naminethewriter - Tumblr blog

naminethewriter · 3 days

Text

The Vent

Hi, I really loved your among us fic stuff. I was wondering if you have anything in the works for that at the moment. I just really love your little bean blorbos. – anon

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Warnings: harm to children (one of the children has a stab wound the gets patched up)

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3176

Black is no stranger to oddities or unusual things happening on runs. They figured that finding a pup and a human hatchling would be the strangest thing that happened on this one. They discover that isn't quite true.

Surprisingly enough, Black’s life doesn’t suddenly make sense again by the time they make it to med bay, but at the very least they expect it when the pup trills a warning before the lights flicker on. The human’s grip flexes around Black’s neck and they rub their back.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, it’s just the lights. You’re okay. We’re gonna get you patched up, alright?”

The human doesn’t say anything but their hands relax the slightest bit. Black’ll take it. They move toward the closest bed and start to lower the human, only for the pup to scoot down and wrap themselves over the edge of the bed like a tiny blanket.

Black shifts enough to let their maw drop open, their mother tongue rumbling in the quiet room. “What are you doing, pup?”

“It’s too cold for them.” The pup shifts under the human. “This helps.”

Black steals a glance at the human. They haven’t so much as moved, not when Black’s maw opened, not when they started talking to the pup, not even now that their hand is on their shoulder rather than their back. Instead, they’re still curled in on themselves, their hand pressed to their side. Black’s maw rumbles at the scent of blood.

”Can they understand us?”

“They don’t know what words we’re saying, pup.”

“But they could understand me.” The pup’s tendril wraps around the human’s free hand. “We could…I could talk to them. Sort of.”

Well, maybe children of all sorts can just talk to each other. Stranger things have happened.

Black glances around for one of the basic trays. Their expertise is more about making the blood come out of humans, not keeping it in. Still, it can’t be that much different from healing their own kind, can it? They reach for a tin of antiseptic and a roll of bandages. The metal scrapes against a tray and the resulting wave of fear makes their maw whine. They glance back. The poor human—and when did that become a thing?—huddles on the bed with the pup wrapped around them. The pup keeps trilling and rumbling, trying to soothe them. To Black’s astonishment, it sort of works: the human holds onto the tendril wrapped around their wrist and the fear slowly starts to recede.

After a moment, they rumble as well.

The human’s head jerks up as their maw starts to pant, tongue lolling out over the edge of the suit. Black doesn’t try to get closer, rumbling a little louder, and the human’s shoulders slowly inch away from their ears. One of the pup’s tendrils flickers out and Black wraps it in one of theirs, letting the pup guide them closer with little tugs. The human doesn’t twitch or pull away, even when Black comes to stand over them again. Instead, they slowly reach out and touch Black’s suit.

“Hey,” Black rumbles, keeping more of the rasp in their voice than they normally would, “I’m not gonna hurt you, baby. I just want to help.”

The pup trills in agreement. The human’s fingers tighten on one of the snaps before the hand falls limply back into their lap. Black is gonna take that as a good sign and holds up the bandages.

“Can I put these on?”

They nod.

“I’m gonna need to see,” they say quietly, setting the roll down within reach, “can I…?”

The human lets them move their hand away from their side, inhaling sharply when the cold air hits the—fuck, that’s another stab wound. What the fuck happened to these kids? This can’t have just been the reactor vent cover, there’s no way—Black didn’t even sabotage it this run. Nothing happened to it, all they did was an oxygen malfunction and turning the lights off a few times. This must’ve—

Too late, they realize their hand is tightening and the fear swells. They let go and rumble again as the human lets out a near-silent whimper and the pup trills again.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to. Shh, shh, you’re okay, calm down, it’s alright. You’re safe, you’re safe, shh, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Fuck, the human won’t even look at them anymore. They keep a tendril wrapped around the pup’s as trills and rumbles fill the med bay, but the human keeps jerking their head down like they can’t bear to look at them.

”Helmet.”

“What?”

The pup jabs a tendril at Black’s helmet. “The helmets are scary.”

…well, that opens up a whole new set of troubling implications that we’re going to address later.

But first things first, they really do need to make sure this human doesn’t bleed out all over the floor, so no helmets it is. A sloshing sound fills the air as Black puts on their human face, scrunching a few times just to make sure all the muscles work.

“Hey, baby,” they murmur, the rasp more pronounced without the helmet, “it’s okay. I’m not scary anymore, see?”

The pup makes a burbling noise of encouragement and the human slowly looks up. Oh, their little face…Black hadn’t gotten a good look at it in Navigation, too preoccupied with getting them out of the fucking vent, but now…

They have these little dots all over their face that look almost like a new hatchling’s marks. They have the same curling hair at the edges of their face that come from a nestling’s first tendrils. Even their mouth—they must’ve been biting their lips, the rational part of Black’s brain supplies, that’s why they’re so red and swollen, but it looks like a baby’s maw.

They’re starting to see why the pup blobbed onto this little human hatchling so quickly.

“Hey,” they rumble again, even softer, “hi, baby. Can I get you all patched up? Is that gonna be okay?”

The human nods and Black slowly reaches for their side again. This time, they’re prepared for the sight of the stab wound as the human’s blood-soaked hand comes away. They gently—gently!—prod the skin around it, looking to see how deep it is, if it’s infected, if there’s anything that might’ve gotten stuck inside. The human winces and breathes in sharply a few times, but other than that, they stay perfectly still. Black examines it for a few more seconds before they stand back up.

“Can I have you lie down for me, baby? I want to be able to clean this properly before we wrap it up.”

The human eyes the bed warily. Black cups their shoulder.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right here, so will the pup. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

A sloshing sound as the pup quickly shuffles around, pressing their healed side against the human’s palm. They glance down at it. The pup trills. The human looks up at Black and nods, starting to move and wincing at the pull.

“Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, hey, slow down.” Black gently grabs the side of their ribs—fuck, this human is tiny— “let me help you.”

The pup moves too, getting under their head and shoulders almost like a strange gooey pillow. Their tendril stays wrapped around their hand as Black slowly starts to roll up their shirt and get it out of the way. The stab wound isn’t quite on their side, it’s just between their ribs and their hip. They glance around for one of the rolling chairs and spot it about halfway down the wall.

“Baby,” they call and the human looks, “I’m gonna go get a chair so I can sit down, okay? I’ll be right back.”

The second they touch the chair, it makes a horrible squeaky noise. They abandon it in favor of another one a little ways away, picking it up and setting it at the human’s bedside. The human just watches them.

“I’m gonna clean this,” they say, holding up the antiseptic, “it’s gonna sting a bit, okay?”

The human nods. Black takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. After a second, the human does the same.

“Good. Just keep doing that, okay, baby?”

They keep breathing. Black carefully opens the container and the sharp smell almost cuts right through the mix of blood and fear. They go to start cleaning and the instant it touches the human’s side, they recoil in pain.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, I’m sorry, baby,” Black soothes, even as bits of froth start to show up on the pup’s body, “I’ll be quick, I swear.”

But the human won’t calm back down, even when Black takes all the scary things away and just talks to them in that low, soothing rumble, they won’t calm down. Even the pup starts to try and rub and trill against them, but nothing works.

“What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you calmed me down, why can’t you calm them down?”

“They’re not like us, pup.”

“Yes they are! They’re scared and hurt and you said you’d help them!”

Fuck, I did say that, didn’t I?

Well, the human might not be a pup, but they can certainly try. Slowly, they place their hand on the poor thing’s stomach, right where their maw would be. It seems to interrupt some kind of feedback loop; the human’s eyes are no longer as wide and their breathing feels a little more regular. Black dares to lean a bit more weight onto them and a rush of breath leaves their chest, their eyes fluttering slightly.

“Shh, there you go, baby,” they say softly, “it’s okay. I’m right here, you’re safe, just calm down.”

The pup’s next trill sounds far too self-satisfied and smug but Black has other things to worry about right now. Specifically, getting this stab wound cleaned.

“You’re doing so well,” they murmur as they carefully start to clean it again, shushing the hissed noises of pain, “that’s it, it’s okay, baby, I’m almost done.”

The human’s hand shakily covers theirs and Black turns it over to hold it, keeping the warm weight pressed to their stomach. After a moment, a tendril zips from the pup and lands on top. Black chuckles.

“There we go, see? We’re all right here. You’re doing great.”

They reach for the bandages, quickly cutting off a piece and securing it over the wound. They smooth their thumb over it a few times, gently checking for any air bubbles.

“You’re all set, baby, you did such a good job. Here, do you want to sit up now?” The human nods. “Alright. I’m gonna put my arms around you to do that. Ready? Here we go…”

The human is still far too small and far too light for Black’s liking, but they manage to get them sat back up with little issue. Like this, the human’s head is actually a little above Blacks from where they sit on the chair. The pup slithers up to perch on their shoulders, a small head forming out of the mass to peer at Black from too. Black tilts their head to look at them.

The human tilts their head. So does the pup.

Black huffs a laugh. Out of curiosity, they tilt their head the other way.

So does the human, so does the pup.

‘Surreal’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.

“You feel better?”

The human nods. Their hand comes up to their chin and they move it towards Black.

“That means thank you, I think.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s what they did when I brought them food or warned them about something.”

Well. Learn something new every day. “You’re welcome, baby. Are you hungry?”

A gurgle comes from the human’s stomach. Their little face scrunches up in embarrassment and they wrap their arms around themselves. Black chuckles.

“We can get you some food. I’m afraid there’s not much more than rations and stuff left, but there are cookies.”

The human perks up a little.

“Yeah? You want a cookie?”

“I want a cookie too!”

“You can also have a cookie, pup,” Black says, standing up, “come on, let’s go to the cafeteria.”

The human goes to slide down from the bed and Black quickly catches them. Would they have been fine? Maybe, but Black’s not taking any chances.

“Hey, whoa now, we just patched you up, let’s take it easy.” The pup crawls over the human’s shoulders to sit on Black’s too. “What—oh, fine. Come on, you two, let’s go.”

The cafeteria is—thankfully—pretty clear of blood and other less-than-desirable things to have children around, and they manage to persuade both of them to sit and wait at a table while Black goes and gets the food. Unfortunately, the majority of the food seems to be the type that requires some level of human attention—that is, someone who knows how to cook it and keep it from spoiling—and Black has decidedly had other priorities aside from keeping the human food edible.

The good news is that doesn’t apply to the cookies.

Someone else might say that giving a human hatching and an impostor pup a giant pack of cookies and letting them eat the whole thing is a bad idea, but Black has never claimed to be only capable of making good choices and traumatized children deserve all the sweets they can stomach. That’s just a universal truth. It might have something to do with those happy little faces and the trills the pup keeps letting out, it might have something to do with how the human leans into Black and almost snuggles against their suit, it might have something to do with how things are about to get a whole lot more complicated.

It also might have something to do with the fact that Black needs time to think.

Those were not simple injuries. Shrapnel like that very rarely left those sorts of injuries and nothing else. Shrapnel like that didn’t happen unless the ship seriously fucked up, and nothing like that had happened while Black was doing this run. Which meant that either the pup was mistaken and the vent cover wasn’t the culprit, or the vent had been compromised.

Neither of which were particularly good options.

Something nudges their hand. They look down and see the human offering them a cookie. They smile and take it.

“Thank you, baby, that’s nice of you.” They take a bite and try not to wince at how sweet it is. “Tastes good.”

The pup lets out a sloshing noise that could be laughter and Black flicks a tendril lightly against them.

“Are you two still hungry?” Two head shakes. “Alright. I want to go check that vent in Reactor, make sure it’s not gonna hurt you anymore, is that okay?”

“Can we come too?”

“Yes, you can come too. Do you want to walk by yourselves, or—“ the human is already wrapping their arms around their neck— “alright, babies, up we go.”

They hesitate a moment before deciding to go the long way through Storage. Most of the carnage was kept to the other side of the ship, near Comms, but it’s better safe than sorry. Even though they’re slowly coming around to the conclusion that these children have been on the ship the whole time, they’re having a hard time willingly walking them through any places that might not have been fully cleaned. Still, the thought of the two of them scurrying past a dead body in a rush from one vent to another is enough to make them pull the two a little closer.

“We’re almost there,” they say when the pup trills in question.

Reactor’s pale blue lights greet them as the door slides open. Black steps inside and pauses.

“Which vent was it?”

The pup jabs a tendril at the one near the manifolds. “It’s broken on the inside. We couldn’t see it at first.”

Black walks over and crouches down, carefully setting the human underneath the bulkhead. Sitting back on their haunches, they run their fingers carefully around the outside of the vent. Nothing obvious sticks out. They reach for the cover and lift it off with a horrid screech.

“Did it make this sound last time?”

The human nods. Black turns the cover around, looking at both sides, and stops short at the massive blade jutting up from the underside. They flip it over to check, but there’s nothing different about the cover. They peer closer. Someone welded the blade onto the underside of the cover and replaced it.

Now why the fuck would they have done that?

There wasn’t welding equipment like that on the ship. Black doesn’t remember seeing this when they used the vent earlier in this run—or did they?

They set the cover down, thinking hard.

They had used this vent; it’s the same one that leads to the Upper Engine. That’s where they’d killed Brown, but they hadn’t gone through it. They’d just waited there to ambush Brown when they came to refuel, so it’s entirely possible the blade could’ve been there and they’d just never come across it.

But that meant that someone had put the blade there before the ship left dock. Which meant that someone suspected that the vents would be accessed while on mission.

Which meant that someone knew how the impostors got around.

Well, they think as they glance back at the two children, the pup toying with the human’s hair as the human fusses with a tendril, not necessarily.

The humans on board had known that something was in the vents. That didn’t mean they’d known it was Black. If they’d thought it was the children—even if they hadn’t known that it was children they were trying to maim—they might have put things like this on other things too.

”Is this the only broken one?”

“I think so.” The pup shifts a bit. “That’s the only one we found.”

”What vents have you been in?”

“All of them. Except we didn’t go all the way up the one in Weapons.”

Black hums. They’ll have to check that one too.

“Why?”

“I don’t want you two getting hurt,” Black says as they lean the modified vent cover up against the wall. “Come on, let’s go get you two settled in one of the bunks. You must be tired.”

A sleepy sloshing sound accompanies the human as they wobble to their feet, lifting their arms for Black to carry them. They let go once they’re over one of the beds, their eyes already sliding shut. Black tucks the two of them in under a pile of blankets, one eye on the door even though they know there’s no one else here.

Something is wrong on this ship, they think as they look at the sleeping children, and I’m going to find out what.

#fic rec #among us #kinda forgot about this series #but!#still love it #black is so sweet #and purple and cyan are adorable #fuck whoever did that to that vent #I hope they were on the ship and are in bits now

4 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 5 days

Text

Language Barriers

same anon as like 5 minutes ago, I remembered the fluffy prompt! Could you write a Sanders Sides DLAMPR fic (before they get together) where all of the Sides have different love languages? And they’re all trying to flirt in their own way, but the others keep misinterpreting it? A lot of TSS fic features the Sides having different love languages (and I’d like to think they do, in canon), but I’ve yet to see a fic that specifically focuses on that fact and describes the differences between love languages. Feel free to ignore, and remember to take care of yourself! – anon

hey I love love love love LOVE your writing! If you’re open to prompts rn, I’ve just reread your story "Idiots, Idiots, Everywhere" and it’s awesome, thanks very much, BUT. Are you willing to write a Sanders Sides fic where it focuses more specifically on all the Sides having different love languages? Bonus points if it’s DLAMPR (but platonic PR, this is an incest-free household) and all the Sides are like “…but he’s like this with everyone”. No pressure at ALL, but it’d be cool to see how you approach that. – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: dlampr

Word Count: 3431

Or, five times the Sides misunderstood each other's love languages, and one time Thomas got fed up with it and decided to just...explain it to them with the efficiency they have when they're trying to explain something to him. Which is to say: it takes them a second to get it. The Imagination helps.

Physical Touch

If you were to ask anyone, they would tell you that Patton loves giving people hugs.

It’s the bane of some of their existences, they’d try to claim, and the others might just shrug and say that’s Patton for you. He knows his kiddos love it, at least a little bit. But he won’t lie, he does love a good hug. There’s just something so magical about how, out of all the shapes humans could have possibly been, they’re just perfectly designed to hold one another. Isn’t that just perfect?

Logan would probably say something about evolution and adaptation to the needs of their environment, or something, but he’s not gonna rain on Patton’s parade. Humans are hug-shaped, so they’re gonna hug. Besides, he’s not complaining when he’s working downstairs in the winter and he’s gotten too absorbed in his work and then a Patton-shaped heating pad just comes along and hugs him.

Patton loves hugging all of the Sides. Logan because he’s always so surprised by it, in a good way! He gets this soft little look that is almost on the edge of a smile, like he wasn’t expecting it but it’s the best possible outcome he never could have predicted. Or when he’s trying to comfort Patton and he hugs with undeniable certainty.

Virgil is also fun to hug, because he’s such a pouty-face about it. He snuggles up as much as any of them but he has to put on his mopey show first, just in case anyone’s watching. Virgil also gives the mopey hugs too, but then he makes himself just a bit bigger so he can wrap all the way around Patton. Which is the best.

Speaking of wrapping all the way around, Janus has six arms and he uses every single one of them. They get into competitions sometimes—not serious! It’s all for fun!—about who can surprise-hug each other the worst. Or best. Janus is currently winning from the time he managed to make himself look like the chair in the living room with a blanket over it; Patton sat down and boo!

Remus isn’t allowed to do surprise hugs, not after he accidentally tackled Patton into his Kraken’s pond and they had to spend the rest of the afternoon trying to get out of the pond. But Remus’s hugs are the kind that squish his soul right back into his body and ugh, there’s nothing better than that after a long day. Besides, it’s not like expecting Remus’s hugs takes anything away, he’s still going to squeeze him so hard he might not be able to breathe for a few seconds, but that’s Remus!

And then with Roman—Roman hugs the way every single knight from a fairytale should hug. He just makes you feel safe and precious and like nothing in the world could hurt you. It’s why Patton always sits next to Roman during scary movie nights, after all, even if he gets teased about it a little. Roman doesn’t mind.

So yes, Patton does love hugging all of them. But it doesn’t have to be hugging! It can be holding hands, or just leaning against each other, just as long as he can feel them and tell himself yes, they’re okay, they’re right here, I love them.

Because he does. He loves them terribly. Even if they think he’s just a big fan of hugs.

***

2. Quality Time

Virgil has the reputation of being the cat of the Mindscape for good reason. Not because he hisses at things that don’t cooperate—the other Sides are not excluded from this—and not because he spits up hairballs—it was one time, Remus, and it was entirely your fault—but because he has a habit of just appearing in the same room and hanging out for a while.

…alright, it’s not a habit, he does it on purpose.

Companionable silence really is the best way to go about things. You’re both close enough to talk if you want to, but each of them is allowed to do their own thing and hey, there’s another person doing their own thing too. Which is why it’s his favorite way of hanging out with Logan, especially when he needs to make sure that something gets done. He’s always down to affectionately bully Logan into whatever he asks him to make sure he does.

He does that with Remus too, but it’s not exactly the same: Remus needs someone to make sure he doesn’t actually destroy anything, and he’s more than happy to oblige. Especially since he likes to get a bit of a heads-up before a rampaging beast goes barreling through the kitchen at some ungodly hour of the morning.

If he’s never beating the cat allegations, Janus sure as hell isn’t helping. There’s a big window in the Dark Sides’ half of the Mindscape that is perfect for lying in for, oh, a few hours on end. Remus has many—too many, if you ask Virgil—pictures of the two of them just basking in the sun, dozing like they haven’t got a care in the world.

Virgil’s actual favorite place to sleep is with his head in Patton’s lap. Especially after he’s just finished baking, when he’s all warm from the oven and he smells like sugar and spice…Virgil will sit on the counter or the floor and listen to Patton talk about whatever he wants and then while the oven bakes, he’ll fall asleep right in Patton’s lap. He even gets first dibs on whatever just got made.

Roman makes a game of it. He’s the Prince, every good Prince needs a rogue to work with. They trek all over the Imagination, having adventures, defeating monsters, it’s the perfect mix of Roman’s quests and Virgil’s need to be a creepy little shit in every dark corner he can find. Being with Roman even makes boring council meetings fun, because he gets to terrify the idiots that they’re just gonna fight later anyway and he gets to spend time with Roman.

He doesn’t care what he’s doing, not really, just as long as he can spend time with them. He just…wishes they would understand that sometimes.

***

3. Words of Affirmation

Logan is no stranger to impostor syndrome, but that doesn’t mean he has to allow it to plague those he cares for. Understanding something to be true on an intellectual level and feeling the validation that comes from hearing someone else voice it are two very different things. The other Sides are each remarkable in their own right. They deserve to hear it.

Patton is kind. He does not say that lightly: kind people who choose to be kind because they know how difficult it is are not individuals to be trifled with. Patton makes the conscious choice to try and be better every single day. He is earnest and sincere, sometimes painfully so, but he does not allow himself to be dissuaded by obstacles. How could Logan not want to express his admiration?

And Roman…oh, Roman is a wonder. There is so much that goes into his work that often goes unnoticed, or underappreciated, and it is a crime that Logan too often finds himself on the wrong side of that line. Roman is clever and funny and has a work ethic that, truly, rivals Logan’s own. For every slight he makes, however unintentional, he tries his best to make up for it by telling Roman in no uncertain terms how honored Logan is to be part of his creative process.

Remus is an entirely different story, no pun intended. Remus is unabashedly and unapologetically himself, and as such is a marvel to behold. He cares not for the sanitization or reduction of anything in his work, and so Logan does his best to follow suit. Remus is who he is, and it is beautiful.

He tells Janus he’s beautiful too. And not once is he lying. The first time he did it, Janus laughed in his face, at least until he realized Logan was telling the truth. He then didn’t see Janus for an entire week. It ended when a little snake plushie appeared outside of his door in the middle of the night with a tiny note that just said thank you. He tells Janus he’s beautiful every chance he gets now.

Virgil is his little alley cat. Perfectly fine to approach on his terms, but will let him know with no uncertainties when he’s getting a little too close. It doesn’t help that Virgil is quite fun to tease, even if all he’s doing is giving him compliments—true compliments, mind you—and watching in amusement as Virgil curls up into a ball with his hood pulled down over his ears as if that could hide how red they are. He’s not cruel about it, of course; he stops the moment Virgil appears genuinely uncomfortable and there are certain topics he doesn’t go near. But Virgil can’t always hide his little grin and so on it goes.

He’s quite happy to shower them with his words, he just…doesn’t know if they’d believe him if he said I love you.

***

4. Acts of Service

Words are difficult. There is so much ambiguity to be found in even the most basic of sentences, and when it comes to matters like this, Janus prefers to take as few chances as possible. Whoever coined the phrase ‘actions speak louder than words,’ Janus definitely owes a drink for how spot-on it is.

Whenever Patton needs a hand in the kitchen, he’s always the first to volunteer. He can do up to three things in the time it would take another Side to do just one, after all, and he’s had enough experience cooking for the troublemakers (Virgil and Remus) to know how to get around most of their pranks. And how to get them back.

Logan, bless him, has a tendency to overwork himself at the best of times. And in doing so, he gets these terrible knots and cramps in his neck and shoulders from hunching over his desk for hours on end. It might not be the most polite of things to practically blackmail his way into giving Logan a massage, but the poor dear always falls right to sleep so he mustn’t mind too much.

Remus and his delightful menagerie of creatures often need more than their fair share of attention. He had to pester Remus into getting him a raincoat and muck boots that could withstand the acidic slime, but weekend mornings found them strolling cheerfully through pens and cages and paddocks, tending to the bizarre flock. Anything to make the chore more of a fun activity and less of, well, a chore, when Remus really doesn’t suit stressed-out frowns as well as manic grins.

Virgil has a terrible habit of not asking for reassurance when he needs it. Janus regrets the part he played in making it that way. So, no matter how small and stupid Virgil may think it is, whenever he asks for help, Janus gives it. A tug on his cloak or a soft please will have him do anything from turn the light in the hallway on to checking the poor thing over for wounds after a brutal nightmare. It took long enough for Janus to re-earn that trust, he’s not going to lose it if he can damn well help it.

Out of everyone in the Mindscape, only Roman truly appreciates his love of theater. Sure, the others are game to help out here and there, but when it comes to the art of make-believe, Roman is the proud owner of Janus’s ‘yes-and’ partnership. The two of them make all sorts of stories together, from villains and heroes to morally grey adventurers, to simple fairytales and old plays. Roman needs someone else to help him play the roles and Janus is more than happy to play with him.

Perhaps one day, he might be able to reveal that everything he does for them, he does because it’s them, but for now, he’ll happily play the role they expect of him.

***

5. Gifts

Roman and Remus do not, in fact, fight over who gets to give the most presents to the other Sides.

Instead, they fight over whose idea they work on first.

For Logan, Remus’s self-writing pen narrowly won out over Roman’s proposal for a never-ending notebook, if only because said pen squirted ink into Roman’s mouth before he could finish his argument. They ended up giving both to Logan at the same time, but the pen was decidedly on top and did its own little celebratory wriggle when Logan used it for the first time.

Remus nearly challenged Roman to a formal duel when it came to designing a heat lamp for Janus that wouldn’t run the same risk of burning out the electricity in their section of the Mindscape. They managed to agree on everything up to the design on the lampshade. Roman said it should be a yellow snake, curled up and sleeping, and Remus wanted it to be a big leaf that Janus could lay under like he was actually outside. The compromise was eventually reached over many hours of almost bloodshed and now the sleeping snake under a leaf is a staple in the corner of Janus’s room.

Roman cleverly proposed Virgil’s weighted blanket while Remus was being crushed under said blanket, leaving not a lot of wiggle room until he had to agree. Of course, he promptly fell asleep and cuddled Roman into a pile of goo, so technically they made both the blanket and the plushie at around the same time. Virgil still brings the little skeleton to movie nights.

Patton gets their presents one after the other, because you need one to understand the other’s context. A rebreather designed to slip on over the person’s face just like any other face mask, to filter out particulates and allergens. Something that could be worn for up to two consecutive hours before it needed to be recharged.

The other present was a box full of kittens.

”Ro?”

“Yeah?”

Remus pushes his goggles to the top of his head and looks over the desk. “Do you think they’ll ever get it?”

Roman sighs, closing his notebook and leaning back to stretch. “I don’t know, Re. I love them, really, they just…”

”Don’t realize.”

“Yeah. It’s okay, though. We’ll get there eventually.”

“Of course we will. Hand me that wrench, would you?”

“The one that’s covered in guts, or the one that’s made out of foam?”

“The foam one. I need to whack this thing but I don’t wanna hit it too hard.”

“I’m not gonna ask any more questions.”

***

+1: I Love You

”Hey!” Patton rises up first, clapping his hands. “Oh. I’m the only one here.”

“Only by a moment,” Logan says as he joins him. “Is Thomas here?”

“No, I just got summoned by—well, I thought it was Thomas but he’s not here.”

“Whoa, hey!” Virgil appears on the staircase. “What’s going on? I was in the middle of watching someone.”

“Don’t you mean ‘something?’” Remus appears, covered in slime and cackling. “Ah. I see.”

“I’ve got it,” Roman says, rising up and spraying his brother with something that somehow manages to dissolve all the goo without staining or spraying anything else. “There. Now maybe you’ll think twice about surprising Uma when she’s feeding?”

“Oh, I’m gonna do this so many more times!”

”I felt the exasperation from my room,” Janus sighs, appearing, “what’s Remus done now?”

“Why did you assume it was Remus?” Janus just looks at Logan. “Fair enough.”

”Now that we’re all here, what is this about?” He looks around, frowning. “Where’s Thomas?”

“That’s weird, is he not the one who called for a meeting?”

“What’s that?” Virgil reaches out and picks up a piece of paper from the coffee table. “‘Each one of you needs a card, find the matches.’ What cards?”

“Here.” Logan picks up something that fell when Virgil picked up the paper. “There are only five of them, though, and six of us.”

“What do they say?”

“Let me see…one says ‘Physical Touch,’ one says ‘Acts of Service,’ one says…oh, I see.”

“I don’t,” Patton says, “can you share with the class?”

“Wait, wait, I think I know what this is, is one of them ‘Quality Company’ or something?”

“‘Quality Time,’ yes.”

Roman nods. “It’s the Five Love Languages.”

“Thomas doesn’t even speak Spanish!”

“No, no, Padre, not literal languages, it’s…it’s the ways you express your affection for someone. How you tell them you love them. There’s five: physical touch, acts of service, quality time…”

“‘Words of Affirmation,’” Logan continues, reading off the other cards, “and ‘Gifts.’”

Virgil hunches his shoulders. “So what, are we supposed to pick one?”

“I believe the intention of the exercise is to…select which one is our love language.”

Janus huffs. “Why? What does Thomas have to gain from doing something like this? And where is he?”

“Maybe he’s not the one who summoned us.”

“Well then who did?”

“Maybe if we do the thing we can find out.”

Janus sighs, peering over Logan’s shoulder and squinting. “I guess this one’s mine, then.”

“‘Acts of Service?’ Very well. I suppose I’ll take ‘Words of Affirmation.’”

“Can I have the touch one?”

“Certainly.”

“Twins get ‘Gifts,’ obviously,” Virgil mutters, “which means I get the…time one, or whatever.”

Logan hands out the last two cards and they stand there for a moment, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing does.

Patton looks back down at his card. “Wait, did you say these are how we tell people we love them?”

“That is a simple definition of this, why?”

“Because you guys do these with everyone!”

There’s a pause. Logan adjusts his glasses. “Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but…yes, I do indeed give you all words of affirmation, because, well…”

“Aww,” Virgil says, “do you love us, Logan?”

Logan coughs, blushes, and adjusts his tie. “I believe that is a logical conclusion, yes.”

“Aww!” Patton squeals. “I love you guys too!”

”So whoever set this up knew that we were all trying to tell each other that—“ Roman starts.

“—and needed to hammer it into our heads what was happening,” Remus finishes.

“Well,” Janus sniffs, even as a smile threatens the corners of his mouth, “how dramatic.”

Virgil tugs on the strings of his hoodie. “Yeah. How dramatic.”

There’s another pause.

Roman coughs. “Uh, this seems like a good a time as any, um…Remus and I put together a festival thing in the Imagination for everyone, if you want to…if you want to come and see it.”

“It has everyone’s favorite state fair stuff,” Remus sands, “and there’s supposed to be a northern-lights kind of thing after it gets dark.”

“Can we cuddle?”

“Of course.”

“Will there be food?”

“Your favorite, shadow-ling.”

“You two are so thoughtful,” Logan says softly, “I would love to come.”

“I can get the good blankets from the closet,” Janus offers, and everyone grins, “should we meet there in ten?”

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!”

The Imagination is just happy they finally sorted it out. Now, to give the six of them a group date they’ll never forget…

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

#fic rec #dlampr #so adorable!#and soft #all the softness #I love it #really what I needed #💙💖💜💛💙💚

53 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 5 days

Text

Progression, Chapter 8: You've Created a Monster

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - You've Created a Monster - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Last night's incident at the bar had consequences that no-one could escape. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, final day: Free Day. "Free" day. WC: 1190

Wet and heavy, the air outside the bar stank of rotting vegetables and piss, old paint and sweat. Fear. He shivered, sweat cooling his skin too, too quickly, even in the stuffy, muggy night.

He almost asked to go back inside, to return to the soft lights and the loud music. To return to Jannie and Lucas’ watchful gazes. Did they see him leave? Would they be worried?

He almost asked to go back inside, but before he could even surface the thought, Bryan urged him around the corner and into the alley, voice sweet and brushed with just a hint of heat. His lips were soft and the hand on the small of his back was warm and gentle.

Until it wasn’t.

The Muse cracked open his eyes, squinting against the cold glare of his buzzy overhead light. It hummed and crackled, some ancient thing that didn’t fritz right out under the strangling weight of his room's new shield.

Sighing, he rubbed his cheek against the carpet. It was now stiff, without the same drag and bounce it had had before Papa Bear and Virge renovated. The fresh glue stank, burning his nose and his throat.

Maybe that’s what he’d smelled. Not last night’s bar. Not last night’s—

The floor jolted beneath him, the little thud that meant the elevator had stopped on his floor. The Muse grinned. Someone was coming!

“Jannie!” The Muse cheered, racing to the door as it began to open. “Jannie, Jannie, Jannie, Jannie, Jannie, Jan—”

Papa Bear’s head stuck through and he frowned. “Sorry, Kiddo.” The cheer in his voice was thin and brittle, too high and too chilly to be real. If The Muse pushed at it, it would shatter under his hands like the old plastic cabinets had. Papa Bear raised the tray he carried and curled up his lips into something like a smile. “Just me and some dinner for you while Virge converts your stove to work in the EMF.”

His voice was rough, like he’d been shouting. Or crying. The Muse flipped backwards on a nearby chair and hung his head over the seat, watching him as he walked on the ceiling. He’d never been able to easily read Papa Bear. Not without touching him, at least, and today—tonight?—Papa Bear wore a long-sleeved hoodie, all drawn up and covered like he was cold.

A bead of sweat trailed down his temple.

He couldn’t easily read him—not without pushing, not without being noticed, and he was trying so hard to never do that, no matter how much he needed it sometimes. But he could usually make Papa Bear laugh. When he wasn’t scaring him or grossing him out, anyway.

“Guess Jannie’s too busy bom-chicka-waow-waow , with the hubby, huh?” He grinned, waiting for a laugh or a grimace. Usually his innuendos about Papa Bear’s little brother got a bit of both.

Not today, though. “Something like that.” Papa Bear’s mouth trembled and he turned to set down the tray, a wave of grief and loss knocking Remus to the floor.

“Oh, fuck, Papa Bear…” He scrambled to his feet and moved close. “Lucas isn’t… hurt, is he?”

“No, um… Lucas is fine, Kiddo. Everything’s okay.” Papa Bear smiled through his lie. “I… I should go… I left Virge without another set of hands in the lab, um… Eat up, Re. You’re getting too skinny.” He smiled again, lips curled up softly, but cheeks pale and eyes red-rimmed. “I’ll make you anything you want, I promise.”

He squeezed his shoulder, grip firm but not very steady. It was only then that The Muse noticed his gloves. “Yeah—yeah, Papa Bear. I’ll eat this time. I…” Another wave of sadness oozed off of him, cold and sticky. Syrup left to dry or those cold compresses he’d stick on his bruises when the ice burned.

The Muse poked at the edges of Papa Bear’s hurt, feeling for the source of the thudding, throbbing ache around them. Papa Bear shrank back and shook his head, wincing, so he stopped. Tried to, at least.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, Re,” he murmured, but didn’t move closer. “I know it’s not your fault.” His arms twitched, almost like wanted to hug him. The Muse stepped closer, unable to hold back the itchy little whine at the back of his throat. A big Papa Bear hug would feel so fucking good right now.

But instead of moving toward him, arms open, Papa Bear shuffled backwards and palmed open the door with the new controls. “I—I—I gotta go, Kiddo,” he said, not meeting his eyes. He slipped through the door, pulling it closed behind him. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed from the other side of the door.

“Papa Bear, wait, what hap—” The Muse rushed to the door and slammed his hand on the controls. It wouldn’t respond. He tried again, slower this time, fingers carefully spread over the surface. Nothing.

“I’m sorry, Kiddo.” Papa Bear’s voice spilled from a little vent next to the door. “That won’t work anymore. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He pressed to the window. “Papa Bear? I—I’m sorry! Please come back! Papa Bear?”

Papa Bear’s shoulders shook as he rushed toward the elevator and disappeared. “Papa Bear?” he cried one more time, banging on the door. The elevator doors swished shut and the hallway was again bathed in darkness.

Braced against the door, one hand stretched and hopelessly tapping the door controls, he watched the hallway shadows a long, long time. The lights above the elevator dimmed and brightened almost imperceptibly, silently and dutifully marking each floor change as the elevator moved in its shaft. The lights never heralded Papa Bear’s return.

Or anyone's.

By now they would’ve told Ro what happened at the bar. But maybe… maybe Ro would still visit? Not come inside, that was too, well, it wasn’t safe not alone. they both knew that. But Ro still might come and sit outside the door like he used to, close enough to see him through the window. Close enough to imagine they still breathed the same air. Close enough for Ro to show off a new flower or dazzling lights.

He’d bragged he could make fireworks the last time they’d talked. The Muse laughed. Maybe he could show off what he could do, too.

The Muse closed his eyes and straightened, hands outstretched in front of him.

Scarred and shaking, he saw nothing but empty hands and his empty room.

He tried again, picturing the sparks of heat and light, the singe as the fireworks spread and scattered over his hands. But no matter how clear the picture was in his mind, the static pushed back against it, forcing it all back into his head. He tried again. And again. Fireworks, flowers, a fucking rock.

Nothing worked.

He shook his head, pounding behind his eyes as his Illusions stuttered against his skull, echoing back to him instead of pouring out into the world, into his palms, alive and real. His room wasn’t supposed to do that. He had to tell Jannie.

The Muse pushed at the static surrounding his room, the new, ever-present buzz of the shield pressing against him like a soap bubble. Was it louder now? He slammed his fists against it, scratching, clawing, poking against the deafening darkness. -”Jannie?-“ he screamed against the bubble. -“Jannie, can you hear me? Jannie? Jannie?! JANNIE!!”-

#fic rec #platonic intruality #well kinda #it's not a very positive interaction #they obviously care for each other #but the situation is fucked #oh boy #this universe is scarring me #worth the read of course #but not for the weak hearted #it is not happy #💚 💙

9 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 6 days

Text

Progression: Chapter 7, Traitor

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Traitor - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Muse (and his twin) turn twenty-one. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 7: Dive Bar. WC: 3287

The Muse paced the length of his room, a heavy tome gripped in both hands as he forced his eyes to follow the hand-lettered text. Since the Purge, volumes like these were a treasure and though the edges of his pants were ragged and frayed, his hair shorn short at the back of his neck to stop himself from yanking it out, he cradled the book like the precious rarity it was.

"’A girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is something to—’” he muttered aloud, shaking his head. He closed the book, slowly, carefully, just like Jannie had showed him and he stroked the woven cover. His feet stopped in front of the shelf and he scanned the other spines before swapping one for the other.

“‘And perhaps you might pretend, afterwards, that it was only a trick,’” he read as he paced, gaze fixed on the book as his body led him over the well-worn path. The carpet had begun to fade in long meandering strips, marking off the longest contiguous trails around the room.

The words wobbled with each step, or maybe it was Orwell’s text.

“‘And that you just said it to make them stop and didn't mean it. But that isn't true.’” His voice fell away as he continued to read for three more laps before making a gagging sound at the back of his throat and changing that book for the next on the shelf.

His mouth twitched as his fingers trailed over the embossed title of the next book. A hundred years, huh? "’El mundo era tan reciente que muchas cosas carecían de nombre, y para nombrarlas había que señalarlas con el dedo…’” The words flowed off his tongue, falling into little drops of honey along his path. Perhaps you only had to point at things to name them, but The Muse could name a thing to make it. “‘"Saca esos malos pensamientos de tu cabeza", le dijo. "Vas a ser feliz".’”

The Muse frowned and closed the book, not as gently as the first. “No, you won’t.”

The next book was no better. “‘She used to give me a thrashing every morning—’”

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope…

This one he slammed shut and shoved back onto the shelf, whispering a quiet apology before selecting one last volume. He started at the end, eyes dancing over the page. “‘This funeral wasn't about honoring truth, but about honoring a memory.’”

He mouthed the words again and tried to imagine what the author might’ve sounded like. Sinking to the floor, he sat with the book cradled in his lap and continued to read. “‘‘It was about honoring the friend they had lost, whether they had lost that friend a day ago, or five years ago.’” A slow smile spread over his face as he flipped the slim book to the beginning to start at the start.

The Muse was on his third re-read when warmth rippled toward him from the hall, soft and wispy, smoke after you blow out a flame. He hugged the book to his chest and leapt to his feet. He’d nearly reached the door controls when Jannie spoke.

-”May we come in, Muse?”- The warm trickle turned into the comforting blast of the furnace, opening the oven on a frosty day. The scent of fire and vanilla, burnt sugar and those tart winter berries Papa Bear like to pick. Jannie was in a good mood, which meant the ‘we’ was him and Lucas.

“Fuck, yes, you can come in!” The Muse shouted and stepped back from the door, ready to fling himself at Jannie’s arms. The door panel lit up and, as Jannie stepped inside, he remembered the book just in time and laid it on the little table by the door before he threw himself at Jannie. “You’re here!”

A bubble of heat enveloped them, pushing away the sticky cold sadness just under the surface of Jannie’s skin. “Of course I’m here, Muse…” His voice was shaky, like he hadn’t spoken aloud in a while. He had to tell Jannie his trick, reading out loud to keep his throat limber and smooth and—

“It’s your birthday,” Jannie continued, one gloved hand carding through his hair. He wished Jannie would take them off. Maybe later. Maybe that was the plan, especially with Lucas here. Lucas always helped them both stay calm when, wait, it was his birthday already?

“It’s not my birthday, Jannie,” he argued, laughing, and pulled back, only a little, only enough to look into Jannie’s eyes. “My birthday’s not for another week, it’s…”

His smile froze in place as Jannie’s hand slid down and over his cheek, the soft material of his gloves—his good ones, the old cotton ones he used to keep in that box in his dresser he and Ro had found—his gloves, they were soft but they caught on the thick growth on his jaw.

He’d shaved this morning. Hadn’t he?

“It’s… it’s been a week?” Jannie looked down and their little warm bubble shrank, ice fizzling on the edges.

“It has, Re.” Lucas stroked Jannie’s cheek, his bare cheek, the skin soft at the touch and glowing white hot so bright The Muse had to close his eyes. Static brushed his mind. When he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor, Jannie and Lucas in front of him.

Lucas’ eyes glowed softly.

“Where’s Ro?” he asked, eyeballs bouncing between the elder Mad Lads, waiting for one of them to speak. Jannie’s shield was strong and The Muse danced around the border, the tingle of static tickling his fingers with each little poke. “Can I see him, maybe just for…”

He couldn’t see past Jannie’s shield but his silence spoke for him.

“He’s not ready,” Lucas answered instead and gripped Jannie’s hand. Slowly the static eased and Jannie smiled up at him. Sad and small but a soft smile. A good smile. A strong one that wouldn’t break if he pushed at it.

The Muse nodded. “Yeah, I… I figured. Is he… is he having a good birthday?” The room grew brighter, daffodils and honeysuckle sprouting in the corners. “I… I was gonna make him something, I…” He blinked and looked around the room, a large box covered in red cloth he’d stitched together sat by the door. “Oh, I did make him something. Will you give it to him?”

Jannie reached for him, patting his arm through gloves and his shirt, too, too much between them to really feel it. “Of course we will, Muse,” he spoke and said, the words flooding his mind and raising it up, wind under wings.

He floated, a feather on the breeze. “But first, Muse, we wanted to do something for your birthday. Even if…”

Even if he couldn’t be with his brother.

“I’d like that. I’d really, really like that!” The Muse leapt to his feet, swaying slightly. If he hadn’t really shaved this morning, had breakfast not been this morning, either? His sink was empty, the stove cold and spotless. Maybe not. “Can…” What if they said no? A little lump of ice grew just above his stomach. “Can you both stay? I’ll make us something yummy and—”

“Actually, Muse,” Jannie caught Lucas’ gaze, eyebrows high in a question The Muse couldn’t help but hear. Not that he tried very hard not to listen in. -”Do you think he’s ready?”-

Lucas nodded and Jannie’s smile grew, just a bit. “We thought we might try something different.”

Luc's gentle touch still tingled against his skin, long after he'd turned his attention—and the focus of his power—to The Muse. Janus knew he'd been concerned, remembered the tight twist in his chest as they'd taken the elevator down to The Muse's rooms, remembered the icy spike in his gut when the Muse admitted he had lost an entire week. The warmth of Luc's touch spread through his skin, a whisper of reassurance.

He watched Luc's hands glow where he touched The Muse's temples, the deep amber bleeding out from between his eyelashes. After a long while, Luc lowered his hands and smiled at The Muse. “How do you feel, Re?”

“I feel great,” he smiled back and held out both hands, soft gaillardia blooming in his palms. They grew slowly, waving gently in a breeze none of them felt. He closed his fingers around them, gently and when he opened them, the flowers were gone. “I’m in control,” he grinned. “Look at that!”

Luc’s eyes glowed next to him. “You are,” Janus smiled. “Ready?”

“Ready!”

The trio flew the smaller transport north. Not far, just looking to get a little further from the hubbub of the migrated seaports and cities sprouting up around the new Federated Capitol Building. The Muse sat buckled in his seat, face pressed to the window as he watched the sun set over the lakes. Luc laughed from the pilot seat. “ still there, love!” He pointed at a flickering blip on the main navigation screen and grinned. “Still transmitting! I can’t believe they’re still open! Do you remember?”

Lucas shared a flash from their first visit to The Inn. Younger then, they’d danced together long into the night. In the dim light of the bar, surrounded by Powered and Traditionals alike, couples and constellations had drawn together and celebrated all they shared instead of clashing over all the distinctions carved between them in final throes of The Purge.

Over”hearing” the shared vision, The Muse hummed in his seat. Under the heavy dose Lucas had used, The Muse’s eyes moved a little slower, his smile a little… Janus’ mind supplied the word dull but it was merely less sharp than it usually was. Less jagged. Softer. Like his face moved through water to change with the thoughts racing through his mind.

They landed smoothly, The Inn’s old system recognizing Luc’s old stolen—borrowed—transport beacon. “Where everybody knows your name…” Muse sang quietly, where he’d heard that melody was beyond Janus’ understanding. He barely remembered the old passphrase.

Luc grinned and lowered the ramp. “After you, ma cheri,” he murmured, offering an arm to The Muse in turn. “Ready to dance?”

The bar’s exterior hadn’t changed much. The faded, sagging awning was still there, though a closer look underneath revealed the old metal frame had been replaced by cheaper plexisteel. Bartered for scrap during the worst of it, Janus guessed. Same for the old glass window panes. He’d be nearly anything they’d been bartered in exchange for the licensing board looking the other way when the tumult had ended.

A rumble of heavy bass rattled the chipped sign above the door, beckoning them in with a simple, Welcome, All.

The Muse’s gaze went far away, seeing through the bar’s façade, seeing through his own façade. He grinned, broad and… spacey. “I like it here, Jannie.”

“I thought you might,” he nodded, the tightness in his throat and his chest easy to ignore. He opened the door and ushered them both inside.

“Hey! Haven’t seen you all in a long while,” Andrew called from behind the bar. “‘Fraid you’d… Y'know—” He made a cutting motion across his throat and pulled a face.

“Nah, we’re too bitchy to kill,” Luc laughed, leaning over the bar to hug the wizened owner. “You know that.”

“Glad to see it. You brought some young blood with you, too,” he said, coming around the bar to accept a long hug from Janus. “Well, even younger than you two,” he added with another laugh.

The Muse stiffened, eyes locked on Andrew’s face, reading him. He shuddered, knees twitching in the darkened club. Andrew didn’t catch it, but Luc did.

“This is Re,” he said and wrapped an arm over The Muse’ shoulders, fingers grazing the back of his neck. His fidget disappeared, the spiky energy pouring off him smoothing out at the edges.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, palm outstretched with a tiny green orchid blossom nestled at the center.

Andrew’s eyes widened and he took a half-step back. “Oh, he’s—” Features carefully schooled, Traditionals wouldn’t’ve noticed his fear.

But Janus wasn't a Traditional. “He’s with us,” he said, voice low.

Andrew nodded slowly, looking between the three of them as he wrestled the flurry of thoughts spilling from his mind. Finally, he smiled, nearly genuine, and returned to the taps behind the bar. “First round on the house, then.”

“Water for me,” Luc smiled.

“How 'bout the D.D. special then,” Andrew laughed, and poured Luc a purple fizzing beverage before passing two glasses of beer to Janus.

The Muse grabbed his arm, spilling a bit of foam from one of the steins. “Can we dance first?” he asked, eyes bright.

“I was hoping you came here to dance,” a low voice behind them rumbled.

A cold itch crawled up Janus’ spine and he moved between the interloper and Muse. He was a Powered, a strong man like Pat, as far as Janus could tell. Very low Esper, which made it easy for Janus to prod, to see what beyond the typical ick of a bar pick up was hidden in the man’s intentions.

Looking just over Janus’ head, he smiled at The Muse. “Unless you’re otherwise occupied tonight?”

“Nah, I’m not with them,” The Muse laughed, taking the other man’s hand. “They’ve got each other to keep them company. Right?” he added with hopeful eyes at both Janus and Luc.

“Enjoy yourself, Re,” Luc said, threading his fingers through Janus’. -”He can handle himself, love,”- he added silently. -”Besides, we’re right here.”-

-”Yeah, Jannie,”- The Muse jumped in with a little dance of his shoulders and absolutely zero decorum. He blew them both a kiss and followed the man out onto the patch of carpet that served as a dance floor. “Happy Birthday to me!” he cheered when the song transitioned to a faster tempo.

Janus pointed to a table as far from the speakers as he could manage without putting any other tables between them and the dance floor. He sat facing the dancing couples and Luc settled into the seat closest to him. “He’s having a good time,” he said, nudging Janus’ knee under the table. “We're in a safe space. You can relax a little while."

"Perhaps," Janus nodded, a golden bubble wrapped around his worries. He sipped at his beer before the bubble popped. Setting aside all pretense or propriety, Janus locked in on the thoughts swirling around the dancing pair. He just needed to know.

The Muse was… nervous, but giddily so. Happy. Happier than Janus had seen him in years. Not since he’d been a child, playing with his brother or pranking teenage Virgil. Janus watched The Muse dance before nodding and taking another sip.

“He’s having fun,” Luc whispered behind his glass, nursing the purple concoction. “And look—” As the music slowed, The Muse took one of the man’s hands and traced colorful shapes against his skin. “He’s in full control.”

“Thanks to you,” Janus said, focusing on the man’s expression. He looked unsurprised. He'd probably clocked Muse as a Powered before he’d even approached them. The implications twisted in his stomach, cold and prickly. Luc’s hand on his forearm was warm, though, and after a moment he sighed, all but a spot of worry leaving him with his breath. “You’re right, he’s having fun.”

“He is,” Luc murmured, leaning closer to kiss his cheek. “Now,” he grinned and slid his now-empty glass into Janus’ hands. “Why don’t you get us a refill while I keep watch. We can take turns.”

Janus laughed and took Luc’s glass. “I see Andrew’s mixology skills haven’t faded with time.” He stood, then leaned over to swipe his own small kiss. “Either that or you’re just as cheap of a date as you ever were.”

“Bah!” Luc scoffed, one lovely hand pressed to his chest. “I resemble that remark!”

Still chuckling, Janus sauntered over to the bar, eyes forward but his thoughts stretched out toward the other patrons, the other dancers. To The Muse and his dance partner. The music had slowed, a steady, undulating beat that traveled up from the floor and through Janus’ shoes. He hummed, following the cover-of-a-cover-of a song that had been an oldie when he was still a child, young enough his Powers had not yet been discovered.

Look at the way… We’ve got an eye on what we’re doing Cause what would they say If they ever knew and so we’re—

“Lucas likes this mix, yes?” Andrew grinned from behind the bar, sliding over a full glass before Janus had even asked. Something itched at the base of his skull, fighting past the calm Luc had given him.

‘Re’s completely keyed in to your moods, love. If he can feel you scared, if he can feel you worried, he’ll feel like you don’t trust him and he won’t trust himself.’

Luc’s words had been soft. Certain. He shook his head and the itch grew. Luc’s refill cradled in his hands, he looked over his shoulder. Luc was blinking slowly, a crooked tipsy smile on his face. Janus whipped around and stared at Andrew. “What’s in this?” he demanded.

But Andrew wasn’t looking at him. No, he was staring past Janus’ shoulder at something on the other side of the bar. He followed the bartender’s gaze.

Just in time to see Muse slip outside with his dance partner.

“Luc!” he cried over the music and ran toward the door, sidling past the sudden surge of patrons crowding his path. -”Luc! Luc, let’s go!”-

-”What’s wrong, love?”- The fuzziness in Luc’s response shattered his calm. He was closer to the door than to Luc, though, and he pushed through just in time to be hit with a wave of fear.

Muse’s fear.

-”Muse! I’m coming!”- He stepped out into the muggy night air. The landing pad was lifeless, a few airskiffs and smaller transports like theirs dark and idle. He closed his eyes and a light bloomed from the dark alley next to the waste bins. Muse!

Janus ran, following the faint scuffling sound and the overpowering sense of panic. He staggered under the weight of it, heavy ropes tightening around his chest, squeezing his heart. His pulse pounded in his ears, a syncopated thud, his own layered with Muse’s. The bar door slammed open just as he reached the alley.

“Jan! Jan, wait!” Luc called after him, heavier footfalls catching up fast.

A cry more animal than human pierced his mind and Janus dropped to his knees, both hands over his ears. Strong hands—Luc’s?—helped him up and together they followed the shadows in the alley. Leaning heavily against Luc’s side, Janus fumbled in his jacket for a light. Finally activating it, the beam bounced wildly until it landed on the man from the bar, doubled over and gripping his own head.

Muse towered over him, shirt ripped and eyes closed. He didn’t speak and when Janus reached for him, pain ripped through his mind until he pulled back, wrapping his mind in his own strongest shield.

“Please, Muse, no!” he shouted, fighting to be heard over the cacophony in his own mind. The man’s cries intensified and he began to bang his forehead against the dirty pavement. “Stop it! Stop, Muse, you’ll—”

And in the next breath it was over. Suddenly silent, the man slumped over. Deadweight. His head struck the pavement with a loud, wet thwack and Janus’ light trembled, illuminating dark blood seeping from his eyes in its shaky beam. Muse knelt before the man's body, shoulders shaking and a horrible high-pitched sound spilling from his lips.

Muse laughed.

#fic rec #platonic dukeceit #oranceit #platonic intruorange #what the fuck #can't they have a break??#for just like one day #please #why must everyone be shitty #gkadslkgldsaksd #I hate this 😭 (I love it I just don't want my boys to be sad)#💛 💚#💛🧡#💚 🧡

11 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 11 days

Text

Progression, Chapter 6: Eyes Closed

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Eyes Closed - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Muse finds someone who needs his help. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 6: Body Swap WC: 1303 - CW: a child in peril, minor character deaths (unnamed characters, not the child) A little mind-bendy (that's a bit of a given with Remus' Illusion powers, though.)

The Muse ran.

Broken bits of brick from the latest building lost to ivy battered bare feet and the tangled underbrush threatened to drag him to the ground. He stumbled, feet wetted with crushed moss and blood slipping on the forest floor.

“I see you!” A deep voice sing-songed and echoed against the trees, laughter coming from everywhere at once. "You can't hide from us!"

His lungs burned and he’d lost count of the scratches and bruises on his shins, his arms, his face. They’d first spotted him at dusk down by the creek and he’d been on the run ever since. Every time he thought he’d escaped, every time he thought he’d hidden well enough and long enough, they’d see him trying to sneak away and once again, they’d pick up their hunt through the dark woods.

He dodged to the left, crashing blindly into the thicket and hoping it might slow his much larger pursuers. Thorns grabbed at his skirt, tearing at his skin but he kept running.

His skirt?

The Muse forced his eyes open and stared up at the bright ceiling lights in his room. No, not his skirt… there was someone else. Someone close. Someone hurt.

But they were getting further away and it was getting harder to fight through the buzzing shield around his room. The Muse rolled onto his stomach. His hands and knees were scraped raw, muscles screaming under the strain of movement. When he closed his eyes, he saw the forest, tasted the moss and dirt. And blood.

Inch by inch, he dragged himself to his door. Using first the handle, then the frame, he pulled himself to his feet and palmed the control. His own weight pushed the door open and he fell past the shield and out into the hallway.

Color and light and ice and fire consumed him and filled him to bursting. The world crackled through his nerves, through every cell. A tiny child laughing, clapping her hands when her doll sang. A couple yelling horrible things to each other, unbreakable dishes crashing against the wall and bouncing off back at them. The rush of air as a man fell. Fingers torn and bleeding and…

The Muse shook his head, searching for the girl in the woods. Her sweater had been itchy, sticky with sweat but it protected her arms so she kept it on. Feet numb, knees bleeding, she shivered now, tucked between gnarled tree roots, a crook filled with mold and petrified rat droppings. She pressed both hands to her mouth, muffling her pants as large men—Powereds, too, too large to be Traditionals—tromped over her hiding place.

-”Jannie…”- he pushed past the sharp static of Jannie’s usual shield. He wasn’t supposed to, he knew he wasn't supposed to, that it hurt them both when he did, but this was important. Cold ice slashed at his mind as the static broke. -”Jannie! Jannie, help us…”- His eyes fell shut again as the vision took him.

“Love?” Luc’s voice was so very far away. “Love… wake up!” Orange light bled through Janus’s eyelids and he burrowed deeper under the covers, hiding from the soft hand shaking his shoulder, the insistent voices in his head. “Jan!”

-”Jannie…”- The desperation in The Muse’s voice finally pulled him from his dream—nightmare? No, not a dream. -”Jannie, help us!”-

“The Muse is out,” Janus mumbled, shivering under the warmth of their comforter.

“I know, love,” Luc nodded, hands warm at his shoulder, his cheek. Janus finally opened his eyes and noticed the bright glow of Luc’s. “You were…”

Janus became aware of the tears streaming down his face, his neck. The pillow was soaked. His throat was raw and his palms bleeding from tiny half-moon impressions.

Luc’s eyes dimmed and he brushed gentle fingers over Janus’ cheekbone. “You were…inconsolable without…” His voice shook and he let his hand fall away. Janus’ heart thudded in his chest at the lost contact, a bird fighting its way out of its cage.

“It’s okay…” He swallowed back a sob, the temporary easement of Luc’s powers letting through the full force of everything The Muse shared. He nodded, chasing his hand. “It—than—thank you. He—”

Luc touched him again and Janus smiled, accepting his power. He sucked in a breath and met Luc’s bright orange eyes. “He needs me,” he whispered, already pushing away the covers.

“I know.”

-“Muse… Muse, can you hear me?”- Golden light flickered through the leaves and The Muse reached out from his hiding place, fingers scraping against lichen-covered bark.

“Jannie?” he called, high pitched and broken. And not nearly quiet enough.

“I found her!” Rough hands grabbed at him, pulling his hair and yanking him out from beneath the fallen tree. “Got you, you little—“

The man’s hands grazed bare skin and The Muse saw through his eyes now. A girl shivered before him, dress torn, hair matted with blood and dirt, rivers of tears marking her face. He released her and she dropped to the forest floor, curled in a ball.

Rage and pride coursed through his veins. Filthy lust. But Jannie was there, too, and strong, steady hands circled the faint strains of the man's guilt. Strangling it. Strengthening it.

The Muse pushed back against the foul thoughts in the man’s head and shared with him the girl’s fear, the sting and burn of her cuts, the fire in an ankle that surely must be broken.

The man staggered under the weight of it. “No, please,” he muttered. “Stop!” To The Muse or to Jannie. Or maybe to himself.

They didn’t stop. The Muse pressed both hands to the man’s head and pushed in everything he'd seen. The fighting couple. The child who’d touched a stove. The man who’d fallen—jumped?—from the factory ladder. Another man, hungry and cold, sifting through the bins outside the same factory.

Everything.

He pushed it all into the pursuer’s head. With a strangled cry, he dropped to the forest floor. His friends ran to his body and The Muse touched each of them in turn, adding the memories of the one who fell before him until the bodies of a half dozen Powered rogues lay in a heap around the little girl.

-”Go home,”- he said to her as gently as he could.

Crying, she stumbled away from the men's bodies. The Muse stayed with her until she reached the edge of town and the world around him faded to black.

The floor was cool against The Muse’s back and a soft blanket had been draped over his chest. Fresh stitches itched his hands and his legs. He opened his eyes just in time to see Papa Bear slip through the door, leaving him alone with Jannie.

Jannie’s hand—his bare hand! He’d taken off his gloves and just touched him—his hand was so warm and curved perfectly over his cheek. The Muse melted into the touch, the warmth. Jannie brushed away the tears leaking from his eyes. “I got ‘em, Jannie,” he whispered. “I got ‘em all.” It was important he say it. The words made it real, made the vision real. It was all real. He'd made it real and he’d done something good this time.

“I know,” Jannie said aloud, voice breaking. “Ro and Virge found the girl and brought her to her parents.”

The Muse smiled, wincing at the tug of stitches he hadn’t noticed along his jaw. -“We did it”-

“We did,” Jannie said, so quiet The Muse had to strain to hear. “Rest now, Muse. Rest…” His eyes were half-closed when Jannie slowly pushed up to his feet and shuffled to the door.

As the door sighed closed, the last thing The Muse saw was Jannie falling into Lucas’ arms, the hallway lit in the bright orange glow of his eyes.

#fic rec #platonic dukeceit #oranceit #remus gets to rescue someone!#that's nice!#wish it wouldn't hurt him so much #or janus #but the girl is save so...#good #I'm so so worried for everyone in this AU you have no idea #💛 💚#💛🧡

10 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 12 days

Text

A Suit and a Gown, Both Armor

You’ve written a nonbinary Virgil before so I wanted to ask, could you possibly write something with a nonbinary Roman in it? – monkeythefander

Read on Ao3

Warnings: gender dysphoria

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3111

“What weighs on your soul, old friend,” comes the voice from the edge of the balustrade, “you look as though you would hoist this castle upon your shoulders and it would cause you no more strife?”

Roman lets out a long, slow breath, turning to face the steward as he approaches. The collar of the prince costume starts to itch. “Is it that obvious?”

The steward allows a small chuckle. “My friend, I do hope you don’t mean to insult me.”

“Never.”

‘Then yes, my friend, it is terribly obvious.” He mirrors Roman’s position, looking out over the vast courtyard. “Would you care to share the load?”

Roman sighs again, fingers itching to undo the collar. They close their hand into a fist and tuck it beneath their elbow. “I’m to have a fitting with the tailor in an hour or so.”

“For the ball?”

“Yes.” They let their fingers twitch again. “I’m sure whatever suit she’s concocted will be the envy of the kingdom.”

“You sound as though you resent her for that.”

They sigh again. “Not insofar as I despise being able to showcase her talent; she is a master and should be revered as such, but…”

The steward moves a little closer. “But?”

“But I’m not sure I want it to be me that showcases it.”

“I never thought I’d see the day you didn’t want the spot light. Has something happened that makes you dread it?”

Roman stays quiet for a few long seconds. Across the courtyard below, two children chase a ball along the tiled pathways. Their shrieks of excitement echo up the walls long after they disappear back into the gardens. The steward wait patiently.

“Forgive me if my question is insensitive,” they begin, “but have you ever felt as though…as though you have been placed inside a doll of yourself?”

The steward blinks. “I cannot say I have felt that specifically. I have certainly felt constrained before, or that I was being forced into being something I did not want to be, but never…no, my friend, never a doll. Could you speak more on the topic?”

“I’m conflicted. I would not give up the crown or the chance to serve my people, nor do I detest the spotlight altogether, and yet something about this ball…” They open and close their fist, looking at the calluses on their hand. “I fear I am caught in a dance with strings around my limbs.”

“Show me to this cruel puppeteer, then, and have him answer to those that would see you untethered.”

“I don’t think it’s so simple, though I am flattered by your readiness to draw steel for me.”

The steward rests a hand on their shoulder. “What would the strings have you do?”

Roman rakes a hand through their hair. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I can feel them around me are my every move and yet they do not tell me what they want.”

“Are there times where they feel stronger?”

“At the tailor’s.” The steward makes a soft ah sound. “Or in the court’s main halls. Even on the training grounds, when the sword master is training the newest squires. Or when I am alone in my chambers and must review the correspondence from neighboring kingdoms.”

“That’s quite a list.”

“Indeed.”

“Have you any thought to what they have in common?”

“Yes.” Roman looks down at their hand again. “I do.”

The steward narrows his eyes. “And yet they persist. Is there something else I should know about these…strings?”

Roman glances over. “I have no wish to keep you.”

“Nonsense, old friend, it is a pleasure to be kept by you.”

They glance around at the open courtyard. The steward follows their gaze and hums.

“Would you prefer to have the conversation somewhere more private?”

“Yes, I believe that would be best.”

“Come, then, if you would walk with me. There is a turret on the north side of the castle that has an excellent view of the river.”

The two of them walk through the castle halls, nodding to guards and courtiers alike as they do. The halls give way to open paths with high arches of stone, the breeze carrying in the soft sweet smell of morning ocean waves. As they reach the turret, another warm gust brings with it the wispy clouds from the riverside. The sun sparkles atop the water as it flows into the mouth of the river, wildflowers welcoming the ships as they make their way into port. Roman lets out another sigh as they reach the sunlit turret.

“You were correct,” they say quietly, “this was a wonderful suggestion.”

“Well, when one is pondering the existential, one should at least have a spectacular view.” The steward comes to stand next to them. “Besides, it is to rain this afternoon, I believe, so best enjoy the sun while it’s out.”

“Mm.”

They stand there for several long moments as the shadows play in the breeze.

“The title of prince,” they say, breaking the silence, “is a very masculine thing.”

“I should think so.”

“On the training grounds, when the squires are first being taught how to hold their swords, the sword master refers to them as boys becoming men. Or for the young ladies who wish to learn—he tells them to reach for their strength, as he should, but he doesn’t—there is still a masculinity he intends to preserve.”

”Does this affect his ability to train the women as equals to men?”

“No, not at all. Often we have one of the other knights with him and she is formidable enough on her own.” They rub their nose. “But when I am called upon to provide an example…”

The steward frowns. “Does the sword master imply a princess would not be capable of the same feats?”

”No.”

A bird lands on the stone wall and Roman tosses it a piece of meat. It squawks and takes off again.

“In the court, have you noticed that people rarely use my name?”

“Out of respect for your station, no doubt.”

“But then it’s all titles. His Royal Highness, His Majesty, His Grace. The Prince, My Lord. Half the time it feels as though it takes more time to get through the formalities than it does to express the grievance.”

“And at the tailor’s, I presume they speak about how lucky they are to have such a handsome man to clothe?”

“Your insight is as sharp as it’s ever been, my friend.”

The steward chuckles. He reaches out and rests and hand on Roman’s shoulder. “What is it about the doll of ‘Prince Roman’ that unnerves you so?”

“In truth, I do not know. It is not as though I resent being a prince, but the man beneath…”

Even saying the words makes their hands twitch and their stomach threaten to release its contents. The steward moves the steadying hand to their back.

“The person beneath,” the steward says firmly, “should not fall to the wayside under the pressures of the prince. You have scolded many a knight for neglecting to remember that they are a human, first and foremost. It is no accident that this includes yourself as well.”

Roman lets their shoulders drop, leaning back to let the sun catch their face. “Do as I say, not as I do.”

”Quite. Though I afraid I have to insist that you follow your own advice.”

“But what am I to do? I cannot simply say I no longer wish to be referred to as a man.”

“Why not?”

Roman scoffs. “What—well, why—what—what would I be called, for one?”

“You yourself have said you do not object to the moniker of ‘Prince.’ Even if you did, there is always ‘Monarch.’ His Grace can be Their Grace, Their Highness, if you preferred to go without any gender indicators at all.”

”You don’t think the realm would decry the loss of their handsome prince?”

“The splendor of your appearance does not finish whether you prefer to be called handsome or beautiful.”

Roman’s eyes widen and they turn to raise an eyebrow. “Spending time with the bards again, are we?”

“Funny you accuse me of spending time with them when all I have spoken is the truth.”

“Careful now, or else I’ll think you mean to throw your lot in with the other suitors.”

“And I would fight them as fiercely as any foe.”

The two of them laugh before he pats Roman’s back again. Roman shakes their head. “How are you being so calm about this?”

“About what?”

“This.” Roman gestures. “About your prince confessing that they cannot bear to be called a man as though it were some…some grave insult.”

The steward frowns. “I do not know what it is that I have done to make you believe that you could share anything with me in confidence that I would judge you for—“

“No, no, my friend, nothing of the sort.” Roman looks back out at the water. “I suppose my own insecurities have been voicing themselves since the ball’s inception.”

Another silence falls, punctuated by the distant shouts of sailors as they come into port. Birds cry as they land atop the cliffs, the waves crashing in the background. The collar still itches and they reach up to undo it, rubbing absentmindedly at the red mark left on their throat.

“These correspondences,” the steward says, “they wouldn’t happen to be from the Duke’s realm, would they?”

”No. Remus is…I dare say Remus knows more than I do about my…self.”

“You two have always shared a particular bond. I suppose it makes sense that whatever happens to one affects the other.”

“Mm.”

"Then these correspondences must’ve been from the friends you wish to bring to the ball, hm?” The steward chuckles at their surprised expression. “I do oversee the delivery of most mail in the castle, you know.”

“I did not think that would extend to you spying on me,” Roman says, playfully narrowing their eyes.

“Come now, you know I would never steal the job of the Spymaster. She would have my head quicker than I could speak the thought aloud. No, old friend, I only mean to say that it is no regret that your friends, beloved as they may be, have this tendency to evoke certain…how shall I put this? Fears of impermanence, shall I say, when it comes to what happens here versus what happens when you join them.”

“Sharper than your steel, you mind can be.”

"Forgive me, old friend, I don’t mean to needle you.”

“No, it is my fault for being so cold.”

“I poked knowingly at a sore spot with the intent to reveal a deeper hurt. You are forgiven implicitly for any reaction you would have to such an action. I only meant to say that it is not the first time such insecurities have reared their heads on the eve of their arrival. It makes sense that they would do so again.”

”And you believe I could find some way to quiet them?”

“Your people do not support you, revere you, or love you because you are a man. They do so because you care for them as much as you care for yourself, if not more. Because you work to serve them as they serve you and not once have you taken it for granted.”

“And you believe they would continue to do so if I…revealed something like this?”

”I don’t believe it, I know it.”

Roman turns to the steward, taking his hand from their back and holding it in theirs. "Your friendship is invaluable to me, I hope you know. I could not wish for a better companion.”

“Perhaps it is you who wishes for me to throw my lot in with the other suitors,” the steward teases, but squeezes their hand all the same. “It is a pleasure an an honor to be considered your friend, Roman. And just as much so to be trusted to offer you counsel for something like this.”

”If it is not too much to ask—“

"I dare say it won’t.”

“—would you accompany me to the tailor’s?”

“I was correct, it wasn’t. I would be thrilled to. Shall we go now?”

“I suppose. Though I do wish we could stay out here for a little longer.”

“Let us walk around the parapets, that will be more than enough, don’t you think?”

“Splendid.”

The sun slowly moves across the sky are they wind their way along the castle’s walls, talking about nothing much and anything at all. What the preparations for the harvest are this year, how the patrols have been finding the terrain where the storms were particularly heavy, what shipments they expect from neighboring kingdoms and how they purport to reinforce docks come the sea storms.

And, of course, last minute preparations for the ball.

Roman can’t help but slow their pace slightly when they approach the tailor’s. The steward notices, because of course he does, and moves swiftly on ahead as though this were planned.

“Good afternoon,” he says, “Their Grace has arrived for their fitting.”

Oh, you wonderful man.

The tailor looks up from her work as they come in, smiling and motioning to the raised podium. “Well, Your Grace, let’s not waste any time. I have several ideas that I think you’re going to adore and we’ll need most of our time to decide which one we should do.”

Roman glances at the steward who gives a little shrug as if to say can’t be helped, and they go to stand where directed. One of her assistants adjusts the mirror so all three panels are properly placed as the tailor turns around.

“Now,” she says, hands on her hips, “I presume your dear friend is not here simply to be a wall ornament. I did notice the shift in your introduction, this was not careless?”

“No, it was not.”

“Then you have given me a great gift today, My Liege, for I have a proposition I was certain you were going to say no for, but now I have back-up.”

Roman watches, a little wide-eyed, as she hurries to the back of the workshop, pulling aside a curtain and retrieving a set of gleaming gold…wings? No, they curve the wrong way to be wings. They almost look to be two halves of a corset, except there is no place to lace them together. She returns, bidding them to lift their arms, and places them on either side of their rib cage. IN the mirror, it looks almost as a golden carapace frames their torso.

“We could do a more structured bodice up top,” she says, beckoning her assistant over to hold the pieces in place as she gestures, “have it cup your chest almost as though it were a chrysalis unfolding. The skirt—I would propose a skirt—could be quite long and flowing, or more structured but I have this gorgeous red fabric that would look truly lovely with your skin. We could do more hardware closer to the collar, of course, and this is the part where I’d need to…”

She trails off when she notices the tears streaming down Roman’s face.

“Oh, dear,” she murmurs, quickly retaking the pieces back, “go on and wait outside, would you dear? Or, better yet, go and talk to the merchant downstairs, yes, that’s a good girl…”

The assistant quickly takes her leave as the steward comes over to turn them away from the mirror, his hands on their shoulders. The tailor quickly sets the pieces down on a nearby table.

”Hey,” The steward calls gently, “what ails you, my friend, what troubles you so? You are surrounded by friends, no harm will come to you here.”

“Here,” the tailor says, pressing a handkerchief into their hand, “for your tears.”

Roman dabs at their cheeks, holding the material over their face. The steward lets out another soft noise and brings them into a gentle hug, rubbing their back soothingly. They bury their head in his shoulder and just breathe there for long moments. The tailor bolts the door and leans against it.

“My friend,” the steward murmurs as Roman’s sobs slow, “what happened? Are you alright?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m alright.” They pass the handkerchief under their nose. “Believe it or not, I am…I’m happy.”

“Happy?”

“Yes, happy.” They smile through the lest of their sniffles and open their arm to the tailor, who comes instantly. “You spared not a moment wondering if I had lost my wits when I was introduced, and only thought of—of—“

“Careful, now, don’t you work yourself up again.” She pats his shoulder. “Of course I gave not a wink to it, what should it matter to me? You are my liege, and you would be whether you wished to be called a man, a woman, whatever it might be.”

"You will set me off again,” they accuse, mostly in jest, “what did I do to deserve to be surrounded by such wonderful people?”

“Blame yourself. The kingdom you have fostered has no place for those who would scorn anyone for such frivolous things. We reserve our disdain for much worthier causes.”

Roman sobs out a laugh—or laughs out a sob? The tailor pats his arm sympathetically and the steward offers him a reassuring squeeze.

“No more tears, now,” the tailor mock-scolds, “I have reds to match you to and I’ll not have your nose throwing me off.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t.”

“And I’ll have you know I intend to bring enough pins to keep you in the whole damn thing even if every stitch decides to rupture on the night.”

“Whether or not they find their homes in fabric or in the sides of those who would scorn you remains to be seen, I’m sure,” the steward remarks casually, only to yelp as one such pin jabs at him. “Hey! What have I done to you?”

“Speculation and accusation, how dare you?”

“Ones you have not denied.”

She jabs him once more for luck and returns to the podium, smoothing her hands over the edges of Roman’s collar. “This was giving you a bit of trouble, wasn’t it?”

“Just recently.”

“Yes, i see some of the inner band has worn away. No matter, it’s a simple enough fix. Now, shall we begin with the fabric?”

Roman smiles. “Nothing would please me more.”

#fic rec #nonbinary roman #hurt/comfort #roman gets support by the imagination #(I think)#and it's really sweet #also the remus mention warmed my heart #💖 💚

20 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 13 days

Text

Progression, Chapter 5: Killer Inside of Me

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Killer Inside of Me - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

If only Roman and Remus could solve their problems the way they used to. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 5: Cowboys

Warm air spilled from an ancient vent over his door and The Muse pressed a cheek to the grate, breathing it in. Jannie’s cologne, a pot of rice and onions on the verge of burning… bearing grease and singed wire insulation… soap bubbles and steam.

The house was quiet. It was late, the rice probably set for Papa Bear's favorite congee. A door swished somewhere upstairs, faint. Maybe only imagined. Maybe not.

Palm pressed flat against the wall, he fought past the buzz of his shield, reaching for tiny hints of the world beyond his four walls. The shield scorched the edges of his mind and sent the room spinning. He clawed at the wall, seeking purchase in the layers of antique paint and wallpaper. Bile churned in his stomach but he breathed in the scents of home again and smiled.

Flowers.

The flowers weren’t really there in the house. It was winter and the only growth outside was kudzu and stubborn blackberry, but he smelled flowers. Ro's flowers. The Muse inhaled again. Red trillium and hibiscus and posies. Roses.

He was on his way.

His makeshift ladder clattered to the floor as he scrambled down, forehead pressed to the window so he could watch the glow of the elevator’s lights. They dimmed then brightened with each floor change, the peak joined with a near silent thud when the elevator reached the bottom floor.

“Ro!” he shouted through the door, watching light bleed over the basement floor from the now open elevator. “Ro! Ro, you made it!”

Shock widened his brother’s eyes when he stepped into view and The Muse dragged a hand over his face. It came away damp, a rusty smear of sweat and blood staining his fingertips. “It’s okay!” he grinned, hand pressed to the window. “See? It’s healing!”

Ro swallowed, throat bobbing, but he pushed a smile on his face and nodded. “It is,” he said, too quiet to hear but carefully articulated so The Muse could read his lips.

They’d gotten good at that.

Reaching into the bag strapped to his hip, Ro pulled out a pair of work gloves.

“Virge’ll kill ya if you mess up his favorite gloves.”

Ro just smiled and pressed a bare palm to the controls.

The door slid open.

The Muse leapt to his feet, hands out at his sides. “Ro,” he whispered, careful, quiet. Contained. Too loud and Ro might leave. Too loud and Ro might disappear.

“I promised Virge I wouldn’t damage them when I borrowed them,” he said, pulling on the gloves and tucking them up into his sleeves before stepping inside. “May I hug y—”

The Muse barrelled into him before he could finish the question. To his credit, Ro kept his feet, shoulders nearly as broad as Papa Bear’s and arms thicker than The Muse’s thighs hugging him back.

“Missed you, Ro,” The Muse mumbled, tears sneaking past closed eyes. Poppies sprouted around their feet, spreading and looping over the floor, over the boots abandoned by his nest of blankets in the corner. Soft red petals poked between the salvaged paper books on the shelves and green tendrils reached for the gap under the door and the grating in the wall.

Heavy and perfumed, the air tasted syrupy sweet and The Muse’s eyes grew heavy.

“Re, careful,” Ro choked, holding his breath, one gloved hand cupped over his mouth and nose.

Blinking away tears, his eyes burned and he used his sleeve to dry Ro’s face. “It’s okay, it’s…” Mouth gone dry, he shook his head. -”It’s okay, Ro Bro,”- Thoughts came easy and Ro smiled. -”It’s okay.”-

It was too much. It was too much and Roman knew it, but he couldn’t make himself let go. He couldn’t really remember the last time Jan had let them visit but it certainly hadn’t been alone, with Jan and Lucas on guard, watching, waiting.

It had been a good thing then, too.

But this time could be different. They had a plan this time, and they were both older, stronger. They could do this.

The cloying scent of poppies filled Roman’s lungs and he shook his head. -“Re, let up,”- he mumbled along with the thought, but couldn’t voice the words. He tried again, pushing clarity into his thoughts. -”Re, I won’t be able…”- He hummed, waves of poppies softening the floor beneath their feet. He sat down and smiled up at his brother. -”All we need is a good horse and we ride out of town together.”-

Re laughed and sat in front of him. Legs criss-crossed, their knees bonked against each other’s. -”I’ll get the horse. You’ll need to get us past the Sheriff and his men.”-

-”Child’s play!”- Roman scoffed, grinning even as flowers filled his mouth and dragged them both to the floor.

Child’s play.

Alarms blared, red lights flashing along the crown moulding and illuminating the darkened bedroom. Janus and Luc leapt out of bed and ran to the common room. Patton and Virge were already there.

“Ro’s room is empty,” Patton said, a panicked warble in his voice. He reached back gratefully when Luc took his hand.

“He’s not outside,” Virge said from behind his new tablet. The bluish glow deepened the shadows under his eyes and he shook his head. “He’s… Dammit. He’s downstairs.”

They moved to the elevator as one.

“I should’ve asked why he wanted work gloves,” Virgil muttered, swiping and tapping at the screen in search of a better view into The Muse’s room. “I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Kiddo, it’s not your fault,” Patton squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “You didn’t know.”

“I should’ve asked.”

“Would he have been honest about what he'd wanted them for if you had?” Janus frowned. If anyone should’ve known…

They piled out and into the hall, freezing when they saw The Muse’s door swung wide open.

“Stay here,” he ordered the other three. “I promise I’ll call for you if I need help.” Patton opened his mouth like he wanted to argue but nodded, wrapping one beefy arm over Virgil's shoulders. Luc stood a bit behind them, arms crossed over his chest, but he remained silent, eyes a dim amber.

-”Be careful, love.”- Worry seeped through Luc’s ironclad control. -”Be gentle.”-

-”Always.”-

In the room, Ro lay sprawled on his back, head pillowed in his brother’s lap. Blood trickled from his nose and his mouth and his eyes danced, wide and unseeing. The Muse curled over him, stroking back his hair and whispering frantically near his ear. He didn’t look up as Janus approached.

“Muse? Ro?” Janus tried aloud from the doorway, his quiet words carrying easily into the near-silence of The Muse’s room.

Neither brother acknowledged his presence. He closed his own eyes and stepped through the EMF shield.

Dust and grit whirled around him and he pushed past a mass of thigh-deep tumbleweed. “Muse? Ro? Where are you?” He squinted against the scrape of sharp sand and spotted shifting shadows in the distance. The sandstorm’s roar swallowed his voice and he tried again. -”Muse? Muse where are you?”-

-”I’m in my room, Jannie…”- His words came from behind Janus and he spun on the spot, grasping at empty air. The sand scoured his bare skin. He’d run down in sleep pants and nothing else. -”Where else would I be?”-

-”Muse, let me help you,”- Janus called back. -”Let us help you.”-

-”Help?!”- The word rattled through his mind, echoing and layering. -”Help? You want to help?”-

-”Of course I want to help!”- Lightning flashed and fat, heavy raindrops pattered the ground. The sand grew soft and muddy and he sunk down to his ankles. -”Muse! Muse, stop this!”-

The storm fell away and Janus was alone in an empty room. Floorboards gleamed without a speck of dust or dirt to be found. Soft light spilled from windows set high along the walls. -”Muse?”- he called, quieter.

-”You want to help?”- a tiny voice asked and Janus looked down into the bright green eyes of the child he’d first met fifteen years ago.

Janus crouched until he was low enough to see the child at eye level. He nodded. -“Very much so, Re.”-

Nodding solemnly, the little boy turned and picked up something from the floor behind him. -”Take care of him, then,”- he sent in a whispered thought as he placed Ro in his arms. -”Help him.”-

“Patton, take him.” Ro’s whimper filled his ears the moment they stepped over the threshold and back into the protected hallway. The Muse closed the door behind them. "Please, Pat…"

Janus stumbled, shocked by the full weight of the much more muscled Mad Lad in his arm when he left the bubble of The Muse’s Illusion.

Patton rushed forward, scooping Ro up in his arms and steadying Janus. “I got him,” he nodded and examined Janus’ eyes. “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” Janus lied. He felt Luc’s eyes on him but he pressed a smile onto his face. “Take Ro up to the medbay,” he said, looking up to include Virgil in his order. "I'll be up in a moment."

Quietly, they complied, filing into the elevator and leaving Luc and Janus alone in the hall.

Luc was suddenly at his side. “He needs more control,” Janus let the wall—and his husband—support his weight and his eyes fell shut. “He needs more practice. This shouldn’t—”

“He needs a purpose, Jan. An outlet. When was the last time you’ve let him leave HQ? When was the last time you’ve even let him leave that fucking room?”

“What, so he can put more Eastern guardsmen in the hospital?”

“Would that really be so terrible?" Luc's voice was soft. Reasonable. "Would you rather he hurts Ro again? Or that we help him put his power to good use? That we put all our powers to good use?”

“The Muse is not a weapon." Ro's blood covered his hands and he scrubbed them on his pants. "He would be mortified at what he’s done. The ones who survived are still hidden away in padded cells!”

Luc stroked his hand. “Just like he is, love?”

Rage and fear boiled under his skin and Luc stepped back. Janus stood up straight and met his eyes, embers glowing under ash. “It’s not the same and you know it!"

-Are you quite certain of that?-

Luc raised an eyebrow, unspoken words heavy in the air between them as he turned and walked away.

#fic rec #creativitwins #platonic dukeceit #oranceit #heartbreaking #but what else do I expect from this universe #it's gonna kill me #this is so sad on so many levels #💖 💚#💛 💚#💛🧡

14 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 13 days

Text

Day 6: sharing clothes

@imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper @dukeceit-week-2024

#fic rec #dukeceit #remus bargaining for janus to take care of himself?#golden #and very sweet #I'm sure they'll have their fun in the imagination #💛💚

8 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 14 days

Text

On the Road, Just the Two of Us

Chapter Eight: At Our Destination, Not Just the Two of Us

Masterpost | First | Previous | Ao3

Summary: This was written for @dukeceit-week-2024, @dukeceitweek

Janus and Remus are living in a campervan at the moment. Are they going somewhere? Who knows. The only thing that’s important is that they’re together.

Content Warnings: Flirting, Kissing, Bickering between the twins

🌻🌻🌻🌻

“I don’t want this to end,” Remus admitted quietly.

“I know, darling.” Janus didn’t look over at his boyfriend, too focused on the GPS that told him they were only five minutes away from their destination.

“Can’t we just drive past and keep going?”

“No, dear. It was fun and I loathe to admit I wouldn’t mind if this trip was longer, but we need to go back at some point. I can only take off time from work for so long and we do still need the money. Even if we were to live like this full time. I don’t think I’d enjoy it on a permanent basis, actually.”

Remus sighed, leaning heavily into his seat.

“Yeah, I know. Me too, actually. I can’t sculpt like this. Or paint on the scale I’d like. I know it’s for the best, but still… I don’t wanna deal with the responsibilities again.”

“I cannot relate to that at all.” Janus moved his hand to Remus’ thigh and squeezed. “It’s going to be fine. You focus on your art and let me deal with all the annoying paperwork and bills.”

“You’re gonna be busy again,” Remus accused, though it was in a lighter tone. He was indeed upset at that fact, but he also knew that it was necessary.

“Yes. That’s probably not going to change for a long while.”

“I know. It sucks ass.”

“It does.”

The GPS announced the last turn they would have to make before they’d reach their destination at the end of the road.

“We’ll find the time to do something like this again, promise,” Janus said. “Not every year, not even every other year but we’ll do it again.”

“I’ll cut you if we don’t.”

“Sounds fair.”

They drove the last stretch of their journey in silence, just enjoying each other’s company and reflecting on the past three month on their own.

It had been the most freeing time in Janus’ life.

He was going to miss it.

He pulled the van into a free parking spot outside a lovely, old hotel. The location of the wedding.

“Are you ready?” he asked Remus. His boyfriend huffed.

“One last thing.” Remus pulled Janus over to him, practically lifting him from the driver’s seat and onto his lap, before sealing their lips together. It was unusually sweet for him, no tongue involved.

They parted a few minutes later.

“Now I’m ready,” Remus grinned and Janus chuckled.

“Then let’s go.” He leaned over to grab the keys from the ignition before climbing out of Remus’ lap and out of the passenger door. Remus followed after him, but not without commenting on how good his butt looked.

“There you are! Finally!” The car door wasn’t even closed behind them before Roman was stalking over to them, looking close to furious. “Do you have any idea what time it is? You were supposed to be here yesterday!”

“What a nice welcome,” Janus commented dryly, causing Remus to burst out in giggles and Roman to glare at him.

“Sorry, Ro-bro, but we got turned around.”

“Oh, really?” Roman asked, obviously not convinced, his arms crossed.

“No, he saw a flyer for a carnival and begged me to go.”

“It was super fun, I almost puked on one of their rides! So worth it.”

“I cannot believe you two! A carnival, really?! The rehearsal dinner for your wedding is in two hours! Two hours! And you both look like you haven’t showered in a week!”

“Don’t be dramatic, it was only five days.” Roman groaned and Remus smiled at him, delighted by his annoyance.

“I do not know why you didn’t get a better van! One with a shower! Janus is a lawyer for goodness’ sake, you could’ve easily afforded it!”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t the aesthetic we were going for!”

“I am so going to strangle you!”

“Oh, look, the grooms finally made it,” a new voice commented, and Janus turned to see that Virgil, his best man, had joined them. “Roman was going up the walls since yesterday, it was hilarious to watch.”

“I can’t imagine that at all.” Janus smirked. “You seem quite calm though. Usually you would be right there with him, worrying your pretty little head off about everything.” Virgil elbowed him in the arm for that and rolled his eyes.

“Why would I stress myself out about your wedding? You already paid for all of this, so it’s not like it would’ve been a loss for me if you didn’t end up showing. Plus, I know the two of you, of course nothing here would go to plan, especially since Roman did most of the planning. I was sure you’re going to turn up late, if just to spite him. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past you to have arrived here like two days ago and you’ve just stayed in the van ten minutes from here until you could be fashionably late. I’m more surprised you showed up for the rehearsal at all. Second plus, Logan’s been weirdly insistent that you’d be here around this time. I think Remus has been texting him updates.”

“Why should we put so much effort into a wedding Roman wanted more than us? We would have been fine with getting an officiant into our backyard during a barbeque. He insisted on something more ‘meaningful.’” Janus rolled his eyes and Virgil snickered.

“He and his high standards. Anyway, let’s get you inside and under a shower. You reek.”

“Why, thank you Virgil, for telling me that so politely.”

“Fuck off and just come along.”

They started off towards the hotel, closely followed by the twins that were still arguing.

“And what the hell was that text about sunflowers in the bouquet?” Roman huffed, still rather worked up. “You can’t expect me to change that on such short notice! And they would have clashed with the other colors, plus they stand for platonic affection, not romantic!”

“The fuck you mean ‘short notice?’ I asked you about that two and a half months ago!”

“Yes, way too late! I added some sunflowers to the decorations but not the bouquet.”

“Wow, thank you for your sacrifice.”

They continued to bicker like that the entire way. When they reached the entrance to the hotel, Virgil pulled the door open and held it for them all to pass. Janus let the twins go first, since Roman seemed about to explode if he didn’t get Remus ready immediately. Janus watched them disappear further into the building when Virgil lightly shoved his shoulder with his own.

“So, you ready to get married?” he asked.

Janus watched Remus laugh loudly and pulling his brother into a hug and he smiled.

“I was ready to marry him years ago.”

🌻🌻🌻🌻

This is the end of the story! Thank you all so much for reading, reblogging, tagging and commenting 💛💚

14 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 14 days

Text

Progression, Chapter 4: Bad

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Bad - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

The Mad Lads have set up extra shielding around The Muse's room, creating a sanctuary for him when his powers are just too much for him to control. CW: Self-harm (trichotillomania), blood (real and imagined), Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 4: Hair/Teeth

The first few strands were the slowest.

He’d started at the back of his neck, not really meaning to pull but… not really stopping himself when he felt the sting, either. He twisted his fingers through his hair, soft and slippery at first, fingers sliding right through the curls he made.

He hummed as he stimmed, some ancient song about old dead kings he’d heard in Jannie’s mind a few years ago.

The floor had grown hard against his back, pressing into his shoulder blades, his sacrum. The dinner Papa Bear had brought down no longer steamed, the inviting aroma of turmeric and chickpeas long faded and his room now smelt more of damp condensation than food.

His walls buzzed against him, muting the sounds and colors and textures of the world outside his room like a drafty window kept in warmth. He shivered in the cold and caught the bits of heat that leaked through the cracks.

He breathed and tangled his hair around his fingers, sharp teeth cutting into his flesh. The sting turned to a burn and he shook and yanked his hand away.

Four strands of hair came away with it.

The Muse stared at them for a long time, watching the hairs sway with each breath. Watching his reddened fingertips pound and throb with his pulse. Then he reached back and wound a lock around his fingers and tugged. Hard.

More hair came away.

He pulled again and again. And again. His hands grew warm and wet and the slip slippy slippery feel between his fingers made it harder to get a grip but he persisted. After a while the wetness on his skin dried into a clumpy, grippy stickiness.

He pulled and pulled and pulled again, sitting up to reach every spot on his skull, his face, his neck. Once that skin was bare, he peeled off his shirt and plucked away the hair on his forearms, his knuckles, his chest. Under his arms. His belly. He pushed up his pant legs but he could only reach so far that way so he stood, sticky, shaking fingers fumbling the clasp at waist.

-”Muse!”- Jannie’s voice filled his mind and he spun around the empty room. -”Muse, what are you doing?!”-

“Hey, um, Jay?” Virge trembled where he stood with Ro just outside the doorway, one arm wrapped around the taller Mad Lad’s waist. Ro’s eyes were closed and he leaned heavily against Virge’s shoulder, a tremor at his jaw. “The field’s not working. It’s Re—”

Janus dropped his own thin shield and the full force of their worry slammed into him.

As did Muse’s mind.

Janus' scalp and upper lip went numb, prickly fire spread over the rest of his body, sharp, stabbing lines up and down his arms and his chest. Under his gloves, his fingertips were rough and swollen, fingers stuck together. They smelled like copper.

Janus ripped off his gloves and stared at his own hands. They were clean, unmarred. Save for his scars, of course.

-”Muse! Muse, what are you doing?!”- He didn’t wait for a response and ran for the waiting elevator. “Get some distance from HQ," he ordered over this shoulder. "Take the transport and find Patton and Luc.” He stumbled past the elevator doors, tripping on something that wasn't really there. “Stay there until I call for you!” he added before the doors closed and the burning grew.

-"What have you done, Muse?"-

The Muse’s thoughts were a jumble of nonsense, words layered on words, a kaleidoscope of colors behind closed lids. His heartbeat, their heartbeats a steady line through it all.

-”Nothing, Jannie. Nothing. I swear.”--”Everything.”--”What a shame. Yeah, my face. It cost me the crown-”-”Isn’t it wonderful?”-

-”Muse, I’m on my way. Wait for me, Muse. Wait for me.” The elevator doors swished open and Janus bolted out into the dark hall and straight to The Muse’s new room.

A cackle filled his mind. -”Where am I gonna go? I’m stuck. Stuck to the floor, stuck to the cold floor like ice like when you touch ice right from the cold and you stick to it and you pry it away but if you pry too hard you’ll pry away your skin, too but maybe that can help cause the way to get unstuck is to put a little warm water or or warm air or warm blood and if you pry away enough of your skin it's all warm and wet underneath…”-

Janus flung open the door, and sucked in a sharp breath when he stepped within the bounds of The Muse’s shield and nothing separated their thoughts. -”Muse…”- He didn’t know if he spoke aloud. He tried again. “Muse… Muse look at me.”

Bright green eyes bored into his, a thousand blades sinking into his skin and peeling back every defense. He focused on breathing and closed off his own thoughts as best he could against the onslaught.

“Jannie,” The Muse whispered aloud. He reached for his hand, dried and fresh blood smearing on his gloves. “Jannie, you’re here?”

“I’m here, Muse,” Janus nodded and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The Muse melted into his arms, head tucked against his shoulder. “You’re here.”

“Yes, Muse,” he whispered again. “I’m here.”

#fic rec #platonic dukeceit #superpowers #remus is slowly going mad #it's so hard to watch #I feel so much for the others #remus too of course #it's not... nice #💛 💚

9 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 15 days

Text

On the Road, Just the Two of Us

Chapter Seven: Outside a Bar, Just the Two of Us

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Summary: This was written for @dukeceit-week-2024, @dukeceitweek

Janus and Remus are living in a campervan at the moment. Are they going somewhere? Who knows. The only thing that’s important is that they’re together.

Content Warnings: Innuendo, Heavy Flirting, Kink mention, Drunkenness, Alcohol consumption off screen

🌻🌻🌻🌻

Janus gulped down the fresh air as he stepped out of the warm and loud bar. Remus had begged him to stay in this town for the rest of the day when he’d seen it and the poster advertising a gig of a local punk band playing there that evening. He hadn’t minded staying, it seemed like a fun evening, and it was! But it was getting close to midnight and Janus needed a break from the used-up air and bass vibrations that he still felt rattling around his brain.

Or maybe that was the alcohol.

He hadn’t drunk all that much – he never did. He enjoyed the buzz but not more than that.

Remus on the other hand had taken a few more shots. But he also had a higher tolerance than Janus, so he wasn’t worried. His boyfriend was currently having fun on the dance floor and while Janus hadn’t felt comfortable there, he would never take Remus’ enjoyment away from him.

He’d made sure Remus had seen him head outside. He wouldn’t make him worry.

Janus took another few, deep breaths. He looked up, admiring the starry sky for a moment. It was a smaller town, so he could see a lot more of the stars than he could at home.

It made him not want to go back.

But there were responsibilities. And this trip was already three months long.

…Maybe he should check his e-mails. He hadn’t this entire time, knew it would make him anxious about how much work he’d return to. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Janus pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the icon of his e-mail program, but before he could tap it, the bar door swung open and Remus came stumbling out.

“Where’s my snake boy??” he slurred, looking around. Janus had enough time to put his phone away before he was spotted and as soon as Remus did, his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Janny! Love of my life! There you are!” He giggled, clumsily making it over to Janus and pulling him close. “I missed you. So much.”

“I was gone for not even five minutes, dear. How much more did you have to drink?” Janus chuckled, gently rubbing Remus’ cheek with his thumb. He was running rather hot but considering the temperature inside, the fact that he had been dancing and a good amount of alcohol, it wasn’t concerning.

Remus leaned into his touch and sighed.

“The band like, paid for like three rounds for everyone. I probably shouldn’t’ve taken all three shots directly after the other, but c’mon! It was fun!”

“I’m sure it was, darling. Don’t you dare throw up on my shoes, though.”

“I would never. I love your boots, they’re so sexy and way too good to be ruined by puke. If it happens anyway, I will clean them for you though. With my tongue. Or I can clean them now, I would love to worship your boots for you, Janny.”

Janus listened to Remus’ drunken rambling while gently guiding him away from the bar and towards where they parked the van. He definitely had enough for the night and while it wasn’t uncommon for Remus to declare his various kinks so openly, the fact that he was swaying on his feet and slurring slightly was enough indication that it was time to call it a night for him, too.

“I know you would, darling, and we can experiment with that when we’re back home and I have cleaned these properly. You’re not touching them with your tongue after I’ve worn them outside. Especially not before the wedding.”

Remus whined and Janus sympathetically patted his cheek.

“I know, I’m so mean to you.”

“You’re not,” Remus insisted immediately, pushing himself away a bit and trying to stay more steadily on his own so that he could look Janus in the eyes. “You’re the one person that isn’t mean to me. At least not in any way I don’t like. You’re the best and I love you. Want me to prove it to you? I can kill a guy for you!”

“I know you can, darling, and I love you, too, but what I want from you right now is to get back to the car and cuddle me until the sun comes up again.”

“I’d love to.”

“Good.”

13 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 15 days

Text

Meus ex Machina, Chapter 12: Working Out

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Working Out - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Logan is determined not to slow down the team again. It wouldn't be the first time he'd pushed his body to the limit.

Logan slipped through the locker room door just before it clanked shut, closing in three dozen or so students in the musky, humid air. "Watch it!" he warned a knot of augmented juniors as they chased past, jostling his safety glasses. His cry went unnoticed over their excited laughter.

He sidled close to the only other full Traditional he could spot, a tall, muscular sophomore. The boy may not have been born with Powers, but he’d certainly clutched a winning genetics lottery ticket on his way into the world.

“Hey, Lo, check it out!” Andrei cheered, lifting his shirt to reveal a translucent implant above his right hip. “Look what my parents got me for my birthday!” Nodding, Logan watched the lights flicker, micro-adjusting his hormone and electrolyte levels. “No more charley horses for me, huh?”

“Indeed,” he murmured. No more leg cramps, no more muscle fatigue. And with a daily boost of somatropin, he’d grow at least another foot and a half before he graduated. “Congratulations.” Logan forced a smile, adjusting his now-fogged eyeglasses. “You will certainly—”

“Alright boys, listen up!” The wrestling coach stepped up onto a nearby bench and whistled. Two freshmen with new hearing augments winced and covered their ears. He waited for the din to lessen and tapped his wrist, activating the ceiling's vid projector. Thanks to Title IV of the Powerds Integration Act, blah blah blah,” he rolled his eyes and two of the older Powerds glared at him. “We’re down to one boy’s team this year with space for five Traditionals.”

Five? Logan's stomach dropped to his feet. There had been fifteen Traditionals in last year’s team plus four alternates. He scanned the room as the coach called out the new team’s roster. Jake and Kirthi high fived behind the coach, reaching nearly his height now with the summer’s growth injections taking effect. Ben stood in the corner, dark shades covering new eyes.

Logan's mouth went dry when he realized he was the last of the Traditionals team who hadn’t yet been augmented. Tim wasn’t there, of course, though Logan saw him from time to time between classes, slouched in his motorized chair, waiting for the school’s singular elevator.

“And… Sanders,” the coach finished. Thirty four sets of eyes whipped over to him and Logan tried to stand a little taller. And tried to ignore the other student’s murmurs.

“It’ll be a good year, Coach,” he said.

Coach Roberts nodded, eyes fixed at a spot just above his head. “Suit up, boys. I want you all out and sparring in pairs in five.”

Logan kept his eyes trained down and focused on his own preparations as the locker room exploded in activity. Laughter and slamming doors rattled his teeth, the usual scramble to shed street clothes and don stretchy singlets—or, in the case of several boys, trade in for the next size up—no longer lending him its usual energizing buzz.

The day wasn't finished with him yet. With an odd number of Traditionals on the team, it was a simple matter of the math not mathing to require a Traditional to that be paired with a Powered.

Coach Roberts patted Logan’s shoulder as he stepped up to his side of the mat. “Look, Sanders, do your best out there. No-one expects much more than that from you.”

Logan looked up into Coach Robert’s camera-ringed irises. “Y—yes, Coach,” he nodded and turned to face his opponent. The coach had at least tried to give him a chance, matching Logan with a Powered in the same weight class.

But how much did weight class really matter when your opponent’s muscles powered a skeleton stronger than titanium? When your opponent could sense your thoughts, predicting your every move?

He managed to stay on his feet for the first round. Until, at least, his sparring partner grew bored and stopped tamping down on his other abilities. In seconds, Logan was down, face jammed into the mat. He struggled but his opponent countered each twist, each desperate attempt to break free. Finally, Logan tapped out.

The Powered—a new student Logan hadn’t even learned his name—loomed over him. “Good job.” He tonelessly repeated the team’s end of match phrase and looked around for his next partner.

Logan pushed up to his feet and wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and shook his head. “Best two out of three.”

“Time?” Logan panted, controller shaking in his grip as he brought the mech's hands together in the ready signal. He’d boosted the suit’s stabilizers, so from the outside, at least, his durasteel arms moved smoothly. But Logan knew.

“219.8 seconds. Better,” V smiled encouragingly but the flatness in his tone and the twitch in his eyebrow said it all. Logan still took entirely too long to properly suit up.

He deflated, leaned to one side in the mech’s cavity. Logan pulled in a shaking breath, fighting to slow his panting, and nodded. “Indeed. Better.” Better but not enough.

"Get your bearings and we’ll go again,” V suggested, still smiling as he passed him a towel. It was only then Logan noticed he was drenched, sweat dripping from his hair and soaking through his shirt.

Logan smiled his thanks—tried to, at least, and V nodded again, a bottle of electrolyte ready. His smile grew, just a bit. He hadn't yet exhausted V's patience. Logan would keep going for as long as he was willing to help him.

V looked up when Patton approached from the kitchen, hugging a large crate to his burly chest. The scents of strawberries and fresh bread and chocolate chip cookies intermingled in the air as he stopped. He shifted the box to one arm to wave at them. “I’m headed, ah…” He waggled his head vaguely toward the hall and Logan’s brow furrowed before understanding struck.

“Is he…” V frowned and swiped across his tablet, searching. Trying not to be obvious, Logan peeked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of The Muse’s hallway on the screen.

“No, he—nothing’s wrong. Just…” Patton shrugged and looked down at the crate. “After yesterday, I…”

Hesper’s cryptic words from last night filled Logan’s mind. “What makes you think I didn’t trigger your alarms so I could have a little company… just like Re used to?”

“Can I help?” Logan blurted out before looking down at his useless half a hand, his broken body. His face burned, stomach knotted in shame at his utter uselessness.

Patton’s smile was gentle. “Um, that’s okay, Kiddo. I got this.” He didn’t bother to ask how precisely Logan thought he could help in a room he couldn’t reach in his mech. In a room he couldn’t even enter without assistance. Still holding the giant crate of food with one arm, he gently squeezed Logan’s—not the mech’s—shoulder. “But thanks. I’ll let you both get back to your drills.”

He gave them another little wave then headed down the hall. Listening to the elevator door open then swish closed, Logan finished his drink and passed V the empty bottle.

“Ready?” he asked, switching back to his timer.

“Yes.” Logan lowered the mech to a crouch and began to climb out. But Patton's arrival broke the dam on the flood of questions from last night. In his distraction, he nearly fell out of the cavity. “Well… wait.” He met V’s questioning glance. “What did Hesper mean… about The Prince as a little boy? Did he… Did Hesper know him back then?” V scowled down at his tablet but Logan pushed on. “Is that why he called The Muse, ‘Re?’”

Tapping at the screen, V started to speak, then his jaw clamped shut. He let out a slow breath before looking back at Logan. “It’s not really my story to tell. I…” He sighed again.

For a moment, Logan feared V would try sending him to The Prince with his questions. “Yeah,” V said at last. “Yeah, there’s… there’s a history. You…” V winced and wouldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Maybe ask Silvertongue… um… later, though.” He nodded like it was obvious why he should wait. “You know?”

Was there more to Silvertongue’s outburst last night, too? “I’ll wait,” he promised. “Thank—thank you.”

“Yeah.” V blew out a short breath and returned his attention to the tablet. “Ready for another go?”

Logan dropped the last foot or so, hitting the ground with a barely muffled groan. He climbed up into his chair, replicating his starting point. “I’m ready,” he said, looking up at the suit.

V stared at him for a long moment. “You know, maybe…” He looked away when Logan tried to meet his eyes, tugging at his sleeves.

“Maybe what?” Logan prompted, bracing himself for what passed for yet another bit of ‘constructive’ criticism.

“Maybe you just need to work on your strength a bit,” he said with a little shrug. “If you want, I could show you how to modify a couple of the machines in the fitness center to—”

“Show me.”

That was how Logan ended up strapped to the pull-up machine in the team’s fitness center, the bright automated trainer chirping out his reps into a sweat-proof earpiece. “And twenty. Good job! You’ve finished your workout—”

“Again!” Logan snapped, tugging at the bar as the platform lowered him to the floor.

“You have completed your recommended three sets of twenty, Logan,” the interface chirped back. Though its tone never changed, Logan couldn’t help but flinch at the sound of his own name. Constructed from heavily modded tech ‘borrowed’ from Abracadabra, the interface sounded just like the old assignment program back at the distribution center.

“I don’t care. Again!” He batted at the controls with the end of his left stump but the panel went dark.

“I am unable to comply with your request.” The artificial voice switched over to the main speakers when it ended his session, like it wanted a witness. “Please try again tomorrow.”

“You’re better off arguing with the refridgerator, Tin Man,” the Prince chuckled from the corner.

“How long have you been watching me?” Logan snapped, face warm. While the automated trainer didn’t record his strained grunts during his workout, the Prince was the absolute last person he’d want to hear him struggling to do a simple pull-up.

The Prince lifted a barbell packed with 300 pounds on either side. The weight floated up to his chin, before he raised it up above his head and back down to the floor in one perfect, flowing motion.

The weights didn’t even clank when they touched the mat.

“Long enough to see you max out your reps,” he said, barely pausing for his own weight routine. “Hit the showers or something.”

“I’m not done,” Logan muttered, pushing himself off the platform. Fatigued muscles trembling under the strain, he dropped faster than he’d planned, landing with a pained grunt as his hip grazed the base of the pull up machine.

“Don’t tell me it’s leg day for you.”

“Oh, ha, ha,” Logan muttered, hiding his face until he could control the shameful quiver in his chin. “With wit like that, it’s little wonder you’re the brains of the team. Oh, no, wait—You’re not.”

The Prince shrugged and spared him any further conversation, instead loading on another 100 pound plate to each side of his dumbbell. Shaking his head, Logan pulled himself into his chair and moved to the far corner of the fitness room, keeping as many weight machines between him and The Prince as he could.

When he’d found a suitable place, he lowered himself to the floor again, taking it slowly this time. Laying flat on his back with his chair in front of him, he wedged his thighs between the front and back wheels, bracing his lower body for crunches.

It worked well. For a while, at least. To remain steady, Logan had to tighten his abductors with each crunch, pushing against the wheels to keep them—and himself—from rocking with the movement.

He pushed on, the chair straining against its emergency brakes with each rep. Finally, the brake snapped free and the chair flipped back.

“Fuck.” Logan pounded his fist and the back of his head against the mat and lay back, eyes closed, as he gathered the strength to push the chair upright. With any luck, the Prince had already finished his strongman routine and left the gym.

Logan was not a lucky man.

“Need a hand?”

Logan glared up at him from the floor.

“Oh, shit, yeah…” He shuffled closer, ears tinged pink as he avoided looking at Logan’s stump. “I—I didn’t mean that one. I swear.” He gestured at the overturned wheelchair. “Can I help?”

“I’ve got it,” Logan muttered, pushing up and wiggling closer to the chair. He rolled onto his belly then wormed his way into the gap between the back of the chair and the floor. Once he’d gotten most of his body underneath it, he wedged his right hand under his chest and pushed up sharply.

It took two more tries but finally the chair tilted forward and Logan twisted with it, grabbing the strap criss-crossing the back of the chair to steady it before it tipped completely forward.

“Damn,” the Prince murmured.

“You’re still here?” Logan leaned against the seat back, panting, and in no way ready to either resume his crunches or climb into the chair.

The Prince shifted his weight from side to side, one foot pointed toward the door, the other toward him. Finally, he dropped to the floor and sat about two feet away. Jerking his chin toward the chair, he shrugged. “What were you even doing to knock over that beast?”

Logan eyed The Prince and considered ignoring his question. If he really was that nosy, he could just as easily pull up the security footage and that might be worse than simply hearing about it. Sighing, Logan let his eyes fall closed. “I was using it to brace my… legs for abdominal crunches. The other machine's not built for me.”

The Prince made a little choked sound in the back of his throat. Not a laugh, but…

Eyes still shut, Logan wiggled back into position and prepared himself for another set. If he could increase his core strength, maybe the one-armed pull-ups would get easier faster.

Logan’s eyes snapped open when he felt movement next to him. The Prince had moved closer, knelt on the floor only about a half-foot away, hands laying open on his lap. His expression was unreadable.

“Lay your legs against mine. I’ll brace you,” he said, patting the tops of his thighs and glancing down at where Logan’s legs ended. To the Prince’s credit, the usual mix of pity and disgust flashing over his features didn’t last long.

The Prince waited, holding his gaze until, finally, Logan nodded. He moved a little closer, but let Logan be the one to move close enough to touch and set his legs in place. “May I?” he asked, holding his hands over the tops of Logan’s thighs.

“Go—” Logan cleared his throat, the vulnerability of his position seizing the muscles in his neck. If he'd wanted to, The Prince could pick him up and fling him against the wall and not even break a sweat. “Go ahead,” he finally croaked out. With flat, open hands, The Prince pressed against his legs, holding him in place.

“I’ll let go the moment you tell me to,” the Prince said, then fell silent as Logan resumed his crunches.

He loathed to admit it, but focusing on only one set of muscles made the crunches almost enjoyable. Almost. “This helps,” Logan grunted. “Immensely.” He forced himself up for another two crunches. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” The Prince replied, repeating his own words back at him from last night's skirmish with Hesper.

Logan pushed out the last of the set and lay back, counting down a thirty second rest period. He lifted up again and silently worked through another set. He slowed as he neared the end, muscles screaming in protest. “Why…" The temptation to ask The Prince about his history with Hesper—and about Re—was great. He shifted to the next question bubbling in his mind instead. "What are you helping me, anyway? I thought… I thought you hated me.”

“I don’t—” The twitch in The Prince’s jaw told Logan he very much did. “We’re a team,” he shrugged at last. “If you’re stronger, we’re all stronger. C’mon, Iron Man, that all you got?" Did Logan only imagine a smile behind his eyes? "Gimme three more.”

#fic rec #platonic analogical #platonic logince #there's team bonding!#and logan's way too hard on himself...#the others aren't helping #I would hate to live in this reality btw #getting more and more certain of that each chapter...#logan really needs someone completely on his side #can't wait until he and remus can actually interact #feel like that's a long way away though...#💜 💙#💖 💙

10 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 15 days

Text

Progression, Ch. 3: Come Out and Play

Photo by edupunkn00b

Prev - Come Out and Play - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Remus uses his powers to convince Patton the rats he found in the garden are cats. Written for @imnotgrimimjustagrumpyreaper's @dukeceit-week-2024, Day 3: Cats/Rats

“Well aren’t you just a little cutie patootie?” Patton’s coo carried up to Janus on the roof and he tilted his head, listening. Virge was out on a run with Luc, and Ro held the other end of the new solar panel they were installing. Had Muse—

He closed his eyes and pushed past the electromagnetic field guarding the Muse's room from most of the chaos of the rest of the world's thoughts. No, he was there, in his room. He was listening to music. Likely sharing the melody with his brother, the source of Ro’s rhythmic head bop and faraway eyes.

So who was Patton talking to?

“Yes, come to Papa, little kitties,” Patton called in a song-song. “There you go,” he said, the next words too quiet to make out from the roof.

Ro finally noticed Janus’ distraction and he hurried to latch his end of the panel into place. Nodding to Ro, they moved together to the roof’s edge and looked out to the garden below.

Patton sat cross-legged under the large peach tree he and Virge salvaged from one of their first scavenge runs. Whether through special powers or pure stubbornness, Patton had nursed it to health and this summer promised a bumper crop of warm, heavy peaches.

In his lap was a small furry creature, head dwarfed and obscured by his massive palm. “Yes, you just needed a gentle touch, didn’t you?” he said, laughing. “Oh, are you hungry?” he asked. The creature nipped at his finger and Patton flinched, revealing the long, pointed nose of a rat.

“Padre!” Ro called and leapt from the roof, float-flying down to the ground. “Padre, put the rat down!”

“Oh, no, Kiddo,” he smiled and held up the squirming rodent. “Look, it’s a little kitty! Can you believe it? I thought they’d gone extinct when…”

-“ Muse !”- Janus reached for to The Muse with the image of Patton holding what was likely a rabies and corona-infected rat. -“It’s biting him, Muse. Drop the Illusion!”-

The Muse grumbled back at him but didn’t really argue. After throwing a hydrophobic tarp over the incomplete panels, Janus rushed downstairs.

Patton’s startled scream was cut off by the slam of the roof’s exit door.

“I’m sorry, Jannie.”

Jannie didn’t respond, a thick haze of static around his thoughts. Silent, wordless, shielded, he only frowned at him and latched the door. Jannie sighed, still facing the door, then turned, arms crossed over his chest. His hands were tucked against his ribs, hidden from view. The Muse caught the flash of yellow at his wrists, though, and hung his head.

This was gonna be bad.

“I’m really, really sorry,” he repeated when Jannie still didn’t speak. Still didn’t touch him. Still wouldn’t reach for him. “Is Papa Bear okay? He's never a real cat and he likes them so much from the stories and he was getting bored and lonely down in the garden and… Jannie? Is he okay?”

Jannie’s expression was sharp and he kept his mind shrouded in that damned static. The Muse could probably push through it, but the last time he’d tried, Jannie had noticed. And had not been happy about it. “Please, Jannie?” He stretched and listened to the rest of the house. He caught the shape of Ro’s thoughts, the image of Papa Bear in the infirmary with bloody puncture marks on the side of his hand.

Then Jannie’s static fell over even that.

“Hey!” He recoiled, stepping back from Jannie and stomping his foot. “Don’t do that!” Without conscious control, The Muse pushed back, hard . The static shattered under the pressure, cutting into his flesh, his heart, his head. Jannie shuddered, scars bright and dark against his paled skin. His eyes rolled back, for just a breath, but the door kept him upright and on his feet.

The Muse didn’t wait for him to recover. He followed the cracks in Jannie’s shield, seeping through until he once again felt the familiar fiery warmth of their connection, searching for what Jannie had seen. The static returned and the air around them exploded in light.

Voice and thought bled together and he grabbed Jannie’s shirt, pulling him close. -“That’s not fair! I just wanted to—“

-“ Muse, stop !”- Jannie’s shout filled his mind and drowned the rest of his words, a hand slapped over his mouth and over his mind. He froze, unable to see, unable to hear, unable to breathe. He dropped to his knees, teeth jolting. Wet copper, the tang of that tarnished coin he and Ro had found outside, filled his mouth.

Slowly, Jannie loosened his hold and a trickle of cold air filled his throat, his lungs.

He opened his eyes.

The room was dark, full black. He knelt, curled over himself until his forehead touched the floor, but he couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t see it. Couldn’t even hear it. Jannie stood before him, hands hanging loose at his sides. He closed his eyes and all he could see was Jannie.

-”Muse, no.”- Was that pain in his voice? With everything, with everyone blocked out, The Muse caught every blip and crack in Jannie’s words. He was hurting, a hot, sharp ache shooting through his brain, his veins, pumping molten lead through his limbs and his fingers and down to the ground. It spilled out, sticky, burning tar sizzling as it crawled up The Muse's feet and legs.

It hurt to do this. It hurt to block him from the others like this. To save them from him. It hurt him but it hurt Jannie worse.

It hurt so bad.

-”I’m sorry,”- he sent as gently as he could. Jannie staggered against his whispered thought. -”I’m sorry.”-

#fic rec #platonic dukeceit #superpowered au #remus goes a bit too far #and now they're hurting each other without wanting to #it's just sad...#I wish they'd live in a kinder world...#💛 💚

10 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 16 days

Text

On the Road, Just the Two of Us

Chapter Six: Visiting the Laundromat, Thankfully it's Just the Two of Us

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next | Ao3

Summary: This was written for @dukeceit-week-2024, @dukeceitweek

Janus and Remus are living in a campervan at the moment. Are they going somewhere? Who knows. The only thing that’s important is that they’re together.

Content Warnings: Innuendo, Heavy Flirting, sex mention

🌻🌻🌻🌻

“It’s pinching my sides,” Remus complained as he held open the door to the laundromat for Janus.

“Well, you should have been more cautious with your one clean shirt then and not tried to catch a peanut butter jelly sandwich out of the air with your mouth. It’s no weather to run around shirtless, so you’ll have to put up with mine.”

“It’s two sizes too small.”

“You don’t say! I didn’t know that! I always thought I was the bigger one out of the two of us!” Janus rolled his eyes as he sat down the bags with their dirty clothes and started sorting them into different machines. Thankfully, there was no one else there at the moment, so he had the freedom to block as many as necessary.

“I wouldn’t have minded.”

“I know. But the locals might’ve. And we’re not risking getting arrested now, Roman would kill us.”

“Oh, fuck him. No matter what I do, he’ll have something to criticize me on,” Remus huffed, leaning against one of the machines Janus wasn’t loading.

“Don’t be like that, darling,” Janus chastised him gently, pausing in his movements to look up at him. “You know he loves you. You both are just not great at communicating that to each other.”

Remus grumbled but didn’t argue. Janus let him sit on that for a moment while he finished setting up the machines.

“There we go. Now we have about an hour until all this is done washing and drying and I don’t feel comfortable leaving our stuff here in an unfamiliar town.” Janus stood up, smiling at Remus, for once the suggestive one.

“Uhhh, are you suggesting semi-public sex?” Remus asked excitedly, already moving to pull the lend piece of Janus’ clothing off of his body. His boyfriend’s hands stopped him before he could.

“I’m pretty sure with those big window fronts it would count more as fully public sex, but either way, no. Again, no getting arrested. But I wouldn’t mind making out a bit.”

Remus’ teeth showed as he started grinning, grabbing Janus by the hips, lifting him up easily and setting him down on one of the rumbling machines currently cleaning their clothes.

“Your wish is my command,” he purred, leaning in close to capture Janus’ lips with his own but a hand pressed to his mouth and stopped him.

“Move me to one of the unused ones, Remus. I watched Scrubs, and I’m not Elliot. Don’t try to use the vibrations to work me up and get your way with me in public, you heathen.” Janus said that last bit affectionately, but he was very serious. Remus pouted at him.

Janus simply raised his eyebrow in response and the other groaned before complying and pulling him to the side onto an unused washing machine.

“Thank you, dear. I’ll make sure to reward your sacrifice greatly later.” Janus smirked at him and Remus lit up.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he laughed before swooping down and pressing his lips to Janus’. And this time he was allowed to do so with enthusiastic consent.

#namiswriting #On the Road Just the Two of Us #Chapter 6: Visiting the Laundromat Thankfully it's Just the Two of Us #dukeceitweek2024 #Day 6: Sharing clothes #dukeceit #ts janus #janus sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #human au #fluff #innuendo #heavy flirting #sex mention #multichapter fic #sanders sides #fanfiction #reblogs are appreciated

10 notes · View notes

naminethewriter · 16 days

Text

Cuddle Bugs | The Swarm

Very recently, I got to thinking about Cuddle Bugs, the fic you have where Virgil is raising his gaggle of kids and how much I *adored it*. Is Virgil a single parent in that fic? Has he ever had any potential romantic partner(s)? And how did the kids take it, were they suspicious of this sudden guy sending their dad flowers, wooing him, etc? It is hilarious to imagine a kinda "several moments where the kids disapprove of a man courting their dad, and the one time they don't" sort of fic. And the guy that they eventually gave their blessing to to date their dad is Remy or smth. :D – anon

Read on Ao3 Part 1 (not fully necessary but does establish the world)

Warnings: none!!!

Pairings: virgil/remy

Word Count: 2865

Virgil starts to see someone. His children have...opinions.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Virgil says as he opens the door, “but I’ve got one of my kids still here, his club got canceled and the babysitter has her exams this week.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” Remy puts his sunglasses on top of his head. “Given that you’ve got five of the little munchkins, I figured I’d normally get you with one of them.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like we—“

“Dad? Is that you?”

“Yeah, Pop Star, it’s me!” Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Remy mouthing Pop Star? He just shakes his head and turns to see Patton barrel down the stairs, his cat plushie held tightly under his chin. “Hey, there he is.”

Patton screeches to a halt when he sees Remy,. Remy waves a little bit and Patton pouts. Honest to god pouts.

“Who’s that?”

“I’m Remy. I’m a friend of your dad’s. Is it cool if I hang out for a bit?”

“Are you waiting for something?”

“Pat,” Virgil says softly and Patton glances at him, “he’s my friend. Friends can stay over for a bit, can’t they?”

Patton shuffles a little bit. “But you normally go to your friends and then Amy comes and stays with us.”

“That’s right, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have my friends over too, does it?”

Patton shrugs. “Is he staying for dinner? We have enough for garlic bread since Ro and Re aren’t home.”

“I like garlic bread.”

“You like any carb,” Virgil mutters, mainly for Remy to hear, and he just grins. “Well, does that mean you’re gone help me, Pop Star?”

“I can help. Can I put Winston on the counter?”

“Who’s Winston?”

Patton indignantly holds up the plushie, who Virgil could swear was named Star yesterday. “This is Winston!”

“Right, sorry. Yes, Winston can stay on the counter as long as he stays away from any of the food.”

“He doesn’t like garlic, it makes his breath smell really bad.”

”Garlic makes everybody’s breath smell bad, buddy.”

Patton wrinkles his nose as they move into the kitchen. “You should tell Janus that, he says it doesn’t work on him.”

”Oh, it works alright,” Virgil says under his breath and Remy laughs. As Patton bustles ahead to set Winston down on the safest part of the counter, he turns. “Thank you for doing this. I know it wasn’t what we planned—“

“Virgil. Sweetheart. I’d be an idiot to turn down fresh homemade garlic bread.” Remy pats his shoulder. “Besides, I think your little Pop Star has it covered.”

“You’re so gonna ask me about that later, aren’t you?”

“As soon as he’s out of the room.”

Virgil groans.

***

“Logan? Where’d you go, bud?”

“I’m over here, Dad, I found the book i wanted.”

Virgil ducks around the end of the library shelf and sure enough, there’s his little genius sitting on the floor, cross-cross applesauce just as polite as can be, looking intently at t a book with pretty rocks on the front cover. He drops to one knee to ruffle his hair—and hear him squawk.

“What’s this one about?”

“Gemstone and minerals. The teacher said something in science class about how scientists can find out things based on the layers of rock and what would’ve been there when the dinosaurs were here and so I wanted to know more about how different types of rocks are made and do you know what iridium is?”

“Iridium? No, what is it?”

“It’s a type of really rare metal that’s actually more common in rocks from space so scientists can guess when and where they landed based on the amount of iridium.” Logan points to a picture of an asteroid. “See?”

“Whoa. That’s cool. How do they find out what’s iridium and what’s not?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“That’s my boy.” Virgo ruffles his hair one more time—Logan doesn’t even notice, already absorbed in the book—and looks around for the front desk. “Do you want to check this one out and read it at home?”

“I don’t know if this one will have it.”

“Did you check the index like Ms. Tori taught you?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if it’ll be under iridium or something else, so I’m looking.”

“Virgil?”

Virgil turns. “Remy? What’re you doing here?”

Remy walks over to them, eyeing Logan. “That’s…a different one than the one I met last time, right?”

“Yeah, this is a different one. Logan, can you say hi to my friend?”

”Hello.” Logan looks up. “You work at the museum?”

Remy glances at his name tag. “Yeah, I do. You got sharp eyes, kid.”

“Do you know what iridium is?”

“Tell you what,” Virgil says quickly, “let’s go check that book out and you and Remy can talk about iridium while we do that, okay?”

Remy, as it turns out, does know about iridium. Even better, he knows the part of museum where they explain how scientists do research with it. Virgil has a hard time prying Logan away from him when the book is all checked out, but he does get the plan for their next date all squared away.

“Just bring your little genius with you, otherwise we’ll both never hear the end of it.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

***

“Thank you for tonight,” Virgil says softly as they pull up to his house, “I really enjoyed it.”

”Hey, of course. There’s nothing wrong with a good old fashioned dinner and movie date.” Remy leans over to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘I’m glad you had fun.”

“Yeah, it was…really great.” Virgil glances up at the house. “You, uh, wanna come in for a drink before you drive home?”

“I’ll steal your bathroom, how’s that?”

“Mind the load-bearing wall, it tends to get stuck on the studs.”

Remy laughs as they get out, their breaths condensing in the cool night air. Virgil fishes in his pocket for the keys, the lazy contentment of a well-spent evening making his movements slow and a little clumsy. He eventually gets the door open just as Remy’s hands come to settle on his shoulders.

“You got it?”

“Mm.” He pushes the door open. “Still sure I can’t convince you to have one drink?”

”I’m driving.”

“Who said anything about alcohol?”

Remy’s eyes light up. “Why, Virgil, is this you telling me you’ll make me a nice fancy cup of coffee in your fancy coffee machine?”

“Oh, no, you said you only needed to use the bathroom, so—“

Remy pulls him back when he goes to turns way and kisses him properly. “Don’t do that to me, you menace, am I getting my coffee or not?”

“Go use the bathroom,” Virgil laughs, “then we’ll see.”

Remy gives him a look but turns to go off down the hall. Virgil chuckles, shaking his head. After he shrugs off his coat and shoes, keys in the key bowl, he goes to the kitchen and starts turning on his fancy coffee machine. What can he say, he’s a sucker for someone who appreciates the hard work it takes to make a good cup.

He’s considering what mug Remy would loathe the most when he hears a shout from down the hall.

“Remy? Is everything okay?”

He’s already moving. Dad instincts. He rounds the corner to see Remy frozen against the wall and a little bit further into the darkness, he sees gleaming eyes and a grinning mouth. He sighs.

“Remus, you’re supposed to be in bed.”

Remus giggles. Remy lets out a quiet noise as his little gremlin scuttles—yes, scuttles— forward and grins up at Remy. Remy gives him a little wave and he giggles again, leaving something on his foot before skittering up the stairs. Virgil sighs, leaning down to pick up—oh. It’s Remus’s green toy car.

“That,” Remy whispers as they hear a door creak open and shut, “was terrifying.”

“Yeah, sorry. I would’ve warned you about him.”

“You didn’t even flinch!”

“Yeah, well, after you wake up to him staring at you three inches from your face without saying a word a few times, you get used to it.”

Remy looks more than mildly horrified. Virgil holds up the toy.

“But hey, he gave you his green car, that means he likes you.”

”You literally have a gremlin.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Can you feed him after midnight?”

“I can’t feed him after nine.”

Remus shudders. “Now you’re definitely making me a cup of coffee before I leave.”

***

He’s on the phone with Remy when there’s a little knock on his door. He pulls the phone away from his mouth and calls out and his little prince peeks his head around the door, his nose all red and his eyes all wet.

“Oh, hey,” he murmurs, sitting up and holding out his arms, “hey, Princey, what’s the matter?”

Little Roman lets out a sob and hurries across the room to fling himself into Virgil’s lap. Virgil hugs him immediately, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Hey, baby, what’s wrong? Can you tell me what’s going on?” Roman just sobs again. His little hiccuping breaths keep seizing against Virgil’s chest and he closes his eyes. “Shh, shh, baby, you’re okay. You’re safe, I’ve got you, I’m right here.”

“Is everything okay?” Remy asks quietly and Virgil jumps. He’d…forgotten he was on the phone.

“Roman’s crying,” he mutters back, “don’t know why.”

“Do you want to hang up?”

Virgil’s about to say yes when he notices that Roman’s not sobbing as much anymore. Instead, his little pouty face is peering up at the phone.

“Hey, Princey, it’s Remy. Can you hear him?” Roman nods. “You wanna say hi?”

He nods again and Virgil sets the phone on the other pillow tapping the speaker icon and hoisting his baby up onto his lap.

“You’re on speaker, Remy. Roman wants to say hi.”

“Hey, Roman,” comes Remy’s voice through the phone, “I hear you’re having a bad time right now, I’m sorry.”

Roman sniffles and clings his to Virgil a little more.

“I was just about to tell your dad about this story my zookeeper friend was telling me about their pandas. Do you wanna hear it?”

Roman nods and Virgil kisses his head. “Yeah, Remy, we’d like to hear about the pandas.”

Remy begins to tell a story about a panda getting confused by a little kid in a big white snow coat with a black hat. Apparently it thought the child was a pup that had gotten outside the enclosure, so it followed them around and around the pen, pawing at the window to try and figure out how to get the baby back. The poor thing had been so confused when the child took the coat off and had run to the other side of the enclosure.

Virgil goes to laugh again only to realize there's a snoozing Roman on his chest and laughing would definitely wake the poor thing up.

"He okay?" Remy asks when Virgil's side of the phone goes quiet.

"Yeah. He's just asleep now." He shifts to get a better angle so Roman won't wake up with a crick in his neck. "Sorry about that."

"Hey, nightmares get everybody. It's not the first time I've put someone to sleep with a story."

Virgil huffs a laugh. "Yeah?"

"Oh, my college friends used to call me Sleep 'cause I could knock 'em all out."

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

Remy makes a quiet offended noise that quickly turns into a laugh. "You two gonna bed down now?"

"That's probably for the best. Talk tomorrow?"

"See you then."

***

Janus comes into the living room, sits down on the end of the couch, and puts his elbows on his knees like he's the kid genius in a supervillain movie, staring at Remy. Virgil's just about to scold him for being impolite when Remy, without missing a beat, puts his phone down and gets into the same position: criss-cross applesauce, elbows on knees, fingers steepled in front of his chin.

Virgil makes the very smart and reasonable decision to just see how this plays out.

"You're over here a lot," Janus says first.

"This is true."

"Why?"

"I like your dad. I want to spend time with him."

Virgil coughs to hide how red his face goes at that. Janus doesn't even notice.

"Why here?"

"Because your dad cares about you and your brothers a lot, and it makes him feel better to have you close in case anything goes wrong."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not at all."

Now, here's the thing: both Janus and Virgil are surprised by that. Technically, Janus has the smaller of their two reactions because he's in whatever interrogation mode this is—shit, his kid is giving the guy he's dating a shovel talk, isn't he, that's what's happening right now—but Virgil…Virgil just stares at him.

"Virgil is someone I care about, doesn't it make sense that I would care about the people he cares about?"

"Not necessarily."

Remy frowns. "Why not?"

"That hasn't been true of everyone that Dad's seen before."

"Okay," Virgil mutters, shifting on the couch, "we don't have to bring any of that up."

"Well, then those people should hope we're never in a room together, or else I might have to have a very nice, long, detailed chat with them about how wrong they are."

"Can I help?"

"Certainly."

"Guys," Virgil says, because this is very quickly spiraling into something it should absolutely not be—even if part of him is struggling not to find the whole thing very endearing, "I think that's enough."

"What's your favorite food?"

"I'm a big fan of spaghetti and meatballs."

"What about garlic bread?"

"I'll never say no to garlic bread."

"Are you staying for dinner?"

Remy just looks at Virgil, who shrugs. He looks back at Janus. "Is that alright with you?"

"Will you help us make garlic bread?"

"Absolutely, I will."

"Then come on, I'm hungry and the twins will start screaming in half an hour if they aren't fed."

"Oh, you're all gremlins, aren't you?"

Virgil doesn't quite know how that leads into Janus and Remy having a very heated debate about monsters and…something else, but he doesn't have to make dinner that night, so he's counting it as a win.

***

+1.

Virgil comes out of the bathroom and stifles a snort.

"I'm scared to move," Remy whispers, Patton's head nearly sliding off his shoulder, "help."

Movie nights had always been sacred in the household. They were for family only, they were a time where all of them put aside their differences and just spent the night cuddled up on the couch—sometimes going to sleep in Virgil's bed in a big pile too—and no one was willing to rupture the sanctity with things like arguments or fights.

Which is why, when all of the little munchkins clamored for Remy to come to a movie night, Virgil had a sneaking suspicion in might end this way.

All the kids had agreed on the movie beforehand—another rarity—settling on the new Puss in Boots movie that'd come out pretty recently. Remy had been sat on the outside of the couch at first, only for the kids to make, cajole, plead, and order him to come closer almost as soon as the movie started. Virgil had just chuckled and passed Patton over to sit on his lap, the others grabbing onto his arms, his hands, even his legs. He'd gone to the bathroom once they'd gotten to the forest and…

Well, he's come out to see his little ones absolutely sprawled over Remy.

Patton's still in his lap, his head on one shoulder. Somehow Janus has gotten there too, his arms wrapped around Remy's chest like a plushie. Roman is on his right, hand tangled in his hair, Logan on his left with a grip on his hand. Remus lays across his feet, snoozing away. God, Virgil loves them.

"Was this your ploy," Remy whispers as Virgil walks back over, the movie still playing quietly in the background, "to get me here and trap me with your adorable children?"

"No, but I can't say I'm too upset that it's happened."

"They're the cutest snare in the world."

"Mhm. And there's no escape from them."

Remy laughs as Virgil leans down to kiss him. "I'm not all that mad about it, now that I think about it."

Virgil smiles. "No. I'm not either."

#fic rec #anxsleep #familial dlampr #virgil is the dad of all the other sides #and they're adorable #and remy is very good with them #so so cute #maybe the cutest thing I've ever read #I am absolutely ready to die for any of these characters #love them #💜🖤#💜 💙 💖 💛 💚 💙

20 notes · View notes