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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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Nice... Secret boss so the kid gets ahead on his own? I like it.

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 20: Commencement Means the Start

Epilogue - Thirteen months and nine days later

WC: 3900 - Rated: T - CW: life goes on, nearly completely fluff. These bois get their happy ending.

Prev - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Friday, June 13, 2026

💙💚Intrulogical

Timer still beeping, Logan had just pulled the tray of roasted vegetables from the oven when he spotted Remus’ car pull up into the driveway. Good. Back before dark, at least. The engine cut and Patton spilled out of the driver’s seat, excited voice floating in through the open window.

“And you really think Ms. Forth liked my model?” He waited for Remus to climb out of the passenger seat and closed the door, then consciously tapped the ‘lock’ button, watching the lights flash.

Leaning over the hood, Remus nodded, proud smile beaming bright even from Logan’s vantage point inside. “Even the interns are allowed to call the big boss Olivia,” he laughed. “It’s okay.”

“But I thought you owned the—“

Remus laughed, finger held over his lips. “Not even Olive knows that. And yes, your design knocked her socks off!”

Logan waved from the window as they turned toward the house and Patton called back, “Dad! You gotta hear this! They’re gonna use my model in the demo at Pax!”

“That’s fantastic!” Logan cheered. “Why don’t you two come on in and tell me all about it!”

💙❤️Logince

“You got this, Lo.”

Ro’s gentle encouragement in his ears, Logan flicked his wrist, and watched the paper-thin crepe flip up into the air—and come splattering down on the stove top. Turning off the burner and scraping the mess away from the element before it could ignite, Logan laughed. “The stove has certainly got it, at least.”

Smiling, Ro, pulled him close. “Hey, not bad for your third try.” Logan raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Not great,” he admitted with a laugh. “But not bad.”

Happily accepting a consolatory kiss, Logan melted in his arms. “I think if we wish to have our dinner sometime tonight, you should take over this step.”

“One more try,” Ro encouraged, turning him around to face the stove again and reaching past him to turn on the burner. “Just one more try.”

“Hey, Dad? Ro? You got a minute? Well…”

Eyes darting over to Ro’s, Logan found matching worry at the tone in Patton’s voice.

“Of course, Pat,” Logan said and turned off the stove.

Patton stood in the hallway, fingers gripping his phone. “Um… Jax is on their way here, I… I know I should’ve talked to you first, and this is a really big thing to ask for and I shouldn't just spring this on you but everything’s happening so fast and they're scared and don't know what else to do and—“

“Whoa there, bud,” Ro soothed, drawing him in to the kitchen. “Slow down. What’s happened?”

Nodding, Logan pulled out a chair. “Whatever’s going on, Patton, we’ll figure it out together.”

Patton let out a slow breath before nodding and meeting their eyes. “Jax, um… Jax told their parents and, well…”

Three sets of eyes shot to the front hall when the doorbell rang.

“Can they stay here?” Patton asked, wincing. “They’re nineteen, they just only have a part-time job and, that asshole Max won’t even talk to them since they told him and now their parents…” He shook his head. “They just need—“

Logan was already on his feet. He squeezed Patton’s shoulder as he passed. “You did the right thing, Pat.”

Together, they opened the door. Eyes red-rimmed, with a backpack slung over their shoulder and an overflowing Ikea bag clutched with both hands, Jax looked up at them from the porch.

They’d just begun to show.

Smiling, Logan reached for the bag. “Come on in, Jax,” he said. “Welcome home.”

💙💚💛Intruloceit

Logan ended the call with Dr. Schmetter and sat and watched dappled light from the window play against his laptop screen. A faint clatter wafted through the closed door, followed by a muffled burst of Re’s laughter and Jay’s low response. He had a lot to think about but, right now, all he needed was his family.

He skipped down the steps, pausing when his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Oh,” he said aloud as he walked into the kitchen. “It’s Pat,” he said, smiling. His cheeks felt tight and Re’s eyes lingered on his before he read the message.

“I see our boy’s getting up to some good trouble on his first day,” Jay murmured approvingly. “Susan’s got a team from WA-ACLU down there, too,” he added. “Pat’s in good hands.”

“I know he is,” Logan said, nodding down at the screen. “I’m proud of him,” he said, voice a little shakier than he’d intended.

Without another word, Re pulled him close, taking the phone and sliding it into his own pocket.

“Lo?” Jay asked, watching him over Re’s shoulder.

Re pulled back then, searching his eyes. “Rough session?” he asked, one arm curled around his back as his other hand came up to cup Logan's cheek.

Licking his lips, Logan began to nod then stopped. “Not quite rough, but…” No. His early sessions with Dr. Schmetter had been rough. This was something different. “I… I still wonder sometimes,” he began.

Jay moved close and Logan melted in their shared embrace, surrounded by their warmth, their strength. He breathed in their love, in the softness, the certainty that he could safely voice the quiet worry in the back of his mind and they would still be here in his arms.

They’d spent a few confused months, floundering for an explanation for what they’d all experienced. But when Jay’s PI backed up all the strange little facts Logan suddenly and impossibly knew about Pat’s birth mother… they moved beyond rational explanations of psychosis and just accepted it.

“I wonder how he’s doing.”

Nodding slowly, Jay buried his face in Logan’s hair.

Re hugged them both, long, strong arms pulling them close. “If he’s anything like you, Lo Lo,” he said after a long moment. “And I think he is… I know he’s gonna find his way home.”

💔 Logan Croft Sanders

The drive across the bridge was long, rainy, and energized. Fighting the magnetic pull of the glowing clock set in the dash, Logan bobbed his head, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the songs in Patton’s massive It’s Finally Over graduation playlist.

To no-one’s surprise—except, perhaps, the school administrators responsible for ceremony logistics—traffic heading into Seattle on a rainy Friday afternoon in June was… excessive. They’d only just passed the midspan on the bridge when Patton’s playlist looped around for the second time.

Pat sang along from the passenger seat, oblivious to how dangerously close they were to arriving late. Or, Logan thought, glancing at his son’s bright smile, he simply chose to be happy rather than worry about something neither of them could change.

Logan smiled, mouthing the lyrics and biting back a curse when a shiny new black Tesla cut them off.

“Good save, Dad,” Patton chuckled, flipping open his visor mirror and checking how his hair had set.

“In not rear-ending…” Squinting, Logan struggled to decipher the vanity plate. “Eight-zero-n-d-…” He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Eight-one-double-oh-seven out there?”

Pat's chuckle turned into a full laugh. “I meant not dropping the f-bomb on my poor impressionable ears." He grinned. "I mean, This would be a tragic time for me to hear the word ‘fuck’ for the first time.”

“Okay, okay,” Logan laughed, the word still sounding strange in his technically-adult son’s voice. “Allow me my… eccentricities in my advanced age.”

“You know, I read that cursing helps you withstand pain,” he said as he tapped at his phone. “There was a study and everything.”

“Are you looking for the research?” Logan asked, risking a quick glance.

“Nah, Discord,” he said, flipping over his phone too quickly for Logan to catch more than a glimpse of the last gif Virgil had sent to the family group chat. He tapped a bit more, then looked out the window. “Hey, I can see the stadium!”

So focused on the erratic lane changes of the cars around them, Logan hadn’t registered how much traffic had not thinned per se but had accelerated. They were less than a mile out from their exit. “Excellent,” he breathed, the knot between his shoulders loosening just a bit.

Their increased speed drove the rain harder against the windshield and for the next three songs on the playlist, they made a game of catching every time the wipers matched the beat. By the time the opening bars of I Love It started for the third time, they were close enough to the venue to spot soggy directional signs, the cheerful lettering: Graduates This Way → barely visible as the tagboard drooped under the weight of a day’s worth of rainfall.

“Wow,” Patton muttered, shoulders dancing. “Who would’ve thought paper signs were the wrong way to go in Seattle, huh?”

“You know who you sound like, don’t you?” Logan asked, fighting a smile.

Patton laughed, “Am I wrong, though?”

“You certainly aren’t.” Logan shook his head with a chuckle. Scanning the road ahead, he spotted a shallow covered area near the Graduates entrance. “I’ll drop you off here, then park,” he said as he pulled up and eased to a stop. “Save you a bit of a soaking.“

“Right on time!” Patton cheered and Logan finally dared to peek at the clock.

Huffing out a laugh, Logan loosened his iron grip on the steering wheel. “Not sure how we pulled that one off.” He waited while Patton tucked his phone and wallet into his pockets, then reached out. “Hey…” Logan cupped his cheek and smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Pat.”

Patton looked back at him, smile wry until their eyes met. Sunshine burst across his face and he covered his dad’s hand with his own. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Logan nodded and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. He patted his cheek one more time and let him go. “We’ll meet up inside, okay? We’ve got a little surprise for you at home.”

“You do?” His smile grew and he made a show of covering one ear. “No spoilers!” he laughed and got out of the car, closing the door behind him. “See you after!” he called loudly and followed the stream of graduates inside the hall.

While Patton had arrived on time, it seemed as though Logan had arrived far, far too late to find a parking spot anywhere close to the visitor’s entrance. Unsurprising for a school-based event, only ‘compact’ spots remained, unsuitable for a family-sized vehicle such as his.

On the third pass through the main lot, Logan spotted a placard announcing overflow parking was available on the other side of the stadium. He followed the signs and finally found a spot. Dashing through the rain, he entered his parking information on the go, taunted by the rapidly ticking clock in the upper right corner of his phone.

7:58.

Socks already damp, he dodged another puddle and tried to refocus on entering his license plate number into the little app.

It would be fine. It would be fine. Everything the school ever did was behind schedule and graduation would be no exception. He would make it inside before they started. He would make it. He would make—

A car horn blared from the road next to him and broke him from his litany. He stopped and took a deep breath.

Cheerful animated confetti announced his card had been charged. He wiped rain from the screen and pocketed the phone before continuing. In the distance, another family had just arrived at the covered entrance, shaking rain from umbrellas and slickers, smiling and laughing as they filed inside as a group.

He quickened his pace and before long, followed their path, thanking the usher who led directed him to the closest aisle. The stadium lights flashed twice, a five minute warning that they were about to begin.

Late. Just on time for LW high school.

“Dad!” Remy’s voice carried over the din and he searched the crowd.

All three boys—young men, Logan corrected himself—stood a few rows below, waving their arms to get his attention.

Worry sloughed off his shoulders and he smiled. “You made it!” he cheered, drawing them all into a hug as he took his seat. “Pat was worried,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Virgil drawled. “Pat was worried.”

“Of course we made it,” Remy said, passing Logan a pack of tissues to dry the rain from his eyeglasses.

Emile smiled. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything!”

“Nor would we,” a bright voice boomed behind them.

Logan looked up. Roman led Janus and Remus through a knot of families clogging the aisle and into the empty seats behind them.

“You came!” Logan stood and reached over their seats to shake their hands. Janus’ lingered on his, steadying himself as he maneuvered into his seat.

“You invited us,” Janus said as though there couldn’t possibly be anywhere else they'd want to be on a Friday night. Smiling, he released Logan’s hand. “We’re happy to be here.”

“Wild horses couldn’t keep us away,” Roman laughed, fist-bumping each of the boys in turn.

“Not even Cthulhu could make us miss this, Lo Lo,” Remus added, the new nickname chasing the last of the rain’s chill from Logan's bones.

Janus brushed at the rain on his slacks with a wry grin. “Though he certainly seems to have given it his all. Or Zeus' all, I suppose.” He raised an eyebrow at Logan. “You know, we almost missed the entrance—the signs are all soaked through! One would imagine a school in the Pacific Northwest would think to waterproof their signage!”

Logan threw his head back in a laugh. “One would imagine.” The lights flashed again and the ushers began to close the aisle doors. Nodding at each of them, Logan turned and took his seat. “Well, they look as though they are nearly ready to begin.”

“Are you ready for this?” Remus asked, hand resting on his shoulder. He jerked his chin toward the boys next to him then out at the floor of the stadium, lined with empty folding chairs waiting for the graduates.

“No,” Logan said honestly. Then he smiled. “But I’m thrilled we’re here.”

Nodding, Remus gave his shoulder a squeeze and his brow crinkled. “Fuck, Lo Lo, your muscles are like rocks. Can I help?” he asked, one hand on each shoulder.

“Ah…” Logan bit back an instinctive response of ‘I’m fine.’ Remus’ hands radiated heat, the warmth seeping right through his damp shirt. It felt… nice. “If… Y—yes,” he said at last, practicing the simple answer he could hear in his therapist’s voice.

‘Yes.’ and ‘No.’ are both complete sentences. Use the one that fits and only explain yourself if you wish.

“Thank you,” he added, the last bit breathy as Remus’ hands went to war with the knots in his shoulders. His eyes fell shut and he whispered again, “Thank you.”

Janus’ voice murmured close to his ear. “A sculptor’s hands,” he began, the words that followed drowned out by the start of Pomp and Circumstance.

“Rain check on the rest of that,” Remus whispered near his other ear and gently relaxed his grip before sitting back.

The warmth of Remus' hands was slow to dissipate, and Logan let the music wash over him as happy tears burned his eyes. He looked out over the empty seats, one of them about to be filled by his giddy, irrepressible son. He looked to his left where the rest of his boys sat, Virgil with his camera ready, Remy, grinning, hand threaded with Emile’s. He listened to the happy, quiet whispers between the twins behind them, and Janus’ soft answering chuckle.

They’d made it. They’d all made it. They’d made it here to Patton’s graduation. Patton, through Herculean effort and determination and endless optimism had made it to graduation.

Cameras flashing from the other side of the stadium broke him from his reverie and he took out his own phone, ready to record every moment that came next.

For all the sturm und drang of the trip across Lake Washington, the ceremony itself was absurdly brief. By the time they all got out and met up with Patton in the front atrium, the sun had not even set. The rain had stopped sometime during the commencement speeches, and the cleared skies were brighter than they had been when Logan had first arrived.

"I really am quite grateful you all came," Logan said quietly to Janus as they watched Roman pose with the boys. "It…" He licked his lips, considering his words. "It means a lot to him and…" He met his eyes. "And a lot to me."

"You sound somewhat surprised we came," Janus said, drawing closer when Remus joined them.

"I… Well…" They exchanged a look, silently speaking volumes to each other.

Remus bumped their shoulders together, grinning. "Nah, Lo Lo," he said. His smile warmed Logan down to his toes. "We wanted to be here with you."

"Really?" Logan asked. "I thought—i feared you accepted out of politeness."

"Ah," Janus said, nodding. Again they shared a look. "Would it be helpful if we were more direct in expressing what we want?"

Remus flashed him another grin and gripped his shoulder. "We can do that."

"Well, y—yes," Logan nodded, irrationally hoping Remus wouldn't let go. "Tha—that would be very helpful."

"Then we shall," Janus murmured and watched the boys as they chased each other over the stadium steps.

They lingered in the golden light, none of them in a rush to join the traffic worming its slow way through the overcrowded parking lot and back over the bridge. Logan snapped more pictures than he could count, reluctant to stop when Roman offered to take a series that included him, as well.

He relented when Janus leaned close, hand soft on his arm. “They will want pictures of their father, Logan,” he murmured.

Eventually the sun set and the first stars glimmered, fighting valiantly to be seen past the city’s lights. The parking lot quieted and they headed toward their cars.

“Mr. H!” Patton called, waving at a figure standing at the rideshare pick-up area across from the first row of cars in the now nearly-empty lot.

Logan recognized Roman’s little two-door coupe parked in the tiny compact spots that had been too tight of a fit for his own vehicle. With a chuckle, he wondered if Roman had made Remus ride scrunched in the back seat. Just beyond it sat Remy’s car.

“Mr. H, I did it!” Patton cheered and ran ahead to greet his favorite teacher.

Frowning down at his phone, Mr. Hopkins was surrounded by two stacks of plastic totes and a large tarp folded under his arm. His face lit up at Patton’s call, waving back with a cheery, “You did! I’m proud of you, Pat!”

“We all are,” Logan said as they joined him.

“I can see that,” Mr. Hopkins grinned, one arm wrapped over Patton’s shoulders. He laughed when Patton took a selfie of them. “You’ve brought an entourage with you,” he remarked, eyes bouncing from face to face. His gaze lingered on Roman’s, recognition flickering, but he seemed determined not to stare. He turned to face Patton.

“Right!” Patton laughed. “Everybody, this is Mr. H—Mr. Hopkins. He’s my theatre teacher, well, was my theatre teacher.” He pointed to each in turn. “You know my dad, and those are my brothers, Virgil and Remy, and Remy’s husband Emile…”

Hopkins shook each hand in turn, again peeking at Roman. Logan glanced over his shoulder, worried he was making him uncomfortable. Roman was good with fans and typically dealt with even the pushiest politely and effectively.

But Roman’s eyes were fixed on Hopkins, eagerly waiting to be introduced.

“And this is Remus and his husband Janus,” Patton continued. He winked at them before gesturing toward Roman. “And this Remus’ brother, Roman.”

Janus hid a laugh behind his hand as Roman inclined his head as he shook Hopkins’ hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Hopkins,” he said, voice a little deeper than usual. Was he—

Logan’s eyes flicked over to Remus’ and he nodded, smirking at his brother’s flirting.

“Please,” Hopkins said, still shaking Roman’s hand. “Call me Lucas.”

“Lucas,” Roman repeated. “I’ve always liked that name.”

“Can I call you Lucas, too?” Patton asked, shoulders dancing the way they did when he was thinking of a joke.

Hopkins—Lucas—laughed. Was he blushing? “You bet!”

“So whatcha doin’ out here, Teach?” Remus asked, grinning back at his brother when he shot him a look that would slay a more fragile man.

“Oh,” Hopkins said with a heavy sigh. His earlier smile faded as he patted one stack of totes. “Waiting for my third Uber of the night, actually.” His phone dinged and he looked down at the screen. “Damn. Make that my fourth Uber,” he said, tapping rapidly.

"A rideshare is unnecessary," Logan said. "I mean…” He looked at Remy and Roman, the other two drivers that night. “Surely between all of our cars we can fit both you and your materials comfortably."

"Are you…sure?" Lucas looked between them, Patton and Roman nodding vigorously.

“Absolutely!” Patton said.

"It would be unseemly to leave you waiting in the rain for an Uber that may never come,” Roman said, moving to his side and grabbing the handle of one of the pushcarts.

“It’s not raining anymore, Ro Bro,” Remus said. Roman either ignored his brother or successfully feigned a sudden and dramatic hearing failure.

"It… Well, the last three canceled when the drivers saw where the pick up was." He shrugged. “No-one wants to get off the highway just to get back on.”

"There you go. It's settled. Here, you can ride with me!" Roman said and began to roll the stack to his car.

"Hey, Ro, did you forget you're our—" The twins exchanged a look and Remus nodded. "Yeah, great idea!” he said and grabbed the other trolly. “Here, I'll help."

After a bit of wrangling, Roman evicted a bright green tote bag from his tiny trunk and, with effort, jammed in most of Lucas’ materials.

In the end, all that was left were the empty wheeled carts and Logan and Janus each took one. “These will fit nicely in my car,” he said.

“Will we fit, too?” Remus asked, smile bright.

“Oh! Yes, of course!” Logan nodded at him and Janus. “I should have made the invitation clear. Absolutely!”

Remy and Virgil exchanged a little smile, relief, probably, at not needing to rearrange their own seating. “We’ll all meet up at Dad’s?” Remy asked, taking Emile’s hand.

“Yeah, are you busy, Mr. H? We’re having a ‘surprise’ celebration back home,” he said, air quotes audible.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Lucas said to Logan.

Nodding excitedly, Roman made pleading eyes over his shoulder and mouthed, “He can come!”

Stifling a laugh, Logan nodded. “We’d love to have you.”

Enlivened by Remus and Patton happily celebrating his work to set up Roman and Lucas, the long walk back to Logan's car felt short.

Janus slid close and murmured, “It seems your son is a budding matchmaker.”

Watching Patton’s glee as he recounted Roman’s flirting, Logan couldn’t disagree. “It appears he is.”

They reached the car and Logan struggled to both retrieve his keys and hold one of the hand trucks.

"Here, lemme help you with that," Remus said, moving close and reaching for the handle.

"Thank you, but I will be fine,” Logan said automatically. Despite the slight chill of the evening, Remus’ hand was warm. “You've got your hands full yourself.”

"I've got two hands, after all," Remus winked at him.

Patton barked out a laugh, quickly covering his mouth.

“We both do,” Janus said, taking the hand truck from Logan’s grip and holding Remus’ other hand.

“They’re not wrong,” Patton said quietly behind him. Taking out his own key, Patton unlocked the car with a chirp. He popped the trunk and tucked both hand trucks into the cargo area. “I’ll drive!” he said and opened the passenger door next to them before he clambered into the driver’s seat.

Watching Patton carefully fasten his seat belt before adjusting the seat and the mirrors, Logan nodded approvingly. “Your lessons have paid off,” he hummed and climbed into the backseat, leaving the front passenger seat for either Remus or Janus.

Remus climbed into the back with him.

And Janus slid into the seat on Logan's other side. “Quite the matchmaker, indeed,” he murmured, leaning close to Logan as he buckled his seat belt.

Patton started the engine, then grinned at him in the rear view mirror. “Everyone ready?”

Logan looked at Remus and then at Janus. Each met his eyes and nodded. Remus' hand grazed his knee.

…It’s the best possible time to be alive, when almost everything you thought you knew was wrong. Crack open the door and step through!

Heart racing, Logan nodded back at his son’s reflection. “Yes,” he said.

"Ready."

Author's Note: And the story is finally complete. This tale needed more room than I'd originally anticipated to say everything it needed. And, even in the epilogue, there's plenty more life for all of them to lead. (And, yes, we'll see this trio again at @intruloceitweek in October. This is just the beginning for them, after all.)

#sanders sides #sasi #tss #sanders sides fanfiction #logan sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #intruloceit #intrulogical #logince #patton sanders #virgil sanders #remy sanders #emile picani #On a Butterfly's Wing #Happily Ever After #The Uses of Adversity #Overruled

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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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Science on Sea

Hello! This is my first submission for Camp Cartoon, an event I'm helping run over at @tss-camp-and-coffee! The prompt was Intrulogical on a boat and was requested by @edupunkn00b. Hope you enjoy!

Masterpost | Ao3

Summary: Remus helps Logan with an experiment he wanted to do for a long time

Content Warnings: Heatstroke (probably not medically accurate)

~~*~~

Experiment Log #2503.3 The subject has now been in the set up scenario for three hours. He has elected to pull his shirt above his head to presumably find some shelter from the sun. He is sweating excessively, and his skin is turning red from prolonged exposure to its ultraviolet rays. I believe—

“Hey, Lolo?”

Logan raised his head from the notes he’d been writing down in his log to look at his boyfriend.

“Yes, Meus?”

“I’m bored.”

“Is that your most pressing concern at the moment?” Logan asked, eager for more data. Remus chuckled dryly – considering how much fluid he has lost through sweating without any way to rehydrate, that was quite fitting – and shook his head.

“Probably not. I’m getting quite the headache and I’m super exhausted.”

Those were expected symptoms considering they were currently out in a rowboat in the middle of an ocean the twins had created in the Imagination. And while Logan was equipped with a parasol and a cooler with water and some food, Remus was without any covering or consumables. Logan had wanted to test the effects of being stranded on the ocean for a long time and Remus had agreed to help him with the condition that they first only do the physical strain and not the mental one, which is why Remus for one knew he was not truly stranded and second could see and interact with Logan.

“I think the boredom is making the other stuff worse though since I can’t really distract myself from the pain, y’know? If I had a game or something I could ignore a lot of the discomfort for way longer.”

“Interesting. How much longer would you hypothesize?”

Remus groaned.

“Don’t use such big words when I have a headache, Lolo! I’m stupid when I’m exhausted, you know that.”

“I disagree with your wording, but I do understand your point. Do you have a guess at how much longer you could ignore the discomfort as you said if you had proper entertainment?”

“You’re pushing it with ‘entertainment’.”

“’Entertainment’ is not a big word, Remus.”

“For me right now it is.”

“Very well. Please answer the question.”

“Huh? Oh, right. Uh, I think maybe an hour or so? Maybe even more, you know how absorbed I can get into certain stuff. Forgot to eat like over a day once.”

“I was not aware of that.”

“Yeah, it happened long before we were even on speaking terms,” Remus shrugged. “Janny found me collapsed at my desk, I think. Got quite the lecture afterwards.”

“I can imagine.”

They both went quiet for a while afterwards and Logan continued his notetaking before Remus spoke up again.

“This is such a weird date, even for my standards.”

“It is not a date; it is an experiment.”

“We’re dating though and it’s just the two of us, soooo…”

“Not every interaction we have on our own is a date, Meus.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“Because according to the Cambridge dictionary a date is ‘a social meeting planned before it happens, especially one between two people who have or might have a romantic relationship’. As such, us running into each other in the kitchen for example is not a date as it was not planned beforehand.”

“But this was planned beforehand. We had a big, long talk about what we’re gonna do, for how long and yadda yadda yadda. So, it’s a date.”

“The purpose of this scenario is to collect scientific data not to deepen our romantic relationship, however.”

“Why can’t it be both?”

Remus grinned at Logan as if he had just made the best argument in metaphysical history. Logan watched the sweat drip from his moustache and sighed.

“I understand you are most likely starting to experience your first symptoms of heatstroke, Meus, but while I am incredibly interested to see the physical ramifications of a prolonged stay in such a hostile environment, I do not feel comfortable calling such an activity a date.”

Remus slowly blinked at him one eye at a time.

Right, no big words. He probably truly didn’t process anything Logan had just said.

“I don’t want this to be considered— called a date if you are not having fun, Meus.”

“Who said I wasn’t having fun!”

“You said you were bored.”

“So?”

“Please, Remus. This is an experiment to push you to your physical limits, that cannot be fun for you.”

“You have literally dissected me before and we called that a date,” Remus argued, now pouting like a child.

“Yes, because you were adju— making your body not feel real pain and stayed awake and joking the entire time. I would not have called the same activity a date if you had been on life support or dead.”

“You’re so smart.”

The sudden shift in topic and Remus’ tone made Logan pause for a moment before he cleared his throat in embarrassment.

“Yes, thank you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You’re the best, y’know that? You’re smart and funny and cool and willing to listen to me and you have so much passion for your interest that it’s a lot of fun to listen to you ramble on and on and on and on—”

“Oh dear,” Logan muttered as Remus continued his mumblings about how great of a boyfriend Logan was. “I think the heatstroke has truly set in now. Meus? Remus! Could you look at me for a moment, please?”

In accordance with the rules of the experiment they set beforehand, Logan was not allowed to touch Remus until he passed out, so getting Remus’ attention was crucial to checking his status which was hard to accomplish with his boyfriend becoming more delirious. Eventually Remus met his eyes and started a whole new ramble about how pretty Logan’s eyes were.

“A very sudden shift,” Logan remarked as he observed Remus’ blown wide pupils. He made a note of those in his Log before keeping a closer eye on his boyfriend. He did not enjoy seeing his boyfriend like this even if the scientific data was fascinating. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long for Remus to truly pass out and then they could go cuddle and watch a movie as they had planned for afterwards.

Maybe Logan didn’t really want to go through with making Remus go through this a second time on his own anymore…

#namiswriting #camp cartoon #intrulogical #ts logan #logan sanders #ts remus #remus sanders #heatstroke #probably not medically accurate #sanders sides #fanfiction

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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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intrulogical + random latin phrases (insp)

@brooklyn-not-nyc requested anything with logan or remus or both!

#love them

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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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Intrulogical cuddles 💚💙

#theyre so soft and sweet when they're sleeping

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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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Edu where's your seven deadly sins intrulogical love story? I'm sure it's on your masterpost but I've got the flu and I'm very tired I would love to read it, with the caveat that I may fall asleep instead lol 💚💙

Oh, I do hope you're feeling better soon!

The story is Variations on a Sin :

#sanders sides #logan sanders #ts logan #ts remus #remus sanders #intrulogical

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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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Virgil: Right in front of my fucking coffee?!

#sanders sides #remus sanders #remus the duke sanders #logan sanders #intrulogical #virgil sanders #punkindraws

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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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when I first got into the (sanders sides) fandom intrulogical was a ship i didn't like for some reason but it's growing on me. demus is still my fav but. I like this other one too now.

↑

I wrote this down like a month or two ago and made it into a draft and guess what my favorite ship is now

#vwry common sentiment 💚💙#you are in excellent company

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intrulogicalweek · 2 months ago

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Between a Rock and a Hard Place

All Logan has left is his field work and with the impossible discoveries he's made in the great Vert Woods, nothing could keep him away. Well, Remus might have something to say about that.

Written for @syrcaljirk for the @tss-camp-and-coffee's Camp Cartoon event.

WC: 5243 - Rated: G

Another bolt of lighting crashed, over-illuminating the sopping field notebook cradled in Logan Stèle’s lap. Blinking against the temporary glare, and fingers long gone from cold to aching then to numb, Logan wiped away the rivulets of water collecting on his notebook and continued his work.

The rain had fallen, unrelenting, for hours, pouring down upon the trees, the ground. Him. It fell hard enough Logan might have believed literal buckets were dumped on his head as he sat scrunched under the partial cover of the stony shelter he’d managed to find beneath a basalt outcropping.

Grateful, as always, for the stone-based waterproof notebook his old advisor had insisted they bring in surplus, Logan scratched out another sketch of the Podaxis pistillaris growing before him.

This was his eighth trip in as many weeks to the Vert Woods and each visit brought a different, impossible discovery.

Despite the obvious visual evidence before him, fungi in the Agaricaceae family simply did not grow in this type of forest. Agaricaceae were strictly desert fungi, the specimens before him literally nicknamed ‘desert shaggy manes’ for their preferred climate and their shredded rings that more closely resembled hair than the remnants of their volva.

Not only could the Agaric. not survive in the wet, chilly climate of the northern rain forests, but here they would they find nothing resembling their preferred diet of desert termite casings. Its spores would have long dissolved in the combination of damp loamy soil and frequent soaking downpours Logan had observed over the past seven hours.

It had to be a mimic.

A carefully sealed spore print developing in the deepest part of his discovered crevice, Logan not-quite-patiently recorded his observations. These specimens truly were remarkable, sprouting so quickly their growth was visible, granting Logan the view he’d ordinarily need time lapse photography to record. Just as well, as all his previous attempts to leave behind field cameras had failed. The first set’s lenses had been smeared by some thick organic material. The next had drained their solar batteries so completely even their internal memory had failed. Another set of cameras had broken completely.

The last set had just disappeared.

His dwindling supplies would not in good conscience permit him to sacrifice any additional cameras after that incident.

With darkened skies raging overhead, he recorded his own observations and waited for a break in the storm before he began his hike back to basecamp and his tiny—and efficient—field lab.

For now, though, he thought to himself as another clap of lighting crackled overhead, he was safest here. And so was the developing print. Turning to a fresh page to capture a larger growth sprouting just past the first, he figured he might as well make good use of his time while he rode out the storm.

Eyes just barely closed but teeth gritted in concentration, Remus shoved down the irritation creeping up his throat. He chanted, calling for another bolt of lightning only seconds after the last. This one struck near enough to make the tiny hairs on the backs of his fingers stand on end. Bright enough to see his own veins through his eyelids.

And still the alchemist camped in the forest, in Remus’ forest, his ward. The forest air choking on the poison of his electronic gadgets, the ground weeping beneath the tread of his jagged plastic soles, the forest’s creatures shrinking from sight.

Draped in the skins and fur and hair of animals and plants whose deaths had been fast and brutal, executed without prayer or gratitude, the alchemist lingered, unbowed by his storm as he surveyed the sacred grounds, carving his rock-on-rock runes with undying perseverance.

Well, Remus would just have to see about the undying part.

Energy crackled between his fingers as he pulled up the heat and power of the ground beneath his bare feet. Freezing rain pelted his face, plastering his clothes to his skin. The wind whipped his long hair back and the scent of ozone rose up around him.

Bright white fire gathered in his hands and his eyes flew open. He focused on the small figure at the bottom of the cliff and aimed.

Power sizzled through his veins, hot and staticky, drawing on the anger of the earth, the broken rock and torn roots crying out for protection. And revenge.

Fingertips glowing brighter than the bolts carving the sky, Remus muttered the final words of the spell. Without warning, his brother’s old spores bloomed around the alchemist, copper spike and rose russulas and thousands upon thousands of amanitas bigger than his palm.

Remus dropped his hands with a curse and turned his back on the alchemist. He slunk back home under a clear blue sky.

The storm showed no sign of abatement, in fact each clap of thunder followed sooner after the one that preceded it and the rain pooled at the edge of his rocky shelter, already splashing over the lip of what would be delusional to call a cave.

If it weren’t for the racket of the storm—and the anxiety that rose with the level of the water, when the mushrooms around him sprouted to new life, Logan might have thought he was dreaming. Russula emetica, Chroogomphus rutilus, and Amanita muscaria bloomed from impossible surfaces. Amanita shot up from bare rock, the Russula twining around the trunk of a long-dead oak.

Excitement bubbling in his chest, he turned to a new page and hurriedly captured the scene, wishing bitterly his still camera had not broken on his first attempt. Even his hand-crank radio was malfunctioning.

Pencil on paper it was, then.

The skies darkened and Logan swore under his breath, briefly toying with the idea of venturing out from his shelter to get a closer look. Then, just as suddenly as the Amanita sprouted, the rains just… stopped.

A perfect blue sky broke through the clouds, the sun now well past its zenith. If he left now he might make it back to basecamp with enough daylight left for the solar chargers to revive what was left of his devices. Unwilling to risk being caught in another downpour, this time without even the minimal cover he’d managed to find earlier today, Logan slipped his notebook and pencil into his pocket and oh-so-carefully picked up the tiny covered box in the back of the crevice. And the blooming spore print within.

Tipping open the lid, he wrapped the Agaricaceae cap in many-times over reused stone paper paper and checked the print. A perfect canoe shape, dark brown spores from a cream-colored cap. “Remarkable,” he whispered, turning the print to catch the light. A literally incredible discovery, especially growing in tandem with—

Logan gasped, eyes snagged on the now fungi-free field before him. Where once had been a riot of contradictory species, now stretched a flat meadow of five kinds of clover, Papaver rhoeas and Pterostylis parviflora.

He checked the cap he’d secured in his bag. An empty parchment packet was all he found.

The print, however…

The spore print remained pristine and solid, the dark brown marks blurred at the edges, staring back at him, the sole proof of what he’d seen today. Gently stowing away the precious evidence, Logan hurried out toward the path back to camp, back to his lab where perhaps he could begin to make sense of this impossible forest.

“Why wouldn’t you let me get rid of him?” Remus spat, tiptoeing between a patch of poppies and a fallen maple. “One good strike and he’d’ve fed you for a century!”

More red blossoms unfurled before him, tiny camellias tracing his path back home.

“But it is me,” he argued. “Looking after these woods is my job now.” The petals reached for him, velvety soft brushes against bare ankles.

It was more soothing than Remus would ever admit aloud. Not that he needed to.

“I know,” he sighed, footsteps slowing. His house—their house—lay just beyond the mossy, weathered remnants of a pre-solar tower. The poppies grew thicker now, carpeting the path ahead.

Scattered across them lay a staggered set of bare patches between him and the front door, stepping stones across a floral creek.

“I know you’d be here if you could.”

The groundshake struck just before its warning alarm. Ancient systems reliant on an increasingly failure-prone network of sensors, the series of alarms meant to rouse the surrounding cities and villages from their beds in time to seek shelter were now little more than an added nuisance.

They’d have deactivated the seismic sirens long ago. If there had been anyone left who knew how to, that was.

Now Logan was faced with the choice of the certain danger of rockslides racing down from the summit or the high but vague chance of falling trees in the woods.

His feet and hands decided before the rest of his mind could, snatching up his go-bag and darting out into the cool, dark forest.

His feet had been rash.

Not ten paces into the woods, Logan realized his mistake. Towering Sequoia sempervirens, after centuries of strain and stress of acid rain, methane bursts, and decades of drought in the Dry Years, the once great Kings of the forest trembled with the earth, the crackling and splintering of the dry, rotten trunks drowning out the screeching sirens at base camp.

Too late, Logan turned back, old solar lights glittering through the trees, beckoning him to over-promised safety. A younger tree, not more than three hundred years old, split a dozen meters up from where he stood. It fell through its sibling trees and crashed to the ground, blocking his path.

The world cracked behind him and the sky was blotted out by the carcass of one more great Redwood.

Remus woke with a start, his own breaths deafening in the odd hush blanketing his home. He sat up and scrunched his toes against the ground beneath him.

It ached, pulled and stretched, crying in terror and pain.

Leaping to his feet, he grabbed the pot of sage ashes on the hearth. He ran uphill through the underbrush, headed for the still waters of Lake Frère.

He chanted with every step, pounding his message into the earth, scattering the burnt sage along the trail for any of the forest’s creatures to follow. The earth shakes. Seek water. The earth shakes. Seek water.

The first shuddering jolt threw him to the ground. Remus dropped to his knees but kept the ashes safe, with only a little spilling over the lip of the pot. Back on his feet, he ran on, dusting the trail step by step as he carved out a path to safety.

Three tiny red poppies appeared just as the cool, heavy scent of lake air filled his lungs, the promise of safety within its depths. “No!” he paused the spell to shout. “We’re going this way,” he said, then resumed his chanting.

Another blossom appeared, several steps to the left.

“No way,” he insisted, slowing and pointing up the hill. “We’re going that way.”

Two more steps forward and a wall of English holly shot up, barricading the path.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

Deep roots shrieked around them, the pained cries of ancient ones meeting a final, violent death and the ground broke beneath them. Remus touched a shoot nearest him, whispering condolences, ease and calm, and shouted at the sky. “This is no time for—“

The ground shook again, jolting him forward. And away from the water.

Bright red poppies lined the path ahead. “Fine!” he shouted. “We’ll do it your way!”

Remus smelled the alchemist’s blood before he saw it. “Serves you right,” he muttered, yelping when a vine slapped his bare calf. “What?” he snapped back. “Who runs into a forest in an earthquake?”

As he’d trekked downhill through the woods, the great growling rumbles of the earth dissolved into little more than periodic spasms, the last hiccupping gasps as the ground finished its seizing and settled into another long, fitful slumber.

One such aftershock dropped a ferny branch down on the bloodied alchemist’s face and he sputtered to life.

“Wha—Agh!” Confusion turned to pain, seeping through the soil and digging cold fingers into Remus’ skin. The alchemist pushed weakly at the trunk, barely more than a branch, really, holding him fast to the ground.

Red amanitas sprouted around his head, near enough to touch.

“What are you doing?” Remus hissed, too low for the clumsy alchemist to hear.

Or so he’d thought.

“Who’s there?” he croaked, fear and pain tightening his throat. Even if Remus hadn’t already felt the man’s injuries through the ground between them, his choked words would have drawn him closer.

“No-one,” Remus answered. Red petals nudged him closer and he shook his head. Yes, fine, he would help him. But he didn’t need to be nice about it.

“Wha—“ he began, twisting to see. The alchemist’s voice broke, a stifled whimper. Besides the gashes and what looked like a sprained if not broken ankle, he likely had at least a few cracked ribs. And maybe worse.

“Stay still,” Remus growled. “You’ll only make your injuries worse flopping around like that.”

Ignoring his advice, the alchemist turned and stared. “You’re—“

The ground shifted beneath them, twisting the tree on top of him. With a pathetic little groan, the alchemist’s eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

Logan was warm. Not hot, with the sticky heat of humid nights or the glaring sun bearing down on him and the baked, barren ground back home. No, warm like soft springs, tea perfectly steeped and cooled. Gentle sunrises as the steam lifted up off the forest lakes.

Warm and comfortable and—

Logan’s eyes flew wide open, unseeing through an inky blackness surrounding him. The last he’d remembered, he’d been trapped under the biggest tree he’d ever seen, a monstrous specimen so large he’d mistaken it for part of the cliffs. It had hurt, far more than rad poisoning, far more than decompression, far more than anything else he’d ever experienced.

And now? Now he felt warm, wrapped in dark softness, dry and safe and completely without any pain.

“Am I dead?” he whispered into the black silence.

It was not a voice that answered him, but a snore. Several feet away, a very soft, very human snore.

Logan pushed himself upright and sat listening. Other, smaller sounds reached his ears. The distant call of a night bird—an owl, perhaps?—followed by a rustle and the snap of twigs. Wind through the trees.

It was only then a flicker of thin, silver light shot over his legs—rather, over the chunky knit blanket covering his legs.

Next to him was a window, draped in heavy, tightly woven hemp. It waved gently with the breeze, releasing a flicker of moonlight with each movement. Reaching for the curtain, Logan peeled it back, drenching the room in soft moonlight.

He was lying in a nest of blankets, a soft mattress beneath him, overstuffed with grasses and dried moss. If the scent wafting up with each movement was a reliable indicator, of course.

The bedding was tucked into one corner of a small stone house, a hut, really. The floor nothing more than packed dirt. A paneless window stretched alongside it, a sturdy brick-lined stove at the far end.

Two walls lined with books bound in all colors, baskets—both filled and empty—teetered in a haphazard stack by the door, bits of dried and drying herbs hung from the rafters, the walls, the doorway.

And at the end of the bookshelves slept a man.

Wrapped in a blanket much like the ones piled around Logan, most of the man’s face was tucked beneath the covers. Thick eyebrows and a mass of dark, plaited hair peeked out above them. He turned, a beam of moonlight spilling over his temple.

The front door swayed with the breeze, and Logan’s go-bag sat undisturbed beside it. Nothing would stop him from leaving.

Still holding the curtain open, Logan tried to peel away the covers one handed, but he only succeeded in getting himself further tangled within. He released the window coverings, plunging the room into darkness. He’d seen enough to know he was no longer dressed in his own bedclothes, the shirt and pants he’d gone to sleep in before he was woken by the groundshake.

Logan managed to free one leg but when he worked the other out, pain shot out from foot to hip and he cried out. He slapped a hand over his mouth but the snoring across the room suddenly stopped.

“You’re awake,” the man growled. He groaned and the sounds of movement filled the room.

Twisting, Logan tried to reach the curtain, to allow some light inside but he only succeeded in getting further tangled, foot twisted painfully in the blankets. A cry leaked out past his lips and he fell back against the bed, helpless.

“Yeah, I know he’s hurt,” the man muttered.

Was there someone else there? Logan clawed desperately at the bed, trying to reach the curtain but he’d gotten twisted up so badly every movement sent fire up his leg. A sharp crack-crack-crack stilled him and, after a moment, a soft glow filled the room.

The man stood at the other side of the room, a tiny antique lantern held aloft. Logan’s eyes darted around, searching for whoever the man had been speaking to, but there was no-one else there. In the brighter light, he could now see what he’d thought were herbs were vines of Mandevilla spp. and Phaseolus coccineus, their bright red blossoms seemingly uncaring their species did not grow indoors.

Nor bloom at night.

“H—how?” Logan stammered, curtain and blankets forgotten.

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he set the lantern atop the brick stove and knelt next to Logan. Careful, deft hands extricated his leg from the covers and Logan got a better look at the stiff splint wrapped around his ankle. Scowl notwithstanding, he maneuvered Logan’s injured leg gently, adjusting a pillow beneath it Logan hadn’t even realized was there. The elevation helped.

“Did—did you do all this?” Logan asked, gesturing to his leg, his clothes he realized were from the same cloth as the man’s own tunic. “Did you bring me here?”

He grunted. “You didn’t walk yourself here.” The breeze blew one of the Mandevilla close enough to brush against the man’s hand and he glared at it.

“Thank you,” Logan said, holding his breath when the man’s head whipped around, glaring at him instead. “F—for all of this, for finding me, for—“ His voice cracked. With the surprise and pain fading, his thirst made itself known and he licked dry lips.

Without speaking, the man pushed up to his feet and lit the stove. He picked up an ancient-looking kettle and poured some into a small clay cup then set the kettle on the hottest part of the stove. “Here,” he said, moving to his side. He helped Logan sit up and held the cup to his lips. “Drink.”

Logan sipped at the water. It was fresh and clean, not recycled or even silty like the rainwater he collected at base camp. He wondered how much of basecamp survived the groundshake. Likely not much.

“Thank you,” he said again when the cup was empty. He leaned heavily against the supportive arm the man still wrapped around his back.

Movement caught his eye and, over the man’s shoulder, he spotted—hallucinated, surely—one of the longer vines stretching down where it draped over the bookshelves. It snaked its way across the floor and up over the man’s other arm. It sniffed at the cup in his hand like a favored pet.

“Cup’s empty,” the man said. “Yours is outside. It’ll rain in the morning.”

“Did you just—“

The man grunted again and slowly lowered him onto the bed. “You’ll recover faster if you rest,” he said, ignoring his question.

And ignoring the blossoms insistently poking at his foot. That was the final evidence Logan needed, the final proof that he was utterly and completely delirious. “Agreed,” he whispered, the soft bed buffing away his earlier curiosity. “Thank you,” he said one more time and let his head sink into the pillows beneath him.

“You’re—“

The man hesitated and as his eyes closed, Logan imagined he heard the rustle of leaves against the floor.

“You’re welcome.”

Logan was asleep before the kettle began to boil.

The sun was more than half-way in its march across the sky and the alchemist still slept.

Remus had not.

“I know he couldn’t get far with his foot like that,” he muttered, crushing another bundle of dried burdock root. The rhythmic scrape of granite against granite and scent of cloves and lemon balm simmering on the stove soothed the dull ache behind his eyes. “He wouldn’t hafta go far to damage yo—“

“Hello?”

He nearly dropped the pestle. One arm hugging the mortar to his chest, his other hand outstretched and a spell on his tongue, Remus spun around.

The alchemist looked just as startled as he felt. “I… I apologize, I hadn’t meant to interrupt…” Eyes darting around his home, the alchemist floundered, mouth working like a thirsty fish before finally shaking his head. “If I may ask… Wh—who were talking to?”

Remus ignored the question—and the red blooms dancing in the window sill behind him—and brought the poultice to the alchemist’s bedside. His bedside. “This is for you,” he said, allowing the alchemist to smell the mixture like he might with any creature of the woods.

The wind laughed through the poppies, only growing louder at his glare.

“Is there—“ The alchemist twisted, looking back at the window. “Is there someone outside?”

Remus didn’t answer and simply peeled back the bottom edge of the covers, revealing deep red and purple bruising on the alchemist’s injured leg.

He gasped, tensing until the poultice touched his skin. “I… I expected that to hurt.”

“Pretty messed up way to heal something if you have to hurt it first,” Remus muttered, watching the poppies from the corner of his eye as he worked. The blood red petals crept down from the window, dragging their stems behind them in a train.

“I suppose that makes sense,” the alchemist said after a few moments. “Do you… do you heal a lot of people in the woods? I—I’d thought, well… I’d thought there wasn’t anyone for kilometers, not… Not recently at least.”

Remus shrugged. “You’re here,” he said, blowing at the first layer of poultice. It needed to crust over before he applied another or he’d end up with a soggy mess and have to start all over again.

The alchemist seemed to consider that and finally nodded. “Well, yes, I… we—“

“We?” Remus put down the mortar and stared at him. “Who’s we? Who else have you brought here? Where are they?”

“N—no—nowhere,” he stammered, doe eyes wide with fear. The sudden movement had jostled his ankle and it screamed its pain through the air, but Remus held his gaze. “They—they’re… they’re gone.”

Remus started to rise. “And where did they go?” He had enough basil but would need to gather more sage before he confronted them. Alchemist tribes were finicky. Their tribesman’s presence could be protective. Or be considered an act of war.

“No—where,” he said at last. “They’re all… dead,” he finished at last, avoiding his eyes. “My advisor was old, at least forty. He found the gravi—the environment was insurmountable. The other two assistants…” Lips pressed tightly together, he shook his head and breathed hard through his nose. “The snows took them.”

Against his better judgement, Remus sat back down and touched the blanket next to his hand. Poppies curled around the man’s head, much like the halo of amanitas he’d seen when he’d found him. “How long have you been here? It hasn’t snowed since…”

“Six sol—years ago.”

Remus frowned, glancing up at the poppies. The blossoms showed no reaction to his strange dialect. “Let me finish,” he said at last and picked up the mortar. “Then you should rest.”

The alchemist nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he spread another layer of the poultice. The pain fizzled away from the air and he sighed. “Thank you… ah…” He opened his eyes, placid blue deeper than Frère Lake. “M—my name is Logan…”

He fell silent then, watching, expectant. The petals around his head tapped the pillow behind him, also waiting.

“Remus,” he said.

Logan smiled. “Thank you, Remus.”

Time marked by a daily reapplication of Remus’ pungent concoction, Logan managed to maintain a semblance of coherency. There were days when the only time he was conscious was when Remus carefully peeled away the blanket to check on his ankle. Whatever other, less visible, injuries he’d suffered seemed to be taking their toll as he slowly recovered.

Still, the relief he felt as the angry purple bruising faded to greens and yellows was marked.

“You’ll soon be back on your feet,” Remus said one morning—No, afternoon. Long, dappled shadows cast by the old maple outside Remus’ window meant it must be afternoon by now.

“I wish…” There were still several months until the weather would turn. If Remus was right, he’d be well enough to make the trek back with enough time still to assess and repair basecamp for the oncoming season. He’d been making due with the remaining supplies, recycling what he could and jury-rigging what he must.

There were benefits to only requiring a single functioning sleeping shelter.

“I wish I knew how to properly thank you for… helping me,” Logan finally said.

“You can stay away,” Remus grunted, covering his ankle with a fresh cloth and loping across the room in two strides. He busied himself with scraping the stone bowl he used for the treatments, back turned to him.

“Oh… ah, of course.” Logan’s chest tightened painfully. Had a blood clot shifted into a dangerous vein? Was his fatigue something more than simple recovery? Under the covers he felt his pulse. It was steady. “You have been more than generous in my convalescence. I apologize for the inconvenience, I—“

A green tendril unfurled from the Papaver spilling in from the window. It trailed over his leg, red blossoms opening along its path.

Logan stared, breath caught in his throat. He… he was fully awake, fully aware, completely lucid. But this… this couldn’t be real. “Re—Remus?” he stammered. “Please, I… Is…” Finally Remus turned and glared at the flowers as they spread over his legs. “Is this real?”

“Don’t think this will change my mind,” he snapped, addressing the flowers.

“What?”

Remus looked at him then and sighed, arms crossed over his chest. “I—“ He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, they’re real. What, you thought you were still dreaming?” he asked. “You talk in your sleep but not like this.”

“I—I what?” Logan shook his head, a thousand questions colliding. When did he talk in his sleep? When had Remus noticed? Did he watch him as he slept? What did he say? “I—wait, these… Is this… Is this normal for these woods?”

The flowers seemed to turn to Remus, like they, too, awaited his answer.

“It’s not… abnormal,” he said after a moment.

“They’re remarkable,” Logan whispered, reaching to touch one of the petals before thinking better of it. “May I…” He looked at his go-bag still sitting by the door. “May I have the notebook and pencil in my bag?”

“Are you kidding?” Remus stomped closer and the flowers rose up between them. He tried to wave them away, scowling. “Oh, stand down.” He looked at Logan then. “You think I’m just gonna let you cast runespells in my own home?”

“Rune—What? No, I…” Logan pushed up to a seat and the flowers moved with him. “No, I have a field journal. It’s in my bag. For notes?” He mimed holding a book with one hand and writing with the other.

Remus hissed, eyes squeezed shut and both hands up like a shield. After a moment, he lowered them.

The flowers in his lap danced.

“Oh, ha ha,” he spat at them. “Very funny.” He looked at Logan again, eyes narrowed. “Fine, but if you try anything, even he can’t stop me from defending us.”

He? Logan glanced at the flowers. “Okay,” he nodded.

Pinching the strap with a thumb and two fingers, Remus picked it up and carried the bag back to the bed without letting any other part of it touch him. He set it down within Logan’s reach and backed away, eyes sharp. “Open it slowly,” he ordered when Logan reached for the bag.

Nodding, Logan carefully unfastened the front flap and pulled out his field book and a pencil. It was getting dull, but it would work well enough. He didn’t think taking out a knife to sharpen it would engender any additional trust from his already jumpy healer.

The flowers seemed to watch him, as well, inching closer as he opened the book, flipping past pages of fungi and spore print reproductions and various flora he’d found on his trips through the woods. He’d once imagined he’d share his findings with the follow-up research team.

Five years of silence disabused him of the hope one would ever arrive.

Remus flinched when his pencil touched the paper but eased as Logan traced the rough shape of the nearest blossom. Remus stepped closer, watching.

It was difficult to accurately capture the form of the moving blossom, and he kept restating his lines as he worked. After a few minutes, Remus muttered, “You gotta stay still or he can’t do it.”

At first Logan wasn’t sure who he was talking to but the flowers nearest him stopped moving, so still even the breeze from the window didn’t move their petals.

Logan stared for a moment before smiling. “Thank you,” he murmured and quickly sketched the rest of the bloom. When he was done, he turned the book so they both—Remus and the flowers—could see. “They’re quite lovely. I… The picture can’t properly capture their behavior—his behavior?” he asked, noting Remus’ single nod. “But… These flowers don’t grow like this anywhere I’ve ever seen before.”

Remus looked down at the book. “May I?” he asked, voice soft.

“Of course.” Logan passed him the book and watched as he slowly turned each page back to front. “You… made all of these?”

“I—I sketched them, yes,” Logan nodded. The flowers nudged Remus’ hands the way a pet or a tiny toddler might bop its head against a beloved person to get their attention. “Did you… make them?” he asked, impulsively reaching out to stroke one of the flowers.

“You hear that?” Remus asked the nearest blossom, chuckling. When he looked up at Logan, he was smiling. The first smile he’d seen on him. “It’s a long story, but it’s a little bit the other way around.”

Something in that smile gave Logan a courage he didn’t deserve and he reached for Remus’ hand. “I’d love to hear it someday.”

#sanders sides #tss #sasi #ts logan #ts remus #ts roman #kinda #logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #tss camp cartoon

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