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fruitcoops · 7 months

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Opening your page always reminds me of Jules- and we haven't seen him in a while!! Can he come back in one of your fics soon ?

Jules <3 Always a legend, always beloved here. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove, Hattie belongs to me, and the cinnamon roll recipe is lifted directly from this video by Claire Saffitz on the NYT channel! Bon appetit!

“Hello MTV, and welcome to my crib.” Remus paused, then turned to Julian. “Do you understand that reference?”

“No.”

“That’s so depressing. Why are you so young?”

“Why are you so old?”

Remus wrinkled his nose and turned back to the camera. “Welcome to a new installment of Lion Pride’s baking series. I’m Remus Lupin, and I’m here today with my little brother to make everyone’s favorite breakfast food—”

“Pancakes.”

“—cinnamon rolls.” Remus frowned down at where his brother was kneeling on a stool and rocking gently back and forth. “You knew that. We practiced.”

Julian arched a brow at him. “My favorite breakfast food isn’t cinnamon rolls.”

“Not everything is about you.” A light poke to his forehead made Julian stick his tongue out. Remus stifled a smile. “You ready?”

“To eat a spoonful of icing? Duh.”

“We’ll get there eventually.” Remus pulled a large ceramic bowl from the collection of dishware to his left; the pattern was faded around the rim from years of use, but the bowl itself was shiny and clearly cared-for. “Alright,” he began. “I’m not a huge baker, but Jules and I grew up with Saturday cinnamon rolls, so this is a bit of a family recipe. Someone is probably going to type it up for you guys since my handwriting is iffy—”

“Literally unreadable,” Julian coughed.

“Shut up. The recipe will be somewhere on the Lion Pride website, or linked in the description below. In the meantime, we’re going to do a step-by-step demonstration for anyone who would like to try this at home. Milk?”

Julian passed the half-gallon over before looking to the camera. “This recipe is also going to be on our mom’s Instagram, if you look up ‘baking with Hope’. All one word, no caps.”

Remus snorted as he measured the milk into a pan waiting on the stovetop. “Nice. Love the shameless plug.”

“I made a bet with Dad that she’d have more followers than you by the end of the year.”

“Of course you did.” Remus shook his head, but it was more fond than anything. “We’re measuring a cup of milk into a pot on the stove, and then we’re going to warm it up until there are tiny bubbles on the sides.”

“That’s called a simmer, for anyone watching,” Julian informed the camera.

“It’s called bubbles, for the rest of us plebians.”

“What’s a plebian?”

“You.” Remus took a whisk from a small bowl on the side and stirred gently. “Timing for this step kind of depends on your stove, so just keep an eye out and make sure it doesn’t burn. We’re going to keep the milk at the small bubble stage—”

“Simmering.”

“—for….a minute? Ish?” He shrugged. “Until it steams. Then we’ll turn the heat off and measure out a third of a cup.”

Julian pushed his elbows onto the countertop, leaning over to watch. “You should tell the people we’re doing this at night.”

“What? Oh, yeah, this is an overnight thing. It’s currently…” Remus squinted to something off-screen. “Just before eight in the evening. We’re going to let the dough rest overnight, then finish in the morning.”

“We’re staying over for the P-L-A-Y-O-F-F’s,” Julian said. They reached down to knock on the cabinets in unison with near-identical grins.

“We deserve some cinnamon rolls.”

“Hell yeah.”

“Ew, don’t swear on camera.”

“That’s not swearing.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and gave a threatening shake of the whisk. “If you drop a swear word right now, I’m hitting you with this. That’s a promise.”

“You’re the one that taught me all the swear words!”

“So not true.” Remus stirred the milk once more, tapping the whisk gently on the side of the pot. “Dad is responsible for at least half. Okay, this has been bubbling for a little while, so I’m going to turn the heat off and pour about a third of a cup into the bowl over here. Then Jules is going to add some flour to the main pot and give it a stir.”

Julian took the whisk from him with unbridled glee and dumped the flour in; Remus held the pot handle for him while he mixed, still leaning on the countertop to adjust for height. “It’s getting thicker,” Julian noted with a glance at the camera. “It’s kinda like…paste? Or Nutella.”

Remus’ mouth twitched with a smile. “Nutella is a paste.”

“Nutella is a butter.”

“It’s literally hazelnut and chocolate paste.”

“Butter is just milk paste.”

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” Remus laughed. “God. Okay. Once your milk and flour looks thick like this, you’re going to add it to the big bowl with the other milk in it and add some cold water so your rolls aren’t messed up.”

“That was so scientific,” Julian said dryly.

“This is a lot of criticism from a kid that doesn’t even like cinnamon rolls.”

“I like them. They’re just not my favorite.”

“Then you’re lame, and I don’t want to hear it.” Remus clapped his hands on either side of the bowl and looked into the lens. “Wow, this is going to take forever. I’m not a baker. Bear with me. We’re adding three eggs to the bowl and whisking that, which I’m going to do because I don’t trust people under the age of twelve with raw egg.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “I’m coming back here in three days and cracking very egg you own.”

Remus smiled. “Happy almost-birthday. Anyway, the bowl is mostly cool now, so we’re going to add all that flour in here—yep, thanks, bud—and then a half-packet of yeast so it gets fluffy.”

“Why isn’t Sirius doing this? He’s better at baking than you are.”

“Wow.”

“He is!”

“You’re not getting a single bite of this frosting.”

“Don’t hide from the truth.”

Remus shook his head at the camera. “This was supposed to be a cute family bonding video. I’m going to mix this now, because apparently I suck at any kind of baking more complicated than that.”

“I didn’t say that, I just asked why Sirius isn’t doing the stuff he likes doing.”

Remus turned the hand-mixer to a lower, quieter setting and rested his hip against the edge of the counter. “How often does Sirius voluntarily get in front of a camera?”

Julian inhaled, then faltered with a grimace. “Hmm. Yeah. Never mind. He’s still better at it than you are.”

“You’re still not getting frosting.” Remus clicked the mixer a notch higher. “We’re keeping this at a pretty low setting so the dough stays soft, and we’re only going to let it run until the dough is one big lump. Now that that’s together, we’re turning the mixer off and covering the bowl with a towel for about five minutes while we get our sugar, salt, and softened butter ready.”

The camera cut briefly; when it returned, Julian was scraping fine crystals off the countertop into a towel Remus was holding over the edge. “Slight problem,” Julian said through a laugh. “Uh, we got a little bit excited about the sugar.”

“Oh, god, it’s getting all over the floor—” Remus straightened slightly and whistled. “Hattie! Treats!”

The house was silent for a moment before the sound of skittering paws reached the camera. Both Remus and Julian broke into wide grins, and Julian dusted his hands onto the floor so he could reach down and pet the pointed ears just barely visible over the counter edge. “Hi, baby,” he cooed, leaning over until he was mostly out of frame. “Aw, little vacuum cleaner. Is sugar bad for dogs?”

“She has eaten so much worse.” The inky tip of Hattie’s tail was the happiest metronome in the world while Remus dumped a small container of salt and sugar into the dough. “We’re going to blend this until the dough gets stretchy instead of lumpy, still on low speed, and—hi, honey, I don’t have anything in my pockets. I promise. No, you can’t eat my keys. There’s definitely still some stuff on the floor for you, though.”

A black nose appeared by Julian’s knee and he giggled as it wandered down the side of his pants, honing in on each pocket. Hattie sneezed when she reached his sock and gave the hem of his pantleg a light nibble. Julian beamed up at Remus. “Can I bring her home with me?”

“If you steal my dog, I’m donating you to Goodwill. Okay, this is going to go for about twenty minutes and they’re definitely going to speed that up in editing, so here’s the rundown: mix this for 20 minutes, add your butter in tablespoon chunks, mix it until the dough is soft, then let it sit on your counter for an hour before putting it in the fridge.”

“Why don’t we just put it right in the fridge?”

“Because the yeast would die.”

Julian’s eyes went wide. “Yeast is alive?”

The kitchen was much brighter when the video returned—the new camera angle allowed sunlight to stream in through the side window unhindered, as well as giving an unobstructed view of Hattie on the floor by Remus’ slipper-clad feet. Her yawn squeaked, pink tongue lolling, but her full attention was fixed on the activity above.

“It’s about eight in the morning now, hence the pajamas,” Remus informed the camera. “I took the dough out of the fridge about ten minutes ago, and you can see it’s close to doubled in size.”

Julian gave the bowl a mournful look. The cowlick on the side of his head matched Remus’ with frightening accuracy. “How long is this going to take?”

“You can go back to sleep once it goes in the oven. We’re going to do the filling right now, though.” Remus held a hand out; Julian passed him a crinkly plastic cracker sleeve. “These are airplane cookies. Or biscotti, or whatever the fancy name is. They have cinnamon roll spices in them because I’m too lazy to track down all the individual bottles from the spice cabinet this early. You can probably find them in the recipe. I don’t know. You can crush them in a food processor if you want to wake up your entire family, or you can just use a rolling pin.”

Remus set the sleeve of cookies on the countertop and handed over the rolling pin—one half-started “wait” and an enormous THUD later, both of them were frozen, staring at the ruptured end of the plastic sleeve where shards of cinnamon cookie had burst forth.

“Oops,” Julian whispered.

“Or,” Remus began. “You can give your little brother a rolling pin and kill two birds with one stone.”

“…my bad.”

Remus glanced at the ceiling. They were silent for a handful of seconds. “Honestly, dude, I don’t think anyone noticed.”

Julian muffled a laugh in the crook of his elbow and Remus turned away for a moment to compose himself, filling the kitchen with quiet snickering as Hattie cleaned up the few crumbs that had fallen onto the floor by her paws. Finally, Julian picked up the rolling pin and began gingerly crushing the rest of the cookies. “I’m gonna keep going until it’s kinda powdery, I think.”

“Good plan.” Remus shot a quick, small smile at the camera while he watched Julian work, brow creasing with the effort. “We’ve got a stick and a half of soft butter here when you’re ready.”

It didn’t take long; Julian carefully poured the crushed cookie into a bowl and folded the butter through with a faintly rainbow-tinted spatula. Remus took a pan from the ever-shrinking pile of dishes beside them and lined it with parchment paper, ripping the edges so they would fold nicely in the corners.

“Kay.” Julian tilted his head at the filling and nodded. “It’s smooth.”

“Sick. Scootch over, I’ll roll this out.” Remus tossed a small handful of flour onto the countertop before dumping the dough out, dropping a playful elbow to Julian’s side. “Ope, sorry.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

“Whatever. We’re going to make this into a rectangle so it’s easier, and it should be fine for rolling because it was in the fridge all night. I’m going to flatten this until it’ll fit in the pan. It’ll be…an inch thick? Half an inch, maybe? And then Jules, you’re gonna spread the filling over it.”

Julian frowned. “We’re cooking it flat?”

“What? Why would we do that?”

“You said it should be the length of the pan.”

“Yeah, so that all the pieces will fit.”

“Oh. That makes more sense.”

“We’re not making cinnamon pita.”

Julian tipped his head back and forth. “Doesn’t sound bad, actually.”

“You’re eleven, you’re basically a garbage disposal.”

“I’m basically twelve.”

“Three days.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Despite the back-and-forth, Julian tucked himself close to Remus’ side while Remus rolled the dough into an even rectangle, and spread the filling across it with intense focus. “Leave a little space on the sides to roll it up,” Remus suggested gently. Julian’s tongue poked out at the corner as he scraped the edge clean and gave a last sweep with the spatula before leaning away.

“Good?”

“Perfect.” Remus loosened the edge closest to him and began to roll it up with steady, methodical hands. “You want to go slow with this part, or else it won’t spiral. And once we get it to the end here, we’re going make sure it’s all nice and even before cutting. Uh, I’m using unflavored dental floss right now because that’s what I have, but you can use string or whatever. If you use a knife, you might squish the inside and get a wonky shape.”

“Dad uses fishing line.”

“Mhmm.” Their concentrated frowns matched while Remus slid the floss beneath the roll and wrapped it around, allowing the floss to slice cleanly through the dough. Julian buried a yawn in Remus’ shoulder and gave a slow, sleepy blink. Once the rolls were cut, they filled the parchment-lined pan to the edges. Remus cracked his knuckles and looked up at the camera. “We’re going to take a quick breakfast break while these double in size, and I’ll put them in the oven at 350 degrees for 15 minutes after that. We’ll see you for the frosting!”

“Your TV voice is weird.”

“Your TV voice is weird,” Remus mimicked, prodding him until Julian hopped off his stool with a laugh. “Go eat your Cheerios.”

The video sped through their break—Remus collected a few items from the fridge and returned to the counter to mix a handful of ingredients into a bowl. The pan steamed, the coffeepot bubbled, and Hattie waited dutifully by his side for her allotted bits of ham, hand-fed alongside a few Cheerios from Julian. The rolls went in and came out without a fuss as Remus finished the scramble and smiled to someone off-screen.

“Frosting,” he announced when the video returned to normal speed. “Super easy. Cream cheese, powdered sugar, vanilla. Mix it up, then add a stick of butter, because this recipe is delicious and also personally clogs your arteries. Jules, touch the rolls for me.”

“Why?”

“To check if they’re cooled down.”

“But they might be hot.”

“Right, which is why I’m making you do it.”

Julian scrunched his nose at him, but gave the rolls a tentative poke. “They’re fine.”

“Sweet.” Remus tugged the pan to the middle of their workspace and scooped a lump of frosting into the center. Overall, it kept its shape as he slathered it to each edge and corner. Julian gave an expectant look; Remus paused, but scraped the last bits off the sides of the bowl and handed the laden spatula to him with an affectionate roll of his eyes. “Don’t tell mom.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jules said around a mouthful of thick sugar.

Remus pushed the rolls toward the camera with a smile that dimpled one cheek. “That’s all for today, folks. Hope you enjoyed making cinnamon rolls with us, or at least enjoyed seeing the real star of the show—”

“Me.”

“—Hattie. Make sure to tune in for our home game in Gryff tomorrow night!"

#remus lupin #julian lupin #hattie #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #social media #baking #lion pride #fluff

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theanoninyourinbox · 3 months

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Graystripe's Heart (or Hope's Beginning)

The (Short) Return Of Bloodclan and Redemption of ???

Shortly after the rescue of Darkkit, Rogues begin being spotted on the outskirts of the Clans. Windclan claims someone is stealing prey, Riverclan smells intruders on the borders, and worst of all, Shadowclan has detected Bloodclan scent on the Thunderpath. So Longstar sends Graystripe (still mourning his mother) and Sandstorm to find out the truth, with Fireheart demanding to come along – the Stars say it’s important!

So the three cats set off to Fireheart’s old Twoleg Den, meeting Smudge and his new mate Hattie. The two Kittypets tell the Can cats about the return of Bloodclan under a cat named Fury – but also of a pair of cats making a peaceful group, and trying to dismantle Bloodclan as well. The new unnamed Clowder’s leaders are unknown, save that they’re a scarred tom and a brown molly.

The Kittypets and Clan cats are interrupted by Gremlin and Scraps, siblings from the Unnamed Clowder, warning that Bloodclan Recruiters are chasing the pair of them. The Clan Cats hide under the edge of the Twoleg den with Gremlin, and a cat named Snake attempts to attack Smudge and Hattie for protecting Scraps. Hattie slaps the crap out of Snake, but a few more Bloodclan cats appear, and Scraps tries to surrender himself to save the Kittypets (and his hidden sister). But a twisted, gravely snarl sends the Bloodclanners running, and a heavily scarred tom approaches a relieved Scraps.

A highly familiar black striped gray tabby, with a horrid scar on his throat.

--DARKSTRIPE?!?!?--

Graystripe bolts from under the Twoleg den, with Sandstorm and Fireheart nearly riding his frazzled tail. The former Clan cat goes bushy with startlement as they approach, but Fireheart keeps Graystripe and Sandstorm from tearing him apart. Scraps, very confused, identifies Darkstripe as the Unnamed Clowder’s tom leader, and Gremlin chirps that he ran off her abusive former mate! Full of conflicting emotions, Graystripe demands an explanation, and Darkstripe wheezes out, with tears in his eyes…how sorry he is. But he won’t fight them, he probably deserves what’s coming – and Fireheart cuts him off. Let’s talk somewhere else, somewhere safer. Darkstripe nods, and after Fireheart extracts a promise from Sandstorm to not just kill her former Clanmate the second his back is turned, the scarred tomcat leads the Clan Cats and the siblings into the Twoleg Territory.

After some Very Tense Travel, the group comes to an abandoned Twoleg den, the walls covered in strange Twoleg berrypaint art. Darkstripe leads them to a small opening, guarded by a pair of scraggly but friendly cats. They greet Darkstripe and the siblings with unashamed friendliness, and the Clan cats are surprised to find themselves greeted with similar cheer. After introductions are made, Hazard and Snaggle let everyone into the Den.

Inside is a well set-up camp, with obvious dens for nursing parents and kits, elders being cared for by a few younger cats, and a prey pile, with freshkill and a cat dismantling a large bird. Darkstripe is greeted warmly, and the Clan Cats are experiencing a great deal of emotions. Sandstorm is still rightfully angry – Darkstripe tried to kill Sorrelkit! Fireheart is wary but hopeful – maybe Darkstripe has changed? These cats seem to think highly of him! And Graystripe?

Graystripe wonders who Darkstripe really is. Because the cat he sees is NOTHING like the older brother he thought had died at his claws. The older brother he loved still, somewhere deep inside.

A brown colorpoint molly greets Darkstripe, and introduces herself as Sasha. The pair sit the Clan cats down in a private alcove and explain what’s happened. Darkstripe was groomed by Tigerclaw (Darkstripe and Sasha both refusing to add the Star even sarcastically to his name) and was rescued from the battlefield by an injured Sasha, who was looking for Tigerclaw as well. She had been his secret mate (to which Sandstorm shudders at) and had realized how horrible a cat Tigerclaw truly was only after her injury. The two of them had healed from their respective injuries – Sasha only stating it was Tigerclaw’s fault – and had tried to go on together. But there were so many cats that needed help, and with Darkstripe’s Clan knowledge and Sasha’s kind nature, they had formed a Clowder. Somewhere that they could atone for their sins and make a better future for street cats. Sandstorm demands to know if that should keep her claws out of Darkstripe’s hide, and Fireheart has to jump on her to stop it, but Graystripe pushes forward.

You’re sorry. Yes, Darkstripe tearily mewls.

You’re sorry for Sorrel. Yes, he states clearly.

For Bramble and Tawny. Yes, he sighs.

For Stonefur, for Fireheart. Yes! Darkstripe sputters.

For mother? YES! He yowls!

For ME?!

YES!!! Darkstripe screams, raspy and broken.

And Graystripe LUNGES.

He catches Darkstripe in a tight embrace and sobs.

Mother will be so proud of you in Starclan. I’m so proud of you.

Sandstorm sputters from under the (teeny tiny itty bitty) weight of Fireheart as the brothers weep into each other’s fur, one more wound of Tigerclaw’ wickedness beginning to heal.

Sasha asks Fireheart and Sandstorm for advice off to the side, as she’s no Healer or Brawler, but some cats have been interested, and would they mind giving advice while they’re here? Sandstorm startling agrees, with Fireheart patting her on the shoulder cheerily. The pair head off with Sasha, leaving the brothers some privacy.

By the time Graystripe and Darkstripe have pulled themselves together, it’s dusk, and Sandstorm and Fireheart have been busy. Fireheart has a group of cats huddled around a Queen and her kits and Gremlin, listing the signs of kit diseases, and Sandstorm is running a group training session, with Scraps actually knocking down a cat larger than him to wild and enthusiastic cheering. Graystripe joins a group of cats fixing up some nests, lending a paw and some advice, and Darkstripe leans on Sasha, drained but finally whole in some small way. Fireheart calls the Clowder a hope for the future and a good place to rest, and Gremlin loudly proclaims they should be the Hope Clowder! The cry is taken up, and the Unnamed Clowder becomes the Hope’s Rest Clowder (Hope Clowder for short).

The Clan Trio stays the night, and the next morning are awoken by Snaggle hollering that Bloodclan is on the move. Everyone wakes quickly, and the Clowder Cats barricade the entrance, leaving only a peephole. A group of Bloodclan cats are headed straight for Thunderclan!

Sandstorm demands that the Clan Cats leave to warn the Clans, but startlingly some Hope Clowder Cats ask Darkstripe and Sasha if they can help take down Bloodclan there as well – they’re weaker spread out in two places, and there are cats that need rescuing from Bloodclan’s clutches! Fireheart tells Graystripe and Sandstorm to go warn the Clans, and asks if he can help the Clowder rescue the prisoners. Darkstripe agrees, and Graystripe charges his brother with protecting the cat he once tried to kill.

Sandstorm and Graystripe escort a small group of Hope Clowder Cats to the border of Thunderclan, and Graystripe rushes ahead to warn Longstar ahead of the approaching Bloodclan cats. Graystripe yowls out his warning to the Camp Guards, who repeat the warning as cats begin scrambling to battle and defense positions. Longstar asks where Sandstorm and Fireheart are, my guy they BETTER be fine, and Graystripe assures him they are, just as the first Bloodclan cat leaps over the camp wall.

Chaos ensues, but suddenly Sandstorm and her volunteers charge the Bloodclanners from behind, scattering the Bloodclan Rogues. Fury is downed by a furious (HA) Flamewish, who bodily throws the molly over the camp wall, with her living followers rushing away. Sandstorm keeps the Thunderclanners from attacking the Hope Clowder cats, and they view the Clan with awe and curiosity. Graystripe and Sandstorm tell Longstar and Flamewish what’s going on, with the Hope Clowder cats chiming in. Flamewish is Very Concerned about Darkstripe, but Hazard, who came with the Hope Battle Patrol, tells her the story of how Darkstripe saved her from an attacking Bloodclan patrol, and nursed her back to health. This placates Flamewish, but she still worries about her brother…

Meanwhile--

The rescue Patrol comes to the nearly unguarded Bloodclan encampment, a seemingly abandoned Carrionplace with thin woven silvery reeds forming a strong wall. Scraps leads the rescuers to a hole in the Carrionplace wall, and everyone slides through with relative ease, save one cat losing some long fur. They approach a small, enclosed area, with a Twoleg-made Dog Den and several Bloodclan cats guarding the area. Darkstripe leads half of the patrol to attack the guards, while Sasha and Fireheart lead the other half to rescue the prisoners.

It goes relatively smoothly, with the only hiccup being a guard going for the smaller Fireheart. The guard later regrets this decision, leaving with less ear and more scarred skin that he started with. The rescue patrol leads the injured cats back to Hope’s Rest, and after treating them, Fireheart finds himself alone with Sasha. And finds he has to ask her something. He’s noticed something important and…

What happened to your kits?

Sasha buckles, and begs Fireheart to not tell a soul – only Darkstripe knows about them. She had three kits by Tigerclaw, and after losing one of them, and leaving the others somewhere safe, she went to find – and perhaps wound – the cat who hurt her so. Only to find Tigerclaw dead, and another cat near death, with her pain in his eyes. Fireheart swears to never tell anyone, save under pain of death. She sighs, and wonders where her little Tadpole went after his death, and Fireheart tells her of the Afterlives that Starclan knows of. She weeps then, in relief – he’ll be waiting for her.

After making sure all the patients are stable, Snaggle escorts Fireheart to Thunderclan, and after a quick reunion, the Hope’s Rest Clowder cats head home, laden with herbs and cuttings and instructions and a new ally. Bloodclan is scattered, nevermore to gather the same power again, and all is quiet for a time.

(And in Riverclan, a brown and white tom sleeps peacefully next to a golden brown molly, safe and sound)

(And elsewhere, a black and grey tom rests safely)

(ALIVE)

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