#tss prince

[brokenhardies]

Virgil: The real reason Howl kept his house moving was tax evasion Logan: This sounds like a joke, but I read the book. This was the literal reason Roman: ...WHAT--

[let-roman-bite-someone]

oh don’t mind me, just thinking about how roman probably internalized this and decided that his goals and dreams would just be detrimental for thomas.

[analoceits]

shout out to @thegoldenduckie for reblogging my old hollow knight x tss piece and reminding me ive been wanting to draw more of that, prompting me to draw this

also. i WILL being making an analysis post abt logan as the hollow knight bc it makes me INSANEE

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 15: In the Shadows of a System's Intricacies

A graphical representation of a Lorenz attractor.

Prev - In the Shadows of a System's Intricacies - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC: 4445 - Rated: T - CW: none? Not sure how I pulled that one off. Nightmares, I guess? -

February 14, 2025

Logan raced up the front steps, shuffling off his shoes the moment he got the door opened. Clad in the apron Logan had bought him three Christmases ago, Remus met him at the door with a broad smile.

“Did I make it?”

Nodding, Remus pried the case files from his arms and set them on the counter. “Perfect timing, Lo Lo,” he said, stealing a kiss when he moved to help with his coat. “They’re upstairs working on his eyeliner.”

“Thank goodness,” he sighed with a whoosh that ruffled Remus’ curls. “I came straight—“ He snorted at Remus’ dubious expression. “I came directly from court. We won big today.”

“And I want to hear all about it, Lo,” Janus’ voice carried down from the stairwell. “But first, may I present Mr. Patton Sanders?”

Patton skipped down the stairs, arms waving at his sides. His billowing sleeves made a cheery swish-swish-swish as he descended. He moved smoothly; confident and proud of his outfit.

Lids expertly traced in his favorite baby blue, his eyes glowed over ruddy pink cheeks. Baby blue popped from his shirt, his vest, the cuffs of his slacks. The neat Windsor knot at his collar.

“You went with the tie,” Logan said, voice quiet as he adjusted the already perfect knot.

Patton nodded, his grin bright enough to light the room. “It felt right.”

“You wear it well, Pat,” he murmured, smoothing down his own tie.

Turning to look at their shared reflection in the hall mirror, Patton smiled again. “I think Eli’ll like it. I do.”

“Confidence and comfort in your own skin matter more than anything else when you’re seeking to impress a date,” Janus said, reaching up to adjust Patton’s curls before slowly lowering his hand.

Logan threaded their fingers together and squeezed.

“Yeah, have I ever told you what Jannie was wearing when we first met?” Remus cackled when Patton rolled his eyes with a grin.

Janus shook his head, pink dusting his cheeks. “Off with you!” he teased. “Don’t you have a top secret something or other in the kitchen? I think it’s burning…”

Laughing as he dodged a playful smack on his ass, Remus hurried off to the kitchen only to call back, “Ooo! I see a car pulling up! Freshly washed, too. Somebody’s looking to impress you, Pat.”

Patton gasped, bouncing on his toes and reaching for the door.

“Hold on, now,” Janus said, giving his shoulder a little squeeze. “How about a coat? It’ll be cold out tonight.”

Nodding, Patton pulled down the Carhart Remus had insisted he clean over the weekend. All but a tiny smattering of paint had come off, leaving splashes of color at the wrists. Logan smiled when he realized the swirls matched Patton's tie.

“Is it a brown car?” he asked Remus, shoving his arms into the coat sleeves.

“Mahogany,” Remus grinned at him. “Pearlized.”

“And I’m the pedant,” Logan chuckled quietly, earning a raspberry from Remus.

“It’s him!” Patton cheered and turned to his dads, hands out at his sides. “How do I look?”

“Fantastic.” Logan hugged him before pulling back, smoothing down invisible wrinkles from his tie. “Absolutely fantastic!”

Careful of Patton's hair, Janus pressed a kiss against his forehead and murmured. “Remember the rules?”

Laughing, Patton nodded, ticking off each finger on one hand. “Don’t add to the population or subtract from from it, and stay out of jail, the hospital, or the newspaper.”

“Good boy,” Janus chuckled.

Remus pulled him in to a bear hug and whispered something too quiet for either Janus or Logan to hear. They exchanged a knowing glance.

“Yeah, Papa gave me some,” Pat rolled his eyes, blushing. “Not gonna need ‘em.”

Janus and Logan struggled to keep their expressions neutral and Remus just shrugged. “Better safe than—“

“Okay, I’m going now!” Pat laughed and gave them one last wave before slipping through the door. Eli was getting out of his car. “I’ll be home late!” he called over his shoulder.

“You’ll be home by midnight,” Janus called back.

After another little chorus of goodbyes and a blushing wave from Eli as he and Pat opened each other’s car doors, the trio watched the car until it reached the corner and turned onto the main street.

“Are we sure this was a good idea?” Janus murmured, lingering in the doorway. Arms crossed over his chest, he looked more like he was hugging himself.

Logan smiled and pulled him close as Remus shut the door. “They are visiting the traveling Stonewall exhibit then having dinner two blocks from Eli’s parents’ house,” he reminded him gently. “They will be quite safe.”

“They’re doing the Valentine’s flash mob make-out, too,” Remus said, joining their hug.

“Flash mob?” Janus asked, eyes wide.

Remus shrugged. “What?” A tiny smile worked its way across Janus’ face and Logan kissed his cheek. “They’re making a comeback. Now, out with you two,” he shooed them down the hall and toward the living room. “Go talk about legal precedence and blue ball briefs—“

“Blue back,” Logan corrected before he caught Remus’ smirk.

“Half dozen of one,” he laughed. “I’m nearly done with my masterpiece in here,” he said as he returned to the kitchen. “Twenty minutes!”

“I believe we are being evicted from our own kitchen,” Logan chuckled, hooking his arm through Janus’. “Whatever shall we do?”

Pulling him toward the couch, Janus smiled, his earlier worry washed away with Remus’ antics—just as Remus had intended, Logan suspected. “You have been run ragged all day covering both of our cases,” Janus purred as they sank down on the plush sofa. Reaching gently but with irresistible force, Janus pulled him closer, laying Logan’s head down on his lap. Strong, steady fingers wound through his hair, massaging away the final traces of tension from the day.

“Why don’t you get settled here with me and you can tell me all about it?”

~

Logan groaned as he woke, the micro-movements setting off shooting pains along his back, his neck, his jaw… He blinked gummy eyes and fumbled for his eyeglasses, finally finding them already on his face. Vision unaccountably blurry, he rubbed his eyes, the lids swollen and puffy. Salty streaks had dried on his cheeks and his sleeves were damp.

“Jay?” he croaked, throat tight and dry. “Meus?”

A streetlight shone through a window behind him, casting a harsh beam over the table at which he sat. Draped in a tablecloth he didn’t recognize, it was set with stark black dishes with sharp corners, those squared plates and bowls that reminded him more of stone slabs than something to share a meal with.

An ornate centerpiece consumed most of the table, two dozen long-cut white roses interspersed with lilies and baby’s breath. A half dozen white tapers surrounded them, wicks black but barely burned. The air was heavy with the greasy scent of roasted beef, nearly overpowering the soft yeasty aroma coming from the small basket of bread by his elbow.

He’d just begun to wonder where he was when the matte grey trim in front of him stole his breath.

Sitting in the near-dark, he listened for signs of who else might be around. The house was quiet, a slow drip from the faucet behind him and the soft tick of a clock in the living room the only sounds he could make out.

“Pat?” he called, listening again for footfalls in the other room, on the stairs. “Pat, are you here?” he called again, louder this time.

No-one answered him.

Only two places had been set at the table, and the small gift wrapped in speckled white paper set on one of the plates made it clear that, wherever he’d woken, it was in the middle of a Valentine’s evening for two.

A phone sat on the table and Logan picked it up, thumbprint unlocking it as he lifted it to read.

“Plans changed. I’ll be home Sunday.”

Over twenty minutes later, the response had gone out.

“I understand”

That explained where she was. But what about Pat? Pat was always here with him in this dream. In this nightmare.

Logan’s stomach dropped and he shook away visions of what horrors might await him in this minefield his subconscious had built for him.

If he could dream of a world without Janus and Remus by his side, would he dream of a world without Pat, as well?

He scrolled through the phone, breath coming out in a groaned sigh when he found a message thread with Pat’s picture—an old picture, featuring a Pat at least five years younger. But undeniably him.

Pat had messaged him a photo. Blurry, like they’d been caught mid-laugh, Pat and three boys a bit older than him crowded close for the camera, each grinning brightly. Snow dusted their puffy coats, cheeks pink from cold or exertion or, knowing Pat, giddiness. One of the boys sported a wind-swept mop of crayon-pink hair, black strands streaked throughout. Another’s hair was the reverse, raven black with a bright stripe of matching fuchsia. The fourth boy had hair the color of Logan’s, with dyed purple tips.

“We’re doing the big hill next! See you Sunday night, Dad!”

Two of the boys—young men, really—were oddly familiar. He zoomed in. There was something about their eyes, their hair, color aside, of course… It wasn’t until Logan caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the phone screen that he saw it.

Both boys looked precisely like younger versions of him. Heart pounding, he opened the phone’s camera roll.

Dozens, hundreds of pictures of Pat were inside. Along with the other two boys, as well. Many of the more recent images were also accompanied by the young man with pink hair.

Setting down the phone, Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It was a dream. Strange and unnerving, but it was merely a dream. All he had to do was follow the story of it and he would wake up again, safe, in his own bed, with Jay and Meus in his arms, Pat secure and asleep in his own room.

Slowly, he rose to his feet and pushed in his chair. Almost as an afterthought, Logan pocketed the phone and looked around. A covered dish sat cooling on the stove, the source, no doubt, of the thick, meaty scent hanging in the air. He listened intently to the creaks and sighs of what appeared to be an empty house. Finally, he peeked outside the kitchen window. An older Pilot, the one from his other dreams, sat in the driveway. The space beside it was empty.

Convinced he was truly alone, he began to explore.

Flicking on the kitchen light, gloomy shadows shrank away, revealing an ordinary kitchen. Like the table setting, it was minimalistic—stark —with empty white counters and a grey backsplash under the cabinets. The dishwasher was half-filled, sink dry and empty.

The refrigerator door was oddly bare. No pictures, no shopping lists, no school notices, notes or reminders. Nothing. It appeared to not even have a magnetic surface.

Tucked away in the drawer next to it, though, was a small black planner, filled with calendars and mundane stickie notes about vitamins and grocery lists in his own handwriting. Defying traditional theories on dreams, he could read it all.

Closing the book, he returned the planner to its spot and moved to the hall.

Clean and lifeless, without even the muted runner that had once brought nominal color and texture to the dull tile, the hall was barren, save for a small entry table painted the same cloudy grey color as the wood trim in the kitchen. Were it not for the table and the empty key hooks by the door, Logan might mistake the entryway for that of an unoccupied house.

Near the front door hung a chrome-edged mirror, hosting a reflection Logan avoided. He had no desire to see those haunted eyes again. Next to the mirror sat an interior door, a closet, or a door to the garage, perhaps? In previous dreams, it had been a coat closet, though there was no guarantee this dream home—nightmare home—maintained consistent architecture.

He turned the knob slowly, shaking his right hand free of its cramping tension, readying it. Readying for what… he couldn’t say. The door creaked open.

Inside was an ordinary coat closet. Rain boots lined a rubber tray in the corner and a short shoe rack sat in the middle of the closet floor. The top rows were nearly filled with various pumps and flats. A pair of pink running shoes with little wear. Two open spaces were notable, missing teeth in a child’s smile.

The bottom row was half-filled with a pair of black polished loafers and two pairs of running shoes. Converse high-tops, one pair in burgundy and another off-white, each done up with a set of TARDIS-blue and rainbow shoelaces. They reminded him of Pat’s Pride sneakers.

Various coats hung on the rod, again, more than half the space consumed with slim, fashionable feminine overcoats and jackets. A navy blue wool overcoat Logan recognized from another dream and a hoodie emblazoned with Kangs Tech Crew finished out the rod.

He’d been about to close the door when he noticed the gap between the shoe rack and the back of the closet. He pushed aside the coats and peered inside, tapping for the flashlight function on his watch—did he ever take the damn thing off in this dream? The weak beam cut through the gloom.

Tucked into the space was a canvas messenger bag, the same type Pat had handed him. Logan pulled it out only to discover two more hidden in the dark.

… I’ll be home Sunday.

According the phone clock, it was still Friday night. He had time.

Feeling a bit like he’d uncovered a hidden map in one of Pat’s or Meus’ video games, he brought all three bags to the severe living room to get a better look. Excepting different wear patterns around the buckles and the bottom gussets, the bags were identical. Navy blue canvas, sturdy.

And heavy.

He opened the first. Pens and pencils were tucked neatly into the built-in organizer and a thin handful of manila folders sat in the main compartment. Labeled casefiles.

He frowned. Unlike the calendars and shopping lists he’d found squirreled away in the kitchen, the case numbers on the files were nonsensical, a random four-digit number where the year should have been and client names that made no sense. NOBLE, D., POND, M., POTTS, B., TYLER, R. WILLIAMS, R.

Pattern recognition clicked and his hand shook. Each case file supposedly belonged to a character from Doctor Who.

The thin case files were filled with nonsense. An intake sheet with a judge’s name not on the roster at any court he’d practiced, a blue back that said little more than ‘this is a motion filed by QLaw’ in denser legalese than Jay could conjure on his most brutal days.

Everything was dated from years ago. If this wasn't a dream, he’d swear these were movie set props, like the newspaper Ro had brought them from his last film. He’d had the props master include of their names in complimentary—or scandalous—headlines on the inner pages. Janus Prince nee Pater Takes World by the Reins in New Manifesto, Patton Sanders Breaks World Record SAT Scores. Remus Prince Wanted for Murder (Again!).

Designed to look real without being real, sufficiently ordinary to not draw attention, fabricated to avoid copyright or privacy infringements.

Like a decoy.

The standard collection of charging cables and a travel battery pack filled out the rest of the compartment.

But that didn’t explain the weight.

Logan removed everything from the main compartment and felt along the edges until he found a narrow velcro flap running along the bottom seam. Beneath it was a flat compartment that ran the full width and length of the bag, two inches deep. It held a rectangular waterproof envelope.

Color copies of birth certificates were inside. Baby pictures. One of Patton, his golden curls unmistakable, two more of tiny infants who could have been Logan himself.

A few hundred dollars in cash.

There were tax form coversheets, social security cards. A marriage and name change certificate for Logan Sanders and Kelly Croft. Photocopies of passports for Logan Croft and Patton Croft.

Croft, Croft, Croft… Two decades practicing, with hundreds of clients each year, Logan saw more names than could reasonably be stored in his mind. But it was more than this nightmare world where Janus called him ‘Croft’ that made the name stand out.

Setting aside the papers—and the puzzle—he dug further.

Under the envelope was a small but weighty carabiner of keys. It held a plain car key fob, unbranded house and mailbox keys—like the kind made from a machine that didn’t check if the master said “do not duplicate”—and one of those weird little safe deposit box keys.

Logan’s heart froze. How many DV clients had he advised to assemble a go bag with a bit of cash, copies of important papers, irreplaceable but portable pictures. He checked the other bags.

Each was nearly identical.

Carefully, he repacked the bags and hid them in the back of the closet as they had been. He closed the closet door and faced the rest of the house. Again, Logan was struck by the utter lack of art or decoration in the living room and along the walls. His eyes caught a glint of something in the stairwell and he moved toward it, pulled by the only visual interest in sight.

It was a framed family portrait. Unlit and likely near invisible when the hall was dark as it had been in previous dreams, now its chrome and glass frame gleamed in the light. He recognized Pat and… sort of himself. Lips tight in a careful smile, he looked out at the camera, one posed hand lightly resting on Pat’s shoulder. Buttoned to the top, his shirt was carefully pressed but he wore no tie.

Hand reaching up for his own collar, it wasn’t until then that Logan realized that while he wore a dress shirt, there was no tie around his neck and the top button was undone.

The two dark-haired young men from his camera roll were also posed in front of him, gazing back at the camera. The one with purple tips didn’t smile.

And beside him…

She was beside him. Full makeup, blonde curls so similar to Pat’s, she smiled at the camera, bright and brittle, the wide grin not quite making its way up to her eyes.

Despite being over a decade older, with clothes and grooming miles distant from how she had appeared in her mugshot, the woman bore a terrifying resemblance to Pat’s birth mother.

Washington State v. Croft, K.

Kelly Croft.

They’d all worked so hard to help Patton process and move past the trauma of his earliest years. Had he actually forgotten the woman’s name? A cold copy of Patton’s eyes stared back at him from her picture. The same curls, longer and blown out in a fashion trendy two seasons ago. Uncanny didn’t even begin to describe it.

Stomach churning, Logan genuinely feared he might be sick if he stared into her empty smile much longer. He looked away and continued up the stairs.

The second floor landing opened onto a narrow hallway, no less foreboding than it had been in Logan’s previous dreams. All but two of the doors, a bedroom Logan might guess to be Pat’s based on the familiar ‘comforter’s-on-the-bed-so-the-bed’s-made’ cleaning technique, and a standard sort of bathroom.

There was a bunkbed, though, in the bedroom, the top bunk neatly made. Two desks and two dressers, only one of each appearing to be used. Did the other set belong to one of his young doppelgangers from the photo downstairs?

A single toothbrush sat in its cup in the bathroom and though there were multiple hooks on the back of the door, only one towel hung to dry.

There was nothing of note in the linen closet nor the laundry room on the opposite side of the hall, but the door next to the bathroom was locked. Logan considered searching for a screwdriver sufficiently thin to pop the lock.

But perhaps there were things his subconscious didn’t want him to see. Finally, he moved further down the corridor.

The room at the end of the hall was the same as it had been when he’d woken at the start of previous dreams. Just as plain and unadorned as downstairs, the flat grey walls looked no cheerier with the overhead light on than they had in the dim light of dawn. A king-sized bed consumed most of the room. Neatly made with chilly satin sheets and matching duvet, a large body pillow sliced the space in half. A wall between what would be sleeping partners.

A wave of exhaustion hit him when he touched the bed.

This could be how the dream would end. He’d taken his time with his explorations and now he felt he’d been wandering the house for half the night. He checked his watch. It was well past 1 AM.

Compelled by something he didn’t understand, whether some superstition that following an evening routine might make the night find its end or mere habit, Logan stood and dressed in pajamas he found in a drawer, carefully hanging his discarded shirt and pants in the closet at the far end, away from those still wrapped in their dry cleaning bags.

Why was he concerned with wrinkles in a dream world set to dissolve when he finally left it?

He scrubbed his face and brushed his teeth, gaze down to avoid the eyes staring back at him from his reflection. Guarded, haunted, sad eyes.

His mother’s eyes.

After turning off the bathroom light, he fumbled a bit through the dark until he reached the far side of the bed. Hand reaching automatically, he flicked on the bedside lamp.

His book was not on the nightstand. But he knew where he’d seen it last.

Slowly, Logan tugged open the nightstand drawer. Just as in his dream, a beat-up copy of Chaos lay inside. It was a different edition than his own, a series of stickers from Thriftbooks and Alibris announcing its multi-hop journey through the second-hand book market.

He opened the book.

It wasn’t merely the edition that was different.

Logan had finished his first read through of his own copy and had begun reviewing his notes with the entirety of the book in mind. Tucked between page 112 and 113 sat a worn index card, a rather obvious bookmark. And the marginalia…

Though written in his own handwriting, the marginalia were not his. Throughout the pages, different passages had been called out, different conclusions drawn.

He lingered over page 61, notes scratched into every bit of space around the margin, in the millimeters of white space at the ends of sentences, a few phrases squeezed in even between the lines. One passage was underlined twice.

… A year-by-year facsimile produces no more than a shadow of a system’s intricacies, but in many real applications the shadow gives all the information a scientist needs.

The scrawled question at the bottom of the page chilled the blood in Logan’s veins.

I still don’t understand what my dreams are trying to tell me. What are the intricacies I’m meant to learn from these sweet glimpses, these tantalizing shadows of imagined lives I might live along a different path?

The hand that held the book began to cramp and Logan set it face down on his lap to massage the ache away. Stiff, crooked fingers that wouldn’t properly straighten when extended. Bumpy bones, knotted healed fractures he could feel right through the skin. This hand, these shadows of injuries past were always a part of his dreams of the grey house.

Logan looked down at the book in his lap. It was no mere memory. The pages were different, the size and layout was different. An earlier, older edition.

And the marginalia…

Whatever this was, it wasn’t a dream.

Picking up the pen, he skipped ahead, turning first to the unread pages immediately following the bookmark. He scanned the page for an appropriate passage. Given the topic of the book, it didn’t take long.

To have more freedom of experimentation, we forget momentarily about the astronomical origin of the problem.

Driven by the memory of those eyes staring back at him from the mirror, he set aside the illogicality of it all. If any of this was real, he could not stay his hand. He could not remain a silent bystander to a life he knew could be happier. A life he knew could be safer.

Logan drew an arrow down to the large margin at the bottom of the page and wrote, as clearly as his shaking hand would allow, “Conjecture: You and I are both real.”

He turned a few more pages to the section that described an almost fate-like movement of particles in an experiment. He continued to write.

"Whichever paths each of us has followed, we are not bound to them. Every day is a new choice. Every day is a new, fluid path we might choose to take. This track, Logan, is not the only path available to you to follow."

After dog-earring the page, he skipped far ahead and turned to a passage that, in his own copy of this book, was covered in marginalia. Logan dog-eared that page, as well, and underlined the final lines of the passage.

The ordinary-sized stuff which is our lives, the things people write poetry about—clouds—daffodils—waterfalls—and what happens in a cup of coffee when the cream goes in—these are things full of mystery, as mysterious to us as the heavens were to the Greeks. The future is disorder. A door like this has cracked open five or six times since we got up on our hind legs. It’s the best possible time to be alive, when almost everything you thought you knew was wrong.

Then he wrote beneath it in all caps. “LOGAN, CRACK OPEN THE DOOR AND STEP THROUGH! FOLLOW YOUR OWN BEST ADVICE, COUNSELOR.”

The room gradually darkened, shadows moving into the edges of his vision as Logan felt sleep's labor overtake him. He lay the book on his chest, set his eyeglasses on the nightstand and slipped free from the world.

[loganslowdown4]

I’m so excited for this aaaahh!

Fander friends, today is the 5 YEAR ANNIVERSARY of the release of

Roman’s Side Track Playlist!

And in honor of celebrating the story of Roman through song, I have put together the ULTIMATE BREAKDOWN! ❤️

Buckle in for a long post!

I wanted to point out that Roman’s playlist is split up into chapters like a novel! Each chapter is about a different aspect of Roman’s character, and each character arc is in the order of a story.

A hero’s journey starts by telling us his wants! Here are Roman’s ‘I Want’ songs—

Listen to the playlist while you read!

Gay Disney Prince

2. Wonderboy

3. Disney Princess

4. Broadway here I come

5. Hallelujah

6. Holding out for a hero

7. If I dare

8. Go the distance

9. Flamboyant

10. Jumpstarted

GO TO PART 2! GO GO GO!

[v3ddirast4r]

F I N A L L Y. I FINISHED THEM.

I FINALLY FINISHED MAKING MY SANDERS SIDES OCS. THEY TOOK FOREVER😭😭😭😭

I tried to make them more like if /I/ had the Sanders Sides characters, and I tried my hardest to make them not just a female version of each of them. I even gave them their own perks and items they use for their ‘jobs’ so it speak- Also, when I finally get the time, I will post higher quality character sheets so you will be able to see their roles and descriptions in better detail :3

Hope you like them!

(When I gain my motivation back ima make comics with these fucking characters)

[roseredbedhead]

🌹 | 🐲 | 🌹 🗡 | 🌠 | 🗡 🐲 | 🌹 | 🐲 🌠 | 🗡 | 🌠

[far-from-fran]

Profic Party | Week one, day 2 | Favorite character(s)

@profiction-edits

[kwassants]

[TSS] I've always imagined Erina's greenhouse to be huge like this:

With her office inside of it, but with more space in the middle for like, just chilling.

But basically more of a conservatory than a greenhouse, really. The reason being it's a facility for her research and there's a lot of it so she needs the space.

Also puts into perspective just how overworked she was in the first parts of season 1 and how she basically burns herself out on purpose when she's trying to avoid facing her emotions whenever I say she throws herself into research instead of feeling her feelings.

Cause look okay she doesn't have lab assistants she's crazy. There's probably some automations there and some magic but the workload would still be insane but ig that's why she's an Imperial Scholar.

Btw I'm talking about my fic, Through the Shadows of Shame which is an Academy's Undercover Professor RomCom MC x OC fic (and it's a HUGE fic at ~155k word story and counting lol S1 has finished and S2 just started so... kachow maybe check it out...?)

[caruliaa]

what about prinxiety enchanted au what ab beautiful ideaa in this world

[jackstheprinceofhearts]

decided to do a fun little challenge for you guys!!!

what is your main song for each of your favorite characters from any books you associate with them? you can do any characters you'd like, not just ouabh :))

my main jacks songs:

froot by marina & what he don't know by anarbor

songs i associate with august flynn from this savage song:

telescope by cavetown & remembrance/final duet from the omori soundtrack (that's what i imagine when he plays the violin)

reblog/ comment yours :)

[brokenhardies]

Roman: Logan, how do I look? Logan: With your eyes, Roman. Roman:

[let-roman-bite-someone]

i was looking through my chat with an old friend and found this

same energy ✨

[analoceits]

please take this actually incomprehensible image based off the convo me and @thegoldenduckie had last night.

[edupunkn00b]

On a Butterfly's Wing, Ch. 12: The Wrong Prince

Graphical representation of the Lorenz attractor, a simulation of the 'butterfly effect.'

Prev - The Wrong Prince - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

WC - 1646 - Rated: T - CW: Swearing (Remus swearing? Why, I never…)

It's back! Stuck in the Croft universe, Logan from the Logince universe frantically calls the only R. Prince in his contacts. R. Prince picks up.

💔 October 31, 2024

Sweaty and out of breath, Remus slid to the edge of the makeshift dance floor, a steady boom-boom-spat filling his ears. Fishing out a cold bottle of something from the ice tub closest him, he gulped down half of it and grinned.

He'd really out done himself this year.

In a little over an hour, Remus and a mighty army of brand-spanking new legal interns has transformed the big conference room into a dance club worthy of this year's QLaw Halloween party.

Balloons carpeted the floor, bouncing and flying into the air with the movement of the dancers. Long tables lined the walls, filled with drinks and food and candy. Anchored to each corner and synced to the music, tall banks of flashing lamps sent a pattern of sparkling lights over the dancers. Trickier to see under the stage lights, the dancer's earbuds flashed to the same beat, all hooked into the same AV system.

They'd converted the cavernous intern room into a costume staging area, with spots to fix makeup and tall mirrors he'd dragged in from his latest exhibit. One of the interns had even create a Stitch Bitch repair station where they put their amateur cosplaying skills to good use, ready to help the inevitable ripped seam or crooked wig.

Designated as a calm space, the library was decked out with drinks and food, then the lights were dimmed and Remus had drawn a big sign on the front door: Tiny voices inside only! Or Cthulu will come getcha.

The only spots left untouched by the party army's work had been reception—gotta at least attempt to keep up the appearance of a buttoned-down legal firm—and a few of the attorney's offices, including Jannie's.

The current song faded, a fresh track rising up to meet it. "Key change!" he sang aloud, raising his water bottle to Jannie on the other side of the dance floor. Decked out in a perfect replica of Elton John's pink feather… extravaganza, he wasn't hard to find. Jannie'd been pulled into a group dance, the younger lawyers insistent their Attorney-in-Charge had to know the steps to a now nearly over-played Chappell Roan song.

Remus laughed. By the time the law geeks knew all the words, the song was D-E-A-D dead-to-go.

Without much warning, the music pouring through his earbuds was interrupted by his phone's override. Somebody in his contacts. He scanned the crowd, wondering who he knew—who he wanted to know—that wasn't already at the party. He pulled it out of his pocket and blinked down at the name.

It was the only person in his contacts he'd listed by their actual, full name.

Logan Croft.

"Heya, Logan," he said in his normal voice. With the music only playing through their headsets, he neither had to worry about being heard over the phone nor anyone listening in.

Not that he ever really gave a fuck about that.

"Ro?" he croaked, sounding confused.

Remus closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. Why did that hurt so fucking much?

"Wrong Prince, man," he muttered, ready to end the call. "You've reached Ro's better-looking brother."

"Re?" he asked, voice weak and spacey as fuck. "Oh, thank god, Re… Re, please, I'm—" He groaned, breathing heavily against the mic. "I—I—I don't know… I don't exactly know where… Well, I…"

Remus' hurt fizzled out along with his annoyance and he ticked up the volume on the call. "Hey, man, are you okay?" 

"She didn't take it," he half-laughed. The rest came out like a sob. Yeah, definitely high and not having a good time of it. "It was on the stairs. Grey, all grey, she didn't see it. She didn't take it. I have it."

"What? Logan, what are you—" Muffled movement blasted through the phone, and something scraped over the phone mic. "Listen, Logan, where are you? Are you home?" He listened intently for the tell-tale sound of a turn signal or motor. "You're not driving or anything, are you?"

Breathing heavy, he gasped back. "No… No, of course not, I…" He whimpered then, phone pressed so close to his face Remus could hear a hard swallow. "I… I need… Is Ro…"

His voice faded away, distracted or too doped up on whatever the hell he'd taken to finish his sentence. Remus would've sworn the call dropped but for the ragged breathing on the other end. "What do you need, man?" Remus prompted, biting back the question caught behind his teeth. What the fuck do you want with Ro?

"I'm—" Logan gasped over the phone, voice dropping to a whisper. "Shit, she's home. She's home, I—I—I have to go. Please… I'm…" More movement, then Logan whined, pained and quiet. "Don't come. Don't come, okay? Please? Stay with Ro, I'll call later. I prom—"

With a beep, the call dropped. Or was ended.

Remus’ thumb hovered over the bright green ‘redial’ icon for a long moment before stabbing it. It didn't even ring.

‘Hello, you have reached Logan Croft. Please leave a brief message and I shall return your call as soon as possible. If you are in crisis, please dial or text two-zero-six—’

Hanging up, Remus shook his head. He scrolled idly through his contacts. For a second he even wondered if should call the cops. Shit. No good would ever come of that.

He sucked in a deep breath. Man, he was getting paranoid. Not every Karen was a… Karen. Or whatever the fuck her name was. Dude was just a little fucked up and drunk dialed Ro. He laughed humorlessly. Maybe the guy wasn't as straight as Jannie seemed to think.

“Now, now, Muse…” Jannie’s voice purred just behind him, both arms wrapping around his middle. Arching up over both of them, Jannie's feather mantle softened the harsh stage lights around them into a rosy glow. Remus’ eyes slipped shut and he leaned back with a low hum.

Jannie nuzzled his ear. “You’re looking entirely too stressed for a party.”

Still gripping the phone, he tapped one end against the opposite palm. You could rip the cigs from his hand but this habit was here to stay. “Yeah… got a… Got a weird call.”

Janus turned Remus in his arms to face him. He searched his eyes. “Prank weird or stalking weird?” he asked, jaw set like he was ready to jump right into his fucking phone and wipe out whoever was on the other end.

“I… Neither?" he finally said, shaking his head. "It was Croft—uh, Logan.”

“What the hell did he want?” Janus’ scowl deepened. “He didn’t even show up for work today. Called out sick.”

“He called out?” The guy had sounded pretty fucked up. Remus could hardly imagine him coherent enough to dial him. Clearly he hadn’t been.

“Well, his wife called reception.” Jannie rolled his eyes, more annoyance than usual slipping out. ”Grace said it sounded like he was hungover. But… why was he calling you?”

“That’s the thing, he thought he’d called Ro.” He scratched at his arm. The tiny handful of people who knew the both of them—actually knew ̛them—could fit in Jannie's office. He'd thought he was done with that bullshit.

Jannie gently pulled his hand away and wrapped both Remus' arms around his own back. It had been a long fucking time since he’d last been confused for Ro. But Logan hadn’t even sounded disappointed to have gotten him instead, just… relieved he’d gotten somebody he knew on the line. Relieved he'd gotten him.

‘Re? Oh, thank god, Re… Please, I’m—’

Shaking his head, Remus shoved the thought away.

“I was unaware Ro knew him outside of…” Jannie made a face like he’d gotten a mouthful of bad kimchi and Remus shrugged.

“He doesn't." Remus shook his head. "Didn't? Not since college, at least." He met Jannie's eyes. "I… I gave Logan my number back then… After he told me… y'know, to talk to Ro?”

Guilt drew up Jannie’s mouth into a thin, pinched line and he looked away.

“Hey, hey, hey… Ro’s good now." Their eyes traveled as one to find him out on the dance floor, happily teaching the interns… fuck, was he trying to teach them the Electric Slide?

Snorting softly, Remus stroked Jannie's cheek, gently turning up his face so their eyes could meet. “That prick fooled a fuckton of people. And the instant you knew what he was all about, you took care of it and kicked his ass outta here.”

"I need to be faster next time," he muttered, almost to himself. "If… Fuck…" Brow still pinched even as he leaned in to Remus' touch, Jannie looked out over the party-goers. It hadn't escaped either of their attention that the party was easily twice as large as last year's, with far fewer of the attorneys and interns bailing after they gave the boss a little face time and made excuses to sneak away.

Had that one creep's presence really been that much of deterrent for folks to enjoy a party? Sure as fuck seemed like it. In fact… Remus scanned the gathering, ticking off the few he'd seen in the library, they were only missing three or four people this year. Two were taking kids trick-or-treating. One legitimately left early with a headache.

And one of them had still managed to make something of an appearance. By phone at least.

'She didn't take it. She didn't see it. She didn't take it.'

Slimy cold worms wrestled in Remus' gut, squirming their way up into his chest. Old friends he'd chalked up to common jealousy.

Remus looked out over the crowd, gnawing at his mustache. What if it was something else?

"Hey, Jannie," he murmured, rubbing Jannie's knuckles back and forth over his mouth. "What do you know about Logan's wife?"

[potato-goose-tornado]

Doing this BEFORE my duolingo, so I don't forget again like the IDIOT I am!

Okay, since I am tired and love magic/modern fantasy, let's just do something fun and fae, okay?

(Just letting you know, if you want to do this with me specifically, I am very like, not normal about basic fae rules, as well as the fae in general so... you don't HAVE to know a lot, but if you want to play the fae character, feel free to ask for some basic lore so we can get it semi-accurate. I am an autistic bitch, I am not normal with fae rules)

Anywho, little disclaimer over

This is inspired by The Moth Prince on Webtoon! I love it so much! Go read it, it's super good!

Character A is a person who enjoys stories of magic, and supernatural, and all of the like. They don't necessarily *believe* in that stuff, but they do enjoy it as a medium, of expression as well as finding it fun!

One day, while on a hike in the woods, they come across Character B, a Fae that had been kicked out of the local court with nothing. They have no help, vague memories of their time in the court, no possessions to keep them safe, and--most terrifyingly--no *name*, as it was stripped from them as they were expelled by the court.

So, when Character A finds a--potentionally wounded--incredibly stressed person in the woods (are they human? The antenna says no), they take it upon themselves to try and help them! Causing them to panic, try and run away, only to trip on a root and knock themselves out! Whoops!

Character A decides to take this poor... thing that is definitely not human (ohmygodthey'renothumanwhattheshit) back to their home to take care of them! Leaving Character B stuck in Debt to Character A! Yay!

You decide where it goes from there! I'm personally thinking Character B decides to stay with Character A until they can remove the Debt, as it is never a good idea to be Indebted. This leads to Character A showing Character B more and more about humanity, as they build a relationship and start to fall for eachother.

Something sweet and campy, and oh my gosh my heart!