#you can tell when a paper is good when they start with a section explaining that they're using 'autistic people'

[icy-book]

*staring at people who write research papers on autism* You've never talked to an autistic person in your life, have you

[randombush3]

que te quiero

alexia putellas x reader

prologue

summary: you wake up but you're not sure where

words: 3217

content warnings: just you fucking wait

notes: i slaved away to get this out asap lol

They list your injuries in an awkwardly ascending order: best to worst. You suppose the doctor’s callousness is more professional than malicious – and maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t panicking at the sight of such long, uninteresting words – but he makes it sound clinical (his job) and it’s hard to remember not everyone feels the excruciating pain you are slowly growing accustomed to. 

You wince at your thoughts’ poor choice of words. 

Apparently, you don’t remember much. In the week that you’ve been awake, you’ve been subject to every test, question, and assessment possible, all answers coming out with the same result. 

You know your name and when you were born. You know that you have a degree in Literature, but that you’re now a lawyer with an extensive library instead. You can speak all the languages you’ve ever learnt (that’s a different part of your brain, says the doctor when you ask how). They ask about your parents, your brothers, and names easily roll off your tongue, the childhood fear of hospitals still present (god, there is something that you wish had been forgotten). 

Still, the nurses approach you with sympathetic smiles, replicating the expression when they converse quietly with the worried-looking woman who visits you every day. She’s called Alexia, she tells you, staring at the gap between you as though she is a stranger to being so far apart. 

Although it was blurry when you first woke up, once Alexia reveals her name, you’re certain you recognise her.

“I’ve seen her somewhere,” you tell your favourite nurse, chipper that you’ve worked it out. In an attempt to jog your memory, you’ve kept the small TV in the corner of your section of the ward on all afternoon, sort of missing the noise your committed visitor brings with her. “And she’s not here today, Isa, because she’s there.” You point at a figure running around on a football pitch. “Alexia Putellas. She’s famous!” It explains the secrecy and the inexplicable absences. You suppose a slightly different structure of her job allows her to visit at unconventional times, too. 

“Mm,” Isa hums, not quite committed to this conversation. “Let’s save the discoveries for your chat with the doctor, yeah? He should be here any minute now.” 

On cue, the pot-bellied man appears, clipboard in hand, bottom lip between his teeth. His perception leads his gaze to the TV, which, in turn, causes him to watch your reaction to the match. Growing insecure of his scrutiny, you press a button and watch the screen go black. 

“Good afternoon,” comes his greeting, clipped and determined to not waste time. You try to find comfort in that: maybe you aren't in the worst shape in this hospital. “How are your ribs feeling?” 

“Battered.” 

He writes that down. “You’re on the highest dosage of pain medication. We’ll need to start weaning you off soon, too. Especially due to a family history of addiction.” Your eyebrows furrow, and his pen scratches at the paper once again. “Okay, Y/n. Can I have a seat? Are you comfortable?” 

You take a moment to acknowledge the ache in your abdomen and head. He assumes your silence is a ‘yes’ and Isa is dismissed. “You shouldn’t be looking at any screens,” he says calmly, with the faintest hint of disappointment. “It will not aid your recovery.” 

“How am I supposed to remember anything if I can’t use… sources to help me?” you protest. 

“That is exactly what I have come here to discuss. We’ll start bit by bit. The more open you are to this, the quicker you will be released from hospital.” He smirks. “And I know that you are desperate to leave.” 

…

The stands of the stadium echo with jubilation as the final whistle blows. Alexia barely hears it due to the noise, still reeling from her penalty, proud to have scored in front of such a special guest. She’d made an ‘A’ with her fingers as she had celebrated. 

Despite her teammates’ dallying on the pitch, never in a rush after a win like this, Alexia is jumping the barrier and barreling through the crowd to get to the seats she’s been keeping an eye on for the whole match. Her mother is barely offered a ‘hello’ before Alexia is wrapped in a tight embrace. She won’t admit that the force of the impact winds her a little. 

“You played so well!” squeals Amaia, voice muffled in the sweat-soaked jersey. She seems almost giddy, which is a hefty improvement considering your current situation. 

Alexia laughs, bending down to Amaia’s level, her hands resting on the girl’s shoulders. Tears prick at her eyes but she hopes it isn’t that obvious. “You saw my penalty, right?” 

She’s met with enthusiastic nodding, Amaia’s eyes widening with excitement. “Vaig veure la A! It was for me, right?” 

“For you,” Alexia confirms, pressing a quick kiss to the top of Amaia’s head. Despite her efforts, the softness of the girl’s hair – the way she clings once more to Alexia’s body – is disarming. And Amaia speaking Catalan always gets her emotional. 

She wipes her tears when Amaia pulls away. 

This is difficult. Alexia is trying her hardest, but nothing is the same without you. She finds herself looking at the seat beside Amaia, expecting to see it filled by you, but it’s not; it’s empty. You are still at the hospital. You don’t even remember who Alexia is. 

You don’t remember the past eleven years, they think. Which means no Amaia, no Alexia, no Barcelona. 

It has broken Alexia’s heart. 

Her mother places a hand on her shoulder. “Go and get changed,” she instructs gently, in the same way she has been since the accident. Eli has become an engine, a guide. “Alba said she’d meet us at the restaurant.” 

Alexia swallows, embracing her mother. In her ear, she whispers, “I think it’s time for Amaia to see her.” Her mother’s touch remains firm, grounding her. She breathes out, and it is only now that her lungs ache that she feels like she can no longer hold it together. But Alexia is determined, and she will not crumble. 

Not in front of your daughter. 

“It’s your decision, Ale,” Eli murmurs back, her tone steady and calm. She’s seen how tirelessly Alexia has navigated these past weeks, juggling her team, her grief, her hope – all while trying to keep Amaia’s life as normal as possible. “You have done everything you can. If you think she’s ready, she’ll be ready.”

Alexia pulls back and nods, a quiet determination settling over her face. The thought of bringing Amaia to the hospital without the stability of a coma to predict her reaction has been weighing on her ever since you woke up. But, even though this step is more of a stumble, it seems to be in the right direction. 

"Now, go and get out of this kit. Amaia and I can only pretend you don’t smell for so long," Eli jokes, hand guiding her toward the locker rooms. Amaia is practically bouncing at Alexia’s side as they make their way down the tunnel, still buzzing with excitement over the game and ten goals scored. 

Not everyone is so plagued by misfortune in their personal lives – a reminder which is stark as Alexia passes the conga line of her teammates, all thrilled with their (superfluous) scoreline and exploiting the night off that Pere has allowed right from the get-go. A few of the girls wave at their captain as she walks past, but most feel uncomfortable shoving their elation in her face, aware of the shitstorm she is going through. 

The girls do keep plaguing her about what you had thought of their ‘Get Well Soon’ card, though. Not that Alexia has found an appropriate time to give it to you yet.

“Will she be awake?” Amaia suddenly asks, her voice breaking Alexia’s thoughts. Her expression is open, hopeful. Her eyes have the same shine as yours do in this light. 

Alexia glances down, her lips forming a soft, bittersweet smile. "We’ll see, Amaia," she says, brushing a stray lock of hair from the girl’s face. "We’ll visit, and we’ll see."

Inside the locker room, Alexia changes quickly, her mind already racing ahead to the visit. She imagines you there, perhaps looking out the window or glancing at her with that blank confusion that still cuts her deeper than she’d expected. The nurses have told her that you’re growing more restless with each day, becoming harder to occupy. You sound like a pain in their arses, which is comforting, because at least you are still you. And your questions! Alexia is unsurprised that the doctors rock-paper-scissor for ward duty. 

When she emerges, mood lifted by the thought of you continuing to be a nightmare, Eli and Amaia are waiting by the door, Amaia now clutching a small bouquet of flowers that must have been retrieved from Eli’s car while Alexia was changing. She’s holding them proudly, as if they might be a magic cure, as if a burst of colour is exactly what’s needed to bring you back.

“Ready to go?” Amaia asks, instinctively high-fiving Mapi as she walks out with Alexia. 

“Exciting plans, Capi?” her friend questions. Alexia’s look says it all. Mapi lowers her voice, allowing only Alexia to hear her; “you are strong. You will be strong.” 

“Let’s go,” prompts Amaia. Her impatience was very much inherited. 

After shooting an unconvincing look of confidence to her friend, Alexia nods, holding out her hand for Amaia to take. “Okay, okay. Say goodbye to Eli.” 

Kisses are exchanged. Alexia promises to come for dinner, even if she will be late. 

Amaia plays Taylor Swift in the car. The whiny music gives Alexia a bit of a headache, but at least it’s loud enough to dull the absolute din of her screaming thoughts. And when they arrive, it’s all too familiar for Alexia’s liking. 

She has her route to you memorised. It’s magnetic and intrinsic, and a desperate part of her is clawing at the hope that, somehow, you will have regained everything that has been lost in the day she hasn’t seen you. Before entering the ward, she tries to prepare Amaia, but the girl is as unstoppable as you can be and there is no intervening before she is at your bedside, greeting you like you remember who she is. 

…

A lot of what the doctor tells you are things you struggle to believe. Like, last year, you were made junior partner of the law firm you work at. They’re based in London. You used to live there – you moved after you’d finished your degree, bored of Bilbao and of home and of knowing every person in your world. Another confusing one: your brothers actually visit you, as though you are forgiven. 

Which sparks an aged memory. Two lines in the bathroom at the university. 

“Am I pregnant?” you ask, feeling the colour drain from your face at the idea that you might have lost the baby in the accident. 

The doctor waits patiently for you to remind yourself that eleven years have passed. 

“I was pregnant.” Nothing comes back to you, though this would be an appropriate moment for it to. The rest of the story hangs loosely at the back of your throat, unable to be spoken. You look at the doctor for help. “Did I keep it? I’m not – I wasn’t planning to.” 

“She’s called Amaia.” 

“Amaia…” you repeat. A painful realisation settles in you. How did you feel about becoming a mother? Why did you? When did they forgive you, and was it because of her? 

“Your mother’s name, I believe,” continues the doctor, “although you can remember that.” 

“I barely knew my mother.” She had died when you were very young. She didn’t feel like yours to grieve. To you, it was just time off school, hospital visits, and watching the rest of your world fall apart. You find yourself swallowed up in guilt – anger. How did you let this happen? How could you forget what must have mattered the most? “I want to see her,” you resolve, attempting to sit upright and pretend the movement doesn’t send a searing pain through your chest. “My… I want to know what she looks like.” 

Your patience need not extend for too long, as Alexia and Amaia arrive only two hours after the doctor departs. 

The sterility of the ward is no match for the warmth they exude, and you can almost sense them coming. It’s both comforting and unsettling. You refrain from telling Alexia that you know who she is. 

You have no time to, really, because there is a girl, average height with a bouquet in-hand, barreling towards you the moment you lay your eyes on your visitors. She’s loud enough to make you wince, which, in turn, earns her a sharp warning from Alexia, even further away than usual. She is watching you closely, awaiting your reaction. Her arms are folded across her chest, hair scraped into a damp ponytail, and she is withholding the emotion she wants to express because Alexia, you’ve learnt, isn’t really that kind of person. You often find yourself wondering how she first opened up to you. How long did it take? 

You want to ask, but Amaia – Amaia – begins to speak. Her voice is unfamiliar, her accent failing to reflect any time in Bilbao she might have spent with you. She speaks at first in Spanish. You hardly hear what she is saying, too focused on examining her features. 

She does look like you. Or, rather, pictures of you from years ago. Your father’s eyes, your nose. A smile that you can’t help but reciprocate. You try to remember what her father looked like, but nothing comes to mind and Amaia seems to have been unresponsive to his genes.

“Amaia,” you interrupt, not to cut her off but to test her name on your tongue. It’s foreign to you, but it suits her. She beams. 

“Do you remember me?” 

And what the actual fuck do you say to that? 

Your hesitation is telling. Alexia stiffens from where she had relaxed on the fringes on the section. 

“It’s okay if you don’t.” You look up at her, unaware that you had bowed your head in the first place. She has kind eyes, you think. And she must be clever, because it is not what she says, but that she says it in Euskera. 

“I missed you,” you say. It slips out, but you mean it. Well, you assume you missed her, and therefore it is a logical thing to come out with. And, also, you are aching inside from seeing the life that you have created standing right in front of you. A life you were not going to pursue. 

Amaia does not cry, but she delicately unfurls your clenched palms and shapes her hands to link with yours. You want her touch to bring it all back. It feels like jumping off a skyscraper when you are met with nothing, still. Instead of the flood of recollection you long for, there is a faint, ungraspable feeling of something you cannot name. 

After a silent pause, a movement in your peripheral vision catches your attention. Alexia steps forwards, her arms still crossed, her expression unsure and more than a little guarded. There is a sudden swell of gratitude in your chest, more for her presence than anything specific, and, without thinking, you smile at her. 

“Congratulations,” you say, voice just above a whisper as though Amaia will be unable to hear. “I saw you on the TV. You scored, didn’t you?” 

Alexia’s eyes widen a fraction as she glances at Amaia, who is proudly informing you, “ez behin, baizik eta bitan”. Alexia manages a small, almost bashful smile, her hand coming up to rub the back of her neck. For a woman so publicly celebrated, she seems to struggle to handle your praise. 

“Thanks,” she says awkwardly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “It… wasn’t a huge match but,” she grimaces at the sound of her voice, “I wanted to play my best for, well, for you guys. Amaia was there, and you… Well, I suppose you were watching it on TV.” She doesn’t feel inclined to show you the band of pre-wrap around her wrist with your name written on it, hiding it under the sleeve of her hoodie, or tell you that you were there with her, like you always are. 

Something tugs at your heart. It’s obvious that she is desperately holding back emotions, likely for Amaia’s sake. She looks away for a moment, regaining her composure, then turns back to you with a steadier expression. Amaia glances between you both, unnervingly perceptive for a girl so young. She squeezes your hands a little tighter. 

In the silence that follows, Alexia finally speaks up again. “I… didn’t want to crowd you, but,” her tone drops into something more serious, “I’ll be back again tomorrow, and, actually… Your doctor and I have been discussing the idea of you coming home soon.” 

The word hits you like a bullet from too close a range; it’s almost too fast to register before the damage is done. 

You don’t even know where you live. In your mind, you have never been to Barcelona, let alone have a home here. And yet there is an inexplicable warmth in Alexia’s voice that makes the idea feel… less absurd. 

She clears her throat. “In three days, if you’re ready,” she softly adds, eyes glimmering with hope in a fearful way. 

Later, Alexia stands just outside the ward, talking quietly with your doctor as Amaia sits nearby, focused on the little bouquet of flowers she brought for you, picking at a petal here and there. Alexia watches your daughter for a moment, the girl’s calm focus oddly grounding. 

“She’ll need a lot of rest and minimal stress,” the doctor says, drawing Alexia’s attention back to him. “But it’s promising. Her physical recovery is progressing, and though her memory may take longer, familiar environments could help.”

Alexia nods, though the doctor’s words bring only partial relief. “I can make things as calm as possible for her at home,” she says, trying to avoid sounding like a child begging for a present she knows she will not receive. “We have spare rooms, and lots of pictures to look over. And she hates hospitals. You’re lucky to have her disorientated, else she’d be kicking up a big fuss.”

The doctor lets out a tired laugh, but makes no attempt to agree that you haven’t made his life slightly more difficult than it needed to be already. “It will be an adjustment for everyone, but it is important that you are looking after yourself too.” 

Alexia’s gaze drifts back to the door of your room, and she swallows hard, steeling herself. The doctor’s words linger but they do nothing to curb her determination. She would do anything for you, and if you fell for her once, you can fall for her again. 

After another quiet moment, the doctor pats her arm lightly. “Three days, then. We’ll make sure she’s as prepared as she can be.”

[no-thanks-im-stuffed]

I have a Gravity Falls Theory I've been meaning to write down for a WHILE so here goes:

Stanford Pines is no genius and I'm gonna pick apart every single one of "Ford's" scientific inventions/accomplishments to prove it.

Grab a beverage, this is gonna be a long one

[Gravity Falls spoilers, a little bit of The Book of Bill]

Contents:

Ford's "Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness"

Codes and Secrets

Inventions

Ford's Tragic Backstory

McGucket

Why Would He Do This??

After Weirdmageddon

TLDR

1. Ford's "Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness"

I can support most of my claims with the help of Journal 3. Unless Ford had actual, scientific research papers, this is the only research we have from him and it's... not scientific in the slightest. Ford treats his "research notes" like a personal diary. I get that they had to design the Journal to be entertaining to kids, but from a scientific lense (which is what he wants to be perceived through), most of Ford's discoveries are very surface level and sometimes (especially later on) border on paranoid conspiracy theorist rambling.

His Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness is the reason he came to Gravity Falls in the first place. His goal is clear:

but, on the very next page, the ramblings start.

It gets worse once he finds the invisible ink.

"The pyramids were built to appease Bill!" sure, buddy.

(And yes, Bill confirms most of these ramblings about his history in The Book of Bill, but a) he too could be lying about this and b) I don't think he had a nice chat with Ford about who he tricked and tormented to build his portal. It wouldn't really fit into the timeline.)

The one bit of "science" I found him doing was his experimentation with the Bottomless Pit. He threw objects in the hole and only saw some stuff coming back while other stuff went missing. Ford hypothesizes it might be a "Möbius Pit" and even spends enough time experimenting on it that he found out "nothing ever seems to get lost on Friday the Thirteenth". Credit where credit is due.

Anyway, he's documenting all kinds of fantastical creatures in the Journal - adding his whimsical commentary and making random assumptions about stuff without any scientific basis. As he admits himself later on, this is getting him nowhere to actually start his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness, let alone finish it. It's been SIX YEARS.

BUDDY WHAT ARE YOU DOING.

It took a spark of "divine intervention" to even start doing any meaningful research and it was just Bill telling him "hey there's a weirdness dimension btw".

Ford even admits that he didn't come up with it himself. The next pages are the first actually scientific looking ones so far, but more on that in the Inventions section.

He doesn't really advance on his Weirdness Theory for a while (see McGucket chapter for more), but later in the Journal, Ford has a little adventure with Dipper, talking about "The True Theory of Weirdness". He drops a "weird" jelly bean on the floor and watches it roll uphill towards Gravity Falls. He then states that Gravity Falls is a "Weirdness Magnet" and every oddity is eventually drawn to this place. Which is not a theory scientifically speaking, more like an unproven hypothesis. He didn't develop a model to, let's say, predict which oddity will find its way to Gravity Falls next or when it will happen.

"I explained that I felt in my bones that my arrival at this town, and perhaps Dipper's, too, was not an accident. That we were part of some greater fate the town had in store for us." Very scientific.

2. Codes and Secrets

The Journal has several hidden messages from a good handful of characters, some more encoded than others.

We all know about the Map leading to the secrets of Nathaniel Northwest's fraud from the show. Ford found it somewhere in the library.

It just needed to be folded. Layton ass puzzle. A 12 year old figured it out. Ford couldn't do it. Even Mabel is poking fun at him.

Now on to the ciphers.

One of them is a letter from Blendin, encrypted with the Vigenère cipher. To this, Stanford "aced cryptology" Pines says the following:

He was given the key and still couldn't make sense of it. Of course a cool puzzle for people reading the Journal, but not really helping Ford with upholding his image of being an undeniable genius.

Ford himself mainly uses the Atbash and Caesar ciphers, both being a) literally thousands of years old, b) incredibly simple and c) not his own invention.

Bill uses two symbol substition ciphers.

Now I don't know about you, but if a divine being chose me as the genius of the century to inspire me and said being left tiny hidden messages in my diary, I would stop at nothing to try and decipher what they're trying to tell me. For some reason, Ford did not do this. The first message Bill leaves says "I'VE BEEN INSIDE YOUR MIND SIXER, I KNOW YOUR SECRETS". He could have seen all of this coming wayyy earlier (or just had yet another red flag to ignore).

Anyway, I accidentally solved the code before finishing the Journal just to discover that Bill is literally handing him the solution on a silver platter towards the end.

Girl, what do you mean "???" ??

Now, I know Ford at this point is incredibly sleep deprived, paranoid and traumatized. But come on. If I can solve it 6 coffees in while dissociating, our genius can find the solution to Bill's alphabet using the A1Z26 cipher that he put in the journal himself. Plus, as mentioned, he could have deciphered his alphabet way before The Betrayal when his mind was still sound.

So again, not a good look for Ford in the whole genius department.

3. Inventions

Now let's take a look a the inventions which are most commonly associated with Stanford:

The Portal

The Bunker

The Magnet Gun

The Quantum Destabilizer

The Perpetual Motion Machine

The Portal is not one of Ford's inventions, that much is pretty clear. He "comes up with the idea" after Bill told him about some kind of "weirdness dimension".

Now maybe Ford built the portal. Or McGucket built it (which I find more likely due to his tendency to build large scale metal structures) and Ford helped him. We can't really say for sure.

What we CAN say for sure is that McGucket left the day before the big test, which means the portal was basically finished at that point. So if there was still any work left to be done, it would have been minimal and "even Stanley" could figure it out without help, so Ford probably could have, too.

The Bunker. Designed and built by McGucket (and possibly the lumberjacks before zapping them with the Memory Gun), including the death trap of a security system.

Notice the wording. McGucket insisted he could do it on HIS own. But then went out of his way to ask the lumberjacks and not Ford to help excavate the whole thing.

Why? Why not include Ford? Maybe because McGucket could tell Ford was overworked. Maybe because he thought even with Ford's help, they wouldn't have been able to do it in a timely manner and he didn't want to memory zap more people than neccessary, I'm not sure.

Anyway, the Bunker consists of the Bunker itself, a Security Room, an Observation Room and a Storage Room. On top of that, a Temperature Control Apparatus, a Cooling System and a Cryogenic Tube.

Again with the phrasing. "HIS skill for construction". "telephone HE built". "my assistant really topped HIMSELF with the security precautions". "once F starts inventing, HE can't stop".

A man like Ford wouldn't pass up on an opportunity to tell the world about his own accomplishments, yet they are strangely missing in these pages. However, the sketches documenting McGucket's work have become more technical than they've ever been. They even have small annotations that seem as if Ford asked McGucket what he was currently building.

"F has explained" implies McGucket was once again doing this on his own. Why else would he need to explain anything to Ford if they were doing this together? Plus, again, surely Ford would have mentioned something, anything, if he had participated in any way.

The things he DID mention is that he found a mole man skeleton and "Shifty", the shapeshifting creature. And he saved McGucket once Shifty broke out of their cage (Remember this for later, it'll come in handy). And he conducts tests on Shifty (remember this as well).

On to the Magnet Gun.

Again, passive form. If Ford had modified the gun himself, he would have told us. Chances are it was once again McGucket. Or it was just taken from Crash Site Omega as Ford says in the show that he and McGucket came down there often to loot the UFO for tech.

Lastly: The Quantum Destabilizer.

He actually admits he worked on it. However, he spent 30 years between dimensions. In these 30 years he couldn't find anyone (including himself) to get the Destabilizer working. The Other McGucket, however, was able to do it in less than a week.

Ford claims he was missing a suitable power source which The Other McGucket found, but there's no way of knowing if there was more to those "minor adjustments" to Ford's blaster than Ford would like to admit.

The only invention left is the Perpetual Motion Machine which I will save for the "Tragic Backstory" section.

Honorable mentions:

The Hyperdrive needed to power the portal:

"F's mechanical know-how" vs. "my keen intuition." implying Ford merely found the Hyperdrive, but McGucket extracted it safely.

So the Hyperdrive was looted from Crash Site Omega. Plus, McGucket was the one to realize it was even needed in the first place.

While between dimensions, he was given a Dimensional Translator. Also not his own invention.

The metal plate in his head? Not his invention. Not even his idea. The Oracle did that for him.

The Book of Bill has another example that Ford can't invent for shit: He found the blueprint of Abigale Blackwing's Anti-Bill-Suit in the library (once again, not even his own invention) and drafted a more modern blueprint. And either he completely failed to build it or it didn't work because we never hear from it again. Instead, he installs a retina scanner to keep Bill out of the lab. Which he (probably) ALSO didn't build himself.

In summary:

Portal: blueprint by Bill, (probably) built by McGucket.

Bunker: designed and built by McGucket (probably with the help of the lumberjacks).

Magnet Gun: likely looted from Crash Site Omega.

Quantum Destabilizer: a mess before McGucket fixed it overnight

Perpetual Motion Machine: see below.

Dimensional Translator: Not Ford's invention.

Metal Plate: thought of and installed by The Oracle.

Anti-Bill-Suit: invented by Abigale Blackwing.

In fact, he mostly doesn't even say that he did any of this. He openly admits whenever he took something or McGucket built stuff, and barely calls any of the inventions his own. We just assumed that he can (on account of him being a genius), so we assumed he did.

4. Ford's Tragic Backstory

would only make sense if he ACTUALLY couldn't get the Perpetual Motion Machine to work. We already know Ford is an unreliable narrator and I'm probably not the first one to point out that it doesn't make sense that Stan supposedly cost Ford his entire scholarship by breaking his Perpetual Motion Machine (accident or not).

Think about it from a college's point of view: You hear about a young man who apparently built a machine that violates the laws of thermodynamics. You don't just pass up on something like that just because it didn't work the ONE TIME you came to visit. That would be an exceedingly stupid thing to do. I think they would have given him that scholarship if he even got close to achieving such a feat.

Now let's briefly assume Ford IS a genius whose invention got sabotaged. Ford could have easily fixed it and asked for a second appointment with the judges. This did not happen. And even if he didn't get into his dream school, he could have used this perpetual motion machine for the good of humanity. He didn't do that. If the Machine had ever worked, it would have made international news. It didn't. He would have been world famous. He isn't.

What does that tell us?

Does he even have 12 PHDs as he keeps claiming? In what? For what reason? Wouldn't he get a scholarship for his dream school at some point given his seemingly endless potential? It all seems like overcompensation to me. Reminds me of Tommy Tallarico and his ever-increasing number of Guinness World Records.

However, there is a reason Ford is like this. It is connected to his tragic backstory, but I will include this in the final chapter for narrative reasons.

Also note how even in A Better World, he did not go do his dream college. The science center was built around the Shack that he went to later in life:

And even there, he only manages to make a name of himself with McGucket's cooperation. We already established he couldn't build the portal on his own. My guess that McGucket once again did the heavy lifting and didn't mind Ford taking the credit (as you will see in the McGucket chapter).

5. McGucket

At this point we've already gone over how McGucket built (probably) most of the Portal, the Bunker and everything in it, and got the Quantum Stabilizer to work. We also know that in his free time, he loves to tinker. He canonically built a laptop (with extra keys for Fords fingers), a cellphone, the Memory Gun, several killer robots, the Shack-O-Tron and started an entire ass cult along the way.

And that's just what I picked up on from skimming the Journal.

We only see McGucket make stuff on screen. All this time he's welding together contraptions, piloting giant killer robots, having a blast.

We never see Ford tinkering ONCE. Still, he constantly praises McGucket for his "brilliant mind", "mechanical knowledge" and "skill in construction".

I think Ford was McGucket's assistant. He didn't get ANYTHING done before he called McGucket over for help. In the bunker, all he did was find a skeleton and conduct "experiments" on Shifty (by showing them pictures of creatures and documenting what happens). He led McGucket to the UFO crash site, McGucket was the one to actually extract the Hyperdrive. All of the stuff Ford does sounds more like an assistant's job to me.

I'm also pretty sure McGucket knows that Ford isn't the genius he claims to be. Upon seeing Bill's blueprints, he immediately gets suspicious:

Why would he say this to a fellow genius?

And he's the one who recognizes something is wrong with the portal earlier than anyone else.

The day before the test, he meets Ford at the diner to warn him cause he knows something is deeply wrong - and offers him a thesis paper.

Now here is where things get interesting.

Ford gets angry. But instead of saying something like "How dare you insult my scientific integrity / intelligence", he thinks McGucket wants the Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness to himself, which obviously couldn't be further from the truth. But Ford is too insecure about his intelligence and too curious about the portal to care.

This makes me wonder if McGucket had done this before. They went to college together. What if McGucket wrote Ford's final assignment as well? What if he'd seen him have a meltdown over the introduction and whipped up a fantastic final thesis in an afternoon?

We know McGucket cares deeply for Ford, and we can tell his intentions at the diner were sincere. He doesn't really want or need any credit - meanwhile Ford is starved for it. This is probably also why he's fine being "Ford's assistant" even though he's the one putting in most of the work.

6. Why Would He Do This??

Before we talk about Ford's plans after Weirdmageddon, I have to mention that there's a good reason Ford is pretending to be a genius. This is pretty speculative territory, but I think it makes sense given what we know about the Pines family.

When you're a twin, at least in the Stan Bro's case, you're constantly being compared to one another. Once it has been established that Ford is the "smarter" of the two (true or not), their father latches onto that and soon Ford's intelligence becomes his entire identity. I think just like Stan was looked down upon and neglected for being the "stupid" twin, Ford was burdened with expectations for being the "smart" twin. "You're gonna go far, kid. You're gonna make us so much money, you're gonna get us out of this dump." An INSANE thing to burden a child with.

This goes well for a while - Ford gets straight As and is the pride of the family. His ego inflates. But then something strange happens which I'm sure many "gifted kids" can relate to - he hits a wall. At some point he can no longer brute force things with his intelligence and he has trouble keeping up with his family's expectations. His massive ego gets damaged beyond repair.

Soon, he starts questioning everything. "If I'm not the smart guy, who am I? What's left?" He's been living like this his entire life. It's way too late to turn back so he moves forward. And if intelligence can't get him there, at least he can use the smarts he does have to make sure nobody else ever finds out. It's not unlikely for him to develop this attitude and it's the same kind of mindset he brings to taking the Hyperdrive from Crash Site Omega:

In a way, this makes him a con artist like Stanley. Which, after everything that's happened between the two, must feel like such an insult to Ford that he'd rather live in denial than face reality. The reality being that he is about as intelligent as Stanley, too. This doesn't mean that Stan is dumb (he managed to get the portal to work with barely any help, after all) - just that Ford is not as intelligent as he (and everyone else) thought / expected of him. AND that Stanley isn't as dumb as everyone always told him he was.

I think while yes, Stan broke the Machine, Ford couldn't fix it. Or it was never even a Perpetual Motion Machine to begin with. Yes, Ford couldn't go to his "dream college", but was that really his dream? Or his father's? Remember when McGucket offered him the Weirdness Thesis on a silver platter, saying with this he can finally "get his life back", and Ford still refused it? Maybe he didn't want his old life back. Because his old life SUCKED without Stanley in it.

7. After Weirdmageddon

Now that we established what Ford's dad wanted him to be, let's explore what Ford actually likes doing.

Obviously journaling and sketching what he sees, but what else?

Ford loves exploring. He goes on hikes, climbs mountains, visits caves, goes ham on Crash Site Omega. In the Bunker he looks around and discovers a mole man skeleton and Shifty while McGucket did the inventing/building.

He's also great at action hero stuff. He saves McGucket from the Gremloblin, and later from Shifty, he's jumping around the UFO with a magnet gun as if it's the only thing he's ever done, and saving Dipper from the security system, just to name a few.

He even says this in the episode: "I need to train an apprentice to help me fight monsters, solve mysteries, and protect this town." This doesn't really sound like science stuff to me.

So yeah I think Ford lied about being a genius to compensate for his (self perceived) lack of other qualities, he lied about his 12 PHDs, his scientific accomplishments, maybe even some inventions. He sucks at decoding things despite claiming to have "aced cryptology". Instead, he spends most of his time exploring, fighting monsters, stealing shit and getting in all kinds of dangerous situations. Truth is, he is much more similar to Stan than he'd like anyone to find out.

He also doesn't even WANT to do science. He likes the idea of science, like in Sci Fi movies, but not the actual labor that comes with it. Ford has been travelling between dimensions for 30 years. He probably is the only human to ever have done that in his dimension. Surely he spent these 30 years on research? Well...

There's only a single line mentioned in the Journal about doing anything scientific and he didn't even dedicate the entire sentence to it.

He "compared notes with scholars". That's it.

But surely he has so many papers and theories he can finally publish to fulfil his initial goal to "join the ranks of Newton, Tesla, & Einstein in the pantheon of science"?

Nope. He goes treasure hunting with Stanley. Ford seems to have forgotten all about his research. And I think that's not just because he wants to make up for lost time, but also because this is what he truly wanted to do in the first place, before he was forced into the "genius" mold.

To go adventuring, to be creative, to spend time with the family that matters.

8. TLDR

Ford didn't manage to write his Grand Unified Theory of Weirdness.

His Journal is entertaining, but ultimately full of unscientific ramblings.

He didn't build the portal, bunker, magnet gun, quantum destabilizer, or any other invention I could find.

All of his accomplishments can be traced back to either Bill, the town library, or McGucket.

He didn't write his own codes, he couldn't decipher any of the codes or secrets he found, including the ones he was given a solution to.

The Journal makes it look like Ford is McGucket's assistant and not the other way round.

McGucket is amazing and needs to be protected at all costs.

The tragicness of Ford's backstory makes no sense if he actually WAS a genius.

He needed to keep up the genius act because that's what his family expected of him and now he's con-artist level good at it.

He spent 30 years between dimensions committing crimes and preparing for revenge instead of doing science.

he seems to not even LIKE doing science. he prefers exploring, drawing, and getting into dangerous situations.

Once back in his home dimension, instead of doing anything science related, he goes adventuring with his brother.

Disclaimer: I have nothing against Ford, if anything this adds to his character cause I haven't seen anyone even so much as question his status as a genius yet. I just needed to get this out of my system cause this has been brewing in my brain since JULY.

This took me 10 hours to write. Thank you so much for making it this far, this post was brought to you by Autism™

[sparkypantaloons]

I Protí Forá

Bruce loves his kids, he just really doesn't know how to say it. So he shows it instead, usually with ridiculous displays and gestures of affection. Because he's a billionaire, ya know? And also a massive dork.

Eleven year old Jason comes to realise all of the above, from the middle of the Aegean Sea.

The first time Jason gets on a plane he's eleven.

Bruce is taking them to Greece for a vacation. He says it's because work has been hectic, but Jason's pretty sure it's because he (Jason) has been reading The Odyssey. Bruce might be the whole big boss of Wayne Enterprises, but every meeting Jason's ever overheard from the study starts with Bruce saying "Hello!" all cheery before going "But let me hand you over to the most important man at Wayne Enterprises", and then Mr. Fox takes over, so it can't be all that hectic.

Besides, Bruce does stuff like this sometimes. Like once, Jason told him he'd never seen a basketball game and Bruce took them to see the Gotham Guardsmen versus the Chicago Bulls the very next week. They sat courtside, and Jason had the biggest load of nachos he'd ever had in his whole life, and Bruce even let him try a sip of his beer (which was gross, by the way). And then after the game Jason got to meet both teams and try and shoot some hoops with Michael Jordan, who just "happened" to be there (yeah right, Bruce) and he got a tour of the entire stadium.

So, when Bruce looked over the top of his paper one evening, with the same look he had when he asked if Jason wanted to be adopted, and said "Shall we go to Greece next week?" Jason's pretty sure it's 'cause he (Jason) was reading The Odyssey. And nothing to do with work.

They fly from Newark to Athens, in the first class suite on Etihad. They have their own mini apartment on the plane, with two wide-screen TVs and a double bed, their own bathroom and a shower. It's almost as big as Jason's old apartment in the squat he was living in before Bruce found him, but not quite. It's a lot nicer though and Jason can't quite believe all this is on a plane.

The air crew greet them with a smile and give them bags full of expensive 'amenities' and stuff and hand Bruce a glass of champagne. He tells them he used to have a private jet, but that they're terrible for the environment and he's trying to reduce his carbon footprint. He says it in that stupid voice he does when he's pretending to be what Dick calls a "himbo billionaire" but there's the secret grin at the corner of his mouth that's just for Jason, that makes Jason feel like he's with the best man in the world.

When they're somewhere over the Atlantic, the lady looking after their section asks if Jason would like to see the cockpit. It's not normally allowed, she says, but Mr. Wayne is such a good customer (and man, she adds, batting her eyes at Bruce over Jason's head, as though Jason wouldn't know what she meant) that the Captain has agreed to make an exception.

It's dusk, and the sky from the cockpit is bigger and more brilliant that Jason has ever seen. A glorious canvas of pastel pinks and purple hues, stretching up into a deep dark blue where stars are slowly beginning to blink into life. The Captain greets Jason with a smile and Bruce with a handshake. Explains what all the different lights and buttons and switches mean, and let's Jason wear her hat for a photo.

By the time they land in Athens, Jason is pretty sure this is the second best day of his life. (The first best is the day Bruce adopted him).

They're spend the night at a fancy hotel, in a room on top of a cliff over looking the Saronic Gulf, which Jason has never heard of but is apparently part of the Aegean Sea. They have their own private swimming pool and two huge beds - one each, though Bruce says Jason can still share if he wants to.

The air is warm and thick, even as the day begins to fade, and though he's not that good at swimming yet, Jason is desperate to jump straight into the pool. "After some supper," Bruce promises, sounding a lot like Alfred. But he keeps his word and the two of them lie on their inflatables as night falls. Above them, in the dark, there are more stars in the sky than Jason has seen in his whole life.

~

The first time Jason has been on a boat he's still eleven.

He and Bruce wander down to a little dock below the cliffs wearing matching boat shoes and shirts. Jason is wearing his Gotham Guardsmen cap and Bruce has a white strip of sunblock under his eyes.

"Technically it's a catamaran" Bruce tells Jason, explaining the difference between hulls of the two as they step aboard. "Kalimera George!" He says, "O gios mou, Jason. Jason, this is our skipper, George."

Later, many years later, Jason will know enough Greek to realise Bruce introduced him as his son, but as he steps aboard the cat all he can do is wonder what Bruce said, smile shyly and shake George's hand.

They sail south from Athens, passing the Temple of Poseidon in coastal Sounio and onto the Aegean Islands. Jason has finished The Odyssey by now, but has moved onto other Greek myths, Theseus and the Minotaur, Artemis and Apollo, Icarus and Daedalus. The sea is a brilliant, turquoise blue, diamond bright under the warm Mediterranean sun and by the time they reach the island of Kythnos, Jason is itching to jump in.

They find a secluded cove, with a small rocky beach and George drops anchor.

"Last one in is a Green Lantern fanboy!" Jason crows, and he leaps from the back deck into the crystal cool water.

It's his first time in the sea, any sea, and he can taste the salt on his lips. The water is calm and he bobs lightly, laughing as Bruce makes a strangled cry and leaps in after him.

"You love Green Lantern!" Jason teases, giggling with his head thrown back to keep it above the surface. He's not so good at treading water yet.

Bruce drifts over to him, pouting. "I wasn't ready, no fair." He says, pulling Jason towards him and onto his back.

Jason closes his eyes to the sun as Bruce swims them round the cove a little.

"Let's swim back to the cat." Bruce says, and Jason chews his lip because it's a little far. "I'll be right beside you." Bruce promises and they swim back to the boat, together.

That night they lie out on the deck and Bruce points out all of the constellations from the Greek myths; Orion and Cassiopeia and Hercules, though obviously Herakles is the proper Greek name for him.

"Whose your favourite Greek hero, B?" Jason asks, his head on Bruce's stomach.

And because he's corny like that, Bruce says "Jason."

~

Jason's first crush, the first one where it feels like something, he's eleven still, and he and Bruce are on a tiny island called Nykterides. It's a nature reserve for bats and other animals and, honestly, sometimes Bruce is such a nerd, because of course he owns the island too. And of course it's a bat-island. Bat species in the Aegean are vulnerable to habitat loss and climate change (apparently), so the island offers a safe refuge. He tells Jason all of this with a very serious look on his face and all Jason can think is what a huge dork Bruce is. There's a tightness in his chest as he listens to Bruce explain, but it takes him a little while to realise the feeling is fondness.

Only a few local families live on Nykterides, Bruce says, as they sail up to the tiny harbour. The buildings are square and white, with some blue domes but mainly flat, low roofs. Conservation staff also live on the island, scientists and biologists too, and there's a small taverna on the shore where they can eat and drink together.

A boy, no more than 19 greets them as they approach. "Kalispera, Mr. Wayne." He flashes them a smile and Jason feels a little breathless all of a sudden. The boy's skin is a glowing golden bronze, his hair falling in dark, rich waves.

"Kalispera, Giannis." Bruce says, a hand on Jason's head. "This is Jason."

"Ah, like the Argonaut?" Giannis asks with a wink, and something in Jason's stomach flips. He thinks about Apollo, most beautiful of all the God's and tries not to blush.

Giannis serves them lunch, and they sit with George and the others on the island, in the shade of a few palms. They eat fresh caught mussels and clams, with salad of tomatoes and cucumber and olives. Fresh cheese with honey, and rice and vegetables wrapped in vine leaves. Jason feels like he's living in a dream, grins up at Bruce and smiles shyly at Giannis as they clink their glasses and say "Yamas!".

As the evening wanes, Giannis tries to teach Jason a few words of Greek.

"Efcharisto," The words roll off Giannis' tongue and Jason finds himself staring at the older boy's mouth.

"Eff-ha-rist-oh" Jason repeats, and Giannis laughs and says it's close enough.

That night Jason goes to bed giddy and breathless and dreams of Apollo.

~

The first time Jason realises he loves someone, truly loves them, other than his Mom that is, he's twelve. Just.

He and Bruce have been sailing for a week or so now, island hoping across the Aegean and the Cyclades. The sea breeze is just enough to keep away the mid-August heat and Jason is sure there isn't a more beautiful part of the world to be found.

Bruce has been promising something special for Jason's birthday. He's spent a lot of time on a ridiculous satellite phone (because there are zero bars in the middle of the sea) trying to sort whatever it is out. If he thinks too much about it, Jason's stomach flips with excitement, because what could possibly top all of this? Bruce is ridiculously rich, and just plain ridiculous, so it's probably a helicopter up to Mount Olympus or something totally crazy, which to be fair, would be beyond cool.

But when the night before his birthday Bruce comes to him looking forlorn, Jason is worried.

"I'm sorry Jay," Bruce says, and it looks like he's in physical pain for how sorry he is. "I really wanted to do something special for your birthday but it isn't going to work out."

"That's okay," Jason says, but before he can continue Bruce speaks again and says,

"I wanted to take you to Themyscira, and Diana thought she could get you in, but Hippolyta said no."

For the briefest of moments, Jason thinks he might be disappointed, but instead there's a rush in his chest and he laughs, head back and heart full. "Bruce, you big boob!" He says, shoving Bruce's arm. "Men aren't allowed on Themyscira."

Bruce slips his arm around Jason and pulls him in close for a hug. "Yeah, but you're just a little man, not a whole one. I thought they might make an exception."

"It would have been cool," Jason muses, from where his face is squashed against Bruce's chest. "But then I couldn't have spent my birthday with you."

Bruce makes a noise in his throat and hugs Jason a little tighter.

"Love you, B." Jason says, and it's the first time he's ever said it to anyone that wasn't his Mom.

Bruce grunts again, and hugs Jason even tighter. "Happy birthday, lad." He mumbles.

The air is warm, and the catamaran bobs lightly in the water. Waves lap at the hull and Jason grins.

He and Bruce sit and watch the stars together.

[itslynzbitxh]

purple || sal fisher x gender neutral reader

fluff

1.1k words

I unlock the door with shaky hands before stepping into our shared apartment.

"Are you sure?" I say, turning to Sal as I kick my shoes off at the door. He nods and unbuckles his prosthetic, setting it down on the coffee table.

"You don't have to, you know," I mumble as I head to the bathroom with the paper bag.

"I know," he says matter-of-factly, trailing behind me. I roll my eyes as I set the bag on the sink before kneeling down to rummage through the cabinets for my supplies. "But I wanna match," he grins lopsidedly into the mirror, running his fingers through his pigtails.

I chuckle softly and stand up with two hair dye bowls in hand. Sal wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my shoulder, watching me. I smile softly, leaning into his touch.

"Why do we need two?" he asks curiously.

"Well, you got a lotta hair, babe. The dye's not gonna all fit in one bowl," I explain as I reach into the paper bag and pull out two bottles of hair color: Ppl Eater and Front Row from Good Dye Young.

I look up into the mirror, taking in both of our reflections. My hair was a freshly-dyed vibrant red-violet. It had been blue for months until I decided to dye it purple on a whim yesterday. Sal came home from Larry's that night and pouted, complaining that we didn't match anymore. This morning, he'd asked me if I would help him dye it purple. I hesitated at first as he'd only ever had blue in the time I'd known him, but he badgered me until I agreed.

I run my fingers through his blue hair one last time.

"I'm gonna miss it. Larry's not even gonna recognize you," I chuckle. Sal grins and tightens his grip around me.

"Larry can kiss my ass for all I care. I wanna match with my beautiful partner." He presses a kiss to my neck, eliciting a soft giggle from me. "Can't have you looking better than me, can we?" he teases.

"Watch yourself there, hotshot," I say with a smirk, rolling my eyes. Sal laughs, the sound reverberating into my back.

I start to squeeze the color into the bowls and mix the two colors together, trying to match the red-violet shade of my own hair. After a few minutes, I've gotten as close as I think I can get. I look up at Sal.

"Whatcha think?" I hold the brush up, letting a glob of hair dye fall back into the bowl. It makes a loud plop, splattering several droplets on the white sink. I grimace.

"I think we're not getting our deposit back," Sal quips. I stick my tongue out at him.

"That was gone the first time I dyed my hair in this apartment," I reply. Sal chuckles.

"I'm ready now if you are." I look at him.

"Fuck yeah," he says excitedly, nodding.

"Sit down, and we can get started." I gesture to the closed toilet seat lid. He kisses my cheek and lets go of me, sitting down. I gently pull the ponytail holders out of his pigtails.

"Ow!" he exclaims dramatically. I roll my eyes.

"So whiney," I tease. He pouts playfully at me. I laugh and take out the second pigtail. I rustle his hair a little. He smiles up at me.

"Gotta say goodbye to my blue-haired boy."

"Hey, you didn't let me say goodbye to my blue-haired lover," he reminds me.

"I've been a thousand colors, love. I didn't think you'd be so attached to my blue," I say as I section his hair up with a claw clip.

"Well, when you dyed it blue, I couldn't look at my hair without thinking of you," he says softly. "I liked that."

I blush slightly, my heart fluttering at his sweet words. I smile at him softly and press a gentle kiss to the top of his head.

"You're sweet. Now's your last chance to back out though," I tell him as I give the hair color one last stir before grabbing the brush and bringing it towards his head.

"Nope." He shakes his head with a grin. I laugh and apply the first streak of color onto the back of his hair.

I carefully start working the color into his blue hair, being more attentive than when I'm doing my own hair.

"This is gonna take a while. Wanna put on some music?" I ask as I apply the color in sections.

Sal nods, pulling out his phone and connecting to my speaker. After a moment, one of my favorite songs, "Black No. 1" by Type O Negative, starts playing. I chuckle softly.

"This song always reminds me of you," he smiles up at me.

"I haven't had black hair in years though," I tell him. He shrugs.

"Maybe we can do that next."

"Oh, a black-haired Sally Face would be unstoppable," I grin at him. He blushes slightly.

"You think?" he says softly. He always struggled to receive compliments, but so did I.

"I know. You'd be the ultimate emo boy," I tease, biting my tongue.

"I am NOT emo!" he exclaims. I laugh loudly. "I am punk rock, you bastard."

I laugh again as I apply more color.

"Uh-huh." He glares up at me. I grin. "I know you're not." He nods, satisfied by my answer. "But you know what song reminds me of you?"

He glares up at me again with a playful and curious expression in his eyes. "What song?"

I giggle and gesture for his phone. He sighs and hands it to me. I laugh to myself as I add a certain song to the queue. I set his phone down with a mischievous grin. He narrows his eyes at me.

"What song?" he asks again.

"Patience, Sally," he rolls his eyes at me. I continue coloring his hair, finishing up the back and moving on to a new section.

The Type O Negative song continues, and I forget that I added a song to the queue until after the eleven-minute song finishes. "Emo Boy" by Ayesha Erotica starts playing. I laugh to myself as Sally groans and blushes, glaring at me.

"I hate you," he mumbles, trying to suppress the smile tugging on his lips.

"Sure you do."

He shakes his head playfully and laughs, grabbing my hips and pulling me towards him to stand in between his legs. He wraps his arms around me and rests his head on my chest.

"You're lucky I love you," he mumbles into me. I yelp slightly, cold purple hair color getting on my white shirt.

"Sally!" I groan. He laughs and looks up at me with a smirk.

"Oops," he says sarcastically.

"You're lucky I love you." I repeat his words with a smile, not really caring that much about the shirt.

"Yes, I am," he says softly as he pulls me closer.

~~

this is my first tumblr fic ! (i wrote on wattpad back in the og days)

hope y'all enjoy! should i do a nsfw part two?

also requests are open !

<3

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 16 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: ig major character death but that’s kind of a technicality, vampire biting, blood drinking, vampire biting, fangwarming??? lmfao, fluff, what i hope is a plot twist lol wc: 5.1k

The passage behind the thrones leads to a corridor not far from Taehyung’s wing. It’s close to the section of rooms that are meant to be yours now. Yours, for your new life as an Infracti. For your new life as the King’s sperasa, until you become Queen.

You’d agreed that doing the ritual in your wing would be best, so that they won’t have to transport you - newly turned, probably unconscious - through the palace.

You are afraid.

You let yourself feel it, don’t deny yourself the right to float in the crawling sensation of terror clawing its way up from your stomach. Taehyung’s hand in yours can’t dispel it. Your pride in him and your love for him, mighty as they are, can’t dispel it.

You’ve become accustomed to fear in your time here. You press on.

In your main room, still unfamiliar to you, Taehyung holds you close, one hand on the back of your head and the other around your waist. You let him hold you, close your eyes.

“Brave,” he whispers.

“I don’t feel very brave,” you admit quietly.

A knock on the door comes and the Queen enters, followed by Jimin. Behind him is Seokjin of Score, and Namjoon. Taehyung arranged all of this once you and Dr. Kim had explained what would be needed.

Namjoon finds you and approaches, face solemn.

“You ready?” he asks quietly as you look over the written countercurse together.

“Have to be,” you say. “Are you?”

He nods. “We can do this,” he asserts.

“And then you get to go home,” you say.

He nods, looking up at you from the parchment. “I’m going as soon as we can confirm it worked,” he tells you, a bit of apology in his tone. Like he’s sorry he isn’t staying with you - even though there’s no way he could.

“Good,” you say, meaning it. “Tell your grandfather… Thank you for everything. And… Thank you, too. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“It was an honor,” he says, quietly, then adds, “I’m grateful, too.”

You feel yourself choking up, and you will it away. You need to be clear-headed, professional. There isn’t room for this - not now. You’ll have to be sad later. Still, you tell him, “I hope I can come see you both soon. I’ll try - as soon as I’m able to be around humans.”

He smiles sadly. “Don’t come until you’re sure you won’t eat us.”

“I promise,” you say, smiling a little. 

He regards you seriously again. Behind him, Taehyung seems to be organizing the items you’d asked for, going over the directions again. Namjoon says, “This might be goodbye for a while, huh?”

“If the countercurse works,” you agree.

You both seem to hover on the precipice of a hug goodbye. In the end, he gives you a final clap on the shoulder, and then the plan is lurching into motion around you.

The Queen has the things you need - the metronome, a jar of ashes.

You set the metronome to a slow rate, and then usher everyone into place in the open space of the room. Then, you sprinkle the ashes in a perfect circle around the group, locking you in with the magic. No one speaks. They just watch you work, ranging from curious to subdued.

When the circle is perfect, you pull out the parchment with the countercurse and explain one last time.

“This is the point, right here,” you say, pointing and showing the paper around the group of Infracti, “when Namjoon will take over the incantation. The ashes will keep the magic close-by, but you need to close the circle as quickly as possible or we’ll lose the connection.”

“We’ve got it,” Seokjin assures you, steady. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you say, pulse thundering. You wish there was anything you could do to stall. You wish there was a blanket you could pull over your head. You wish there was someone from the future who could come tell you that everything would work out, that things would go as you intend.

“If anything goes wrong,” you add, “break contact as fast as you can, and break the circle of ashes to let the magic out. The quicker the better.”

It is the Queen - though, she is not that anymore, now that her son has been crowned - who lays a cool hand on your arm.

“Nothing will go wrong,” she tells you evenly. “We are all here beside you.”

You nod, wordless.

“I’m going to start, then,” you say, but you have to clear your throat once to make it audible.

You mutter a spell you’d looked up just for this, and your parchment obeys the command, hovering mid-air between you and Namjoon, supported by nothing. Namjoon stands to your right and the Queen to your left, and you press your palms to theirs. With everyone in place, you make a perfect circle, with Taehyung straight across.

“Breathe with the beat of the metronome,” you instruct. “Inhale… exhale…”

You breathe in time with everyone around you until you feel your magic rise up, flowing out to mingle with theirs. It takes some time before you feel ready to start the incantations; with Taehyung all the way across the circle it takes a few minutes before you feel his magical signature touch yours through the flow of everyone else’s. But it is unmistakable when he does, the warmth and belonging that accompany the sensation couldn’t be from anyone else.

When you feel like your magic and his are secure, thoroughly immersed with each other, you begin the incantation. You speak slowly and carefully, feeling the familiar sensation of the curse beginning to untangle. You keep your eyes on the page, try not to get distracted by the others.

There is no room for error - you can’t die twice.

There is no snag this time, no pull behind your navel that tells you the curse is fighting back. When you say your last line, you take your hands from those next to you and step into the circle.

Across from you, Taehyung steps forward too.

Around you, the remaining four step closer and fill the gaps you’d left behind, their hands meeting to close a small circle around you and Taehyung. Namjoon’s deep voice picks up the incantation where you left off. He’s borrowing, pulling magic from the Queen and from Jimin, who flank him.

You meet Taehyung’s eyes. Your heart is in your throat. There is so much you want to say to him. That you love him. That you trust him. That he’s worth this sacrifice.

You can’t speak, though, not during the incantation. Instead, you step close to him, breathe him in, and let him envelop you.

He wraps his arms around you, just as he had before everyone else had entered your rooms. He would have to hold tight, he’d warned you, to keep you from moving too much when your body began to instinctively fight him. And then, after, to hold you up when your legs inevitably give out.

He’d also warned you it would hurt.

You are afraid. 

You are afraid, but Taehyung is cradling you between his arms like you are precious, so you take a breath and nod.

Taehyung leans down and nuzzles the spot on your neck that he tends to favor. You stifle your cry when his fangs puncture you, letting out a mangled groan of agony through gritted teeth. You’re glad for his inhuman hold around your back, because your knees do go weak for a moment before you will them back into compliance.

There is no pulling sensation, and no welcome rush of venom. Instead, Taehyung’s hands tighten around you like a warning and then the location of his bite goes white hot.

You hear yourself scream.

The heat spreads, up your neck, down your chest. Your eyes roll back, your throat rasps as your scream continues. Your legs give out, useless beneath you. 

You feel yourself start to fight, hands clawing at Taehyung’s sides, body beginning to twist and tug. Taehyung’s hold is true, and you get nowhere. Your lungs burn and your scream dies to a whimper before starting anew after you drag in a breath.

Everything is on fire - from head to toe you are aflame. Your muscles strain to aching as your body tries and tries to wrench itself away from the pain.

Darkness creeps in the edge of your unfocused vision as you kick fruitlessly at Taehyung’s immoveable legs. You hear yourself gasping out sobs between shrieks of pain. You can see less and less, the black swirling at the edges of your vision taking over by the second.

Before the darkness closes in on you, you will yourself to focus, choke down the next scream that crawls up your throat.

You want to see him. You want to see him before you die. 

Your eyes fight to find him against the blurriness, and you blink away tears. His mouth is wet with your blood and his cheeks are wet with tears, but when he sees you looking at him, he presses his forehead to yours, and his hands on your back unclench and soothe up and down instead.

There he is, you think. My King. My love. And then you let the darkness come.

—

Taehyung looks around the meeting room, then closes his eyes and rubs a hand down his face.

His cabinet, a mix of his father’s people and some of his own, wait him out.

“Three weeks,” he repeats hollowly.

The Infracti he directs that at nods. “Yes, Maiesti. The council needs time to deliberate. This is, as you know, a bit unprecedented.”

Taehyung purses his lips. It’s true; never before has a King - or former King, technically - been put to trial. Dethroned, murdered, cast away - yes. But not like this - a trial, a ruling of guilt, a council deliberating on what sentence he should serve. A sentencing that could take nearly a month, apparently.

“Very well,” Taehyung frowns. “And what of the other trials?”

An uneasy look passes through the room.

Taehyung sighs. “I asked for this myself,” he points out. “You don’t need to be afraid to talk to me about it.”

A woman at the table inclines her head in deference to her king. “Your trial has been scheduled the week after your father’s sentencing. We thought we ought to give you time to help your sperasa recover.”

That’s where Taehyung would rather be right now, in your dark rooms with you, and everyone in his cabinet knows it.

“Thoughtful,” he murmurs, because it is, because it’s not his cabinet’s fault that he murdered innocent humans while under the power of the curse, not their fault that he wants to answer for it.

“Hoseok and I will be fully prepared to represent your defense by then,” a dark-haired Infracti seated near Jin tells him. “I’m confident in our outcome.”

They move on to discuss the third trial - Seokjin’s father, the leader of the Scores. Seokjin listens politely, but the tips of his ears go red until the topic changes. 

Taehyung ticks the trials off in his head, all three, ducks in a row.

“Let’s meet in four days’ time,” Taehyung suggests, glancing around to see if anyone objects. “The trials were my first order of business, but we have a lot of work to do restructuring things around here.”

Everyone at the table nods, and once Taehyung gives a few cabinet members specific directions for tasks to handle in the next week, they disperse.

“Off to see your feral beast?” Jimin teases, as he and Taehyung follow the trickle of people out into the corridor.

Taehyung can’t help but grin, big and boxy. “I like her like this. I’ll almost be sad when she settles down again.”

Jimin laughs at this. “It’s only been a week since you turned her. You have at least another week or two before she calms down.”

Taehyung’s expression slides into a grimace. “Hopefully I’ll still be around once she’s settled and not rotting in the palace prison.”

Jimin’s face goes unreadably blank. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, suddenly somber and quiet. “You’re the King. You could call it off - no one could say anything.”

Taehyung shakes his head. “I need to.”

Jimin purses his full lips at him, but doesn’t retort. Taehyung thinks that Jimin understands, even if he doesn’t like it.

“Yoongi will defend you well,” he says finally. “I’m sure the sentencing will be light.”

“I want the sentencing to be fair,” Taehyung says petulantly. “That’s the whole point.”

“It will be,” Jimin argues. “You were cursed. No one is going to hold that against you.”

Taehyung twists his mouth but doesn’t address this. They’ve been walking as they talk, and they near the doors that lead to your rooms. They’re heavily guarded - Taehyung counts seven Infracti but he knows there are more - mostly to keep you inside.

Jimin tells him goodbye, and the guards move to let him enter. He’s careful to slip through the crack in the doors quickly; the guards are careful to be ready, just in case you get through.

Your rooms are dark, the lamps all unlit, the heavy curtains closed and drowning out any sunlight that might filter through. Normally, Taehyung might expect you to have a fire crackling in the hearth, but part of turning includes several days of unbearable heat, and he’s not sure you’re past that yet.

You come out of nowhere, slamming into him from the shadows to his left, and Taehyung lets himself get knocked to the ground, landing squarely on his ass.

“Ouch,” he says, pouting at you.

Straddling him, rearing back so he can see the column of your throat working in the darkness, you curl back your upper lip, bare your brand-new fangs at him and snarl, the sound snapping and cutting.

He grins. He loves you like this. It makes him feel proud.

“What is it you need, my Queen?” he teases.

Your scowl at him, fangs hanging over your lower lip; you haven’t mastered putting them away yet, and Taehyung thinks it’s the damn cutest thing in the world.

“Drink,” you say, a demand.

“Are you thirsty?” he coos. Your scowl deepens. He knows your consciousness is cloudy right now, a haze of thirst and want and heat obscuring your finer thinking. But you’re in there, behind the haze, and each day a bit more of you shines through.

“Drink,” you insist again, petulantly.

He wishes he could take you hunting - deer, maybe even a bear. He’d loved to see you in action - he has no doubt you’d be a formidable predator, and it sends a thrill through him. But it would be too dangerous; if they happened across a human, you’d have no control. Not yet.

Maybe someday.

Instead, Taehyung flips you without warning, laying his body heavy over yours. You begin thrashing immediately, snarls rolling through you like seismic activity, but he’s stronger and he manages to hold you in place.

He gives a sharp whistle and your doors open. Your thrashing intensifies as you see an escape route, but the guards who wheel in two carts are quick, and soon enough the doors are shut again. Taehyung lets you up, and you skitter to the door, hands working at the knobs. They don’t budge.

You whirl around, looking at him furiously.

“Look,” he says happily, unphased by your anger, “they brought you drinks!”

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, you peer at the carts. There are a few items of blood-food, but unsurprisingly you pass them over. There are carafes of dark liquid, and if you wanted you could just drink. But Taehyung knows what your body is craving - just blood won’t be enough to sate you. Your fangs are tingling, itching to pierce, itching for warmth. You won’t feel better until that need is met, too.

The bags, just big enough to be cradled between two hands, are simply called Prey - a little joke by their inventor, none other than Jimin. They were created for newly-turned Infracti, meant to satisfy both needs at once. The pouch is not real skin, though it feels close enough. The blood inside is real.

You hold one between your hands, claws digging in like it might escape, and bring it to your mouth, piercing the pouch and beginning to drink. You let out a happy little sigh, and Taehyung comes to wrap his arms around you from behind.

“There,” he soothes. “Drink all you need. You’ll feel better.”

You work through three pouches before you stop, dropping the deflated Prey onto the cart it came from and turning to Taehyung with wide eyes, and the cutest fang-adorned pout.

“What is it, my love?” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the top of your head soothingly. “Don’t you feel better now that you’ve had some to drink?”

You nod, then reconsider, frowning and shaking your head.

“What’s not better?” he asks, moving to pull you into a standing cuddle.

Your frown deepens and you raise a hand and rub at your mouth, fingers sliding along your protruding fangs with a squeak.

“They hurt?” he asks sympathetically.

“Bite,” you mumble around your pout.

“Alright,” he tells you. “Let’s get comfortable.”

You loop your arms around his neck, and he takes a second to smile into your hair, holding you close. He likes you like this, too driven by your needs to be proud. He likes that you need him, that you want him, that the part of your brain that might make you pretend otherwise, or at least act like it’s less, is currently silenced by your bloodlust.

He lifts you, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you deeper into your wing, seeking out your bedroom. The blankets are rumpled, half-thrown on the ground, like you’d tried to sleep but had eventually kicked the blankets off and gotten up to pace, instead.

That’s probably exactly what happened.

He settles back against the pillows and you straddle him, arms still around his neck. You bury your face against his chest and whine.

“I know,” he tells you, rubbing a hand up your back. You hiss at the contact, pulling away from where you’d been hiding your face.

“Hurts,” you complain.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, trying to touch more gently. He knows your muscles are sore, skin hot to the touch as your body adjusts. “You can bite if you need to bite.”

“You sure?” you ask, and Taehyung notes that it’s one of your first multi-word utterances. A sign that you’re making progress, coming out of the fog a little.

“I’m sure,” he tells you.

You nose at his neck, and he strokes lightly down your back until you find a spot you like.

It’s only a sting when you pierce the skin of his shoulder, over his deltoid, for which he’s thankful. You don’t drink - sangru can’t be ingested - but leave your sore, sensitive fangs buried in his flesh. You wrap yourself around him even tighter, settling in and closing your eyes as you feel relief for the first time all day.

Taehyung tries hard to hold still so he doesn’t knock you loose. He’s glad he can do this for you, help ease your way. 

He still finds it incomprehensible that you’d give up your human life for him. He holds still, and he whispers to you that it’ll get better soon, that Potato misses you, that he loves you.

After a while, he feels your breathing even out. He shifts gently, wincing as your fangs slip from his shoulder, the wounds starting to ooze tar-black sangru. Unbothered, he moves you gently into a more comfortable sleeping position, smiling when you hum in your sleep. Then, even though he’s slept all night ever since the curse was undone, he closes his eyes and lets himself drift away with you in his arms.

—

You lay still when you awaken, slowly taking inventory of each thing that hurts. Your head isn’t pounding - that’s a first, since the night Taehyung had turned you. You flex your fingers, roll your shoulders, stretch your legs towards the end of the bed. Things are stiff, but not painful the way they’d be the last few times you’d woken.

You rise gingerly, making your way to the windows, drawing back the curtains and filling the room with light. You blink against it, letting your eyes adjust.

You’re in your own rooms, your new wing in the palace. You wander from room to room absently, trying to familiarize yourself. You feel a little lost, a little out of place. You hadn’t inhabited these rooms for long before turning, and now you’ve been out of it for so long that you don’t even know what day it is.

You’re standing in the middle of the main room - with couches and an unlit hearth, just like Taehyung’s wing - staring absently at nothing when one of your tall doors cracks open.

You almost sag with relief when you see Satuel peek her head inside.

“Hi,” you breathe, deflating.

“You’re up,” she says, sounding a bit surprised. “It’s harder to keep track of you now that I can’t hear your heartbeat from outside.”

This makes you smile. “What day is it?”

She tells you as she comes inside, and you start counting on your fingers. Almost three weeks to the day since you’d performed Taehyung’s countercurse.

“Can I get you anything, Maiesti?” she asks.

You feel your face heat. “You shouldn’t call me that,” you say, a bit aghast. Your voice is rough from disuse. “I’m only Prince Taehyung’s sperasa.”

“You will be Queen soon enough,” she says in that cool, even way of hers. “What can I bring for you?”

You hesitate. “I’m very thirsty,” you admit.

She gives you a quick bow and retreats, and you sink into a chair, a bit dazed. Now that you’re noticed it, the thirst is powerful, and you find it hard to think about anything else.

Satuel doesn’t leave you suffering for long. She returns with a cart full of options - pitchers, Prey, and various pastries that must be blood-food.

You choose the pouches, the Prey, since they relieve both the thirst and the tingling need to bite. Though, you notice absently, the tingling isn’t so bad today.

While you drink, Satuel catches you up on what you’ve missed - the former King’s guilty verdict, Seokjin’s father’s trial underway, Taehyung’s own trial impending. Word that Namjoon made it back, that he’s doing fine settling back into his old life. That Taehyung has been here every day, helping you adjust, in between meetings with his new cabinet.

“Maiesti will be pleased to see you feeling more like yourself,” she notes.

“Do you think he’ll be long?” you ask, a bit wistfully.

Satuel gives you a knowing smile. “I think if I tell him you’re awake - really awake - he’ll leave his cabinet mid-meeting to come dote on you.”

You flush.

“Should I inform him?” Satuel asks, almost teasingly.

You wonder if, somehow, she has ended up as your friend.

You hesitate. “Could I… go see him? I’d really like a walk.”

You clean up before you go, and you’re pleased to find that you remember your way through the palace from these new rooms. It’s startling to walk down the corridor - your gait is awkward, your legs wanting to go faster than your brain thinks they can. But, of course, your brain is wrong - it needs time to catch up to what your body can do now.

You pause at the door of Taehyung’s meeting room, listening.

“I just think,” Seokjin is saying, somewhat hotly, “that there needs to be some weighting to the representation. The great houses should have more say than the lesser houses. We’re the ones here doing the work, we’re the ones here solving problems. The lesser houses can have a representative, but court families should have more.”

“I disagree,” someone else says, their tone carefully polite. “Beginning this new venture with an imbalance of power will only invite trouble. The lesser houses will be resentful from the beginning. It could brew into conflict. We don’t want to replace one monarch with a group of monarchs. Your Majesty, you wanted equality across Infracticus - that means you must start with equal.”

“You both make valid points,” Taehyung muses. “How do we decide? Should we vote?”

You step into the room. A few cabinet members look up, eyes widening. Another does a double take, at first deeming you unimportant and then looking again when they register who you are.

Taehyung lets out a noise like a laugh, a smile breaking across his face. “My love!” he cries. “You’re well?”

“I know my name today,” you tell him. “So that’s something, right?”

He starts to push his chair back, but you raise a hand to stop him. He halts mid-motion, clearly confused.

“What if you appointed representation by breaking up the land instead of by house?” you suggest, jumping uninvited into the conversation you’d interrupted. “I’ve seen it done that way above - it works, more or less. Then it doesn’t boil down to do the Runes get one or two, it would simply be that the Runes living in a designated area have the same representative as anyone else who lives there, too.”

Taehyung’s smile, if possible, triples in size. He finishes standing, pushing his chair away. He points at Seokjin mirthfully. “Discuss this suggestion in my absence,” he commands. “My Queen requires my attention now.”

Out in the hall, he sweeps you into a hug, swinging you in a circle. You laugh, slapping half-heartedly at him until he sets you down.

“You,” he says, “are the bravest, smartest, most beautiful Queen Infracticus has ever seen.”

“I’m not Queen yet,” you point out.

“We’ll start planning today,” he says, and then falters. “That is… if you want. I didn’t mean to rush you. I just got excited.”

You can’t help but smile, slipping a hand into his. “No,” you say shyly. “I do… want. Should we wait, though - for after your trial?”

He sobers. “Yoongi thinks it’ll be over in a day,” he says quietly, not meeting your gaze now. You squeeze his hand, reminding him that he’s not alone in this. “The Elders will testify that I was cursed… Namjoon is willing to testify as well… some of my guards, who kept me in my rooms…”

“I could, too,” you offer.

He nods, but it doesn’t seem like he’s saying yes. “If it comes to that,” he hedges. “But, like I said, Yoongi doesn’t think it’ll be much of a case. I’ll be relieved when it’s over, either way.” He shoots you a conspiratorial look. “And then, yes, we can start planning our events.”

“Events?” you echo.

“Wedding,” he ticks off on his fingers. “And then we’ll have to have a coronation for you.”

“I’d rather do it all in one go,” you admit. “I don’t like being the center of attention.”

He smiles indulgently at you. “You’ll get used to it,” he says. “If it helps, from now on, it will never just be you in the center, at least not alone. Wherever you go, you’ll always have me.”

And it does. It does help.

—

“Come on!” Taehyung’s voice is boyish, downright gleeful, as you struggle to keep up with his long legs.

“Where are we going?” you call to him, but your voice is lost by a strong ocean breeze, the sound carried away and drowned beneath the cries of the gulls and the crashing of waves.

In truth, you’re going slow on purpose, trying to savor this: the ocean you get to live beside, Taehyung laughing and carefree in a way you’ve never seen before, a sense that you belong right here.

It’s hard to wrap your brain around the truth that you don’t need to savor it, don’t need to make it last - you’ll have more time here than you can imagine.

Then, you recognize the stone steps he’s bounding down. He’s taking you to his stables.

“Potato missed me too much?” you tease, finally catching up. He grins at you in response.

Inside the stable, he tugs you past Potato’s stall, giving her a quick pat on the nose as he goes.

“Ta-da!” he crows, leaning over the wooden door to the stall, peering down into the space below. You follow his gaze and gasp, hands flying to your face.

“Taehyung!” you shriek. “No way!”

“You’ll scare her!” he chides, but he’s laughing, reaching to unlatch the door so you can properly meet the baby amarisca that stands in the stall. Her coat is royal blue, her hooves navy, and her eyes as black as Taehyung’s.

You sit on the ground and let her come to you, trying hard not to squeal and scare her even though you’re absolutely vibrating with excitement.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” you all but sob, so happy you’re almost incoherent.

“You need to name her,” he points out, sitting down next to you, hay and dirt be damned.

“Noodle,” you say immediately. “Her name is Regency’s Noodle. Taehyung, oh my god!”

You almost lose it again when she presses her nose into your hand, and Taehyung beams, his smile as bright as the sun.

You’ve come a long way in your transition. You can go almost the whole day without drinking, mostly needing one end-of-day “meal” (four or five Prey pouches) to get you through. You’re more steady on your feet, practicing zipping around lightning-quick the way you’ve seen others do. And your magic is stronger, too. You’ve been thinking of asking Taehyung if there’s a more formal way you can train in magic, once things are settled.

There’s a lot still to come. Your wedding, your coronation. And though the cabinet has been hard at work, King Taehyung has yet to announce that he plans to dissolve the monarchy and create a more democratic system in its place. Neither of you - none of the cabinet members - expect the news to go over smoothly.

Whatever happens, you’ll face it together. It helps that Seokjin is so involved, practically Taehyung’s second-in-command.

“When she’s big enough,” Taehyung promises you, “we’ll race to my island. We’ll travel to the ends of Infracticus together - I’ll make sure you see it all. We’ll ride together and see all the places you grew up reading about.”

“And then what?” you ask, half-teasing. You have an eternity to fill, after all.

“Whatever you want,” he promises. “We’ll do whatever you want, My Queen.”

And he slides his hand into yours, where it fits like it belongs.

—

Taehyung’s hand is in yours when he meets with you and the Infracti who will defend him at the trial, Yoongi and Hoseok of Cleave. 

“I was… going to keep this to myself,” he admits, shoulders rounded with shame. “But I need to know that I truly answered for what I did. And I can’t do that if you only know part of the truth.”

Yoongi looks at you, like you might have some answers. You do not. 

Taehyung wilts just slightly more. He glances sideways at you. “My love,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Maiesti,” Yoongi says, voice low with warning. He trails off. 

Taehyung fiddles with the rings on his fingers, unable to look anyone in the eye. “The whole truth,” he says, so quiet that you and Yoongi both lean closer to hear him, “is that the curse… it wasn’t what I intended - something went wrong -”

“What happened, Taehyung?” you ask, knowing it when you see him start to spiral into half-thoughts. 

He braces himself, and then tells you both what happened five nights before you’d arrived.

Before you came to Infracticus, Taehyung had spent an entire night in the deepest archives the palace held. He had thrummed with energy and desperation, as if stopping his father’s actions faster could also undo them. As if finding a solution quickly could absolve him, earn forgiveness.

He’d slapped a palm over the page when he found what he was looking for, after hours of searching, reading for so long that his eyes watered and begged to close.

A curse. A curse that would end his immortality, give him a human lifespan.

“If I die young, without an heir,” he had argued with absolutely no one, his voice echoing in the empty, stone room, “then the crown cannot pass on. After my father, it goes to no one.”

It didn’t solve the problem now, he knew. It meant Sunjae would continue to rule unchecked. But someday. Someday, Taehyung would die, and then Sunjae would die, and then the crown would be free.

He’d rest easier knowing that even if every plan he thought up eventually failed, at least Sunjae would be the last. Taehyung would spend however many years he got trying to stop him, and if nothing worked then at least he could die knowing that after Sunjae, it would end. The monarchy would cease to exist. Something better could rise from its ashes. It had to.

He had stood and pulled the book closer to the edge of the table so he could see it clearly and began borrowing, pulling magic from the world around him. He’d end his immortality, he’d kill his immortal self. For his people. For Infracticus.

“I am Taehyung of Rune, Prince of Infracticus,” he had told the empty room. He would bring his father down. He would end his house’s rule. “But perhaps I can be of Ruin, too.”

<- Prev

thank you so much for being here!! i hope you enjoyed this crazy world as much as i did. may scuttlebug tae live on forever in our hearts :')

[honeytonedhottie]

honeys guide to school໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹🎀

the first day of school is rapidly approaching, this post is to help and give a guide on being successful in school. i’ll separate this post into sections <3

SECTION ONE : STUDYING

hot girls get good marks, paying attention during classes and studying are easy ways to get good marks, however sometimes studying for hours isn’t enough.

time spent ≠ results. how long u study has no correlation to how well you’d do on an exam, however HOW you study is the most important. to PASSIVELY retain information: re-read past notes/lectures, randomly highlighting and reviewing notes. when studying SIMPLIFY and explain. these two things will ensure that u learned the material.

a studying method : ACTIVE RECALL METHOD. you’ll need two different colored pens, a piece of paper and ur textbook/notes packet. first step is to read the notes packet or textbook and try to memorize as much as u can, then close ur notes and textbooks, grab ur paper and writing utensil and just start writing what u remember. once ur finished take the other colored pen and write down what is missing. until you’ve completely memorized the text

SECTION TWO : SCHOOL AIR

school air can make you feel disgusting, especially if you don’t typically do touch ups throughout the day, but here are some ways that u can beat school air.

keep ur lips MOISTURIZED, dry lips will make you feel really crusty, so make sure to walk around with good chapsticks or lip balms and gloss. also, whenever ur in the school bathroom or whatever, make sure to check on ur hair and make it look pretty.

spend TIME in the morning making sure that you look ur best, making sure that ur clothes r wrinkle free and clean, doing skincare.. all those little things will piece together how you feel and how you LOOK. get 8-9 hours of sleep, and eat a balanced diet with 3 meals a day to look after ur health, because we are most beautiful when we r HEALTHY <3

for the last portion of this post i want to talk about other various aspects of school. after school a lot of us don’t have a large amount of time to be productive, especially since it is SO tiring going to school. but use the time that u have WISELY, don’t neglect ur health during school and don’t be so hard on urself, make a good morning and evening routine and STAY consistent. do NOT bully or be rude to anybody and don’t be rude to urself either. be kind to everyone, especially ur teachers <3 make friends and have a great experience! 💗💗

if there is anything that i didn’t cover in this post please tell me so that i can talk about it <3

MUCH LOVE - honey

[world0fmadness]

NECROBIRD

pelle “ dead ” ohlin x reader

♡ general headcanons for surprising pelle with a tattoo of his art!

୨୧ wowee, this is so similar to what i posted about a couple days ago with getting his necrobird drawing as a tattoo… love it <3

♡ requested by anon | view my metal masterlists here and here

reading music recommendations: undead by sadus - drachenblut by old tower

୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧

୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧♡୨୧

♡ pelle draws a whole lot in his spare time, it is one of the few things he has always enjoyed in life and it helps him take his mind away from other things, helps him to actually relax and sink his passion into something other than music!

୨୧ before entering a relationship with you, pelle did not particularly show off his art to many people at all, he never really felt he had anyone to show it to all that often… he never really felt close enough to someone to show them his art… so when he starts a relationship with you? when he feels close to you and he feels you actually have an interest in his art? he very much enjoys showing you the full pages in his little book, showing you the white paper completely overrun and cramped with black ink scribbles and macabre drawings…

♡ and you take an immense interest in his art, always flipping through the book with careful fingers as to not rip the thin paper, admiring the jumbled drawings, big and small pieces of art littering the pages, all whilst pelle watches you as he bites his nails or picks at his jeans, studying your facial expressions, watching as your lips turn up in a smile and you tap a specific page with a soft hum, lifting the book to show him a drawing you like in particular

୨୧ pelle takes any and all praise you give him so when you gesture the book back towards him, asking him about the specific drawing you really like, asking him about what made him think of it, he is pretty quick to widen his eyes slightly and take the book from you, his eyes landing on the small necrobird drawing he did not so long ago, staring down at the page with a blank look in his eyes before he mumbles to you about when he did it, why he did it, all whilst you listen intently to what he has to say, appreciating how in depth he begins to go when talking about something he is oh so passionate about

♡ you only speak up again when you know for sure he is done explaining, telling him you really love the drawing, telling him how gifted you think he is as a pink blush takes over his pale face before he rips the necrobird section of the paper out of the book and hands it to you, telling you he wants you to have it

“ you can have it… want you to have it… i’m glad you like it ” ( he is extremely shy and awkward when it comes to gift giving, especially when you thank him )

୨୧ you keep the small piece of paper on you at nearly all times, keeping it in the pocket of your pants or jacket, thinking of it almost like a good luck charm and something to look at whenever you want to be reminded of pelle… he likely does not even know you do this, he knows you kept the drawing and always smiles when he sees it on your bedside table but he never realises just how much you adore the piece of art, how much you treasure the thin piece of paper with jagged edges

♡ but after a while of carrying it around and admiring the small piece of art, you realise just how easily you could lose it, how easily you could damage it and decide that maybe there is a more permanent way of treasuring the piece of art… a more definitive way of always having a reminder of pelle with you, having a piece of him with you and what better way to surprise him with something so special, something of him so close to your heart, quite literally!

୨୧ you plan the tattoo in your own time, telling pelle you have a doctors appointment to attend before planting a kiss to his cold cheek and rushing out of the door, leaving him to furrow his brows in confusion as he knows that was definitely a strange way for you to leave so suddenly… but he tries to ignore it, figuring that if something is up in a bad or upset way, he would be able to tell but you just seemed more excited than usual… as much as pelle tries to get on with his day, wandering around the shared band house aimlessly and doodling more in his book, he just cannot stop wracking his brain for what the hell that was all about earlier, constantly darting his eyes up to look at the clock and snarling slightly when he sees how slow time is passing now that he is alone and waiting on you to get home…

♡ when you finally do get home, pelle immediately notices the sizeable covering and cling film on your upper chest just beneath your collar bone and just above your breast, peaking above the chest line of your black cotton tank top! but you did tell him you were going to the doctors so it doesn’t arise any major concern or suspicion as you approach his slightly slouched form on the tattered couch, his eyebrow twitching slightly when he sees that big grin still painted across your face and the clear excitement in your eyes, listening as you greet him and watching as you sit beside him, telling him that you have a surprise for him, that you have something you want to show him

୨୧ obviously, this peaks his interest and it is not hard to see no matter how much he tries to hide it, you laugh quietly as he sits up more on the couch and brushes some long blonde hair out of his face, blue eyes filled with curiosity as he watches you bring a hand up to the cling film and covering, gently pulling it away from your skin to reveal a tattoo… a black ink tattoo of his necrobird drawing… with his scrawled signature and perfect line work mirroring the piece of paper he had given to you!

♡ the widening of his eyes is enough to make you laugh again, watching with a beaming smile as he stares at the tattoo on the flesh just above your breast, his body hunching forward slightly as he almost brings his hand to touch it before you manage to grab it and tell him no touching… yet… pelle is quick to mumble an apology before just continuing to stare at it, the lack of any words coming from him scaring you just a little as you nervously ask him if he likes it… worrying that maybe he absolutely hates it and that is why he is so quiet… but that worry is quickly crushed and forgotten when he speaks up again, albeit quietly

“ yes… i like it, i really like it… sorry… how long did this take? you had this planned? for how long? it even has my signature… “ ( he is now incredibly curious about how long you have been planning this, how long you had the idea and how you even managed to keep it from him because god knows you are not great at keeping secrets )

୨୧ you answer his small flurry of questions as his eyes remain on the tattoo, admiring just how much it is an exact mirror image of his drawing, how clearly visible it is on your body, so visible for anyone and everyone to see when you wear a tank top or low cut shirt

♡ in the following days after getting the tattoo and having to wear a tank top all the time for the healing process, you always catch pelle staring at it! admiring it with such a curious and proud look in his usually blank blue eyes, he just cannot get over it… he cannot get over that you put his art permanently on your skin

୨୧ if you already had some tattoos before this one, he feels even more proud that you felt his art of all art was worthy of joining the others on your skin, so appreciative that his art is the one closest to your heart, his art is the one always feeling the affects of your beating heart

♡ but if this was your first tattoo, it makes it all the more special to him! you wanted his art as a tattoo before anything else, you felt his art was the most meaningful and important to you than any other, it just makes him feel so appreciated and loved, makes him want to create more art just for you, especially for you…

୨୧ pelle gets very bashful and shy when people ask you about the tattoo and you simply point to him, telling them all about how it was actually his art, how you surprised him with it after he gave you the drawing! but he does not blush from the person complimenting the drawing, complimenting his art, no… he blushes from how you explain his art to them with such love and care in your voice, he can feel his face warming up as you tell them how talented he is, how lucky you are to have such an artistic boyfriend, he can feel his heart beating faster when you tell them it might be your favourite tattoo you will ever get because it’s his art and it just means so much to the both of you

♡ pelle receives such a rush of dopamine whenever he sees the tattoo on your skin, a sudden rush of pride and love courses through his body as he looks at the black ink on your skin, a rush of appreciation and thankfulness that he has you, someone who treasures his art so deeply and keeps it close to their heart at all times, someone who he feels he can always show his art to, someone he feels comfortable showing his art to!

୨୧ not only does seeing his art on your skin make him full of pride and love though, oh no… pelle would absolutely be lying through his teeth if he said seeing his art just above your breast, if seeing his art permanently etched into your soft skin does not make him all hot and bothered far down below too!

♡ seriously, sometimes just seeing you wear a revealing top, showing off your chest and therefor the tattoo, sometimes just seeing you prance around, flaunting the tattoo on your chest, showing everyone your love for him, just makes him so fucking horny… like, carnally horny and he craves you so bad… it fills him with such a deep want for you, an insatiable need for you… so just be prepared because the new addition to your body will be boosting his sex drive all the way up for the months following you getting it

୨୧ when the tattoo is very much healed, pelle really likes to touch it when cuddling with you, gently brushing his fingers across the skin as he feels the soft thumping of your heart coming from just beside the tattoo, he likes to trace the line work with the tip of his finger whilst listening to you talk, his mind flooding with thoughts of how he ever lived life without you and he supposes he really didn’t… he never really did live life without you, he just let life go by and got on with it but with you? you make him want to treasure everything, you make him want to do more in life, make him feel like he can do more

♡ your new tattoo is most certainly not safe from kisses either! again usually during cuddles and sometimes sex too, pelle will just lean down and press soft kisses to the smooth skin, his mouth lingering as he slightly licks at your flesh before he trails his open mouthed kisses down towards your breast

୨୧ simply laying eyes on your tattoo of his art never fails to drive pelle to make more, it gives him inspiration in his most dull days, fills him with a desire to make more art for you! he likes drawing your portrait even more than before now that you have the tattoo above your breast, especially nude portraits of you…

♡ and if you ever wanted to get another tattoo of his art? honestly, please tell him this time because he would absolutely love to make a little tattoo sheet for you! pelle would put so much time and effort into it, drawing some of his most beautiful and unique pieces for you, only wanting you to have what he feels is his best on your gorgeous skin! and hey, if you are an artist too, i think one day he would perhaps feel up to getting his own tattoo of your art <3

[bl00dycraniumm]

JOEY JORDISON

drum lessons, gn reader (🍒)

☆ 𝐀/𝐍; HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @50-shades-of-looser, if this didnt go how you wanted it to, dm me again and i’ll fix it! just for a sidenote…i dont play drums so sorry if you do and its a little confusing! this is lowkey shit im sorry :P.

☆ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; none.

ミ★ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭; For the request can it be like I come home from college half day or from whatever I was doing in the day and I get a message from Joey saying Litrally anything and if you want you can take it from there? Idm

i finished up all of my work for today, earning a college half day. i was ready to call it a day, going back to my dorm and relaxing for the rest of the day. i get changed and climb into my bed, before hearing my phone ding from across the room. i let out an annoyed groan, going back towards my desk to grab my phone, but i smile when i see it’s from joey.

are u busy?

he didn’t ask yet, but i knew what it would revolve around.

you; kinda

j; doin what?

you; laying down

j; get ur lazy ass over here to the studio, layin down aint doin nothing

i laugh at his message, before changing. it was starting to get chillier as it transitioned to fall, so jeans and a sweater were good. after getting ready, i messaged back.

you: alright, alright, ill be there soon

i get there soon enough, squeezing past sid and corey, who were arguing about something. mick and clown were doing their own stuff. i pull a chair out, sitting next to joeys drum set. he gave me a small smile, "hey, babe."

"hey, what did you need?"

"these stupid fucks have been fighting all day. clowns annoyed by them, mick is...i don't know, but i need someone to listen to this." he explained, pushing the paper of notes into my hands before picking his drumsticks up. "yeah...yeah, i can do that."

i didn't really like giving my opinions to him. one, i wasn't a drummer. two, i dont want a song to sound poorly because of my advice...but i did it, even if i didn't know what i was talking about. joey didn't take 'i don't know' for an answer.

joey played the part he wanted me to listen to. it honestly didn't sound horrible...but there's things that could be changed. "..so, how was it?" he asked, brushing a strand of his hair back behind his ear. "it's good, i like it."

i don't know what gave it away, but his eyes narrowed, "you're lying."

"just tell joey, it's ass and he needs to fix it." sid said from his seat. i guess his and corey's argument finally died down. "hey, i wasn't asking you." joey muttered, “go back to doing your dumb shit.”

“so…be real, what can i do to fix it?” joey asked.

i looked over the note page, before turning the page to him and showing him a section, “can you play that part for me again?” so, he played the part again.

“try changing these notes…to maybe something faster, y’know?” i explained and his eyes trailed over the page before taking the paper and changing them. “alright, listen to this one…” he played the changed notes and i listened.

“yeah, that sounds much much better.” he nods, reading the notes over again, probably trying to memorize it, “my savior.” he says humorously.

“i know, what would you do without me?”

he laughs, “oh, really?”

“mhm.” i nod, smiling. “well, get over here, then. show me how its done.” he says smugly, getting up and gesturing towards his drum set. “oh..i can’t..” i say before he cuts me off. “come on, you can at least try.” he grabs me by the shoulders and makes me sit down, handing me his drum sticks.

“this is stupid…” i mumble as i take the sticks. “stupid? you were the one boasting, so lets see it, drummer.” joey raises his hands, putting air quotations on the last word. i sigh, looking at the paper. god, i didn’t even know where to start. joey laughs, “come on, darling, you’ve gotta try.”

“i’m trying.” i roll my eyes. i wasn’t. i didn’t even know how to try the notes. “okay…here, like this.” he scoots his chair closer to mine, leaning over so his hands grab my wrist.

“start off on this side.” he murmurs, showing me a drum thats more on my left side. i follow along with him.

“alright…then you fade more onto this side..” he says, motioning his head to the right a bit. “and then you just go all out…but on the right terms, you know?”

“i know what you mean..but i can’t play that fast.”

he shrugs, “yeah, so? we all start somewhere. just play slow.” i play slow…very slow. each time i move my hand, joey has to show me which drum or symbol to play. by the end of the song, i still hadn’t really learned anything.

joey looked over at the clock, patting my thigh. “alright, drummer, you’ve had a pretty hard set,” he teases, “you’re gonna need your rest.”

“hey, i tried.” i say, getting up with him. “yeah, yeah…wanna stay at mine?” he asks. i glance at corey and sid, who weren’t arguing as much anymore…but still the occasinal insult. “not really…wanna stay at mine tonight?”

“yeah…yours sounds better.” he chuckles as he also looks in the two’s direction.

꧁ written by bl00dycraniumm ꧂

𖦹

you dont have to but likes/reblogs r appreciated!!

[buckgasms]

How have I made bunny and Clyde so freaking adoreable in my brain 😭 I don't care how violent they'd be to protect their babies because I love them and I get it... please do headcannons on their family life I'd kill for this family. I won't give you more kids cuz I don't wanna overload on the children lol but if you wanna add more and need ideas just drop a post and I'll be straight on it... I love this almost as much as I love the normal horny crazy shenanigans

I mean same. This morning I was like, nah they wouldn't really have kids and now I'm like *slams desk* give them all the kids!!!

And babe you can send me messages about whatever you want at any time 🩷

Ok lemme think....

I was imagining some older kids too like 15-17 year olds who are a bit less impressionable that the little ones but they still absolutely love being with Bunny and Bucky.

I love the idea that any time they mention a special interest or hobby they find all the kit they need to pursue it in their room the next day.

I think the only real rule there is in the house is to look after each other. You and Bucky want to make your kids happy and keep them safe, anything else can be sorted out with cash (or secret violence lol).

🩷

I imagine the day starts with a good breakfast and a reminder of all the stuff that has to be done that day.

I feel Bucky sits reading a paper and sipping on a coffee, greeting his various kids, asking them about their homework, checking to make sure there aren't any issues. Baby bunny will often sit with him, sipping on a glass of water like it's vodka, reading the comic section that he put aside for her (screaming) as she tucks into her cereal.

Bunny is in full chaos mode, fussing over everyone, doing hair and making sure teeth are brushed. One of the teenage girls comes downstairs in an emotional panic because the boy she's seeing hasn't texted her all morning.

Both you and Bucky frown because boys but you also take her to one side and craft the perfect message and explain how to make him suffer all day for his foolishness.

Both you and Bucky keep his name stored away in your head for later, just in case.

Bucky is semi-retired at this point so when all the kids are at school the days are spent with you, which is just divine. I could say more but you should know them well enough by now to know what happens when they are alone 😉

🩷

Evenings are filled with nice little routines that are only visible if you really look for them. But for kids who need structure it means the world.

Dinner is eaten together. You try and cook in the early days and it's kind of a disaster so Bucky suggests you hire a cook who can cater for the needs of everyone without any fuss. It feels a little like failure but when Little Rabbit scoffs down a broccoli based dish without complaint, you decide it's a good idea.

Unless the kids have an after school club you will all cuddle up and watch TV or movies together. Because Thumper is a scaredy cat you end up watching a lot of competition shows because they are low risk and suitable for everyone.

The older kids might hang out in their room, but they kinda enjoy the chaos of sitting with you guys and the little ones watching crap on tv.

You get the update on the boy from school (he came crawling back immediately), Bucky discusses sports with the eldest and the little ones are discussing which Disney princess would be the best at beating up Superman.

You feel very happy in these moments

🩷

Little Rabbit insists on two bedtime stories, one from each of you. Thumper needs you to tell him happy things before bed, with 10 kisses and Bucky tells him that no one will ever get to him because he's the toughest guy on the planet. He also plugs in a night light so he doesn't get scared.

You give Baby Bunny a kiss and a cuddle goodnight and wait by the door as she and Bucky discuss her plans for world domination until she falls asleep mid-sentence.

The teenagers insist they don't need to be tucked in, but they pretend that they are accepting kisses and cuddles from you for your benefit. You don't care, as long as they go to bed knowing they are loved.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[robot-roadtrip-rants]

HEY GUESS WHO NEARLY GOT VOTER SUPPRESSED

I got my South Carolina driver's license in September. I specifically remember the DMV guy asking me if I wanted to register to vote ("Yes!") and then double-checking with him at the end to make sure I was marked down to vote. I walked out of the building confident that I could vote when the election came.

Today I went to early voting and was told I was not on the list of registered voters. The poll worker directed me to a table of three people who could look into the problem further. I headed over and explained the problem; they began looking through their forms for me and eventually started making phone calls. It was clear that they were juggling multiple people at a time and looked pretty stressed out. There were three other people waiting for their registration issues to be solved.

(I've voted in every major election since 2008. This is the first time I've seen a designated waiting area for registration issues, complete with a panel of workers to handle them.)

Eventually one of the workers came over to tell us that they were badly backed up, so it could take a long time for our registration problems to be solved. She offered to give us a pass that would let us go to the front of the voting line so we could leave now and come back once our problems had been resolved. Sounds good, but how will we know that the problem is fixed? Will you call us? Probably not, she admitted. They were so backed up they were having a hard time keeping track of everyone. Thanks but no thanks.

One of the other poll workers called my name. They were going to call the government to check my records. Did I want the call back to go to me or to the polling station? To me, please. I dictated my phone number to the poll worker, who repeated it over her phone to whoever her contact was. Then I headed out.

In the parking lot, the government called back. Yes, they had found my DMV paperwork, and yes, I had checked off the box for voter registration. So yes, I should have been registered, but for some mysterious reason, my name wasn't on the roll. Great, can I go vote now? No, I had to go to the county office and fill out another registration form. Then I could vote.

I drove to the county office. When I explained my situation, the woman at the front told me that they would probably have to call the DMV again to verify my status. I braced myself for another wait, but a second woman ran over. "I'm so glad you were able to come over so quickly!" It was the woman who had called me in the parking lot. She gave me a slip of paper that looked like this:

"Do I have to fill out the race section?"

"You can check as many of the boxes as you want."

I checked Other Specify and wrote "Choose not to state." Then I crossed it all out and checked White. I didn't want to create an excuse to invalidate my registration.

The officials directed me to seating where I could wait for them to finish my paperwork. After a little while the second lady came out with a card that I had to sign. And that was that. As I prepared to leave, I casually asked, "Hey, why wasn't my name added to the voter registration rolls?"

"I don't know what it is--we've gotten so many people. Like, quantitatively speaking--before this election, we never saw so many people come in. Maybe the DMV and the Election Commission have some kind of compatibility problem..."

Her response petered out. I thanked her, returned to the polling station, and finally--finally!--cast my vote.

[rodolfoparras]

Hello friends!

Since a lot of you seem to like my and my anonie’s spitballs and have even requested for me to continue on some of them, I thought I should explain how it works so we’re all on the same page

First of all what exactly are spitballs? It’s where you suggest ideas to be discussed without thinking about them carefully.

In this case that would mean that I discuss different type of tropes and aus with my anonies without thinking much about them in terms of plot holes, ooc moments, grammar, length etc

It all started because I had many different ideas for fics but then things, like those mentioned above would hold me back from writing them, thus I’d write them out in alternative ways such as in the tag section instead, sometimes I’d discuss an idea with my mutuals and sometimes I’d post it on my blog and get a reply from an anon and we’d spitball it from there

It has unintentionally become a very interactive part of my blog and my writing process and I love it very much.

However I think it’s important I make it clear that not every ask will result in a fic snippet such as this, sometimes a response can very much look like this, or even like this

As mentioned earlier they’re very much ideas that are discussed therefor the responses may vary.

For me it’s important to feel that I can reply with a fic snippet or with a silly pic or whatever it may be because if I can’t, then it’s just another variation of fic requests.

Now to the nitty gritty part; how does this work?

It’s very simple. If you see me on the dash talking about my latest brainrot and want to discuss it with me, you’re more than welcome to slide into my inbox!

Now you may be wondering: If a spitball has turned into a mini fic how do I know when it has run its course?

Good question! First of all you’re always welcome to slide into my inbox to talk with me about them but at some point I’ll stop being in the writing zone and cannot for the life of me get down a word on paper despite your lovely ideas and suggestions. I’ll usually tell you when it’s finished either in the tag section or in the a/n section!

With that being said I want to thank you for taking the time to read this, for showing sm appreciation for my fics and you’re always welcome to message me!

[petricorah]

Thanks for the ask, @strrwbrrryjam ! i'm flattered that you think I do a good job of that, because I'm still learning! (and I also struggle heavily with proportions. I have to resize my heads and arms so, so much...)

I'm afraid I don't have any secrets. I think the answer is to just practice, over and over again. But specifically, this is what I try to focus on as I'm learning:

references

quick practices - 30 second to 5 minute studies that help with getting a full scope of the shape and energy of the body, not meant to be perfect

studies - deep dives into certain anatomical structures (videos linked below)

Below the cut is how I use references go from this to this:

References:

Use a bunch of references! Pictures you take, stock images, from shows--practice real people. Even if your style is heavily stylized, it all starts from an understanding of anatomy.

How I Use a Reference When I Struggle With Proportions:

The first step I take while looking at a reference is to just draw a very loose sketch with a line of action that goes then entire length of the piece, and I try to section it out. I find if I don't think about the body as a whole, and just start drawing a head, the head will be way bigger than the rest of the image. So my first step is just really boxy and basic, just to get all appendages on paper. My first pass could look like this:

Okay, not bad. But the right arm is going way too far down--the forearm is really long. The head is too big for the style I want, and the left arm is at a 90 degree angle, unlike the picture. But, I have the general scope of everything on the page, so it's easier to adjust and look at the full picture!

Then, I try to focus on landmarks. I look at where certain body parts fall in the reference. For instance, Blackbeard's right elbow doesn't reach his belt, so his elbow shouldn't be near his waist. I can tell that his left arm is closer to being straight than at a right angle, and I can see that his head isn't as big on his shoulders as I have. I can also look at the negative space and see that the gaps between his right arm need to be smaller. So my next pass might look like this:

(I don't usually draw on the reference image, and I just "draw" the lines in my mind, but the for sake of things...)

Now it's looking a bit closer!

The next is the harder part. It's making things shapes, and is closer to the lineart stage. I try to follow curves, separate the chest from the torso, get the angle of the shoulders and head, etc. I have some video links at the end that explain this step much more in def.

You may notice that the head angle is a bit different than the image, and the shoulders are a bit lower. Sometimes, following a reference image completely either doesn't fit your style or, in some cases, the more accurate drawing following a reference can actually look "wrong" (anatomically) when drawn. Figure out what works best for you, and for the message you're trying to get across in the piece!

[sliiiight flashing in timelapse]

And here is the final timelapse, with a little refining and polishing of the anatomy. Not everything is completely accurate to the reference image, but I've created a believable image in the likeness.

I hope this helped! This was a quick and dirty post of something I'm still learning. Here are some youtube tutorial artists, resources, and books that I use to learn!

Youtube:

-ModerndayJames has lots of videos on creating shapes and understanding anatomy, and placing people in perspective. He has a lot of free videos, and then some cheap ones on gumroad that go more into it.

-Proko has lots of videos on anatomy!

Practice Resources:

-Pose Maniacs - figures in different poses. You can move the camera around to see different angles.

-QuickPoses has images for figure drawing and quick gesture drawing! You can even have different timers.

Books:

Morpho Series. There used to be the one on "Fat and Skin Folds" that was a free PDF download that was on tumblr for a while, but I don't believe the books are that expensive.

Taco's Books, published by Lezhin. This is heavily anime styled, but talks a lot about anatomy, and is a great resource!

[gemini-magic17]

Entanglement Chapter Nine

Arriving at the castle I hurriedly jumped off my horse while saying goodbye to Kit and telling her I had a great time. Before she could say anything back I had already made a beeline for the castle. Rushing to get to my chambers I collided with someone which ended with me falling to the ground.

"Princess, are you ok? Should I go fetch a physician", I hear the familiar voice of Ser Easton spewing concern about the interaction.

"No, there is no need it was my fault", I said.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry"?

"I was heading back to my chambers", I explained.

"May I ask why"?

I contemplated telling him about my conversation with Willow and everything pertaining to dragons and the prophecy. Out of all the people I have known he is the most trustworthy and can count on him to keep whatever I tell him a secret. Although, would he be able to keep this a secret from my mother and father. He looked at me waiting for an answer and the words just came out of my mouth frantically before I even knew what was happening.

"I was in our family's library the day I found out I was going to be married. I came across a book or rather it "jumped" out at me and while looking through the book I found this section talking about dragons and how they were utilized in war. Not only that but the book spoke of a prophecy about a girl born of the dragon's blood and she would be the one to save the realm from impending darkness", I explained having to catch my breath from speaking so fast. I looked at him waiting for an answer and from the look on his face he didn't get anything of what I had just said.

"Princess, can you repeat what you just said but slower because I did not get any of what you just said", Ser Easton said with somewhat of a chuckle.

I took his hand and led him to my room. As soon as we got there I dragged him in and locked the door. He looked at me with narrow eyes and a questioning gaze as to why I locked the door.

"Ok, Ser Easton you have been by my side since I was a child. You have looked after me and protected me. You are one of the people I trust the most and the only one I believe who will not tell anyone what I am about to say. However, before I do I need you to promise me what I am about to tell you will stay in this room between you and me. That means not even my parents can't know and don't worry it has nothing to do with being in danger."

"You are starting to scare me Princess, but I promise what you tell me will never leave this room", he said.

"The day I found out I was going to be married I went to our family's library. I wanted to read something to calm my nerves on Tir Asleen but before I could a book landed on the floor and it referenced ancient history. When I got to a certain section of the book it talked about dragons and how they were used in a great war long ago between the kingdoms. It also talked about a prophecy", going over to my trunk I got out the book and turned to the page detailing the prophecy. I handed him the book and on confusion was written across his face.

"This text is written in a different language. I don't think I have seen this kind of language before", he said.

"That's because it was written in Ancient Decyros", pulling out the paper I used with the transcribed text on it I gave it to him. He read over its contents and looked at me confused.

"I don't understand why are you showing me this."

"When Kit and I went to see her friend Willow he showed me the same text and told me that it was I that the prophecy pertained to", I said looking into eyes awaiting his reaction.

"How do you know that what he told you was true", he questioned.

"Willow said he saw flashes of the future and how I am the one he saw fulfilling that prophecy. Plus its not just that", I turned to the next page showing him the intricate drawing of who the girl was. Ser Easton took a good look and turned back to me.

"It looks just like you. The hair, the eyes, and your face resemble her", he seemed amazed by this.

"It's not just that", I really contemplated on whether or not to tell him this part but I'm into deep and might as well tell him everything.

"The dragon, Calyx that was used by King Brixton during the war that was mentioned in the passage is still alive."

"Princess, how do you know that to be true? The book may say that but you can not be sure of it."

"Yes, I can. I saw him the night of the Queen's birthday celebration. Him and I were as close to each other as you and I are now", I explained.

"If what you say is true and there is a dragon in Tir Asleen we have to to tell your parents and the Queen", he said with concern.

"No, you cannot you promised me that you wouldn't."

"Princess, he could cause serious damage. He is a threat to the people of Tir Asleen not to mention how he is a danger to every kingdom", Ser Easton said.

"He has a name and it's Calyx! When I looked into his eyes I didn't feel like I was in any danger and if the people were don't you think Calyx would have done something by now", I asked him.

"I suppose you are right but that doesn't change the fact that he still poses to be a danger to the realm. We have to tell-", I cut him off then and there.

"No, you made a promise to me and I trust you to keep it", I exclaimed with a commanding voice resembling my father. He looked at me defeated and bowed is head.

"Yes, Princess. I promise to keep your secret", he said and turned around to unlock the door to leave.

The door shut and I turned to look out the window. My mind went back to Calyx and how if anything happened to him because of me I would never forgive myself. Pulling me out of my thoughts there is a knock at the door.

"Y/n, are you in there", its my mother's voice.

About to answer my eyes landed on the book and I heard the turning of the doorknob. Rushing to hide the it I stuffed it back into my trunk and buried it under a pile of clothes.

"Yes, I'm here. Come in", I said making sure the book was well hidden. She walked him and I took in her appearance she was adorned in gold jewelry and a red flowing dress.

"Hi, sweetheart I just wanted to come check on you and see how you and Kit were getting along."

"I am fine, mother. Kit and I are getting along we are really starting to get to know each other," I smiled reassuring her with the obvious look of worry on her face.

"That's good to hear I am glad you two are getting along so well."

"Is that all you wanted to talk about", I asked her. There was hesitation when she tried to speak. I gave her a questioning look and in the back of my mind I knew something was wrong.

"What is it", I asked.

"There have been some recent developments and it has to do with your marriage to Kit", she said.

"What kind of developments"?

"The meeting we were going to have today with you and Kit was about how your wedding is to be moved up", she explained.

"I don't understand, when is the wedding supposed to take place", I asked

"The wedding will be held in two weeks."

"Two weeks! Why, what could have possibly happened for you to do this", I said.

"King Larkison has heard about your impending marriage to Kit", she explained.

"Oh, so this is about the fact that they think that we are joining forces to conquer Sundar? We have a treaty with them and they want to break it just because of my betrothal. Can I tell you how that sounds like absolute bullshit? Can't you just explain to King Larkison and Queen Isla that we have no interest in their kingdom and that this alliance is just due to a mutual benefit for Zemira and Tir Asleen", I asked her.

"You know King Larkison since whenever has he listened to reason. It was hard enough getting him to agree to the treaty all those years ago", she said

"So, he would rather go to war and risk the lives of thousands of people over an assumption. What a dumbass he is and a fool for a Kind as a matter of fact."

"Yes, that he is and always will be."

"Has anyone told Kit about this? I don't think she will be too pleased", I said with worry.

"Honey, why are you worried you and Kit are getting along so well", she asked.

"Kit is just now starting to warm up to me and I am afraid that our wedding being moved up is going to change that."

"I'm sure that is not true. Everything will be fine and Queen Sorsha is telling Kit right about now", my mother said.

"So, you are telling me that I'm getting married in two weeks all because King Larkison is some scared asshole that my union to Y/n will lead to us overthrowing him", I said.

"Yes, unfortunately Kit", my mother said.

"This is complete and utter bullshit! You told me that I would have three months before I had to marry her and now because of this I am to be married sooner than I thought", I exclaimed.

"Yes, but I don't see what the problem is though"?

"What the hell do you mean you don't see what the problem is", I yelled.

"You and Y/n have been getting along so well why are you acting like this is such a tragedy", my mother questioned.

"Because it is! You told me I had three months now I am reduced to two weeks of coming to terms with this and getting to know her."

"I am sorry Kit but this is the way it has to be. With the potential threat of war hanging over our heads it is best for you both to be married as soon as possible", she said.

"I have a better idea why not just call off the betrothal and that way there will be no chance of war", I said.

"I cannot. Your marriage to Y/n will have great benefits for Zemira and Tir Asleen it is imperative this wedding happens. Besides, once you two are married the numbers we have will double in size making it nearly impossible for King Larkison to even start a war", she explained. I looked at her portraying the look of disgust and anger.

"Don't worry Kit everything will turn out for the better you'll see", she hugged me and walked out of my room.

As soon as she left I grabbed one of my throw pillows and screamed into it. Everything that has happened these past few days has made me come to the realization that there is no way to get out of this and that what is to come will be hell.

[aeonophagic]

I'm really glad you enjoyed these! the translator is actually user 17979 on here, they've written some really good After God fanfics and are a good friend of mine! the other parts they've translated are: original: "His soul seemed to have left his body. He was unfettered. There was no fear or panic. He felt nothing."

original: "It does not matter. They are one and the same. I need his power. I underestimated him."

and this one is more just a funny one from our treasured translator:

I'll have you know I had about the same reaction to the "You are the story I started 50.000 years ago" line, it just brings up so many questions; VA's lore is scattered as it is and very little is given to us, so just dropping something like this in a convo I doubt a lot of people have read is so [vague hand gestures] it's quite late at night when I'm writing this so forgive any incomprehensibility: the line itself, combined with some others there ("It's tone was surprisingly laden with grief, as if it was lamenting a past that could not return") read to me as slightly contrary to VA being merely a Divine Key, it sounds like he has an amount of history in the PE; my personal idea that is pure unadulterated speculation is that VA might have started out as just a person who had something to do with the PE HoR? it would explain the fact that he repeatedly speaks to a "you" which is clearly not actually Joey in this convo and doesn't seem to be Welt Joyce either considering the 50k years thing, that is to say maybe VA even inherited the core (woo Welt paralel) of the PE HoR; considering that Vill-V does say that the Core of Reason is fucking weird [paraphrasing] and, at least if my memory is holding up, Welt did retreat into the Herrscher Core at least once to avoid dying, there's nothing saying VA couldn't have also pulled that and ended up getting his ass merged with that Fragment of Prommy and turned into the only DK we know to be sentient, I dunno I'm sleep deprived that being said the 3rd line I sent last time would imply that VA was also like not human if all of this happened... I'll just say he yoinked a body Orokapi style and call it a day cuz I think if I keep trying to get these thoughts down on paper they will actually become complete word vomit [thumbs up emoji] anyhow the ramble section ended up being longer than I intended... but the fact that we really know so little of his lore does make my brain go haywire, if they ever explain Void Archives' lore properly that'll probably all be disproven but it's what I came up with considering what we know (and I remember)

“There was no more gravity that bound him to the mortal world” I think this one is in reference to Void Archives likely using the Fenghuang Down… ouuu

I definitely think the PE Herrschers besides Elysia all being nothing more than the names of said Herrschers in the story is one of the things that blocks my road here. Me and a friend have theorised plenty of things about the PE HoR, but none can be confirmed, none are even implied!!! A character with such a nothingburger that you can just make shit up and no one could tell you yes or no. My favorite theory is that the PE HoR looked just like Otto, but a girl. Because it’s funny. But now I don’t know… I can’t sacrifice my integrity for humor… I think the idea of the person that used to be what later became Void Archives was a part of the HoR core is really interesting. It would take from the whole “artificial thing struggles with humanity”, because then they’d have already been human once, but at the same time it would be as if they were reclaiming their humanity which is also intriguing etc etc… it’s really interesting. I initially thought Void Archives’ sentience came from them being part Prometheus since she’s sentient too, but at the same time why would Vill-V merge them with her then..? Because Prometheus is an AI so she can handle the “ever expanding knowledge”? Don’t know… so much left in the air, most Void Archives lore we know is stitched together thanks to No.17 who hasn’t talked about them even once. Thank you for sharing!!! I’m having lots of thoughts…

[mariana-oconnor]

The Dancing Men pt 1

His head was sunk upon his breast, and he looked from my point of view like a strange, lank bird, with dull grey plumage and a black top-knot.

This is probably not the image ACD (nor Watson) intended to conjure up, but this was what I immediately thought of.

Ooh, we're starting with a Holmes deducing Watson section again. That hasn't happened for a while. I thought Watson had got over his amazement at having it turned on him. Apparently not.

I looked with amazement at the absurd hieroglyphics upon the paper. “Why, Holmes, it is a child's drawing,” I cried.

Watson knows some very intelligent egyptologist children.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, what do you make of these?” he cried. “They told me that you were fond of queer mysteries, and I don't think you can find a queerer one than that."

Yes, but aside from Holmes' taste in literature, what about the paper?

OH, I have read this one before. I didn't remember the title, but I do remember the little stick figures. Not that that reminds me of anything else.

"You'll think it very mad, Mr. Holmes, that a man of a good old family should marry a wife in this fashion, knowing nothing of her past or of her people; but if you saw her and knew her it would help you to understand."

Oh no, Mr Cubitt, have you been honey trapped?

"If you take me, Hilton, you will take a woman who has nothing that she need be personally ashamed of; but you will have to be content with my word for it, and to allow me to be silent as to all that passed up to the time when I became yours."

Oh dear... this is not a good sign. If you're not willing to share your past with the guy, you really shouldn't share your future with him. Where's the trust? Where's the communication? You don't have to explain everything in detail, but he should have at least a little idea of what it's about.

Red flags once again.

"It was only the day before our wedding that she said those very words to me."

She might be a perfectly nice person, but she doesn't trust you

"None did come for a week, and then yesterday morning I found this paper lying on the sun-dial in the garden."

I might be remembering wrong, but last time a mysterious coded message was left on a sundial in these stories, three people were murdered by the KKK.

That story also started with a person being deiberately secretive with information that could have savde people's lives.

“Don't you think, Mr. Cubitt,” said he, at last, “that your best plan would be to make a direct appeal to your wife, and to ask her to share her secret with you?” Hilton Cubitt shook his massive head. “A promise is a promise, Mr. Holmes. If Elsie wished to tell me she would. If not, it is not for me to force her confidence. But I am justified in taking my own line—and I will.”

Because hiring a detective to snoop into your wife's secret past is so much better than asking her directly. I get that you made a promise, my man, but while this may be sticking to the letter of that promise, it absolutely isn't sticking to the spirit. Asking your wife is definitely the lesser of two evils here.

"After that I determined to lie in wait; so I got out my revolver and I sat up in my study, which overlooks the lawn and garden."

Given that this is Sherlock Holmes story, the person leaving these notes probably is very dastardly and liable to murder, but I'm not sure leaving weird encoded messages really calls for guns.

“‘What, be driven out of our own house by a practical joker?’ said I. ‘Why, we should have the whole county laughing at us.’"

"Seizing my pistol I was rushing out, when my wife threw her arms round me and held me with convulsive strength."

Was it a pistol or a revolver? Because earlier you said you got your revolver, and now you're saying pistol...

The dancing stickmen are very cute. I like the upside-down ones the best.

So, is this going to be one of the ones where someone dies before Holmes gets there? It feels like it might be. But ACD does prefer happier endings for his couples when neither of them is the bad guy. Guess I'll have to wait and see.