Ah, Meus? What happened to our prompt list?
Oh, that. I was carrying in my pocket when Ro said I couldn’t beat him in a sword fight and—
Tell me, Muse… is that your boot print?
*compares smudge to his own boot* Nah. It’s Ro’s. My feet are bigger.
*Janus and Logan exchange a long look*
Next year, I’m handling the prompt list.
Prompts:
Saturday, Feb. 14: Valentines
Sunday, Feb. 15: Wild/Calm
Monday, Feb. 16: Two Hands
Tuesday, Feb. 17: Theatre/Theatrics
Wednesday, Feb. 18: Spaghetti
Thursday, Feb. 19: Suave
Friday, Feb. 20: Right Place, Right Time
Alternates:
anger, truth, gremlins,
faulty logic, orange eyes, last time,
better off alone
@tsseventhub and @sanders-sides-events, and all you lovely fanders, would you kindly help us spread the word?
The common room existed in a different register after midnight.
It wasn't just the quiet, though there was that — the absence of Patton's humming from the kitchen, of Roman's dramatic soliloquies echoing down from the upper landing, of the general ambient noise that filled the mindscape during daylight hours like water filling a container. It was something subtler than quiet. It was the particular quality of a space that had decided it belonged to the people left in it.
Tonight, that was three of them.
Remus had claimed the couch forty-five minutes ago with the territorial confidence of a large and chaotic cat, spreading himself across it lengthwise before slowly, incrementally, migrating until his head was in Janus' lap. He was currently engaged in the structural deconstruction of a throw pillow, pulling threads from its fringe and braiding them into formations that defied both aesthetic sensibility and the laws of basic geometry. Every so often he'd hold one up for inspection, make a sound of deep personal satisfaction, and start a new one.
Janus had one hand resting on Remus' sternum in the loose, familiar way that had become habitual — not quite a hold, not quite a pat, just *contact*, the passive kind that said *I know you're there* without requiring ongoing attention. His other hand held a cup of tea that had gone cold twenty minutes ago because he kept forgetting to drink it.
Logan was beside him on the couch. Not in Patton's way — Patton always sat close to people as a statement, a declaration, arms primed for deployment. Logan sat close the way he did most things: because it was the practical arrangement given the available space, because it was efficient, and possibly, though he would frame it differently if asked, because he found it preferable to the alternative. His book was open across his knee. He had not turned a page in some time.
Janus became aware of being looked at gradually, the way one became aware of a sound that had been present for a while before the conscious mind bothered to register it.
He didn't turn his head.
"You're staring," he said.
A pause. Measured.
"I'm observing," Logan said. "There's a meaningful difference."
"I'll grant you that they're different words."
"The distinction isn't merely linguistic. Staring implies an unfocused fixation. Observation implies intent and methodology. I have both."
Remus made a sound that was approximately one-third laugh and two-thirds the noise a seal makes when startled. "He's been *observing* your face for, like—" he squinted at nothing— "a while. I've been watching him observe. It's objectively adorable."
"I have not—" Logan closed his book. There was a pause in which he appeared to reconsider his objection on its merits. He opened the book again, looked at the page, and closed it once more with the quiet decisiveness of a man who had concluded that the pretense was no longer serving him. "I have been formulating a question and determining whether the present moment was appropriate for it."
"And?" Janus said.
"The present moment appears to be as appropriate as any."
Janus set his cold tea on the side table and finally turned to look at him. Logan's expression was the one Janus had privately catalogued as *engaged* — not his polite attention face, which was subtly but meaningfully different, but the expression that appeared when something had genuinely caught his interest, when the gears behind his eyes were running at full capacity. It was a good expression. It did things to a room.
"Ask," Janus said.
Logan's gaze moved — briefly, precisely — to the left side of Janus' face. It didn't linger the way some people's did, with that particular quality of staring that was trying to look like it wasn't staring. It moved with purpose, took what it needed, and returned to Janus' eyes.
"The scales," Logan said. "I've been attempting to determine the species."
Remus sat up slightly on Janus' lap. "Oh, we're doing the snake thing?"
"I am doing the snake thing. You are a passive observer."
"That's literally never been true of me in any situation."
"Remus." Logan's voice was patient in the way that had a bottom to it — warm but finite. "The scales," he said again, redirecting. "The coloration — the yellow patterning against the darker base pigmentation — is consistent with several *colubrid* species. My current best hypothesis is *Lampropeltis* — kingsnake — but the yellow is more saturated than typical *getula* patterning, which makes me consider *Lampropeltis elapsoides*, the scarlet kingsnake, as an alternative, though the pattern arrangement doesn't quite—" He stopped. "The difficulty is that I can't properly assess scale microstructure from this distance. The *colubrid* family has highly variable dorsal scale texture. *Viperid* species tend toward more strongly keeled scales, while most *colubrids* are smooth-scaled or only weakly keeled, but there's considerable variation within the family, and from here I can't—"
He stopped again. Appeared to register that he had been talking for a while.
"I was wondering," he said, with the deliberate simplicity of someone who had decided to stop building up to something and simply arrive there, "if I could touch them."
---
The room went quiet.
Not awkwardly. It wasn't that kind of quiet. It was the quiet of something settling into the space and waiting to see what would happen next, and Janus had enough facility with the nuances of silence to know the difference.
Remus, who was constitutionally incapable of leaving any silence completely alone, said nothing. Which meant he understood that this particular one mattered.
Janus looked at Logan.
He thought about the hat. The habitual angle of it, the exact degree of tilt that put the shadow where he needed it. He thought about years of practice — not hiding, exactly, because he didn't have the luxury of believing he could hide, but *managing*. Managing what people saw and how they saw it and in what order.
He thought about the way Roman had looked, once, when the conversation had turned unexpectedly to Janus' more serpentine features and Roman had glanced at them with an expression that passed across his face like a cloud before he could compose it into something more diplomatic. He hadn't meant anything by it. Roman was, at heart, a fundamentally decent person who was working on himself. But Janus had seen it.
He'd seen it from most of them, at one point or another. The micro-expression. The slight recalibration.
Logan had not done that. Not once. The first time Logan had looked at the scales, he'd looked at them the way he looked at things that interested him, which was to say: directly, thoroughly, without the performance of normalcy that somehow always made a thing feel less normal. He'd looked at them like they were *data*, which Janus was aware should not have been as comforting as it was, but comfort didn't always make sense and Janus had long since decided to take it where it appeared.
And then there was the other thing.
The thing that mattered more than any of the rest of it, if he was being honest, which he was capable of being when the company was right.
Logan had said, before any of this — before late nights on the couch and cold tea and Remus braiding pillow fringe into abstract sculptures — that Janus was *necessary*. Not in the eventual, effortful way that some of the others had come around to it. Not with Patton's current warm over-brightness that Janus understood and didn't hold against him but that still had the faint aftertaste of guilt underneath it. Logan had said it plainly, in the middle of everything still being difficult, in a moment when the easier and more socially comfortable position would have been to stay quiet.
*You serve a critical function. The fact that it is an uncomfortable one does not make it less valid. The fact that Thomas finds it difficult to integrate does not mean it should not be integrated.*
Not *I like you.* Not *You belong here.* Just: you are real, you are important, and I can demonstrate this with evidence. Which was, Janus had come to understand, the exact shape that Logan's care took when it was most sincere. Not ornamented. Just accurate.
He thought about all of that for the length of several seconds.
Then: "Alright," he said.
---
"Oh," Remus said, and sat all the way up. "Are we—"
"Logan is," Janus said.
Remus pointed at himself with both hands, eyebrows raised at an extreme angle.
"You," Janus said, "have on two separate occasions attempted uninvited contact with the scales."
"The first time was an attempt to assess *texture*—"
"With your *tongue*, Remus."
"Texture assessment is a multisensory—"
"And the second time you bit me."
"That was—" Remus opened his mouth. Closed it. "Okay, that was more of an impulse situation."
"Yes. I'm aware. You have many impulse situations." Janus smoothed the front of his waistcoat with the practiced gesture of a man restoring his composure. "Logan may go first."
"First implies I'll also get a turn."
"First implies Logan is going first. What happens after that is a matter for future negotiation."
Remus subsided, but in the way that meant he was storing energy rather than dissipating it. He repositioned himself — sitting cross-legged on the cushion, elbows on his knees, chin propped in both hands — and directed his full and luminous attention at the proceedings with the focused enthusiasm of a very excitable audience member who had been given explicit instructions to stay in their seat.
Logan set his book properly on the side table. He turned on the couch to face Janus more fully, unhurried, doing nothing quickly. He was, Janus had observed over time, someone who moved with intentionality when the situation called for it — who could be brisk and efficient when efficiency was the point, but who shifted gears to careful when careful was what was needed. Janus had filed this away as something he appreciated more than he'd initially expected to.
"May I," Logan said. It landed somewhere between question and statement, in the register of something that was offering rather than asking — a hand extended, not a door pushed open.
His hand was raised. Not reaching, not assuming. Simply: available.
Janus looked at it for a moment.
"You may," he said.
---
Logan's fingers were careful.
That was the first thing, the first distinct impression, and it stayed the dominant one. Janus had expected — he didn't know, precisely, what he'd expected. Something more clinical, maybe. Something with the brisk efficiency of data collection. Instead Logan's touch arrived at the border of the scales with the same quality that characterized his attention: deliberate, thorough, *present*.
He started at the edge. Where the scales met the regular skin of Janus' jaw, the border where one texture transitioned to the other. His index finger traced that boundary first, getting a sense of the topography before anything else, and Janus felt the nerve endings in that region make themselves known in the way they always did when someone touched there — a warmth that radiated outward and upward, a sensitivity that was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable so much as simply *intense*, the way turning up the volume on something was intense, the way suddenly noticing a sound you'd been tuning out was intense.
"Smooth in the proximal direction," Logan murmured. He was talking to himself, Janus recognized — the running commentary of someone thinking out loud without entirely intending to. "Resistant in the distal direction. That's consistent with the overlapping keratin plate structure." His finger moved fractionally. "The individual scale shape—"
"Can you describe what you're observing?" Janus asked. He wasn't sure why he asked it. Maybe because Logan's voice was doing something useful to the part of his brain that managed the fact that someone was touching the most sensitive part of his face.
Logan glanced up briefly — checking in — then returned his attention to the scales. "The scales are rhomboid in shape," he said, shifting into the register he used when explaining things, which was different from his showing-off register, quieter and more direct. "More elongated than hexagonal. That's more consistent with *colubrid* species than *viperid*. Vipers tend toward a more fragmented scale pattern, particularly around the face." A pause. His finger moved upward, tracing the path of the scales toward Janus' cheekbone. "The degree of overlap is notable. More pronounced than in many *colubrid* species I've reviewed."
"And that narrows the species?"
"It presents additional data points. I'll need to cross-reference." Another pause. "The color, at this proximity, is — it's quite a specific yellow. It's not the flat yellow of *getula* patterning. It's almost— there's an iridescent quality to it in this light."
Janus said nothing.
"That's not a scientific observation," Logan added, in the tone of someone noting a digression. "That's just — an accurate description."
"I know," Janus said.
Logan's thumb moved along the line of Janus' cheekbone, and Janus' entire neurological system registered this very clearly. The scales there were at their densest, the pattern most pronounced, and the sensitivity was correspondingly heightened — a slow warm pulse that started under Logan's touch and spread outward, and Janus became aware of two things simultaneously:
First, that he had tilted his head.
Second, that it had been toward Logan's hand.
The angle was small. Barely measurable. But it was *there*, and Janus was aware of it the way he was always aware of his own behavior, the observer that ran quietly in the background of everything he did. He noted it. He decided, in the span of approximately one second, that he was not going to correct it.
"Oh," said Remus, very softly. Almost reverently. The specific register he reserved for things he found genuinely affecting rather than just interesting.
"I'm aware," Janus said, to preempt whatever was coming.
"I didn't—"
"You were going to."
"I was going to say it was *beautiful.*"
"We don't require the commentary."
"But—"
"Remus." Logan didn't look up. "If you talk him out of it I will hide all your green crayons."
Remus pressed his lips together. His eyes went very wide. He made a gesture like he was locking his mouth shut and putting the key in his pocket.
Janus looked at Logan.
Logan was still focused on the scales, expression in that mode of genuine engagement, and Janus thought: *you did that on purpose.* You knew exactly what leverage to use, and you used it, and you did it without missing a beat or drawing attention to the effort.
"Does that—" Logan paused, thumb stilling. "I should have asked earlier. Is it uncomfortable? The sensitivity — some people find that kind of contact overstimulating, particularly in the—"
"It's not uncomfortable," Janus said.
"But it is sensitive."
"Yes."
A pause. Logan's thumb hadn't moved, but it hadn't retreated either. "Should I stop?"
Janus considered the question with more thoroughness than it strictly required. He considered the warmth still radiating outward from Logan's touch. He considered the angle of his own head, still fractionally tilted, which he had still not corrected.
"No," he said. And then, because precision had always been the language the two of them shared most fluently: "It's not uncomfortable at all. It's—" he paused, looking for the word— "notable."
"Notable," Logan repeated.
"Intensely present. But not unpleasant." He met Logan's eyes. "You can continue."
Logan continued.
---
They stayed like that for a while. Logan's hand moved slowly, cataloguing, and Janus let the observations wash over him — *rhomboid, overlapping, colubrid, proximal, iridescent* — like a kind of patient recitation, a way of naming each feature as known, as seen, as worthy of attention. Janus was not unaware of the irony that being named as a collection of reptilian features should feel like anything other than clinical. But Logan's voice had that quality of *meaning what he said*, of saying things because they were true rather than because they were convenient, and Janus had always had difficulty defending himself against the truth delivered without agenda.
"Okay," Remus said, when the silence had been going long enough that his capacity for containing himself had apparently reached its structural limit. "Okay, I have a question."
"You have many questions," Janus said. "Most of them are inadvisable."
"This one is *scientific.*"
"That," Janus said, "is specifically what I'm afraid of."
"Okay, so." Remus shifted forward on his cushion. He had the expression he got when he'd been sitting on something and could no longer hold it in — bright-eyed, barely suppressing a grin, operating on the frequency of a person who believed very sincerely that they were about to say something excellent. "You're part snake, right?"
"Half snake," Janus said. "Part is imprecise."
"Half snake. Okay. Right. So—" Remus glanced at Logan. Back to Janus. "Snakes. Hemipenes."
The word landed.
Logan looked up from the scales for the first time in several minutes.
"Remus," Janus said.
"It's a legitimate question!"
"It is not a question I will be answering."
"But *biologically*—"
"Biologically," Janus said, pulling his hat down until the brim nearly obscured his eyes, "is a topic I am closing."
"Logan, you have to agree this is fascinating from a—"
"I," Logan said, in the careful tone of a man navigating around a crater, "have no comment on that particular biological inquiry."
Remus stared at him. "*No comment?* You just spent twenty minutes discussing scale microstructure for *fun*—"
"The scales presented a concrete, externally observable research question—"
"And this doesn't?!"
"This," Logan said, picking up his book from the side table with the practiced serenity of someone who has made a decision about what reality he will be inhabiting for the next several minutes, "falls outside the scope of tonight's investigation."
"*Tonight's* investigation, he says, leaving open the door for *future—*"
"Remus." Janus removed his hat from over his eyes, resettled it on his head, and fixed Remus with the look. Not a *threatening* look. Just a look that communicated a very clear and specific landscape of consequences. "The answer is no."
Remus opened his mouth.
"The answer," Janus repeated, "is no. It will continue to be no. The question is closed. Attempting to reopen it via different phrasing, through Logan as an intermediary, or by raising it again at a strategically vulnerable moment will result in consequences I will be creative about." He paused. "Do we understand each other?"
Remus deflated slightly. Then brightened again, because Remus' relationship with deflation was short-lived. "Can I at least touch the scales?"
"...Supervised," Janus said.
Remus lunged forward immediately. Janus caught him by the collar.
"*Supervised,*" Janus repeated, "means at a pace and in a manner of my choosing. Sit back down."
Remus sat back down. He was vibrating slightly.
"Logan," Janus said. "Demonstrate."
Logan, who had been watching this exchange over the top of his book with an expression that was mostly neutral and only slightly, around the eyes, not, lowered the book. He turned back to Janus and reached up again, touching the cheekbone the way he had before — the same measured pressure, the same deliberate quality.
Janus tilted his head again.
He noted it again.
He still didn't correct it.
"Like that," Logan said, to Remus.
Remus looked at Logan's hand. Looked at Janus' face. Looked at the way Janus had tilted into it. He went, for a full and uncharacteristic three seconds, entirely quiet.
Then, with a gentleness that Janus always forgot Remus was capable of until it appeared — sudden and sincere as a window opening — Remus reached out and touched the edge of the scales with two fingers. No lunging. No biting. Just contact, light and careful and genuinely tentative in the way that meant Remus actually cared about getting it right.
"Oh," Remus said, in a completely different register than all his previous ohs. Softer. "That's — they're warm."
"Yes."
"I thought they'd be cold." He paused. "Like a normal snake."
"I'm not a normal snake."
"No," Remus agreed, and there was something in it — fond, and certain, and more uncomplicated than most of Remus' emotions — "you're really not."
They resettled after that.
Remus migrated back to horizontal, redistributing himself across both of their laps this time with the physical confidence of someone who had never once in his life paused to consider whether he was welcome and had, largely, been correct not to. His head landed on Janus' thigh, his legs draped across Logan's lap, and he was already pulling the devastated pillow back toward him before he'd finished the process of arriving.
Logan rested one hand, absently, on Remus' shin. Not quite a hold. Just contact. The passive kind.
Like Janus' hand had been, earlier.
Janus looked at that hand for a moment. Logan, who noticed most things, glanced at him.
"Is this—"
"Fine," Janus said. "It's fine."
Logan nodded. Left his hand where it was.
Janus leaned — slightly, the increment of leaning that could be attributed to comfort or fatigue or the natural drift of bodies sharing a couch — against Logan's shoulder. He felt Logan go still for a half-second, not tense, just noting, adjusting. Then the shoulder relaxed, and Logan picked up his book again, and that was that.
This was the other thing about Logan. He didn't make a production of it. Didn't narrate what was happening, didn't reflect it back with a warmth that drew attention to itself. He just — accommodated it. Incorporated it into the configuration of the evening and moved on. The way you did with something that was simply part of the arrangement.
Janus had needed, he was fairly sure, to understand that he could be simply part of an arrangement. That he didn't have to justify himself on an ongoing basis or brace for the moment when the accommodation would be withdrawn.
He wasn't sure he'd fully believed it until Logan.
The thought arrived the way certain thoughts did, late at night, in the particular atmosphere of a room that felt genuinely safe — not dramatically, not with the weight of an occasion, but quietly, almost conversationally.
It had been difficult. After Virgil.
Janus turned this over in the way he'd learned to — not avoiding it, but not letting it run loose either. Virgil had needed something different. Had needed a lighter space, a gentler frequency, a distance from the parts of Thomas's mind that scared him most — and Janus and Remus were, undeniably, among those parts. He understood it. He'd always understood it, and understanding it hadn't made the shape of it smaller.
The three of them had been, for a while, the sides that stayed in the parts of the mindscape where the lights didn't quite reach all the way. That meant something, in terms of how you learned to move through a room, how much space you learned to take up, how accustomed you got to making yourself useful before you made yourself comfortable.
He hadn't expected this. Had not, if he was being precise about it, considered it as a possible arrangement. Logan, who was not a dark side — who was, in fact, the side most explicitly associated with clarity and structure and the methodical organization of reality — looking at Janus and Remus and concluding that they were worth accounting for. Not because they'd grown on him slowly, not because he'd been convinced, but because he'd looked at the evidence and followed it to its logical conclusion.
You matter. This is demonstrable. I don't need to feel comfortable with it first in order to say so.
Janus had spent a long time in rooms where the preliminary step was someone's comfort. Where his validity was contingent on not asking too much too soon, on not making the integration too jarring. Logan had simply — skipped that step. Not out of recklessness, but out of the particular confidence of someone who trusted his own conclusions.
It had made it easier, he thought, to be glad.
Because he was glad. He was — quietly, with the reserved sincerity that was the closest he reliably got to unguarded — glad. That Virgil had found what he needed, and that the space that left had been filled by something he hadn't known how to want until it was there.
He would not be saying any of that out loud.
But Logan was leaning into him fractionally too, Janus noticed. The weight of his shoulder returned. And Remus had fallen into his low-grade nighttime murmur — a half-articulated running commentary on whatever his brain was producing, not requiring response, just sound — and the pillow fringe was accumulating on the cushion beside him, and Logan's book was open, and Janus' tea was cold, and the common room was quiet.
"You know," Remus said, breaking the murmur, "I've been thinking about the scales thing—"
"Let it go, Remus."
"Not the other thing, the microstructure thing, I was thinking about industrial applications, like if we're talking about overlapping keratin at that scale of precision, the drag-reduction implications for—"
"That's," Logan said, and Janus could feel him straightening slightly with interest against his shoulder, "actually not an unreasonable avenue. The sharkskin-effect research has some relevance there—"
"Right! And if you think about the flexibility coefficient—"
"The issue with biomimicry applications in that space has historically been the manufacturing fidelity required to—"
They were off.
Janus listened to them go — Logan's precision and Remus's wild lateral leaps, the way they'd developed a conversational grammar over time that let them meet each other somewhere in the middle, Logan reaching slightly toward the chaotic and Remus anchoring himself slightly toward the structured. It was, Janus thought, not unlike the way they moved on a couch. Meeting in the middle. Finding the configuration that fit.
He reached down and tucked Remus' hair out of his face, the way he did sometimes without entirely thinking about it.
Remus didn't break his sentence, but he turned his head slightly into the touch.
Logan didn't break his either, but he settled another increment of weight against Janus' shoulder.
Outside, the mindscape did whatever it did when the lights went out and the other sides were sleeping and the late hours belonged to whoever was still awake.
In here, the three of them stayed where they were, and the night held them, and the scales on Janus' face were still warm where Logan had touched them, and that was — quietly, demonstrably, without requiring any further elaboration —
enough.
More than.
Later, Logan would cross-reference the scale morphology against his notes and conclude, with reasonable confidence, that the species in question was Lampropeltis triangulum elapsoides — the scarlet kingsnake, native to the southeastern United States, known for its vivid patterning and its tendency to be mistaken for something more dangerous than it was.
He did not share this conclusion immediately. He saved it, along with several other observations he was still organizing, for a moment when it seemed right.
He was, after all, not someone who spoke before he was certain.
And he was becoming increasingly certain about a number of things.
In the best timeline we get more focus on logan and janus together because of the orange side stuff and as a result people finally start shipping loceit as much as all the other janus ships
We are looking for more blogs to follow for poly-related content. We're also looking for fandom-specific blogs or poly-friendly events who want to affiliate. We'll make a masterpost of poly friendly blogs for the community so we can all enjoy our polyships together (or in our own space).
Remember that this is a MULTIFANDOM blog, so all fandoms are welcome to be in the index.
Reply to this post with your poly or poly-friendly sideblogs. We want to see you!
October 21 - 27: Spooky Sides Week (@spookysidesweek) New event!
November (All Month): The Sleepy Bean Fanfic Café (@tss-camp-and-coffee)
November 1 - 7: Intrulogical Week (@intrulogicalweek)
November 8 - 14: Roman Week (@coresideweeks)
November 22 - 28: Friends/Familial Dark Sides Week
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December 7 - 13: Moceitweek (@moceitweek)
December 13 - 19: Virgil Week (@darksideweeks)
*Darksideweeks noted they will run Dukeceitweek only if the original host doesn't want to run it in 2026.
I feel the need to tell you directly that Intruloceit has won the following awards in Round 1 of the bracket:
2nd largest Win Margin (Intruloceit)
Most Notes (Locet V Intrulogical)
Second Most Notes (Intruloceit V Moralisleepmas)
Most Votes (Intrulogical V Loceit)
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A Giant Snake in our living room? It's more likely than you would think!
I'm back, finally! Writer's block is a bitch but I'm slowly getting over it, I hope, so here's Day 2 of @intruloceitweek! No idea when the rest will come but it will come at some point. Hope you enjoy! 💛💙💚
Summary: Logan just wanted a coffee. Why is there a giant snake in the living room?
Content Warnings: Giant Snake
~~*~~
Logan just wanted a coffee. He'd been working since breakfast and finally conceded that he needed a break. And a boost in caffeine.
Only to be stopped by Patton at the top of the stairs.
"What is going on?" Logan asks, trying to see past Patton who is holding him back by his shoulders.
"Well… I'm not actually sure," Patton says, glancing over his shoulder himself and worriedly down the stairs. "I was in the living room with Roman and Remus — they were arguing, you know, like they do — when suddenly there was a loud hiss and then this big, yellow snake appeared, grabbed Remus and threw Roman across the room! I managed to run up the stairs and Roman joined me not long after, but Remus is still trapped!"
Logan raises a brow and again tries to look past Patton. He does indeed catch a glimpse of something yellow moving past the stairs but nothing more.
"Where is Roman now then? You said he came with you."
"He did, but he left to go get something from the Imagination, I think. First he tried to fight the snake but Remus told him to back off. He seems to believe that it's just Janus? And apparently it's not the first time this has happened?"
"What do you mean, he thinks it's just Janus? As in Janus is responsible for setting it loose?"
Patton shakes his head and worries his bottom lip.
"No, he seems to think Janus is the snake. Like how I turned into the big frog? But apparently Janus isn't fully himself like this and isn't responsive nor does he seem to recognize Roman and I… It's all really strange, but I don't think you should go down there!"
Patton had let go of Logan's shoulders during his explanation, but immediately grabs for his arm as Logan attempts to step around him.
"I understand your worries Patton," Logan reassures as he gently frees his arm, "but I would like to remind you that we are imaginary and therefore whatever the snake might do, it will not leave permanent damage. Additionally, I do not intend to step foot into the living room, I merely wish to get a closer look at the snake."
"Ah… O-okay, I guess. Just, please be careful?"
"Of course, Patton. I will just walk a few steps down, alright?"
"Yeah, okay."
Logan does his best to smile at Patton encouragingly before turning towards the descend and carefully taking his first step.
He is careful, going slowly and trying to avoid making any noise. About halfway down the stairs, he leans forward, finally being able to see past the outcrop that separates the first and second floor.
A low hiss rises up to him, though not threatening. The creature doesn't seem to have noticed him yet. Still, he can't see much from his current position, so he takes another step.
Yellow scales appear in his field of vision. True to Patton's explanation, the snake was massive, apparently curled around the couch for the most part? Logan can't be sure without getting even closer.
One last step, a good look at the room and then he would go back upstairs.
But he is careless.
His foot lands on the next step and a creak echos through the quiet room. Above him, Patton gasps and before Logan can react further, the snake's tail shoots out and wraps around his midsection before yanking him into the living room.
Logan looses his sense of orientation immediately. He isn't dragged around for long, but in those few seconds he doesn't know what's up and what's down. Then he finds himself on the couch, surrounded by the coils of the giant snake with a bit of an opening above to let in some light and presumably air, the very tip of the tail wound around his leg.
"Oh, Logie! Fancy seeing you here! Now I get why Jannie wouldn't calm his snitties!"
Remus is sitting only a few inches away, some part of the tail wrapped around his midsection that he pats casually. Logan blinks at him, still trying to process what just happened.
"Hello Remus," Logan responds, slowly. "Patton has informed me of your sudden abduction and your claim that this creature is Janus in another form. Do I have that correct?"
"Yeah! It's something that just happens once in a while? I dunno the exact trigger but it makes him shift into this big fucking snake and just go feral for a bit. He only calms down somewhat if he can keep me close, the big ol' sap. And now you are part of this, too, isn't that exciting!"
"Do you know why I have been suddenly added to this… circumstance?" Logan asks, cautiously observing the surrounding coils before slowly reaching down to pet the tail end still wrapped around his leg. It squeezes tighter for a moment before wounding higher and gathering more in Logan's lap which he can only assume means he should continue the showing of affection.
"I mean, I can't really talk for JanJan, but I have a guess," Remus shrugs.
"I would appreciate hearing your perspective."
"Well, when Thomas was younger, before Virgin abandoned us to hang out with you lot, Janus would gather him up like this, too. Then, the first few times after he left, he wouldn't really calm down even after grabbing me, but he got over it eventually. And now you're here! Which means J-anus really likes you! I mean, I knew that already, he talks about you a lot, but now this basically confirms it on a more instinctual level!"
"I see… I was not aware that Janus had such views on our relationship. I will consider it as a compliment," Logan nods, still petting the tail in his lap.
"You should! Jan wouldn't do this for just anyone! As you know considering that he left Daddy and Ro-bro alone."
"From what Patton told me, he escaped upstairs before he could be grabbed and Roman was thrown across the room?"
Remus barks out a laugh.
"There's no way Patty-cake would've gotten away if Jannie didn't want him to. As for Ro-bro… Well, we were in an argument when Jan came in, so it was probably just his instinct to protect me that made him overreact a little. But Ro's gonna be fine, I've done worse to him."
"I've been told he went to the Imagination to grab something that is supposed to help this situation, but I do not know what that something is."
Remus shrugs.
"Let him. Jannie can defend himself if he tries anything stupid. For now, all we can do is sit back and relax. We'll be here for a while."
"Oh? How long approximately?"
"No clue!" Remus giggles with delight. "Could be a few minutes or several hours! It varies a lot. Once I was stuck for over a day! But I don't think it'll be that bad this time. Jannie probably just needs a nap." Indeed, the shifting of the coils has pretty much stopped, signaling that Janus has settled down.
"Very well then." Logan has more work he could be doing, but he had made good progress this morning and had come down with the intention of taking a break, so he isn't all that bothered. "Would you mind telling me more about this state of Janus'? Has something similar happened to you as well?"
Logan watched as Janus plucked the fluffy wool tail out of Remus' hand and laid it over his working wool.
"Go on," Janus encouraged.
Remus twirled the drop spindle again. "Pull and twist, pull and twist," he mumbled to himself, keeping a rhythm.
It was just after shearing season, the summer sun high in the sky. Each year, Janus was granted an allowance of wool too coarse to bother selling from his employer. Ordinarily, he'd spin and knit it over the winter, when the dark trapped him indoors for hours on end; but when Remus had asked to learn how to use the drop spindle, Janus had been easily convinced to start early.
Remus had plenty of rhythm, and perhaps more curiosity than what was good for him. What he lacked was patience and finesse.
How Remus was such a good trapper was beyond Logan's understanding.
"It broke again."
"That's because you pull more than you twist, dear. Try it again."
To be fair, Logan had never tried to spin on a drop spindle himself. For all he knew, Remus was doing well for his first time. Perhaps he'd ask to try it himself one of these days.
Remus wound the uneven thread he'd made so far, spun the spindle, and kept going. Janus' soothing hands were wrapped around his waist, his chin hooked on his shoulder. "There you go, thorn of mine."
When the thread broke and the spindle hit the ground again, Remus' shoulders slumped. "You do this to all that wool?"
"Every bit of it," Janus confirmed. "It gets easier with practice."
Remus groaned. "That's gotta take like five-ever!"
Janus chuckled. "It does. But it's not like I lack time over the winter, is it? One more time, dear."
Remus sighed and picked up the broken thread, unwinding it to reattach it to his wool.
"Easy there," Janus coached as the spindle dropped and spun again. "That's it. See, you're getting it." With that; a few seconds worth off error free spinning; Janus snatched the spindle from the air and smiled warmly at Remus. "Well done."
Logan recognized it for what it was: halting the lesson when it was going well, so they might end on a positive note and be more inclined to get back into it at a later date.
Remus grinned. It took so little to make him smile. What a wonder he was, to have such a joyous outlook on the world. "Thanks Janny!" He made use of their proximity by pressing a kiss to Janus' lips. Janus reciprocated, but only for a moment; they'd all come to learn how easily distracted Remus was. At Janus' shove, Remus bounced back to Logan instead and flopped onto the ground with his head in Logan's lap. "Heya!"
Logan couldn't help but smile, his hand automatically finding Remus' hair. "Hello, my enigma." The reason for the nickname was about what one would expect: Logan couldn't tell why Remus could guess so much of his and Janus' life. Of course, he knew the widely accepted theory; the theory about past lives, widely accepted because both Janus and Remus bought into it, which would be two thirds of everyone who'd heard of it. Of course, their sample size was abysmal and every person in it was biased one way or another.
Still, Logan gave it more credit than he used to, partially because the sheer number of details Remus had guessed correctly formed a metaphorical pile that was simply too great to ignore. The kicker had been the "untasseled blanket", as Remus called it. Years ago, Janus had a blanket with tassels along the short edges. When he found out that they were a sensory bother to Logan, Janus had spent days removing the tassels and weaving in the loose ends. Apparently, it wasn't the first time. Remus had recognized it on sight.
Despite it all, Logan wasn't fully convinced, but he was trying to get used to that. Even if Remus was wrong, it didn't necessarily matter. The three of them were happy together. Remus was a useful counterbalance to Janus and Logan's existing relationship. They could see a future together. That was all that mattered.
Of course, the prospect that the enigma would remain unresolved was a fact that Logan was still adjusting to. Proof of past lives would have such wide ranging existential implications; implications that Logan did not find himself qualified to consider. Perhaps in a future life, he'd be a philosopher, highly educated at some academy or another, capable of proving the concept of past lives through logical conjecture alone.
He doubted it.
"I see it now." Remus' voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Hm? See what?"
"The stars in your eyes." Remus' smile faded slowly. "Janus used to always say he could see the stars in your eyes."
Logan let him finish, even though he'd heard it all before. Janus had been saying it periodically for years, and now, from nowhere, Remus had picked it up too. Just another coincidence to add to the metaphorical pile. "He still does."
To accompany them, a moody melody from Janus' split flute drifted into their ears; no doubt Janus was reconnecting with the lands, learning any updates regarding the weather or nearby threats. He was vigilant, a good shepherd to the flock he loved so much. One day, he hoped to buy the herd for himself. His employer had been talking about how there was apparently more money in cattle than sheep, and Janus had been talking about how, if he played his cards right, he might convince her to sell him the flock at just the right time: when he'd saved up enough money.
After that, they would build a home together at the outskirts of town; close enough to town for Logan's employment, close enough to pasture for Janus', and close enough to the forest for Remus'.
Even though his first visit to the forest had been less than ideal, Remus had since managed to negotiate with the faeries to let him rig traps for the wild animals who lived there. He said they seemed to enjoy watching his jury-rigged contraptions and machines. Unfortunately, that didn't stop them from cursing strangers. Only Remus was spared.
Since no one else in town dared to hunt in their curse-infested wood, Remus' game brought in good money; money set aside for their dream of a home and a herd.
"Logan?" Remus slid Logan's hand from his hair to his chest, pausing halfway to press a kiss to his palm. "After this, when we die, do you think we'll find each other again?"
"It's hard to say."
"Yeah, but what do you think?" Remus' fingers worked through Logan's, entwining them together; but not the way boyfriends might ordinarily entwine their fingers when holding hands. When Remus was self-regulating, he'd twist their fingers together the same way one might tangle the fingers of a prisoner before wrapping their hands with ropes to ensure escape would be impossible.
"I think we will," Janus shot in. He'd rounded off his tune, and was now hooking the string of his flute over the loop of his shepherd's crook and taking a seat next to Logan. "We found each other twice. We'll find each other again." Janus had a tendency of saying what Remus needed to hear, as opposed to what was true. If he did it to Logan too, Logan wouldn't know.
Unfortunately, Logan couldn't help but be factual. "It doesn't get statistically significant until the third time."
"So then next time's kinda make or break," Remus said.
"Not necessarily. Three isn't a very large sample size."
Remus took Janus' hand and added his fingers to the tangle. How he managed to manipulate their fingers so tightly without hurting them was a wonder. "I hope we find each other younger next time."
"We'll find each other when the time is right," Janus assured.
"And when the place is right," Remus added.
"Yes." Janus chuckled. "But until then, we have a whole lifetime to enjoy right now."
"More like two thirds of a lifetime," Remus corrected, sparing Logan the trouble.
Janus shrugged. "I'll take however many thirds we're given." He put his free hand over the knot on Remus' chest. "And however many more after that."
A/n: I plan on continuing to write stories set in this universe. If you wanna keep up with it but don't wanna follow my mess of a blog, no problem! I have a tag for this story (#memories fic) and for the au as a whole (#ley line lifetimes au). I also have a tag for the previous story (#starlit sky fic), to which I'm intending to keep adding bonus chapters. Looking forward to it all!! ^^
We promised more details about this year's Camp Cartoon and we're just pleased as punch to announce the 2026 Theme:
Dynamic Duos!
Camp Cartoon will be open for sign-ups from March 15 - March 28. The event starts on April 1 and will run for six weeks, through May 15.
For this year's event, each camper will be paired up with another teammate to complete two prompts together. Teamwork really does make the dream work this year and we're excited to see what you all create!
When you sign up, you'll submit one prompt, along with info on what kind of stories you like to write (and what you can't write.) We'll use that to pair you up with your writing partner. Each team will get two prompts to write together over the course of the six week event.
Teams should aim for around 2.5k - 12k words for each story.
Below is what you can expect to see on the sign-up form. Please read through and let us know if anything doesn't make sense! We love questions, so send 'em our way!
Example sign up form. The actual form will be released on March 15th when sign-ups open.
Your Prompt (What a team will write for you):
Main character(s):
Primary relationship(s):
[please indicate if you prefer romantic, platonic, familial, or any]
Prompt in eight words or less: [examples: The Sides go to the beach. Logan and Remus make a discovery. Canonverse DRLAMP soulmates.]
Icks and Triggers: What do you NOT want to read in your story? (examples: no major character death, no u!Sides, no violence, etc.)
What You Write:
Important note: This is an all-ages event. Therefore all stories must be rated either General or Teen and cannot include or reference underage sex or incestuous relationships.
Characters, relationships, settings, tropes, etc. you especially like to write:
Characters, relationships, settings, tropes, etc. you CANNOT write:
Anything else we should know when matching you with a teammate?
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@tsseventhub, @sanders-sides-events, and Fanders everywhere, can you help us spread the word?
As Janus pulled out his split flute and played a haunting melody, no doubt to reconnect with the lands and let them update him on potential dangers, Remus flopped down into the grass and put his head in Logan's lap.
"Now I see it," Remus said.
"See what?" Logan asked.
"The stars in your eyes." Remus' smile faded slowly. "Janus used to always say he could see the stars in your eyes."
Logan let him finish, even though he'd heard it all before; Janus had been saying it periodically for years, and now, from nowhere, Remus had picked it up too. Just another coincidence to add to the metaphorical pile; a pile large enough that it was becoming difficult to ignore.
Chapter 7 will be delayed, but I still wanted to post something today for the last day of @intruloceitweek. It's been a blast! Thank you to the mods for hosting!! <3
The full chapter will be out eventually, and after that, I'm hoping to go back to writing bonus chapters for Starlit Sky, the previous story in this series. If you don't want to miss out, you can follow the relevant tags (#starlit sky fic and #memories fic for the individual stories, or #ley line lifetimes au if you want to see both of those in addition to future installments in the series!)
Thank you to everyone who participated! It's sad that both us mods were too busy to contribute much and I myself fully intend to catch up still, but I still had fun with the submissions we got!
We will always accept late submissions, so please share them with us!
Hope to see you next year and have a good timezone! 🥰
He's scared of the ocean because we don't know what's down there. He should be allowed to be scared of the dark because he doesn't know what's out there. He feels childish for it and angry or whatever blah blah blah but just imagine him shuffling quickly through the dark side of the mindscape hand in hand with one of his boyfriends while they guide him because they can see in the dark? Like?? That's so cute???
