#also i like my butches WELL FED
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The "there's no f/f ship popularity because of the fucking fujos" is popping up again on a different app and it always upsets me because, genuinely, until there are more butches and studs (BUTCHES and STUDS not just a buff gal) in media, I have so very little interest in damn near all f/f ships because it's all fem fem. And not even femme femme. They have same face syndrome half the time.
#i can make bl gl in my head but i cannot make most gl bl#and that is the issue#i still love gl#but i dont really like fem fem sorry#as a butch with gods shittiest beard#who thinks beards are hot#a lot of gl is just boring#and finding someone who goes off the rails is a treat#i like my butches to confuse queer men basically and that isnt common in media#and where it is.. they get girlie-ified#see karlach getting de-muscled 💔#also i like my butches WELL FED
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Butch is a Noun by S. Bear Bergman
ID - image 1 - text reading:
"WHERE BUTCH RESIDES
Sometimes I think it's in my hands. They're big, you know, big boy paws, big enough to hold two glasses in each when I'm carrying them back to the table. Sometimes sort of grubby, sometimes clean and well clipped, sweaty in her cool and dry ones when we walk, arms swinging slightly down the street. They are hands that capably twist jars open, twist wire around contact points, twist nails out of wood, but also hold her so gently, soft enough to cradle a newborn between them safely against my heart, pick a dock splinter out of a smooth thigh; steady enough to make pleasure between, to hold hopes between. Sometimes when I sit and think about where it is that my butch self begins, I feel the power and gentleness in my hands, warm and heavy where they rest on my thighs, and it seems like that's where it must be.
Other days, I think it's in my shoulders. They're big, too, not that you have to be big to be butch, but I sometimes think it helps; large of stature"
Image 2 - text reading:
"have to be big to be butch, but I sometimes think it helps; large of stature or of persona anyway. They're lean-on shoulders, cry-on shoulders, shoulders upon which I can comfortably bear a lot of weight; I put them down against hard times and I push, using whatever power I can find or borrow or draw up from my web of friends, and things move, however slowly, but they move. I square my shoulders when it looks like it might get tough. I puff up like any wild animal when it gets cornered; I try to look large enough to be a threat. I feel my jacket hang down just so, my shirts stretch slightly across the expanse of my back, and I feel the power of butch rush across my shoulders and down my back so it looks in my mind like in the outdoor shower when I stand there in just trunks, letting the warm water pour down.
Maybe in my hips, somewhere around my thighs, not my cock or my cunt per se, but a near neighbor, a sexual organ all its own, something desirous and desired. My butchness engorges at the approach of an object of my desire, it leads the way and I follow, bringing along my"
Image 3 - text reading:
"of an object of my desire, it leads the way and I follow, bringing along my butch behaviors all fed with the strength of that blood, those muscles, that possibility of my womb. I lead with my hips, my butch does the walking and I'm along for the ride. I reach out with my helping or my gallantry or my sexuality or my gentleness, and it throbs with begging to be touched, acknowledged, wanted. Wanted for being exactly what it is, at its most when someone welcomes it into hirself, tenderly or roughly, or when it is able to take someone in, make hir feel desired or soothed in some way. It changes its parts like an earthworm in response to its partner and seems always to have the right thing.
Many days it seems, though, to live in my chest, in a place in my ribcage very close to my heart. I feel it beating there, sometimes swelling so large it makes my chest hurt in a beautiful, perfect way unlike anything else, like getting a little too much air after a day playing in the snow or the sea; I get a really big lungful and it feels so full, so sweet, so absolutely perfect that I wish it could always feel just like that. It blazes in my chest so bright I'm surprised people"
Image 4 - text reading:
"Many days it seems, though, to live in my chest, in a place in my ribcage very close to my heart. I feel it beating there, sometimes swelling so large it makes my chest hurt in a beautiful, perfect way unlike anything else, like getting a little too much air after a day playing in the snow or the sea; I get a really big lungful and it feels so full, so sweet, so absolutely perfect that I wish it could always feel just like that. It blazes in my chest so bright I'm surprised people can't see it, warm and glowing, not surprised that it attracts predators; surprised every time when I try to describe it though I have so many words, and can pull fire out of the air with them—and I can't get a tenth of the way there. It lives in my chest and glows and lights my way, and beats and keeps me warm. It makes me find new ways every day to show love and care, and rises to meet each challenge, and rises to every occasion as best it can; it rises and I follow it, beyond the reach of where my brain can go, or my hands or shoulders or sex, it rises up to where truth lives in our lives, and that means I get to go there too."
END ID
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Community of Resistance: Losing and Rediscovering Queer Solidarity in Pittsburgh
This post is written by Sarah Trexler, a recipient of an Archival Scholar Research Award for the 2024 Spring Semester.
My project offers a comparative analysis of Pittsburgh’s queer communities and social life in the 1970s, the 1990s, and the twenty-first century. Along with other communities around the country, queer individuals in Pittsburgh faced a variety of implicit and explicit discrimination, fed by the conservative turn towards a more hetero- and cis-normative culture after the Second World War. In response to direct systemic violence and social isolation, queer people began to create their own community spaces where they could turn for resources, support and mutual aid.
My interest in this topic began as I consumed queer media, specifically Sapphic media like Leslie Feinberg’s Stone Butch Blues and the 2022 reproduction of A League of Their Own. In these sources, I noticed the role of gay bars in the formation of identities, relationships, and communities. At a time when being queer in public could attract danger and violence, bars were safe havens of free love and expression. However, bar spaces were not always conducive to conversation and there were many, young, sober, or otherwise inhibited, queer people who had to seek other spaces. Outside of bars, there were more accessible and inclusive queer-created spaces such as bookstores, restaurants, and coffeeshops – some of which existed right in Pittsburgh.
My curiosity brought me to the University of Pittsburgh Library System's Archives & Special Collections, where I began my work with the Pittsburgh Gay News, a newspaper published during the 1970s. Flipping through the pages brought me to a new time and place. One in which the vibrancy and joy of queer community was documented by queer people for queer people.
(Above) Excerpt from Gay News. Pittsburgh: Gay Alternatives Pittsburgh (Issue 25: 1974). Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.
Although my research began with queer periodicals from the 70s, I soon realized that my project was much larger than that. Newspapers did not tell the whole story of the spaces that I was studying – I was lucky if I got a few pictures. But when the addresses became familiar and recognizable, I wanted to know more. What were these spaces like? Who patronized them? And most importantly – where did they go?
In an attempt to situate my findings in a larger timeline, I broadened my horizons. In addition to queer periodicals, I also found event fliers and records from local businesses and organizations, like the Persad Center and Donny’s Place, useful to my research. I also began considering archival materials from the 1990s, hoping to find discussion of the big names in the Pittsburgh queer community of the 1970s. Unfortunately, this investigation only yielded more questions.
(Above) Act Up! Pittsburgh Advertisement in 1993 Pittsburgh Pride program. “A Family of Pride: 1993 Pittsburgh Pride”, Archives of Industrial Society (AIS) Information Files, Pittsburgh Lesbian, Gay, and Bisexual Pride Celebration, Archives & Special Collections, University of Pittsburgh Library System.
I had been hoping to pick up the same names and patterns that I noticed in the sources from the 70s, but the queer community had undergone a dramatic shift as a result of the AIDS epidemic. The vibrancy and joy that I had noticed in earlier media was subdued – cluttered with statistics, infection rates, and mutual aid requests. There was still a strong element of community, but it had moved out of the bars and physical spaces of the earlier decades. Instead, it was found more in support groups, PSAs, and volunteer opportunities. I also found no mention of the earlier community spaces. Mentions of new bars and coffeehouses popped up, again with familiar addresses, but those proved to be dead ends as well. When I attempted to uncover the stories of these places, I found that those stories too were left unfinished. Queer spaces from the 1970s and 1990s were since turned into furniture stores, car dealerships, or simply left abandoned.
My questions continued to pile up and all I could find were unfinished stories. It was a disheartening and isolating experience – to not know my history and not even know where to look. I created working relationships across several archives, including Carnegie Mellon and the Heinz History Center, searching for the lost lives and stories of this earlier generation. I eventually came to realize that the absence of answers to my questions and solutions to my problems were answers and solutions in and of themselves.
(Above) Shawn’s Place bar, once located in Downtown Pittsburgh (April 1995). [Photograph]. Donald Thinnes Papers. Detre Library and Archives, Heinz History Center, Pittsburgh.
Queer stories were never intentionally recorded. Understanding this scarcity gave me a new insight into the value of community and queer joy where you can find it. I came to treasure the photographs, letters, and even the obituaries that commemorated lives full of love. I became inspired. Instead of leaving my work in the past, I want to set a tone for the future. I have created a contemporary archive of sorts to record my community’s joy, love, and stories. It will be a place for people to honor and appreciate their friends and space.
To learn more and contribute to my project, visit: https://forms.gle/RLVVV1tw3ReEL48G8
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About your last rb from me- God right? Radblr loves to talk abt being open minded +uplifting lesbians but once we critique butch/femme shit we get shut down IMMEDIATELY.
One of my first popular posts on here was me asking what butch and femme means and I literally couldn't get a clear answer besides it being a word for how you present yourself....or reclaiming femininity and masculinity as a lesbian somehow....but isn't the point of radical feminism to destroy those two very things 🤔
I’m just happy to know I’m not alone in being iffy about the whole thing!! But it’s very frustrating that radblr is all “we love lesbians!!” But once we have something to say that doesn’t follow the script, it’s over.
I’ve heard that butch/femme originated as roles for protection…but in the modern (western) world, that doesn’t seem to be what they’re here for. It really does seem like fancy words for masculinity, femininity, and heteronormativity to me. “I just want to put on lipstick and cook for a nice strong butch!” Just sounds like lesbians trying to reword the heteronormativity they’ve been fed since childhood, and trying to fit into it the best they can instead of just rejecting it.
I’ve also heard the point that if we’re to believe butch/femme are something innate, then we also must believe that “femininity” and “masculinity” themselves are innate…which is exactly what radical feminism and gender criticism/abolition stands against. That really got me thinking about the whole thing differently, because yeah, how can I simultaneously believe that a woman can be innately “butch”, but not innately desire to wear makeup and be submissive? They contradict each other so one has to go…and I’m certainly not going to start believing that the oppressive concept of femininity is innate.
This is probably a spicy take but I have a hard time taking femmes seriously tbh…we seem to all agree that it doesn’t matter why you’re performing femininity, it just matters that you’re performing it (submitting to gender roles). Why is that true and an acceptable rebuttal for choice/liberal feminism, but when a femme says “I perform femininity for women!!!” It’s not treated the same way?
It’s late so I’m not sure how well I expressed myself here…clearly I had Things To Say lmao so thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so. I guess it’s just hard for me to not be side-eyeing butch/femme with my deep hatred for gender roles. It just feels like more roles to play, but lesbianified.
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DONE!!!
I worked on it for about 9 hours. It’s about time I rip the bandage off and post it. I love this piece. It looks just so professional! I wrote in my last post that I will think that one is too simplistic after I make some more art and I agree. This one has like chains, detailed clothes, hair, teeth… the background isn’t just blobs of colour…
The next plan is to try making some backgrounds. Although I think I might do a few more characters like this. It’s really fun. I barely noticed the hours tick by. I even had an idea to make a poster. A squirrel and hedgehog poster. But I would probably end up making one just for myself. It feels a bit mean to be selling stuff to our little Squirrel and Hedgehog community. Especially with you guys being so nice to me. As for the wider Squirrel and Hedgehog community, if the fox doesn’t have her boobs out then it’s not selling. I imagine the same goes for the North Korean market.
This post is also an introduction to my fursona/Squirrel and Hedgehog OC Scratch the Cat!
Scratch uses she/her pronouns. She’s pansexual, autistic and a butch biker gangster. Inspired by 50’s greaser guys. So you know Garfield? That fat orange cat from the news comic strip? Well actually Garfield was a rip off of another orange news comic strip cat Heathcliff. In reality it’s more complicated then that. I recommend you check out the YouTuber Quinton Reviews if you want to learn more. One of the differences between Heathcliff and Garfield being that Heathcliff is a mafioso. Heathcliff also FUCKS!!!
Thus fathering Scratch. I haven’t settled yet on how she got her scar. She either fell of a motorbike when she was a kitten or got into a fight with her dad when she said she wants her own gang instead of taking over the family business. Probably the second one. She got fed up with her family and went to those not Olympic Games they had in Flower Hill. Robing animals on the streets and maybe, gasp, selling catnip!
She ended up getting caught and thrown in jail. She was given two options. She either stay in prison or join the army. Of course she picked the military because she wasn’t going to sit around in a cell all day. Finding a niche as a mechanic. Being fast to grasp how the machines work thanks to her autism and having to learn how to fix her own motorbike.
What do you think? Do you have an OC you would like me to draw?
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Hi sweetie, this is for the BG3 matchup exchange thingy! Thank you for agreeing to do this, I can't wait to see what you write ☺️ And of course I hope you like mine as well!
I'm an autistic girl who's fine with any gender, though I might slightly prefer a man tbh. I’m a pagan witch who’s interested in a ton of different subjects like horticulture, linguistics, genetics and anthropology/archaeology. I have a very bubbly, friendly personality though I’m also highly intelligent and often called “wise beyond my years” lol. I just think in a very big, philosophical way if that makes sense, so I come up with a lot of raw quotes and good advice. Even when I'm tired, I still seem to have more energy than the average person, and I never stop talking (if I go nonverbal something is very wrong). The most common word used to describe me is “eccentric” since I’m very brave about being myself and don’t care too much what others think of me (at least not as much as some people). I have a kinda outdated way of talking and honestly living lol, I'm very much a grandma in a 20 year old body (though my body's chronically ill so the shoe still kinda fits). On that note, I have several chronic illnesses like scoliosis, joint pain, asthma and a bunch of other stuff. 😬 I love taking care of people, like baking things for people and drawing them cute pictures. I also really love gardening and writing (I’m super good with plants). I'm super short, 4’ 10” (142 cm), with messy auburn hair that's something red, brown and blonde all at once, glasses and a retro/vintage fashion sense that's like if cryptidcore was more colorful lol. My style also switches between very butch and very femme a lot. I can be sassy and witty when I want to be, but I also get nervous easily so it only comes out occasionally (but when it does I'm told I'm very funny). I also need to have outdoors time literally every single day, regardless of weather or season, or I start to go stir crazy. I’m a very nature-oriented person lol. I get super flustered being called cute names like sweetie or sweetheart, despite the fact that I call literally everyone I know things like that 🤣
Alright, I think that’s about it lol. Thank you and Happy New Years sweetie!
ofc! I’m glad to do another matchup exchange anytime.
your Baldur’s Gate 3 matchup is… GALE DEKARIOS !!
• I have the suspicion you saw this coming, judging by how much Gale stuff you have on your profile. Even then, I genuinely think he’d be the best match for you!
• Starting off right away, he’s a wizard, you’re a witch. While I’m entirely the same thing, they have enough similarities to go hand and hand, which is the thing you guys bond over the most.
• He’s also interested in the various hobbies you dabble in too. He’s done what he can on his free time, but I’m sure there’s something he hasn’t done yet that you can introduce and info dump him about. He’s a great listener actually.
• Gale is a very smart man. Hell, he uses big words when he talks, and often drags things out a little longer in a witty manner, I think just to impress people? It could just be a normal thing for him though. Nonetheless, he’s happy you can keep up with his banter.
• Depending on the occasion, Gale can have lots of energy. Especially if he was recently fed an object containing weave lol. Though, if you’re feeling a boost of energy he wouldn’t mind something like going on a stroll with you.
• Gale is pretty eccentric, as seeing how often he talks with his hands and uses big words. So don’t be afraid to be yourself! Gale loves seeing you and your big personality.
• He’s glad to see someone independent as well. From what I’ve seen he’s very attracted to confidence and heroism. See you with both makes his heart really flutter.
• Gale is your biggest cheerleader by far, and if you ever need something done because you feel out of it or sick, Gale will get it for you.
• He enjoys your creativity side too. He’s worked on poetry in his free time, and I believe that he finds anyone with a creative mind admirable.
• He likes colors too! So pretty..he absolutely adore everything you wear on a daily basis, and you’ll often find him complementing you throughly, finding his favorite minute detail to prove how much he cares.
• He’s not very judgemental about your height. He’s extremely taller then you, being around 6’2 according to Reddit. I don’t ever see him bringing up your height unless you do it first, or it’s crucial to the conversation at hand.
• Your sassy side is extremely cute to him too. He even sasses back sometimes if the mood strikes him right. Although he can’t seem to find as many playful, teasing quips as you can, so he saves them up for when he can think of one.
• Gale is a big lover of nature, and is most definitely an outdoorsy guy. Why stay inside when there’s so much to explore?
• He calls you pet names when the two of you have sweet moments. It starts up after you’ve been with each other for awhile, and it’s very awkward and maybe even cringey, but it’s sweet to the two of you.
• It almost feels unreal, the connection you have with each other He never thought he could run into someone as perfect as you, but here you are. For that, he loves you very much.
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First thought: oh A DIANA PERSON
second thought: that is… a lot of blood
Homelander, okay, there he is. Nice but creepy smile, that’s always a good sign
A couple bickering, okay, alright. OH MY GOD OH MY G O D ???? Oh my GOD????? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???? Am?? I just supposed to forget that??? And move onto hot strong chick? Ok then
Oh sweetie, either you really are naive or you’re a good actress because wow
Stop talking, dude. His girlfriend just got violently killed- OH MY GOD AND THEY’RE LYING ABOUT IT? Motherf….. oh my god oh my god they want him to shut up about it? w o w
She got it!!! She got it!!!! She got… what??
Oh he’s- he is not supportive, no, of course, he isn’t. So he’s got no spine and dad’s just like him, great, oh man, I smell a “this is my villain origin story” except they don’t really seem like the good guys here
Ok ok back to starlight, yea, forget my emotional whiplash. Oh wait, I know this actress?? She was in CSI, wasn’t she?
They’re gonna ruin this girl, I just know it
Oh, hi, you’re hot, aren’t you, sir? Who the fuck is lamp- oh ok, she’s replacing him, makes sense
This is gonna go wrong, this is gonna go so wrong, I just know it. Don’t take your grief out on random people, bro, don’t do it, that is a horrible anxiety attack oh no
THAT. THAT IS HIS NAKED ASS. OH MY GOD, HE WANTS HER TO???? Good lord, thank you Broose for the warning, also I take back what I said. He is NOT HOT.
Jimmy is in this?? What even is this show
Butcher????? That is SOME NAME, bro. Nice beard though. B-Billy Butcher? Oh my god. Spank the bast- oh lord. What can you even do bro? Do you have powers as well?? Or do you just go around offering people vengeance?
Go, Hughie, G O. After him.
‘arry! Omg the accent. Oh yeah, he’s totally not actually a fed, that liar
Oh great, post forced bj vomiting, always lovely to THAT IS A NAKED PENIS OH MY GO D
“Man’s a saint” I’m sorry but something’s not right about that. He’s too perfect
Why would they pick someone as pathetic as this kid?? He’s right, he’s gonna fuck it up
Oh, she’s out here renting out heroes, great great. “What’s Compound V?” Same thought here, lady. He’s gonna get murdered. I’m calling it.
Great, she can’t tell her mom, that’s just- great. Why is he sitting right next to her and eating?? Oh no, are they gonna work together and do something stupid? Are these the main characters? What is happening
His face saying “smack” is my face whenever I say anything to anyone. Aw ok, he’s not as pathetic when he gets to talk about Robin, that’s nice
Oh man you just gave a pep talk to a supes. Oops, that probably wasn’t what you meant to do
Oh. Oh he is good. He is really good, damn, I kind of like him? 👀
BUTCHER WHAT THE FUCK
Holy SH I T, did he just- did he just live up to the- oh no of course he didn’t, he had to drop it. For one second I thought “good for you”. Ok now please w- OH SHIT THE NAKED GUY
Oh no, are they gonna just- are they just gonna leave him alone??? Oh lord. He called him “son”, damn, he’s done being useful, huh
He did not just tear up- JESUS CHRIST
Oh ok is it now that she’s gonna make sure he’s killed? She wouldn’t let him off the hook, would she?
NAKED GUY OH NO, that’s gotta be him. Translucent, ok, whatever, OH GOD NO THEY’RE GONNA KILL HIM oh thank GOD BUTCHER WHERE THE FUCK WERE YOU
How- how are you gonna fight an invisible man, Butch?? Oh. Ok. Like that.
Hot.
Oh my god they’re frying his actual ass, what the fuck iS THIS SHOW
“Technically I’m not a fed” technically, my ass
Oh yay, murder on a plane, of course. They’re sending Homelander, ain’t they? Show me I’m right about this guy
I KNEW IT
Oh lord, that was very…. dark Superman of you
Ok so… In conclusion: wow and omg????
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I survived triimeri!!!!
Final thoughts!!!
I am well rested , i am well fed , i am slowly starting to come to my senses , heres the final opinion .
It was fine . It was very very low key and very chill . The clubs were mostly empty besides us being there , and after i had my fill of dancing i went outside either way , so i has very relaxed through and through . They didnt let us have any alchohol in the club either which was godsent because i dont do well with too much alchohol and loud music. We didn't party to much at the resort either it was very relaxed and layed back . My friend groop was bitching and moaning and acting like bitches and fighting for some reason that i havent yet understood and i did not want to be around that drama so i ditched them and went with this girl i used to crush on , soft butch lesbian stoner ,and the guy i post about a lot saying im in love with him and such and such and went and found his friends and we mostly just drank a bit of wine the first nigh and talked a bit , most people were asleep by 4 .
I stayed with the guy and we talked , and he sayed he wants us to hook up again like we had last year but it was so unbelivably akward last year so i told him no . Anyway we talked some more and got cold a bit so he ended up going inside to his room , which had an empty double bed and a single bed with some dude sleeping in it . I asked its its ok that we sleep in the same bed and he said sure and we layed down laying still for about five muinyed before he asked me if i wanted to cuddle . I told him he is the most important person in my life , he told me he loves me , that he cant function without me , that he missed me so much and that he wants us to be friends again . He hald be very very tight and wouldn't let me go . I asked if i could move a bit because i was very hot and sweting and about to pass out from the heat and he have me a very sad " oh ok we can stop cuddling then " which lasted for about five muintes before he started shaking and whining and looking like he was about to cry and he griped my waisted pulled me close and begged me not to leave . Begged . He begged me not to leave . Killing myself over it. I also tryed to ignore his boner pressing against my leg the entire time . He said that we wants to be just friends and i agree but like . Your dick is stabinh my abdomen rn . Anyway i do really love him more than anything but i hate myself to much to be actually convi ced the really loves me back and he isnt just capping . I also didnt sleep a wink the entire night . I didnt sleep at all for 48 hours .
The second night people bought vodkas and got wasted by 8 pm and we did short of all go into panic mode trying to get them to pull it together but we gave them food and water and bathed them and they relaxed eventually . Me and the lesbian and the guy ditched the rest of his friends and they slept in my room . The guy collapsed into a single bed imidietly and wouldnt get up. I slept next to him in another single bed that was pressed right next to it and the lesbian slept in a double that was also pressed right nextto the two singles . Me and the guy cuddled a bit and then he pushed me away i think idk i was sleep deprived and i didnt really understand. There was a great deal o debate over who pushed who away but it was probably me because i cannot sleep cuddled up like that i need my space . Anyway i slept maybe a good 3 hours .
Also The resort was great. I almost felt as if i was camping . We stayed in little bungalows instead of a hotel which defenetly gave it more of a chill relaxed vibe because because we would be allowed to roam around ouside more unlike last year when we could only go out on tiny little balconies. It also ment that was just a bunch of little white and blue houses near the beach , very greek island but not so much so it was touristy . The place was amazing. So lovely . The beach was beutiful but small , perfect for a bit of a chat and a smoke with a small circle or friends . The view was even more amazing . Just endless horizon with mykonos right across from us. Our bungalow had a balcony that faced the sea , and i woke up at six once and stayed out smoking watching the sun rise through the waves while sitting . We also happened to share that balcony with a teacher and she sat next to me and smoked while we watched the sun rise
Over all i had a great time . It was fun but not too fun . Im lowley freaking out over the deal with the guy but im sure ill get over it . Great success!!!
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X-Manson Chapter 4 - By Doctor Benway
[Shot of a rangy, extraordinarily tough-looking woman with a black eye-patch. She looks like a biker chick who hasn't quite figured out that she's dressed like a stereotypical butch lesbo.]
*Rudeness aside, that's a pretty accurate assessment.
[Caption: Callisto, Salem Centre, NY]
C: You don't use the word ghetto to describe this place, right? We got no rules. Anyone can live here.
Int: Is it not true that over 90% of your inhabitants are mutants?
C: Well, yeah, but the others aren't. This is an open Libertarian community, even to the Eloi who we name after the characters from HG Wells' novel the Time Machine.
*And you instantly lost me, Callisto.
Int: Why did you come to live here?
C: 'Cause it's cheap. Gives me a big kick to live in an Eloi house.
Int: Why do you call yourselves Morlocks?
C: We call ourselves Morlocks, just like the characters out of the novel the Time Machine by HG Wells. We do all the work so the nice Eloi can live out their lives in luxury.
Int: It was my understanding that most of you were unemployed.
C: You wanna be smart? You want me to kick your face in?
Int: I'm just making a point.
C: Well, we'd do the work if anyone let us. We're the ones who can't pass.
Int: So the Kelly Amendment had little effect on your lives?
C: Didn't give us 40 acres and a mule, if that's what you mean. Now if the cops and the feds come down here to kick butt we've got something to fight them with.
Int: Did you come here because of the School?
C: Kinda, but not really . We came here because it was cheap, and it was cheap because of the School.
[Shot of a portly middle-aged man in the world's last yellow and brown plain polyester sport coat worn as a serious fashion item instead of an expression of hipness.]
[Caption: William Loman Jr, Insurance Agent, Rye, NY]
*Reference to Death of A Salesman.
WL: I used to work in Salem Centre. Used to be a really nice town.
Int: What happened?
WL: Mutants. I'm not supposed to say that now, am I?
Int: Don't worry about it. Weren't there mutants in the town before the School?
WL: Well, sure, but if they were deformed, people kept them out of sight, sent them to a hospital or a residential school or something.
*is that why there has been no mention of Kurt?
Int: The School For Gifted Children was a residential school.
WL: Yeah, but it was where people lived, like as in real close. I mean like those schools that they've got up on the St. Lawrence or up by Lake Placid.
Int: The School had no obvious mutants.
WL: The point was that they came into town. We used to have 4 bars in town. Good family places where you take the kids. These guys from the School, Logan and Rasputin, start showing up and getting real drunk, even on weeknights. At first, they kept to themselves. Then one day the Russkie picks a fight with some guy up from the city who turns out to be like the hulk strength-wise and they take out the bar, the hair salon next door, and the front window of the supermarket across the street. I'd written the policies on all of them, but I'd been smart and I knew what was coming. I mean, Staten Island in 1955 was a great place to live, but today, it's all mutants. Just about every single one of them. I made all my clients take out riders if they wanted protection from mutant damage. No payouts at all.
*The second reference to the juggernaut in this story. This fight is a reference to Uncanny X-Men 183, but a key element of the fight is missing. Kurt Wagner is not here.
Int: What were the consequences?
WL: I got to see Xavier for the first time. He brought a suitcase of cash to the Town Meeting and paid for all the damages. He also brought lots of food.
Int: Good pate?
WL: Really great pate.
Int: Were any charges pressed?
WL: No, kinda weird that no-one did. Guess they just took the money and ran. Maybe he was fucking with their heads. Dunno.
Int: What happened after that?
WL: Didn't see anyone from the School for about three months. Then we lost two more bars. I made some money on mutant damage waivers for a while, but then people just decided to give up and move out. When the supermarket got hit in the middle of the afternoon, everyone started shopping in Bedford. They closed the supermarket, and by Christmas half the stores downtown were empty and the place was starting to look like Harlem used to look. I lost a ton of money, so I upped and moved to Rye. The only bar in the area was this biker hangout called Harry's, and he only kept his place open by letting S&M types know about it.
Int: People went there to get beaten up?
WL: Yeah. As word got out, so many people left that a quarter of the houses were vacant. Vanderbylt moved in bought most of them up on the cheap.
*Vanderbylt moved in after Xavier set up shop?
Int: Henry Vanderbylt?
WL: That's the one.
[Shot of Henry Vanderbylt]
HV: I didn't buy those properties. I'm merely a board member of a company that did.
Int: We have SEC documents here stating that you are the majority shareholder in the New Salem Housing Corporation.
HV: I was a passive investor. I sold out several months ago.
Int: Who owns the numbered company that bought it?
HV: No idea.
[Shot of William Loman Jr]
WL: He still owns the place, like his ancestors did. People were lucky if they got a quarter on the dollar for what they paid for their houses.
Int: New Salem then rented the houses?
WL: Yeah, to anyone who would rent them. In the hills, it was parents with mutant kids. In the middle of town, it was the kind that you didn't see a lot of in public. A lot of them were criminal types. We started seeing the FBI and the Sheriff in here all the time.
Int: How much does New Salem own?
WL: In town, everything.
Int: Everything?
WL: Every store, every house. Everything. Even the gas stations. They run the only food store in town.
[Shot of a grim looking middle-aged white guy who looks like he last smiled during the McCarthy administration.]
[Caption: Willard Whipple, Food Store Manager, Salem Centre NY]
WW: I run this store. Stop squeezing that.
Int: Do you own the store?
WW: I run it.
Int: Who owns it?
WW: The owner.
Int: Who is the owner?
WW: Salem Food Stores.
Int: You're listed as the managing partner.
WW: Yes.
Int: So you must know who the owner is.
WW: Yes.
Int: But it isn't you.
WW: No.
Int: But the owner decides on the prices?
WW: After a fashion.
Int: The milk here is more expensive than it is in Manhattan.
WW: I charge what the market will bear.
Int: But almost everyone here lives in deep poverty.
WW: I charge what the market will bear.
*Intense stupidity? Cold capitalistic stupidity? The result of psychic brain tampering? You decide.
Int: Why are five of the six aisles in the store filled with beer and wine and liquor?
WW: I don't like the tone of your questions. Get out.
[Shot of William Loman Jr]
WL: You used to see shops like that in Harlem, before the guaranteed annual income. This is one of the few places that still has them.
Int: Would you come back, now that the School's closed?
WL: You nuts? No way. No way I'd live anywhere near that place. Don't know how anyone could.
[Shot of Callisto]
Int: Do you enjoy living here?
C: Shit yeah, it's better than some places I've lived in.
Int: Like?
C: The sewer.
Int: Ah. I understand that you have some authority in Salem Centre.
C: I lead the Morlocks, who are named after the characters in HG Wells' novel The Time Machine. Nothing happens here without my say-so.
*that's twice now that she's repeated that. More psychic tampering?
Int: Then we have your permission to conduct the interviews in town?
C: Shit, yeah.
#marvel#fanfiction#x men comics#charles xavier#xmen#alternate history#alternate universe#cults#callisto marvel#callisto morlock#morlocks
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You know, I've come to the realization that I probably wouldn't actually mind having a dick if it wasn't for the fact that mine ain't big.
Like, when I was growing up and still believed that I was a boy, I felt like a failure and hated myself and felt like a failure for having a below average dick!
From every single angle, I was constantly fed lines emphasizing how awful small dicks are and how to make a woman happy you need to be big! When my friends would brag, I would just feel that ball of self-hatred I was carrying around grow bigger and bigger every time the topic came up.
Then, I was introduced to the concept of dysphoria and it was a revelation! Finally a word for all of the suffering that has plagued my life for all I could remember! But what to do with that ball of hatred for my dick? Well, I guess it has to be dysphoria! Best to just slap that label on it and try to ignore it, after all that's what people online say is the best thing to do to manage dysphoria when you can't do anything else!
So I did! I researched for years about all the different things that you can have done on the operating table, fully convinced that the only way to rid myself of that ball of self-hatred was to just go all the way and have vaginoplasty because then I would at least "have something useful".
But, of course, life is never that simple. Operations cost money, even with the good health insurance I had at the time. 5,000 dollars for the out of pocket maximum, plus the cost of the therapy letters and the hair removal and the ability to survive while not having an active income stream or at least a greatly reduced one as short term disability only pays about 2/3's of your wages.
So just how in the hell am I supposed to save up five grand!?! The short answer is that I can't, have never been able to, and likely never will be able to. When I first started hormones, I worked as a cashier at a drug store. I'm currently a machine operator at a warehouse. I'm a working class, blue collar trans butch. Bottom surgery, as much as I desperately wanted it for so long, is not in the cards for me.
So where does that leave me?
After two years on hormones, my gender identity and presentation has shifted a lot. I've stopped forcing myself to try to be feminine, I've started dressing how I want, and I've stopped forcing myself to endure trying to meet a cis persons definition of what a trans person is.
Except in regards to my dick.
That I still haven't managed to shake, because of just how prevalent it is, especially within explicitly trans friendly spaces! Post after post after post of hung trans porn stars or text posts about how these dykes wanted to be stuffed full of girldick and how it'd stretch them out and fill them and all of that jazz.
Can't exactly stretch someone with a dick that's small and can't even get fully hard, now can you?
Trans women come equipped with the full range of sizes and I am begging you to please stop treating the huge girldick as a universal truth. While your intent is great and I love the effort, unless you also just give the rest of us a shout-out every once in a while, we're just going to end up forcing ourselves into debt and depression over an organ we could have easily learned to love.
TLDR: Women with small dicks need love too, damn it!
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[“WHEN I FIRST started really writing, like for real writing, like not a story for English class or in a journal but for really real writing, Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg was the only book I could hold up and say, “I want to do this. I love this book because this is a story about someone like me, and before there was this book, there were no stories about people like me written by people like me. I want to write a book just like this one, except less sad. I want to be like the person in this book, except funnier. I want to write a book about this hard life, except I need this hard life to one day be easier.”
Last year I got a letter (well, a Facebook message, actually) from a young trans guy who said he had read all my books, ever since he was in grade eight and a counsellor had given him one, and that my writing had given him hope, had helped him come out and transition and feel less alone, but now he was contacting me for the very first time ever to complain about something I had recently read at a live show I had done with some other writers. Their stuff was really heavy, he said, about sexual abuse and misogyny, and then I got up and told a funny story about how when I had top surgery, I was worried Did they switch my nipples around and stitch the wrong one back on the right side? or whatever, and how dare I make light of body dysmorphia issues like that? and he was so disappointed and so forth, and P.S.: Why didn’t I also talk about capitalism and the environment and other important issues?
I called another writer friend of mine and read her the message. I was nearly in tears, and she was trying not to laugh at me but not succeeding. She has three books out and is working on her fourth, but she was breastfeeding her second son right then as she was talking on the phone to me, and the dog, or maybe the cat, just puked on the stairs and it was still all over her sock, not to mention the carpet, and she hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the first son was born and he just started grade one, so don’t hold your breath waiting for this novel, she told her agent last week.
“Wait,” she said. “Back the fuck up. Do you mean to tell me you can’t feel your nipples, like at all? God, what I wouldn’t give to not feel his little teeth coming in, day by day by day. I believe this is why babies are born toothless. No one would breastfeed at all if the little fuckers were born with a mouth full of teeth. You have to ease yourself in to excruciating pain like that,” she informed me.
I could hear water running in the background and the dog barking.
“Besides, switching nipples is serious fucking business, and anyone who can’t see that hasn’t had their nipples removed and stitched back on again. Yet. He’s young. It’s his job to turn on the ones who made him, who fed him, who taught him. It’s a rite-of-passage thing. It’s in all those fucking parenting books Jin is always bringing home. I tripped over How to Raise a Feminist the other day and fully felt like killing him for two days. It’s the lack of sleep, I tell him, but some days I suspect I actually do want to kill him.
“Anyways, don’t take any of this personal. It’s not even really about you, or what you wrote or said, or didn’t write or say. It about him flexing his brand-new biceps or spreading his newly feathered wings, or whatever it is the kids do these days to make sure we know that we are officially irrelevant now, and that they invented everything radical. You probably did it to someone too, pal, think back. Next.”
She has a way of putting things into perspective. That’s why I called her.”]
Ivan Coyote, Rebent Sinner
#ivan coyote#trans literature#stone butch blues#gender stuff#wasteland radio#He’s young. It’s his job to turn on the ones who made him who fed him who taught him. It’s a rite-of-passage
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Part 2: For some strange reason, I feel a sudden case of Deja vu, ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ MsButterFingers has two fics and both made me cry so... for you. :) And lastly, "The notion of Loss" & "Paper Hearts" by Gold Scribbles. Paper hearts is the cutest Blues fic ever.Switching over to questioning you about anything and everything, tell us more about your fake dating au and plans!! And that is it. I hope you do well and hope you haven't read at least one of these fics so I can feel so proud of myself.! :)
Oh no! Idk if there was a part 1 to this ask but I never received it :(
I'll have to look up MsButterFingers. Idk if i've read anything by them yet, and that's pretty wild cause I've read a lot!! I love when fics make me emotional~ can't wait!
AND AHH OMG okay okay okay the Notion of Loss by Gold Scribbles is my fave fic like ever!!!!!! I love it, which is a big deal given how prominent the reds are in that fic because usually I stray from that pairing but ugh the author just fucking NAILS it. If i could ever write anything half as good I'd die happy fr fr
I rec that fic to everyone!! I left a review for it on ffn and the author actually replied, and I about died and went to heaven. It was like meeting a celebrity. I love all their work, but I don't think they update their profile much anymore :( so happy you mentioned them! FEEL PROUD OF YOURSELF YOU'VE READ ONE OF THE BEST AHHH! The greens in that story *killed* me and Boomer's characterization??? So good.
Fake dating au updates under the cut!
i don't have much of an update :( it's still just an outline, but here are some fun facts b/c i really can't wait to write this one
1) I love the idea of Buttercup in her "boyfriends" oversized sweaters, so that's featured heavily
2) I'm actually excited to write Blossom in this one. I'm portraying her as the stoic "doesn't emote often" character--like cool nerd, not the overachiever I usually write her as. I think I'm going for "burnt-out prodigy" lmao. Outside of that, I really don't have any plans for her. Bubbles is featured more prominently then she is.
3) i like making the greens huge dorks who go to great lengths to cover up their dorkiness. This story, as opposed to Buttercrush, shows more of Butch's dorky side. The whole point is the two greens finally get to see each other in a light that rumors/stereotypes/popular media doesn’t portray the other as.
So, Buttercup is the "stone-cold bitch one", but in reality, she's a very passionate and excitable young superheroine (who's overly competitive). She's just a little socially awkward and shy, is all, but she's always determined to help a person in need. She's also the youngest member of Townsville's only superbeing roller derby league (because in canon, the girls aren't the only people with superpowers and I've decided there's probably enough super-people to have super-people sports leagues)
Butch is the "promiscuous bad boy," but in reality he spends his weekends either camping/back-packing or building incredibly nerdy military models. I'm making Butch the Townsville version of an eagle scout BUT because he was "evil" (at one point) HIM had put him in Demon Scouts to meet like-minded children. Demon Scouts is just Boy Scouts, where they learn how to tie knots and match car derbies, but with 10x more blood rituals/sacrifices. (Imagine the delight BC will have finding the fam photos with little butchie in his little demon scout uniform, I'm crying it's so cute).
Butch doesn't mind too much that people think he's a whore, but it bugs Buttercup because she doesn't think it's fair to Butch
In line with Boy Scouts, I just found out in one of the ppg comics the girls were in "Muffin Scouts" and Buttercup only joined so she could eat the cookies, so i'll definitely be using that to my advantage.
4) All of the above is important because a major turning point in the story is Buttercup getting fed up with people assuming things about Butch, her, and their supposed relationship. Everyone thinks they'll break up because she's a "bitch" and he's a "whore," and she's like DAMMIT Butch I know we said we'd fake break-up today!!!! But they can't treat us like this!!!! We'll show them we're the best couple in the whole damn school by becoming Prom Queen and King
and Butch is like lol yeah ok--wait, what are we doing??
5) LOL I can't wait for Buttercup to "meet" Butch's parents. I don't plan on having HIM in this story, just Mojo. But Mojo being like what is she doing on my couch, in my living room, where I live??? Causally?? And Butch is like oh lmao yeah, sorry dad, this is my girlfriend Buttercup. You've met before, right??
And Buttercup--who's funny and a good sport, and love, love, loves fucking with mojo--is like oh lol sup mojo, absolutely love what you've done with the place, haha, anyway I'm boning the fuck out of your boy.
And Brick, Boomer, and Butch (b/c he kind of forgets for a second she's talking about him) are just like 🤣🤣AHHHHHH🤣🤣🤣 YEAH SHE IS
and mojo just straight up dies.
#this isn't coherent but ohhh wellll#ive got six more pages to writeeeee~#fake dating au#i don't want to give too much of the plot away but this is a comedy#and it writes its self#everyone plz read the Notion of Loss
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I'm back :D
Headcanons on sleepover (Boys and Girls)?
Girls First!
#1: Zee NEEDS to be Host if it's the whole group
Zee hosts as often as she can because she likes sleeping in her own bed and not having Babs' dad knocking on the door every 5 minutes.
It's also hard to coerce convince the girls into magical makeovers if she has to be alert about using her magic.
Also...she is positive that Commissioner Gordon suspects her of murder. (He doesn't, he just has the naturally narrow eyed thoughtful look)
Zee, in other words, prefers to host their sleepovers.
#2: Babs is a Wriggler, Kara is a Thrasher, Jess is a Talker
Diana, Zee and Karen are relatively quiet sleepers. Like sure Diana snores a bit and Karen might drool and Zee might shift in her sleep but they are NOTHING compared to Babs, Kara and Jess.
They are nightmares to sleep with. Babs wriggles in her sleep and babbles too. Especially if she's stressed. She'll be talking utter nonsense. Literally like 'waffles have feelings too' or 'butterfly fart machine'. No one shares a bed with Babs because she is known for stealing the covers and wrapping herself in them. Like a Babs Burrito. And if you try to take some back she will shove you off the bed. Still very much asleep.
Kara, she is a hazard to people everywhere. At least if you don't know how to control sleepy Kara. The girls know the control word 'go back to bed' but that only helps them when Kara tries to fly away. If she's kicking and or punching it's doom. Typically her erratic attacks are sparse and weak, so just like a pro-wrestler but badly aimed, but still...no one sleeps within 5 feet of Kara Danvers.
And lastly Jess. Jess is not much of a physical threat while asleep. She stays in the same position and doesn't even drool or snore or anything. But in the middle of the night you might hear a yelp, or a drawn out very loud groan. That's Jess, she groans a lot in her sleep, regularly. And if she's extremely stressed she'll even mantain conversation. Very poorly. Kara tried once. It went like this.
Jess: The moon, is just a ball of cheese.
Kara: Oh? Can your eat it?
Jess: Like a rock
Kara: What do you mean?
Jess: I'm nice, you're mean.
So yeah...they can share a bed with this chic and they have. That's why most if them sleep with headphones tucked into their ears.
#3 Movie Night
Karen hates horror movies. They creep her out and Kara is obsessed with them.
In fact while Karen and Kara argue about which genre to watch, romance or horror, the rest of the girls watch them fight.
Which is more amusing then it sounds.
#4 Diana can't cook
Diana is a girl of many talents but she can not cook. Not a bit. Not even instant mac and cheese.
Babs has tried to show her how to make a burrito- failed.
Jess a salad- failed.
Karen, some stir fry- failed.
Kara, warning up some pizza- failed.
She just can't cook. Moving on.
#5 Babs is generous with everything BUT her stuffed animals.
These are things she has said:
"Rest your feet somewhere else, Kara"
"Burrito Bat Butch hasn't cuddled with anyone but me, ever. Hands off!"
"Listen, if you wanted a pillow you can just ask- you don't have to treat General George Jennings like that!"
"Give me the bear, Karen. Give me the bear."
"EEY, NO TOUCHIE!"
#6 They can't do a proper Binge Watch with each other.
Babs drinks a lot of soda and munches on a lot of snacks so she has to constantly use the bathroom. Insisting they can keep watching but of course they pause anyway.
Zee cannot step away from her phone. It's always vibrating with emails and messages and she is too invested in her rep to put it down. She is the type of gal who likes texting while watching a show. This drives the other girls up a wall because then Zee insists they catch her up.
Kara cannot, for the life of her, sit still. Even though they are curled up on the couch, one of the girls leaning into Kara's side, or having their head on Kara's lap. Or anything, really. Kara breaks the comfort because she cannot sit still. She shifts too often, changes the legs she tucked under her, stretches her back. It is annoying because then the girls around her need to shift too.
Jess gets restless quickly. She predicts the ending or loses interest when the plot becomes to predictable. So then she starts, trying to be subtle, looking through her schedule and doing school work. Its more infuriating because when the girls ask pointed questions she almost always gets it right.
Diana is of course knew to the world of man and stills doesn't get everything that is happening. Sometimes she misunderstands the plot completely and they have to rewatch the episode, explaining everything that time. This makes the watching chunky and somewhat less enjoyable. Usually Zee is the one to do the explaining. No one blames Diana of course, but still.
And Karen? She just wants to see if her ship lives. She is a fangirl through and through and has to scream into a pillow every time they have to press pause. Which is three to five time throughout a single episode.
✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨
Now for the boys,
✨✨✨✨
#1 Food Competition
Barry eats a lot. Barry is never sure how much is enough. Barry can eat a supermarket out of business if he was particularly hungry. Hal knows this. Still his pride won't accept it so every time Hal challenges Barry to eating some disgusting amount of sauce or drink.
Sometimes Hal wins.
Barry has a sensitive stomach.
But usually not.
#2 NO HOMO
Steve doesn't really care how close any if the dudes sleep to him.
Barry doesn't either. In fact its likely he'll fall asleep on someone else's sleeping bag with his feet propped on one of his teammates stomach.
Garth will probably end up trying to cuddle up to Hal or Barry or Steve or any of the boys.
Hal will most definitely fight him on that. What can you say? He's the Type A male. But he really won't bat an eye if Garth does it when Hal is already asleep.
Oliver will sing love songs to his bro's, flirting hard as hell...up untill Hal, Carter, or Steve smack him. Where he pouts and let's Garth and Barry soothe him.
Carter doesn't like being touched in general so like hell he's going to let any of the boys near him. Or hold a conversation with him. He will just sit in the corner of the room, quietly observing. (He is most definitely trapped in the home where they are hosting the sleepover).
#3 Make Him Laugh
Another challenge.
Whoever makes Carter smile or *le gasp* laugh is deemed royalty.
Usually it's Barry. Who didn't even try. He just tripped over something.
Barry wins a lot.
#4 They Order In
Hal refuses to cook on principle. Rather be fed.
Oliver doesn't like getting butter on him since it'll 'destroy' his complexion.
Garth can't cook.
Carter refuses to feed anyone. He'll cook for himself and no one else.
Barry always offers but he is a forgetful cook and they feel bad throwing out whatever abomination he makes so they force it down. Of course, they learned to order in before Barry offers.
Steve can cook but he is very precise about the recipe, double checking and stuff so being fed takes forever if they let him start.
They arm wrestle to decide who chooses what they eat so yea...Carter always picks. Steve usually pays. Barry too. Everyone else is broke as hell.
#6 They butt heads.
All the dam time.
Hal is stubborn and Oliver is prideful.
Carter refuses to cater to anyone.
Garth is immovable if he wants to be.
Steve is trying to compromise but no one listens to the voice of reason over their own shouts.
Barry eats ice cream. They'll tire themselves out eventually.
#7 They Reprimand Hal
These are things they have definitely said at least once during a sleepover.
"Goddammit Hal! She's my science partner! How am I supposed to look her in the eye now?"
"Do you value your life? Yes? Then please refrain from speaking."
"Shut! Up!"
"Who are you calling stupid, stupid!"
"I'll tell Carol."
"The hell, man? Were you born with the unexplicable urge to be an asshole?"
"Go to bed, perv!"
Ah well, imma close it off here. Very lovely prompt. Headcannons are always fun. 👍
#dc super hero girls#dc superhero girls 2019#dc superhero girls netflix#dc superheroes#dc super hero high#barry allen#jessica cruz#diana prince#barbara gordon#kara danvers#karen beecher#carter hall#hal jordan#hal might be a player#garth#dc headcanon
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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.”
#ts fic#sanders sides#remus sanders#janus sanders#virgil sanders#dukeceit#platonic dukexiety#hurt/comfort
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Arranged Marriage- Henry Bowers x reader
A/N: This is my first story on here so please be nice. Also don’t be afraid to send in requests.
Summary: Y/N and Henry meet for the first time on their wedding day and they fall in love.
Warnings: None just fluff.
Word Count: 3K
Y/N has grown up in Derry all her life but she has yet to find a guy to settle down with. Her temper makes it harder for boys to go up and talk to her because they’re scared of her. One day when she gets home from school her dad starts smiling at her. She looks at him weirdly because he never smiles. He doesn’t even smile around his own family. She would have to treasure this smile for the rest of her life. She then begins to speak up.
“Uh dad why are you smiling?” She asks. “Well baby i found someone for you.” She changes her look from confusion to just plain mad. “Ugh! Dad we’ve been over this already if it’s an old person I won’t marry him.” She said. “Darling I know that but this boy is not like that at all. He’s your age.” She looked at him confused again. “How do you know that? How do I know that your not lying to me just to make me go through with it? Huh!” She was starting to get mad.
“LISTEN HERE YOUNG LADY I WON’T BE TREATED THIS WAY!” Her dad pushed her final button and before long there was a screaming match between the two of them. “OH YEAH? WELL I’M NOT GOING THROUGH WITH IT! YOU AND MOM HAVE HAD THIS PLANNED SINCE I WAS A BABY AND I’M SICK AND TIRED OF IT!” She screamed back at him. Her dad gave her a look but she didn’t care. All of a sudden she felt his hand go across her cheek and she looked up at him breathing heavily. He looked down at her and flared his nostrils at her. “Your skipping school tomorrow you understand me?” He asked her. She didn’t say a word to him and went to the stairs that led to her room. Then she heard her father call out to her. “I MEAN IT GIRL YOUR NOT GOING TO SCHOOL TOMORROW!” She turned around and looked at him. “And why not?” She asked. “Because your getting married.” He said. “Ok.” She said like it was normal. She then thought over her dads words and stopped in her tracks to turn around and look at him. “What did you just say?” She asked. “Your getting married tomorrow.” He said before she could talk her father spoke up. “Now get me another beer.” He said. She did as she was told, made dinner, went up to her room and laid on her bed thinking about the potential guy she’s marrying.
Henry’s POV: We we’re at my house on my front yard shooting at bottles with my dads gun when his police cruiser pulled up to the house. Just as I went to shoot at the cat that Belch was holding my dad called out to me.
“Come here boy!” He said. Oh no this can’t be good he can’t find out that I was ‘cleaning’ his gun or he’ll kill me. “Yes dad?” I asked. “Your ass is skipping school tomorrow.” He said. I don’t like school and having to deal with the losers club and the teachers just made my day. “Why?” I asked. “Your getting married tomorrow.” Is all he said before he went inside the house. I stood there in shock. Married? I’m a Bowers I don’t need no Derry slut to settle down with. Just then he came back out the front door. “BOY I SUGGEST YOU GET IN HERE AND GET ME ANOTHER BEER BEFORE I WHOP YOUR ASS IN FRONT OF YOUR “FRIENDS.” He said. I turned to the guys. “You guys better get your asses out of here I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” I said. They waved goodbye to me and I went inside the house as Belch peeled outta my driveway. When I got inside I got a beer for my dad, made some sort of dinner, then went to my room and laid down on my bed. Thinking about the potential girl that I’m marrying.
When Y/N and Henry woke up the next day they both felt off. They didn’t know why but they both got ready for their big day. Henry and Butch arrived at the church first then Patrick, Victor and Belch came and stood next to me. “Have you seen who your marrying yet?” Victor asked. “No she’s probably an ugly whore for all I care.” I said. The boys started laughing. Before anyone knew it the church was full of friends and family from both sides and then the music began to play. Finally the doors to the church opened and everyone stood up to watch you walk down the aisle with your father. When you made it to the end of the aisle your father handed your hand over to Henry’s. “You better take care of my girl son.” He said. Henry gulped hard and looked at your dad and his dad before turning back around to talk to your dad. “Yes sir.” He said. He helped you up onto the last step and then the wedding ceremony began.
“We are gathered here today to witness the marriage between this man and this woman. If anyone has any objections say it now or forever hold your peace. Anyone? Nope? Good.” The preacher said. He got through this long speech before he turned to Henry. “The rings?” He asked. He turned to Victor and Victor gave Henry a velvet box which contained your engagement ring and your wedding band. He put the engagement ring on your ring finger and then looked at the preacher to continue. “Do you Henry Frances Bowers take the Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N to be your lawfully wedded wife?” He asked. “I do.” He said. You turned to your best friend and got the ring from her. “Do you Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N take the Henry Frances Bowers to be your lawfully wedded husband?” He asked. “I do.” You said. You placed the ring on Henry’s ring finger and you both held hands again. “Henry take off her veil.” He said. Once Henry did that and he saw what you looked like he felt his heart grow two sizes that day. When you saw what he looked like your heart bout leapt outta your throat. “By the power vested in me I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Henry you may kiss your beautiful bride.” He said. Henry took one look at you and smiled at you and you smiled at him. He then leaned in and kissed you. Clapping could be heard from everyone in the room but you didn’t care. All that mattered to you was this moment with Henry. “I’m pleased to introduce to you for the very first time. Mr. and Mrs. Henry Frances Bowers!” Everyone cheered again and then music began playing and you and your new husband Henry ran outta that church. You couldn’t believe that you had just married a guy that you just met but you didn’t care you we’re happy. After signing the marriage certificate, taking pictures, talking with friends and family, and dancing with your dad and Henry dancing with his mom the night was coming to an end. After you and Henry cut the cake you gave him a large piece and he gave you a large piece and you both fed them to each other. After you guys kissed again you both talked to more friends, family and guests it was time for you guys to go on your honeymoon. People we’re lined up outside and when you guys came out they started cheering again. When you both we’re in the car and we’re away from the cheering you turned your head towards your new husband to introduce yourself.
“Hi Handsome. I’m Y/N.” You said. He had a smirk on his face. “Hey there sexy. I’m Henry.” He said. From then on up until you guys ended up at the hotel where you guys we’re staying for the night you both found out that you guys had a lot in common with one another. When you guys got to the hotel room you had the room key in your hand and you we’re trying to unlock it when you felt hands around your waist and lips next to your ear. “When we get in there I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk.” He said. “We’ll see about that Mr.” you said. When you got into your hotel room and you put the do not disturb sign on, closed and locked the door you we’re pushed up against the wall. “You look great in that dress but I’d bet you’d look even better without it.” He said. Clothes we’re flying around the room but you didn’t care where they we’re landing. You wanted to spend your first night and first time with your new husband Henry and that’s what you both did for the rest of the night.
You woke up the next morning in his arms and the sun shining through your room. You moved around a bit to get closer to him and woke him up by accident. “Good morning beautiful.” He said. You smiled at him. “Good morning handsome.” You said. He pecked you on the lips and looked at you. “Are you hungry?” He asked. “Yeah.” You said. “Would you like some breakfast?” He asked. “Yes please.” You said. You go to get up outta bed when he put a hand on your chest. You looked at him confused. “I know we just met and we just got married but I wanna take care of you. Get washed up for breakfast. I’ll see you in a minute gorgeous.” He said. He kissed you on the forehead, put on some boxers and sweats and went to the mini kitchen in your hotel room to make breakfast. You couldn’t believe that he’s yours and you only just met him a few hours ago. You got up and got ready for breakfast. When you saw what he had made you smiled at the sight. He turned around to look at you. He smiled at you. “You hungry?” He asked. “Very. What we having?” You asked. “We’re having sausage, eggs and buscuits. Sorry this isn’t much I just wanted today to be special for you.” He said. “It’s ok this is perfect.” You said. You both ate breakfast and spent the day together exploring.
When you guys got back to the hotel room you changed outta your clothes and got in bed. As soon as your head hit your pillow you we’re out like a light. When Henry emerged from the bathroom and he saw you asleep he smiled to himself. He couldn’t believe that you we’re his. Even though he just met you not too long ago he knows that you’re the love of his life and he will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, healthy and by his side forever.
#henry bowers#henry bowers imagines#bowers gang#bowers gang imagine#victor criss#patrick hockstetter#belch huggins#butch bowers#x reader#arranged marriage#wedding#falling in love#cute#young marriage#henry bowers x reader#imagine
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Sermon for Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost (8/22/21)
Primary Text | John 6:56-69
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Dear People of God,
Today’s Gospel lesson from John is the last of five sessions in which our lectionary has focused on Jesus speaking about being the bread from heaven that gives life to those who believe in him. Jesus says, “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them” (John 6:56). If you’re not prepared to hear that, those words of eating flesh and drinking blood sound rather rash and perhaps horrid. But Jesus is not encouraging cannibalism here. What Jesus is talking about is faith. That is to believe and trust in Jesus as the Christ, the Holy One of God. In this passage, when he says eat my flesh and drink my blood, he is talking about believing in him. Here’s a caveat before I go any farther. As Lutherans, we do confess that in the Lord’s Supper we are eating Christ’s true body and drinking his true blood. When Jesus says, “This is my body” in regard to the bread, and “This is my blood” in regard to the cup, those are straightforward words—so that as we eat the real bread, we are also eating the real body of Jesus, and as we drink the real wine, we are also drinking the real blood of Jesus. This is, of course, a mystery. It is also a promise of Christ that we trust. Jesus gives of himself “in, with, and under” the bread and the cup whenever and wherever the Lord’s Supper is celebrated. We are not claiming to gnaw on his knuckles and fingers. Rather, our receiving of Christ’s body and blood happens in a supernatural, incomprehensible, unexplainable way. But in the passage from the Gospel of John we are not talking about sacramental eating and drinking. We are talking about faith, believing, trusting Jesus at his word. Those who believe can be assured that they are alive in Jesus and that Jesus is alive in them. He says, “Whoever eats me will live because of me” (John 6:57). What a wonderful and assuring promise. The life God has for us comes from himself and is given freely. That means that the life we have does not depend on you, or me. It would quickly slip away from our fingers. The life God has for us is firmly established in him and by him for the sake of Christ.
Jesus continues, “This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever” (John 6:58). Jesus is not a man who worked really hard to be holy. He’s not just one wise guru among others. He’s different. He’s special. Indeed, he is unique because he is the divine-human One, God incarnate. He has been chosen by God the Father to be the One to whom all people must look and whom all people must trust in order to have eternal life. That means that even though we will one day die, we still are alive because of him. The ancestors in the wilderness ate the bread called manna. But that wasn’t the bread of eternal life. The manna preserved their life for a little while. But eventually they all died. Jesus is the life-giving bread come down from heaven. We don’t need a ladder to get to heaven. We don’t need to prove how good of a Christian we are to get to heaven. Instead of you going up to find God, God comes down to find you. And it’s as simple and profound as that. He finds you, and he enables you to believe in Christ. And thus, he gives you eternal life.
After Jesus shared his striking words and promises to his followers, many of Jesus’ disciples decided to leave—and to stop following him. They said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” (John 6:60). They found it unpleasant and hard to believe the things Jesus was saying about eating his flesh, drinking his blood, and him being the bread that came down from heaven, that one must believe in Jesus to have eternal life. And it’s not just many of the original disciples that felt that way, but many reject these words of Jesus in our time as well because they do not like them. They did and do not like the idea that eternal life is connected to believing in this Jewish man named Jesus who made extraordinary claims about himself. This is, after all, quite specific. It’s not a generic belief in God that brings life, but it is specifically believing in Jesus Christ who is the self-revelation of God. So, Jesus says, “Does this offend you?” (John 6:61). And, he’s right. It is offensive. It means that not all beliefs are equal. It means that not all paths lead to God, not all paths lead to eternal life. And so, we ourselves, when we are offended at this, want to set ourselves up as God and decide how eternal life is received. But two things. One is, any of us would be absolutely terrible at making that kind of decision. We’d be terrible at it because absent of God’s will we would certainly make eternal life depend on some kind of Law that binds rather than the faith that frees. It would always end up being something like making all people in “the image of blank”—like if it were up to me it would look a lot like me, it be making eternal life dependent on “the image of Logan.” If it were up to Butch Cassidy, it would look a lot like him. It’d be making eternal life dependent on “the image of Butch Cassidy”—and neither of which are the image of God. The second is, it is not up to us or our own choices and never has been and never should be. Jesus says, “It is the Spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless” (John 6:63). The flesh, this sack that we carry around our necks, that is to say, our sinful selves, have nothing to do with making, giving, or producing eternal life. This is the jurisdiction of the Spirit; it is the Spirit who gives life when and where he chooses. (pause) Jesus knew then who would not believe and he knows now who does not believe—he knows who rejects him. And he says, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted to that person by the Father” (John 6:65). Eternal life is, as all things are, up to God the Father almighty. So, we have nothing to say about it, nor can this reality be changed. Many of the disciples then, and many people now, both inside and outside the church, walk away because they are offended and don’t want to hear it. The true disciples of the gospel have always been and will always be few in number.
After being offended, many of the disciples no longer went about with Jesus. Jesus asks the Twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and know that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:67-69). Instead of being distracted by all other considerations, Peter here hones in on the promise. “Where else can we go? You have the words of eternal life.” At once Peter admits there is nowhere else that eternal life can be found. All other ground is sinking sand, as the old hymn goes. All other people or things that claim to give eternal life are actually an exercise in bait in switch. Instead of giving you eternal life like they claim, you will be fed with death. But with Jesus there is eternal life. He is the only source where your sins are forgiven, and in him they are forgiven, and thus you are placed in a right relationship with a holy God. Jesus is where God wants to be believed and known. Dear people, Jesus is the Holy One of God. He is God. You can depend on him for eternal life. It is through him that God makes you something you weren’t before—he makes you alive. He will never drive you away, but comes down from heaven to be with and to live in you. Never has there been something uttered more trustworthy. Be at peace Christ is with you.
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