none of them appealed to him. they were all too cliche or not to his liking at all.

and him as a future prosecutor? he rather have a tattoo somewhere hidden so his clients wouldn’t be scared off.

then he finally stumbled upon a photo of someone’s designed tattoo. it was nothing too complicated, minimalistic and in pure black thin ink.

but what struck him was how it was an outline of a man, with spectacles alongside a lady with long hair.

at that moment, he just knew that this was the design he was going to use. he immediately went to flip through different photos of him and his uncle, but as soon as he started looking at the most recent one, his heart sank.

because all he could remember was how angry he felt towards him, and how misunderstood his uncle must have felt. how lonely he was to die alone with no one by his side. how…he died for the sins of another.

a tear slipped as he shut his album. he quickly stored the album back into his cabinet, but a printed picture fell out and fluttered to the floor. picking it up, he managed a small smile.

it was a photo of him and his uncle on his tenth birthday. he was all smiles, in his favourite power rangers shirt, and his uncle, looking so much younger than before, rid of burdens, tears and troubles, actually giving a smile.

it was the most memorable birthday of joonhwi’s, considering that it was one of the birthdays that his uncle gifted him his favourite action figure along with new books and a playstation 2.

staring at the photo, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the times his uncle would come home with different ramyeon flavours and cooked them in a special way.

eighteen years later, he has still not figured out how to recreate the taste of the ramyeon of his childhood.

with that, he took the picture, stuffed it in pocket and headed out the front door of his dorm room.

but he stopped as he locked the dorm room. what would jiho say? or his new girlfriend, sol? tattoos weren’t a big thing in korea. will they shun him, like society does? or will they accept him despite the permanent decision?

just at that moment, sol called him as she asked if he wanted to have lunch. he hesitated, and asked if he could meet her at the entrance of school. sol just hung up and joonhwi went ahead to the entrance.

there, her hair in a high bun and in a simple sweater and shorts, stood his girlfriend of one month. greeting her with a small peck, she blushes as she ask what’s up.

“what? what do you mean what’s up? how do you know im troubled?”

“everything about your voice says it. spill it, what is it?”

joonhwi couldn’t lie, especially not to her. bringing her to sit at the plush chairs of the lobby, he tells her about his want of having a tattoo, how he wants one to remember his uncle by. not the one that died, but the one from his childhood.

“joon, that’s so sweet of you. you sure? it’s permanent, you know. you won’t regret it?”

“no. sol, it’s been on my mind since i was, what, 21? i just never knew what to get. and…you’re not mad? you’re not disapproving of me?”

“how could i? joonhwi, when i said i’ll be rooting for you in your uncle’s place, I meant it. you aren’t impulsive like i am, and you’ve said it. you wanted it since 21. it’s been seven years, I think it’s a decision you won’t let go, no?”

and he finally realises that the entire time he’s talking she’s been smiling the whole time and nodding while holding his hand in his lap.

sol was never one to judge, and he couldn’t have loved her more at that moment when she kissed his knuckles and pulled him up telling him “come on now, let’s go!”

and with that, hand in hand, all thoughts of lunch was forgotten as they headed to the streets of town to a tattoo shop, safely hidden away from the main streets.

joonhwi had done plenty of research for this particular shop. he has seen the work of the artist, the way her steady hands created straight lines and thin minimalist styles of art. it was what he wanted.

nervously, he explained with the lady what he had in mind as the lady sat patiently and listened, tracing the photo over with tracing paper and asking if she could take a photo.

he contacted the lady a couple more times, as she forwarded different designs, styles and artworks over to him. with sol, they spent hours deciding on the best design.

sol and joonhwi went through the designs in secret on their quiet nights at the bleachers as sol pointed out her concerns with one design and he sat, chocolate milk in hand as they zoomed in on the fine details and shortlisted them.

ultimately, they concluded on the one he always wanted; a minimalistic piece that just outlined his uncle and him. no special shadings, colours or anything. thin, neat and simple. his uncle would have liked it, considering how he knows that the only reason why he is neat is because he observed the way his uncle would adjust the books on the table to perfectly align with the edge.

on the day of the appointment, joonhwi thought of where to put it. he knew he had to keep it hidden away, so somewhere on his arm wasn’t the best idea.

“joonhwi, how about your chest?”

“?”

“well…you said you want to hide it, after all, our future jobs aren’t exactly best for tattoos. having it on your chest would be the best, wouldn’t it?”

sol made some sense. it was a good spot to keep it concealed, yet meaningful enough. his uncle was always going to be in his heart and he will always be remembered.

so as the tattoo artist imprinted the design blueprint on his chest, just above his heart, he stared at the mirror with the design.

he was finally doing it.

sol came over behind him as she stepped in front, looking at the tattoo on his bare chest. her fingers traced it lightly before his hand caught hers.

“you sure?”

“i am. i am now.”

“it looks beautiful.”

leaning back onto the chair, sol grabbed onto his hand and squeezed it for comfort.

“if it hurts, just squeeze my hand, alright? it’ll be over in a bit.”

the artist got to work, as she dipped the needle into the ink, needling the ink permanently into his skin. joonhwi’s eyes were shut as he held his breath from the sting.

sol rubbed his biceps as she whispered to him. “you’re okay, it’s alright. shall we get ramyeon or army stew later?”

joonhwi knew sol was trying to distract him. and so he did his best. he chatted about their meals later, what should they do with the next week before they get back to school with their regular lessons. sol suggested to start studying, but joonhwi only agreed if sol were to take it easy and not cram. as a 3L, she didn’t need to faint again.

sol was right, though. distracting him worked, as the artist finally finished her work on him and wiped the blood and ink, before cleaning it. she stuck a clear film on it, and advised him on how to properly care for it for the next two weeks.

as promised, sol and joonhwi dined out at a army stew restaurant in town they always wanted to visit and they had a nice quiet lunch, a rare day for them to be on a date alone and eating out.

jiho found out the night after, as he noticed the different aftercare products on joonhwi’s desk. he didn’t say anything or ask, but nodded in acceptance. (secretly, he thinks his hyung looks cool.)

as they met with the group on casual study sessions, bokgi pointed out the plastic under joonhwi’s white shirt and joonhwi finally announces he has a tattoo.

“HYUNG THAT'S SO COOL WOAH” is what bokgi says before earning a smack from sol who clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “min bokgi, don't get any ideas of having a tattoo!”

bokgi was about to argue back, but realised that he was indeed about to say he wants one too. joonhwi just laughs as he wraps his arm around sol's waist.

when they find out what it meant, they fall silent.

"it's lovely. i think it's poetic" yeseul says, but the tension was still there. they knew how much joonhwi respected, admired, hated, resented his uncle. despite all the emotions and thick tension, joonhwi stood up, "come on, they're serving dakgalbi today, let's discuss our weekend plans over lunch."

two weeks later, as joonhwi removed the bandage on his chest, he smiled at the permanent memory of his uncle, now engraved on his chest above his heart.

maybe he did enjoy his childhood.

his emotions were always temporary. his anger, guilt, shame, happiness, sadness. but one thing he knew he wanted was permanent was his memory of his uncle. the one he grew up loving, the superman he looked up to.

the uncle, seo byungju, that raises him like his own son.

[bat-besties]

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Remus is the most eccentric customer who visits Janus and Virgil's café. When he goes missing after talking to a mysterious stranger, Janus resolves to investigate further- and Virgil isn't letting him go alone.

AO3 10k 

Huge thanks to @mariniacipher, I could not have written this without her. She let me talk about the idea for hours, it has somehow developed into a series, and the story itself took a real twist because of talking to her! Another massive thank you to @5-crofters-jams, who did a marathon edit of the entire piece for me, and has made the story so much smoother and more effective (and much less British because my original dialogue did upset her American sensibilities XD) Also thanks to @tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors, who knew everything I needed about pigeon corpses!

CW: dead bird, touching the bird corpse, bird funeral, Remus levels of comments about gore and innuendo, drug mention, mention of vomiting, kidnapping and captivity, feeling nauseous from anxiety, light dehumanization, brief allusion to racist violence

- 

Remus was...

(There was usually a little gesture there: Virgil’s rolled eyes, or Janus’ helplessly fond smile, or a disapproving look from Remy-)

....Remus.

Their anarchist cafe saw its fair share of unusual customers but only one of them was, well, Remus.

Morning sunlight threw beams which striped the posters covering the walls- old propaganda posters mixed with ads for tutors, food banks, and drag shows. There was a quiet chatter of customers, occasionally broken up by bursts of laughter or a called greeting to another patron as they came in. Kids from the skatepark sat on a pile of beanbags charging their phones, having given up the comfortable chairs for a small group of elderly butches with stretched tattoos who were now speaking with slang from fifty years ago. A mother whose baby was trying to grab onto her braids was trying to feed him with one hand and hold her husband’s with the other. A college student frowning at their laptop screen and consuming coffee at an alarming rate was seemingly oblivious to the punk trying to discreetly read their laptop stickers. One of a Pan-African flag matched the full-sized one on the wall, swaying with wafts of coffee and baked goods along with spider plants and assorted pride flags. Old photos of a Black Panther group in the town, reprinted and signed by some of their patrons, were framed proudly on the walls.

Since everyone had been served, Virgil was taking a few breaths to check over the register and prepare for the next rush. The rhythm of checking, preparing, and letting the background chatter fade into the background blended into a pleasant, thoughtless routine. Cups out. Setting out more sandwiches. Look over the register. Maybe get something from the back-

“Morning, shitwad!”

Virgil ducked under the counter as something thumped into the coffee machine behind him, and a few of the regulars laughed in good nature.

“Oh, good morning, darling,” Janus replied smoothly, appearing from the kitchen. He was wearing a yellow shirt which contrasted with his deep brown skin perfectly, as well as a bowler hat and dapper bow-tie. He pulled plastic gloves over his hands with all the elegance of a debutante preparing for a ball.

There was a shrill wolf whistle. “Those are some sexy wrists!” was the next comment, followed by a squawking laugh, and Virgil rolled his eyes as his friend brought a flustered hand up to adjust his collar. Every day, he faced the deep attraction between the most sophisticated person he knew and the most outlandish, and he didn’t know which was more obnoxious. As Virgil popped back up, Janus reached over to the projectile on the back counter. It was the small, feathery body of a dead pigeon, carefully wrapped in cling wrap.

Virgil gave Janus a long-suffering look and got out a bottle of disinfectant. “Morning, Remus,” he grumbled, despite his irritation. “What can I get for you today?”

“My friend died at 3am last night,” he replied instead. “I need to store her in your fridge until you both get off work, and then we’ll hold her funeral!”

When they were alive, Remus treated the pigeons as gently as they did each other-

That is to say, he was ruthlessly protective of chicks, ready to grab and move anyone encroaching on territory, and, if pecked, was fully ready to bite back. Still, at his two-tone whistle a whole flock of assorted birds would fly down to meet him. His eyes would shine bright as they flew around him like a feathered whirlwind, and settled on the surfaces all around him like a hopeful congregation as he fed them with whatever he had. Despite their number, almost all had names and ascribed personalities.

Exactly how he could tell the difference between two seemingly identical pigeons Virgil had no idea, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Remus wasn’t fucking with him about it.

“Why did you throw her if you’re trying to preserve her?” Virgil said, but he tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. In fairness, it didn’t look too damaged by the blow. It would take a lot to change the kindness Remus showed the doves, as roughly as he showed it.

“I thought you’d catch her, emo! It would have been a beautiful moment!” he protested, throwing his grey eyes open wide.

Virgil took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what? Yeah, maybe it would have been. But you forget-”

“Fight or flight,” Remus filled in. He shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

As usual, he was dressed in as many layers as he could be, with only a hint of pale skin showing on his face and through a pair of fingerless gloves he had cut himself. Everything else was an amalgamation of black and brown leather, denim, flannel, a puffy coat, a long flowing skirt in leopard-print, and fishnet tops over cotton T-shirts, leaving barely any Remus-outline at all. It didn’t matter what the weather was; his outfit might change components, but it never revealed so much as his neck.

Everyone had their reasons, Janus would quietly say at almost anything their customers said or did. It wouldn’t have crossed their minds to ask why he covered himself so much, but it was something Virgil couldn’t help but wonder about sometimes.

Maybe Janus was right and Remus was handsome, but his face was so obscured by his moustache, stubble, and makeup in purple and green- or whichever colours he felt like- that he seemed to be aiming for ‘gives you a headache after you look at him too long’ more than anything else.

His hair was almost literally a bird’s nest. He had completely rejected offers of a hairbrush or a comb, insisting he preferred it the way it was. The third co-owner of the cafe, Remy, with whom he was staying at the moment, had made many attempts to detangle his hair, all of which had been met with screaming and gnashing of teeth. After each clash, Remy would send Virgil a barrage of complaints by text. But while Janus had offered for Remus to stay at his own apartment, Virgil and Remy had made a mutual decision to save them from 24/7 pining by volunteering instead. Janus had refused even considering dating him the very first day he had barged his way into the cafe- and into its founder’s affection. As long as Remus came to them for food and shelter, it would be an unfair balance of power.

Remus reached into an inner pocket of his coat and slid a purple pin with a spider silhouette on it over to Virgil. “You could stab this into those big brown eyes of yours,” he said, widening his own at the barista.

“Sweet, thanks,” Virgil said, pinning it onto his apron string. It did match with his spider-web hair design. “Then I won’t have to look at Janus getting flustered any more.”

Remus grinned at Janus, who was trying to act as if he’d been so invested in carefully holding the pigeon that he hadn’t heard. He leaned on the counter and dropped his voice into a stage-whisper. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I think he’s sexy.”

“That’s disgusting,” Virgil whispered back. “I’m going to throw up in your coffee.”

He shrugged. “I’d still drink it. Then I’d just be able to judge you based on your stomach bile.”

“You’d be so fucking impressed by my stomach bile,” Virgil retorted. “It’s so acidic from anxiety it would kill you immediately.” He turned to start wiping down anywhere the pigeon had even possibly touched.

“Bartender!” Remus yelled in an exaggerated English accent, banging on the counter. “Bartender! I would like a coffee and a sandwich, please!”

“One moment, my dear,” Janus said in a more passable impression, opening up the freezer door and placing the tiny corpse into an empty ice-cream container well away from the rest of the food. “I’m just cryopreserving- what’s her name?”

"Her name is Loki,” Remus supplied, his voice dropping to a matter-of-fact tone which was surprisingly tender coming from him. “She's good at stealing chips from tourists. And flying and shitting at the same time.”

Janus threw away his gloves, thoroughly washed his hands, then made a small note: "Loki: not for consumption." He glanced up at Remus so he could see the note, who repaid him by throwing his head back so he could laugh. Janus' mouth quirked into a snicker too, and the rest of the coffee shop seemed to fall away from the two looking at each other.

"We're going to get a violation," Virgil interrupted, because that was the expression of a Janus who would complain and pretend not to pine for hours after Remus left. He turned on the coffee machine to hopefully distract from the moment. "It's a dead fucking animal."

"So is the rest of the meat," Janus dismissed without looking at him. "And it is wrapped up and away from the rest of the food."

Ever since Virgil had joined the team and the cafe had begun to establish itself as a firm success, the city council had done everything in its power to shut it down. Each time, the cafe had won, even if their most recent fight was one of the most nerve-racking experiences of his life, and their personal lives had been dragged through the dusty carpet of every courtroom in the city. Each step of the way, Janus insisted that the risk was worth it.

After all that, Virgil was not letting the cafe close on account of a dead bird, as skilled a thief as she might have been.

"It’s a pest animal you let in here," he insisted.

Janus dismissed him with a shrug. "Come now, so is Remus."

The customer grinned. "You flatter me, rattlesnake." His eyes traced Janus' face as they scrunched up with joy. "Can you tell me about Dodgy Knees again?"

He closed his eyes as if pained. "Diogenes! Diogenes! I'll break your knees if you mispronounce-"

"Kinky!"

He rolled his eyes fondly. “Oh, is that so?”

So Virgil tried to ignore the disaster scenario of the cafe being shut for good, fixed a cup of coffee and a sandwich for Remus, and somehow got caught into a conversation about the pros and cons of leaving society to go feral in the woods.

“No, I do agree, but wolves-”

The door rattled, and an older white man with salt-and-pepper hair and a pinstripe suit walked in. He wasn’t entirely out of place amongst the clientele, but he honestly looked more like the businessmen in some of the cartoons Janus had papered one wall with. Remus ignored the bell as he leant his elbows on the counter, gesturing with his sandwich as he talked to Virgil while the barista came up to the register.

“How can I help you today?” Virgil asked the man, who was glancing around the decor. That type of customer was almost certainly drawn by the coffee, all blends hand-picked by Remy.

“I’ll be in and out in just a moment,” he replied with a small smile, and Remus stopped talking. “An espresso to go, please.”

Virgil nodded. “Sure, a moment-”

A blush crept up Remus’ cheeks, and he ducked his head with uncharacteristic shyness. As the man caught his eyes his entire expression softened, the hard lines of his face seeming to melt as his lips parted slightly, like he would say something. But, for once, he was speechless.

Janus looked as though he had been slapped in the face. “Are you acquainted?” he asked, in such a casual tone that Virgil knew he was deeply hurt. He arched an eyebrow as he waited for an answer.

“I- yes, I believe we are,” the customer gave a genial smile in return, his eyes fixed on Remus’. “Some time ago.”

Janus’ eyes narrowed. “Where do you know him from, Remus?”

There was a crinkle of plastic and leather as Remus shrugged. “Long story,” he said distantly.

Virgil slid a cup of coffee over to the man, who tapped a black card to the card reader and gave him a quick smile. “Keep the change,” he quipped. It was a tip some ten times greater than their recommended 20%.

“Thanks,” Virgil mumbled, but his focus was on his friend, who was drifting out of the door, as he tended to do at the end of a conversation. “Hey, Remus, we’ll see you later?” he called after him.

“Sure, Virgey!” he replied, giving him a quick grin before he held the door for the businessman, and the two of them walked out together. The older man ducked his head to whisper something into his ear, and Remus laughed and linked their arms as they headed into the street.

As soon as the door swung shut, a cloud settled over Janus’ expression. “Well,” he said, adjusting a sandwich which was just slightly out of line with the rest. “They say a stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet. It takes all sorts. To each, indeed, their-”

Before he could utter another saying, Virgil interrupted with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it’s not what it looks like.”

“And what does it look like?” Janus asked caustically. “Remus was acting unusually, yes?”

“Sometimes people get nervous,” he ventured. “If they like someone-” There wasn’t a single trait Remus said wasn’t his type; a silver fox with money was as good as any.

“Don’t say ‘like’, it’s so middle school,” he snapped, and Virgil flinched at the tone in his voice. He grabbed a cloth and headed over to a table which some regulars he knew were just vacating to wipe it down. Poor Loki’s funeral was going to be a tense event.

Except, as night fell and the cafe began to glow with the golden lights and the warmth of the ovens, and as Remy arrived to help them with the evening rush, Remus didn’t show up for the body in their freezer.

The brief liveliness Janus had shown bustling between the kitchen and the front faded as the final family trickled out. He waved away most of their offered money, seeing as it was a birthday party and he knew them, and Remy and Virgil made meaningful eye contact but didn’t protest.

As they closed, Remy filled the awkward silence with chatter about the men he was dating, the new hair product he had tried, the fact Remus never washed up when he was told to, and he was, like, so sick of it-

But no Remus appeared to defend himself, even after they left half-an-hour late and each one tried to call him.

He didn’t appear at Remy’s to sleep overnight, and he didn’t come into the cafe at all the next day.

That next night, Janus disappeared into the back, leaving Virgil to clean up by himself.

His stomach was upset, and he couldn’t help but think about that man over and over.

Long story- what exactly did “long story” mean?

Remy used the phrase when it really was a complicated story full of exes and rumours and friends of friends-

Virgil used it when he was asked why he didn’t speak to his family any more.

But he’d never seen Remus look like that before, and the guy had seemed nice- and there was an obvious suggestion for why his friend was busy overnight.

He realised he’d been wiping down the same table for the past five minutes.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly behind him.

“Yeah?” he turned, and his brow immediately furrowed at his friend’s sombre expression.

He had his phone in one hand, and his hat in his other. “I’m going to ask you for a favour,” he said slowly. “You are quite free to decline it.” He paused. “I want to go to the house of the man who Remus went out with, and check that he’s alright.”

“I...don’t know that’s a good idea,” he said, twisting the spider badge on his apron so he could avoid the weight of his friend’s expression. “I mean...it could be an invasion of Remus’ privacy, if that was an old friend or-” Scared of causing further upset, he tilted his head to fill in ‘something else’.

“Yes, I know.” He sighed, looking out into the night through their plate-glass windows. “You know I’m not one for hunches-”

“Eh, you turned out a guy for being an undercover cop in like two seconds because he asked about ‘The Antifa’-”

Janus gave him a look with almost the level of exasperated fondness Remus engendered, and Virgil fell silent.

“I’m not one for hunches, but I’m usually right when I have them, then,” he finished lightly. “I have a very bad feeling, and a Google Search for anyone in the town who could possibly have a black card doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Anxiety coagulated in his stomach, but he tried for his final hope. “Are you sure it’s not...jealousy?”

He gave him a long, tired look. “The thought has never even been a worry of mine,” he said drily. “Still, I can go by myself, and make my own self a bother, worse, a fool.”

And it wasn’t really a question at all whether Virgil would let that happen. “Two of us is just a bother,” he replied with a confidence he didn’t feel, unclipping his badge from his apron and slipping it into his hoodie pocket.

Janus hung up his hat and put on a neat suit jacket over his outfit. “Thank you, really-”

He shook his head, opening the door so that a rush of petrichor and tarmac washed out the pervasive smell of coffee and food from the cafe. “Let’s go.”

They walked out into the night, still damp from the earlier rains. The lights of the shops around them reflected against the wet tarmac, and music pumped out of passing cars giddy with the promise of the coming weekend. They headed to the bus stop, Janus politely greeting every person they passed, and Virgil ducking his head so he didn’t have to. He didn’t know if the people who replied were familiar to his friend from the neighbourhood, or just trying to be polite in turn.

As soon as the bus stopped with a hiss of steam, Janus led him down to the back, and sat by the window, checking the map on his phone again. “It will be some time,” he said. “But, I ask you to be patient.”

“Course.” Virgil rested his head on Janus’ shoulder and closed his eyes. “Just tell me the stop before and I’ll be...right with you.” Moving vehicles lulled him to sleep anyway, and he would just worry the whole way otherwise.

“Of course.” Janus wrapped an arm around him, so he wasn’t jolted as the bus started again.

As Virgil dozed in fits and starts, the window changed from views of convenience stores and fast food shops to blocks of apartments, to anonymous offices and retail outlets, to high-walled parks, and then houses set back from the road by sweeping drive-ways or pavements almost as wide as the road was. Finally, his head was jostled off Janus’ shoulders, and he blinked as the stop dinged, too loud after the fog of sleep. Outside, it was pitch black but for the pools of light beneath the streetlights, and the golden glow which the mansions kept far behind barred gates.

They stumbled off the bus, and Janus checked his phone just once more before they headed off down one of the identical sides of the road.

Virgil pulled his hoodie close around him against the night chill. He considered putting his hood on to protect his ears from the nipping wind, but they were already two black men alone in a very white neighbourhood. It wasn’t worth it when his stomach was already rolling with anxiety. He rubbed his thumb over the badge in his pocket and tried to breathe the cold air in 4-7-8. They walked over empty roads, past rows and rows of similar houses, until they turned a corner and cars lined the road, piling into a single driveway which was illuminated like a Christmas lights display. A few fancily-dressed guests stood by the cars, but most of the noise came from inside. The house towered even its neighbours, and was built in the faux-Classical style which he hated.

Janus checked the address against his phone, then nodded. “That’s it. What did you call those, again? False temples?”

“Temples to dumb rich Americans and bad architecture,” Virgil supplied with a quirk of his lips.

“Quite right,” he replied, assessing the entrance. “And in all likelihood, Remus is stuck inside with his…”

“Yup.” He looked between his own patchwork hoodie and Janus’ dapper suit. “Maybe you could sneak in, but I definitely wouldn’t fit in.”

He straightened, and adjusted his bowtie. “Then we’ll go around the back,” he replied.

Virgil shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope, that’s- Jesus Christ, no, that’s a great way to get arrested or even shot. No.”

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly. “These past two months, Remus has visited us every day except that brief time after the fight over the milk cartons, or whatever it was-”

“I asked him to clean up a drop of milk and he poured the rest of the carton over my kitchen,” he said sourly, which he felt he was entitled to despite the situation.

“Yes, yes,” Janus dismissed. “Anyway- he always comes, doesn’t he? So now-”

“I have a really, really bad feeling- and bad thought, and bad everything-” he protested, backing away from the gate.

An orange sports car swerved past them, and parked horizontally across the driveway, and a young white man in a tracksuit the same colour as his car leapt out and gave them a wide grin. “Hey! Hey! Hello!” he yelled, and flashed them peace signs, to which Janus replied with a pained smile and Virgil a small wave. “Everything’s started- have they done the fireworks yet? Or the, shit, thing with the melted chocolate and it flows-”

“Chocolate fountain,” Janus supplied with the smile he reserved for his more aggravating customers. He slipped his arm into Virgil’s and pulled them forwards. “We were hoping to arrive for that too, ah-?” He waited for the man to supply his name, but instead-

“I like your hair!” he said to Virgil, admiring the spider web design. “Rad!”

“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, subtly trying to pull them backwards as Janus marched him to the door after the guest. “Your car is...yeah, that sure is a car.”

“Sure is!” he replied with a blindingly white smile. He flashed something at a bodyguard at the door- who had sunglasses, earpiece, everything- Virgil noted with a sickening thrill of fear.

“And your friends, sir?” the bodyguard asked.

“Yeah, yeah!” The guest tossed his car keys at his chest and headed through to a foyer filled with well-cut suits and low-cut dresses, champagne glasses and trays of canapes. Marble floors reflected the lighting, which glinted out from chandeliers above. A wide staircase glided up to the hidden upper floors.

“Oh, hey! Hey, you!” the young man yelled as soon as he got in, bounding over towards a woman who greeted him with a grin, raising her glass like a toast.

Janus and Virgil just blinked at each other. “Are you...sure?” Virgil asked quietly. “Remus is here?”

“I’m honestly not so sure any more,” Janus muttered to him. “But let’s not rely on whatever chemicals are keeping our dear friend happy, and start looking around.”

They moved through a throng of people and out into a wide ballroom, filled with yet more guests and a live string quartet playing in one corner. Along with the music was the trilling of occasional birdsong from tropical birds fluttering inside several oversized golden cages dotted around the room. A few others held white marble statues, but they couldn’t compare to the shifting flurries of reds, blues, and greens. Without agreeing on it aloud, the friends first went over to a small party congregated by one of them, in case the birds had attracted Remus.

“No, but then I said-” A balding man was proclaiming. “I said, Rudy, that’s not the Dow Jones Industrial Average at all.”

The group burst into laughter, Virgil gave Janus a bemused look, and they moved on.

Everyone was well-dressed, in sparkling necklaces or ties in jewel colours or even in more casual clothes, like the man from the sports car, which still seemed to drip wealth. Wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t that fancy a look, but when even Virgil recognised that pair from an ad campaign for a luxury fashion line which would come out next month, he guessed it didn’t matter. Nobody looked at them twice. Still, there was nobody dressed in the contents of an entire rummage-sale bin with purple eyeshadow used as contour.

“There-” Janus whispered- “Is that?”

They both froze as they watched a man with a moustache waltz past in the arms of a lady dressed in black. It wasn’t Remus.

Virgil scanned the room again, eyes passing over the gilded cages, and the tropical birds and statues inside them- nobody in the crowd admiring them was any business of his-

As they parted, the figure inside the tallest gold cage became clear. It shifted position- an animatronic? He looked more closely as it moved after everyone had turned away, fiddling with golden chains around its-

“Oh God-” he whispered. “Look.”

Virgil was an avowed atheist, but if the person inside the cage wasn’t a statue, he must have been an angel. His shining hair was cut short to show of the clean marble lines of his face. His chest was sculpted too, covered in scars which looked like they must have come from a golden sword like the one he was gripping. He looked as if he would swing it into position if not for the gold chains wrapped around his arms, tethering him to the delicate bars of the cage. He was gazing out into the distance.

Most striking of all, dove-grey wings crested over his shoulders and trailed all the way down to his ankles. His white tunic contrasted the hints of pale purple, pink and blue shimmering in his wings.

It was one of the most beautiful sights Virgil had ever seen.

He glanced at Janus for his reaction.

He found only an expression of absolute horror. Janus was completely silent for a moment, struggling for words, before he gasped. "Oh, Remus- what did they do to you?”

A cold feeling washed over him.

No- those were their friend's grey eyes, and that was the shape of his face, stripped of his facial hair and usual tacky makeup. No wonder Virgil hadn't recognised him.

Compared to the usual chaotic spark in his expression, he looked blank. As if his mind was somewhere else entirely- or like he'd been drugged.

Still, Virgil couldn’t help but be drawn back to his wings; they were hyper-realistic, even twitching as he tried to tense his shoulders to alleviate the pressure of the chains on his arms. And the amount of feathers it would have taken to make that shifting, downy gradient...not even all of Remus’ flock had that many. It was compelling, but sickening.

It felt wrong to look over his arms and legs when he was usually so adamant about covering them, so he dropped his eyes and tried to erase the knowledge of how muscled Remus was beneath his usual shapeless outfit.

It wasn’t that Virgil found his friend attractive exactly, but with wings like that, dressed like that- he was a centerpiece, clearly, and even as his stomach churned with the wrongness of the display, it was a palpable effort to keep his gaze from snapping back to him. “I’m gonna be sick,” he muttered to Janus.

“He’d never, ever choose to dress himself like that in front of everyone," Janus whispered, anger crackling red at the edges of his quiet voice. "And even if he did, he’d never shave off his moustache.”

He shook his head. “So...what do we do?”

In response, Janus sauntered over to the left, took a champagne flute from a waiter, and then gestured for his friend to follow. They zigzagged through the crowd until they got closer to Remus, whose eyes remained glazed and distant.

They stopped just by him. Up close, it was clear the tunic was some kind of cotton material, and the sword had blunted edges. He was wearing makeup too, and a lump in his mascara made Virgil feel another sharp pang of pity. As ridiculous as painting them on would have been, how real the scars looked in comparison to the rest of the outfit was jarring. He was built and scarred like a fighter, and all the little touches to make him look delicate only emphasised how roughened he was. Both were at odds with everything he knew of his friend.

“Remus,” Janus whispered. The name fell like a plea. “Remus, it’s us.”

All of a sudden, the man’s eyes snapped to them, his expression melting into disbelief. “Remus?” he echoed. It was as quiet as a whisper from a crypt. “You know him?”

“You’re-” Janus’ face fell. “Remus, that’s you-”

The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. “Twins, we’re twins- you know him? Please, is he okay?” He looked almost identical, though up close the differences began to stand out. He was probably more muscular, but who could tell under all of Remus’ clothes? The main differences were a gap between this twin’s front teeth and, more than that, his eyes. Even as he looked at them desperately, there was something missing from them, some jolt of hope or excitement which just wasn’t there. Their heaviness was an uncomfortable weight on Virgil’s face.

He wrapped an arm around himself. “Sorry, he went missing-”

“But we tracked the man he left with back here,” Janus filled in. “Isn’t he here too?”

The man shook his head again. “No, I- I’ll earn more information, after this. I don’t know anything,” he whispered. “I just know he found him, and he wants him to come back without a fight.”

Virgil never should have just watched as that man walked Remus out of the coffee shop. Long story his ass- “What the fuck is happening?”

Remus’ twin tried to shrug and then winced as the movement tugged on the chains. His wings fluttered with the movement. “They just tranqued us the first time. I don’t know why he’s delaying recapture-” He took a deep breath. “Just tell him to run away as soon as he can.” His grey eyes hardened to steel. “He might as well keep doing it.”

“I will if I can find him, thank you.” Janus took a small sip of his champagne. “What exactly was the capture for, if I can ask?”

The captive glanced around the room, and at the movement Virgil cut his eyes to the side. Nobody watched that he could see. “The wings, of course,” he said with a bitter smile. “Yes, yes, they’re real, go ahead and look at them.”

Janus’ eyes widened, subtly taking in the wings.

“My name’s Roman,” he continued in a low, urgent voice. “Tell him that Roman said to run, okay? Don’t listen to any of their offers or threats. I’m not a gladiator anymore; I’m here instead. It’s...not too bad.”

As Janus opened his mouth, Roman shook his head. “Don’t talk to me too long.”

“We can get you out,” Virgil said before he knew what he was thinking. “Whatever this is-”

“Go,” Roman insisted. “It’s not worth trying to do anything for me. And don’t call the police-”

Janus rolled his eyes. “You really don’t need to worry about that.”

“Fine.” he lifted his eyes to the middle distance again. “You should go now. Please.”

Virgil gave a little nod, taking Janus’ arm. “Okay. We’re gonna go.”

“Thank you,” Janus added. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then let Virgil lead him away.

He steered them back through the ballroom with their backs to Roman, trying not to glare into the eyes of each of the guests they passed. It would almost have been easier if there was a big fuss and show about the captive man, rather than the chatting and dancing and gossiping with, oh, a living being as a conversational curiosity-

As they came back into the entrance, Janus began to turn towards the sweeping staircase.

“No,” Virgil said under his breath, trying to tug him back to the doorway. “No fucking way. I know you’re angry but-”

“I’m not angry,” he replied coolly. “I am, rather, curious. Because I don't think they tell everything to Roman, and we’re not going to get luck like this again. Any information will help.”

He glanced up at where the staircase twisted out of sight. If Remus was up there, he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. And, despite his words, Janus was throw-ignorant-customers-out-of-the-cafe mad. Except, he wasn’t quoting memoirs of increasingly obscure activists or putting neat yellow gloves on in warning, so Virgil didn’t know what he would do.

On cue, Janus reached into his breast pocket and drew out the gloves. He slipped one on, tugging it into place. “Better for fingerprints, and more neat.” He glanced at Virgil. “You don’t have to come with me, in fact it may be better if you didn’t.”

It wasn’t fair for Janus to pull on his ridiculous gloves like a boxer about to face a much bigger opponent, and ask him not to fight by his side. Even if Virgil had decided to leave the party, it wouldn’t have been fair.

“I will,” he said, tucking his hands into hoodie paws. His heart was thumping against his ribcage as if it would break out- that was a thought to tell Remus when they saw him. “I’m gonna complain about it afterwards.”

Despite his apparent composure, it took Janus a moment too long to answer as his eyes traced Virgil’s face. “Of course.” He took his arm. “Shall we?”

He was half-expecting an alarm to blare as soon as they set foot on the first stair- but nobody noticed. They took another few steps, feet sinking into the thick red runner. The back of his neck prickled with stares, but he knew from long experience that those were imagined. Or were they? No, that was anxiety. Janus’ hand tightened on his forearm and he stopped. Above, someone paced past on a wooden floor in the measured rhythm of a guard. He gagged.

“Deep breaths,” Janus murmured.

“I hate this,” he replied. Then he forced a breath in his nose and out of his mouth.

After the footsteps faded, they kept walking until Virgil moved his heavy boot onto the polished wood floor as gently as possible. Identical two-panel white doors stretched along the hallway without any noticeable distinction, until the corridor took a right turn at the end of the row.

“You take the left, I’ll take the right,” Virgil whispered, and Janus nodded.

With their footsteps echoing almost too loud on the floor, they each crept to the far ends of the hallway. There was nothing beyond the corner except another staircase, and thankfully no more doors.

He tried the door handle on the far right with his sleeve over his hand, and it turned. He nudged it open and peeked in to see a huge bedroom strewn with suitcases and clothes, and a sparkling necklace of diamonds carelessly draped over a black dress. But no Remus. He shut it and moved onto the next.

Locked. The next was too. His hands were shaking like there was a motor in them.

He closed his eyes and leant his head against the wall, trying to ground himself in the sensation. Okay. Next one- unlocked.

It was a bathroom, all white marble and gold like downstairs. He closed the door and glanced over to Janus, who shook his head.

He glanced at the staircase before crossing the corridor and turning the handle of the middle door slightly.

A voice rose behind the door, deeper and smoother than Remus’. “Hello?”

Virgil reached in desperation for the next door handle as footsteps sounded from inside, and tugged it open in time for Janus to walk in quickly and efficiently in the rhythm of the security guard. He followed with a few strides, shutting the door behind him in with a fumbled click. The room was an empty guest bedroom. Janus was hiding himself under the bed before Virgil caught his arm and pulled him out. He headed to the big sliding window.

“Please, please-” he whispered to himself, trying to lift it. Locked, locked, oh God-

Janus searched the mantelpiece for a moment before pressing a cold key into Virgil’s hand. He tried to put it in but his hands were shaking too badly and he couldn’t-

Janus took it off him. It fit with a click.

Virgil pushed up the window in a rush of cool air. He climbed out onto the little ornamental balcony running between a few windows and stood flat to the wall, chest heaving, before Janus followed with a tumble. He reached over and shut the window while Janus crouched down below the sill. The room was still empty.

Virgil slid down the wall, trembling hands over his mouth. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and he was sure he would be sick-

Janus had curled into a ball, forehead to the stone of the balcony.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.

After a while, they ended up both sitting side by side in the space between the two windows, hands twisted together. It was silent.

Virgil glanced back into the room. “It’s empty,” he whispered. “We should leave.”

Janus nodded. “One moment-” He crept towards the other window and peeked in the bottom before he dropped to the ground, hand over his mouth.

Virgil widened his eyes. On cue, his heart finished its brief rest.

Janus pointed to his suit jacket, then made a rectangle shape with his fingers. Virgil frowned. His friend repeated the gesture, and it clicked. Black card.

He so, so badly wanted to run now, but instead he crawled over to poke Janus in the side so he would move over to give him space by the window. Their eyes met, and Virgil pulled his hood over his cold ears to settle in for a wait. He kept his head down, pillowed on his forearms, while Janus risked peeking up every few minutes.

Suddenly, Janus grabbed his arm. Virgil lifted his head. He could just about see Roman standing in the doorway, rubbing at the deep red marks around his forearms, and the captor leaning back in a leather armchair holding a glass.

Janus put his hands up to the window-

“Janus,” Virgil hissed, but then the window slid a crack upwards and voices travelled through.

“Quite the party, wasn’t it?” the captor said, pouring himself a drink.

Roman nodded too quickly. “Yeah,” he said in a hoarse voice, attempting a smile which didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed on a closed silver laptop on a side table. “Yes, it was...very grand!”

He rolled his eyes. “What did you think of the decor?”

“Quite magnificent! Like a- an aviary in a palace.” His wings were trembling as though there were a breeze running through them.

Tilting his head and looking Roman up and down, the captor spoke just as genially as he had in the cafe. “You really aren’t as interesting as your brother was. Too many blows to the head, no doubt.”

Roman’s mouth tightened. His fists had too.

Against the deep, comfortable, red-brown tones of leather and what must have been genuine mahogany, and the backs of books all bound neatly and sticking out of the shelf as though frequently read, Roman’s outfit stood out as even more fake. Gold accents in the sandals he was wearing matched the subtle gold trimmings of the room, but if the study were a convincing stage, Roman looked like a badly cast understudy.

The captor laughed. “Predictable. This isn’t the fighting pits.”

Virgil and Janus shared a look before watching again.

“Your brother’s been living like a tramp and he’s still more beautiful than you are, under all the mess,” he commented, as casually as if he was observing the weather. Roman’s eyebrows drew together, watching for the end of the statement. He brought up a hand to cover a scar along the edge of his neck. “He’s not as scraped up as you, of course. And he really-” He swirled his whiskey for a moment before taking a sip of it. “He really is genuine. You can imagine worse things than this, can’t you?”

He paused, then nodded.

He shrugged. “He can’t. That’s the difference.”

Janus grabbed Virgil’s hand. He curled over and pressed it to his own forehead. Virgil rested his hand on his back and bent to whisper in his ear. “Hey, only I need to listen, so-”

He shook his head and Virgil cut off, peeking back over the windowsill.

For just a moment Roman glanced at the window before he asked, “So, where is Remus anyways?” He seemed to freeze as he waited for the answer, a statue once again.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He held his hand out and Roman looked at him blankly. “The laptop,” he snapped.

“Oh!” He grabbed it from the side table and tried to hand it over from a distance.

He took it and flipped it open. Roman stepped back immediately, hopping from one foot to the other like a boxer. Virgil felt himself tapping on Janus’ back in sympathy.

The captor flipped the screen open and typed for a moment before he began to read something. Virgil felt Janus’ chest go still.

The captor laughed. “Oh, would you look at that- “Queer Eye’s Karamo Brown urged to cut ties with Salvation Army”.” He shook his head. “There’s nothing worse than a hypocrite- did you know about this?”

Remus’ brother’s jaw tensed and he shook his head.

He carried on reading for a little while, tutting, and then switching to another tab. “Okay, fine- come and look.”

He crossed the room to stand behind the man, hands gripping onto the back of the sofa as if he would fall over without its support.

“Don’t touch the furniture.” With a roll of his eyes, he reached his hand behind him, twisted his hand into his captive’s wing- then tugged. As he pulled a handful of feathers away Virgil winced, but Roman only reacted with a tightening of his hands. Then he took a measured step back from the couch.

“You know,” the captor said so softly that Virgil had to strain to hear him. “You know, Remus would have cried and cried at that.” He scattered the feathers, spotted with blood, over the floor. “That, or started swearing- and the crying would come after that.”

“You’ve told me before,” Roman snapped. As soon as he spoke, he froze again. “Oh, uh- I’m sorry-”

The laptop clicked shut. “I asked you to behave this evening,” the captor said, getting up and tucking it under his arm. Virgil and Janus crouched down further. For some reason, a tiny chip in the stone paving caught Virgil’s eyes. A tiny fissure ran from it into the rest of the solid slab. “That meant all of this evening.”

“Please-” His voice broke, and pitched high it sounded like Remus’. Janus’ hand tightened on Virgil’s until it hurt.

“Out.”

Virgil tugged on Janus’ hand and bent his head to his ear. “C’mon, we need to go.”

Janus looked up. His eyes were shining, and at the same time Virgil felt like a monster for not crying and a sharp annoyance that his friend had given into his emotions. He took a deep breath, and both feelings passed. He tugged on his hand again. “Okay, time to go,” he whispered.

He decided not to risk closing the window while the man was still in the room, just nudging Janus to the side. They crept across the balcony, slid up the far window, and climbed through one after the other, painfully slow.

They padded through the empty room, then opened the door and slipped out together. Downstairs, the last of the party guests were trailing out, either upright with exhaustion shining in their eyes to match the sparkle of their jewels, or with the help of a few discreet employees supporting champagne-soggy legs. Wordlessly, Janus slung his arm over Virgil’s shoulder, and he let his friend lean on him as they passed security and walked down the long drive to the dark street. He was heavy, but Virgil was careful not to stumble.

They carried on walking that way until the corner, when Janus straightened up and adjusted his jacket. Still, they crossed the road side-by-side and didn’t speak.

As they walked, the bottom of the sky was being washed out into greyness. The houses were unlit now, and they looked smaller in the dark. It just barely smelt of metallic dew. Virgil thought he might start screaming if he opened his mouth.

They reached the bus station sooner than expected. There was half-an-hour before the first early-morning bus. With a huff of air, he sat down on the pavement and leaned his back against the pole.

“Well that was just what we expected, wasn’t it?” Janus said lightly. He stayed standing, facing the mansion they had come from. Virgil looked up at him in silence. “I’m going to murder that man,” he continued in the same tone. “The security for that house is shocking. I’m sure it isn’t that hard. Perhaps I should let the twins do it, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll help bury the body.”

“You know, Virgil,” Janus met his eyes. “You really are the best friend anyone could ask for.”

"What?" he mumbled as he looked down. "He was a dick."

"Come now, you also broke into the house of someone connected to illegal fighting rings whose interior decoration tended to the alive and miserable.”

Heat flooded into his face. “Least I can do.”

“Quite a bit more than the least.” His lips quirked into a smile. “Especially for someone who was terrified of talking to customers a year ago.”

"Oh, shut up." He poked Janus' neat brogue with his boot. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes here figured out the whole thing anyway." His chest felt funny, and he hugged his arms around it.

"Well, Watson," He took a deep breath and decided to stop tormenting Virgil with his tenderness. "I have our final deduction- the man had no clue where Remus is."

"Really?"

Janus shook his head. “He was just looking for an excuse for Roman to slip up the whole time. Taunting him, the furniture, physically hurting him- it was all trying to push him to some tiny ‘infraction’ so he could bluff about the information.”

“Huh.” He replayed the events and nodded slowly. “Sure, I can see that. Still, we don’t know if he’s always like that. He didn’t deny the information when Roman touched the furniture- which is a fucked up rule, Jan- I don’t know if him not saying where Remus is was an excuse at all. He said Remus was better than his brother, and he gets pissed when you suggest cutting those clumps out of his hair. He must have been-” He regretted saying it to Janus, but it was deduction time. “He must have been really- cruel to him for Remus to act anything like Roman. He enjoys being cruel, clearly.”

“You’re right.” He twisted the finger of his glove. “Still, surely telling Roman about how scared Remus was would upset him. And he didn’t, so something doesn’t add up.”

Well, his intuition hadn’t lied before. “So what do we do?”

“We find Remus first.” He straightened his shoulders. “Remy would have texted if he went back to the apartment, we can assume he’s not at the cafe since he was found there, and he could have gone to his usual parks and streets but if he’s being watched he wouldn’t. So, where would he go?”

“It wouldn’t be anywhere with a lot of people,” Virgil added. “Or maybe even with a lot of birds, since they all come to him. Somewhere abandoned?”

Janus nodded. “I think we could check out some of the old warehouse districts.”

He nodded. “Sounds like a start. That one’s only ten minutes after the home one.”

They waited quietly, each caught up in their own thoughts. The bus to their district began trundling past until it slowed down for them and the door opened.

Janus shook his head at the driver. “Sorry, we’re not coming.”

She began to close the doors again without comment.

“Wait!” Virgil waved at her. “Wait a moment! Wait-”

She stopped with a huff almost as loud as the bus’ exhaust. Janus let Virgil pull him through the door by his hand, tapping his card dutifully.

He raised an eyebrow as they stumbled into some seats.

“Where’s the place we were talking about running to just before, uh, bird-friend left?” Virgil whispered, even though he doubted the tired commuters would be listening in for names and details. “And where can you bury the kind of bird friend in our freezer? And where wouldn’t be a place you’d search?”

“The forest?” he replied. There was only a scrubby patch of it outside the city.

“Yup. Look, we should go back to the cafe to get Loki, anyone asks and we’re just, you know, getting rid of the health violation in the fridge in a way which isn’t a health risk to a park or anything.”

Janus stifled a yawn. “That’s very smart.”

“Thanks, it was kinda impulsive, but-” Virgil shrugged as he looked out the window at the unrelenting row of houses. “I’m happy to be out of there.” He tucked his arm around his friend. “And you can nap until we get there.”

“I’m just fine, Virgil,” Janus replied, affronted. “Besides, I don’t want to rumple my outfit.”

Virgil gave an exaggerated yawn himself, and Janus immediately followed. He glared at him, which only made Virgil give him a small grin. “Bedtime.”

He was met with a head thunking onto his shoulder. “You had better wake me up in time,” he threatened.

“I will.” He readjusted so he was more comfortable. “We’ll be fine.”

*

By time they reached the cafe the sky was white and grey. Virgil waited by the bus stop, leaning his head against it as a half-asleep Janus unlocked the front. After enough time for Virgil to consider if he could sleep upright (five minutes), he reappeared with a canvas bag with a rainbow flag hand-printed on it, and a stack of three sandwiches, which he handed to Virgil.

The bus came soon after, and they collapsed into one of the back seats.

They had barely finished the sandwiches by the time they reached their next stop. They got out onto a cracked bit of sidewalk and looked at the trees rising above them. Silent, they walked forward until the concrete suddenly ended.

Virgil breathed in the stench of wild garlic and dug his toe into the slimy layer of dead leaves. Damp air curled in his mouth as though it would die peacefully there. Something chittered in the distance, and then cut off suddenly. He tried to tilt his head up to look at the trees and suddenly the vertigo of only sleeping for a few hours on the bus journeys hit him.

It was a world away from the gilded cage and the dizzying party.

He took a deep breath. “This feels right.”

Janus nodded. He tucked the bag under his arm carefully. “I hope…” he trailed off softly. “Well, Virgil, let us venture onwards.”

He touched his friend’s elbow for just a moment before he walked into the dark trees. After a moment, Janus followed, and they walked on together.

There was occasional litter, plastic bags and water bottles, but as they got deeper into the thick trees and tangled brambles along the forest floor it disappeared. Janus winced as he tried to lift his perfectly shone shoes over a muddy patch Virgil’s leather boots trudged through with ease. The trees were stout and gnarled, fungus protruding out of them like infections.

They wandered without any real direction, just trying to make their way further into the labyrinth of trees.

Virgil suddenly caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and he grabbed his friend’s arm.

It could have been a pile of abandoned clothes and torn out feathers-

But there was a glimpse of leopard print, and the vague outline of wings, and a low crooning coming from the figure curled there.

Janus crouched down six feet away from him, laying Loki’s bag by his side. “Remus,” he said so softly that Virgil barely heard it. “Remus, it’s Janus.”

Remus froze. Then his wings curved up around him. They were a lot taller than Janus was crouching. A pair of grey eyes came up to meet Janus’. His lips parted as he looked over the two of them. His purple and green makeup was smeared together until it looked like a black eye, and even his moustache seemed to have its own case of bed-head.

“We-” Virgil cleared his throat against a sudden lump. “Well, Janus, mostly, he found the guy’s house? And we went there, and, uh, we were worried about you so we looked.”

His eyes widened.

“We found your brother,” Janus said in a quiet voice. “Roman. He told us to tell you that he wasn’t a gladiator any more; he was there instead. That it, uh, wasn’t too bad.”

For a moment, Remus stopped breathing. Then he brought his hands up to his head, slumping his shoulders and letting his wings wrap around himself. “Bullshit,” he said hoarsely. “What else did he say?”

Janus bit his lip. “He told you to run away as soon as you could, and not to listen to anything they offered or threatened.”

Remus made a strangled yelping laugh which set Virgil’s teeth on edge. His wings were trembling so much that there was a slight breeze on his face. “Roman’s saviour goddamn hero bullshit-” He twined his fingers into his hair and started tugging. “He’s not- fuck,” he winced as he caught a matted section. “Not pathetic enough for that job.”

Janus tried to reach a hand out to untangle his hands from his hair, but Remus only stilled and leaned his head into his glove. Janus gently tugged at his wrist, but Remus wrapped his fingers around his hand and held it to his hair.

“Dude, you’re not pathetic. You broke out of that place all by yourself?” Virgil found his voice off-putting in the silence, but he kept speaking. “That’s hard. And you hid in the same town, in plain sight, for ages. And-”

“I ran away,” Remus said into his knees. “And I knew he’d get punished or die. He had to fight people. All goring out eyeballs and pulling out guts by the handful. Or the clawful. Depended on what kind of people were captured.”

“There are more people like you?”

He shrugged and, just like his brother, the movement made his wings move. “With the weird animal thing? Oh, sure. I would rather have a tentacle dick but you get what you get.” He spoke without humour.

Janus pressed a tiny kiss to the back of his hand, not seeming to care about the smear of dirt on it. “Darling, I’m sure you’re well enough endow-”

“No!” Virgil yelled, holding his hands up. “I have risked myself too many times today for you two to have to listen to that from you.”

Remus shrunk back further into a ball. “Sorry.”

For a moment Virgil was struck genuinely speechless. Then his brow furrowed. “Hey, no, I was just teasing.”

Janus turned to glare at him. He widened his eyes in response. Maybe he should have guessed Remus would be more delicate, but, well, it was Remus.

“Anyway, it’s okay, alright?” he attempted.

“Yeah, sure.” He lifted his head and smudged his makeup even more with the heel of his hand. “Fine.”

Virgil pulled the third sandwich out of his pocket and handed it over. “Figured you’d want that.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Remus took it and began to carefully undo the wrapping. He took a small bite of the corner. “Mom and Dad are normal but Roman and I just were just born this way- oh there ain’t no other way,” he sang as he shimmied his wings. “But we lived in the middle of nowhere, and we stayed at home our whole lives, even though we talked a lot about hiding ourselves so that we could move. We kept ourselves to ourselves and we had a farm.” He threw his crust to the forest floor, seemingly by habit of having his flock around him. “Hope they didn’t search there for me; that would suck. Our parents saw us get captured, so at least they know what happened.”

Janus nodded as he listened. “How long ago was that?”

“Two years.” He stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Goodness,” he said softly. “I can’t imagine.”

The corners of Remus’ moustache twitched up into a smile. “Nah, you couldn’t. Thanks,” he said through the remains of his sandwich.

Virgil waited for him to finish eating.

“We brought Loki with us, in the bag,” he said. “We figured it would be a good cover, and we can hold the funeral here.” He reached into the bag to pull out a trowel. They definitely hadn’t had one in the cafe, so Janus must have stored it there after Remus disappeared.

Janus reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew out a bag of classic Lays. He handed them over to Remus. “I do hope the flavour’s alright. I think it’s a classic.”

“Perfect,” he muttered. He stumbled up to his feet with a wince, holding his wings out for balance. Even without them fully spread out, the wingspan blocked the entire section of tree behind him. He rolled his shoulders back and flapped his wings.

Both of them stared.

Remus grinned and widened his eyes. “I can fly, you know. I could shit on you midair like-” All at once, his face crumpled and he held a hand up to his mouth. “Sorry, it all hit me again,” he said with a voice like sandpaper.

Virgil put his hoodie sleeve over his mouth as he swallowed back a guilty laugh. He started digging into the soft forest soil to distract himself.

He heard a flutter of feathers- had he been missing that under the whisper of all Remus’ shifting clothes before? - and then sobbing into a suit jacket. It was kind of scratchy on your face, Virgil knew, but it hid tears pretty well. He moved his whole shoulder into his digging, watching a depression form as the other two murmured words of upset and comfort to each other.

“I thought it was you,” whispered Janus against the shell of Remus’ ear. “And- my heart just stopped.”

“I wish it was.” Remus leant his forehead against Janus’ chest.

“But then how would I hold you, hm?” he replied, and there was the brush of fabric on fabric. “We’ll get him out.”

“You promise?” Remus said, and Virgil’s hand clenched around the handle. It wasn’t a good idea to-

“Promise. Split my chest open with a pickaxe and hope to pickle my heart.”

There was a wet laugh. “Kinky.”

“Come now, that was romance as well as kink.” His best friend’s voice was unbearably soft.

A warm feeling settled in Virgil’s chest despite the chill of the weather. Dammit. He stabbed the trowel into the ground again, ignoring the wetness in his own eyes.

He kept digging, until a set of feathers nudged into his face. “Did you poke me from all the way over there?” Virgil asked incredulously. Remus’ wing was as wide as he was tall, and he used it to poke him in the cheek again. It was a little disconcerting to see how much it moved like, well, a limb of his.

A feather brushed over the tears on his cheek. The wing retracted, and Remus came over to kneel by him and take the trowel. He sunk it into the ground, gouging out a huge section of earth with a small battle-cry. He flung it over his shoulder rather than adding to Virgil’s careful pile and then grinned at him.

A smile tugged at his mouth as he reached for the bag. “I think you finished the grave.”

He carefully wrapped the pigeon in the canvas bag Janus had chosen for her and handed it to Remus.

He looked at the little bundle in his hands for a long moment. Then he took her out of the bag. He began to unwind the plastic wrap.

Janus winced.

“That’s not clean-” Virgil whispered.

“It’s going to pollute the forest otherwise,” he replied without looking away from the corpse in his hands. “This is more natural. Besides, they’re pretty clean birds.”

So they watched in silence as he carefully took it all off and placed her in the grave. She was still intact, though her body had stiffened. “Thanks for being here, even if you were technically using her to stalk me,” he said. “Um, this was Loki. She was mischievous, and bold, and really smart. I’m going to miss her.” He cleared his throat and nodded, eyes wet. “Okay. Ready.”

Virgil scooped a handful of dirt with his trowel and scattered it over her. It pattered softly against the earth. Remus was staring hard into the distance. A few rays of sun poked through the trees as he pushed the rest of the dirt back into place. “Should we leave some rocks or something?”

Janus nodded. “I can collect-”

“I thought Roman was dead until a few days ago,” Remus interrupted. It sounded like a statement from a scratchy vinyl recording. “Ghosties are easier to carry around than big living brothers who got jacked from murder. Whatever you need me to do to get him out, I’ll do it. Killing, going back- whatever.”

“I don’t need you to do those things,” Janus said firmly. “All I need you to do now is come to my apartment,” he turned to his friend. “I’m not putting you in any further danger, Virgil-”

“Bullshit.”

He paused, brow furrowing. “Beg pardon?”

“That’s bullshit,” he repeated. “This is the part where you’re you’re going to think you’re being really smart about everything,” he held his hands up, “but you stick to your principles too much and you risk yourself and maybe those two-”

“Thank you for your confidence, Virgil,” he said acidicly.

“Anyway.” This was a spectacularly bad idea. “I’m helping.”

Defensive, his voice grew more formal. “If this is about the court cases, or the job, I promise you that you owe me nothing-”

“I like you, and I like Remus, and I don’t like what’s happening.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big thing; it’s just as simple as that. Okay?”

After a moment, Janus gave a nod.

“Aw, you like me?” Remus cooed. He wiggled his shoulders and grinned, his eyes crinkling up at the corners.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Course.”

Janus gave Remus a helplessly fond smile. “Then it’s decided. I think we could all use some sleep, then we start this evening.”

[lloydskywalkers]

So on the incredibly rare occasion that I do write romance, I have the ability to write one (1) single romance and that is all, and that’s Dumb Fools in Love. Which hopefully fits here, because it’s Glass Girl’s namesake day, so i gotta at least try for @speedythecat, it’s what she desERVES.

(happy valentines this is disgusting fluff anyways i love u speedy)

Lloyd likes the way construction paper sounds. It’s kind of therapeutic, the sound it makes as he drags the scissors through the middle. It’s even more satisfying when he uses them to start stabbing gaping holes through the paper, because he went and ruined the stupid heart shape again, and now he’s running out of pink and red construction paper that doesn’t look like he took a vicious katana to it and went crazy.

“Stupid scissors—”

He doesn’t know if Rain even likes pink or red that much, Lloyd reminds himself dismally, as he untangles his fingers from the scissors. Just that they’re thematically appropriate to the essence of the holiday, or whatever, and they apparently must’ve been the only two colors that existed when whoever came up with Valentine’s Day was around. He hasn’t even found actual purple in any of the little cards he’s seen, just some floral lavender.

Lloyd glances down to the pile of pink and red paper strewn across the table in front of him, then back to the instructions he’s printed out for himself. Then back to the paper.

Maybe he can just like, die instead.

Lloyd is about ninety percent sure that he can’t be the only person to ever look up “how to make Valentine’s Day cards” on the internet before, but it still feels like a crushing blow to his pride and an overall dumb move in general as he does.

But he’s only slightly desperate right now, and he really doesn’t want to reach fully desperate, so he’s willing to suck up his pride if it means not totally ruining his girlfriend’s hopes and dreams by giving her a sub-par and ultimately disappointing Valentine’s Day card that looks like he doesn’t even understand the holiday in the first place.

To be fair, though, he kinda doesn’t.

Like, Lloyd knows what Valentine’s Day is, obviously. He’s not an idiot. He’s just…never really participated in it…as a person. It seems like all the others have cute little stories of getting paper cut-outs and candy hearts in grade school (which he can get behind, if there’s candy), but Lloyd’s experience in grade school was general scorn toward anything love-related at all. Valentine’s Day was well out of the question. Lloyd didn’t even know it existed until he walked straight into a street stand that looked like red and pink had thrown up all over it, before being drowned in like, twenty-dozen bouquets of roses.

He’d been an awful brat of a child then, so at the time, he’d dealt with it by kicking the stand over and being totally grossed out. Now, however, he’s left wondering if those bouquets are worth the money, or if he should invest in the slightly bigger ones they sell over on the east side stands.

How the tables have turned, Lloyd sighs miserably to himself, struggling to peel another stubborn strip of glitter glue from his hand where it’s dried there, sparkling mockingly at him.  Finally digging the glue free, Lloyd brushes his hands off and glances down at his paper.

Go for handmade.

Well, that one’s easy, ‘cause there’s no way Lloyd’s physically bringing himself to walk into a store and buy Rain some cheesy card with a bunch of generic hearts on it. This, of course, leaves the problem that Lloyd now has to come up with the card, and the only thing that’s coming to mind are generic, cheesy hearts.

Hmm. Lloyd taps the edge of the table, humming beneath his breath. He can draw pretty well, but he’s not like, an artist. Not like Cole is, or anything. Lloyd is a lot better at cartoon characters and funny little caricatures of the others than he is, say, detailed roses or something.

Rain likes cats, right? he muses. He could draw a cat, and then maybe have it holding a heart, or something. That’d be kinda cute, maybe. And then he’d get to make some awful pun like “you’re paw-sitively purr-fect”—

Lloyd slams his head down on the table. Nope. This is why he’s not allowed to come up with the idea himself. He’s worse than all the awful grocery store cards put together.

Something in his nose tickles, and he sneezes, sending up sparkly dust all around him. Lloyd blinks, then bites back a moan. Belatedly, he realizes he’s just dunked his head in glitter dust.

It could’ve been the glue, he tries to comfort himself.

Figuring he’s already doomed, Lloyd makes peace with the fact that he’s just going to live the rest of his day resembling a blond disco ball, and lifts his head to return to task, squinting at what’s next on the list.

Make it personal.

Again, that one should be easy too, because it’s Rain. But what’s supposed to count as personal? Is it like, I-love-you personal, or here’s-a-reference-to-inside-joke-number-fifty-eight kind of personal? Should he do both? He and Rain have too many inside jokes, though, it’ll take him half the day to pick one, and he’s already running out of time. Rain’s supposed to be back at noon, and Lloyd does not have that kind of time to kill.

He drums his fingers against the table-top, staring at the outlined drawing of Rain his fingers have absently started sketching out, right next to his doodles of little cats and a mini-Overlord raging terror on the glitter glue scattered across the paper.

Lloyd frowns at the last one. Oops. Well, he can’t give her this now.

“Is that supposed to be the Overlord? You can’t give Rain that for Valentine’s Day.”

Lloyd jumps half a foot out of his chair and slams his knee into the table just so that his entire leg goes dead, his shriek of surprise strangling off as he chokes on the erupting cloud of glitter dust.

By the time he winds down coughing, wiping the reflexive tears from his eyes and glaring, Kai is just staring at him, mildly concerned and whole lot unimpressed.

“A little warning, please.”

“I’ve been standing here for five minutes, bud, it’s not my fault you’re in dreamland.” Kai glances down at the table-top of scattered construction paper and glitter dust, and his mouth trembles, like he’s holding back laughter. “Are you…trying to make a card, or mass-murdering our construction paper supply?”

Lloyd feels his cheeks go scarlet, and he sputters. “I’m not — no, I’m just—” He waves his hands in the air, wishing he could disappear. “Valentine’s Day,” he finally says, haplessly. “Rain. Card.”

“Ah,” Kai says, nodding. He eyes the butchered pile of paper. “It’s going…good, then?”

Lloyd buries his face in his hands, groaning. “I keep ruining it. I’ve never done Valentine’s Day before, Kai, this is a disaster. Rain’s gonna hate it.”

“Aw, don’t say that,” Kai says, sliding into the chair next to him, patting him on the shoulder. “Rain’ll be fine with…whatever…you end up making. It’s not that big a deal.” He laughs, rolling his eyes. “I mean, it’s not like she’s going to get horribly upset because you butchered her favorite holiday and dump you for some chump with better taste.”

Lloyd freezes dead, his eyes widening. He has not yet considered this option. What if he does ruin Rain’s entire holiday with his awful gift? What if, by completely disrespecting her last name’s namesake — thing — she does get horribly upset and runs off with like, Ariya to the desert or something, and—

Kai blinks, then his eyes go wide. “Lloyd, wait — no, it was a joke, Lloyd, don’t get that look on your face — Nya!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

And that’s how Lloyd ends up cornered by his entire team at the kitchen table, covered in glitter dust and currently living out his worst life as they try to decide the best way for him not to totally sabotage his love life in one go.

“Honestly, I never really got Valentine’s Day,” Kai remarks. “I didn’t get the whole grade school experience as much, since we homeschooled for the most part. It’s just a lot of hearts and chocolate and flowers and stuff, right?”

“Um, it’s a lot more than that,” Jay rolls his eyes. “It was classroom warfare. Your like, entire life status was measured by how many Valentines you’d get. It was totally lame,” he scowls.

“I dunno, I always got a whole lot,” Cole muses. “I could never figure out why, though. I wasn’t super popular, or anything...”

They all stare at Cole for a beat, where he stands haloed beneath the kitchen lights in all his wavy-haired glory.

“Hopeless,” Jay sighs.

“This isn’t grade school, though,” Nya says. “This is Lloyd’s actual relationship, which we are helping him with, so let’s hear actual helpful stuff, please.”

“Again,” Kai shrugs. “Flowers. Chocolate. Hearts. Bam, you’re good.”

“For crying out loud,” Jay groans. “How do magazines keep labeling you the smooth one.”

“Hold on, he’s got a point with the chocolate part,” Cole points out.

“Of course, you would choose that part to focus on,” Zane sighs.

“Guys, enough,” Nya cuts over them. “I said helpful stuff, not the most generic ideas ever. I mean, chocolate’s nice, but Lloyd’ll probably eat it all before it gets to Rain anyways—”

“I would not!” Lloyd protests.

“—and the card’s gonna be the focal point, so hearts are covered.” Nya glances down the pile of butchered construction paper in front of Lloyd, and winces. “We’ll, uh, help you with that part. But first, let’s plan.” She tugs a half-torn piece of construction paper toward her, uncapping a marker. “What all does Rain like, for starters?”

“Well,” Lloyd pauses, thinking. “She does like flowers, and — no, no I am not going to ask Lief for help, no way, not a chance.”

“Just a suggestion!” Jay throws his hands up in defense. “He’s her friend, though, so he’d probably have some ideas, y’know?”

“So. Not. Worth it.”

“Okay, okay, geez.”

Nya rolls her eyes, but scribbles ‘flowers — not from Lief’ on the paper anyways. “Good, but that’s still pretty standard stuff. Anything else a little more creative? Something that really says Rain to you.”

“She likes rocks,” Lloyd nods.

The marker squeaks violently on the paper, and Nya makes a dying sound in the back of her throat. Kai breaks into snickering, and Jay whacks him on the shoulder, giggling.

“There you go, bud, perfect Valentine’s gift. Give her a rock.”

“No,” Nya says firmly, glaring at Jay. She then turns the glare on Lloyd, who immediately shrinks lower in his seat. “Rocks, Lloyd, really — okay. Okay, do you know anything else she likes? That’s not rocks?”

“Uh, she likes…glass?” Lloyd says, weakly. “And um, seashells. And tea, and — she really does like rocks, I’m serious! Like, cool ones—“

“You are not giving Rain a rock for Valentine’s Day!”

“A cool rock!”

“That doesn’t make it any more acceptable!”

“Ughhh.” Lloyd slides down in his chair with a dying moan, throwing his arms over his face. “You ruin everything. She likes those little paper cranes, I guess. And, uh…”

“You,” Zane reminds him. “She likes you. Therefore, she will most likely love anything you give her, since it’s from you.”

Normally, Lloyd would just scoff at that, but Zane’s voice is so sincere it actually helps, a little. Lloyd sits up in his seat a bit, his crossed arms loosening. “Well…”

“Yeah! So why don’t you just draw her a cat that says like, ‘you’re purr-fect’, or something?” Jay suggests. “That sounds like you.”

Lloyd slams his head against the table, once again accidentally dunking himself in glitter dust. He can’t bring himself to care this time, because the whole world apparently just knows him for terrible puns.

“Stop being so melodramatic, you’re going to remind her of her brother,” Nya clips. Lloyd chokes on his tongue, and dissolves into a fit of manic sputtering as Kai claps him on the back, encouraging him to breathe.

“—was just a joke, Lloyd, don’t take her seriously.”

“—time and place, Nya, time and place—!”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

It takes several disastrous attempts and more than a few marker wars — Kai in particular is sporting some spectacular pink sharpie marks along the side of his face, and Lloyd’s got streaking red marks across his forearms as the price for protecting his own face — but Lloyd end up with one brightly-colored, cursive-lettered Valentine’s card for Rain.

He’s feeling pretty confident in it, actually. It says everything he wants it to say, while looking pretty but dignified, and it’s only got one cat on it, so he’s — he’s pretty sure Rain will like it. A lot more than any of his other disastrous attempts, he assures himself. Now all he’s gotta do is grab the flowers Nya made him promise to get, and according to both Wikihow and his family, he’ll have the perfect Valentine. Armed with that knowledge, Lloyd strides confidently for the kitchen table to grab an envelope.

Only to freeze dead when he comes face-to-face with Rain, who’s bent over studying said disastrous attempts from earlier, that he’s left out in full view on the kitchen table like a complete moron.

Rain’s currently got one of his first attempts in her hands, her finger tracing the little design he’d drawn. Her hair’s down right now, all silvery and smooth and falling over her face, so he can’t see her expression.

Lloyd is highly considering running for the hills by like, hurling himself out the kitchen window, when Rain turns around, the end her nose still red from the outside cold, freckles standing out more than usual on her cheeks. Lloyd freezes in place.

She holds up one of the ruined cards. “Are all these...for me?”

Lloyd’s soul makes the executively wise decision to exit his body right then.

“They’re — I — no, they’re for, uh—”

Lloyd’s mind backfires. Shoot, he can’t say they’re for someone else, they’ve got ‘I love you’ and other sappy stuff all over them, what’s he supposed to do—

“They’re, uh, for my grandmother.”

Rain raises an eyebrow. “Your grandmother…named Rain,” she says slowly, reading the name that’s brightly plastered everywhere.

“Her name’s Rain too,” Lloyd tries, weakly.

Rain raises her other eyebrow. She wordlessly holds up one of the cards, pointing to where “Rain Allira Valentine” is highlighted. Lloyd mentally makes a note to murder Kai later as her finger slides down to the “Mr. Rain Valentine” right below, her lips trembling as she tries to hold back a snicker.

“Um.” At least she’s laughing, Lloyd tells himself. She hasn't run off to the desert yet. “I have a better one for you, I swear. Those are just — really, really bad first attempts, which you were never supposed to see, ever.”

Please forget they ever existed, is on the tip of his tongue, but Rain’s expressions softens, her eyes fond as she looks from the cards to him.

“I don’t know, these are…kinda sweet,” she admits, her cheeks going a bit pink.

“Oh,” Lloyd says, his own face heating. “That’s! That’s good, I guess. I mean, this new one’s — it’s a whole lot better, though, and uh…” He frantically rubs the back of his head, trying to get his brain back online and working properly again. Unfortunately, the action sends a tiny shower of sparkles raining from his hand, and Lloyd remembers in horror that he never got that glitter dust out.

Rain smirks, biting back a laugh. “Hold on,” she says, stepping in close. “You’ve got some — here.”

She pushes a hand through his hair, her fingers gently tangling through the thick blond strands before pulling away, leaving her fingers stained in glitter dust. She gives a tiny snicker, then brushes at his hair with her other hand, neatly sweeping a shower of glitter dust from it before carefully tousling his hair back in place.

“There,” she says. “Now you don’t look as much like a disco ball.”

“Maybe I wanted to look like a disco ball,” Lloyd says, petulantly. “Lloyd Disco Ball Garmadon, that’s me.”

“Then I’d have to make you another Valentine’s card,” Rain says, and Lloyd finally spots the envelope she’s been keeping behind her back. “Because I definitely messed up your middle name, if that’s the case.”

Lloyd blinks rapidly. “Wait, you got me one?”

Rain freezes, looking unsure. “Um…yes? That’s kind of…the point, right? You give Valentine’s to people you lo—like—um, love.”

Lloyd’s definitely red now. “I-I probably wouldn’t know,” he finally stammers. “Darkley’s wasn’t too big on Valentine’s.”

Lloyd immediately wants to hit himself, because Rain’s here being sweet and talking about love, and he’s bringing up Darkley’s like a motor-mouthed moron. And now Rain looks sad, and is it too late for Lloyd to pitch himself out the window—?

“Well, lucky for you, I know all about it,” Rain suddenly says, firmly. “You’ll just have to spend the day with me, so I can give you the run-down.”

“That I can do,” Lloyd grins brightly in relief.

“It’s a date, then,” Rain beams, before her smile hitches in laughter. “And you, um, you have more glitter. On your cheek.”

Lloyd wipes quickly at his face. “Oh, come on — did I get it?”

“No, now you’re just — okay, stop, I’ll get it, hold on.”

Rain steps nearer again, brushing her thumb across his cheek once, then again. “There,” she nods satisfied. She doesn’t move back, though, standing close enough that Lloyd can count her freckles, and see every shade of teal in her eyes. There’s a hint of a smile left on her face, and Lloyd swallows. This would probably be like, the perfect time to—

“For FSM’s sake, kiss her, you moron, she’s totally set you up for it—”

Kai’s voice cuts off in a strangled choking sound as Nya throttles him while both Rain and Lloyd go scarlet, and Lloyd makes another mental note to murder Kai a second time later.

“Wanna go out?” Lloyd suggests hastily, his face flaming. “The candy’s probably not gonna be on sale yet, but I bet we can get someone to cut us a deal.”

“Yes,” Rain nods fervently. “Let’s — out. Go out. Of here, sounds good.”

“Great,” Lloyd says, then snatches both their jackets from the hook before fleeing, Rain trailing behind him as they sprint past the others, stifling laughter as Lloyd desperately avoids making eye contact with anyone. Rain’s muffling giggles too, though, and Lloyd can’t help breathing out a laugh as he flings open the doors tumbling out into the chilly February weather.

“So, I have a question,” he says, as their footsteps fall into pace down the street. “What do you think of like, rocks as a present?”

“Hm, I don’t know. Is it like, a cool rock?”

“I mean, hypothetically? Yeah, a super cool rock.”

“Well, if it’s super cool. Then that’d be a good one, I guess.”

“I knew it—!”

[jcmorrigan]

Tales from the Scrap Heap: Nothing to Lose but You

I decided to start “Tales from the Scrap Heap” as a little series on my blog for fanfiction ideas that I never got into print. Because my brain is really, really good at coming up with way more long-form plots than I can ever realistically hope to publish. I have to be picky about which plot bunnies I follow and which I don’t. The stories here are the ones that I considered and ultimately didn’t motivate me as much as what I have up on my AO3 account.

For the first one, I’m aware I’m putting myself in the Discourse Box here but it’s a Voltron: Legendary Defender fic. However, it’s for the absolute only ship I have never seen contested, largely because I don’t think anybody remembers these guys: Vakala/Remdax. Something about them really intrigued me (probably that they’re silly x straitlaced, have a size difference, and bicker constantly, which is almost a full row of JCMorrigan OTP Bingo). If you don’t remember, they’re the two aliens who found clone!Shiro on the ice planet shortly after he escaped (this is when we thought he was real!Shiro) and decided ultimately not to eat him and instead to give him a shuttle to escape back to Voltron. Anyhow, one day I just had too much Worldbuilding Juice and decided to come up with a little history for them, and because they’re rebels hiding in a remote location in a seemingly neverending war, it is one of the darkest story ideas I have. There’s a happy ending for our two leading men, but because this is indeed a wartime story, what I came up with to explain why they were on that ice planet and so willing to even cannibalize any Galra who showed up ended up having elements of colonialism, prison/labor camps, fugitive life, and a worldbuild flavoring that implies some noncon happened somewhere at some point. So if these things are not what you want to read in a hypothetical Voltron fanfiction outline, please keep movin’. Anyway, this is the one story I most regret never finishing because I had so much of it fleshed, but my Voltron muse is long gone and I have no enthusiasm, so here’s what I would’ve written, had I the energy.

·      Title is “Nothing to Lose but You” because the point of this story is these two go through the wringer and are literally all each other have. It’s that kind of story

·      I decided to call the planet Vakala and Remdax are from “Taxalai,” and the name for a resident is “Taxalan.” Taxalan society has a heavy emphasis on technology (which is why Remdax not knowing how to work a computer or being able to remember a password is such an oddity and so frustrating to pretty much any other Taxalan), and pretty much everything is computerized to some degree. Screens everywhere.

·      We open on Vakala, who is living in a mansion that used to belong to his family but has since been taken over by an invading Galra general. This was going to be an OC who I could just make nasty, but then I got re-introduced to Morvok, the Galra’s resident black sheep, and I will take any excuse to write Morvok so let’s just say it was he who took over Vakala’s family manor and just sits on the couch all day regaling people with stories of his greatness (none of which are true).

·      Vakala himself is a servant to Morvok, having to bring him whatever he wants and be at his beck and call.

·      One day, Vakala decides he’s done taking orders and declares he is no longer going to be in a position of servitude in his own house. Morvok simply dismissively says to “Take this one away wherever you take the ones that act up so I don’t have to look at him.”

·      And Vakala is arrested by a Galra squadron and brought to a prison camp many, many miles away.

·      It’s night when he’s delivered, so he’s brought right to the cramped barrack where a bunch of Taxalans who have been there longer are stacked in bunk beds. Vakala’s first night there, he screams and claws at the door that’s been sealed behind him, begging to be let out because he’ll follow orders this time.

·      The other prisoners there are veterans, so they all tell him to shut up because they’re never gonna listen. All but one.

·      Enter Remdax. He’s from another part of Taxalai – Vakala’s voice sounds more American to me while Remdax is definitely British, so I assume they have to come from different parts of the planet. They also have different physical structures that may suggest ethnic divides, though their color palette affirms they’re both of the same planetary origin. It’s also worth noting he has both eyes still at this point. This is very important.

·      Remdax is here because he was part of an anti-Galra rebel squad that was largely made up of his friends and family. The Galra found and closed in on their base, and Remdax ran out and got himself arrested for the purpose of slowing down the Galra officers enough that his friends and family could escape – which they did.

·      Anyway, that exposition would come some time later. For now, what’s happening is Vakala is having a panic attack in the middle of the night and everyone’s telling him to shut up because it’s futile. Except for Remdax. Remdax stands up and essentially says, “We’ve all done the same thing when we first arrived. Let him feel what he feels.”

·      And he approaches Vakala to try and calm him down verbally – just by saying his feelings are validated, and yes, it’s really awful, but he’ll survive, and Remdax will do his best to make sure Vakala survives. But he can’t really tell him it’s “okay” because it is quite clearly not.

·      Vakala eventually gives up and goes to sleep, quite depressed and for good reason.

·      The following morning, Vakala is put to work on an assembly line making Galra weaponry. This is what all the Taxalans in this particular camp must do. It’s very mechanically inclined, not many screens, not the way Taxalans usually work.

·      I don’t know if pacing-wise, it would be better to have this happen the first time or later, but Vakala ends up trying to pick up a cooling metal part way too soon and burning his palm horribly. He has to finish the rest of his shift one-handed.

·      Again, the other imprisoned Taxalans avoid this situation, largely because anxiety is high as-is, but Remdax steps forward once more, trying to care for the burn as best as he can. And he has zero supplies, so the best he can do is run a whole lot of cold water over Vakala’s hand and wrap it up in fabric he tore off his clothing.

·      Vakala ends up underperforming because of this injury and receives some punishment later. I didn’t think too much on exactly what – had I fleshed this out fully, I’d at least imply strongly what happened

·      Remdax has a bit of a crisis over this because he invested in protecting this guy, he failed, and there was literally nothing he could do. He’s in here for self-sacrifice in the first place, so he keeps thinking there’s always something he could do to help someone else if he gives something up for himself. But sometimes, he doesn’t even have an opportunity to do so, and it’s driving him into panic.

·      It’s shortly after this that he starts getting into his head that maybe the only way to help Vakala and himself is if he finds a way to escape.

·      There’s a day in which Remdax and Vakala are assigned to work outside on the grounds, and down comes an inspector from another sector on a shuttle. Remdax sees the opportunity and waves Vakala over.

·      They only have one shot, and it will unfortunately mean leaving the rest of their people behind, which is a horrible sacrifice, but it’s either they go on their own or nobody goes at all.

·      Remdax rushes the Galra inspector and attacks him. They get in a physical brawl while Vakala hurries in and hijacks the ship, which isn’t difficult for his technologically-inclined mind.

·      During this fight, Remdax either knocks out or kills the Galra inspector, but in the process, the inspector stabs one of his eyes completely out.

·      Remdax hops onto the ship and they have to go right away or else lose their freedom and maybe their lives forever. Vakala is freaking out because Remdax’s eye is bleeding, but Remdax is trying to act casual and make jokes about it because Vakala needs to be calm enough to drive.

·      They get off Taxalai on that stolen shuttle and land on the nearest planet, which I never named.

·      They’re aware they’re fugitives at this point.

·      They end up in a metropolitan area, where they check into a hotel so they have somewhere to sleep. I hadn’t worked out how they pay for the first night – maybe with favors, because Vakala eventually ends up a receptionist at this hotel and earns good wages, so maybe he gets his foot in the door by saying “I’ll do anything” and the receptionist is already pulling double duty and just goes “Do the second half of my fourteen-hour shift”

·      They have to finish wrapping up Remdax’s eye in that hotel room as best they can. Thankfully, it doesn’t get infected.

·      Immediately their first thought is to go out and find a way of bringing in income. As I said, Vakala makes a good receptionist and is excellent at filing client data on computers, so he ends up with a good-paying job that way.

·      Remdax takes a job down at a garage working with vehicle mechanics and engines, since that’s what he’s better at. Not in the manufacture of those parts (never again), but in fixing up broken vehicles. (I would’ve made it something more interesting than simply cars for this planet because Voltron planets are all about interesting possibilities for new civilizations.)

·      There’s some down-time where they live rather domestically this way, just earning enough to buy simple food and extend the stay in their small and shabby hotel room, but also bonding and becoming better friends.

·      A lot of people assume they already are a couple. Remdax in particular gets asked about his “husband” at the garage and he has to keep denying it.

·      There’s one night where they’re just having a relatively good time, taking a night to relax and appreciate that they can do nothing and be okay, and Remdax very gingerly brings up he wants to ask something of Vakala that might be too much. Vakala agrees to hear him out, and all Remdax wants is to be hugged for a bit while he thinks about how far they’ve come. So they hold each other, just lying on the bed and muttering to each other about the way things used to be, the way things are now, how lucky they are to have each other.

·      It’s actually some time later that they start seeing each other in a romantic light. Before this, they were a lifeline to each other, and in the heat of the worst moments, they couldn’t even really think about romance – they had to be preoccupied with survival. But now that their life is settling down and they’re starting to pack away funds for a small house, they start thinking…we’re basically life partners. Are we attracted to each other?

·      Answer: yes.

·      They kiss one night over a pretty meager dinner spread out picnic-style on their bed.

·      Shortly after this is when the Galra troops come into the city, looking for the two fugitives who attacked an inspector and fled custody.

·      Vakala and Remdax end up having to escape out the window, flee down the fire escape, and hijack a ship from Remdax’s garage.

·      They’re floating between worlds yet again.

·      They are eventually found by another ship, and they fear the Galra have finally captured them – but it’s a ship of rebels who’ve had similar stories. Vakala and Remdax are two of the Galra’s most wanted, and these rebels realized they would make great additions to the team in exchange for some stability.

·      So they work out a plan where Vakala and Remdax man an outpost on the ice planet, one of the most remote they have, that monitors Galra communications.

·      The rebels drop in supplies regularly and also have left a shuttle in case of emergency.

·      Vakala and Remdax both haaaaate the cold and so use the first week or so as an excuse to snuggle a lot.

·      And things go pretty okay. Remdax is still technologically illiterate and Vakala is just like “Are you even a Taxalan”

·      This is where they start bickering, which they like because finally, finally the stakes are low enough where they can afford to just rag on each other and still like each other at the end of the day.

·      They get more physical at this stage, too, but of course I can’t write a lemon to save my soul so it’s just a lot of implications

·      Things start going wrong when a Galra officer finds the base on a planet. This is far too dangerous and they both know it. If this guy gets two steps further, their location is blown and they are both dead. So Remdax kills him.

·      It’s been a while since their last supply delivery. And they figure it’s best not to waste anything…so they decide the Galra they killed has to go into food reserves.

·      Vakala nearly has a full-on panic attack while cannibalizing another person, even if that person was dangerous.

·      Some time later, another Galra shows up, but this one’s different. She claims to come in peace, and introduces herself as Acxa.

·      Remdax is ready to murder again, but Vakala holds him off because he can recognize Acxa isn’t a full-blooded Galra and in fact, he’s pretty sure there’s Taxalan in her genetic makeup based on how her face looks.

·      Acxa confirms. Her grandmother was a Taxalan and forced to be a servant of a Galra commander who impregnated her (here is the strongly implied noncon).

·      Acxa offers to help, swearing to secrecy. Vakala and Remdax deny her help but let her get away with her life, wondering if they’d made the right decision.

·      A month with no contact and they’re fairly secure Acxa didn’t snitch.

·      Then in comes Shiro, and canon events happen. These would be briefly recapped.

·      The important thing to note is that they let Shiro have their only shuttle, and that was a boo-boo, but it’s okay because the rebels are gonna drop off supplies anyway, so they shouldn’t need it.

·      And then the other rebels never show up.

·      I’m not sure if I’d have them literally be dead or leave it up in the air, but their supplies are cut off. They ration out their remaining food for the next few years. There’s at least one more Galra who shows up that they have to eat. And it does last a few years, until the end of VLD canon.

·      They’re starving to death. Skin and bone. And we get them eating their last ration over the fire and since they’re both used to cannibalizing Galra by now, their minds are on the obvious. Each is ready to kill himself so the other can live longer.

·      For dramatic effect I might have let them get close to pulling the trigger before the sound of someone showing up alerts them

·      They go outside, hoping they’re saved and not screwed…

·      And wouldn’t you know. It’s the paladins of Voltron. Also Acxa.

·      Allura has already been exchanged for the restoration of all realities (which Vakala and Remdax have no idea happened because when you’re in a reality that disappears and reappears, that has no bearing on your memory because you literally did not exist and suddenly existed again with no idea of the gap)

·      Altea and Daibazaal have been restored and now the paladins are working on bringing peace all over the universe

·      And Shiro remembered the two who helped his clone out because of…memory merging?...and Acxa brought up “We really need to check on those two”

·      They get Vakala and Remdax on a warm ship, find them food, get them cleaned up

·      And then bring them back to Taxalai, which has just been liberated from Galra control. We see the more unforgivable Galra getting their due punishment. The camp administrators are now incarcerated. Morvok is doing community service scooping poop at the zoo or something horrible because it’s Morvok

·      Shiro is considering his retirement, but first, he addresses Vakala and Remdax, asking if they want to govern the reclaimed Taxalai and help make it a beautiful place where their people can flourish

·      Vakala is trying so hard not to break down and cry, but it’s Remdax who hits his knees and starts bawling first

·      The final line would be about how they were finally “home” for the first time in their entire lives

[schrijverr]

Remember me

A destiel re-write of 4x01, Lazerus rising, in which Dean remembers Cas from the time the angel spent in Hell rebuilding his body and falling in love.

On AO3.

Ships: Destiel

Warnings: Hell

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slice

Cut

Pierce

Slash.

Dean wasn’t seeing, he was going through the motions.

Just another soul, just another eternity. Hellfire burned, but he was used to it.

He just went through the motions.

Slice

Cut

Pierce

Slash.

He was focusing so much on not seeing what he was doing that he missed the bright light until he it was creating shadows out of fire. He whipped his head around and saw, he saw the most beautiful thing ever created. He didn’t know what it was, but it shone pure light and glowed fiercely while it cut through Hells defenses like it was nothing.

It came closer and closer and Dean, Dean couldn’t do a thing except watch. Slowly the knife he was holding slipped out of his hands and he let his mouth hang open in wonder as he watched this indescribable creature.

When it was close enough he heard it whisper, the voice was deep, but it rang through Deans head like a bell, it whispered: “Come with me.”

And Dean did, he let the tug in his stomach pull him forward into the embrace of this unknown being. The being wrapped him up in its light and moved away from the horror Dean had been surrounded by. Dean could only watch in wonder and the being carried him out of Hell like it was nothing.

But the road was long and a day on earth is four months in Hell. So as the being carried Dean it said: “My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord, I have come to save you and rebuilt your body.”

“An angel?” Dean breathed in wonder.

“Yes, an angel.” Castiel said.

And that is how they met.

~

Every day they grew closer, they watched each others backs and would keep up the chatter while Castiel built. Until one day the angel told Dean: “Dean, did you know that you have 4,892 freckles?”

Dean had laughed a confused: “No.”

“Would you like to keep them all?” Castiel had asked.

“Could you make them disappear?” Dean had asked.

The angel had answered: “If you wish so, I could. Do you?”

Dean had shrugged: “I don’t know, man. What do you think?”

“I think they suit you.” The other had answered and Dean had kept all his freckles.

~

Later Dean had asked: “It feels weird to refer to you as just it or something. What should I call you?”

“I have no preference for any human pronoun, refer to me as you wish.” the angel had answered.

“Okay, I’m gonna go with he, alright? I never had many male friends, so that’s nice?” Dean had said, then he had laughed at the absurdity of the statement.

~

“Dean, you have sustained serious damage in your liver and lungs. Smoking and drinking is bad for you, did you know that?” Castiel had said.

“I know, but in my defense I stopped smoking out of high-school, so that’s just unfair.” Dean had pouted.

Castiel had proceeded to scold him for the harms of different substances before saying he would remove the damage.

~

“Cas?” Dean asked.

The angel answered: “Yes, Dean.”

“What could even kill an angel?”

“Are you planning to kill me, Dean?” Castiel countered with a smile.

“No, no, of course not!” Dean rushed to assure him, “Just curious, I guess.”

“It’s alright.” Cas said, “The only thing that can kill an angel is an angel blade.”

“What’s an angel blade?” Dean asked.

“A blade forged and used by angels and angels only.” Cas explained.

Dean frowned and said: “Is Ruby’s knife an angel blade?”

“No I would survive a stab with it.” Cas said.

“Awesome.”

~

“Do you wish to keep your scars?” Cas asked.

“The ones from the Hellhound?”

“No, the others ones. I could give you a clean slate if you want, but maybe you would rather keep your body as it was.”

“I would like to keep my scars, makes me manly.” Dean grinned, “Right, Cas?”

“Of course, right.”

~

And slowly Castiel had become Cas, consulting had become talking, surviving had become living and friends had become lovers, but the journey was coming to an end. Dean would enter his new Castiel-made body in a few moments and then he would be free from Hell.

Before he could go he asked: “Will I remember you?”

He had refrained from asking, because he had been scared of the answer. A fear that might be correct. Cas answered: “I do not know, Dean. Your memories of Hell could be wiped as you enter your body, but they could remain.”

“Will you come find me when I’m topside? Come help me remember, in case I forgot?” Dean asked, voice vulnerable.

“If I can I will come for you, but I do not know what my higher-ups want me to do. The next time I’m on earth could be well past your lifetime.” Cas answered truthfully with pain in his voice.

Dean was near tears as he said: “I don’t want to forget this, forget us. You’ve been what I’ve been missing and I cannot lose this. You have to make sure, I’ll remember.”

“My grace is already intertwined with your being, but I shall leave a mark that is visible for you. To jog your memories, just in case you forgot.” Cas said.

Dean smiled: “Thank you, Cas. I’ll see you topside.”

“Till then, Dean” the angel answered and then Dean was crossing over to his body.

~

Dean woke up with a gasp, his mouth was dry and his throat wasn’t used to air passing through. His screams for help were hoarse.

Dean felt his pockets for something useful and was glad when his fingers stumbled upon a lighter that worked. When he realized where he was he murmured to himself: “Dammit, Cas, couldn’t you’ve dropped me somewhere else?”

The moment he had said it he gasped. He remembered Cas, he hadn’t forgotten. The crushing fear of uncertainty was replaced by the bubbly happy feeling, remembering brought him. It gave him the strength to bust out of his grave.

Once he was out he looked at the trees surrounding his grave (oh damn that was a strange thought). Still he whistled impressed by the display of his lovers power. Although he couldn’t help whispering: “Drama queen.”

He shook his head and focused on making a list of priorities. First he had to find his way back to people, then he had to find something to eat and drink, then he had to find Sammy and let him know that he was fine and after all that he could figure out how to contact Cas again.

He wanted his first priority to be his angel, but he was starving and he couldn’t go after Cas without making sure Sammy was okay, besides Sammy had the smarts to find Cas, he reasoned. He said: “Sorry Cas, gotta find my brother first.” to the air.

It had become a habit to make little comments to Cas, so unconsciously it had slipped out of Dean. When he realized what he had done he paused for a second, then shrugged and continued walking along the stretch of empty road. It didn’t harm anyone, so what did it matter?

He found a small gas station and stole some food, drink and money.

He also found the hand print on his shoulder and smiled to himself as he traced the outline. It was an obviously male hand, it seemed Cas had embraced the ‘he’ that Dean had called him. Dean blushed a bit, when he realized that the hand print was a claim on him. He said: “Really, Cas? What is this, a fricking angel hickey?”

Just when he was busy stealing the money from the cash register, the whole building started to shake, for a moment he thought it was Cas, but he quickly threw out the thought when he heard the piercing sound. Cas had a nice and deep voice, this was not a nice sound or deep.

As fast as it has come it went, leaving Dean confused and alone once more.

He shook the confusion off and called Bobby when he couldn’t reach Sam, but the man wouldn’t believe it was him, which was fair considering everything, but very inconvenient at the moment. As he hung up he sighed: “Well that went well, eh, Cas.”

Then he stole a car and made his way over to the older hunters house.

~

Bobby didn’t know who the person in front of him is. It’s Dean, sure. He did the tests and the boy passed them all, but it was different. Of course Bobby knew that Hell changes a person, it would be even more crazy if it hadn’t, but this was just weird.

After Bobby had accepted that it was Dean, he asked after Sammy, which was in character for him, but then he started talking about this Cas person. It started when Bobby had asked how he had gotten out and Dean had briskly answered: “Cas” before picking up the phone to call the phone company.

Once they had Sams location Bobby tried again: “So who is this Cas? And how did he get you out? And why?”

“Cas is a dorky dude, okay? He’s harmless, I mean come on, his favourite animal is a bee.” Dean replied with an eyeroll, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well that answers exactly nothing.” Bobby shot back.

Dean sighed and suddenly he seemed years older. He looked over at Bobby and said: “Forget it, okay? If I tell you, you won’t believe me. He came to get me out and he did. I might never see him again, I’m gonna try, but that don’t mean it’s gonna work. He has higher-ups to answer to and he might never come back. So for now, lets just focus on finding Sam and seeing what the Hell he’s been up to since I kicked the bucket.”

After that Bobby decided that it might be better to leave the subject alone for now, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t think about it and to try to come up with a solution to find Deans friend and potentially dangerous creature.

~

Dean was getting pretty tired of getting attacked with knifes by people he loves. First it was Bobby and now Sammy. At least the kid was getting laid. It would have been extra sad if Deans death had lead to Sam becoming an old spinster.

Luckily Bobby was there to diffuse the situation and soon Dean was pulled against his brothers chest. The chick left and Sam asked what had happened to him and how he had gotten out, which was another thing he was tired of talking about. He honestly didn’t know, he felt so confused. He was sure Cas was real and therefore angels as well, but what if they weren’t? He thought about what had happened at the gas station. What if it was something else that had gotten him out, something evil, something dark. Not the bright light that he associated with Cas.

Besides that there was the fact that Cas was a dude, well not really, he was celestial waves or something, but in Deans mind Cas was he and he had talked about Cas to Bobby as if Cas was a he and he wasn’t going to change that. But their relationship hadn’t been platonic and although he was pretty sure Bobby and Sam wouldn’t care, pretty sure just wasn’t enough. Not enough with the uncertainty around it all.

So he answered: “It was Cas, if we want more answers than that we need to find him.”

Sams brow furrowed as he asked: “Well how are we going to do that? And why do you know this guy’s name?”

“Well, maybe we had a chat on the way up and he happened to mention it.” Dean snapped.

“You remember Hell?” Sam replied immediately.

Dean silently cursed himself and lied: “No, not really, okay. Just Cas. He left me this.”

He shrugged off his flannel and showed them the hand print. He didn’t want to show them the angel hickey(oh go he shouldn’t refer to it as that in his head, because he had almost no filter) because it was something private, but if it kept Sammy and Bobby of his back he’s just had to bear it.

It seemed like Bobby knew someone who could help, so they were on their way, before Dean got into the Impala he looked to the heavens and whispered: “I’m gonna find you, Cas, don’t worry.”

Then he got into the car to bitch to Sam about what he had done to his beautiful baby.

~

Dean didn’t know what to do with Pamela’s advances, on any given day he would have been flirting back, but that was before Hell, before Cas. Yet, he knew that of he didn’t Sam would be suspicious. He was thorn for a second and decided that Cas was worth the interrogation and steered the conversation away in such a manner that made it clear he wasn’t interested.

They were sitting around her table and she was trying to pinpoint Cas’s location, or at least that’s what Dean hoped. She said: “Castiel?”

“Yeah, that’s him. Did you get him?”

“Almost, he’s a fighter that’s for sure.” She said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do this, Pamela.” Bobby cut in.

Dean gave him an angry look, but before he could tell Bobby where to shove it Pamela said: “He’s telling me to back off and not look at his true form.”

Dean frowned, he had no problem with seeing Cas, but that was in Hell, so maybe it would be different here. He said: “Maybe you should listen?”

“No, I almost got him.” She replied.

And that was enough for Dean to shut up. Pamela would know what she was doing, right? Besides if it was Cas, he wouldn’t hurt her. He was gentle and kind, but then again, he had warned her to stay away. Would it be dangerous?

Before he could tell Pamela to stop, that it wasn’t worth it, that it could be dangerous, that they should listen to Cas. It was already too late. Pamela was screaming, her eyes burning.

Dean could only look with a horrified look on his face. This wasn’t Cas, it couldn’t be. Doubt overcame him again. What if he had bought into a lie, what if Cas wasn’t who he said he was, what if Dean was a fool and some evil douche bag was laughing at him somewhere?

He just sat there as a statue while Sam and Bobby rushed to Pamela’s aid. After they had found that she was perfectly fine, except for the eyes, they turned back to Dean. Bobby was the first to speak: “What the Hell have you gotten yourself into now?”

With scared eyes Dean looked at Bobby and said: “I don’t know, Bobby, I don’t know anymore.”

“I’m going to get Pamela here to the ER, just in case. You boys better lay low for a while and don’t do anything stupid. Understand?” Bobby said.

Both boys nodded, then looked at each other while the door slammed closed in the background. Dean asked: “Pie?”

Yeah, he was an emotional eater, sue him, it was one of his least unhealthy coping mechanism.

Sam rolled his eyes: “Sure.”

~

The whole thing in the diner calmed Deans concerns about Cas down. I mean if there’s anything demons would fear, it be angels, right. Besides Dean had seen himself how easily Cas had taken the demons in Hell down. So Dean said aloud: “Sorry for doubting you.”

Sam gave him a weird look and Dean shrugged: “Guess going to Hell makes you the praying type.”

Sam started to say something, but thought the better of it and just got into the car.

They checked into a motel and decided to wait, for now. At least Pamela was mostly okay, that was something. It didn’t help with the guilt in Deans gut, however.

That night Dean woke up because someone is knocking on the door. Groggily he looked up and saw Sams bed empty, the kid must have wanted a drink and forgotten the keys or something. Dean opened the door, but it wasn’t Sammy who was standing there, it was Bobby.

Concern crept up Deans spine, so he called Sam. He heard the kid tell him about a burger he wanted and immediately knew it was a lie, but he had been lying too, so he led it slip. He had something more important to do, at least if he could convince Bobby.

“Bobby, we need to summon Cas” he said.

“Are you insane, Dean?” Bobby said, “Pamela barely looked at the thing and her eyes are gone. Trying to summon him would be madness.”

“It’s Cas.” Dean practically yelled.

“You say that like that means something.” Bobby shot back, “You come back out of no where and suddenly your borderline obsessed with a thing that isn’t human and supposedly got you out the Pit. I mean, you even have a nickname for the guy. Don’t you find that suspicious? Use your brains, boy.”

Dean floundered for a second, then he decided that he needed Bobby to help him, so he said: “Bobby, you don’t understand. I know Cas, he wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that. I just need to see him, just to make sure. Please, Bobby.”

And if Bobby wasn’t so familiar with Deans body language and heartbreak, he wouldn't have recognized the look on Deans face, but he did and suddenly it became clear; Dean needed to make sure the person he loved wasn’t gone or evil. So Bobby sighed and said: “Alright, but we are warding the place so heavily that it will survive the Apocalypse.”

Dean smiled: “Thank you, Bobby.”

“Don’t mention it, idjit.”

~

Bobby had done the summoning ritual and now they were waiting. It was taking suspiciously long and just when Dean had made a comment about the waiting time the roof started shaking. Dean and Bobby shared a look, then the front door of the barn burst open and a dude in a trench coat walked in.

The man started walking forward as the lights burst above his head. Bobby started shooting at the man, but he didn’t slow down. Dean just stared at him and Bobby yelled: “You recognize him?”

Dean shook his head and looked down at Ruby’s knife, in his head he apologized to Cas, then he stabbed the man. If he survived then it could be Cas and at least it wouldn’t be a demon. The man didn’t seemed fazed by the knife, he just pulled it out and gave Dean a look. With a deep voice he said: “Dean, it is me.”

Deans bottom lip wavered, he wanted it to be true so badly, but everything that had happened in the last 24 hours had just added so much uncertainty in his head. He bit his lip to stop the movement and said: “Prove it.”

The man nodded solemnly and said: “You have 4,892 freckles.”

Dean face lit up, while Bobbys eyebrows rose up to his hairline (that was pretty specific information to have). The trench coated man got pulled into a hug by Dean. While that happened Bobby asked: “Dean hasn’t said, so what are you, cause you ain’t human that much I know.”

The lights burned bright suddenly and two shadows appeared on the was behind Cas, the shadows of wings. His eyes glowed as he said: “I am an angel of the Lord.”

Dean smiled to himself as he saw flashes of the Cas he knew and fell in love with. The memory brought another question to him mind and he asked: “What’s with the holy tax accounted look?”

Cas looked down to his body and patted it down a bit self conscious, he had tried to find a male vessel that was Deans type, but he knew it wasn’t his body. He said: “This is a vessel.”

With a betrayed voice Dean said: “You’re possessing some poor bastard?”

Cas said: “His name is Jimmy Novak, he’s a devout man. He actually prayed for this. I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t necessary, but my true form can be too much to handle for some people, you know what my voice did to that gas station and my body to Pamela.”

“The gas station was you?” Dean asked.

“Yes, my true form is perceived differently on this plane of existence.” Cas said.

Bobby decided to insert himself into the conversation: “So you’re the idjit that pulled this other idjit out of the Pit?”

“That would be correct.” Cas said.

“Care to explain why you undertook that action.” Bobby said, “Unless it was from to goodness of your heart.”

“Bobby.” Dean said, “Don’t do this, man.”

“No, Dean, I want to know what powers are at play and why they’ve made the moves they made.” Bobby countered.

Dean wanted to argue some more, but Cas cut in and said: “No, it is very understandable that he questions my motives and I have to admit, I’m not just here for connection, but on business as well.”

Dean fell silent at that and Bobby nodded: “So, why did you pull him out, not that I’m not grateful or anything.”

“I pulled him out, because God commanded it.” Cas said as if was the most normal thing to say.

“Why? Why would God give a rats ass about me?” Dean asked, silently wondering why he never asked Cas about this while in the Pit.

Cas scrunched up his eyebrows and cocked his head to the side as he said: “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?” Dean stayed silent and Cas went on: “I thought you would have lost a bit of your self doubt with the love I poured into you.”

Dean blushed deeply and looked away from the piercing blue eyes, but by doing so he met Bobbys eyes. Bobby quirked an eyebrow at him, saying everything without words. Dean mumbled a “shut up” to the older hunter.

“When did you two even met.” Bobby commented in return.

“Yesterday.” the angel answered and Dean gave him a confused look as he asked: “Yesterday? It feels like I’ve known you for months.”

“You have.”

“But you just said-”

“A day here, is four months downstairs.”

“So,” Bobby concluded, “four months, since yesterday.”

Cas nodded, while Dean tried to wrap his head around it all. Luckily Bobby wasn’t so easily distracted by everything and he barreled on: “You said you were here on business. What’s the business.”

Cas turned to Dean and said: “We have work for you.”

[callboxkat]

Omg these Second Chances mini fics fill my heart so much. Could I ask about Roman’s first time going out to eat with his dads I mean Logan and Patton?

Ah, yes. Roman and his dads friends. Anon, I may have gone a little overboard, but I regret nothing. This was just supposed to be a bullet point fic, but I think we’ve established that I don’t know when to stop.

I still included the bullet point fic at the end, of course, which kind of turned into an outline :)

A Spicy Celebration

Author’s note: This takes place between when Roman gets his job offer and when he starts actually working. So, between Pressure and Puzzling it Out.

Summary: It’s Patton’s and Logan’s anniversary, and Patton decides that the best way to celebrate is for everyone to go out to a fun restaurant!

Warnings: food mention, insecurity, nostalgia, guilt (this is mostly fluff I swear–)

Word count: 2790 (Like I said, I don’t know when to stop)

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

…

Roman admired the coloring page he was working on. He had admittedly gone a little outside the lines, but he really liked how it was turning out. He enjoyed taking simple coloring page designs and making complex drawings out of them. This page had come from an old coloring book that had once been Patton’s, until the other man gifted it to Roman, saying that he would probably never get around to finishing it.

“Ready to go?”

Roman jumped and looked up. Logan stood in the doorway of the guest room, wearing his jacket and with his hair combed even more neatly than usual.

Roman awkwardly set down the colored pencil he was using. “Go where?” he asked, very much pretending that Logan hadn’t surprised him.

“My apologies, I was under the impression you knew. We are going out to a restaurant tonight, since it is the anniversary of my and Patton’s relationship.”

Roman’s mouth hung open slightly, processing. “Wait… you don’t want me to go with you guys to that, do you?”

Logan frowned. “Why wouldn’t we? Val is coming, too, if you are worried about being a….” He paused, as if trying to remember the phrase he wanted to use. “A ‘third wheel’. Not to pressure you, but Patton also seems excited at the prospect of all four of us going, and he might be disappointed if you do not.”

“Well, we can’t disappoint Patton,” Roman said, smiling uncertainly.

“So, you will come? We’re hoping to leave within the next ten minutes, if you are.”

Roman nodded. “Count me in.”

“Splendid.”

About five minutes later, Roman was ready. He dressed in one of the dress shirts and a pair of slacks that Patton and Logan had gotten him for job interviews, wanting to look nice for the anniversary dinner even though it wasn’t his anniversary. When he came downstairs, though, he was a little disconcerted to see that he might have been a bit overdressed compared to the others (except Logan, but he always dressed like that). No one said anything about it, though; and they all went out to the car. No one told Roman where they were going, so he simply allowed himself to be ushered into a seat. Patton, in the driver’s seat, was smiling, while his boyfriend sat in the passenger’s seat looked fondly exasperated. It was a common expression on him these days, Roman noted.

Val was seated beside Roman in the back seat. Things were a little tense between them at times, still, but she seemed to be warming up to him. She seemed to notice his confusion and leaned marginally towards him with a smirk.

“Just go with it, don’t worry. Patton chose the restaurant. We’re all just along for the ride.”

Soon, they pulled up to a Mexican restaurant, which Roman could tell even from the outside wouldn’t be all that authentic; but it had a cheery atmosphere. When they turned off the car and got out, he could hear faint music spilling out of open windows and the door whenever patrons came and went. Colorful lights glowed within.

When they stepped inside, Roman could tell why Patton liked this place so much. String lights shaped like white sombreros or pink llamas or red, green, and yellow chilies were strung along the windows and across the ceiling along with sheets of colorful papel picado. Cheery music and the sounds of chatter and conversation filled the air. Whatever wall space wasn’t taken up by various art pieces, photographs, and even a small guitar or two was painted a warm honey mustard yellow. A large Mexican flag hung in the entryway. Past the counter where a waiter stood ready to seat the guests, Roman could see tables with bouquets, pitchers of salsa, and bowls of chips set out on them.

Perhaps it was all a bit much, and Roman was very aware of how stereotypical the place was, but honestly, he was okay with that. It was stereotypical in a fun way.

“Hola,” said the waiter, picking up a stack of menus. “Four of y’all tonight?”

“Yep!” Patton said.

The waiter led them to a corner table and set down the menus, making sure they were all comfortably settled before they went off to tend to their other tables.

Val had already opened her menu, scanning its contents as she absently reached for the chips and salsa. Patton was showing Logan one of the llama string lights, pointing out how cute it was and saying that he had to see if he could find where the restaurant had gotten them.

Roman opened his own menu, like Val; but unlike her, he was more focused on the prices he saw there than the items themselves.

“Oh no,” Patton whispered, giggling. Roman glanced up to see that he’d spilled a bit of the salsa on the table.

“No harm done,” Logan replied, handing him a napkin.

Roman went back to the menu. The prices glared back at him.

I should just stick to the chips. Maybe a side of yellow rice or something. He glanced towards the sides menu, biting his lip.

“Hey, no!” Patton said, visibly upset. Roman looked up sharply, startled, and realized that he must have mumbled that out loud.

“Don’t just get a side,” Patton insisted. “Get what you want, or I’ll fight you.”

Logan patted his boyfriend on the back. Val glanced between them all, one eyebrow raised. Patton was far from threatening, but Roman felt his ears burn.

“Okay, okay,” he quickly relented. Patton relaxed.

“Don’t worry about the price,” he said. “It’s our treat.”

“As long as your order is within reason, you may request it,” Logan added.

Roman nodded, staring down at the menu.

Not long after, the waiter materialized over Val’s shoulder.

“Can I get some drink orders?” they asked, pen and paper at the ready, a pleasant smile in place.

Roman, who had conveniently just stuffed a chip full of salsa in his mouth, quickly waved for someone else to go first to save his poor dignity.

Val looked up at them. “Horchata, please,” she requested.

“Oooh, I want the hot chocolate,” Patton said cheerfully. “The Mexican one? It sounds good.”

Logan glanced at his boyfriend. “Ah,” he asked the waiter, “how spicy is the Mexican hot chocolate?”

“It’s a little spicy, but we can make it on the milder side, if you’d like?”

“Yes, I think that would be good,” he said, nodding. He turned back to his boyfriend. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“Oh, okay,” Patton replied, smiling. “I wouldn’t want to lose my taste buds because they choc-a-lot of spices in there!”

Logan groaned at the pun, putting his head in his hands.

“Nice,” the waiter said, his customer service smile turning more genuine.

“I will have a lime soda,” Logan said into his hands, enunciating to be understood. “And I would appreciate an additional horchata, as well.”

Roman guessed that horchata was for Patton, in case the hot chocolate or his food was still too spicy for him.

The waiter turned expectantly to Roman. Thankfully, this time, he didn’t have any food in his mouth.

“Um…” Roman scanned the drinks, not actually having made a decision before this moment. “I’ll have the hot chocolate, too.”

“Alright, sounds good… and will y’all be needing another moment to decide on food? If not, I can take that now, and it’ll get out quicker.”

Logan slowly removed his face from his hands, sighing as if needing to recover from Patton’s pun.

Patton folded his menu. “Oh, well, I’m ready, what about…?”

After a moment, they agreed to go ahead and order. Patton went first, asking for the veggie taco meal. Logan, after him, ordered chicken fajitas; but of course, he had to point out as he did so that fajitas were an American invention, and not a truly authentic Mexican food.

“Yes, yes, Lo, you said that last time one of us had fajitas,” Val said, rolling her eyes at her brother. “I’ll have the… ‘Mega Spicy Chicken’.”

“Oh, really?” the waiter asked, looking at her appraisingly. “When they say ‘mega spicy’, they mean it.”

Roman glanced down at the menu and quickly found what the waiter was talking about. The dish had four flaming chili peppers printed next to it.

“I’m sure,” Val responded cheerily, closing her menu.

“I’ll get that, too,” Roman said impulsively. Val glanced at him.

Sure, it was spicy, but Roman was a proud Latino. He could handle it. Plus, since Val had ordered it, Roman was pretty sure that Logan would consider the order’s price to be “within reason”. Most of the prices on the menu weren’t all that expensive to the family, he knew, especially since he got the idea that they didn’t eat out often; but it was a nice reassurance regardless.

“Okay,” the waiter shrugged, writing it down.

…

As the waiter set down everyone’s drinks, they smiled and said, “Just so y’all know, we have a special going on right now. If you can eat an entire ghost pepper in thirty seconds, without drinking anything until you’re done, your drink will be free.”

“Oh, sign me up,” Val said, grinning.

Not to be outdone (and happy to potentially lessen the bill), Roman said, “Me too.”

Logan’s eyebrows went up, and Patton started protesting before Roman had even finished speaking.

“Wait, Roman, you don’t have to do that, we’re perfectly happy to—”

Roman waved them off. “No, no, it’s okay, promise.”

Patton frowned at him. “But… it’s a ghost pepper.” He whispered the words “ghost pepper” as if he was afraid that an actual ghost would hear them.

“I know, Pat,” Roman said, smiling confidently and sitting up straight with a dramatic flair. “I shall vanquish this beast, don’t you worry!”

Patton gave him one more worried look, but he didn’t argue further. Val, meanwhile, gave him a knowing look, taking a small sip of her horchata.

Despite his projected confidence, Roman was already starting to have doubts when the waiter walked off. He had a feeling he might regret this. Roman could handle some heat, but ghost peppers were some of the hottest peppers out there.

It was too late to back out now.

Within a minute, the waiter was back. With a mariachi band.

At first, Roman thought that maybe they just happened to be walking by each other, that maybe the restaurant had hired the small band to walk around sometimes and play. But, no, they were definitely all headed to their table.

“Oh my god,” Val said, hiding a laugh behind her hand.

The waiter stopped before their table, a microphone and two small plates in hand.

“Buenos noches, everyone!” the waiter said into the microphone, their voice carrying easily over the music. Roman barely registered the incorrect Spanish, suddenly very nervous. “Two of our patrons have decided to take up the ghost pepper challenge tonight! Let’s cheer them on!” Based on the grin on the waiter’s face, this was their favorite part of the job.

Cheers went up all over the restaurant as the waiter set down two small plates, one in front of Val and one in front of Roman. They were each plain white, empty save for a single, 3-inch-long orange pepper. Val grinned, appearing both amused and a little embarrassed by the attention.

Roman was pretty sure his face was burning red even though he hadn’t yet taken a single bite of the pepper. He was not expecting so much fanfare to come with this challenge.

He glanced at Patton and Logan. Patton had started bouncing in anticipation, his hands pressed together; and Logan clapped politely, looking around at all the other customers watching them.

It can’t be that bad, Roman told himself, delicately picking up the pepper by the stem.

He was wrong.

Tears sprung in his eyes with the first bite, his mouth immediately aflame. He quickly choked down the rest of the pepper. His throat tried to close up, rejecting even the thought of swallowing it, but Roman forced it down. He panted, opening his mouth for the waiter to see that he’d swallowed it. He barely heard the cheers as they announced that he’d done it.

Val finished a second later, and the cheering got louder. The mariachi band resumed playing, louder than before, and the waiter clapped, glee on their face.

Roman had already snatched up his glass of water, and he was chugging it. He finished the whole thing, reached instinctively for his hot chocolate, remembered that it was spicy, and instead grabbed the extra horchata that Logan had ordered. Logan watched in amusement as he did, but Roman didn’t even think about the fact that he’d stolen it until half of it was gone.

Realization struck him, and he slowly moved the drink away from his lips even though his mouth was still burning. “Um… sorry,” he gasped, setting it down. He wiped at his eyes with the hand that hadn’t touched the pepper. He hadn’t noticed when the band and the waiter left, but they must have done so at some point, for they were alone again.

Val, who had drunk quite a bit of her own horchata, was clearly trying not to laugh. Her eyes, visible over the rim, were crinkled with humor.

Logan chuckled. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “That was quite amusing to watch.”

…

Roman tried very hard not to laugh, watching as his former nemesis carefully cut up his fajitas with a knife and fork.

“Ah, behold,” Val said, her tone suggesting that this was not at all unusual, “the one true way to eat a fajita.”

“It’s neater this way,” Logan claimed, lifting a forkful to his mouth.

As if to demonstrate, Patton picked up one of his veggie tacos. When he went to take a bite, about a quarter of its contents fell out the other end. “Whoopsie-doodles!”

The corner of Val’s mouth quirked up. “Maybe,” she admitted, going back to her own food.

Roman, meanwhile, had some regrets about ordering his own spicy dish. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the ghost pepper had been, but the heat seemed to build the more he ate. He drank quite a bit of his water, trying to cool down his poor mouth.

After a while, Logan silently pushed the extra horchata in his direction, casting him a knowing look. Roman gratefully accepted it, since it seemed Patton didn’t want it. The younger man was happily eating his messy tacos and drinking his hot chocolate. No one pointed out the mustache the drink left on his face.

With the blessing of the horchata helping to quell Roman’s burning mouth, he found that he quite liked the food. And for most of the rest of the meal, they ate, and they talked, and they cheered along with everyone else when another patron decided to try eating the ghost pepper.

Roman almost forgot about his hot chocolate, until Patton asked him if he liked it, seeming confused about the fact that the cup was still full.

“Oh—yeah, it’s really good!” Roman assured even though he hadn’t taken a sip yet, picking it up. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“No need to be sorry,” Logan assured, before taking another careful bite of his fajita.

Regardless, Roman took that moment to take a sip of his hot chocolate. It had cooled somewhat, and it wasn’t very spicy. Perhaps they had made his mild, too, like Patton’s. But the taste of cinnamon was strong. He felt a strong sense of familiarity—it wasn’t quite the same, but it really reminded him of….

A lump rose in Roman’s throat. He set down the mug, not having expected that reaction.

Val snorted. “You ate a ghost pepper, and now the hot chocolate is making you tear up?” she asked jokingly.

Roman forced himself to laugh, reaching for the horchata even though he didn’t need it. “Alright, you caught me, I’m a disgrace to my Latino brethren.”

Thankfully, the moment soon passed.

They went back to just talking and enjoying the rest of their meal. Roman didn’t touch the hot chocolate again, but he ate nearly half of his entrée. Logan continued to eat his fajitas with a fork, attracting snickers from a couple of kids seated at a nearby table. The waiter stopped by a few times to refill drinks and check in on them. Patton told the story of how he and Logan had met, talking mostly to Roman since he was the only one who didn’t know the story. And they all went home with plenty of leftovers.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad night.

…

…

And now, the bullet point fic!!

…

-This takes place between when Roman gets his job offer and when he starts actually working. So, between Pressure and Puzzling it Out.

-Everybody goes out to celebrate the anniversary of Patton’s and Logan’s relationship!

-This is after Val decided to give Roman a chance, plus Logan’s her brother, so she’s part of the gang

-No there’s nothing weird about them all going shut up

-This is Patton, he wants his famILY to celebrate with them

-Roman is ushered into a car without knowing where they’re going. Logan seems a bit exasperated, Patton is smiling, and Val just smirks and tells him that it’s Patton’s idea and to go with it

-They go to a not-so-authentic but quite fun Mexican restaurant

-On to the restaurant.

-It is a sight. We’re talking string lights shaped like red, green, and yellow chilies, colorful banners, papel picado, cheery music spilling from the speakers, and waiters walking around with platters of food and drink. There’s bouquets of flowers, pitchers of salsa, and bowls of chips on the tables. It’s one of those places where there’s art and various decorations all over the walls, including photos of famous people who have eaten there (it’s a small number, but more than Roman would have expected). A Mexican flag is hung behind the counter where a waiter waits to seat people.

-Maybe it’s a bit much, and maybe a little stereotypical, but admittedly in a fun way; so Roman rolls with it.

-they get a table in one of the corners, and they’re all given menus. Roman is a bit overwhelmed, looking at all the prices

-He accidentally mumbles aloud that he might just stick to the chips and salsa and a side of yellow rice, and Patton threatens to fight him if he doesn’t get something more than that

-The waiter comes back to give out water and take their orders

-Roman had just put a chip in his mouth so he frantically waves for someone else to go first

-Patton gets veggie tacos, Logan chicken fajitas (“Fajitas are actually an American invention, not a truly Mexican food” “Yes, Logan, you said that last time, too” (Val)), and Val gets just about the spiciest thing on the menu, something called “Mega Spicy Chicken” There are four flaming chili peppers next to it.

-As a proud Latino and a lover of taking up challenges, Roman gets the same thing.

-Doing so has the added bonus of Roman being able to reassure himself that he’s “allowed” to get something with that price

-Roman and Patton both get Mexican hot chocolate, Val gets horchata, and Logan gets a bottle of lime soda. He also wisely orders an extra horchata for Patton, very aware that Patton does not deal well with heat

-When the waiter returns with the drinks, they claim that the restaurant is having a special where if you can eat an entire 3-inch ghost pepper within thirty seconds, your drink is free

-Val happily accepts, and, not to be outdone, Roman does the same

-Patton starts to protest, saying Roman doesn’t have to do that just to make his order cheaper, and Logan’s eyebrows go up, but Roman just waves them off, saying it’ll be fine. Val knows what’s up and looks at Roman with a glint in her eyes.

-Roman is already beginning to have regrets

-And then the waiter returns with the peppers. And a mariachi band.

-Yes, a mariachi band

-“Two of our patrons have decided to take up the ghost pepper challenge tonight! Let’s cheer them on!” the waiter calls out over the music. This is clearly their favorite part of the job.

-Cheers go up all over the restaurant. Patton is bouncing, Val’s grinning in a simultaneously amused and embarrassed way, and Logan politely claps. Roman’s gone red and he hasn’t even eaten the pepper yet.

-The plates are set down. Plain white and empty save for a single pepper in the middle.

-How bad could it be? Roman tells himself.

-Turns out, pretty bad

-He does finish the pepper though

-He downs his entire glass of water, and, knowing that his Mexican hot chocolate is spicy, shamelessly steals about half of the extra horchata before he can think about it

-Val’s eyes are watering, and she also drinks quite a bit of her horchata, but she’s also trying not to laugh at Roman’s reaction

-He even gets a chuckle out of Logan

-“You did it!” Patton cheers. “You didn’t die!”

-Logan eats his fajitas with a fork and knife. Roman tries not to laugh. Val and Patton are clearly used to this, but that won’t stop Val from teasing him about it.

-Patton, meanwhile, keeps losing the insides of his veggie tacos when he goes to take a bite

-Roman has regrets about ordering his spicy food, and Logan knowingly hands over the extra horchata, since Patton seems okay without it. He has his water to counteract the spice in his hot chocolate, and the veggie tacos aren’t very spicy

-Roman waits until near the end to actually take a sip of his own Mexican hot chocolate

-They went light on the spice, but the cinnamon is strong. Roman gets a little choked up at the familiarity

“You ate a ghost pepper and now the hot chocolate is making you tear up?” Val asks jokingly, unfortunately noticing but fortunately not understanding what’s actually happening

-Roman laughs along with her. “Okay, you caught me, I’m a disgrace to my Latino brethren.”

-The moment passes

-They go back to happily talking. Logan and Patton talk about how they met, since Roman doesn’t know the story, drinks get refilled, music plays, Logan keeps eating his fajitas with a fork. It’s fun.

[biopsychs]

What I Learned From University (1st Year)

FIRST YEAR

Everyone is super friendly, especially in the first few weeks → Introduce yourself to the people sitting near you for the first few weeks of lectures. Everyone is looking for a friend or at least someone to talk to!!

If you commute, make that time productive → My bus ride was an hour there and back each day. It sucks but I would try to be productive for at least half of the commute. I have a post about being productive on public transport here.

On that note, stay on campus as long as possible each day → As soon as I got back home I would procrastinate every little thing. Stay in an already productive environment for as long as possible.

Maybe don’t buy your textbooks used → I thought I was being smart by buying used textbooks (most schools will have a buy and sell facebook page for textbooks). I ended up having to pay for access codes in order to do my online homework – access codes that cost ~$70 separately and came included with new textbooks anyways. Email your prof or talk to someone who has recently taken the class to find out if you need an access code. If you do, your best bet is to buy a new version of the textbook (unless you can get a seriously cheap used textbook).

Print off your timetable and find all of your classes before the first day → This helped me so much! I found exactly where all my classes were before the first day of class. I wrote down little tricks to help me remember where everything was (i.e. my calc lecture is in the arts and science building which is also where the only subway on campus is).

Don’t knock living at home to save money → If you’re lucky enough to have a college or university close to home at least consider living at home. Getting your own place or living in dorms is expensive. (But if you have to find off campus housing on your own, don’t leave it too late or you might not find a place)

Figure out the best way to take notes for each class → You have to customize the way you study for each class, all depending on the prof and the content. I hand-wrote notes for some classes (chem, calc, and physics), but not others (psych and bio). If you’re writing by hand you can always just annotate your textbook notes or lecture slides (if they’re posted before class). If you fall behind while taking notes, just leave a gap and check out a friend’s notes after class.

Adjust your expectations → Don’t expect to get straight A’s, like you might have in high school. You can strive for straight A’s but be realistic as time goes on. For classes I struggled with, I expected to be near the class average. If I was a lot lower than the class average then I would know to invest more time.

Make time for physical activity → If we’re being honest I hardly exercised during uni. Go for at least a half hour walk each day and try to start a physical activity routine. Get a friend and join a sports team, go to a fitness class, or commit to some form of a daily workout with them! You’ll feel bad bailing on someone else, plus working out is more fun with other people.

Review content throughout the semester → Reviewing little bits of content will save you a massive content review right before finals! Look through old notes while you wait for your daily coffee or take 15 minutes to watch some khan academy videos on stuff you learned in the first month of classes.

Think seriously about how much you can handle → Don’t take on too many responsibilities at once and consider all of your options! I worked weekends and some week nights throughout the school year. Looking back I should have worked less because my stress levels were way too high. Also, quite a few people I talked to took 4 classes instead of 5, for their first semester of university. I don’t think I would have done it, in the end, but it’s always something to consider.

Have fun but be responsible at parties → Always go to parties with people you trust!! If you didn’t do much partying/drinking during high school (like me), remember to pace yourself when drinking! Eat before you go out and have some water between each drink, till you find your limit. Don’t let yourself be peer-pressured into anything but also don’t be afraid to have fun! And check out if your uni has a safe walk program (someone will come and walk you back to your dorm or your car if you feel unsafe or nervous for any reason)

When procrastination hits, aim to be productive in some way → The only reason my biology mark was so high was because I would study biology whenever I got sick of studying for physics and calculus. If you know you need to study but just can’t do it, start by being productive in some other way – study a subject you do like, do your laundry, organize your study area, etc. Get your brain to start thinking productively.

Labs are difficult so be prepared → I had so many labs first year. Some tips: eat and hydrate before labs, never assume you can finish your prelab last minute, be nice to your lab partner, always remember lab safety (don’t be the person trying to wear shorts in the lab, TAs will not hesitate to kick you out), don’t rush through an experiment but be efficient, and ask for help (even if you feel like you’re bothering your TA).

Please go to bed early. Sleep affects everything → I was so dumb and would never go to bed early even though I had to be up at 6 am almost every day to catch the bus. Lack of sleep will catch up to you eventually!! Also, all nighters are not necessary, unless you make them necessary. I prioritized and never had to stay awake too late. And never pull an all nighter the night before an exam (you’re better off getting sleep and resting your brain).

Bring a water bottle everywhere → Buy a decent water bottle and always carry it with you. Even though my uni is small there are still tons of spots around campus where I can refill my water bottle!! Stay hydrated my friends!

A practice problem a day keeps the F away → This saying probably works best for science classes, but I guess a reading a day will get you somewhere too. Do something for every class each day, even if it’s just a practice problem or a quick reading. Develop a routine!

You’ll have lots of midterms → I was under the impression that midterms happened just once a semester (I thought I would have one week where I had a midterm for each class). That was not my reality. I had 2 or 3 midterms for each of my classes scattered throughout the semester. Study really hard for your first set of midterms till you get used to the high expectations!

Don’t worry about what other people are doing or thinking → This is mostly in regards to social media. I was bummed when I looked back on my first year of university, because I felt like I hadn’t done anything fun compared to other people. You only see the image that other people want you to see. You don’t know how hard someone worked or how hard they didn’t work. Just focus on you and how you can affect positive results in your life.

Other people literally don’t care about your appearance → My friend’s little sister visited campus and asked us “Why is everyone wearing sweatpants?” People literally don’t care. Dress nice and put lots of makeup on one day, because you feel like it, and wear sweats the next day.

Start essays and reports as soon as possible → You never know what might come up so be prepared for the worst! Outline your essay or graph your data as soon as you can.

Eat healthy and do meal prep → You can eat healthy during university! Set aside a couple of nights each week to do meal prep. Cook food in bulk to save money and don’t eat out too much. Try to have at least 1 serving of fruits or veggies with each meal or snack you eat!

Find a good study spot on campus → Explore your campus and figure out your favourite places to study. I had a couple of spots where I would always meet my friends to study and quiet spots where no one would bother me. Studying outside or in an area with natural light is always good.

Don’t be afraid to talk to your profs and TAs → This is the number one thing I’m going to try to do more of in my second year. TAs are chill to talk to and they can tell you tons of useful information on what upper year classes are like, which professors are good, why they chose to go to grad school, etc. If you’re struggling in lectures or labs, talk to your prof or TA! Make an appointment and be sure you can tell them exactly which concepts you’re struggling with or at least where you got lost. One of my profs told us he just waits hopefully during office hours for someone to come in. (Also profs love it if you ask them about their research or any topics they seem passionate about during lectures.)

Explore all the resources your university has to offer → My university has a program that is basically people bringing their dogs around for students to pet, in order to relieve stress. It actually works and gave me something to look forward to! Just be aware of your options so that if something in your life changes you know where you can go to ask for help.

Get a planner and utilize it → There’s no excuse not to have a planner of some sort. Use your phone, get a bullet journal, or buy a cheap planner. Have somewhere where you can record important deadlines and make to do lists. I also recommend back planning all of your studying at the beginning of the semester. Write down your midterms and finals dates and write down how much you’re going to study each day leading up to the exam. This way you’ll be able to look ahead at each month and figure out what needs to be done (i.e. getting an essay done early because the due date falls during a busy week of midterms)

This post ended up being a lot longer than I expected whoops. Take the things I said into consideration but remember that everyone’s experience will be different. Good luck to everyone heading to university!

My Other Posts:

AP lit tips

high school biology

organization tips

physics doesn’t have to suck: how to enjoy and do well in your required physics classes

recommended reads

reminders for myself

using your time wisely on public transport

what i learned from high school

[tzds-gt]

Happy Birthday

A late birthday post for the Host, my boi, taking place in @askthelittleassistant‘s AU!

~

It’s a week before the big day when King sneaks out of the Host’s room.

She’s brought her laptop with her. She needs to get to the Googles’ lab. She isn’t sure how to get there.

She also isn’t sure of how she’s going to bring her gift back. But the Googles aren’t exactly chatterboxes, so it’s easy to assume Host won’t find out from them.

When she comes across the lab, it’s nearing 5. Blue is the only one not on a charger. He’s curious about King’s early appearance.

“I heard that y’all had a giant 3D printer in here.?” She explains. “I need your help with that.”

After another hour or so, Google sets King in front of the Host’s bedroom door. They review contact information, and King bids him “good-something. I mean it is morning but I’m going back to sleep, otherwise Host’ll get suspicious.”

She’s glad to see that Host is still fast asleep. So she curls up against his throat and falls asleep, hoping that nothing goes wrong on the Googles’ end.

However, for the rest of the week, she keeps forgetting she’s already done this whenever she wakes up. ~

The Host dreads today.

It is his birthday, technically- though, the sun isn’t rising for a while. He should be celebrating today, and yet, all he can bring himself to think of is his past self. He was born as the Author- and he abused his powers. Now he’s suffering the consequences.

The events between the Author and the Host are a blur to him; too many alternate timelines and theories a jumble of could-be memories in his mind. There is only the Author and the Host, and a mess in between.

A slight pressure against his lip brings him out of his thoughts, and the Host can feel the outline of King’s face nuzzling against his skin. The narrations of his mind tell him that she’s fast asleep, and dreaming of something that needs to be done. He’s spared the details, though he wishes he wasn’t. He needs something to keep his mind distracted. King’s sleeping troubles over the last week would certainly count.

As if he willed it, King stirs, hugging his chin loosely. “You’re awake early.” She murmurs softly, while moving away from his face.

He can sense she’s rather embarrassed of how she was cuddling him, though he doesn’t see why. He enjoys it when she leans against his lips- that’s the only time he can ‘see’ her face clearly. “Did the Host wake you?” He asks in a whisper. He places a hand near her, and she moves under it.

“Nah, I just kinda woke up.” She responds. “What time is it, anyway?”

The Host’s internal narrative supplies the answer. “It is 2 in the morning.”

King thinks for a moment. “Ew. Nobody deserves to be awake this early. Especially you.”

“The Host believes King is the one who doesn’t ‘deserve to be awake this early,’ as she put it.” He responds.

King giggles. “Then let’s both go back to sleep, and we’ll wake up at a less stupid time.”

The Host wishes he could sleep through today. Tomorrow could be considered a less stupid time. “The Host agrees, moving King back toward his face so she and the Host can get comfortable again.”

She curls against his neck, pulling part of the covers over herself. The Host lays his hand over her again, and she’s knocked out within minutes. He wonders if she knows. He almost prefers that she doesn’t, but he knows that that would be unfair to her.

Slowly, the Host relaxes as well, and he somehow falls asleep with her.

~

The Host wakes again at seven, and hopes he has somehow slept through the day. He has no such luck. But to his surprise, King is already awake. He can hear her giggling at something.

“Mornin’ Hosty Boi.” She smiles.

He has to chuckle at the nickname. “The Host wishes King a good morning as well, asking how long she has been awake?”

“Not long. Did you sleep well?”

“The Host doesn’t want to wake up just yet.” It’s true, he thinks.

King reaches up and taps his chin. “I feel you, but we gotta. Otherwise someone’s bound to notice, and I don’t think either of us need that kind of attention.”

The Host would prefer that he gets no attention today, but somehow, he doesn’t mind King’s presence. So he gets up, bringing her to the kitchen so they can both eat something. The Host makes some coffee, and King makes herself some tea for the morning.

As the two make their way to the library, Doc nods to the Host. “Happy Birthday.” He says quietly.

“Thank you, Doctor.” The Host murmurs back. He’s okay with this small attention as well, because Doc doesn’t press the matter.

King tugs on his bandages as he starts to unlock the door. “It’s open already. And the light’s already on.”

Google Blue and Google Green step out, nodding at King. “It turned out rather nicely.” Green says.

“We put it on the desk.” Blue adds.

The Host tilts his head toward King. “‘It’, he asks curiously?”

The Googles start to answer, but King shushes both of them. She shuffles in her place on the Host’s shoulder. “Come on! I haven’t even seen it yet!”

The Host partially dreads that King has gotten him a birthday present, and yet curiosity overtakes him. When he reaches his desk, he hears King gasp- and when he places his hand on the desk, he understands why.

His fingers hit a ridge, which he feels along until he realizes the pattern under his fingers form a three-dimensional model of his own smiling face. He can tell this is him from about the waist up; in the model’s hands- smiling, as always, is King. When he feels the background, he realizes that he knows where and when this picture was taken.

“The Host would like to guess that this model came from the photo from the aquarium we went to for King’s birthday.” He says, and King squeals in happiness.

“Yep! You mentioned that you really enjoyed that visit, and that you wished you could see the picture we got as a souvenir, because I kept going on about how lovely of a shot it was, so…. I had the Googles use their big 3D printer to print a version that you could see.” She explains, climbing down to feel for herself.

The Host smiles. “The Host is utterly stunned by King’s gift, declaring that he loves it.” His finger catches a shape like a shark in the background of the photo, and he smiles. He couldn’t see into the tanks, but King had been so happy when he brought her. He’d gotten an audio tour for the informational aspect, and when that ended, King began describing the fish to him and giving them personalities. They’d both had a great time that day.

And maybe, the host could have a great time today, too.

“Would King care to accompany the Host to the common room kitchen? He believes she could be of great help in whipping up a special birthday snack.”

King grinned. “Alright! If it’s cake, I call dibs on the leftover icing!”

[xfilesnews]

FanWorks Wednesdays - mimic117

by Keva Andersen

If you’ve ever needed help finding a fic you’ve read but can’t remember the full title or author, chances are this week’s author has helped you find it. Meet mimic117! She’s a wonderful author and also a prolific beta who helped shape some of your favorite stories. Mimic117 also runs The X-Files Lost and Found which is a great resource if you ever need help tracking down a story.

Look through her extensive list of work and you’ll find everything from casefiles, Mulder Torture, and heavy angst, to humor, family fic, and even an X-Men crossover. And there’s a little *ahem* adult activity as well if that’s what you’re looking for. One of my personal favorites is the “Chip Off the Old Block” series which brings Charlie Scully back into the picture shortly after the start of Season 9. But don’t let that S9 throw you, Mulder is still there. If terror is more your thing, “Only Skin Deep” dives into the mind of an obsessive stalker and it may just keep you up at night.

I could offer more recommendations of her work but this week I prefer to let our author do the talking. Mimic117 is a long-time member of the fandom and has done a lot to preserve many of the stories we first read on geocities and other sites that are now long-gone. We talked about writing, fandom, and how fanfiction has changed over the years and I hope you enjoy her perspective as much as I did.

How long have you been a Phile?

I didn't start watching the program until season 4 because Friday was always grocery shopping night. We only had one car so I didn't go shopping until Mr. Mims got home from work. Then we'd eat supper, throw the kids in the car, and not get back home until after 9 PM. I distinctly remember #1 son running inside to watch as soon as we pulled in, which is why he never helped unload groceries because "The X-Files is on!" He kept telling me how good it was and that I should watch. I finally got the chance when they moved to Sunday night and watched all the way through to the bitter end.

What was your first episode?

“F-Emasculata” – the one with the exploding boils. ~gag~ I have no idea why I continued after that but I did. I've always been more of a MOTW fan than the mytharc but I do wish they hadn't written so many with exploding boils and maggots.

How long have you been writing fic?

I actually had to look it up on Gossamer. LOL, I posted my first story in 2000. It seems like I wrote for a much longer time than that but I think overall it was almost 10 years. I just posted the second half of a story last year that was actually five years overdue, but nothing between about 2009 and then.

What inspired you to start writing?

I came to fanfic late too, and read obsessively for a good three years, encountering a lot of frogs in with the princes, before I said, "I can do better than that." I'm not really sure I did considering how out of character Mulder is in that first story, but the fire was lit and I just kept going. I like to think that leaving my oldest immature/flawed stories up helps to show how much my writing has improved but I have to admit it's kind of embarrassing when somebody recommends one of those.

Who is your favorite XF character to write?

Mulder. Always. I love his snarky dialog and the way he views the world. I was a lot less comfortable with Scully early on, although giving her the flu in "Getting By" was great fun, and using her POV in "Unfolding" felt very natural. I became more comfortable with her the older I got. I did a short piece from Frohike's POV in "Bare Ruin'd Choirs," which I really enjoyed, and I've got a decent start on a long piece from Doggett's POV. I've enjoyed being in his head and hope to get that one done some day.

Are there any XF characters you dislike or find too difficult to write?

As much as I like Skinner, I've never tried his POV because I'm not sure I understand him well enough. I'd be too afraid of getting him wrong. I've always disliked CSM and would never even consider writing from his POV. I'm not even sure I want to write about someone else encountering him. ~brr~ There are so many XF authors who do both beautifully that I'll leave these guys to them. I'm not sure I'd ever write Reyes either, for the same reasons as staying away from Skinner. She never appealed to me as a character.

Is there a story you're most proud of or that's a favorite?

Geez, that's like asking which son I like best. In general, I tend to like my original-character stories best. Maybe that's because *everyone* writes M and S and Sk, but only I write my OCs. Out of the stories I've done, I think I'm most proud of "Only Skin Deep," the stalker story. That was a very intense piece to write for many reasons, most of them having to do with getting inside the head of an obsessive psycho stalker. I loved it in there! It also scared the crap out of me. I've always read mysteries/casefiles, both in fanfic and RL novels, and I've wanted to write one for years. This story gave me the chance to try, even in a short format, and I found out how hard it is. I had to figure out all of the mechanics of the casefile, set the pacing, deliver the thoughts and dialog, make sure there weren't any loose ends – it took close to a year to complete. I'd have to say it was worth the work and this is probably my favorite story as a result. I've had a sequel planned for years but now that I know what to expect from getting into Julie's head, I'm finding it hard to commit.

With so many archives to choose from these days, where is the best place to find your work?

I've still got my own site, recently stripped down, renovated, and moved off Wordpress (I HATED the way the stories were displayed there!). http://mimicsmusings.com  I decided the overhaul was needed when Gossamer stopped updating and I realized that I'd forgotten how to post at Wordpress. LOL, I know a lot of authors are gravitating to Archive of Our Own these days, but I prefer to keep as much as I can in one place. That used to be Gossamer, but my newest stories were missing from there and my old site, so moving it seemed like a good idea. I may get around to adding my stuff on AO3 when I need a new challenge. I do have a Live Journal but there's not a blessed thing on it. In fact, the screen even says, "Nothing to see here. Move along please."

You've been well known in the fandom for a long time, do you still write for XF or have your skills been focused elsewhere?

As I mentioned before, I haven't written anything in about 6 years, other than to finish something that was due 5 years ago. When I hit my senior level of college around 2008, I started having less time and motivation to write fic. Then I went on to grad school in 2011 and lost what little urge I had left. All of my writing was focused on my thesis, but I often looked longingly at my stash of WIPs and wished I could work on them instead. I've been out of school for almost three years now and have only picked at old stories every so often. I suspect if other things in my life ever settle down, I'll definitely go back to it. I've got a solid dozen WIPs on my hard drive and new ideas aren't gone, just the urge to write them down.

Is there anything in particular that caused you to stop writing?

Grad school, plus Mr. Mims needing two major surgeries in as many years, were the first things to put a real crimp in my fic writing. Trying to come up with ways of earning a living so that he can retire without having to worry about bills. Branching out into photography, which didn't go quite the way I'd hoped but did satisfy my creative urge. Just kind of life, in general, some days. In an old interview that's up on my website, I said I didn't see myself stopping. Ever. Boy, when I get it wrong...!

Have you written your own original characters outside of fandom?

I've had a supernatural mystery/thriller in process for a good 20 years now. The heroine is weak and I haven't even written a hero yet. The best thing about it is the bad guy and the secondary characters. I've written an entire scene with the villain and another with the bit players but other than that, the novel is going nowhere fast. I suspect I'm not cut out to be a best-selling novelist.

Anything you’d like to share about your writing process?

I've never been a very efficient writer, but grad school taught me a lot about what works for me and gave me a couple of better habits. I've only ever written one outline because the research paper I was doing would have been hell to keep straight without it. For most other pieces I write what comes to me, as it comes to me, then stitch it together when I've got enough. Sometimes this means that I've written something good but put it in the wrong place, so moving text "Legos" is a big part of the process. If things get too complicated, I've even printed out a piece, cut it apart, and then taped it in the right order. I often finish the end first, because I have to know where I'm going. Sometimes it changes, most of the time it doesn't. Many stories come to me through the title. The right one will tell me what the story is about, so I usually have the title before I even start writing. Other than that, it's a question of not pushing it. Trying to force myself to write often means not being able to write, so if I'm not in the mood or the words won't come, I do something else unless that changes.

What do you find most difficult about writing?

Getting started. I'm always beginning pieces in my head, then something comes up so that I can't write it down. I frequently get great ideas/lines as I'm trying to fall asleep, which means I either have to get back up and write it down or accept that it'll be gone in the morning. Getting started is a daily struggle when actually in the process too. Our brains are lazy and will find anything to avoid doing what we want. The Internet is great for wasting time so when I'm writing, I can't even go online for a few minutes or I'll be there for hours.

Do you have a favorite author? (fanfic or published!)

Another "pick a favorite child" question! I think I need to split this up a bit. Published authors: Since I'm a huge mystery/thriller fan, right now my favorites are Sandra Brown and Mark de Castrique. I got free books by both through daily download sites and I'm hooked. Sandra does really good romantic thriller characters, and Mark has two incredible thriller series set in NC with amazing characters and settings. I've read every book he's published and I'm jonesing for more.

Fanfic authors: This one is really really tough. For overall quality of plot, dialog, characters, settings, etc. it's gotta be aka "Jake." Her casefiles are so spot-on I can see them as if I'm watching the show. Brandon Ray is right up there, too. He really understands Scully and writes her so well a lot of readers didn't realize he was a guy. David Hearne is the master of humor and quirkiness. dee_ayy, Jo-Ann Lassiter, and Peggy did medical Mulder!Torture that isn't over the top. Yeah, picking one ain't gonna happen. LOL, I've heard of some really good newer authors, too. I need to check out some of them.

Is there any advice you'd give to aspiring writers?

Go for it. If you sit around wondering if you should, you can save time by just jumping in and doing it. Don't try to figure the "right" way to work. Do it your way, and do it whenever you have time, even if it's just a few minutes in between doing something else.

When you're not writing, think about what you want to write. Go over it in your mind, set up the dialog, see the scenes, then consciously put it away. When you sit down to write again, something will be there. It might not be exactly what you were thinking of, but you'll have something. This is what your brain does best. It's often called the "Eureka!" effect, but it's really just your subconscious working in the background. Trust it and learn to rely on it.

Don't fight the story. I think the biggest mistake fic writers (especially) make is asking "What do I want these characters to do?" If you're working with canon characters, the question should be "What *would* these characters do?" All characters have their own personalities, motivations, moral sense, background, especially characters that were created for a show. Know who your characters are, even the ones you create yourself. You'll only use a tiny portion of their background, but you have to know it ahead of time so you'll know how they would react in a particular situation. I found many times that a story I was having trouble with came from not listening to what the characters wanted to do. That usually meant I was trying to go in the wrong direction, and once I listened to the character, the writing became easier.

Do you think fic has changed over the years? You run a popular message board, X-Files Lost and Found, that helps track down missing fic....has the demand for that changed at all?

Oh, fic has definitely changed! For one thing, NoRoMo was the accepted standard back in the early days of the fandom. Shippers were the minority, and not necessarily well thought of. After the first movie, things started to swing the other way until the 'ship was the primary genre for XF fic and UST fell by the wayside. The advent of binge watching the series on DVD/Netflix/whatever resulted in a new genre of fic based on M&S-were-meant-to-be-together-and-have-a-baby (or a bunch of them). The newer writers didn't experience the weekly relationship struggle and sort of just skipped right to doing the wild thing and having William. The fic coming out of this viewpoint is radically different from the previous 15 years or more of Phile fic.

All of the message boards are seeing less traffic these days, although Lost & Found can always count on someone showing up with a description or title for us to hunt down. It appears the action is now on Tumblr and AO3 rather than L&F or Haven, but there's still enough interest to make it worth keeping the board open. My only problem is that I haven't read a lot of the newer authors so my rep as a fic-finding guru is suffering.

Anything else you'd like to share that I missed?

I'd like to extend a challenge to all Philes – help us save the stories. Yes, AO3 is doing a fantastic job of archiving these days, but they can't possibly hang onto everything out there. It seems like it's mostly new stories being added, while a lot of the older fic either languishes in obscurity or disappears into a black hole. Slash and Doggett fiction have always been the ugly ducklings in the fandom, which makes those kinds of stories much harder to find. Something that each of us can do is to create collections of fic on our computers, in a cloud storage device, or elsewhere. If you like a particular story, save it, then track down the rest of what the author wrote and save that too. A few of us are still gathering old sites to rebuild and we always need people who can either find a fic or have a copy to share. Some day the fandom may be mostly on peoples' hard drives, but at least it would still exist. This is one of the longest-running fandoms out there. Let's do our best to keep it that way.

Thanks to mimic117 for talking with us!

[themanuelruello]

Canning Pears in Maple Syrup

Some folks like a little fruit with their sugar. I’m not one of them.

I mean if I’m going to the trouble of canning good food for my family, I’d rather it be good food, not half fruit, half refined sugar, right?

I recently shared how I can cherries with honey and how I can apple slices, and today I’m super excited that my friend, and a member of The Prairie Homestead Team, Michelle Visser, agreed to share her amazing recipe for Canning Pears in Maple Syrup. Michelle is also the owner of SoulyRested.com and the author of the new delicious book I’m in love with, Sweet Maple. (affiliate link).

If you’re over in my Homestead & Heritage Cooking facebook group, you already know Michelle, my Community Manager and sidekick in there. (If you’re not in my facebook group and you love true heritage cooking and want more encouragement in that area, hop over and join right here. ) Or if you met us at the Christmas in July Workshops at Lehmans this year, you met Michelle tag-teaming with me out in Ohio. (btw, if you haven’t heard of the mega homestead superstore, you should check out Lehmans right here.)

Meet my friend, the maple queen.

But enough about all that, you wanted to know about canning pears in maple syrup. So without further ado, my friend, the Maple Queen …

Thanks, Jill. But I’m not too sure about being the queen of anything.

Well, unless sometimes royally messing up counts. But, seriously, I’m excited to share this recipe today.

Growing and preserving my own food has always been important to me. My daddy taught me, and his granddaddy taught him, so you could say a love of real food is in my blood. But canning pears in maple syrup was something I had to figure out how to do on my own, after we moved to our little New England sugarbush.

Once we learned how to tap into our own source of sweet sugary goodness flowing through our trees, I was using maple syrup in every way I could think of in our kitchen–a theme that permeates my new book, which btw is definitely NOT just for sugarmakers. (Take a peek inside Sweet Maple and see what folks are saying about it right here. Then make sure to comment below for a chance to win your own copy!)

So I’m excited to share my recipe for canning pears in maple syrup with y’all today!

Honestly, it’s no different than any fruit canning, except instead of a simple syrup (which is usually loaded with refined sugar), you cover the pears in hot, all-natural maple syrup. Read on for the full scoop…

btw, if you want to grow your own pear trees, or any other heritage-cooking-related foods, you’ll love this selection over at Nature Hills that they’ve pulled together just for The Prairie Homestead readers.

Canning Pears in Maple Syrup

Before we dive in, I should point out two things, in case you don’t see yourself as “a canner”:

Avoid stressing over the equipment. Yes, you do need a few simple things, but I’ll outline everything below, and they’re pretty inexpensive.

Enjoy the fact that there are numerous ways to personalize this recipe for canning pears in maple syrup. You can make it perfect for your family. Score!

In fact, it’s not so much a recipe as a fantastic idea. 

As for the equipment, in addition to a few wide-mouth mason jars, you’ll need:

A water bath canner

A canning rack–if your canner didn’t come with one

A canning tool set (affiliate)–or you can get these all separately, if you have some but not all of them

(Jill has also pulled together a nice collection of items she uses for preserving food right here.)

Preparing your pears

Most folks will peal the pears, core them, and slice them. I take the super easy way. I simply wash them, cut them in half, and scoop out the small seeds. Mind you, they are a grainy texture because I don’t peel them, but we don’t mind. If, on the other hand, you want smooth canned pears, take a few minutes to peel them before canning. Of course you wanna use organic pears, but especially if you decide to take the lazy way out.

While you’re preparing your pears, you can pour your maple syrup in a pan on the stove, on low heat, to get it slowly warming up.

After cutting them, allow your pears to soak for 2-3 minutes in a lemon juice bath. This helps to prevent discoloration. I use a 1:30 mix of lemon to water, so yeah, very little lemon juice, but it does the trick of keeping the pears from turning brown. 

Packing your pears

Pack the pears into hot, sterilized jars. (I try to time it right so my jars, getting sanitized in the dishwasher, are done at the same time I’m ready for this step.)

btw, if you need jars, you can pick them up at a thrift store or yard sale (just check them closely for hairline cracks), or I’ve found great prices on canning jars at Lehmans as well as mason jars like these over on Amazon. (affiliate link)

Cover your pears with hot syrup, leaving 1/2-inch headspace. Wipe rims and place a hot canning lid (placed in hot water on the stove for a few minutes) on each jar. And you can also heat your fruit in the syrup on the stove at this stage, which would then be hot packing; I’d much rather pack the pears directly in the jars, unheated.

Many people prefer to hot pack, but there are really only 2 advantages:

If you hot pack, your pears won’t shrink, and

If you hot pack, you pears won’t float to the top of your jar.

I personally don’t mind that my pears shrink a bit, or that they don’t stay suspended nicely throughout the syrup. For me, the ease of cold packing outweighs all else. Plus, when I cold pack them, I wind up with firmer pears. If you prefer to hot pack yours, simply place your pears in the hot syrup on the stove for a few minutes before bottling.

Processing your pears

Process in a boiling water canner for 25 minutes for pint jars and 30 minutes for quart jars.

Keep in mind that you will need to add 1 minute additional processing time for every 1000 feet above sea level.

If the whole idea of canning intimidates you, you are totally not alone, but Jill has a fantastic solution right here to help you face your fears and learn to can, worry-free. 

Partaking of your pears

No, I don’t usually walk around talking about “partaking of my pears,” but I couldn’t resist the alliteration I have going on there… see all the “p”s? Prepare, Pack, Process, and Partake. Sorry, my English-Nerd side is showing…

But, seriously, this part is the truly beautiful part of this whole idea of canning pears in maple syrup…

Are you ready for this?

The pear juices infuse into your syrup and create sweet pear-flavored maple syrup. After you’ve enjoyed eating the delicious pears, the syrup has new life. Not one drop was wasted. Instead, every bit of your maple syrup can be used. It will bring new layers of joy to pancakes and ice cream and transform something as seemingly simple as a cup of hot tea or ice cold lemonade to utterly divine. Cue the harp. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating just a tiny bit, but this pear-infused maple syrup is pretty heavenly in my book.

A Few Tips for Canning Pears in Maple Syrup

Don’t even think about trying this with imitation syrup. Only the real stuff will do. I love this all-natural maple syrup.

Feel free to water down your maple syrup to any amount of sweetness you would like for canning your pears, using any option from water with only a hint of maple syrup to 100% syrup. But if you’re considering doing this because you think canning pears in maple syrup is wasting your valuable syrup, keep reading.

Be sure to keep (and use!) every drop of your maple syrup after you’ve enjoyed eating your canned pears.

If you’d like a warm, thick maple pear sauce for an amazing ice cream sundae (ummm, who wouldn’t?), boil your pear maple syrup to a corn syrup consistency and slather it over on your vanilla ice cream. (Just stop and imagine how good this is.)

Enjoy your pear maple syrup as a delicious glaze on pork chops and ham steaks.

For extra oomph in a meat glaze, boil your maple syrup down a little and add some grated ginger as you boil. This will thicken up your meat glaze while adding a delicious zing.

Print

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Canning Pears in Maple Syrup

Author: Michelle Visser

Ingredients

Firm, ripe, washed pears (about 2 pounds fills one quart jar)

Lemon juice and water for presoaking (optional)

Maple syrup (enough to fill jars after pears are packed in)

Instructions

Cut pairs in half and scoop out the small seeds.

Soak your pairs for 2-3 minutes in a lemon water bath. (optional)

Pack the pears into hot, sterilized jars.

Cover pears with hot syrup, leaving 1/2-inch headspace.

Wipe rims and place a hot canning lid on each jar.

Process in a boiling water canner for 25 minutes for pint jars and 30 minutes for quart jars. (Add 1 minute additional processing time for every 1000 feet above sea level.)

Other Home Canned Recipes & Tutorials You’ll Love

Canning Made Easy: A step-by-step canning process walkthrough– perfect for beginners or nervous canners!

Roasted Poblano Salsa

Honey Canned Cinnamon Peaches 

Honey Canned Cherries

How to Can Hot Pepper Jelly

*** Maple-Infused GIVEAWAY!***

I am thrilled to be giving away a 2-part, maple-infused treat to one lucky winner. Along with Michelle’s brand-new, just-released book, Sweet Maple, the winner will also receive full access to Michelle’s delicious mini crash course–Making Maple Sugar. (Because one can never have too much all-natural delicious sweetener in their life…) 

One winner will be chosen randomly in a few weeks and announced right here.

Want to enter to win?

Take a second to subscribe to Michelle’s Resource Library right here. It’s loaded with printable information you’ll love, but one of my favorites is Michelle’s conversion chart for replacing refined sugar with maple syrup in any recipe!

Then just leave a comment below telling us why you’d like to win.

The post Canning Pears in Maple Syrup appeared first on The Prairie Homestead.

from Gardening https://www.theprairiehomestead.com/2019/10/canning-pears-in-maple-syrup.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[sweetsuccesssociety]

What You Need to Know to Budget for Groceries Like a Boss

Happy Friday! As we head into the weekend, let’s talk about something we all have to do and we can all probably be a little better at: smart grocery shopping. This is such a broad topic and there are so many avenues to explore, so don’t worry, we’ll continue exploring how to save money on your groceries! Today, we’re starting with the basics.

Last year, my boyfriend and I would eat so well for the week after pay day, and by the end of the month we were living on the college diet. I finally got so sick of our grocery shopping strategy (or lack thereof) and decided enough was enough. We started budgeting $25 a week for groceries, and that was that. End of story. It was tough in the beginning, though I gradually began figuring out tips and tricks to save a few precious dollars (with a budget that tight, every penny counted!). Once we moved in with my boyfriend’s two twenty-something-year-old brothers, I shopped for four people… who can eat a lot.  I’m very proud to say we keep our grocery budget at $50 per week—and here I’m outlining how we make that happen by implementing these successful grocery shopping habits.

Where and when add up.

It’s not rocket science that sales = savings, therefore you should search the sales. Can you imagine if grocery shopping was actually that easy? While I certainly don’t have all the answers (um, please introduce me to someone who does), here are several tips and tricks to consider for sales and price awareness.

Download Flipp to check your local grocery stores for sales. Always check the sales before you make your grocery list—it’s the first place to start because those sales should dictate your week’s meal plans and, therefore, your grocery list. This app is so helpful to find all your local deals, and it’s free!

Confirm your local grocery stores are in a good price range. For instance, if you shop at Whole Foods but can get the same items at Sprouts for a few bucks cheaper, wouldn’t it be worth the switch? I get amazed (and pissed off) by the different prices and sales at each grocery store! It was painful when I realized the grocery store right by our old apartment cost more for almost everything than so many other ones in the area. By driving an additional five minutes down the road, we could have saved hundreds and hundreds of grocery dollars that year. Take advantage of those discount stores and make sure you aren’t paying more than you have to!

Always buy your produce and meat on sale. I repeat, always buy your produce and meat on sale. The only exceptions are purchasing these items at large bulk stores, like Costco or Sam’s Club, or passing them up for the more expensive but not completely shitty meats (this rule only applies to meats, because even discounted fatty chicken breasts are gross). Take advantage of peak season for your favorite produce—those fruits and veggies are growing faster than people can buy ‘em, which means awesome sales for you!

Be mindful of the pound price for frozen vs. fresh fruits and vegetables. Frozen veggies long forgotten have helped our household out of a dinner jam too many times to count, but I’ve personally found that (unless you buy frozen at the bulk stores) it’s best to purchase your weekly veggies in the produce aisle when they’re on sale. Fruits for smoothies are a staple in my household, so I’m always keeping an eye out for fresh fruit sales because a pound of fresh fruit is cheaper than a pound of frozen fruit if it’s peak season! Remember, you can always freeze fresh fruit if you can’t finish it while it’s ripe.

Look at the cost per ounce if you’re debating between brands or sizes. My roommate pointed out this tiny print under the price right out of college, and it blew my mind. I’m not saying you have to buy the cheapest option, but be aware of the cost per ounce for all your staples. Will it benefit your month’s grocery budget if you buy the 30-egg carton now, as opposed to buying a dozen weekly?

Keep your coupons visible so they stay top of mind. I am no coupon queen. I’m not even a coupon princess. Maybe like the cousin of a coupon duchess—as in, I love coupons, but holy crap there is a whole science to it that is way beyond me (and other normal people, I imagine). However, that’s not to say I don’t appreciate a coupon of a staple food when it comes my way! Instead of sticking the awesome coupon in the random miscellaneous drawer we all have at home (ours is called the Drawer of Knowledge), just put it on your fridge. Find somewhere you know for a 100%-no-way-Jose-will-I-forget fact to stick that sucker, so next time you’re prepping to go to the grocery store, BAM! It’s right there and you’ll actually use it, instead of discovering it three months after the expiration date in the Drawer of Knowledge.

Substitutions save.

I know we get excited about a new meal plan or recipe we found on Pinterest (we’ve all done it), but stop and ask yourself this one question before you run off to the grocery store, waving cash in the air and skipping with glee at the thought of how you’ll make the delicious results into an Instagram post.

Do you already have any other ingredients that could also work well for this dish? I mean it, dig deep and find your inner flexible chef. Because is it really necessary for you to go buy one type of cheese when you already have another in the fridge? Would vegetables you already have be good instead for this meal? And why buy spices and seasoning you know you’ll never use again?

I know, I know, recipe ingredients are important, but seriously reconsider how important they are, and whether you can save some money by just using what you already have.

The many uses matter.

Wasted food makes me cringe—I flat out don’t let it happen, but it took some adjustments to my grocery habits to figure out the best way to use all the food I buy.

That means when you reach out for any item at the grocery store, keep it a rule of thumb to be able to think of at least two uses for it. Creating your grocery list from a variety of Pinterest or meal plan recipes is a sure fire way to rack up the grand total, so do your best to stick to the basics. Pick one or two recipes for the week (with ingredients that go with other meals if there’ll be extras!) and go with this formula for the rest of the dinners: Filler + Vegetables + Protein.

Filler: Beans, brown rice, quinoa, sweet potato, brown rice pasta, lentils

Vegetables: Dark or leafy greens, zucchini, tomatoes, eggplant, broccoli, bell pepper, mushrooms, squash, onion, corn, carrots, olives, cauliflower, green peas, brussel sprouts, avocado, etc.

Protein: Chicken, ground turkey, salmon, shrimp, white fish, eggs

The above are among my household staples, which don’t include dairy or gluten. You get the idea though—I recommend creating your own formula chart that includes your household staples! Feel free to throw in something else from your pantry into the mix—like pasta sauce (hint: get fireroasted diced tomatoes and add it to the sauce for double the amount at half the cost).

Make awareness a habit.

Simply be aware of the various price options. Be aware of what you’re spending and why. I get it, it can be overwhelming to adjust your grocery habits and you can chalk it up to not having enough time or energy when you’re shopping, so you just grab what you know where you’re familiar buying from. Or those meal plans with all sorts of recipes make your life a little easier. I completely understand, and there’s no pressure to change your grocery-buying habits overnight.

But ask yourself how you can simplify your grocery list. Buy something because you trust you are getting it for a good price. Buy it with full confidence that all of it will be eaten. Once I tuned in and got into the habit of asking myself if I truly thought I was being efficient with my grocery spending, I was surprised how much more aware I was about everything—from sales, price comparisons, ingredient necessities, and so much more.

Without further ado, I wish you the best of luck with your grocery shopping! Please let me know if you have any questions, I’m more than happy to discuss this more! What do you think of your grocery spending habits? How do you want to improve them?

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