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pregnant-piggy · 2 years

Text

November

The Artist’s Muse series

Remus Lupin x reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: Remus works on his dear novel all day, leaving you on your own in the store, but you don’t really mind as at the end of the day Remus comes to you and no one else

Rain slammed down on the window, blurring the lights out on the street. There was one person inside of Muses, scanning through the books in the ‘thriller’ section. You had put on some music on the old record player and you were browsing through your inventory list to pick out the book-of-the-week for upcoming week.

You were stuck on a coming-of-age book that Remus had recommended to you a while ago and a book with feminist themes that had recently been published and the author had been so kind to send to you. You knew they’d both do well, so it came down to personal taste. The problem was that you hadn’t read either book and all you had to go on were the covers and the short summaries.

In the end, you chose for the feminist book, having decided that you could use the other book for a different book-promotion. Besides, you liked the cover better and you were the one who had to look at it all week.

The person who had been silently reading the backs of books, walked up to the check-out counter and placed three books on it. “These please.”

“Oh, great choice,” you said as you scanned and packed the books. “That writer is one of the best thriller writers out there, I believe.”

The person smiled and nodded. “Same. I’ve read all her books but this one. I didn’t even know it was out yet until I saw it here. I came for a different book but I couldn’t not buy it.”

“The benefits of a bookstore,” you laughed as the costumer paid. “Well, I’ll hope to see you again someday! I’ll make sure we keep any new books stocked.”

The person smiled and said goodbye.

When the door closed you were alone again. Not entirely alone, however, for Remus was sitting in the office, but he hadn’t been out since lunch and a writing Remus was as good as no Remus in case you were in need of his help.

With the heavy rain the streets were empty but for a few people and the entire day had been slow. You had done all your necessary work already and now you were just wasting time till the end of the day. You had hoped that Timmy, your but-not-actually-yours cat, would come by but you guessed that he had found a nice spot safe from the rain somewhere else.

After you had written a little text to summarise what the book-of-the-week was about and you had ordered extra copies, you decided to peek in on Remus and see if he needed anything.

The office was tiny, with just enough room for a small desk and a low fridge. The walls hung full of order papers and schedules, notes on things that you needed to remember, and a few pictures of you and Remus and your friends. There were plants that needed water, a desk chair that squeaked terribly, and only one small window that you couldn’t open because it was too high for you.

Remus was sitting with his hands in his hair, his back to you as you opened the door.

“Hey, Rem,” you said, shaking him from what seemed like an existential crisis. “How’s it going?”

Remus looked up and leaned back in the chair when he noticed you. It squeaked.

“’m alright,” he mumbled, rubbing his hands over his face. “What’s up?”

You leaned against the doorframe. “Nothing, just thought I’d check on you. It’s not very often I don’t see you for so long.”

Remus laughed. He stretched his arms out over his head as he yawned. A sliver of skin appeared from under his rising jumper and you quickly tore your eyes away before he would notice.

“Can’t go without me for that long, huh?” he smirked. “I’m almost done.”

“Okay. You think you can finish in an hour?”

“An hour? Why?”

“Because we’re closing in an hour and I don’t want to leave you alone here.”

Remus frowned. “What do you mean we’re closing in an hour? We just had lunch.” He looked around the desk, searching for his phone.

You stepped behind him and showed your watch. “It’s 4.15.”

Remus looked at the watch and then his gaze followed your arm up to your face. He looked as if he was thinking very hard.

“I’ve been here for four hours already?”

“Yup.”

“Oh.” He blinked twice. “Shit. I thought I’d really made some progress.”

“How does the time influence that?” You pulled your arm back and looked at the laptop on the desk. “Your word count hasn’t changed because it’s two hours later than you thought.”

“No,” Remus sighed. “But I thought I’d done all this in two hours. Now it appears I am just slow.”

You laughed and squeezed his shoulder twice. “That’s alright,” you said, giving him a smirk. “Believe me, sometimes slow is better than fast.”

Remus’s ears turned pink and you giggled.

“You’ve still got an hour left,” you said, walking back into the store. “Do your magic, my sweet author!”

You closed the door of the office but not before you could hear Remus yell a ‘fuck you’ back at you.

- -- - -- -

Ten minutes before closing up, Remus emerged from the office. You saw him in a flash of messy hair and red cheeks, but you were talking with a costumer and didn’t have the time to pay more attention.

“It’s a fine choice,” you said, handing the book over to the man you were helping. “Very expressionist, but alright.”

The man flashed a wide smile and took the book from you. You were sure that he realised you didn’t actually like the book but he was so friendly not to say something. As he accepted the book his fingers brushed over yours and you quickly pulled away.

Giving the man a tight smile you walked with him to the check-out counter. Remus was leaning against it and stepped back to give you space.

“Can I get you anything else?” you asked the man.

“Actually, do you have a pen?”

You looked up from the book. “A pen?”

“Yes, a pen.” The man gestured to the book. “It’s a gift for my girlfriend, you see? I’d like to write a little message in it before you wrap it up.”

A weird chuckle escaped your mouth and then you laughed genuinely over the confusion. “Yeah, we have a pen.”

The man bowed over the book and quickly wrote something down. He turned it back for you to wrap it and you glanced at what he had written.

Happy birthday, love. You make me the happiest I’ve ever been. Love, Nicolas.

You let him pay for the book and watched as he winked and left the store. He swung the paper bag with his gift along with his steps. At the door he looked over his shoulder one last time and gave you a short wave.

You decided not to tell him the book was about a girlfriend killing her partner.

Remus laughed as he came to stand beside you. “Did he just buy that for his girlfriend?”

“Yup.”

“And does he know…?”

“Nope.”

Remus looked at you.

“Don’t blame me!” you cried out, raising your finger at him. “He wanted the book! All the other ones I recommended weren’t good enough for him. I think he just liked the cover.”

Remus snorted and shook his head.

As you started with closing up the register, you threw a glance over your shoulder at Remus. “So, did you make any progress?”

“A little. It’s just…” He fell silent.

“The hospital again?” you offered.

Remus let out a tired chuckle. “Sometimes,” he said, “it feels as if you are writing it, not me.”

“Well, I’ve been listening to you talk about it for years. Sometimes I feel like I’m writing it.” You shut the register and wrote down the day’s income. “So what is it?”

Remus, who had picked up the broom, sighed and stood still, looking at you. “He’s at the hospital, gives the wrong name, and then I’m stuck.”

“Because…?”

“Because, no one knows that it’s not his true name. If you didn’t know me and I said my name’s Tom, you wouldn’t doubt that, would you?”

“Depends on how suspicious it seemed,” you said and Remus laughed. “I mean, you don’t really look like a Tom.”

“Alright, a normal person wouldn’t doubt it. So how do the people in the hospital know that he’s given them the wrong name?”

You leaned over the counter, watching as Remus swept the floor. “Don’t they do check-ups on people’s identity? I mean it is kinda weird that he has no other way to identify himself.”

Remus only hummed, which you knew meant he was thinking about your answer.

“And besides, he came into that hospital himself and didn’t bring any identification. That’s even weirder.”

Remus hummed again.

“Even if they don’t doubt his name, they at least got to have some suspicions about his mental stability.”

Remus had stopped sweeping and had squeezed his eyes nearly shut. There was a deep frown on his brow and you had to resist the urge to smooth it out with your hand.

You liked Remus when he was focused on his work. Even if it meant you had to work alone the whole day. You didn’t mind it at all if at the end of that day you could see Remus emerging from the tiny office with his curls all over the place and cheeks red from the energy he had put into his work. He’d come out all jumpy and chatty some days, when he’d missed talking to people, and you’d end up sitting with him in the store for hours past closing time, just talking about his novel and other things that didn’t have to do with it. You loved those days the best, when his crooked smile revealed how tired he was but he would sit beside you still.

Today wasn’t like that, but you still appreciated the way Remus tilted his head and bit his lip as he thought about your suggestion. It reminded you of the very first time he had told you about the idea he had and you had bombed him with a billion questions that he’d had no answer to yet.

Remus opened his eyes and smiled. “You’re right.”

“As usual.”

He picked up the broom again and disappeared behind a bookcase.

You cleaned out the last things and put on your coat. You waited for Remus at the door, watching him put on his coat and scarf. His lips disappeared behind the orange fabric but you could see his smile through it still.

When you stepped outside you wished you could live inside Muses. It had stopped raining, but the wind was howling around your ears, blowing through your coat and engulfing you in what felt like a bath of ice. You hopped from one foot to the other as Remus locked the door.

“Bloody hell,” Remus mumbled as he stepped back from the door.

You snorted. “I don’t think ‘hell’ is the right term for a place so freaking cold.”

“Hm, yes, but ‘bloody north pole’ doesn’t roll off your tongue so easily.”

“That’s fair,” you said, looking up at Remus. “’S more accurate, though.”

Even though it was cold and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to feel your toes anymore in two minutes, you found that some part of you didn’t want to go yet. Something was keeping you in your place, like a tight-spun thread attaching you to Muses. And Remus.

He smiled at you, the top of his mouth appearing from above the scarf.

“Thank you for taking over today,” he started. “I know I should’ve been there with you today, but I really appreciate you letting me use the office. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I left you all on your own.”

“It’s no big deal, Rem. I’m glad you got some work done today.” You nudged his leg with the tip of your shoe. “The literary world is waiting on you.”

Remus chuckled, his cheeks coloured pink.

“Still, I should have helped you. You were on your own all day. I’m sorry.”

“No, no apologies.” You shook your head again. “I really don’t mind, Rem. I’m not lying to you to make you feel better. You know me better than that.”

He barked a laugh. “I do, yeah.”

You smiled at Remus, his golden curls illuminated by the streetlights, his eyes sparkling from his laugh. The tip of his nose was turning pink and you had to resist the urge to boop it with your finger. He looked excruciatingly adorable, all tired and slow he was now.

Although you didn’t want to go, you knew that you really had to or you’d get sick. You opened your arms and pulled Remus in for a quick hug goodbye.

“See you tomorrow, Rem,” you said as you pulled back. The thread that kept you in place pulled tighter.

Remus’s cheeks were truly red now and you felt bad you had kept him standing outside in the cold for so long. You waved him away.

“No being late! Or you have to get the first round of coffee!”

As he turned around, Remus laughed and his sweet laugh echoed through the empty street. You felt your insides getting a bit warmer and was reassured at the knowledge that even if the rest of the world was freezing, you’d always have Remus’s warm laugh.

- - - - - - - -

please let me know if you liked this, i’d appreciate that very much!

series taglist: @fluffybunnyu

HP taglist: @harry-pottery-barn @kingalrdy @missswriter @figlia--della--luna @sexysirius @awritingtree @bi-andready-tocry @lilulo-12fanfiction @ananad1 @treestarrrrrrrr @your-hispanichufflepuff @thefandomplace @theeicedamericano @girllety @swearingsolemnly @secretsthathauntus @amixedwitch @izzyyy-1 @kitkatkl @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @nyotamalfoy @d22malfoys @xxinvisiblexx @idli-dosa

marauders: @tomshollandz @fific7 @cheoco @classicrocketqueen @natashxromanovfreads @lonegryffindor2005 @springflwer07

MASTERLIST

#the artist's muse #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus x reader #lupin x reader #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #harrry potter

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hufflepuffxmrdrs · 9 months

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Modern Marauders Headcanons (boys version)

Remus:

needs glasses for reading (won't admit it tho)

phone in dark mode

extremely interested in politics

never goes anywhere without his phone

goes to climate demos with Lily

gives online study sessions

the type to text HAHAHAHA when sitting there like •_•

skater.

James:

wears contact lenses for important occasions

phone in light mode

always wears a watch

spams the groupchat with Sirius and Marlene

refuses to get tiktok but watches insta reels

secretly loves disney movies

makes playlists for Lily

collects patterned socks and wears them unirconically

Sirius:

phone in dark mode

lives at concerts/festivals (always drags the others along)

phone is always at 1%

no license, drives anyway

listens to artic monkeys

loves playing lasertag

communicates in memes

can't resist challenging Regulus in Mario kart even though he always loses

Peter:

is tiktok famous for always trying the newest food trends

never let's his phone battery drop under 20%

phone in light mode

always forgets where he put it tho

volunteers at the the local animal shelter

spends too much time on powerpoints

uses duolingo to learn the most random language

wins online chess against the ai

Frank:

makes Alice watch cute romance movies with him

let's his hair air dry after a shower

loves texting this face every chance he gets :D

was the first to have a driver's license out of the friendgroup and involuntarily became a personal chauffeur

phone in light mode

secretly a swiftie

prefers to walk most places if they're close enough

always carries sunscreen around

Regulus:

gamer.

phone in dark mode

probably joint a cult at some time because he got asked on the street and couldn't say no

has a locked folder in his notes app that is actually a journal, no one knows about it

drinks energy drinks like water

actually really tidy handwriting (uses goodnotes for studying)

writes poetry and posts it on tumblr

Barty:

plays electric guitar

has his own cinema room in his parents basement (they watch movies together there a lot)

is in therapy for anger issues

listens to punk

phone in dark mode

competes in undergound boxing as a hobby

junk food addict

calls everyone "bro" no matter who he's talking to

Evan:

tatoo artist

has to wear braces

is a natural dark-blonde but bleaches his hair to make it even lighter

the only one to know about Regs Journal

only uses over ear headphones because the others hurt his ears

creates digital art on his ipad and carries it around everywhere

phone in light mode

is secretly into skincare

#I will also upload a girls version #marauders #maraudes headcanons #headcanons #modernheadcanons #remus lupin #james potter #sirius black #peter pettigrew #frank longbottom #barty crouch jr #evan rosier

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dufferpuffer · 1 month

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Do you see Remus as an artistic person? Or at least someone who appreciates the arts? If so what would be his favorite medium to express himself (even if poorly)?

I think...not so much artistic. He does his best work following orders. He is able to forge his own path through those orders, he isn't crippled by lack of direction, but he isn't out here having many of his own ideas.

I think the place this frustrates him most is in that he isn't the 'Professor' type he wants to be, like Dumbledore, or Snape. The type that can spend all their days researching to experiment with answers to questions that have never been asked.

He is more like Hermione: Seeks knowledge but rarely pushes the envelope. He masters things so he can rely on his skills, not to invent. He wouldn't really know where to start.

I do think he creates, but once again it's practical. A poor family and a muggle mother - while he had to stay away from other kids... I'm sure he learned how to sew, to patch clothes - perhaps even knit. He can follow a pattern, he has respect for the creature that is the 'sewing machine' - but he isn't making fashion.

I think he probably drew as a child, as everyone did. I know some people HC that he drew the art for the map, and that's cute... but once again: practical. Simple. Clear. Serves a purpose. If he does draw or paint, I like to think its going to a street corner on a sunny day and sketching a building. That sort of thing.

Musically... no. I do think he enjoys music, thats a HC of mine But a mix of his poor little finger bones being busted all the time... No time between studying, full moons, being with his friends... Being hard to upkeep and carry an instrument when he is traveling... I think he would like the idea to play an instrument. Maybe he has even sat down with a guitar a few times, or attended a lesson or two... but he lacks the confidence, the patience, the funds... He gives up fast.

I don't personally think Remus is particularly artistic. But he does have an eye for it. He would appreciate an art gallery, or just the craftsmanship on a nicely knitted jumper.

I think his favourite thing would be textiles. The meditation of knitting or sewing, the practicality, the easy goal of "follow this pattern and end up with a sweater"... Oh shit he might even like cross stitch or embroidery Like shitty embroidery where it went wonky

EDIT: I FORGOT ABOUT WRITING I can see him wanting to be a novelist. He understands real people well – so why not fake people? But I also think he isn't the sort to spend time imagining things, so his writing is a little... by the numbers. Flat. Lacks a creative edge. And thats if he can even get a plot going at all.

He makes characters and then doesn't know what to do with them. Thinks of an idea for scene, but no plot to put it in. He's bounced around the idea of writing an autobiography – based on Hairy Snout, Human Heart that came out when he was in school. (maybe he even wrote that while he was at school... ;) probably not it would absolutely give him away, and he was like 15 the book would be paper thin.)

#remus lupin #love you remus #hp #remus my beloved #headcannons

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evesaintyves · 1 year

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this was my submission to @thethreebroomsticksficfest Pride Fest 2023 🌈

The Rougarou

Remus Lupin/Sirius Black | M | 9.7k | After the end of the first war, Remus Lupin seeks some kind of new life in New Orleans. He finds it.

In the mosquito-song of morning, without the din of bass and customers and Order up! from Ish, bad thoughts bubbled up like groundwater from the cracks in the street: the little varnished wood box that held only a finger. Peter's dad ripping up the hymnal. Stop it, Remus would say to himself. Autumn drizzle like spit in the graves. Just stop. Getting in bed, pulling the sheets over his face, steaming in the heat of his own breath. Too drunk to stand, somehow too drunk even to cry. Two married slots in the ground. The itchy suit he'd borrowed from his father. Two babies fussing in the black pram—craning his neck to see Harry, then shrinking back in shame. The sour look on Lily's sister. The stone look on Dumbledore: how had it happened? How could we let it happen? He'd try to put himself to sleep, but once he'd started his mind wouldn't let him stop, and sooner or later he'd think about the worst thing, the thing that felt like a crime: Even in June it must be freezing in the North Sea.

read on AO3

some notes on this fic under the cut

first, i just want to acknowledge that i'm writing about New Orleans as someone who's never lived there, and i apologize unreservedly for anything i got wrong. i love the city and i've spent a lot of time there, but ultimately i'm just a tourist.

folklore

the rougarou is a cryptid in Cajun and Métis folklore, often depicted as a creature with a human body and the head of a dog or a wolf. the name is a cajunization of "loup-garou." the rougarou may be a syncretization of the French loup-garou legend and indigenous concepts of humanlike shapeshifters, like the Wendigo. In some iterations of the Wendigo legend, a person can be cursed with insatiable hunger and greed and cravings for human flesh after committing an act of cannibalism or violence. stories of the rougarou in Louisiana were a cautionary tale for children and sometimes represented a consequence of breaking lent. the rougarou also happens to feature in the Harry Potter universe, which is convenient for me.

the feu-follet is a ghost-light, similar to the will-o'-the-wisp, said to appear in the swamps of the Mississippi delta; traditionally held to be the souls of unbaptized babies

the French Quarter ghosts - years ago in the FQ we used to see real estate signs advertising houses and apartments for sale as Haunted or Not Haunted which i always thought was pretty cool. the ghosts generally aren't representative of any specific historical figures or events, except for one, sort of—i'll let you figure out which if you care to.

locations

Monsieur's is made up, obviously, but most other locations mentioned by name are real and were operating in 1982. Café Lafitte In Exile, Verti Marte, Café du Monde and The Apple Barrel are still around, but Charlene's and Las Pierres (which were actually de facto segregated in the way the fic describes) are now closed.

i made a little map—i'm not an artist, but i enjoy maps, like, a weird amount—of some of the locations in the fic.

New Orleans has been a center of queer culture in the South for a really long time—gay social clubs and carnival krewes have existed there since as early as the 40s, and Café Lafitte, which opened in 1933 (in its current location since 1953) is one of the oldest gay bars in America. i was really excited to find a book on Café Lafitte and its place in New Orleans queer history called In Exile: The History and Lore Surrounding New Orleans Gay Culture and Its Oldest Gay Bar by Frank Perez and Jeffrey Palmquist , two bartenders who worked there in the 80s and 90s. other than the obvious thematic connections in outlaws and exile, Café Lafitte is one of the couple of places that were around back then that i've actually been inside and could hope to describe with some accuracy.

other resources on queer history in New Orleans:

The LGBT+ Archives Project of Louisiana

Last Call NOLA, a queer and trans art & archival collective who host a podcast series on vanishing NOLA gay bars and other queer spaces - episodes 3.2 and 3.3 are about Charlene's and Las Pierres

music

for this fic we're gonna roll with the PoA movie canon that Lupin's a big ol' vinyl dork who likes vaguely-jazzy big band music ok

Will You Love Me Tomorrow by The Shirelles - The Shirelles were a girl group in the late 50s and early 60s - i imagine Ish, somewhere in her 40s in this story, might have listened to them as a teenager. they were an early example of an all-Black band who found success with white audiences during the civil rights era, and they cultivated a "naive schoolgirl" sound and aesthetic that helped them get away with some relatively edgy-for-the-time sexual subtext in their songs. Will You Love Me Tomorrow was banned from radio in parts of the US - the lyrics address a lover before a tryst: tonight the light of love is in your eyes/but will you love me tomorrow?

The Stargazers - a UK pop group from the mid-50s. i'll be honest, this choice was mainly based on that name and some irresistibly appropriate song titles, but here's my excuse: their arrangements are heavy on tinkling piano and brass, and they collaborated with jazz-influenced British bandleader Syd Dean, so we're gonna go with the headcanon that young Remus got a taste for jazz through the pop groups of Hope's girlhood, many of which were covering (or just ripping off) American jazz & R&B artists at the time.

Junco Player by James Booker - "the Bayou Maharaja." A New Orleans-born jazz and R&B pianist, who led the house band at the Maple Leaf Bar in Carrollton (across town from where Lupin lives in this story) in the late 70s and early 80s. He was better known in Europe than in the US during the time Lupin would have been in his late teens, so if Lupin was a big jazz nerd he might have heard of him. Booker was openly gay and sometimes described as the "Black Liberace" due to his flamboyant style; he was also troubled and chronically ill, having been hit by an ambulance as a child and left with one working eye, a limp, chronic pain and a morphine addiction. He died shortly after the timeline of this fic.

image from the Times-Picayune archives, photographer uncredited

Heart of Glass by Blondie - this is honestly just how it happened in the scene in my head, and it's obviously kind of on-the-nose, but I really think some disco-y pop, at that moment, would feel like a sign to Lupin that the city isn't going to give him what he wants and he doesn't belong there.

thanks for reading!

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #hp fanfic

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butcherbacterium · 7 months

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Fic asks!

#13 and #23

hi!

13. favorite writing song/artist/album

it will definitely be ethel cain. Always an Angel fully belongs to Preacher's Daughter/Inbred. The idea come from Western Nights/Thoroughfare, the entirety of Remus' character came from listening to Family Tree (Intro) on repeat, Sirius is Gibson Girl/Unpunishable. All credit to her she wrote the fuck out of those songs.

special shout out to Let's Get Loud by J-Lo for that one chapter of Twin Machines and Noah Kahan for the long fic I almost wrote. RIP

23. fics you wanted to write but didn't

In memoriam moment for the following:

MCD band fic

Maine/Noah Kahan long fic spanning 10 years following 7 of them

a philadelphia story au

the stripper au

a 50s stock car racer fic (the first idea i ever had for a fic)

an entire series based on Painting of a Panic Attack by Frightened Rabbit set after the war

A twilight zone Monsters on Maple Street inspired wartime fic

a surreal fic that was very Rocky Horror/I'm Thinking of Ending Things inspired by the music video for Karmacoma by massive Attack

evil James murdering for Regulus during the war

a lily/mary high school romance fic based around mary's unreal classic car and a house party

"his daddy's on death row" a prison wife remus extravaganza

a brothers fic for regulus and sirius based on organized vs. disorganized chaos

a time turner jegulus fic where regulus is trying to fix things before the war kicks off and he and james spending a lot of time discussing the meaning of time, the value of it

a fic inspired by francesca about the last moment before death for remus and then sirius and what they think about

The remus proposal for twin machines

EDIT 7:03 pm: could not forget dirtbag rock climber remus (with heavy lyall 80s climber influence)/professional sports photographer sirius that eventually lead to the bondage body high chapter.

Those are the marauders ones i can remember but I had a lot of little bits written

#i have 12 thoughts at once #the group chat really dealt with a lot from me

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kquil · 3 months

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POLY MARAUDERS | HEROES IN TATTOOS

+ MOODBOARD IMAGINES

SET. : in between chapter 3 and chapter 4

LENGTH : 3.4k

A/N : do you darlings remember this (↓) moodboard? well, i thought it would be a good idea to write the scenarios i featured in it just cause... hehe~ (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) i hope you darlings enjoy the read!

On his break, Sirius has a routine, one that involves lighting a cigarette. Usually he would have the decency to step outside but his schedule was stressful for the day and all he really wanted to do was just sit by an open window, slumped into a chair smoking his cigarette until there was nothing left to smoke. Thankfully the rest of the work day wasn’t going to be as packed so he could finally start taking it easy.

Grey eyes drifting over to the clock on the wall, Sirius hums thoughtfully. Almost lunch time. He’ll need to cut his smoke break short if he wants to have enough time for a decent lunch. It’s another ritualistic practice for him to not pack anything for lunch; he was a horrible cook and usually prioritises sleeping in over eating breakfast and preparing a lunch, it’s the same for James and Remus too. Thankfully there’s a pretty good fish and chip shop down the street. Or maybe he could get a medium pizza for himself at the pizza local place? Maybe get a large pizza for the whole group?

Propping his ankle up onto his opposite knee, Sirius drags a slow breath in and waits a moment before releasing the smoke. He tries to aim the fumes out the window as much as possible but the air is a fickle thing and stubbornly lingered around him. Nevertheless, he takes the time to admire the swirling fumes, artistic and free to take any form they so pleased. It was one of the small pleasures in smoking that he could bask in.

“Siri–!” Sirius promptly snaps out of his daze with your call and the opening of the break room door. One step into the room and you were already having a coughing fit. Hurrying to stand, Sirius smothers his cigarette in an ashtray and reaches for a nearby folder of generic designs to fan the smoke out of the open window.

“You okay there, sweets?” he calls, brows furrowed into a concerned crease as he watches your struggle for air slowly calm.

“I-I’m okay,” another slight cough slips past your lips despite the assurance, “sorry for disturbing you,” as most of the smoke escapes the room, pliant to Sirius’ frenetic fanning, you manage a small smile that he shyly returns, ashamed of his inconsiderate actions. Though he truly didn’t anticipate you returning to the shop. His shame doesn’t linger for long, however as he keeps the window open and makes his way over with open arms, pulling you into an embrace.

“What a pleasant surprise, what are you doing here, Doll?” he looks down at you, admiring your sweet face as it scrunches up in slight distaste and his heart drops. What’s upset his sweetheart?

“Y-you smell like cigarettes…” you utter without a single thought and immediately clasp your hands over your mouth, muffling a gasp of realisation. That was so rude!

“Shit–”

“I-I’m so sorry, Sirius. I didn’t mean to be ru–” but your apology was cut short when the tattoo artist steps away and begins pulling his shirt over his head and hurries about the room, looking for something.

“Sorry about that, Princess,” he gives up on his search and turns to you with a bashful smile, his toned torso and idiosyncratic tattoos on full display. Your mind goes completely blank as you admire the chiselled contours of his muscles and the beautiful tattoos that decorate his skin.

“U-uhh…”

“I guess I’ll have to ask James if he has a spare shirt or something…” muttering to himself, Sirius looks up and finally catches your eye, immediately noticing your admiring gaze. Naturally, a devilish smirk tugs at his lips, “or not~”

He has the face of an angel and the body of a jock with the eyes and lips of a demon.

Over time, you’ve come to visit the boys at their parlour more often and the guilt of distracting them from their work has chewed away at you. They were always quick to say that they adore having you around the parlour so your discouragement quickly dissipates. Nevertheless, you wanted to do good by them and started going on snack duties, not only to provide refreshments for them but also for their clients.

As a group and as a business, they agreed it would be a good investment to provide complimentary food and drink for their clients and themselves; getting tattoos was just as exhausting as giving them, especially for the big order clients. Therefore each room was fitted with a mini fridge and basket to host an array of snacks and beverages for anyone to have as they pleased.

The accumulated bill cost a pretty penny but one that the boys were willing to pay, they even managed to strike a deal with the vegan specialty store across the street to provide their best snacks for customers as a form of free advertising. It warmed your heart but it didn’t come close to the butterflies you felt when you found that the boys were first attracted to the shop for their regular donations to a local dog shelter.

You just came back from your trip over to help restock the fridges and snack baskets in each room. Remus was manning the front desk and handling clients and prospective customers. There was a stack of paperwork piled up next to him so he could multitask and stay preoccupied when there was a lull in business.

Meanwhile, Sirius was tending to a client and their massive back tattoo. You remember him telling you that this was just their second session and that he still had one or two more sessions left to go. You managed to slip in and out of the room without distracting him or his client too much; both were very busy, except for the emotional-support friend the client had brought along, who appreciated the restock of snacks and raided the stash even as you were restocking. The two of you giggled at that together as Sirius chuckled under his breath, shouting an appreciative ‘thank you’ while his client grumbled playfully, apologetic about their glutton of a friend. Their interaction made you giggle while slipping out the door and making your way to James' room - you don’t believe he’s with a client right now so you weren’t as anxious over potentially disturbing his flow. Though he was expecting one to arrive soon, according to his calendar.

“Snacks restock,” you call through the door with a knock before stepping inside.

“Thanks, angel,” James was in an all-black attire today. Black jeans, heavy leather Doc Martens and a black, compression shirt that accentuated his slim waist, broad shoulders and sculpted muscles. That along with his black latex gloves and the beautiful collage of tattoos weaving up his forearms stops you in place. It’s undeniable how attractive these men are but, as James sits in his artist chair, posture relaxed but oozing with confidence, dressed like sin with his boyish grin and adorable round glasses on, an antithesis to his dangerous attire, you stop in your tracks and stutter embarrassingly. It has to be illegal how divine he looks right now…

Using the wheels and mobility of his artist chair, James moves to sit before you as he examines the contents of your bag through the opening at the top and mutters about which ones he’s eyeing for himself. However, your stock-still, frozen figure doesn’t go unnoticed and he’s soon staring up at you. His hazel eyes shine with curiosity and thinly veiled mischief.

“Something wrong, Angel?” the pleasant drawl of his voice draws you from your obvious daydreaming and you’re stuttering out a pathetic, incoherent answer as he chuckles quietly, “Have you fallen for me?~”

The fucking tease!

It’s a hot summer day and Remus was sweating buckets up in the office. The heat was torturous and he silently begged for the winter cold to rush back with an icy fever, his desperation for a cool breeze evident in his dishevelled state.

It was common for James and Sirius to go around topless in their shameless, over-confident ways but Remus was stubborn about keeping a shirt on. They had been warned about the rising heat thanks to earlier weather warnings but preparing with a breezy linen button up wasn’t enough for Remus to keep to his strict dress code. For once, you were seeing him half-naked (almost) and like you were with Sirius and James the first time they surrendered to the heat, you stood in shock as an additional heat tormented your cheeks.

You didn’t know what to expect.

Clearly James was the muscular one of the three, Sirius was skinny but it didn’t mean he didn’t have any muscle – his arms and abs were especially defined, his thighs too, probably from his motorcycle. Remus was tall so, as the stereotype went, you didn’t expect him to have much muscle definition. However, as he laid back in his seat, his linen shirt unbuttoned but still tucked into his trousers and draped over his broad shoulders, you’re able to observe significant definition in his chest and the ridges of washboard-abs along his torso. Your eyes almost bulge out when you see the cuts of a V leading into his crotch area.

Remus despaired over feeling like a sweat-drenched dog, foul-smelling and unsightly with clumpy, sweaty hair when, in actuality, he couldn’t look better. Ths sweat made his skin glisten and helped keep his hair pushed back in the most attractive way. With his head slumped backward, his adam’s apple prominent, his tattoos on full display along the toned expanse of his torso, Remus looked heavenly. Especially with the sun shine pouring in from the open window and showering him in specs of gold.

So caught up in your silent admiration, you don’t notice when Remus peeks one eye open and spots you with a soft smile.

“You alright there, Dove?” he asks, chuckling as he sees the exact moment you were brought back to the present, “I see you’ve gotten my water for me,”

“Oh! Y-yeah,” you shyly walk up to him and hand over the chilled bottle of water from the mini fridge downstairs.

“You really are an angel,” he accepts the bottle and kisses the knuckles of your hand in thanks before taking a thirsty gulp. His sweet action of gratitude makes you want to squeal out loud but you bite your lip, not wanting to expose yourself. It was already embarrassing enough having to be caught staring.

It was then, however, that you took notice of a small, faded tattoo that didn’t match the gallery of inky art collaging Remus’ torso, “That tattoo looks different,” you say without thinking as you point towards the slightly faded crescent moon on Remus’ chest.

“Oh!” Remus chuckles and caresses his inked skin gently, fondness swimming in his chocolate-pool eyes, “This one is quite special actually,”

“Really?”

He nods and launches into the story when observing the curious look in your eyes, “When the guys and I finally graduated secondary school, we all got drunk off our asses and went to a hole-in-the-wall tattoo parlour to commemorate the occasion,” you both share a laugh at their reckless but typical behaviour as teenagers, “each of us got a silly little tattoo and the next day, when we were hungover, half-naked in James’ room – James on the floor, Sirius in the bathtub of his ensuite and me leaning against his bookcase, nobody on the bed –” you both laugh again, “we all found out we got different tattoos and from that, came our nicknames,”

You brows raise in interest, “You mean–”

“I have a moon so I’m ‘Moony’,” Remus confirms as your eyes sparkle with delight, a sight that Remus adores more than he’d ever admit aloud, “Sirius got a dog paw–”

“So that’s why you call him ‘Padfoot’, makes sense. What about James?”

“A stag head so he’s–”

“Prongs!” you cheer and giggle at finally discovering the reason behind their peculiar nicknames. It all made so much more sense now!

“My Angel calls for me?~” James’ voice sings through the door before he’s sauntering in and opening his arms, expecting you to fall willingly into them. It was tempting, considering he was shirtless and you’d love nothing more than to be held against his muscles but today was already swelteringly hot so you politely decline, to which smug expression James’ drops into that of a pitiful puppy’s.

It’s not a secret that the boys adore you, not only were you kind and sweet and the prettiest little thing they’ve ever laid their eyes on but you also cook like an absolute angel and they can never get enough, especially when compared to their own mediocre cooking skills. After being spoiled by you so often, they can no longer fathom eating their own inferior cuisine. They’ve expressed this to you multiple times so, whenever you could, you would cook dinner for them and you’d all eat together at their flat. It usually happened over the weekend and they always offered to pay for the ingredients needed.

Tonight, you had something special in mind to cook for them but weren’t well stocked on ingredients so it was agreed that Sirius would pick you up on his bike when you were finished shopping at the store. You made sure to text the tattooist a predicted time for when you would be finished with your shopping, remaining faithful to your shopping list so that you didn’t keep him waiting too long out in the overcast, chilly weather. Typical England.

Hurrying to get past self check out, you smile at the singular bag of ingredients you held in your hand, excited to spoil the boys with another night of good food. You aren’t shy in admitting how attractive Sirius was but it was unfair how sultry he looked when on his bike, wearing his all-black, leather outfit, his huge helmet and fingerless gloves. The many eyes eating him up were evidence enough of his ethereal beauty. And with his helmet on too. Perhaps it was the mystery of who he was behind the mask that these strangers fawned over him so much. You couldn’t fault them though, you would be the same in their shoes.

Having made this trip multiple times already, you recognised him and his bike in an instant.. Behind the visor of his helmet, Sirius suppresses an affectionate coo over how you visibly perk up when your eyes land on him. There was no need for sun when Sirius had your smile to light up his day.

“You good, Doll?” Sirius’ voice comes out muffled by his helmet as he dismounts his bike and opens up the storage compartment under the seat. He exchanges the spare helmet stored in the hidden compartment for the bag of groceries in your hand, “You got everything?”

“Yeah, thanks for waiting, Siri!”

You don’t see it but he smiles happily at the sound of your twinkling voice, “No worries, Doll,” he mounts the bike once more and takes it off it’s stand, “hop on,”

At this point, he expected you to be able to put your helmet on by yourself but he doesn’t account for the slight delay as you make sure it’s fitted over your head properly. Unable to help himself, Sirius waits leaning forward with his hand propping his head up as his elbow rests on the body of his bike. The stance makes him look as though he was admiring you like some lovestruck, teenage boy. When you catch sight of him after finally getting your helmet on, you laugh and throw your head back with the movement but end with placing your hands on your hips - scolding his actions, almost, although it was all in good fun. His response was to blow you a kiss by, first, touching his fingers to the front of his helmet and then laying his hand flat towards you.

You clutch at your stomach to contain the giggles as your shoulders shake before finally deciding to play along and return the gesture, imitating a flying kiss that he catches and holds to his chest. Whenever the helmet was put on, the two of you always got into the habit of exaggerating your movements seeing as your facial expressions were obscured. But that mask gives you two such confidence that you’re more comfortable with being flirtatious with each other.

You don’t complain but it makes your heart thump with want and a desire you were too afraid to fulfil.

“Sirius loves his bike,” Remus explains, “and James loves his car,” both men were too distracted taking maintenance of their respective vehicles to listen to Remus’ explanation of their attentiveness. It was the weekend and you had arranged to have Remus keep you accountable for completing your upcoming essay. At some point, you two join James and Sirius in the garage as they do the regular checks of their beloved ‘rides’. Their vigilant focus as they mill about the engines and operations of their car and bike were a great motivator for completing your essay and now that you’ve finished, you observe them in their element.

Both men had their muscular, tattooed arms on full display, clad in only their tight tank tops, ones that already had stains to begin with so they didn’t mind staining more as their fingers blackened with motor residue.

“What do you love, Remus?” you ponder, needing a distraction from the beguiling display before you but also curious. Did Remus have a secret love for a particular motor vehicle like the other two as well? You were beyond curious, although you couldn’t think of any other motor vehicle he would likely obsess over.

“Can’t say,” the tall brunette shrugs, subtly peering down at you from his higher vantage point, “I’m pretty sure those two love it just as much as I do so it won’t count,” his answer leaves you curious but he doesn’t elaborate further. Was he talking about a motor vehicle or something else entirely?

Giggling beside Remus, you watch the exchange unfold before you with amused eyes and a warm smile hidden behind your fingers. Seeing James and/or Sirius become whiny and pouty wasn’t an everyday occurrence but it happened often enough that you were used to their shenanigans and didn’t give in as easily as you used to, especially with Remus at your side to keep the boys in check. Such as right now. If it weren’t for Remus, you’re sure James and Sirius would have continued to whine and throw a strop until their clients got impatient, left and then proceeded to write a very passionate review about the lack of service. Thankfully, the piercer shooed them away as efficiently as always, reminding the two of their responsibilities and scheduled patrons.

“Stupid Moony,” James mutters under his breath as he walks away with Sirius, “...always getting Angel all to himself…”

As soon as the two are out of sight, Remus takes his usual seat behind the front desk and pulls out a small paperback book to keep him occupied. With warm eyes directed at you, he smiles and asks, “would you like to join me for a good read, Dove?” as he speaks, he brings his hand down to rest on his thigh and, with your reeling mind, you mistake the gesture for an invitation that you couldn’t refuse.

Remus never expected you to look so adorable when approaching to sit with him for a read at the register but, other than that, he never expected you to sit on his thigh. You didn’t meet his eyes at first so you didn’t see his shocked state or the creeping grin tugging up the corners of his lips.

It was embarrassing but this isn’t the first time the boys had you sit in their laps. This was just the first time you were made to sit on your own accord. You don’t think your embarrassment could get any more drastic, however, until you finally look up to see the surprised look on Remus’ face and finally realise your mistake.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry!”

He laughs at how adorable you are and winds his strong arm around your waist before you could even attempt to hop off his thigh.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” unable to resist, Remus presses a soft kiss against your temple and pulls you even closer to him, “you’re welcome to use me as a seat anytime,” he smiles adoringly at your bashful demeanour, “in fact, I encourage it,”

NAVI. | SERIES MASTERLIST

A/N : for those of you that don't know, the moodboard was requested by my darling moot @diputy on my 1k milestone event (now closed) but if you're curious, here are the links to the event and the request masterlist : 1k EVENT | 1k MLIST

TAGLIST : @susyelectra @fangirlninja67 @pagesfalling @thepunisherfrankcastle @axeofwars @imarimon @in-love-with-4-marauders @chicken-taco-burrito @valencia-rou @feast0nmeee @lestat-whore @hvmxjjk @twilightlover2007 @diaryofabiwoman @woohoney @celestialfantasiess @willbedecided @lovelyygirl8 @iiirhiane-g @mangodamochiii @queerqueenlynn @l3xiluve @brain-has-left @bunbunbl0gs @kneelforloki @citrusiove @virtualbuni @awkward-d3rs3-dr3amer @that1nerd-20 @wolfstar4everbitches @skepvids @dearmy-diary @littledollfacebaby @mylifeisnothing @em16cor @krazyk99 @imdoingbetternow @realalpacorn @remussbitch @swiftieeras1989 @lonely-nerd-sodaholic @canthavetoomuchchaos @rckstrbee @b-i-h-i @ennycutie @kneelforloki @theteaobsessedbug @padfoot1313 @d1gital-data @venezsuwayla @melllinaa

#poly marauders x reader #poly marauders #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #poly marauders x you #poly marauders imagine #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #marauders #poly!marauders #hit series #hit series : +imagines #marauders x reader #marauders fanfiction #hp marauders

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emoprincey · 1 year

Text

Dukexiety week - tattoo/florist

Author’s note: Here’s my submission for @dukexietyweek, I used the day one prompt tattoo/florist.

Writing taglist: @iclaimedtobethebetterbard

Word count: 798

“Are you sure about this?” Virgil asked, for the fifth time that day. He was wringing his hands as the two of them walked down the street to the tattoo parlour. “It’s just something I sketched, I’m nowhere near as good as a professional artist.”

Remus caught one of his hands, starting to swing it between them as they walked. “V, babe, you’re an amazing artist, you know I love your work. And I love you, there’s nobody I’d rather have design a tattoo for me.”

“Sap,” Virgil scoffed, hiding his face behind his hoodie sleeve, but Remus could see him blushing. “Hey, is this the place?”

Remus looked up at the shop they were passing. It was indeed Remy’s tattoo parlour, the windows filled with designs that his friend had drawn. “It is, come on! Remy will be excited to meet you!”

“I’ll be with you in a minute, babes,” Remy’s voice called when the two of them entered the shop, and Remus glimpsed his friend through the doorway to the back room, their head titled back to down the last of their coffee.

While they waited, Remus caught Virgil looking wistfully around at the tattoo designs Remy had tacked up on the walls. “Fancy one of your own? We could get some matching ones!”

Virgil snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m letting a massive needle anywhere near me,” he said, then he paused. “I’m sure this’ll work out great for you, though.”

Remus chuckled. “You don’t have to comfort me, baby, I’ve been here enough times before.”

“That’s true, Remus has been one of my best customers through the years,” Remy said when they finally emerged from the back room.

“Oh, you’re too kind,” Remus laughed.

“You want this on your forearm, right? As much as I appreciate your attempts to bring back some of the worst parts of ‘80s fashion, I’m gonna need you to take those off,” Remy said, gesturing to Remus’ neon green arm-warmers.

Remus let out his best offended gasp as he peeled off the arm-warmer on his left forearm to reveal the tattoo he’d been keeping covered since Virgil came out as trans a few weeks ago. He’d gotten the original tattoo pretty early on in their courtship – his twin brother Roman, who’d been through his fair share of heartbreaks and gotten a few tattoos of his own removed, had warned Remus that he might regret it, but Remus was happy to discover he’d been right when he decided Virgil was the one for him after only two months of dating. The tattoo was a pretty simple design, of Virgil’s birth name in a nice stylised font, surrounded by purple flowers.

“And the design for the cover-up?” Remy prompted.

Remus nodded, and took the paper Virgil had sketched the new design onto out of his pocket. Somehow, he’d managed not to get it too badly creased, leaving Virgil’s drawing intact and perfectly legible.

Remus had discussed the tattoo with Remy beforehand, and sent them a picture of Virgil’s sketch, but Remy still let out a low whistle when Remus handed it to them. “Damn, Virge, this is good! I should get you to sketch up some designs for the shop sometime.”

Virgil ducked his head the way he always did when he received compliments, but Remus could tell he was pleased with the attention. He’d worked hard on the redesign for Remus’ tattoo. He’d made sure to keep most of the basic shapes the same to make it easier on Remy, incorporating his chosen name with a few embellishments into the flower design.

“Yeah, I can work with this,” Remy said, holding the paper against Remus’ arm. “Sit down, you know what to do. We can get through this today, easy.”

Remus sat down in the chair next to Remy’s tattoo machine, and Remy sketched the new design on areas he’d need to change. Virgil sat in a chair nearby. Despite his aversion to getting a tattoo himself, he seemed curious about what was going on, and asked Remy a couple of questions about the process.

The tattoo took a couple of hours, along with a few breaks – shorter than most tattoos Remus had gotten.

When it was finally done, Remy wiped Remus’ arm clean. “What do you think?”

Remus looked down at the fresh tattoo of Virgil’s name, surrounded by purple flowers with added vines that looped around the letters.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” Remus said, hoping how choked his voice was wouldn’t show, and tilted his arm to let Virgil see.

Virgil peered at the tattoo, a grin forming on his face. “That’s... that’s amazing. God, I’m still not used to seeing my name written down.”

“Well, you’re gonna see this a lot more often now,” Remus said with a smile.

#sanders sides #remus sanders #virgil sanders #ts remy #ts remus #ts virgil #trans virgil #nonbinary remy #:)#probably very inaccurate depiction of how tattoos work tbh #dukexiety

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justdlightful · 6 months

Note

*materializes into existence*

Hey :D

Freakin love your art! Your art style is one of my favs. Janus Sanders on the floor from that one art piece makes me laugh, lmao. Love the way you draw all the details with everyone (like Remus' tattoo and their different eye shapes and clothing styles and Logan's moles(?), etc).

I was wondering what inspired your Sanders Side designs? Whatever you wanna share. They're all really cool!

Have fun :D

Hi, thank you so much. I really appreciate the positive feedback! I love character design, and one of my main goals for my designs for the human sides is to make sure that it’s abundantly clear that they’re completely different people, not just one person doing incredible acting and costuming. I suppose I hope that the sides could be perceived as just a normal friend group that you could pass on the street. I take some inspiration from @rondoel for my Virgil design, but for the most part the designs are just a scrapbook of many different people, designs, and character traits I’ve seen and filed away in my brain over the years. Taking clearly fantasy based traits from characters (Janus’ snake scales, Remus’ octopus inspired design) and turning them into realistic character traits (eczema for Janus to create a different texture in some areas of his body, tentacle tattoo on Remus) is a lot of fun for me. I also just have a tendency to project as an artist, so things like having an abundance of moles (Logan) are just based off traits that I have.

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rosepetalgold · 2 years

Text

all the silver stolen (will one day turn to gold) 1

Summary: Janus is an exceptionally good thief, if he does say so himself. Sure, his life of petty crime alongside Virgil and Remus isn’t ideal, exactly, but it’s good enough—until he tries to pickpocket the wrong person and learns three life-changing things: One, mages are terrifyingly real, go by the name of Logan, and do not appreciate being stolen from. Two, Remus has a twin brother. And three, Remus is actually the crown prince of the neighboring country, forced to start a new life after being framed for treason and left for dead in a brutal coup.

Whisked off to a new nation with Remus and Virgil, Janus struggles to adjust to high society and a life of court politics and intrigue, his inherent distrust of magic and his rocky—to put it lightly—relationship with Logan only complicating matters further. Trouble soon begins brewing in the kingdom as well, bringing with it whispers of old threats to the newly reunited princes, and when things go horribly wrong, Janus is forced to confront two questions with extraordinary consequences: How selfish is he, exactly? And just what is he prepared to sacrifice for those he loves?

Relationships: Romantic Loceit, background romantic Prinxiety, found family all around

Warnings for this chapter: Injury to a main character (for a full list of major warnings, check the tags on Ao3)

Word Count: 7316

Notes: My fic for the Thomas Sanders Big Bang 2022 (@sandersidesbigbang)! This is by far the longest fic I've ever written, and although it is responsible for me spending countless hours staring blankly at a google doc, it has definitely been a labor of love. I'm so excited to share it, and I hope you enjoy! Updates weekly!

A huge thank you to my wonderful beta readers Peregrin (@iclaimedtobethebetterbard) and Saphira (@dragonsaphirareads) for all their help wrangling the plot into something coherent and for all their feedback, as well as for not once complaining despite this beast of a fic more than doubling in length from its original estimated word count. They are truly amazing, and this story wouldn't be the same without them!

Also be sure to check out the absolutely stunning art from the two incredible artists I got to work with, Crow (@thecrowslullaby) and Hedgey (@hedgeyart)! I will link to Crow's work in the respective chapters, but in the meantime you can both dazzle your eyes and get a spoiler-free teaser of the later part of the fic by heading over to Hedgey's piece right here.

Read on Ao3 Masterpost

start - previous - you're here! - next

Janus is an exceptionally good thief, if he does say so himself. Such a claim isn’t even bragging, not when he has the proof to back it up; he knows how to slip unnoticed through empty and crowded marketplaces alike, knows how to steal coin purses and jewelry and watches right off of any unsuspecting person and leave them none the wiser of his actions, knows how to sell what he’s acquired for a fair price on the black market. He’s had to learn such things just to survive, especially given how he’d first found himself on the streets, young and frightened and overwhelmed, a life of crime the only thing standing between himself and a long, slow death of starvation.

But more than being a talented thief, Janus is a smart thief. He knows how to select the best mark while avoiding the plainclothes guards just waiting to catch an unwary pickpocket, knows how to take advantage of a distraction or create one himself, knows how to judge which risks are worth taking and which are better left unchanced. His quick fingers may be what has granted him enough food and money to keep himself alive, but it’s his even quicker mind that has allowed him to evade the common thief’s fate of a short drop and a sudden stop for so many years.

Unfortunately, Janus is also currently a desperate thief, and desperate thieves are apt to do extraordinarily dangerous things, which is how he finds himself fumbling his lockpicks into his freezing hands as he crouches outside a fancy stone building in the middle of the night, no backup in sight and only the barest bones of a plan rattling around inside his skull. Breaking into any building, let alone an apothecary, is high-risk enough that he would normally never even consider such a thing, loath to put himself in such a perilous situation when he’s perfectly content weaving through crowds as his fingers dance in and out of pockets. But Virgil had taken a nasty fall by the run-down blacksmith’s forge a few days prior, gashing his leg open on a jagged piece of metal sticking out of a scrap pile, and the wound was now clearly infected, angrily inflamed and leaking foul-smelling pus as Virgil grew clammy and delirious.

If it were anyone else, Janus would have simply told them to hope for the best but make peace with whatever gods they believed in in the likely event of the worst, but Virgil is nothing if not an exception to all of Janus’ rules. Janus had practically raised the other man despite being only a handful of years older than him, had taken him in and tried his best to keep him clothed and fed while he’d taught him how to steal, nevermind that he’d barely been able to support himself, let alone anyone else. It had taken a lot from both of them to build trust, and even more for their wary alliance to slowly bloom into genuine friendship, but somehow, impossibly, it had, the venom in their sarcastic comments and snarky remarks mellowed save for the occasional argument.

Remus had come along a few years later and fallen in easily to make their duo a trio, more because of his uncanny ability to always be around and his refusal to leave rather than because of any official invitation to join. There had been something odd about him from the very beginning, something in the hint of an accent that sometimes slipped out and the foreign cut of his clothes and the shimmering gold necklace that he always wore against his chest and refused to take off, the sum of it all enough to give Janus pause, but he’d proven himself early by getting Janus out of a bind with some guards and his eyes had lit up with unrestrained glee when Janus had begun to plot crimes with him, so into the group he’d come. Given his own undisclosed past, Janus has never pressed Remus to lay bare his secrets, content just to take any observations he makes and tuck them away to mull over when he has a spare moment, trying to tease Remus’ life story from the scraps of details he’s collected and never getting too far because really, he has better things to worry about, like where he’ll get food for the day or how to get Virgil new boots in the middle of winter.

It’s comfortingly familiar by now, the way they work together, two of them operating in tandem to distract and pickpocket their mark while the third keeps a lookout, years of practice making the three of them a formidable team. Occasionally they’ll split up to cover more ground or one of them will find an odd job and jump at the opportunity for a few guaranteed coins, but for the most part they stick together, finding safety in numbers and taking comfort in knowing that someone they trust is watching their backs.

Tonight, though, with Virgil down for the count and Remus watching over him, it’s just Janus. The pressure of potentially having Virgil’s life in his hands is doing wonders for his nerves, truly. That churning sensation in his stomach is adding a delightful bit of excitement to what would otherwise clearly be a dreadfully boring situation.

Despite the severity of Virgil’s injury, taking him to a healer had been soundly out of the question; physicians’ rates were much too high for the three of them to afford even if they cashed out their meager savings, and even if they could have somehow found the money, they couldn’t risk a doctor getting suspicious about how a trio of obvious street urchins had managed to afford his services.

So breaking into the apothecary it is.

Virgil had always been the best lockpick out of the three of them, but Janus manages to wiggle the tiny tools into the lock, biting back a string of curses that would make even Remus blush as he struggles to to maneuver the instruments properly.

Rude of people to actually lock their doors and protect their valuables. Completely uncalled for.

Finally, after entirely too many minutes of fiddling with the picks with bated breath, there’s the tiniest of clicks and the knob turns easily under his hand when he tests it. Success, and it had only taken him three times as long as it would have Virgil. Surely stealing a bit of medicine will be child’s play in comparison.

He eases the door open, wary of any squealing hinges and ready to flee at the first sign of movement, but everything is silent and still as he slips inside. There’s enough moonlight filtering in through the windows to illuminate the space in a silvery glow, and he pauses for a moment, taking stock. Off to his right, in the back of a shop, stands a tall cabinet with a multitude of small drawers, doubtless housing fresh and dried ingredients of all sorts, but although Janus is tempted, he edges past it. He knows enough basic first aid to be able to make common ointments for minor injuries and ailments, but the drawers look like they’re liable to squeak if he so much as looks at them wrong, and he doesn’t want to risk mixing up ingredients in the dark and killing Virgil with some kind of poison on accident. The other man might be just a tad upset with him if he did that.

What he’s really after are the medicines that have already been prepared, which he assumes are significantly less likely to make him an accidental murderer, and as he creeps further into the shop on silent feet he discovers there’s a whole display of them near the front windows, colorful glass jars a washed-out rainbow in the moonbeams.

Perfect. One little snatch and he’ll be gone before anyone even knew he was here, in and out in less time than it takes to brew a proper cup of tea, his extraordinary talents once again having saved the day, except—

Except the jars are labeled with small slips of paper adorned with writing instead of pictures like the cheap medicines he’s used to, and Janus—

Janus can’t read.

Shit. Of all the times for his lack of a formal education to come back and bite him, of course it would be when Virgil’s life hung in the balance. What a lovely sense of humor the universe had.

He resists the urge to swear aloud and glares at the jars instead on the off chance doing so will magically solve his problem. The jars themselves should offer some clues, but he’s not familiar with this particular apothecary, doesn’t know how their medicines are color-coded. Is the little crimson container for burns, since red was associated with fire? Or is it to stop bleeding? Or is it neither of those, representing something else entirely? Janus doesn’t know.

Time to improvise, then. He hasn’t gotten this far only to be foiled by some inky squiggles.

Casting another wary glance around the quiet shop, he shifts closer to the display and the row of jars lined up neatly atop the shelves. Samples of some kind, perhaps, but their purpose is less important than the fact that they look infinitely easier to handle without clinking together than the jars clustered together on the shelves. He goes down the line one by one, carefully unscrewing each little container’s lid and sniffing the contents, trying to recognize the scent of any ingredients that might treat infected wounds.

Not the red, definitely not the orange, maybe the yellow?

He’s getting antsy, nerves crawling along his skin and skittering down his spine, his instincts screaming at him that he needs to get out, this is taking too long, he’s already been here for more time than he’d planned. But unless he’s suddenly been granted the ability to produce medicine out of thin air, he doesn’t have any other option than to go through the jars as quickly as possible. Taking a pot of each color and figuring out their uses later is a last resort, not only because he doesn’t have anything to wrap them in so they don’t clink together in his bag but also because he doesn’t want this to be a high-profile theft. Taking copious amounts of medicine is bound to put the guards on high alert, which is the last thing he needs when their trio is already running perilously low on food and supplies and will need to be out and about stealing to replenish them.

No, if he can only find the damn jar he wants, he’ll just take that and be gone and with any luck the apothecary owner will think they’ve simply misplaced it somewhere and not even realize they’ve been robbed.

Not the light or dark green jars, but the blue smells familiar—

A shriek splits the air, so shrill and unexpected that Janus’ whole body goes white with razor-sharp panic in an instant, his knife in his grip before he can even parse where the sound has come from or what’s happening, the purple jar he’d been holding slipping out of his hand and shattering into an incriminating pile of shards at his feet, the heady scent of lavender filling the air. No. No no no, there hadn’t been anyone else here, he was sure of it, how—who—

There’s a figure on the other side of the shop, standing in the doorway of what Janus had assumed to be nothing more than a storage closet and which he now realizes, entirely too late, is in fact a stairway to the second floor, which must serve as the healer’s residence and not an extension of the shop as he’d thought.

Apparently he needed to add ‘making correct assumptions’ to his list of innumerable talents.

He’s moving on instinct before he can even take a breath, lunging to grab the little blue jar—stars, he doesn’t even know for sure if it’s the right medicine—before he’s bolting for the exit, fear snapping in his veins, the only thought in his head run run RUN.

“No, wait! Stop!”

Right, of course he’s going to pause for the person who has just caught him stealing red-handed, just wait around to be hauled off to jail for his crimes. Why doesn’t he strike up some small talk while he’s at it?

He’s across the shop and out the back door in a heartbeat, pure adrenaline propelling him forwards as he tucks the precious jar into the safety of his bag, his footsteps echoing dully against the hard-packed dirt in the still night air as he attempts to wrangle rational thought back into his head. Getting caught by the shopkeeper was hardly ideal, but a glance over his shoulder proves they’re not coming after him, and as long as no one else has heard their shriek he should be able to make a clean getaway—

“Hey!”

His heart is pounding so hard in his own ears that he hardly hears the gruff shout, barely sees a form suddenly loom in his peripheral vision, but he certainly feels the hand that snags his cloak for a moment before he manages to wrench free. The healer, trying to cut him off? How the fuck had he managed to outpace Janus?

But when he glances backward he’s met not with the sight of pastel pajamas and blonde curls but of a dark uniform and a sword flashing as it’s drawn from its sheath.

One of the Guard. Stars, couldn’t a man just steal some medicine in peace anymore?

He forces himself to go faster, hurtling headlong down the empty street as he tries to think. He isn’t familiar with this area, doesn’t know its ins and outs like he does his own neighborhood, but if he can just find a side street he should be able to lose the guard in the labyrinth of alleys lacing the city. He veers down the first promising opening he sees, the deeper shadows welcoming him in—

—and promptly finds himself met with a dead end.

Fuck.

He whirls, his only option to backtrack to the main road before he’s cornered, only to find a broad figure already blocking his only way out, sword in hand. Janus is trapped.

Fuck.

“Come on, don’t make this hard on yourself, boy,” the guard growls, advancing forward a step, and Janus can’t help but skitter back in turn, eyes fixed on the glinting blade in the other man’s hand. He can’t get caught now, not when he still has the medicine in his bag, not when Virgil is doubtless still caught in the deadly grip of fever and infection. Janus getting thrown in jail would be nothing less than a death sentence for both of them.

And yet here he finds himself, nothing but high stone walls around him and a larger, stronger opponent he surely can’t best in a fight in front of him.

Not a physical fight, at least, but a mind game or two, a few dirty tricks thrown in to round things off? That Janus is willing to gamble on.

“Okay,” he concedes, letting his voice tremble slightly as the guard takes another stride into the alley. “Okay, just please don’t hurt me, sir.”

The man visibly preens at the honorific, sword tip lowering slightly, and Janus resists the urge to roll his eyes even as his pulse still hammers entirely too quickly in his ears. Honestly. These brutes made playing their ego entirely too easy.

“Put the knife down,” the man orders, and Janus obligingly crouches, the ground freezing even on his half-numb hands as he lays his palms flat on the dirt.

“I’m sorry, sir, please don’t hurt me,” he whimpers as he curls in on himself, the very picture of contrition.

“That’s right, you just cooperate and no one’s going to get hurt here.”

“Of course, sir,” Janus snivels as a pair of black boots come into view of his downcast gaze, followed a moment later by a sword tip. “Anything you say—”

He surges upwards, knife sweeping in front of him as he lunges past the guard, and for the barest fraction of a moment he thinks he’s made it, that his plan has actually worked, that brains have triumphed over brawn—

Pain explodes in his side, a white-hot line of fire that makes black stars burst across his vision and wrenches a strangled cry from his lips, but he has to keep moving, has to go, has to get away while he still has even a sliver of a chance, and he can’t stop, he can’t stop, he can’t stop even if it feels like he’s just been torn right in half.

He doesn’t even know how he manages to make it to the end of the alley and back onto the main road, given how blank his mind has gone with panic and adrenaline; he’s just there, in between one wave of black stars and the next, lurching for the first side street he sees and praying to all the gods he doesn’t even believe in that it’s not another dead end. If he can just make it into the twisting maze of alleyways, he should be able to lose the guard, provided he doesn’t bleed out in the process.

“Get back here, you little shit!”

The furious voice and its accompanying footfalls are far closer than Janus would like, but he doesn’t dare look behind him. If he’s going to get a sword through the spine, the last thing he wants is to see it coming.

“Guard!” Another voice splitting the air behind him. The healer? “Hey, guard!”

The guard’s steps falter, the other man clearly debating whether it’s worth it to continue pursuing a petty thief at the risk of failing to help a wealthy noble in need, and his hesitation is all the opportunity Janus needs to fling himself around a corner into another alley.

Stars above, please don’t be another dead end, please please please—

There must be some higher power after all, some deity who finally takes pity on him, or perhaps fate has simply decided to give him a fighting chance, because the narrow street tees into two at the end. He picks a direction at random, hope leaping treacherously in his chest that he’s at last found a way out of this mess, only to be dashed at the sound of footfalls picking up again behind him, the guard apparently having decided Janus is somehow more important than the healer.

Janus would be flattered if it didn’t mean he was about to either be sliced into ribbons or thrown into jail and sentenced to hang. As it is, he’s less than enthused.

Fear is biting at his heels, urging him faster, but he’s already lagging, lungs burning as he gasps for air, black and red spots encroaching on any spare sliver of vision, searing pain ripping through his body with every step as he jostles his new injury. He can’t keep going like this, not without collapsing within the next minute, and even though the guard behind him may be all brute force and no brain, Janus is pretty sure even he would notice Janus’ body sprawled in the middle of the street.

He scans around him as he flees further up the alley, searching for any place to take cover, but there’s nothing but unscalable walls around him. Nothing, nothing, nothing, until suddenly—there. A tiny gap between two buildings, cloaked in impenetrable shadows. He stumbles to a halt, blowing out whatever tiny bit of air he has left in his lungs in order to make himself as small as possible as he desperately wedges himself into the space. Even then, and despite Janus’ slim stature from years of malnutrition, it’s a tight fit, and he’s barely managed to squeeze himself all the way in before there’s heavy footsteps drawing closer, slowing to a jog and then a walk as the guard clearly tries to deduce where his victim has disappeared to.

Too late does Janus realize that if the other man had any intelligence at all, he would just go find a torch or lantern and track Janus using the bloodtrail he’s undoubtedly left in his wake, but there’s precisely nothing he can do about that now. He crams a handful of cloak into his mouth, both to muffle his pants of pain and to hide the cloud of his breath in the frigid air, turning his head away from the alleyway lest the glint of light off of his eyes give him away.

Given how his wonderful luck is going, he can only brace himself for a blade to come spearing into his ribs, easy as stabbing fish in a barrel, but the footsteps move right past him without a hitch, continuing down the street until they escape Janus’ earshot altogether. But Janus doesn’t move a muscle, despite the fact that his right foot is sinking into something squishy he does not ever want to identify and the smell of rotting food and dead animal is so heavy and cloying in his nose that he has to fight down bile.

Patience. If he can survive a sword almost making his insides be on the outside, he can survive sharing a claustrophobically small space with a few dead rats.

Sure enough, the footfalls return a few minutes later, slower this time as the guard backtracks his steps. Janus hardly dares breathe, sure his luck won’t hold a second time, but once again the other man continues past his hiding place without pause, apparently none the wiser to his quarry literally being within arm’s reach.

A flawless escape if Janus does say so himself, nevermind the fact that he’s taken a sword blade to the ribs in the process. That little detail was wholly inconsequential.

Still, it’s a long while that he bides his time, waiting until he’s satisfied the guard isn’t going to come back a third time, and even then he forces himself to wait some more, just in case. By the time he finally edges out of his little nook and back into the alley proper, his feet and hands have long since gone numb and the black spots in his vision have returned in full force, any movement that pulls at his side even the slightest bit sending ripples of agony through his ribs now that the numbing effects of his adrenaline rush have worn off.

A shame he’s neither brave enough nor stupid enough to try retuning to the apothecary, considering he could really use some painkillers right now.

He keeps his arm firmly pressed against the wound, desperate to keep as much pressure as he can stand on the injury even as a fresh line of warmth trickling down his waist informs him he hasn’t managed to stop the bleeding. He should probably check on it, he knows, try to fashion some kind of bandage from his shirt, but his stomach is already queasy enough that he doesn’t trust he’d be able to witness whatever damage has been wrought upon him without passing out, so his arm will have to suffice.

Out of sight, out of mind, he tells himself. It was fine. He was fine. Everything was fine. If he just repeats it enough times, maybe he’ll begin to believe it, despite the fact that the world tilts alarmingly when he dares a tiny step forward. He hasn’t keeled over and died yet, so the injury can’t be that bad, can it?

It doesn’t matter. Janus just needs to suck it up and get home to deliver the medicine to Virgil before the other man kicks the bucket and all of this has been in vain.

It’s a risk to return to their hideout when there’s a chance the guard chasing him might lie in wait for him to reappear and follow him back home, but it seems an equal risk to spend too much time on the streets when the other man, if not the whole of the night guard by now, is looking for him. He compromises by opting to take the long way back to the impoverished underbelly of the city, secreting himself away in the shadows of back alleys as he muffles his pants of pain into his cloak, biting down so hard on the fabric shoved into his mouth that he’s surprised he doesn’t put holes in it.

It takes him several times longer than it should to return to familiar surroundings, given that he has to pause every few steps either to listen for any guards or to wait for the world to stop spinning around him, but he never dares stop for too long, not as it grows increasingly unlikely that he’ll be able to haul himself back up if he collapses on the ground like his body is begging him to.

It’s nearly dawn by the time he finally deems he isn’t being followed and crosses the final few streets to their little hovel, and he allows himself a single moment to grimace against the pain biting into every single inch of his body, gritting his teeth against the overwhelming sensation. And then he’s pulling himself upright, schooling his features into an expressionless mask as he raps their familiar passcode rhythm on the door and pushes inside.

Virgil is just where he’d left him, still unconscious on the mattress pulled up close to the fireplace, shifting restlessly in his sleep and babbling something nonsensical under his breath, and Janus can’t help a silent sigh of relief that the other man hasn’t expired in his absence.

“Did you get it?” Remus asks immediately from where he’s trying to coax some water down Virgil’s throat, and Janus digs in his bag to hold up the little jar of medicine, careful to keep his other arm pressed securely to his side to hide his injury. He knew having a cloak dark enough to hide bloodstains would come in handy one day. “Good, cause this wound is getting nastier by the second and as fun as it would be to try out a bone saw, I don’t think little Virgie would appreciate only having one leg.”

Janus wrinkles his nose at the mental image of Remus and the havoc he could wreak with such an instrument, just the thought of such carnage turning his stomach. He’s already lost enough blood tonight for the three of them. He doesn’t even want to contemplate one of them losing any more via amputation.

“Good thing he’s unconscious; he would tear you to pieces for calling him Virgie.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Remus retorts, but his face is lined with worry as he brushes a stray lock of hair off Virgil’s forehead. Shit. Things must be going from bad to worse if even Remus is this concerned.

Janus hurries to rinse his hands off in the bowl of water on the table, making a mental note to discard the now crimson liquid before Remus can see it, unceremoniously drying his hands on his pants as he crouches next to the other man. The movement pulls sharply at his wound, sending yet another wave of black spots dancing across his vision, and he has to bite back a hiss of pain as he wavers slightly. Don’t pass out now, not now, not before helping Virgil—

Remus casts him a sidelong glance, seeming to notice something is wrong.

“You okay, Janny?”

No, Janus is about to say, not unless you want to go find a guard with a sword so we can all have matching wounds.

But then he unscrews the lid off the little jar of salve and dips a finger in to find—

Nothing.

Cold panic snaps up his spine, shot nerves surging protestingly back to life. No, there’s no way he could have stolen an empty jar. He was a thoroughly accomplished thief, and thoroughly accomplished thieves simply did not make mistakes like accidentally grabbing the wrong pot of medicine.

Unless, perhaps, they were the tiniest bit distracted by the dark and the healer screaming at the sight of them and the fear turning their mind blank.

He braces himself for the worst, to have to return to the apothecary and try to steal something else, but when he tilts the jar to peer in he’s met with the sight of a cream ointment, albeit barely enough to coat the bottom of the glass. He swears viciously as he tips the container towards Remus for him to see, and the other man wrinkles his face up in annoyance at the lack of medicine.

“That sucks,” he pronounces. “Would have been nice to have had some extra in case someone gets a hand bitten off by a pack of stray dogs or something.”

“Fuck. Fuck.” Tears of frustration are suddenly pricking at the back of Janus’ eyes and he forces them back through sheer willpower, absolutely refusing to cry in front of Remus. Just because he’s exhausted and injured and absolutely nothing has gone right tonight doesn’t mean he’s going to make it anyone else’s problem. Virgil is the one who needs attention. Janus needs to pull himself together and start being useful.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Remus says, peering into the jar again. “There’s enough here for Virgil.”

But not for me, Janus thinks, but he can’t say it, can’t reveal his own injury, not when the jar is so tiny and there’s so little ointment left and all he can remember is Virgil looking up at him that morning, dark gaze so pained and vulnerable even as he’d tried to hide it as Janus had promised that he’d find him some medicine.

No. Janus is selfish about many things, has had to be just in order to survive, but he’s never been able to be selfish when it comes to Virgil and Remus. He can’t be selfish about this.

Besides, there’s a chance he won’t even need the medicine; he’s suffered plenty of injuries before that have healed on their own, nevermind that little voice in the back of his head whispering that none of those wounds had been nearly as bad as this one.

So he dips his fingers back into the jar and carefully spreads the salve on Virgil’s wound, not stopping until the container is empty of even a speck of ointment and the medicine has been rubbed gently into every inch of angry red skin. Remus fusses over rebandaging the injury and tucking Virgil back in while Janus slips the empty jar into a basket of various other small, stolen items. They won’t be able to sell it, not right away, not with the Guard looking for anything connected to the apothecary break-in, but they might be able to trade it for something down the line.

“Did you run into any trouble while you were out?” Remus asks as he slumps back onto the floor by the fireplace, fiddling with the edge of the blankets.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Janus replies smoothly, and it’s not even a lie—he had handled it, had managed to evade being caught and had made it home all (or mostly, he supposes) in one piece. What did it matter that he’d met with the business end of a sword while he was out? Give it a few months and the injury would be just another scar on Janus’ skin, one more unspoken story of a bind he’d gotten himself out of with his superior wit and talent.

Either that or he would be dead of blood loss or infection and it wouldn’t be his problem anymore. One or the other.

Remus gives him a sidelong look like he doesn’t quite believe Janus’ lie, eyes narrowing and mouth opening to no doubt ask more prying questions, and Janus hurriedly cuts in before he can get the chance.

“Will you go see what you can find for breakfast? I know Ms. Fordham at the bakery has a soft spot for Virgil, but she might give you some day-old bread for a good price if you’re there early and offer to haul in the flour deliveries.”

Remus still has that look in his eye like he’s going to push the issue, a heavy silence falling between the two of them as he locks Janus into a staring contest, an unspoken battle of wills that Janus doubts he’s going to win in his current state. The only people more stubborn than him were his own gods-damned family.

Time to play dirty, then.

“I wouldn’t want Virgil to wake up hungry with nothing to eat,” he presses.

Remus stares at him for another long moment, those clever eyes searching Janus’ for any hint of something amiss, and Janus forces himself to hold his gaze with an impassive expression. Nothing’s wrong, he tries to communicate telepathically. Nothing’s wrong, just go get breakfast and everything will be okay. I absolutely am not about to pass out from blood loss and join Virgil on the floor.

He doubts he’s giving a convincing performance of being fine, but it must be just enough, because Remus finally huffs and gives in, heaving himself up off the ground and muttering something Janus sincerely doubts is flattering as he swipes his cloak off the hook by the door.

“Don’t use the bone saw without me,” he orders, which Janus interprets as make sure Virgil doesn’t take a turn for the worse.

“Pinky promise,” Janus swears, holding out his hand, and Remus takes a moment to latch his finger around Janus’ before disappearing out the door into the dull, pre-dawn light.

Janus counts to ten, then fifty, a hundred, making sure Remus is well and truly gone, before he allows himself to double over with a strangled groan, squeezing his eyes shut and digging his nails into his thigh as the full extent of his injury finally hits him.

Fuck, this hurt. If he wanted to know what it felt like to have tongues of fire licking at his ribs, he would have just asked Remus if he wanted to practice his arson skills.

He draws in a deep breath on instinct, trying to breathe through the pain if nothing else, and the agony surges, spearing through his chest into his muscles and tendons and veins and coiling around his heart until he can barely breathe, wrenching a sound suspiciously close to a whimper from his throat, and it’s all he can do to just exist in the pain for a moment.

Okay. No deep breaths, then.

Exhaustion is dragging at him even through the pain, weighing down his eyelids and leadening his bones now that the adrenaline of being chased and tending to Virgil is wearing off, and he wants nothing more than to collapse right here on the ground next to Virgil and just sleep, slipping into sweet unconsciousness where he doesn’t have to worry about whether Virgil will get better or whether his own injury will become infected or whether the Guard will come crashing through the door at any moment to arrest all three of them.

But if he doesn’t tend to his wound before he falls into bed, he’s just going to end up in Virgil’s position in a few days when it gets infected, not to mention he’ll have to explain the bloodstains he’s leaving on the floor to Remus.

Actually, knowing Remus, he would be beyond delighted at the latter and eagerly demand to know where the blood was from, but Janus doesn’t trust his mental capacities at the moment to come up with any halfway believable lie.

“Lucky bastard,” he hisses at Virgil, who is still slumbering away pain-free and blissfully unaware of Janus’ predicament. He begins to inch himself across the floor to the table, taking tiny sips of air to try to calm the fire still battering his ribs. The world spins alarmingly around him as he uses the piece of furniture to claw himself upright, and he sways unsteadily on his feet once he gets there.

“Come on,” he mutters, some distant part of his mind whispering that he should really be alarmed that he’s devolved into talking to himself. “It’s just a little blood loss. How bad can it be?”

He keeps one hand on the wall for support as he makes his way past the curtain dividing the main living space from what serves as their bedroom. The main mattress has been moved into the other room next to the fireplace so they don’t freeze in their sleep in the colder months, but there’s a smaller bed here, salvaged off the street and put back together by Remus, and Janus eases himself onto it.

It’s a slow, agonizing process to get his shirt off, any movement or stretch pulling at his injury, and he has to stop more than once for the stars that dance in his vision, but he finally works his way free of the garment. A sharp breath hisses between his teeth as he cranes his neck down to examine the injury, nausea turning his stomach. It’s not a pretty sight, the dried blood flaking down his side disturbed by trails of fresh crimson still leaking from the wound, and Janus spits out a swear, then another, and another. If he’d known this was how things were going to go, he would have stolen everything he could carry from the apothecary instead of trying to keep a low profile by only taking one paltry jar of salve.

Next time—if he lives to see a next time—he’s taking the whole damn shelf of medicine, clinking jars be damned.

There’s a pitcher of water on the nightstand and he uses it and a rag to clean the injury as best he can, agony sparking up his spine whenever a drop of freezing water or the edge of the fabric gets too close to the jagged gash, but he forces himself to hurry, knowing Remus won’t be gone long. The bed is an absolute mess by the time he’s done, scarlet water settling into stains on the sheets, but that’s a problem for future Janus. He has bigger worries at the moment than laundry.

Between the ice-cold water and the chill in the air he’s shivering now, and he’s quick to dry off as best he can before moving on to bandaging. Their stockpile of nice bandages is almost depleted and Janus isn’t willing to take the few remaining in case Virgil needs them, so he opts for their homemade bandages instead, which is a generous term for it, considering that they’re fashioned from scraps of fabric too worn out to function as clothes anymore, but Janus isn’t in any position to be picky. As long as it stops the bleeding, it’ll do.

The pain is at least becoming familiar, if not exactly pleasant, as he winds the long, spiraling strips tightly around his ribs, even as his stomach churns at the thought that so much blood that is supposed to be inside his body is very much not. Just beet juice, he tells himself, not above lying to himself if it means not passing out on the bedroom floor. Just beet juice on your hands and the bandages and the bed, nothing more.

Almost done. He shoves his torn and bloodstained shirt under the mattress out of sight of curious eyes and forces himself up to grab another one from the pile in the corner, very nearly finding himself on the ground from the way the world tilts violently around him as he staggers upright. He’s panting with pain and exertion by the time he finally manages to get the blasted thing on, but the sense of relief that washes over him once he does is immediate. His secret is safe for now, at least. No one else needed to worry about him.

The bed is almost irresistibly tempting, but he stumbles his way back into the main room, collapsing heavily on the floor next to Virgil to sit as a guard until Remus gets back.

“You heard nothing,” he tells the other man as he scuffs at the half-dried bloodstains on the floorboards with his boot, smearing them into less incriminating streaks. “Everything is fine.”

Virgil doesn’t deign to respond beyond drooling onto his own arm, and Janus groans, tipping his head back against the wall as his eyelids drag closed of their own volition. He can’t sleep, not yet, not until Remus returns, but maybe he’ll just rest his eyes for a moment, just a few seconds…

He wakes with a heavy groan in his chest, the pain in his ribs fiercely unrelenting, and he curls in on himself instinctively, the phantom feel of a sword biting into his ribs entirely too real. Fuck, he’d really been hoping that whole apothecary debacle had been nothing more than a strikingly vivid nightmare. Apparently not.

“Nice guard job you’re doing there, Jan.”

He squints one eye open, glaring at Remus where he’s sprawled on the floor on the other side of Virgil.

“Good thing I wasn’t planning on doing anything nefarious. I could have killed both of you and you were so out of it you would’ve just floated right into the light.”

Janus scowls at him, nowhere near the mood to joke about anyone dying. The possibility hit just a little too close to home for comfort at the moment.

“Here,” Remus says, entirely unaffected by Janus’ look, offering him a slice of bread. “You were right about Ms. Fordham.”

Of course he was. Janus is always right.

He nibbles through the bread while Remus rambles on about a mishap with one of the flour bags, his stomach still roiling even though he’s ravenous. He realizes halfway through that Virgil is frighteningly still, but when he scrambles to check he realizes it’s because the other man is sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.

Last night had been worth it, then, no matter that Janus can’t breathe too deeply or move too suddenly without feeling like a knife is being twisted into his side. Janus was more than willing to be collateral damage if it meant Virgil healing.

Remus leaves before long, off in search of any other odd jobs he can do for a few coins to keep them fed, and Janus spends the afternoon on the floor, dozing on and off and trying to coax some broth down Virgil’s throat. The other wakes that evening, in pain but coherent, and Janus helps him slowly eat a real meal while Remus carefully washes and rebandages his leg.

“How kind of you to finally rejoin the waking world,” Janus tells the younger man as he checks Remus’ progress for the third time in as many minutes, making sure he’s not winding the bandages too tightly. “I’ve so enjoyed pulling your weight around here while you indulged in a little nap, you know.”

“You could use a nap,” Virgil mutters snippily. “Although I doubt any amount of beauty sleep could fix your face.”

It’s hardly a devastating response, especially given that Janus’ face is undeniably flawless if he does say so himself, but a coil of tension unwinds in his gut at the retort. If Virgil can roll his eyes and keep up a bit of banter, he must be on the mend.

That’s the important thing, nevermind that Janus’ own injury is only getting more painful, the untreated wound a recipe for disaster. Virgil is okay, and that’s all that matters. As for himself, all he can do is wait and hope things get better.

---

Fancy starting the taglist for this fic? Let me know!

#thomas sanders sides big bang 2022 #tssbb 2022 #sanders sides #ts janus #janus sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #loceit #ts fanfic #all the silver stolen (will one day turn to gold)#my fic #rosepetal writes

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black-occamy · 1 month

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After reading this amazing Remus analysis by @dufferpuffer I got inspired to try and put my ideas about the Pack in one place. It got a bit LONG though, so instead of hijacking a reblog of the post, I decided on a separate one.

I originally wanted to keep all these information to myself, gradually revealing it in a story, in hopes that maybe it will be fun for readers to discover it. That was a year ago. Since then I remembered that in fanfiction almost no one is expecting an original story and that almost no one is willing to give an OC a chance (unless said OC is slapped with a canon-like label and named Dorcas or Marlene or whatever). That said, I don't want it to sound like I'm giving up on my story - far from it - but since I'm currently stuck on writing and these concepts are just buzzing to be released - here goes... (It's a lot of rambling and after re-reading it a couple times I was seriously (ha!) considering not posting it at all.) (Mainly because it flattens my storyline to that of a romance and I have so much more in mind.) (But then, if I never finish it...)

Please note that if in the middle of reading this way too long post you decide that you'd actually like the story itself and don't want too many plot spoilers - links to ao3 are on my blog in pinned post. You're also more than welcome to send me a message with some words of encouragement - as all artists, I feed on comments, maybe it's yours that I need?

I've reiterated a couple times on this blog that in my personal headcanon Remus is a person who benefits from having support of loving people around him. What better way to exploit it in a story than to put him in a polyamorous relationship? (I mean, eventually, the story progresses from way before that happens.)

Chronologically speaking, Sirius was first for Remus and vice versa - both emotionally and physically (well, almost). Somewhere around fifth grade they realised they have feelings for one another and that those feelings are - clumsily and carefully, as two teenage boys would have them - reciprocated. I believe they hid those quite well from James and Peter at least for a time. Even considering I'm pushing my fanfiction timeline to more modern times, them being in a homosexual relationship would have been at least frowned upon (I know kids nowadays don't believe it, but it's true - being called "gay" used to be one of the worst insults a boy could receive in my primary school, sadly). This is also main reason why Remus - being who he is and hysterically afraid of being discovered as a werewolf - would basically force Sirius to keep their affection a secret. Sirius, the clingy and touchy labrador that he is, had horrendously hard time with that, but he tried. He really tried.

Still, it took but one outsider comment about "those filthy gays" (not even a wizard, random non-magical) for Remus to bail. Mind, I put zero blame on that gangly, insecure teen, who was ABSOLUTELY HORRIFIED that he was SEEN on the street and COMPLETELY CONVINCED that he was dragging his beloved Sirius with him to the pits of discontent and social ostracism. So he broke up with Sirius, running away with his tail between his legs. Sirius, unfortunately, took it really badly. He is, after all, a devoted person, a wholehearted person, and he was ready to take on the world headfirst fighting for his right to hold his boyfriend's hand... If only his (now former) boyfriend was brave enough to do the same. Eventually Sirius realised that he cannot force Remus to be who he doesn't want to be and in an act of incredible maturity on his part - he let go.

Given that this doesn't happen in a void that is unaffected by other students and events of the First War, by the time Remus broke up with Sirius, they were already forming a sort of relationship with my OC Gemma, a muggle-born Slytherin. There are plot reasons for that, obviously, but from the future pack poly standpoint, what is relevant is that she was always affectionate about Remus, feeling the need to protect his secret (that she figured out, being decently inquisitive bookworm and nosy observer). She was close enough to him that in a moment of fondness they actually shared a very shy and sloppy first kiss (something Sirius would be bringing up for years and years in the future as a relentless jest). Sirius, on the other hand, riled her up by being an immature bully right until their final year in Hogwarts when he managed to grow up a bit, war and everything happening around him. With that change and with the fact that he was pretty literally smitten by her in a wand duel, they get together by the end of their seventh year and proceed to date along first couple years after. They match pretty well too - she is smart and keeps him on his toes, she doesn't accept his shit and gives as good as she gets - and Sirius cannot help but get enraptured by her sense of honour and logical mind that works best under pressure.

There is too much tension between the two, however, and between Gemma working as an Auror and Sirius' "vigilante activities", their fiery romance burns out in a heated fight and they separate - with Sirius moving in with Remus in a weird attempt to reconcile with his former boyfriend (where Remus is actually quite happy playing the role of rebound, deep insight certain that once the situation gets a bit calmer, Sirius will return to the love of his life that in Remus' eyes Gemma rightfully is).

Unfortunately, all sorts of bad decisions and even worse events lead to the tragedy that we all know well - Potters die, Sirius is imprisoned, everyone basically assume that he was guilty (although Remus, ever blinded by his affection, has the toughest time to accept this).

Over the next decade and a bit, Gemma and Remus grow closer together, being the only remnants of their old friend group. They have good times and bad times - her expertise as an Auror makes her more suited to handle his monthly issues and that leaves him both indebted and having a safe haven to return to when he needs it. But she's also a type that doesn't talk about emotions well - and Remus is left to his overthinking, his silent fears of not being enough for an independent ex-Auror-turned-bounty-huntress. They have a lot of falling outs and get-togethers: Gemma quietly accepts that Remus will eventually get back when he's ready and she thinks it's impossible for her to force him to stay for good - and she loves him too much to even try and make him do something he wouldn't want. Remus is blaming himself for everything bad that happens with or around Gemma and often pushes himself to the last possible hour before the full moon before he resorts to reaching out to her and spending it in her cellar.

Enter events of PoA - when Sirius and Gemma get together again and across series of plot bunnies actually get married (in order to lawfully adopt Harry), Remus wants to quietly run away again, but, alas, plot reasons render him jobless (again). Which prompts Gemma and Sirius to offer him a temporary stay at Grimmauld Place, because where else would he go, when they have so many empty rooms...

And it works out. What neither of the three could manage in separate couples, finally clicks as a triad. Sirius gets the attention he needs, he's a voice for emotions, when they need to be spoken, and when his temper runs too high, it's Gemma's place to tone him down so that Remus is less affected. Remus gets an anchor in them both and in return he gives them all the care and attention, meticulously building a household in old Black mansion out of books, jazz music and warm embraces. He's the force of calm for the trio, he gets to share the responsibility with Gemma, whose mild after-war paranoia makes her ever-prepared for anything that may happen, and he takes part in Sirius' shenanigans when she is rolling her eyes, too solemn to take part in antics.

There's something missing, however. And eventually a fourth person joins, when Dora starts developing feelings for Remus - she doesn't know about their triad arrangement (given that Remus is still horrified at a thought of coming out to anyone outside of the closest found family), but she takes to the idea momentarily. After all, she was having a bit of celebrity crush on the "famous Auror Gemma 'the Occamy'" and after all, she's always up for more pranks with her cousin twice removed... Her romantic relationship focuses on Remus primarily, with him being in a solid enough place emotionally to never consider leaving, even though he's scared shitless when she gets pregnant with him, still haunted by the idea that he can bring a werewolf-cursed baby to the world.

I've written a few short pieces that portray their later pack relationship - with Dora they will eventually be able to raise hers and Remus' children (two), but there will be more kids and teens that will over the years fall under their protection, starting, obviously, with Harry. I think that's when Remus will flourish, being a caring and loving father, drawing from support of his three beloved people, his Pack. I also think that's something Sirius will excel at - while immediately rejecting the idea of having children of his own (Black) blood, he will devote himself to spoiling and raising all the kids who will LOVE HIM to bits.

It's not surprising, I suppose, to add that all four of them have patronuses that share the form of a wolf. They are each other's strength after all.

#the black occamy #sirius black #remus lupin #gemma appleby #dora tonks #pack polycule #idk just rambling I suppose

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