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fullrainbowallthetime · 2 days ago

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Holding Space

Ever since Remus had to hide, the twins had kept their creative spaces completely separate. Neither had set foot in the other's space for decades. All that was about to change.

Written for @oatmealdaydreams as part of @tss-camp-and-coffee's Camp Cartoon writing event. Please enjoy! WC: 3214 - CW: a big of swearing and goopy stuff; mostly fluff - My other Camp stories

Gentle, warm sunshine poured through the double windows at Roman’s back and right-hand side, filling his studio with perfect golden hour light. He smiled to himself as his brush dragged across the page, swirls of red and gold and blue blending into a towering new parapet for his castle. In his painting, pennants in each of the other Sides’ colors fluttered in the wind, even Janus’. And, yes, even his brother’s. It was the Princely thing to do, after all, to proudly fly the flags of any dignitaries visiting his kingdom.

A few more strokes and it was done. Humming along to the quiet music playing from his phonograph in the corner, he set the canvas beside it to dry and checked the time. 6:26. Nearly supper.

The digital wall clock was one of his few concessions to the proper aesthetics of his creative space. Modeled after Rapunzel’s tower in Tangled, the stony walls of Roman’s studio held even more sketches and stories and designs as the one in the film.

To consistently have enough light to work, though, Roman had to be a little extra generous with the natural light illuminating the space; a sundial would not work when the sun did not move. And so, he conjured a digital clock similar to the one in the living room downstairs, synchronized with the other clocks in the Mindscape.

Patton was sure to come collect him soon, so Roman pulled down his thick, leather-bound journal and selected an ink. He arranged them both on the writing table set beneath the larger window, ready for a short evening writing session when he returned from their famILY dinner.

Right on schedule, Patton’s cheery summons rang through the Mindscape. “Kiddos, dinner time!”

“Be right there, Padre!” Roman called back, loud enough to be heard in the hall. He took a moment to cover his palette and adjust his chair, then stepped through the bright red door leading back to his room and out into the rest of the Mindscape.

His studio would be waiting for him when was done.

Cold and rough, the cement floor bit into Remus’ bare feet, little jolts sparking fresh energy as he hefted up another lump of clay onto the frame in front of him. Quick, to keep the clay from drying out and taking life before he could mold it into place, Remus pushed and prodded it along the edges of the last batch. Gaps now filled, the dragon began to breath, an instinctive impulse.

Like fighting.

This dragon, unlike his other creatures, wouldn’t be sentient and couldn’t feel pain, either. It was basically a fleshy, gory robot with advanced fighting techniques.

The perfect toy for Ro Bro’s next visit to the imagination. He could get his rocks off fighting a dragon and no actual creatures would be harmed.

“Look at you,” he crooned, scratching behind the dragon’s ear. “You’re just gorgeous.”

The dragon blinked at him.

“Remember, no harming anyone but me and Ro Bro when we’ve got our swords up,” he instructed, staring into the dragon’s swirling eyes. “Understand?”

The dragon sniffed its understanding, hot gusts of air coming up from the fire in its belly and blowing through Remus’ hair. It leaned close and nuzzled his cheek with its scaly maw. “Good girl,” he murmured, trying not to get too attached to the automaton. “Now,” he said and gestured for it to follow. He touched a bare spot on the drippy wall and pushed at the gaps between the stones. Green light and steam spilled out as the hole expanded. Pressing along the border of the hole, he widened it until it was big enough for the dragon to slip through.

Once inside the Imagination, it would stretch to its full height, making it a fair fight. In the meantime it could romp and exercise its wings. “Be good out there and we’ll see you soon.”

“Kiddos, dinner time!�� Patton’s summons pulled Remus away from the portal and he let it close.

He pushed open the heavy iron door and returned to his room. The door to the hall was open, so he called back for all to hear, “ Coming, Daddy!” Laughing at the others' collective groan, he turned and closed the door to his workshop and ran down the stairs to join the rest of those dorks for dinner.

It was his night to clean up so after they ate, he tossed his plate, leftovers and all, into a big pile in the center of the kitchen.

“Uh, Re?” Virgil drawled, peering past Janus at the broken plate and goop splattered against the floor and the cabinets. It glistened as it dripped and if everyone would hush for a minute, Remus was sure it sounded glorious.

“Yeah, V?” he asked, tossing the empty casserole dish into the mix. It shattered, sparkling bits dissolving into dust before they hit anyone. Safety first, he rolled his eyes, but he could hear Pattycake's voice in his head.

Virgil pulled his plate closer. “You know we need these, right?”

“Give him a minute,” Jan-Jan murmured, passing his plate forward with a smile. “Thank you, Remus.”

Remus grinned. “Don’t mention it, Double D,” he said and threw Janus’ plate into the pile. It cracked in half. One side stabbed right through the floor and leaving the plate on its edge like a sail in a sludgy sea.

Ro stood near the edge of the mess, his plate in his hand. His eyes darted between the pile and the sink, perfect little princely brow crumpled up and indecisive. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Toss it!”

He threw his plate into the mix, fingers sparking when the impact filled the air with a satisfyingly wet crunch.

“Ten points!” Remus cheered.

Logan rose from his seat and held his plate over the growing mess. Brow furrowed, he released the plate and watched it shatter.

Gravy had spilled on the tablecloth, so Remus bunched it all up and dropped it into the heap, as well. “Alright, Pattycake, let ‘er rip,” he said, arms out like he might catch it.

A smile teased at the corners of Patton’s mouth as he glanced at Ro.

Ro nodded and the Moral Side flung the plate like a frisbee, gobs of mashed potato flying off and hitting the wall Jackson Pollock-style. Ro whacked the plate with his sword as it passed and the plate joined the mess.

Groaning, Virgil finally offered up his plate. He looked away. “I can’t.”

“Sure ya can!” Remus grabbed Virgil’s wrist and flicked. The plate clattered to the floor.

Every dish and bowl and pot used for dinner lay in a broken, sticky heap in the middle of the kitchen floor. Food splatters reached the ceiling, covering the stove, the fridge, and most of their clothes. The mingled odors began to… settle in the most delightfully new ways.

Remus grinned at the others. “Now that’s how I handle my night to clean up.”

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Logan frowned at him. “You do know you’re not done yet, correct?”

“Oh, that’s the boring part,” he said and waded through the heap and out of the kitchen.

“Remus!” they called after him in unison. Poor Pattycake sounded on the verge of tears.

He turned back and waved away the mess, leaving a sparkling floor and appliances, cabinets filled with perfectly intact and clean dishes. “You didn’t think I was gonna just leave it like that, did you?”

“You have in the past,” Virgil muttered and Janus nodded.

“Well,” Remus waggled his tongue, stretching it to whip a lock of Ro’s hair. He jumped back, batting it away. “Maybe surprising you is part of the fun.” Relishing the expressions on their dorky little faces (even surprised Jan-Jan with that one) Remus took the slow way up the stairs and into his room.

He was waist-deep in the fresh barrel of mother muck in the back of his closet (the little yeasties loved their dark damp home) when he heard a blood-curdling (yum) scream from his workshop.

Draga was out in the Imagination (yes, he knew he wasn’t supposed to name it), the spiderlings wouldn’t hatch for at least another two weeks, and he’d released the latest batch of talking silverfish yesterday.

There shouldn’t be anything that could scream in there.

Running to the door to his workshop, he summoned Lucie, morning star held high above his head. He kicked in the door.

His workshop was trashed. Blinding sunlight streamed in from jagged holes punched through the stone walls. The floor had patches of marble, wood, and furry throw rugs—absolute magnets for clay dust and random little creepy crawlies. (So maybe that part wasn’t so bad, but still.)

While the room had expanded to more than twice its original size, it was now stuffed with his brother’s shit. A plain ass writing desk like something the Brothers Grimm might’ve used, big wooden racks filled with oil paintings in varied stages of drying, shelves and shelves full of books and scrolls and paints and tools.

The clay pit was still dug out in one corner and the spider den was undisturbed, but everything was just… off.

Roman turned when he entered, hands on his hips in his best imitation of Mad Dad Patty. He opened his mouth, eyes flaming.

Remus cut him off. “What the hell did you do to my workshop?”

Roman simply could not believe his brother. He'd gone too far this time. “No, way! No.” He paced the room, nearly tripping over his beautiful rugs now cut up and thrown haphazardly about. Unfinished cement, stained with Remus-knew what gobs of stuff peeked between the broken floor of his studio. “You’re not turning this on me.” He glared at his brother. “What in holy Hera did you do to my studio?”

“What?” Remus stomped inside, letting the door slam shut with a metallic echo. He jerked his thumb at the door over his shoulder. “That’s my roo—“ He turned. Mouth hanging open, he stared at the half red-half green door he’d just walked through. He poked one pointy green nail at it.

Solid, just as it had been when Roman had stepped through moments before.

“How…”

“I am in no mood for your pranks tonight, Re.” Roman tried to be kind, tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. While his little game with the dishes had been nerve wracking at first, it had ended with the dishes clean and put away and, ultimately had even been a little cathartic. And this transformation must have taken an incredible amount of creative energy. Despite his brewing headache, Roman could even admit his brother's trick was rather clever.

If infuriating.

His brother had taken great pains not to damage any of his works in progress, building around his art storage instead of through it. And his odd little skittering experiments seemed to be staying where they belonged in the various terrariums and cages strewn about the space. But enough was enough.

Roman let out a slow breath. “Just change it back, Re.”

“The fuck, Ro Bro? You change it back,” Remus snapped. “I didn’t do this.”

“What?” Roman moved to the door, pointing to the red side. “That’s my old door back to my room.”

“And that’s mine!” he shouted. His hand slapped against the chipped green paint on the other side. “Look!” Remus tugged on the handle, opening the door all the way. On the other side sat Remus’ trash heap of a bedroom, a faint green glow peeking out from under his bed and a low howl coming from the closet.

“But I—“ Roman shook his head and let Remus close the door.

He crossed his arms. “See?”

“Then where in Hades has my room go—” Roman muttered and pulled the door open again. His words fizzled out and he stared, slack jawed, at his own bedroom. He close the door and opened it again, feeling a bit like a character from Monster’s Inc. It was still his room on the other side of the door. Speechless, Roman pushed the door shut.

“Fuck,” Remus muttered and yanked on the handle. This time, his gloomy, musty room appeared. The twins exchanged a look and when Remus closed the door this time, they both reached for the handle and pulled.

The door opened up in the hallway downstairs, somewhere between the closet and the front door. “What the fuck is going on?”

They let the door ease shut. It clicked closed, the same sort of sound as the hall closet door.

“Re?” Roman whispered, tracing the jagged spot where green and red met. “Don’t you remember?” He looked around the room, really looked. Not searching for what had been broken. But for what had been restored.

He crouched down and tapped the layers and layers of three and half decades’ of paint dripping on his now two-sided easel. “This room used to be both of ours,” he said quietly.

“No.” Remus’ mustache twitched and he looked away.

“Really?” Roman looked up but Remus avoided his gaze. "You don't remember it at all?"

“Sorta,” he admitted after a moment, shrugging. Remus' fingers twitched at his sides, thumb tapping against each finger in turn over and over again. He kicked one edge of the drying racks, grunting in appreciation or disappointment at their sturdiness. “So you think we’ve gone back to sharing again?”

“Perhaps?” One of the cages in the corner chittered, a wet sticky gnashing of teeth. Roman didn’t want to imagine what that thing’s mouth must have looked like.

But he supposed Remus already had.

“We could give it a try,” Roman said, pushing up to his feet and not backing away from his brother’s creepy menagerie.

“I could always stab you in your sleep again if it doesn’t work out,” Remus grinned.

“There’s always that.”

After the first week of working in the shared space, Remus was definitely going to stab his brother in his sleep. Fingers curled around a palette knife, he breathed slowly through his nose. Maybe not even in his sleep.

“I heard that,” Ro muttered, curled over one of his hundreds of writing notebooks. He would take one down, fan through the pages, cross bits out, add a few new lines, over and over and over again. But he never did anything with them. Never brought them to the Imagination where they could breathe and the characters could come out. Never gave them to Thomas for videos or scripts or plays. Never even gave up on them and set them ablaze.

Just kept fiddling at the edges, muttering to himself about alliteration and syntax and the slithering stops and starts of each sentence.

“I've had it!” Remus snapped. Before Ro could stop him, he snatched up the book and ran for the door. Ro was on his heels and reached the door at the same moment. They yanked it open together and tumbled out into the hallway in a tangle of limbs and pages. “You're giving this Thomas and letting it go! It’s good enough!”

He kicked his brother away and shouted across the Mindscape, “Hey, Thommy boy!” He raked the book against the banister, laughing when it made the sound of a tin can dragged across a barred jail cell. “We’ve got an idea for you!” he sang.

In an instant, they were in Thomas’ living room, watching him read Roman’s stories.

Ro was singing.

He had been singing for six and a half fucking hours.

At first he would just sing along to whatever saccharine sweet Disney song dripped out of his shiny phonograph, but after four hours, he ran out of songs in his range.

That’s when the improvisation began.

Soft and low, almost under his breath, almost quiet enough for Remus to ignore, Roman began singing to himself, weaving together snippets of the Nerd’s poems and the story Ro had last been working on. Something about a rose and the sky and rain and a bunch of other sappy shit.

A little growl bubbled at the back of Remus' throat when a delicate clay rose bloomed in his palms instead of the beetle he’d been trying to build. He squashed it flat then ripped his ears off. He left them on the floor next to him as he tried again.

But still, the music would not leave him, pricking his skin and seeping through the holes. Another flower took shape in his hands.

He cocked (ha) his arm, ready to toss it against the wall when he noticed the shadow it cast. Turning the rose from side to side, the shadow rose danced against the stone wall. He lowered his arm and turned his creation over, lengthening the bottom portion into three stubby legs.

When he set it down, the rose scuttled back and forth along the floor. Popping his ears back into place, Remus cackled. The rose was dancing to the beat of Ro’s sappy little tune. He picked up another lump of clay and began to shape it.

What could an army of the little things do?

Three months into their little experiment…

Ugh, Logan was really rubbing off on him.

Three long months into their joint venture…

Roman sighed, sitting back in his chair. That one sounded more like Janus.

After three short months

He scratched out the words and slammed the book shut, eyeing his brother over his shoulder as he carefully tucked it back into place on the shelf. While Thomas had actually liked the ideas Remus had forced him to present, Roman wasn’t sure if he was ready to share everything in this particular book.

Remus watched him, but made no move to steal it. This time, at least.

Roman let out a low sigh. The words were not flowing but creative energies still buzzed under his skin. Perhaps a little painting was in order. He pulled down his crate of oils and set a fresh canvas on his side of the easel. He took a moment to conjure a long-sleeved smock, carefully tying it to protect his tunic.

Just in time for a blob of green pigment from Remus’ muller to go flying across the room. It glanced off Roman’s shoulder and splattered over the canvas.

“Remus!” He spun around and stomped over to his brother. “Look what you did!”

“Oh no, I got paint on your painting canvas,” he rolled his eyes and returned to his work.

“That’s it!?” Roman pointed at the ruined canvas. “Just look at my—” He stopped, staring at the splatter. He stepped back, head tilted first to the left, then to the right. Rushing forward, he turned the canvas upside down and grinned. “You know what," he said, picking up a brush and his palette. "Never mind.”

Remus looked up from his work pulverizing the molds he was ‘secretly’ growing behind the drying rack. “Don’t mention it.”

Roman glanced over and caught the little I told you so gleam in his brother’s eyes but chose to ignore it. Humming, he dabbed at the splotch of green on the canvas, the start of a giant oak.

Maybe sharing a space might work out better than either of them remembered it could.

#this is so cute!!!#i love how they inspire each other #and i love how you write canonverse Remus #cause he gets to be so unhinged #as is his right #also #that's all of em #all ur camp cartoon stories of this year #thank you as always for sharing ur writing #it's a joy to read #/gen #<3

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fullrainbowallthetime · 2 days ago

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A Day Late and Two Dollars Short

Roman and Remus both have their hearts set on the lovely, snarky, brooding Virgil. They don't realize they're just a little late to the game and someone has already stolen their dear Emo's heart.

Written for @starlocked01 as part of @tss-camp-and-coffee's Camp Cartoon writing event. WC: 2241 - Rated: G - CW: a bit of Remus-y imagery. Almost completely fluff. My other Camp stories

Wary of waking the entire house when all he needed was a cup of water, Roman eased his door shut. It closed without even a click and he grinned, proud to have saved the others an interruption to their peaceful night's sleep. Only when he turned did he notice the dull bluish glow leaking up from the staircase.

Someone else was awake downstairs. An watching television.

He peered down the hall behind him. The gap beneath the others’ doors were all dark, giving him no hint as to who had snuck downstairs for a midnight viewing party of one. Smiling to himself, Roman crept toward the stairs, intent on discovering who it was with as little disruption as possible. Halfway down, a step creaked quietly beneath his foot. Only a moment after that, a harsh whisper hit his ears.

“Really, Virgil…” Even unvoiced, Janus’ condescending drawl sent fire through his veins. “Isn’t it a bit on the nose for you of all people to be up at three in the morning watching conspiracy videos? Aren't you afraid your shadows really will start looking like a racoon?”

Roman hurried down the rest of the stairs, hand lifting automatically to his hip for a sword that was not there. He leapt down the final two steps, landing softly. “Really, Deceit,” he stage whispered. “Isn’t it a bit on the nose for you to be skulking around in the shadows, harassing our dear Emo while he’s enjoying a television program?”

The television’s glow flickered over the couch and cast long, dancing shadows where Virgil sat curled in one corner, a large blanket spread around him. Virgil had clearly been up for a while, with two empty mugs and a small plate in front of him.

Deceit stood a few feet away, dressed in simple pajamas.

“Yeah,” Virgil said, voice creaky with disuse. “It’s just a t.v. show.”

Before either could respond, another voice intervened. “No wonder Thomas is having nightmares tonight,” Logan whispered between gritted teeth. Arms folded, he stood at the foot of the stairs still—or again—dressed from tie to shoes. “What in Newton’s name are all of you doing up?”

“Apologies, Logan,” Deceit purred, gloved hand pressed to his chest. He bowed his head, words oozing faux contrition. “I had merely come down for a glass of water.” He smiled at Roman. “Hydration is important, after all.”

“You—But I—” Roman seethed. How did he know that’s why he had come downstairs? And if he said it now, it would look like he was merely copying the snake's excuse. “That’s—fine.”

Still silent, Virgil looked uncomfortable. Not that their dark and stormy Knight ever truly looked at ease, his vigilant energy thrummed through the air now, eyes darting back and forth between him and Deceit.

Absurdly, Deceit seemed to notice and stepped closer.

Shaking his head, Roman closed the distance between them in two strides. He offered his hand to Virgil. “Allow me to freshen your cup and then perhaps a bit of rest is in order?” Roman followed Virgil’s gaze back to Deceit.

“Very well,” Deceit drawled, sounding bored. “Perhaps we could all do with some beauty rest. Though,” he turned to Roman now with a pursed smile as he sank down out of the room. “Some of us may need it more than others.”

Virgil watched him go then shrugged at Roman. “Yeah, 'hydrate or die straight', huh?”

“I am uncertain that would be the genuine outcome, however—“ Logan began, raising one hand to cut off Roman’s eye roll before it had really begun. “It is a valid if colorful sentiment.” He watched, smug, as Virgil and Roman collected his dishes from the coffee table. “I trust you two will retire shortly without further intercession?”

“Yes, Doctor Sleep,” Roman muttered.

“Yeah, L,” Virgil said with a gracious little smile. “See you in the morning, well…” He smirked. “My morning.”

“Indeed,” Logan murmured but smiled at each before sinking out of the living room.

Roman waited for Logan to return to his own room before he reached out and brushed a lock of Virgil’s hair from his eyes. “You know anytime that fibbing fiend bothers you, I’m more than happy to assist.” He passed him a fresh cup of water, then met his eyes, warm chocolate with little violet flecks at the edges. “Or any time at all, really. It would be my honor to aid you in any way you might require.”

“Uh, thanks, Princey,” Virgil said, accepting the glass. “I—I’m good,” he said and took a sip. “Thanks.” And then, with a little two-finger salute, he was gone and Roman was alone in the kitchen.

His eyes trailed over to the television, the case to The World’s Biggest Hoaxes and Conspiracies Unmasked still open on the console. Perhaps he could suggest a little midnight viewing party for just the two of them.

In his half of the Imagination, where they were sure not to be disturbed.

The Mindscape was dead. Okay, not actually dead, with blood and guts painting the walls or dusty bones crunching underfoot, the delectable scent of rot and fungi thick in the air. No, that would be something to behold.

No, the Mindscape was so quiet it hurt. With Ro Bro and the Nerd running lines with Thommy Gun, and Pattycake in the kitchen baking some cinnamon atrocity—and not the fun kind—the Mindscape was dull and still and so so soooo boring.

Huh. Boring the verb could be cool. With a shimmy, Remus conjured a rusty hand drill. He rotated the handle, cackling when flakes of oxidized iron snowed over his lap. This could be something to do while he waited… well, for anything to happen.

Slumped against Virgil’s door, he tried one more time to rouse him. Arouse him. This would be more fun with an audience, after all.

Bang-bang-bang-bang

Each impact rattled through his brain but the King of Anxiety was either holed up somewhere (juicy) in the Mindscape or had his headphones on too high to hear him knock.

Well, poopie. With Ro Bro tied up with Logan—wasn’t that a vision?—this was the perfect time to sneak in a little one-on-one time with the Emo. In the past, he’d’ve just barged right in or rose up underneath his bed or in his closet or behind his shower curtain, a severed head dripping sticky red all over the tub.

But he was trying to take Pattycake’s advice and ‘be respectful of his boundaries’ and ‘not leave pools of blood on the floor’ so he was stuck on the wrong side of big V’s door.

Boring alone it would be, then.

He’d just pressed the dull bit against his temple when a faint, bright laugh spilled out from under Jan-Jan's door. A laugh that didn’t belong to Janus. If anything, Remus would swear it sounded like—

Jan-Jan’s door slammed open with one good kick of Remus' boot. “Emo!” Remus cried. “The fuck you doing in here?”

Spooked at the sudden intrusion, Virgil had jumped up onto Jan-Jan’s bed, hiding under the covers. A sour pang bubbled in Remus’ chest at the sight. He hadn’t meant to scare his Scaramore, well… maybe just a little, the same way a rollercoaster was scary. Or skydiving or holding your breath under water or—

“Is there something I can help you with, Duke?” Janus murmured, standing between him and Virge.

“Yeah, there is.” Remus flung the hand drill without watching where it might land. It dissolved just before it hit Janus’ mirror. “You can tell me what you were doing to him in here.” He glared at Janus. “I heard him laughing.”

“The horror,” Janus deadpanned.

Remus tapped his foot. He knew all of Jan-Jan’s tricks and he wasn’t getting out of this one.

“Jan—“ Virgil began but Janus cut him off.

“It’s alright,” Jan-Jan sighed, the weight of the world on his caped shoulders. “I’d merely suggested Virgil consider a more traditionally healthy sleep schedule,” he said, turning to face Virgil. “I still think I’m right.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Virgil snapped back, still jumpy from Remus’ arrival.

Well, fuck, now Remus actually felt bad. “Hey, Emo, I’ll make it up to you,” he said, putting on his best grin. “Charlotte’s babies are about to hatch on the roof of Ro’s castle.” Remus held out his hand. “Wanna come watch?”

“Sure, Re.” Virgil glanced at Janus, his expression… twitchy. “Will that not be too disruptive to a normal sleep schedule?”

Janus sighed again, examining his nails through his gloves. “I suppose not,” he said at last. “Just be sure you’re ready for bed at a reasonable hour.”

A tiny smirk danced at the corner of Virgil’s lips before he turned to Remus and nodded. “Okay, Re,” he said. “Show me these spiders.”

“Oh, Virgil?” Roman called as he skipped down the stairs. He could hear his favorite shadowling from upstairs, snorting adorakably at some joke Padre must have told. The aroma of warm milk and vanilla and cloves rose up in air, perfectly setting the stage for Roman’s proposal.

At the ready was the scroll he’d conjured just for this invitation, his entire plan laid out in perfect calligraphy in a deep violet ink. Virgil was certain to acquiesce, in fact eagerly agree to accompany him on the whirlwind evening Roman had arranged for them in the Imagination. It was his magnum opus, hours and hours of planning and designing and creating.

The special rooftop viewing area alone had taken a week to prepare.

It would have been done in less than a day if it weren’t for an ill-timed spider infestation, but he supposed that was simply the price to pay for running an inviting kingdom. Everyone—and every thing—wanted to be there.

But now it was perfect. Red and purple bunting, a table of sweet and savory treats and beverages to sustain their energy for the fifteen-point itinerary he’d planned. First they’d tour the castle grounds where Roman would show Virgil the topiary he’d had carved in his honor, all in the style of one of Virgil’s favorite films. They would travel by gondola over the crystal clear moat and pick wild berries the chef would turn into jam to supplement their their evening meal. They would visit the gallery, the conservatory, two plays. Finally, they would watch a special showing of The World’s Biggest Hoaxes and Conspiracies Unmasked – Part 2 under the stars.

And, perhaps, if Roman were very, very lucky, they might even share a small kiss under the moonlight.

“Whatcha got there, Ro Bro?” Remus cackled, swiping the scroll and unfurling it.

Roman snatched it back before his brother could read a word—or damage the delicate parchment. “Nothing for you,” he said. “I have plans in the Imagination tonight and I’m about to go invite Virgil to join me.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” Remus snapped. He stamped his foot and a giant wooden barrel appeared between them. Corked with an unctions black goo, the barrel vibrated and growled quietly.

“What…” Roman poked it with his boot, jumping back when the barrel inched closer in response. “What is in there?” he asked, unable to hide his disgust. “And what makes you think Virgil would want anything to do with it?”

“Like he’s gonna wanna go on some sanitized Disney Prince tour in your boring ass realm? It seems you don’t know our Emo at all, do you?”

“How dare you, I—“

“Boys!” Janus snapped, standing in the kitchen doorway. Virgil sat slouched on the counter behind him, gnawing at his lip. “Is this really a conversation you want to be having here?”

The twins looked around, finally noticing Logan and Patton sitting together on the couch, the Great British Bake-off paused on the television.

“But wait, Padre, if you’re—” Roman stumbled over his words, staring between Patton curled close to Logan’s side and Virgil and Janus in the kitchen. “But we heard you—“

“Yeah, I’ll be in my room,” he muttered and disappeared before either brother could stop him.

“Boys, boys, boys,” Janus tutted, arms crossed. “I hope you two are proud. Well,” he eyed Remus’ barrel and the scroll now tucked loosely under Roman’s arm. “Enjoy your plans. I have a self-care day ahead of me,” he said and sank down and out of the common room.

Remus and Roman looked at each other glumly. “So, uh…” Remus sighed. “Wanna dump some barrels on the Dragon Witch’s house?”

Roman sniffed at the barrel between them. “Only if we can clean up afterwards at my castle.”

“Meh,” Remus shrugged. “I’ve done worse there.”

As they disappeared into the Imagination, Logan and Patton exchanged a glance, then Patton laid his head on Logan’s shoulder. “Do you think either of ‘em’ll figure it out?”

Staring at the spot where the twins had stood, Logan shook his head. “If they haven’t yet, I am not confident they ever will.”

Hood drawn down over his eyes, Virgil was sitting on the edge of Janus’ bed. When Janus rose up, he pushed back the hood and smirked up at his boyfriend. “You know we’re going to have to tell them eventually,” he said. “Even Patton knows now.”

Taking his hand, Janus hummed as he brought it close for a gentle kiss. “I know…” he murmured. “But let’s enjoy their confusion while it lasts.”

#what a great example of narration that suits the characters!! /gen #the shift from Roman narrating to Remus narrating is so stark #and so excellent!!#it was my favorite part ^^#a delight as always!

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