#I’m embracing color theory

[berrymascarpone]

Maybe one day, we could just be two people sharing a light beneath the same sky.

[maxiwaxipads]

Manufactured SEEDs

Basically, the concept is that SEEDs once served as a “positive” force meant to permanently remove or separate negative emotions that were deemed unnecessary.

(I wish I could elaborate but I don’t really know how) (I wanted the idea that “SEEDs” have always existed or something unique to Fragaria Memories without being inspired to anything if that makes sense?)

Assuming that SEEDs existed during the time of Legendary Red, what if “Legendary Red” made the SEEDs but backfired and twisted the story that they saved the world of Fragaria from the SEEDs.

Maybe the SEEDs couldn’t be completely destroyed for whatever arbitrary reason, and the Strawberry King took responsibility to guard the last remnant of existing SEEDs left from this world of Fragaria?

Eldritt’s purpose is to keep the origin of SEEDs and the truth of Legendary Red a secret. 

<- But at the same time, what good is keeping the truth hidden(?)) “To keep the world idyllic”(?) (How would revealing the truth about Legendary Red and the SEEDs affect the world? 

(Maybe we can connect this to time loop theory(?)) (Do you think Halritt wants to keep the world happy by all means necessary) (and time loop is his only answer)

Do you think their existence evolved during their entrapment by the Strawberry King? They’re indiscriminately trying to feed from negative emotions because of this insatiable hunger they had for who knows how long?

How did they escape? Why did the Strawberry King disappear?

Lovers to the same lies— Protectors to sanctity, memories to sanity Red-splattered puddles dye into black I, the shadow to which you belong … strangers to the flesh. Fumbled darkness, the pitch-black mold. A stiff neck … Unable to turn. (Clocks unfortunately twist … A head rolls down.)

Edlritt - “What only needs to be known is that…” Eldritt - “We both want the SEEDs eliminated.” “So, Merold, as long as the motivation exists—we will both be quiet.” Eldritt - “Is this clear enough for you?"

[danibeanie]

Vibes & Beauty Astro observations 🩶

Stelliums💘

-i noticed girlies that have a stellium seem to have a stronger impression on people.Its very common to hear “I love your energy.”

-gemini stellium, love talking, mischievous eyes, sharp beauty,usually long brows,high pitched voice, playful,hair color very saturated like if you got dark hair it’s BLACK or light hair it’s super blonde.

-virgo stellium, just like their mercurial, but a bit more calm and reserved,down to earth voice,”girl me too”,natural beauty,can have a rbf,observant eyes.

-aries stellium, miss independent(love that tho), flushed cheeks, straightforward,intimidating, knows who she is, pronounced brows wether thin or thick they stand out,childlike eyes,gorg girlies.

-pisces stellium, eyes stand out wether it be color or shape you just notice them, kind & pure,high voices just like gemini but they don’t change it as much, cute, creates softness to the face,angels.

-usually when you have a stellium in a chart your gonna attract other people with a stellium as well

Eyes 👀

- water moon girlies have emotional eyes. Its even more pronounced when you have a moon conjunction with inner planets.

Cancer- looks through your soul, “what’s wrong you look sad?”,doe eyes,vulnerable ,pretty eyes ,guys nervous to look at your eyes,manipulative eyes.

Scorpio- intense,intense,intense,darker eyes DOESN’T matter the color, reads u like a book, hiding something,intimidating,mix of siren/doe

Pisces-so prettyyy,lots of eyelid space for some,in tune with other people,pure eyes,mysterious eyes ,long lashes, princess.

-I might just do a series on this!

-Lilith energy🖤

-When having prominent Lilith energy your just going to stand out somehow wether it be ur looks or personality. There’s just something to these people that makes u wanna watch.

-this may be a theory but I believe your lilith placement affects your looks even if it doesn’t tough your ascendant but it has to STRONGLY prounounced to ur personal planets.

-ex I have a Gemini stellium and I have sun moon and mercury conjunction all in 2nd house. My ascendent is in Taurus and my lilith in Gemini conjunct my sun and mercury but not my moon because it’s in an early degree cancer. I’m also a late taurus rising making half of my 1st house gemini. Also my Venus is in gemini in 1st house even though Lilith doesn’t touch my Venus it’s very pronounced in my 2nd house.(2’d house is Taurus home-connection to ascendent)

-All my life guys never approached me and when the few of them did they all had heavy mars energy wether being scorpio or Aries. I find myself attracted to Leo energy and I believe it’s because they match my strong energy. Insecure guys get intimidated by you and treat u like shit.Then get mad when you leave them but still keep on coming back?😭but for some reason expect you to be on the side like no sir we are all #1s here.I though u didn’t like me why are u trying to get my attention when u clearly didn’t want it yesterday.

-even if you try to hide your body for some reason it’s still noticed, “your so tiny” I’ve learned to embrace my body the older I get. confidence is key YALL!

-super black hair,I can’t tell u how many times people have commented on how dark my hair is😭

-mysterious vibe without even trying, my friends have told me this when I walk at the campus.

- I have a bestie with lilith energy as well but it squares her ascendent and mercury many people thought she was a b when first meeting her(even me).She also has mars conjunct ascendent lmao but I love her and our vibes just match each other. I feel like my Venus energy tames my lilith energy a bit more but it’s still there 😭

-guys just don’t approach u period :/

bye y’all thank u so much for the support in my last 2 posts lot of love🖤

[dirthenera]

I want to talk about Emmrich’s costume- as a professional costume designer. (GIF by @hawke , thank you! It’s so beautiful 😍)

In preparation for DAV, I’ve been watching Vincent Price movies. In two specific movies, I’ve seen elements of Emmrich’s costume.

The first is The Fall of the House of Usher. In it he wears a long, dramatic, red velvet coat that is just… SO sexy. I mean… I’m normal about clothing

It really reminds me of the ✨ drama ✨ of the intricate red leather details of his coat. The vibes match- though the details don’t quite. The oversized collar, yes, but they traded velvet for leather (which makes sense for a video game)

The next is the emerald green captain’s coat in War Gods of the Deep. The color has been carried over, along with the fold over lapels with the round details and even the lines on Emmrich’s coat that mimic the trim lines.

I even see some Doctor Strange influences- which is very interesting because Vincent Price was the inspiration for the character originally. It may also throw some interesting meta towards the theory that one of his hands is messed up.

But back to those two specific movies- though Vincent Price has been in many movies involving death, those two are the roles where his characters knew they were dying and didn’t try to run from it- the ones where they face and embraced death instead of trying to cheat death or fight it.

Like Nick Boraine, his VA, has stated multiple times as being his favorite aspect of Emmrich. That he doesn’t see death as something negative, that he embraces and sees the beauty in it.

I’m very curious to see if there are any other parallels between these characters and Emmrich once we get to play the game. If you’ve seen any of his movies I haven’t and noticed another parallel, please add to this post!

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

P.S. Thank you so much for completing this series. 'Act II' has been a massive labor of love and so much fun to write. I hope you have enjoyed all 25 chapters! ... The End.

The Final Chapter | Chapter 25- 'Fiancé' | ‘Act II’

word count - 11.9k

The next morning, the trip carried on, and you were headed back to Spain. Jude surprised you with a visit to a museum that had captured your heart since he had first taken you there. The moment you stepped inside, the familiar scent of polished wood and aged paper enveloped you, instantly transporting you to a place where art and history intertwined in a beautiful dance. He’d set up another private evening there. It was different though. This wasn’t a big show, this was calm, this was you, this was you and Jude. The viewing felt intimate, just the two of you wandering through the expansive halls, surrounded by masterpieces that had sparked countless conversations between you. You didn’t know why things were so good lately between you two but you weren’t complaining about these moments. As you strolled together, Jude glanced around in awe. 

“I can’t believe I’ve gotten to a place in my life where this is what I want to do in my spare time,” he said, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “I used to think I’d want to be at home playing video games with Toby, but now…” He trailed off, his gaze shifting back to you, warmth in his eyes. “I genuinely…” He sighed. “I just want to be in these halls with you, angel.” His words wrapped around your heart like a warm embrace, filling you with a sense of joy. You paused to admire a vibrant painting, the colors almost pulsating under the soft lighting. 

“I love that you want to share this with me,” you replied, turning to meet his gaze. “Art has a way of connecting people, don’t you think?” You asked sweetly, trying to reassure him it was okay to have that change of preference. 

“Yeah, think so. Didn’t know that before though,” he agreed, stepping closer. “Can you talk to me angel… I know it sounds stupid but I want to hear you talk about it all—about color theory, the way you see things. I know I talk a lot,” he said, a teasing smile creeping onto his face, “and ironically, I’m doing a lot of talking right now, aren’t I?” He asked you with that signature Jude smile that always got him out of any trouble. You chuckled, shaking your head as you stepped in front of a piece that caught your eye. 

“You’re not wrong, you talk a fucking lot…but it’s okay. I love hearing your thoughts, too. I like when you talk to me too. Just… maybe let me get a word in if you want to hear about something” You teased. He laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. 

“Okay, okay! I’ll try to give you a chance to share your brilliance with me. This one…” He pointed to abstract painting littered in colors. “What’s all this about?” He asked. You couldn’t help but grin at his playful banter, the way he made light of his own chatter. 

“You know, there’s so much more to this,” you said, gesturing to the painting. “Every brushstroke has a purpose, and the colors evoke emotions that can be incredibly powerful. It’s like they’re speaking a language of their own.” Jude leaned in closer, his attention fully on you. “Sorry…” You started to giggle hiding in your hands embarrassed by your own pompousness. 

“Nah, baby, keep going, I want to hear everything you have to say. Your opinions, what you love and what you hate about the art… about the world. It’s all so much more interesting than anything I could come up with,” he admitted, sincerity shining through his playful demeanor. You felt a rush of warmth at his words, knowing how much it meant to you that he truly valued your insights, whether or not he knew what the fuck you were talking about was besides the point. He was listening. He cared.

“I just think art like this is such a reflection of life,” you began, your voice steady as you delved into your thoughts. “It can tell stories, evoke feelings, and even challenge perceptions. The way colors interact with one another can create a mood, a feeling that resonates with people on different levels. Like what you think when you see a color versus what I feel when I see one.” Jude listened intently, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke. You could see how much he cherished these moments, how he wanted to understand the world through your lens. This wasn’t his world but you were. 

“That’s beautiful,” he said softly, his admiration evident. “I love how passionate you are about this… I like that you like something like this. I know we’ve talked about this before but it’s how I feel about footie, like the history and why things happened matter. But this…” He gestured to the art. “This I don’t understand but I like learning from you.” Jude explained and you nodded in agreement.  As you moved through the galleries, you pointed out various pieces that sparked your interest, each one igniting a spark of excitement in your chest. Jude’s questions were thoughtful, encouraging you to dive deeper into your analyses. The two of you debated the meaning behind a particularly abstract piece, your voices mingling with the silence. The more you talked, the more you felt the connection between you deepening. It was as if the walls of the museum weren’t just housing art; they were enveloping your relationship, wrapping it in layers of shared experience and understanding. Each new exhibit was an opportunity to explore not only the art but also each other’s minds.

“Honest, I know I said it before but I never imagined I’d be having conversations like this,” Jude said, a hint of wonder in his voice. “This is what I want to do—explore, learn, grow. With you.” He spoke like this with you often but… it just felt different. You felt a flutter in your chest, a sense of belonging that only seemed to strengthen as you continued your tour. 

“I want that too, Jude. This—sharing something I’m care about with you—it makes everything feel more complete.” He smiled, and you could see the appreciation in his eyes. 

“You give me a reason to want more, to see things differently. It’s inspiring.” As you stepped into the next gallery, you knew this was just one of the countless adventures you would have together, discovering new art and each other in the process. And with Jude by your side, every moment felt significant, filled with the promise of what was yet to come.The museum’s grandeur surrounded you like a quiet hum, the towering ceilings and pristine walls filled with centuries of creativity and stories. Your footsteps echoed softly as you and Jude strolled through the vast, quiet space, but the world outside felt far away. It was just the two of you, wandering through an endless gallery of masterpieces, each more breathtaking than the last, though none more captivating than the feeling of his hand wrapped securely around yours. Jude had gone unusually quiet, his gaze flickering between the art and you, as though trying to absorb everything at once. You stole a glance at him, catching the light frown of concentration on his face before he turned to you, his eyes soft. 

“Do you ever think about having one of your pieces in a place like this?” he asked, his voice casual but tinged with sincerity. You laughed softly, shaking your head. 

“It doesn’t work like that, Jude,” you replied, your voice warm with amusement. “It’s not really the goal. You don’t just…get your art in a museum.” He stopped walking and turned fully toward you, his eyes narrowing playfully. 

“I don’t know,” he said, feigning contemplation. “I think I could pull a few strings.” Rolling your eyes, you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. 

“Please. You’re not that big of a deal.” He grinned but didn’t let go of the thought. 

“Nah, not yet, but for you angel. I’d sort it…” he teased, pulling you closer as the cold air from the tall windows brushed past. His arm wrapped snugly around your waist, anchoring you to his side. You continued walking, but his words lingered between you, and you knew there was something deeper behind them. “It’s just that…” Jude’s voice softened, his gaze returning to the paintings around you. “I think there’s something beautiful about the idea of being remembered like this. I wish footie could be cemented like this. That the art, the artist, all of it becomes part of history. It’s admired, preserved—kept safe. ” He turned to you again, his eyes searching your face, a new intensity there. You felt your breath catch, and suddenly, you weren’t talking about art anymore. You felt that way. That might have been your favorite part of museums. It felt like a dormitory for artists with infinite leases on life.  Jude’s words held more weight than the fleeting conversation about museums or paintings. They were about something bigger—something that made your chest tighten in the best way.

“I agree, baby. Are you just saying that… or…” you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. You asked nervously, curious and hoping that this wasn’t just a blip that someone might have finally understood why the juxtaposition of the impermanence and permanence in art was so amazing and yet he was throwing you in with it all.  Jude smiled softly, stepping in closer, his hand finding its way to the small of your back. 

“What I’m saying is that you’re like my piece of art,” he said, his voice tender. “I want to keep you safe, to admire you every day, to learn every little detail about you—like the way people do with paintings. They don’t just glance at them. They study them. They see something new every time… they love them… forever” His fingers lightly traced a line along your arm, his touch gentle, reverent, as though you were the most fragile and precious thing in the room. “And at the end of it all,” he continued, his eyes locking with yours, “I want to make sure the signature at the bottom is mine.” His hand lifted, mimicking the motion of signing his name across your skin, his touch so light that it sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the signature you’d seen thousands of times drag across your skin. It felt like a vow, a promise that extended far beyond words, deeper than any conversation you’d ever had. Your throat tightened, emotion welling up inside you. You swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden sting in your eyes. 

“I like that,” you whispered, your voice catching. “Maybe just being yours is the only goal that matters to me.” Jude’s expression softened even more, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through his eyes before he leaned down, pressing his lips gently to your forehead. The kiss was soft, lingering, a silent affirmation that said more than any words could.

“Not theirs,” he murmured, confirming, his breath warm against your skin. You knew he meant the world—the prying eyes, the public, the constant scrutiny that came with your lives. “Just mine.” He double downed. You nodded, resting your head against his chest as you stood there in the center of the gallery. The art around you seemed to fade into the background, as though the masterpieces on the walls were mere echoes of the feeling that coursed through you in that moment. You weren’t just two people standing in a museum; you were something more—something eternal, like the art itself. After a while, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small, almost bashful smile. 

“I never thought I’d find someone who made me feel this way,” you said quietly. “Like I’m something worth protecting.” Jude’s eyes softened further, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. 

“You are,” he whispered. “You’re the most precious thing in my life.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell, and you felt that familiar warmth spreading through you, the kind that only Jude could give you. It wasn’t just love—it was deeper than that. It was the feeling of being cherished, of being seen, of being held as something irreplaceable. And for the first time, truly, standing there in that gallery, you felt truly at peace. It didn’t matter what the world outside thought, or how chaotic life could be. Jude was your safe place, your home. You realized that wherever you went, whatever happened, as long as you had him, you had everything you needed.

“Jude… I think I need this forever… you forever,” you whispered, glancing around the museum. “Here and everywhere.” You clarified for him. Jude’s lips curled into a small smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled you close again. 

“I promise, angel. I am going to give you forever.” Jude whispered gently. Your heart felt like it momentarily stopped beating. “You will never have to need it, because I will give you this every day of my life,” he said, pressing another kiss to your temple, “every day of your life you will have me in every place.” And in that moment, surrounded by centuries of art, you realized that no matter where life took you, Jude would always be yours and you’d be his. And the world—its eyes, its noise—didn’t matter. What mattered was this. Him. You. The quiet spaces in between where love lived, where you both flourished.

The exhaustion from all the traveling had finally caught up with you as you made your way to the next place. Your body ached, and the thought of another country, another stop on Jude’s whirlwind schedule, seemed unbearable. As the plane touched down in Greece, you leaned back into your seat with a sigh, feeling the weight of it all press down on you.

“Jude, I’m so tired,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “Why are we here?” You complained. Jude glanced at you with a soft smile but didn’t offer much in response. You frowned, slightly annoyed. “No, seriously, baby,” you pushed, adjusting your seat belt as the plane rolled down the runway. “Do you actually have work here? Like you in Greece? Is this another shoot or meeting or whatever? Because I still have my bags from New York. This is getting out of hand.” You whined. You were half-joking, but the weariness in your voice gave you away. You momentarily stopped in Madrid but not long enough for you to even unpack your toiletries. Jude reached over, squeezing your hand in that way he did when he wanted to calm you, but the mystery of it all was starting to wear thin. The car ride from the airport didn’t help either. You were too tired to really take in the scenery, the familiar landscapes of Greece passing by like a blur. You stared out the window, trying to piece together why Jude had dragged you here of all places. You couldn’t place how he could possibly have work here. It didn’t make sense. But then, the car slowed, pulling up to a secluded villa perched on a cliff overlooking the sea. Your brow furrowed as you glanced at Jude, still not fully understanding what was happening. But as soon as you stepped out of the car, things began to click. The moment the villa came into view, the memories hit you like a wave, flooding your mind with nostalgia. This was the villa — the place where you and Jude had first met. “Oh my god…” you gasped, the sight of the villa hitting you like a tidal wave of nostalgia. “Wait—this is where we stayed, baby!” You yelped, tiredness leaving your body. Memories rushed back, vivid and overwhelming. You could see it all—Whitney, Trent, the laughter, the late nights, the conversations that stretched until dawn. This was where it had all started, where you and Jude had first properly met. You grabbed Jude’s arm, pulling him closer as you took it all in, your heart racing with a strange mix of disbelief and excitement. “I can’t believe this. Do you remember this? This is where we stayed, where everything started. This is wild. Is this actually a coincidence or did you know?” Jude hummed in response, feigning surprise, but you caught the subtle smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. 

“So fucking crazy, what are the odds” he murmured, pretending to be as shocked as you were, but it was clear he’d planned this all along. You turned to him, eyes wide, still processing it all. You could sense his tone was a bit facetious. 

“Jude…seriously…did you plan this?” You asked. He shrugged, that smirk now fully visible.

 “Maybe.” He cooed with a glint in his eyes and you felt a bit of nausea washing over you. The exhaustion from the flight still hitting you hard now laced with fear. You were still processing all the travel and back-to-back commitments, so when you realized where you were, confusion quickly had settled in. Confusion, wondering if your traveling had even been for his work at all. You stood frozen, your brain struggling to connect the dots, unable to fully comprehend why you were back here after all this time. Jude watched as the realization slowly escaped you, the shock plain on your face. He couldn’t help but laugh softly at your speechlessness. He approached you with that same boyish charm that had first drawn you to him, his smile growing wider as he gently pulled you into his arms. “Come on, angel,” he whispered into your ear, swaying you gently as his arms wrapped around your waist. “Will you come with me?” He asked gently and patiently. You shook your head, still too stunned to move, your emotions all over the place. 

“I… I can’t,” you stammered, still in disbelief. You had a hard time understanding what the fuck was happening. You were stunned, like a deer in headlights. Jude laughed again, pressing soft kisses against your neck in that playful way that always made you melt. He swayed with you, his warmth so familiar, so grounding. His lips grazed your skin once more, and you could feel him smile against your neck as he teased.

“Please?” His voice lilted into a sing-song, pressing another kiss to your neck, each one softer and more coaxing than the last. You giggled despite yourself, the sound breaking the tension. 

“Jude…” you whispered, your voice shaky with a mix of nerves and affection. You could feel yourself softening, your body relaxing into his. He kissed you once more, a bit more cheekily this time. 

“Please, angel?” he asked again, his lips lingering just long enough to make you giggle through the overwhelming emotion. Finally, with a soft sniffle, you nodded, resting your forehead against his chest for a moment. 

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice still thick with emotion. You weren’t sure what was about to happen but in that moment, you felt safe in his arms, ready to follow him anywhere. You had an inkling  but you couldn’t disillude yourself. Jude grinned, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hand gently wiping away the small tear that had escaped down your cheek. 

“Let’s go, angel,” he said softly, taking your hand as he led you toward the back garden of the villa, the sun casting a golden glow over the shoreline, setting the perfect scene for what was to come. He walked you down the grand staircase.  The beach was calm. Empty so although it was clear that this wasn’t some sort of photo shoot for Jude’s work, you weren’t sure what was going on, you couldn’t believe it. Jude’s hand was wrapped tightly around yours as he guided you down the stairs, carved into the cliffside. Each step brought you closer to the beach, where the calm waves lapped gently against the shore. There was a soft glow over everything, the pinks and oranges of the sky blending into the horizon like a painting. You hadn’t questioned it at first but now, the villa, the quietness of the beach, and the absence of a crew—all of it seemed terrifyingly anticipatory. In fact, you had thought this was going to be just another thing Jude’s had to do for work. You assumed maybe he took it because it could overlay as a moment for the two of you to steal away together. But there was something about the air that felt different right now, something almost charged, though you couldn’t quite place it. Something much bigger than a moment away. But you needed to act normal, if it was nothing, like it had been for days you didn’t want to feel disappointed… and if it wasn’t, you didn’t want to ruin Jude’s plan. As you reached the bottom of the staircase, you let go of Jude’s hand walking a bit further before you plopped down in the sand with a sigh, smoothing out the fabric of your dress. The remnants of the day’s heat lingered in the sand beneath you, warming your legs. You looked up at Jude and smiled, extending your hand to help him sit beside you.

“Baby,” you teased, “you’re not going to make me sit here alone, are you?” Jude smiled nervously, his gaze flickering between you and the horizon as he sank down beside you.  The sand shifted under his weight, but he seemed restless, like something was bubbling beneath the surface. Both of you awkwardly expectant of something. He was trying to act natural, but his efforts were making him act entirely not. But putting nerves aside, you leaned into him, letting your head rest on his shoulder, oblivious to the storm of thoughts running through his mind, focused on your own. For a moment, you sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of the waves lulling you into a trance. But then, faintly carried on the breeze, you heard music. Not just any music—your favorite song, but played by a small orchestra. You frowned, sitting up slightly. “Is that…?” you began, turning your head to listen more closely. Jude’s smile grew, though there was something tight about it, like he was holding his breath. “Whoever is listening to that,” you murmured, “they’re lucky.” You had let yourself fall into ignorance, you couldn’t think straight. There was no way this was happening so the only option you had was to focus on the present moment, and the present moment was pretty perfect, one you didn’t want to leave. 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. “They are.” Jude chuckled softly, his hand finding yours again, squeezing it gently.  You didn’t notice the way he inhaled deeply, as if bracing himself, or how his thumb brushed nervously over your knuckles. You were too distracted by your thoughts blurring with the music, the soft notes floating through the air, the beauty of the moment. He let you sit there, hoping you thought it was all a coincidence, just a beautiful, serendipitous afternoon on the beach. Maybe in retrospect you should’ve put it together but you couldn’t wrap your head around the possibility. It was too scary. Jude’s heart was racing, pounding against his chest like it might burst. This wasn’t just any moment—this was the moment. The orchestra’s music swelled in the background, perfectly timed with the setting sun, casting the scene in a golden glow. Jude shifted beside you, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, and you finally glanced over at him, noticing the tension in his posture.

“Jude?” you asked softly, your brow furrowing as you caught the nerves in his eyes. “What’s going on?” He opened his mouth to respond but seemed to catch himself, exhaling slowly instead. He looked away for a moment, out toward the water, gathering the words he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his mind. But now, sitting here with you, in this moment that felt impossibly perfect, every practiced line seemed to slip away.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time,” Jude began, his voice barely above a whisper. You felt a shiver run down your spine, not from the afternoon breeze, but from the tone in his voice. Something was happening. It was happening. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, your heart starting to race as you sat up straighter. Jude smiled softly, his eyes full of something you hadn’t seen before, something deeper. 

“This place, this villa, this beach—it’s where everything started for me. And I’ve been thinking… maybe it’s the perfect place for something new to begin.” He reached into his pocket, and your breath caught in your throat. The realization hit you all at once, like a wave crashing over you, and suddenly, the music, the sunset, the villa—it all made perfect blissful sense.

“Jude…” you whispered, your voice trembling, almost cautioning him. 

“Angel, c’mere.” He grabbed your hands and pulled you up. Your breath hitched as Jude asked you to stand. Your legs felt shaky beneath you, and your heart pounded in your chest as things slowly began to click in your mind. Everything—the whirlwind of travel, the quiet dinners, the significant places, the sudden romantic gestures—it wasn’t work. It was you. It was your relationship, played out place by place, word by word. Jude’s hand was warm around yours, grounding you as you watched him slowly descend to his knees in front of you. The world around you seemed to blur, your vision narrowing to the boy in front of you—tall, tan, and brighter than the sun itself. The golden light of the setting sun washed over him, illuminating his features, making him look almost ethereal. You felt like you were going to black out. Your mind raced, each realization hitting you like a wave—this was what all of this had been about. “You’re my world,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You’ve changed everything for me, and I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t want to.” He cooed softly. Tears welled in your eyes as you watched him reach into his pocket, his gaze soft and steady, you shook. Tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill as the magnitude of the moment fully sank in.  “All the places…” he kept speaking, his voice barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Every stop, every country…” Jude smiled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “It’s you and me, forever, Angel,” he said quietly, his voice full of love, as steady as the waves in the background. Your tears slipped down your cheeks, and a choked laugh escaped your lips as you tried to process everything. 

“I just thought you really liked me and wanted me there for work,” you interrupted him unable to help yourself, your words broken by the overwhelming emotion swelling inside you. Jude shook his head, his smirk filled with affection, with knowing. 

“No, angel” he whispered, still kneeling before you. Every breath seemed too shallow, and your hands trembled as he finally pulled out a small, velvet box, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he held it out in front of you. “It’s you and me, anyplace, anywhere. That’s all it’s ever been. That’s all it’s ever going to be.” His words wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and comforting, the moment became surreal as he opened the box. Inside was the fattest diamond you’d ever seen, sparkling brilliantly in the fading light of the day, reflecting the hues of the setting sun. It was breathtaking, but not as much as the man in front of you, kneeling there with his heart laid bare. “Will you marry me, mon ange?” he asked softly, his voice steady despite the gravity of the moment.  And you didn’t even notice the mispronunciation anymore because it was his pronunciation. His eyes were full of hope, of love, of everything you’d built together. Your whole body trembled as you looked down at him, this boy who had turned your world upside down in the most beautiful way. Tears blurred your vision, and all you could do was nod at first. 

“Yeah… Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, baby.”  You managed choking out the words. Jude grinned, wide and relieved, his eyes sparkling brighter than the diamond in his hand. Jude slid the ring onto your finger, his hands steady despite everything. Then, without hesitation, he pulled you into his arms, wrapping you in the warmth of his embrace, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was full of promise, full of love, full of forever. You were speechless, your heart swelling with so many emotions that you didn’t know where to start. You could feel the tears slipping down your cheeks as you held him, this man who had brought so much love and light into your life. The orchestra’s music swelled, the sky painted in vibrant hues of pink and gold, and the world around you seemed to disappear. All that mattered was this moment, this place, and the man in your arms. You kissed him deeply, his lips warm against yours as the waves gently lapped at the shore. You were dizzy with love, with happiness, with the overwhelming realization that your life was about to change forever. Everything felt like it was meant to be. And as you stood there, wrapped in Jude’s arms, you knew this was the beginning of something even more beautiful than you could have ever imagined. The beach, the villa, the setting sun—it all seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you standing there, in love, in awe, in the beginning of something new.

At first, you couldn’t stop sobbing, the weight of it all too much to hold back. Jude kept you close, arms wrapped around you as you stood on the Grecian shoreline for what felt like an eternity, just swaying together in the golden light of the setting sun. Sometimes you just didn’t need words. The sea’s gentle rhythm mirrored your own breathing as you tried to catch your breath between the tears, but the emotions kept coming and going, like waves crashing and retreating. Jude’s grip on you never faltered though, it hadn’t the whole time you knew him, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. You could feel his chest rising and falling steadily, though you knew he was feeling it too—the tears quietly slipping from his eyes, the magnitude of this moment as real to him as it was to you. 

“Can I tell everyone you’re my fiancée now?” Eventually, he leaned down and whispered into your ear, his voice soft but filled with so much joy. You let out a small, shaky giggle, though still confused as you pulled back slightly to look up at him. His hands moved instinctively to wipe away the lingering tears from your cheeks, his thumbs brushing over your skin with such tenderness that it made your heart swell all over again. As you took a deep breath, your eyes widened as he turned, his arm still around you. You followed his gaze, your breath catching once more. The staircase you’d descended earlier—the one leading back up to the villa—was now adorned with an elaborate floral arrangement. Beautiful blooms in soft, romantic shades of, white and green lined the steps, twining around the railing, draping down like something out of a dream.

“Oh my God…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you stared in awe. Jude just smiled, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before tugging you gently toward the stairs. You took a few hesitant steps, but when you reached the first floral-draped step, your heart fluttered again, realizing that this was not just about the two of you anymore. Back up at the villa, you could hear the faint sound of chatter and laughter, and as you made your way up, it became clear—Jude had planned everything. The grand party awaiting you, the surprise of it all. As you climbed higher, you caught glimpses of familiar faces—your family, his family, your closest friends, all gathered in celebration. The moment you reached the top, a wave of applause erupted. You looked at Jude in astonishment, overwhelmed again, but this time by the sheer love surrounding you. Everyone was there—your parents, Louis, Jobe, Whitney—waiting to congratulate you both. Jude squeezed your hand once more, beaming as he raised your entwined fingers for everyone to see, announcing to the world what you both already knew: you were his, and he was yours, forever. You giggled but tears welled up again, this time they were happy tears. You were embraced by your family, laughter and congratulations filling the air, the joy shared by everyone around you as you and Jude stood there, soaking in the moment, now engaged and surrounded by love. As soon as you caught sight of Whitney, her eyes welled up, tears streaming down her face as she pushed through the crowd to reach you. The moment you embraced her, both of you melted into each other’s arms, the years of friendship and every shared secret rushing back in an instant. You both clung tight, feeling like the younger versions of yourselves had finally taken a deep sigh of relief, knowing you’d both found partners who were right for you.

“I’m so happy for you you gorgeous gorgeous girl” Whitney sobbed into your shoulder, her voice breaking with emotion. You pulled back slightly, giggling through your own tears, seeing her eyes bright with pride and happiness for you.

“You’re crying more than I am!” you teased, wiping at your face with a sniffle. The two of you laughed, the sound muddied with sobs of joy. Whitney wiped her tears with a shaky hand and beamed at you. 

“I found out the other week,” she gushed, “and oh my God, I had to turn my location off just to keep it a secret! I’ve been dying to tell you.” She smiled. You giggled harder, the emotions bubbling over, feeling like it was all too perfect.

“You’ve fucking known this whole time?” you asked, incredulous. "You liar!" You yelped. She shook her head, laughing through her tears. 

“No! No, I found out after Paris I swear! I’m just glad I didn’t slip since! You don’t know how hard it was. But how good did he dooo” The two of you shared another tight embrace, and in that moment, it wasn’t just about you and Jude or Whitney and Trent—it was about the bond you and Whitney had, one built over years of friendship, now seeing each other finally finding the happiness and love you both deserved. It was like a sigh of relief for your younger selves, a moment of pure joy, knowing you had come so far together.

As the laughter of the party swirled around you, you found yourself in the middle of a group of women you loved, each one beaming with happiness for you. Whitney was dabbing her eyes, trying not to ruin her makeup from crying tears of joy. Winnie was playfully teasing you about how Jude had managed to surprise you despite all your ‘sharp instincts.’ Your mum, still slightly in shock, kept looking at the ring on your hand, shaking her head with a smile. Her eyes gleamed with pride, but you could also see a trace of emotion, the weight of the moment not lost on her. The ring, a symbol of so much more than a simple proposal, gleamed as the women continued to gush over how perfectly it suited you. Whitney’s mum chimed in, joking that she wished she had a Jude to pick out jewelry for her. The conversation was light and airy, filled with the kind of shared happiness only women who have known each other for years could have. Everyone was buzzing, their energy as golden as the light from the setting sun. And then, a tiny, familiar giggle cut through the conversation. You glanced over to see Teddy, breaking free from Trent’s grasp, her chubby little legs carrying her swiftly across the lawn toward you.

“Mama!” Teddy squealed, clinging to Whitney’s leg, hugging her. Whitney, still emotional from the evening, smiled warmly and beant down to kiss her hair but Teddy’s attention was quickly diverted when she spotted you. Her wide eyes, full of innocent curiosity, locked onto you, and you could see the wheels turning in her little head. She slipped from Whitney’s arms and made a beeline for you, determination in every tiny step. 

“I sorry,” she said, her voice a soft babble, tugging at the hem of your dress. You bent down to her level, confused but charmed by her earnestness. Teddy’s eyes were so big, her tiny face serious as she seemed to be weighing something in her mind.

“Sorry? What for, sweet girl?” you asked, your voice soft as you brushed a curl from her face. You crouched down to her level, letting her know she had your full attention. Teddy shifted on her feet, biting her lip slightly before finally spilling the beans. 

“Judey told was gonna marry you,” she confessed in a rush, the words stumbling over each other in her eagerness. “Daddy and Judey and me had pinky promise. So they told I can’t tell auntie … I sorry.” She frowned feeling guilty. Your heart melted instantly. You felt an overwhelming warmth at her sincerity, the way her tiny shoulders dropped slightly as if she’d been carrying the weight of this secret. You chuckled softly, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow. 

“A pinky promise, huh? Well, that is very serious.” You cooed. Teddy’s giggle was like a bell, her face lighting up at your playful tone. 

“Yeah huh,” she nodded, her small fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. “Serus.”  She emphasized the word as if she were letting you in on a great universal truth. You grinned, scooping her up into your arms and hugging her close.

“I understand Ted. Pinky promises are important,” you said, brushing your nose against hers. She burst into another fit of giggles, squirming with joy in your embrace. It was a small moment, but it was filled with so much love and innocence. And as you held her, her little arms wrapping tightly around your neck, you felt something incredibly precious about this child’s naive understanding of love and promises. After a few moments, Teddy leaned back, her eyes still wide with wonder. 

“You most lucky, tay?” She looked at you with the seriousness only a child could muster. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in her voice. 

“Why’s that, Teddy girl?” You asked. Her little voice dropped to a whisper, as if she was sharing a secret meant only for you. 

“Judey the nicest.” Her words hit you squarely in the chest, and your heart swelled so much it almost hurt. You swallowed a lump in your throat, holding back more tears that threatened to spill over. You smiled, hugging her a little closer. 

“Yeah, Ted,” you whispered, your voice soft with emotion. “I’m really, really lucky. Judey is the nicest.” You concurred kissing her cheek. Your eyes flicking to find Jude amongst your friends and family. She nodded firmly, clearly satisfied with her conclusion. The simplicity of her words, spoken with such conviction, left a profound mark on you. It was a reminder of all the reasons you’d fallen in love with Jude in the first place. In her innocence, Teddy had perfectly summed up what mattered most: that Jude was good, that he was kind, and that you were lucky to have found him. You stood, still holding her close, as you turned back to the group of women who had been watching the entire exchange with knowing smiles on their faces. Whitney reached over and adjusted Teddy’s dress, tears in her eyes once again. 

“She’s not wrong,” Whitney said softly, glancing at you. “You are lucky, Y/N. But so is Jude.” You laughed through the tears that were finally spilling over, your heart full to the brim with love—for your family, for this life you were building, and for the man who was waiting for you just across the garden, probably grinning like an idiot, already planning the next moment to make you feel even luckier. That evening, the villa came alive with the glow of celebration. The Grecian coast hummed with the sounds of your family and closest friends gathering for a dinner that felt like something out of a dream. Long tables were set beneath the open sky, draped in fine white linens and adorned with candlesticks. Soft candlelight flickered against the rich blooms of flowers spilling across the table in blush tones—roses, peonies, and wild greenery interwoven with the delicate coastal breeze. The air smelled of salt and sea, a cool breeze rolling off the water and mingling with the scents of grilled seafood, freshly baked bread, and olive oil. The sky shifted from deep orange to lavender as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon, casting a golden glow over the scene. The waves lapped gently against the shore, the rhythm of the ocean setting a peaceful backdrop to the lively conversations and laughter bubbling from the guests.

As you sat next to Jude at the head of the table, you felt like the luckiest person in the world. You were surrounded by your family—your mum, who hadn’t stopped smiling since you arrived; your brother Louis, who kept clinking his glass to toast your engagement; Whitney and Trent, who were beaming with joy at their seats across from you, with Teddy in their lap. Winnie was there too, making jokes and keeping the mood light with her witty banter. Aurelien, your dad, Jobe, Denise and Mark, the list goes on. Everyone you loved was gathered in this perfect moment, toasting to you and Jude, the two of you at the heart of it all. Jude sat close, his hand never leaving yours. He was glowing with happiness, his smile wide as he toasted along with everyone, his fingers laced through yours beneath the table. Every now and then, he would lean in to kiss your temple or whisper something sweet in your ear, making you blush and giggle. You couldn’t help but marvel at how perfect everything felt. The conversations, the laughter, the music—it was like a symphony of love playing out under the stars. As the night deepened, the candles grew shorter, their flames flickering in the soft breeze, but the warmth around the table only grew stronger. Your family shared stories of love and laughter, of memories they held dear about you and Jude, of all the adventures yet to come. The stars above seemed to mirror the sparkle in your eyes as you glanced over at Jude, who looked more handsome than ever in the dim glow of the candles. As dessert was served—sweet honey-drenched baklava and rich chocolate torte—you and Jude shared a quiet moment amidst the revelry. He squeezed your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your engagement ring, and gave you a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“How’s it feel being the most beautiful girl in the world?” he asked, his voice low and full of affection. You blushed, leaning into him, the warmth of his words wrapping around you. 

“It feels pretty surreal,” you whispered. “How’s it feel being engaged to her?” You cheekily replied. 

“Pretty surreal.” He echoed you with a smirk. 

“No, seriously, it feels like I’m living in a dream right now.” You cut in with a warm smile. He kissed your temple with a hum.

“It’s not a dream, angel. This is our life. You and me, forever.” He smiled, his eyes softening.

Later, as the party continued into the night, you and Jude quietly slipped away from the table, leaving the laughter and love to continue around the table without you. He led you back to the villa, up the winding staircase to your private bedroom suite. The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped into the room, leaving the glow of the celebration behind for something more intimate, more personal. The bedroom was softly lit by a few candles flickering in the corners, the scent of jasmine and sea air filling the space. Large glass doors were open to the balcony, letting in the breeze from the ocean and the sound of the waves crashing gently against the shore. The bed was draped in soft, luxurious linens, and there was an air of quiet serenity, a stark contrast to the lively party outside. Jude pulled you close, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in your neck, kissing the soft skin there. 

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Forever.” You smiled, your heart swelling with love as you ran your fingers over his hair. 

“I’ve always been yours.” The intimacy between you both deepened as the night unfolded in the privacy of your suite. His kisses grew more passionate, his hands more eager as he undressed you slowly, savoring every moment as if it were sacred. You slipped out of your dress, you let it pool at your feet, revealing your naked body for him. You admired your reflection in the mirror, running your hands over your soft skin, your fingers lingering on your nipples, making them harden. Jude’s eyes raked over your body, taking in the sight of your bare tits. He stood behind you, his eyes never leaving you, as he slowly began to undress himself.

"There’s no way you’re real, Y/N," he says, his voice hoarse with desire and a shake of the head.

“You going to let me taste every inch of you?"  You cooed as you bit your lip, feeling a surge of power as you watched him reveal his muscular body through the mirror. You turned around to face him. His hands went to the button of his pants,  but couldn’t help but stare at the impressive bulge you knew well in his boxers.

"Come here," he says, his voice low and commanding. The candles flickered, casting soft shadows across your skin as you made love, the connection between you two more intense than ever before. Every touch, every whispered word felt like a promise—of love, of forever. Afterward, you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, your bodies warm and content under the soft sheets. The sound of the ocean lulled you into a peaceful quiet, your heart still racing from the emotion of the evening. Jude brushed his fingers across your cheek, his eyes never leaving yours, full of a love so deep it felt infinite.

“Tonight was perfect,” you whispered, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But it’s only the beginning, angel. There’s so much more ahead of us.” And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, the distant sound of laughter and the sea breeze filling the room, you knew he was right. This was just the start of a lifetime of perfect moments with him.

The morning Jude left for his away game as your fiancé felt heavier than usual. The air between you two was thick with the weight of separation. For days, you had been wrapped up in each other—barely giving one another an inch of space since the proposal in Greece, basking in the joy of your new future together. But now, it was time for him to leave, and neither of you was ready to part. You stood in the doorway of your Madrid apartment, watching as Jude packed his bag into the back of the car service waiting to take him to the airport. He moved slower than usual, as if stalling for time, and you couldn’t help the way your heart tugged painfully. You wanted so badly to go with him, but with your gallery opening in just a day time, it wasn’t possible.

“I hate this,” you mumbled, fidgeting with the engagement ring on your finger, a pout forming on your lips. You felt a little childish for it, but it didn’t matter. The thought of him being away even for a short time felt wrong now. Jude zipped his bag and turned, walking back over to you with a soft smile. His hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the worry that was etched into your expression. 

“Angel,” he said, his voice soft but reassuring, “don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it. And soon I’ll be coming back home to you, as my wife, for the rest of my life.” Hearing Jude say that made your heart leap. ‘My wife.’ It sounded so surreal, so blissfully permanent. You felt a giddiness bubble up inside of you, like you were still that girl who had fallen for him—lucky that he had chosen you, out of everyone, to spend his life with.

“I know,” you whispered, pressing your hand over his on your cheek, leaning into his warmth. “But I’ll still miss you.” You cooed softly. He chuckled softly, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. 

“I’ll miss you too. More than you know.” He replied gently. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of trying to delay the inevitable, Jude sighed and pulled back. His hand slipped from your cheek, fingers brushing over your arm until they finally let go. He looked at you one last time, his eyes filled with love and the faintest trace of reluctance, before heading down the steps to the waiting car. You stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself, watching as he got into the backseat. Your heart twisted painfully, and the urge to call him back rushed over you. But you knew he had to go, and now when he came back, it would be like he said—he’d be coming back to you, always, for the rest of his life. As the car began to pull away, Jude looked back at you through the window, his eyes locked on yours. You raised your hand, waving softly, your lips curved into a small pout. He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and blew you a kiss from the window. You caught it playfully, pressing it to your lips before kissing your engagement ring, feeling the cool metal and diamonds against your skin like a reminder of the promise he made. As the car disappeared out the drive and around the corner, the world felt a little quieter, a little emptier. But in your heart, there was nothing but warmth. You knew that no matter where he went, he’d always come back to you.

The next day, you were sitting on the couch alone, you hugged your knees to your chest, the tension in the room mirroring the tight scoreline on the screen. It was the Champions League, and Madrid was locked in a 0-0 stalemate as the game ticked away, every passing second making you more nervous. Your chin rested on your knees, your eyes flicking between the screen and the clock, before you gave in and buried your forehead against your legs, too anxious to watch the final moments unfold. The commentators’ voices boomed through the speakers, heightening your sense of dread. Time was running out, and you couldn’t help but feel the nerves crawling through your skin. Then suddenly, you heard it—Bellingham, goal in the 92nd minute! Your head snapped up, eyes wide with disbelief. You blinked, and there he was, Jude, sprinting towards the corner flag, arms outstretched, his face lit up with a smile so wide it made your heart soar. The entire stadium erupted around him, but all you could focus on was the way he slowed down, kissed his ring finger, and pointed directly at the camera mouthing ‘for you angel.’ The same ring finger you had kissed when he left for the game. A celebration just for you.  A laugh bubbled up from your chest, a mixture of relief and joy. You felt the weight of the distance between you lift, just for a moment, as if he was there with you. The feeling of being apart, of missing him so deeply, faded in the glow of that moment. It was these little things—these private gestures in public spaces—that made everything feel so special. Your heart swelled with pride and love, knowing that even though you were miles apart, he was thinking of you, playing for you, celebrating for you. You smiled, biting your lip to stop yourself from tearing up, and wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, feeling that connection bridge the gap between you. Being apart was awful, but moments like this were everything.

You stood in the dimly lit bathroom of your gallery, staring at your reflection, your fingers lightly tracing the line of your lips. You were obsessing over the lip liner, not because it wasn’t perfect but because your nerves had nowhere else to go. The voices from the event, the clinking of glasses, and the hum of conversations drifted in from outside the door. Tonight was supposed to be about the art, about the work you had spent months curating. Yet, your mind felt scattered, your thoughts circling the fear that this night was about more than that now. You placed your hands on the sink, taking a deep breath, your mind trying to recall the details of every conversation you’d had in Spanish. Your fluency had improved, but with each person you greeted, each question about the pieces, you wondered if you were truly coming across as the confident curator you needed to be. The stakes were higher now—not just because it was your gallery’s opening but because of who was linked to it. The whispers about Jude, even without the public knowledge of the engagement, were loud enough. The gallery was packed, largely because of the buzz surrounding him, and you couldn’t ignore the quiet unease that settled in your stomach. How long before anyone noticed the ring? You stepped away from the mirror and made your way back into the gallery, scanning the room filled with guests mingling, admiring the artwork, sipping on wine. Your eyes darted to the pieces hanging on the walls, your heart swelling with pride for the artists you had chosen, their work beautifully capturing the space. But then, the inevitable—someone brought up Jude. They asked, with a sly smile, if he was attending. You smiled, deflecting, giving an answer you hoped would move the conversation back to the art. But your smile faltered as you felt a wave of loneliness. You loved this gallery. You loved what you had built. Yet tonight, you were walking a tightrope, balancing between your identity as an art curator and the person the public increasingly linked to Jude. It was a surreal feeling—exhilarating, yes, but also heavy, like the weight of his shadow sometimes loomed larger than your own.

You stood in the middle of it all, watching the conversations swirl around you, trying to take it all in, when you felt a pair of familiar hands slide around your waist. A shiver of warmth ran down your spine, and you leaned back instinctively into Jude’s chest, closing your eyes. He pulled you into him, his chin brushing your shoulder as his presence melted away the tension you hadn’t realized you were holding. He had flown back for this moment, for you. You tilted your head to look up at him, his face soft with affection, the stress and anxiety of the evening easing with just that one glance. Jude whispered something against your ear, his breath warm, and you could feel his smile as he squeezed your waist. It was like he knew exactly when you needed him most, and the relief that surged through you made your eyes sting. You blinked back the tears, not wanting anyone to see the mix of emotions flooding through you.

“You came,” you whispered, as if it were still hard to believe.

“Of course I did, angel” Jude said softly, his voice warm with sincerity. “I wasn’t going to miss this for the world. So proud of you.” His hands rested protectively on your waist, and as you turned to face him, your hand instinctively touched his cheek. The noise of the gallery dimmed, everything else faded as you stared into his eyes. There was an unspoken understanding between you, a shared knowledge that this moment, this life you were building together, meant more than what anyone else could see. Jude tilted his head, his lips brushing your forehead in a kiss, and suddenly, all the chatter about him, the weight of the public eye, felt distant. People might be buzzing about him, but you hoped they would notice your work, the art you had worked so hard to display. Yet, even with that thought, there was something undeniably comforting about his presence here. He wasn’t just a celebrity to you—he was Jude, the person who grounded you, who made you feel like you could conquer anything, whether in this gallery or in the quieter moments of your life. As he held you, you could feel the eyes of a few guests shifting toward you, perhaps wondering when you two would make your rounds together, but neither of you moved. You were content to stay wrapped up in his arms, soaking in the comfort of knowing that no matter how much attention the two of you garnered, this—his support, his love—was yours, and yours alone.

“Do you think anyone’s noticed, baby?” you asked, your voice low, as your fingers traced the outline of the engagement ring hidden beneath your sleeve. Jude chuckled softly, his lips grazing your ear. 

“Don’t know… Probably were too busy wondering if I was even going to show up.” You rolled your eyes but you grinned. "Nah, angel, they're here for the gallery... for your work, the artist. I think we're in the clear." He cooed gently reassuring you. You felt a flicker of pride at the secret still safe between you two. 

“Okay, good,” you said, glancing around the room. “Let’s keep it that way… at least for now.” You sheepishly told him

“For as long as you want.” Jude whispered as he kissed the top of your head. He squeezed your waist, and you felt the world slow down just a little. You were no longer standing in the gallery filled with eyes and whispers—you were standing in a quiet space with the person who mattered most, the person who had flown back just for you, and for this, your dream. The rest could wait.

The night of the Ballon d’Or ceremony had an electric charge to it, the kind of energy that makes your skin hum. You felt it from the moment you stepped out of the car with Jude, flashes from the cameras lighting up the Parisian evening like fireworks. You had dressed carefully, elegantly, and Jude couldn’t take his eyes off you from the second you stepped into the light. You were in an Attico dress they Jude almost ripped off you before you even left for the event. His gaze was all-consuming, making you feel simultaneously adored and exposed under the intense scrutiny of the media. The rumors had been swirling all over the internet for days—speculation about your engagement sparked by every subtle clue, from Jobe’s playful 'sister' comment in an interview to photos of Jude’s kissing hid ring finger after his goals. The fans were running wild with theories, and tonight, standing next to Jude on the red carpet, you knew it would only intensify. You could feel Jude’s arm wrapped tightly around your waist, guiding you through the sea of cameras and lights. He hadn’t stopped telling you how beautiful you were, how perfect you looked, but somehow, under the intensity of the moment, those words felt distant, like echoes. You tensed, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. The world was watching, and it wasn’t just about the football anymore; it was about you and Jude—your relationship, your life together, and possibly the engagement. 

“You look so beautiful, Angel. I’ve got you, don’t worry.” Jude whispered, sensing your nerves, he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. The warmth of his words melted some of the tension, and you exhaled, relaxing slightly into the protective embrace of his arm. Jude always had this way of making you feel safe, even when you were standing in front of hundreds of cameras. He’d told you the same thing countless times tonight, but in that moment, it was exactly what you needed to hear. You let yourself settle into his hold, leaning into him as the flashes continued, grounding yourself in his presence. You both knew the engagement might come up tonight. You’d talked about it beforehand—how if it came up, you wouldn’t deny it but you wouldn’t necessarily make a big announcement either. Yet as the interviews began and Jude stayed glued to your side, you felt the nerves rise again. His clinginess tonight felt different, more deliberate, like he was trying to shield you from the chaos of the evening while still being his charming, professional self. As you approached the press, the interviews, and the swarm of photographers, the anxiety crept back in. You could feel the weight of the rumors hanging in the air, just waiting to be confirmed or denied. The ring on your finger, though visible, the news of it still hidden from the public, suddenly felt heavy, like a secret barely kept. Jude, as always, seemed completely at ease. His confidence, the way he stood so tall next to you, hand protectively on your waist, made it seem like he was untouchable. But you knew him better than that. You could sense the nerves hiding behind the way his thumb absentmindedly rubbed small circles into your side. He was trying to comfort you, but it was clear he was anticipating something too. The interviews began, and you smiled politely, staying close to Jude, letting him go on.  Jude answered them with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before. But the interviewer, a sharp woman with a knowing smile, turned to you next. 

“Do you think Jude will win tonight?” she asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. You smiled, shyly glancing at Jude, and replied, 

“I’m a little biased but no matter I'm really proud of the year he's had,” your voice light, leaning into him as he grinned down at you. Then, without missing a beat, the moment you didn’t expect—Jude’s voice, soft and casual, but with a confidence that made your heart stop.

“My fiancée is the best thing I’ve won this year,” he said with a smirk, his voice crackling in your ear, as the cameras around you captured every second. “But I’m honored to be nominated.” You froze for a split second, your heart racing as the words settled in. Your breath caught in your throat. The word “fiancée” echoed in your ears, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t even have time to react before he pressed a kiss to your temple, holding you even closer as the realization set in—not just for you, but for everyone around you. It felt like the air around you thickened, the weight of the moment sinking in with every flash of the cameras. Jude pressed a gentle kiss to your temple again, humming contentedly, completely unbothered by the reaction he’d just set off. And just like that, it was out. You could hear murmurs, see the widened eyes of the reporters, and feel the collective buzz from everyone around you. The rumors were no longer rumors. Jude had just confirmed it—effortlessly, casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. You were his fiancée. You blinked, turning slightly to meet his eyes, feeling a rush of emotion that made your knees a little weak. He squeezed your waist, that same reassuring smile on his face, as if to say, We’re in this together. The world might be watching, but all that mattered was the two of you, standing here, side by side.

The interviewer, visibly stunned, tried to recover, asking Jude a follow-up question, but the moment had already shifted. The attention wasn’t on his chances of winning anymore. It was on the two of you, standing there, side by side, no longer hiding the truth. Jude answered a few more questions, all while keeping you close, but the rest of the interview felt like a blur. You couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d just said—how natural it had been, how confident. He had called you his fiancée like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and suddenly, it was. The world knew now, and the weight of that realization settled over you in the best way possible. As the interview wrapped up and you moved through the rest of the evening, Jude never let go of you. Even when you sat down for dinner, surrounded by football royalty and celebrities, his hand remained intertwined with yours under the table. You glanced at him from time to time, still a little dazed by the enormity of the moment, but every time you did, he smiled at you, that same knowing smile that said, This is just the beginning.

And it was. The night continued, the awards were handed out, and even though Jude didn’t win the Ballon d’Or, it didn’t matter. He’d already won, and so had you. As you walked out of the ceremony, hand in hand, the buzz of the evening still swirling around you, you realized that the world had changed a little. You were no longer just Jude’s girlfriend—you were his fiancée, and the whole world knew it now. The rest of the night blurred after that moment, but you didn’t care. Jude had said it, and the truth was out there now. You were engaged. You were his. The joy you felt outweighed any nerves, and with Jude’s arm around you, you knew you could handle whatever came next.

The Ballon d’Or ceremony had already been a whirlwind, but nothing compared to the heart-pounding moment Jude declared to the world that you were his fiancée. You were still processing it, standing beside him on the red carpet, your hand resting on his chest as you leaned into his side. The heat of his body and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat were the only things grounding you amid the chaos of camera flashes, reporters’ questions, and the weight of his revelation.  Your hand instinctively tightened around his, your fingers brushing over the ring. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide, still processing what had just happened earlier. Jude looked down at you, his smile soft but full of certainty. His gaze was unwavering, as if he’d been waiting for this moment for longer than you even realized.

The news of your engagement to Jude had ignited the internet, and while you tried to go about your normal routine, the world was already buzzing with excitement about your upcoming wedding. After the Ballon d’Or ceremony, life felt like it had been put under a magnifying glass. Every time you and Jude stepped out, people stared, speculating, photographing. And yet, despite all the attention, the little moments you shared in between—those felt like lifelines. You found yourself walking hand-in-hand with Jude through the heart of Madrid, the early afternoon sun casting a golden hue over the city. The two of you tried to stay low-key, just blending in with the crowd, but it was hard when the man beside you was Real Madrid’s biggest star. Still, Jude managed to make you feel like it was just the two of you, no cameras, no fanfare—just two people in love. As you passed by a Real Madrid FC store, Jude slowed to a stop, mischief in his eyes. 

“Angel, remember when I made you buy your first Madrid jersey?” he asked, grinning down at you. You laughed, nodding. It felt like a lifetime ago—back when you first arrived in Madrid. You’d gone into that same store, just entertaining Jude’s annoying teasing, but he had insisted. He wanted you to wear his name on your back, almost like a silent promise of what was to come.

“How could I forget? Those are fucking expensive especially considering you could’ve just given me one…” You rolled your eyes with a smile. He smirk, pulling you closer. 

“Well, I think it’s time for you to buy another.” He told you seriously.

“Huh? Why, baby?” You raised an eyebrow. You had plenty of Madrid jerseys now. Jude leaned down, his lips close to your ear, voice low. 

“Because I’m not just your favorite player anymore,” he whispered. “Now, I’m your favorite fiancée.” You couldn’t help but shake your head, though a smile tugged at your lips. The logic made no sense. You understood the sentiment but at this point you felt like that’s all you wore was a Bellingham jersey.

“You’re my only fiancée, Jude.” You corrected him with a kiss to his cheek. 

“That’s right,” he said, his hands on your waist, squeezing lightly. “And since Act II of our story has officially started, you need the right jersey to go with it. Not my girlfriend, need a fiance jersey... hmm?” His tone was playful, but there was something possessive in his gaze, something that made your heart race. You sighed dramatically but nodded, stepping out of his hold to walk into the store alone because you knew he couldn’t go with you. The inside was just as you remembered, bustling with fans excitedly grabbing their Bellingham #5 jerseys off the racks. It was surreal, watching people walk out with his name on their backs, and yet it still felt like he belonged to you in a way that no jersey or crowd could claim. You found the one you wanted and made your way back to him, holding it up with a playful smirk.

“Happy?” you asked, lifting the bag. “Act II can officially begin. My Bellingham jersey, just for you. My favorite player and my favorite fiance.” Jude’s laugh was warm, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“More than happy,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection. “You’re not just my biggest fan, you know,” he said, pulling back slightly to meet your eyes. “You’re my best fan. My only fan.” There was a quiet intensity in his voice laced with playfulness and a possessiveness that made your heart skip a beat. His hands held you tighter, and you could feel the love radiating from him in waves. “Mine,” he added, and the word hung between you, carrying a weight that felt deeper than anything you’d ever experienced. You blushed, leaning into him, feeling like you’d burst with happiness. The bustling store, the busy Madrid streets, the noise of the world—it all faded into the background as you stood there in Jude’s arms, knowing that this was just the beginning of something even bigger, something that would always be yours and his.

“So once we share the last name I won't have to spend money on these anymore right?” You asked with a teasing glint in your eye. 

“What’s mine is yours.” He cooed with his arm around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel proud. Proud of him, proud of your relationship, and most of all, proud of the fact that the next chapter of your life would be written together.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 The End 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Thank you for reading!

The series has officially come to a close. I really can't express how much I loved talking about this with anyone that has messaged. From. 'You're Mine' to Act II and all the one shots in between I feel like I've created a little world that I really hope readers enjoyed. <3

Please like, comment, or message what you think of the final chapter or the entire series!

[kurishiri]

alfons sylvatica . . . episode.0

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: depiction of death.

I do so wonder, were I to say, “Life is but a tragedy,” would you disagree with me?

Well, in the end, it matters not if you agree or disagree.

Everyone is free to interpret what’s before them in their own way. Much like everyone is free to choose how they face reality.

By this, then, if I were to state my personal views on this, I would claim for certain that life is but a tragedy.

Ah, but by no means am I embracing a pessimistic perspective.

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape.

Even should an escape fail you, though——

madness will still remain your friend.

In the back alley, where twilight drew near, I happened upon an elderly man collapsed on the ground.

With my hands on my knees, I crouched down beside him. In response, the man’s hollow eyes, devoid of any sign of vitality, looked my way.

Elderly man: Ahh… it’s you.

Alfons: Yes, indeed, it is none other than me.

I do, in fact, have quite a large circle of acquaintances.

That goes especially for people like this man, who had been driven out from the light.

Alfons: Might there a final dream you wish to see?

Elderly man: ………My wife.

Elderly man: I………would like to say sorry………

Alfons: ���Is that so.

For a miraculous, utterly unrealistic happening to occur in the finale, right before the curtain closed on a play, would be the universal joke of all comedies.

Alfons: See now, look there. Isn’t it great? “Your wife has come to see you.”

Elderly man: ………Ahh…ahh…

When I murmured this while touching the back of his neck, the man’s eyes widened, tears brimming slightly at the edge of his eyes,

and unable to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ until the end, he drew his last breath.

Alfons: Did she smile for you in your final dream?

A: …Or so I ask, but I can hardly say I’m very interested in the answer.

I gently closed his eyes before promptly leaving the place myself.

(Now, I say it’s about time to search for something new to kill off this boredom.)

Upon leaving the alleyway, I found myself in a twilight-colored London, filled with livelihood,

and the people, in their restlessness, couldn’t bother to pay heed to the fact that just a step in the alleyway would reveal quite a ghastly death.

That would make up the majority. ——However.

(…Oh?)

A postwoman passed me by, running the opposite direction as me,

and as she entered the alleyway where the man was lying, she suddenly stopped.

(So she realized him…?)

At first, I held no interest, but now I was curious to see what this postwoman would do, so in a daze, I stared after her.

She hesitated to step into the alleyway, which had begun to sink in the twilight,

instead looking around her before running toward some patrolling police officers who were some ways away.

(Aww, truly a fool she is. If only she simply feigned ignorance…)

(As the first witness of the body, she will be questioned and subsequently end up tardy for her deliveries.)

But if she left the body, either the police or the cleaners would have discovered it eventually.

(I take it she is the type to carry more burdens than she needs to.)

The kindest people are the easiest to hurt. Such habits are troublesome because it is much like walking into a bush of thorns.

(A pitiable soul she is.)

(Her naïve honesty will be her downfall and lead her to scenes that reek of blood…)

(Well, I suppose I can only hope this theory remains as such.)

Victor: You went out and used your ability again, didn’t you, Alfons?

The next day, the one who caught me in the hallway was the Queen’s Aide, who was laughing wryly.

Alfons: Well, now, whenever could that be? If you remain so vague like that, I’m afraid I will be unable to pin down exactly which incident you speak of.

A: You see, I am but a frugal soul who is simply using what is at his disposal.

Victor: Just as a friendly reminder, you guys’ existences are to be kept confidential, okay?

Alfons: Now, now, why so caught up in the gritty details?

A: After all, I reckon my ability is about as good as a plain old crook when put next to one like William’s.

Victor: Good lord, you naughty boy, you. It’s a no from me, I say, no!

With an air of jest surrounding his warning, his jewel-like eyes narrowed.

Although he was likely scheming a thing — or perhaps two, this respectable person’s true colors still remained ever unfathomable.

Victor: Anyway, all that aside, tonight marks the day of the mission. Have you made your preparations?

Alfons: Yes, but of course.

Crown, a villainous organization that used evil to fight evil, was going to condemn a target tonight.

It was just going to be like any other dull mission that gave me no room to show a sweet dream in one’s dying moments.

Or, that was what I thought.

As per William’s command, the target slit their own throat, and it was right after that.

The door opened, and in came none other than that postwoman.

Kate: ——!?

Drawing in a breath, I could hear the sound come from her throat.

(…Aww…)

(I know I had foreshadowed this, but even for a prediction, is this not much too soon?)

(Goodness, I just cannot help but wonder how that naïve honesty led you here.)

With blood staining her cheeks, she simply stood there, dumbfounded.

I could practically hear the sound of the cruel reality before her piercing through her gentle heart, even now.

(Oh, please, I would prefer anything over this serious air.)

A dull and boring mission turning into a stage set for a tragedy was much too common to hold an ounce of my interest.

(And if this is bound to become a tragedy,)

(why not simply make it a most amusing stage instead?)

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape. Even should an escape fail you, though…

Alfons: Well, well, to think we had an audience.

——madness will still remain your friend.

In the end, the lady, who introduced herself as Kate, was given a joke of a role dubbed as a ‘fairytale keeper,’

and it was decided that she would be staying in this den of evil for a month.

Alfons: She truly is hapless… I’m certain anyone would find themselves more at home in this world of darkness than a lady such as her.

Shrugging my shoulders while heading toward my own room, Elbert, who was walking beside me, turned to me with worry.

Elbert: …Are you alright, Al?

Alfons: Yes? Now whatever could you be referring to?

Elbert: Well… you seemed somewhat sad, if I had to say.

Alfons: Ahha! I assure you I am anything but.

A: Why, in fact, when will such an opportune moment arise again, where I will have a most interesting plaything for an entire month? Do you truly believe I have capacity for anything but amusement?

Elbert: …I see.

To me, this ordeal was naught but a new plaything, having stumbled in here, I can use to fill this life with amusement.

And to her, this ordeal was naught but the darkness of England that she did not have to witness, and a troublesome role that was pushed onto her.

(And for the both of us, if this can become an entertainment that can divert us, even for a moment, that is all it needs to be.)

Alfons: Truly… I do look forward to this.

Reality knows nothing but cruelty: it will only eat away at your heart before throwing you in the middle of the darkness.

So cease this folly act of trying to face it directly and getting yourself hurt.

(Now——may the time pass us by, much like a most amusing dream.)

← prev next →

NOTE: and this would mark the start of alfons’ route! i feel this route may probably be the least romantic-feeling out of the ones released so far; of course, that’s not to say there isn’t romance, but the way he expresses love is quite subtle and the romance may feel overshadowed by his issues. but i hope the high drama can make up for any (perceived) lack of romance!

truth be told, i feel this route may end up dividing the fandom when it comes to alfons, especially with his actions. and you may find yourself surprised at how kate ends up sort of toughing it out to the very end with him. but i do think, overall, it does take a read through of this route to really understand and delve into the parts of his character the other routes seem to only hint at.

i hope you enjoy this wild ride, if you choose to ride along with me!

masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia @.comment or dm to be added or removed!

[aleksanderscult]

What kind of "Alina" did Aleksander want?

I've seen so many different people in this fandom give their own opinion about how did the Darkling wanted Alina to be.

Did he wanted her meek, weak and obedient?

Did he wanted her strong and powerful?

So I took the liberty of creating this post to analyze this issue through his own words, thoughts and actions.

I know how popular the "Aleksander wanted her submissive by the way he put that collar around her" theory is but it doesn't really stand because:

A) we will never know how things would turn out if Baghra didn't approach Alina that particular night but it actually seems that he wanted to take her with him to the north.

“The key to the Shadow Fold is finally within our grasp, and right now, I should be in the war room, hearing their report. I should be planning our trip north. But I’m not, am I?”

He couldn't keep the truth from her forever so at some point of that journey he would definitely spill the beans to her.

B) he forcefully put the collar around her throat because she showed resistance at the worst possible moment. The Darkling had already set the wheels in motion: the King was slowly getting sick and the whole country (and most importantly, their enemies) would know it (so he had to work fast before anybody got any ideas of siege, rebellion or war) and he himself would have to show his true colors and plans. By having Alina slip away and act all dramatically with Mal was a blow to his plan and stomach since not only he had Alina as an enemy now but he fell for her so her rejection hurt him on a personal level.

(that weekend MUST have been the worst of his life)

He didn't want her to take that power unwillingly:

Or steal her powers in a violent manner:

He had little time and little patience. He worked his ass off for centuries and tolerated so much bullshit from the monarchs. He wouldn't allow her to foil his schemes. But it's also interesting how his feelings got in the way too and, therefore, acted impulsively.

But! How did he want her?

Well, the very fact that he grew up around a very strong, powerful and stubborn woman is an answer by itself. Baghra's influence definitely played its part if you look at this from a psychological point of view.

“It seems that most men are after a significant other that will essentially replace their mum.

A recent study by eHarmony has found that 64 percent of men are in a relationship with someone who shares significant personality traits with their mother. Fortunately, it’s totally normal from an evolutionary, psychological standpoint.”

Many studies have shown that plenty of men and women search a partner that resembles their mother and father respectively.

It wouldn't be surprising if Aleksander was the same given how many centuries he spent with his own mother and how much of an influence the latter was to her son in his childhood.

There is an abundant amount of proof in the books that Aleksander wanted Alina to be strong, powerful, to embrace her true self and believed that there was more to her.

He thought of her as someone like him and could see himself in her, no matter how much Alina denied it.

Baghra raised him to value power, so seeing Alina shy away from it is strange and peculiar to him. She has the chance to change everything and she seeks things that are beneath her. Aleksander can't fathom that because he doesn't believe that she's meant for something as simple and pathetic as this.

He chastises her for the choices she makes and the wishes she has. She was destined to shine and be seen and here we are watching a girl trying to hide her potential.

If Aleksander wanted her submissive he would be glad to see her state in the beginning of S&S. She's weak, right? So a perfect victim to have that can't fight him back. But, in fact, he's furious, disappointed and unsurprised with her state.

Aleksander never wanted her meek or weak. He even admired her stubborness:

(there is a sense of admiration and annoyance here)

BUT he never wanted that stubborness and ferocity to be directed against him:

He even thought of her better than the men that surrounded her and believed that they couldn't measure up to her power:

The aftermath of their battle in the chapel is extremely interesting because we see the Darkling showing a genuine admiration for her powers and how quickly she (sort of) mastered them:

It also seemed that he showed understanding for the fact that she wanted to keep her freedom. Now that was a very good reason to fight him in his eyes. Since the Darkling himself believed in freedom and fought for it.

And, of course, he offered her a throne at his side. He didn't mind sharing power as long as she wasn't an obstacle to his plans.

He strongly believed in equality between them and according to the author he envisioned a future with her:

In order to have someone to keep your power under control then that person needs to be as powerful as you.

And then we have him at his most vulnerable state confess that he didn't lie about equality after all:

He talked about equality again and again. His disgust and anger every time he saw her weak from not using her powers was prevalent as well as his admiration every time she used her powers to their fullest.

The only thing in which he found her inferior to him was her knowledge of power. Which is understandable since Aleksander had much more time to understand it, study it and use it.

In RoW, his anger and disappointment for her state continues.

So:

1) He believed that she could rule as Queen and her life in hiding is not right for her.

2) He believed that she was meant to be powerful and strong and stood by that statement many times.

3) Didn't consider her life a worthy life at all.

The only character in the Grishaverse, the one that people keep saying that she wanted her weak, was the only one that wanted the opposite for her and considered her fate disgusting, wrong and tragic.

His plan of having Alina on an equal stand beside him continued in this book as well:

Which means that he wasn't lying when he said that he didn't intend to make a slave of her.

And of course her stubborness was a trait that he found annoying and admiring at the same time. It showcased how strong-willed she really was:

So according to his own thoughts and words, I would say that Aleksander actually admired her fierceness and determination. It showed strength and he found it attractive. In fact, it probably even enhanced his conviction that she was the right partner for him.

But he didn't want that hostility to be directed against him and his plans. Which is not weird at all because what kind of person would like someone to screw up his goals.

In conclusion: Aleksander was actually the biggest fan of "powerful Alina".

[floweyseviltwin]

helloo. your palettes rule do you maybe have any tips on how you choose your colors :^) no pressure

Ah!!! Thank you!!!

my main tips are to keep values in mind, to not be afraid to saturate the HELL out of your colors, and to use the tools you’re given in digital programs!!!

elaboration & extra tips vvvv

Values- every hue has an inherent value, blue is the darkest, yellow is the lightest, so a saturation or hue change does mean a value change! Whenever i’m working on something more serious, i add a layer with a solid gray on “color“ mode to check my values throughout me making it. (do this as often as you flip your canvas, which you should also be doing fairly often) Values are super iimportant to the composition of your piece, so zoom out really far and see if your piece is still readable off of values!

Saturation- SATURATE YOUR COLORS. every time i color things, i start with a very (halfway to the full saturation or more) saturated color blocked in- often a color i want my character to be tinted- and start from that main color whenever i choose a new one. Though I like to use INCREDIBLY EYE-BLEEDINGLY saturated colors, greys have their place too!!! especially in more soft pieces. I never use fully desaturated greys, whites, or blacks. Again, i keep in mind the inherent value of colors, and use that to keep even my white tones saturated. (often i use a decently saturated cyan or yellow instead of white, and blues, purples, and dark reds instead of black) i also never touch the sides of the color picker when choosing my colors by hand, because it looks nicer.

Tools- this one’s for digital art specifically. Digital programs come with SO MANY useful tools that can improve your pieces so much, it’s silly to overlook them! USE filters, USE curves, USE layer modes!!!!! They’re there for a reason, and they can totally help if you’re too timid to saturate or darken your colors too much.

Other random tip i thought of while writing this that really opened my eyes recently. Try Starting by blocking in your LIGHTEST color, if you change it to be a wildly different hue than your character, then you can use that “white“ hue as reference for the rest of your colors. boom, LIGHTING!!!

^a doodle that came to mind using this. i started wanting the whitest color, their skin, to be this purple hue. so the color of their sweater, normally green, ended up a desaturated Orange because that’s how far it needed to go to appear green!!! Its really good to practice doing colors like this, it gets your artist brain flowin~

i freakin LOVE color theory, i’ve absorbed a lot of my color knowledge from learning from other artists. I reccomend the youtube channel Lighting Mentor for some really good tutorials on color and lighting. That’s one of my favorites, but there is literally a million channels and videos out there for you to learn from! If you type just “color theory“ into the youtube search bar you’ll find so many amazing videos by amazing artists. Don’t shy away from learning more about art!!!!! Embrace it!!!!!!!!!!!!! And GOOD LUCK, HAVE FUN!!!!!!!!!! x^)♡︎♡︎♡︎♡︎

[oyster-sauce-tart]

SAGAU thoughts

I’ve had ENOUGH!!! of all the imposter sagau’s makinh me feel sad (as much as I love them it has completely taken over the genre and don’t like that) so taking matters into my own hands

*ahem*

So I have my own little thought about the multiverse theory in which different universes are constantly created; for every choice you choose, another universe in which you’ve made a different decision is created

Even the world of Genshin is no different.

When you, the Player, first downloaded Genshin impact the concept of a “Creator” was made. A being amongst gods who created everything, who created life to the entire world.

And technically it’s true! You are the Creator of Teyvat!

By deciding to *play* Genshin impact you created a world that is an alternative to the Teyvat you originally knew!

Heck even an another version of you exists!

In every which way this Genshin You is still you. The same appearance the same personality…

Although, this Creator you doesn’t just encapsulate how you act, but how you act and play in Genshin as well

So… if you’re one of those… bloodthirsty players that love to attack every enemy in sight…

The Original

Disclaimers: mentions of reader’s death, brief description of gore (getting hit by a truck isn’t a very nice experience), Aether is the traveler (mentioned), 2nd person pov/GN!reader, Reader is referred to as ‘The Original’ with no other name mention, I did all this on mobile w/o any spell check, implied Reader was an academic focused college student before death

You had originally thought, that when you died everything would merely turn black. Or maybe you would reincarnate into another person, forgetting your old life and starting anew.

You’d have yet to know that’s what exactly was going to happen (more or less) but we’d still have yet to approach that part of this tale.

After that spiraling truck hit you square in the body, knocking you out cold with too many injuries and too much blood loss for your body keep you breathing, you had woken up with perfect health.

Erm… well… sorta. You weren’t bleeding out with your limbs thrown every which way, with pieces of your bones poking out of your flesh, anymore but you didn’t really feel… anything. Just floaty, and a bit tingly…?

“Well, yes, transferring your consciousness from one realm to another before it drifted away at the last second can bring out that weird feeling… you may want to ask Aether about that, they might empathize with you.”

…

what.

It had suddenly came to your attention that you were laying down. On someone’s lap. Who’s lap? Well you still had your eyes closed so you decided to open them and jump up to stand in order to see what in the utter hell was going on.

You jump out of whoever’s embrace you were in and opened your eyes. You saw that you seemed to be in some kind of… space…?

The best way to describe it was like being taken to space to see the stars up close except you didn’t need a space suit, you were breathing just fine! As well as the fact that the surface your feet was under rippled like water droplets yet you didn’t sink nor stumble from the weird feeling.

“An amazing realm we’re in isn’t it? I’m glad I created this and hid up here after that dastardly war…”

Ah right the mysterious voice talking to you that suspiciously sounded like yours if you took etiquette lessons.

You finally turn to look up at the voice and your eyes widened. It wasn’t just that voice that sounded like you… the person standing in front of you looked exactly like you!

Down to the skin, hair, and eye color, the height, the body tone and shape, even those little marks that only you would recognize…! It’s like looking in a mirror…! Ah well sort of…

First of, the hair color you two may share but their’s was much longer than yours. It even reached down to drag across the water-space-floor thing. And also they weren’t wearing the same clothes at you, but rather in some really pretty and delicate looking robes. Although this person had the upper half of the robe be loosely worn hanging off the shoulders showing a moderately tight turtleneck.

You couldn’t lie you wanted some of those garbs yourself, did this lookalike had a closet you could borrow maybe…

Ah wait speaking of which…

After ogling at your mirror image’s body, you immediately pointed at your doppelgänger with an accusatory tone. As if you weren’t just admiring their beautiful wardrobe and fashion choice.

“Who are you?!” you shouted at them. You tried on a loud voice to make yourself seem more threatening.

Alas, you were more of the academic type rather than the intimidating one so this person-who-looked-like-but-wasn’t-quite-you-you-think merely chuckled and looked at you with a rather admirable look.

Slowly they started to get closer to you with a chill and calm walk and once they were close enough to you they placed their hands to hold onto yours. You had noticed their hands were as just as rough as your own, although you didn’t know why this person’s were like that you can thank yourself for your own hand texture thanks to years of taking scholarly notes until your wrists cramped up during college lectures.

They stared at your hands, having had come to a similar realization and rubbed the back of your hands in a delicate manner.

They looked at you again.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you… my Original…”

…

WHAT.

[ Prologue, The Realm of Inbetween 1: END ]

Well ummmmmm this went a big longer than I intended,,,

Originally wanted to just spew out thoughts then I blacked out and now here’s this. I’ll actually continue this tbh this is real good and I’ve been wanting to write smth for this idea for awhile soo lol

Umm anyways cue end card-

Ty for reading <3

As always, I am unable to respond to replies so please show your support for my writing with reblogs, asks, or even dms!

Feel free to read my Carrd here to keep track of requests or Masterlist!

[vitiligo-is-not-a-trend]

Hello!! How are you? I’m a writer and I’d like to incorporate someone with vitiligo into my story, however, I don't know much, which is kind of a problem seeing as I want to be sensitive to the community. Would you be so kind as to tell me some things you do/don't want to see in characters that have vitiligo? Thank you so much!

Hi! Im good thanks for asking, hope you're also doing well!

That's a wonderful question! Before I start I'm just gonna say these are my views on the subject so if anyone else with vitiligo wants to chime in please do so! I'm probably gonna miss a few things!

Let's start with the donts first, and I very much appreciate the fact that you also asked for dos!

I think one of the more a major issues I see around vitiligo have to do with the way in which it's designed. I've made a few posts about it in the past with more details, I think theyre tagged under "character design( tips)". So doing things like making repeated shape patterns like hearts or animal prints or like skulls or whatever is Not Great. This includes making humanized versions of animals. Like recently for the new Puss in Boots movie a lot of people were drawing Kitty Softpaws as a human with vitiligo, and that just...does not feel great lmao. I am aware that things like that don't come from malice but it feels like being compared to an animal in a way.

Another issue I've seen is when it comes to how the character developed vitiligo it happened due to some curse or magic or (demonic) possession something along those lines. This is also a very bad idea, seeing as it's basically demonizing the condition.

Vitiligo is also complicated when it comes to its genetic. There are working theories/plausible explanations for how it occurs but there are a lot of varying factors. However, it is NOT passed down genetically (to an extent) so having a child does NOT mean that you're character's child will also have the condition. It is also not something you get get at birth/in the womb.

Don't change the coloration of it! Vitiligo is DEFINED as a lack of pigmentation, not a change in it, so you can't have characters walking around with pink and patches. You could make an argument with yellow if its for legos I guess but unless you're drawing every white person lego as that neon yellow I'd avoid it still.

Don't only give it your characters of color!! Especially if you only have a few! I feel like this is something I see frequently unfortunately, but having a character with vitiligo or albinism or pibaldism or whatever doesnt make a character less or more of one race or another. I saw a post where someone said it's "curing POC" so....yeah big yikes. I know because it's not as visible on white people some people dont think they can have it, and it doesnt get used frequently in examples which doesnt really help so yeah.

Also try not to make them a villian especially if theyre the only character with vitiligo

As for the Dos:

I'd love to see a character embrace this aspect of themselves. I know a lot of people and for a very long time myself include feel a sense of shame about it. It took me years to get to a point where I feel comfortable let alone happy about having it.

I'd love to see another character comment on it with a compliment, and have the majority of other characters reacting positively and/or neutrally towards its.

However this is technically a disability and there are people out there that do make fun of people for having it so maybe lightly touching on that would also be a good idea. if you don't feel comfortable out-right writing a scene like that, mentioning things in passing like "oh yeah I got bullied for it when I was younger" or "I actually used to cover it up with clothes and makeup" are good ideas.

Having your character also be aware of things like the time and UV index and whether or not they have sunscreen on is also important. Vitiligo is essentially the lack of melanin, which means that there's no real natural defense against sun exposure at play so being sensitive/aware of these things is a good idea especially if they're fairly new to the condition.

Maybe there's another character that also has vitiligo present in at least some aspect. Whether its just some person that your character looks up to and doesn't know personally, but knowing that they have it makes them feel better about themselves. For me this was Michael Jackson!

This is technically kind of a dont but vitiligo spots are very different depending on the variation that a person has! Spots seem to have a relatively slow progression and, as I mentioned, depending on variation, might not progress at all past certain areas. So if the character has a more progressing variation like Universal or Segmental maybe another character can note that a patch or few have gotten larger since they've last saw them especially if its been awhile and not like last moth.

That's all I can really think of as of now, but I'll reblog this if I think of anything else to add!

[ausetkmt]

When Donald Trump talks about undocumented immigrants, he often brings up genetics.

Immigrants are “poisoning the blood of our country,” he said at a rally last year.

“Many of them murdered far more than one person, and they’re now happily living in the United States,” he said earlier this month. “You know, now a murderer, I believe this, it’s in their genes. And we got a lot of bad genes in our country right now.” 

The former president’s language underscores a larger trend, experts tell STAT. The eugenics movement is once again taking center stage in the U.S. — both in the immigration policies and rhetoric promoted by Trump, and through a rise in race science in academic literature.

Eugenics — the pseudoscientific idea of fixing social problems through genetics and heredity via policies ranging from selective breeding to forced sterilization and genocide — was popular at the turn of the 20th century, before the devastation of the Holocaust quelled public support for it. The reasons for its resurgence include an increase in funding of race science from private donors, as well as proponents of scientific racism and white nationalists manipulating the push to make science more public. 

Even well-intentioned scientists have fed into this shift by promoting genetic determinism — the idea that genes are the primary driver of traits and behaviors — and by platforming problematic work in the name of academic freedom. 

“I wasn’t surprised that people are being demagogic about this stuff, but I am a little surprised that they’re so clearly not even hiding [it],” said Paul Lombardo, a professor of law at Georgia State University who has done extensive work on the legacy of eugenics. “This is not just saying the quiet part out loud. This is coming up with quotations in which, instead of using quotation marks, you’ve got swastikas at each end of the sentence.”

‘Bad genes’ and the birth of eugenics

Trump is frequently accused of racism, but the fact that he is embracing eugenic thinking has not drawn sufficient attention, according to Shannon O’Brien, a political scientist at the University of Texas, Austin, who has written a book on eugenics in American politics. 

While racists harbor hatred for others because of their ethnicity or the color of their skin, eugenicists take it a step further and “like to legislate people out of existence,” O’Brien said. “They are OK with sterilization. They’re okay with extermination, and they believe that certain groups are superior and it’s OK to enact things that make it difficult for other ones to exist. I find that far scarier than racism.” 

Asked about Trump’s rhetoric and the eugenics movement and his remarks about “bad genes,” Karoline Leavitt, the campaign’s press secretary, told STAT, “President Trump was clearly referring to murderers, not migrants.’’

The former president also has a history of statements suggesting that certain people are genetically superior. A 2016 documentary pointed out Trump’s father, Fred, introduced him to “racehorse theory” as a child — the idea that “that if you put together the genes of a superior woman and a superior man, you get superior offspring.” He’s used this idea to promote his own intelligence as well. “I had an uncle who went to MIT who is a top professor, Dr. John Trump. A genius. It’s in my blood. I’m smart,” he told CNN in 2020. 

This way of talking about genetics is rooted in a long history that begins with the English anthropologist Francis Galton, who took his cousin Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution and applied it to humans, first using the term eugenics in 1883. The nascent field of eugenics matured into a full-fledged field of study in the United States. Much later, in the 1990s, the sequencing of the human genome inadvertently created a new surge in eugenics — emboldened by the idea that scientists could isolate genes responsible for complex behaviors, like poverty, crime and intelligence. 

How companies like 23andMe bolstered genetic determinism  

Those affiliated with the Human Genome Project hoped sequencing the genome would end notions that genetics created significant differences in different groups — “that it would lead us to this post-racial world,” said Aaron Panofsky, the director of the Institute for Society and Genetics at the University of California, Los Angeles. 

“But it turns out that both scientists and the public spend all their interest in the 0.1% of genetic variation that makes us different, not the 99.9% that makes us the same.”

In promoting their research to the public and getting research funding from the government, geneticists often hyped up the role genes play in people’s lives. The Human Genome Project “was a huge public undertaking,” said Emily Merchant, a historian of science at the University of California, Davis. “It was almost $3 billion and took more than a decade to complete. So it needed a lot of popular support. The scientists who were trying to generate that popular support did it by promoting genetic determinism.”

This sentiment persisted in ensuing years because of popular genetic testing companies like 23andMe and Ancestry.com, which marketed its products with the premise that an understanding of genetics held the secret to good health and could quantify people’s sense of belonging to racial or ethnic groups. 

In the early 2010s, there was another shift in how mainstream academic circles discussed ideas that intelligence was genetic or that race had a biological basis. Richard Lynn, a psychologist who claimed that people from certain countries had lower IQs, promoted a biased dataset on IQ differences between countries that became increasingly widespread in academia. Another theory, called “differential K theory,” began to circulate around this time, stating that Black people have lower IQs and are more aggressive. 

“The national IQ database, differential K theory, they should have died the death bad science deserves to die. They have no scientific merit,” said Rebecca Sear, an evolutionary behavioral scientist at Brunel University who has documented the resurgence in eugenics in demography. “They’ve both been extensively critiqued. They are both currently thriving in the academic literature.”

While controversial among the scientific community, ideas like Lynn’s continued to spread in academia, in part because of the ethos of academic freedom — the idea that scholars should be able to research and debate any issues in their field, and that rejecting a paper based on problematic findings is tantamount to censorship.  

“That’s a very, very problematic argument, but I think it is quite widespread,” Sear said. “Academic freedom isn’t the freedom to say literally anything in an academic forum. It’s the freedom to say anything with a sound methodological basis.” 

While these ideas lacked scientific rigor, Sear explained, they were often not intended for other scientists. “Scientific racism really is not aimed at academia. It’s aimed at the outside world. And this, I think, is why it’s so often such bad science,” Sear said.

The appropriation of open science 

The open science movement around this time also proved to boost the spread of flawed research on race, ethnicity, and genetics. Academic journals increasingly were publishing papers without paywalls, so anyone could access them, and often requiring the data underpinning research to be available. 

Some scientists had also begun posting early drafts of their work, called “preprints,” on public forums. By doing science in the public square this way, people with explicit political agendas could access, manipulate, and reinterpret published research in a way that sometimes took academics by surprise.  

Online, white nationalists used popular genetic testing websites to prove how white they were, and reanalyzed scientific data with a bent to affirming biological differences between races. They also seized on uncertainty among biologists about how to discuss race in the academic literature. Discussion forums on the subject might lean on anti-science conspiracy theories, but users could sometimes make sophisticated arguments about statistical uncertainties or the distinction between correlation and causation.

“They read both against and with the scientific literature, and that’s the way in which it becomes a very complicated dance that they sometimes make,” said Panofsky, who has studied the ways that far-right movements weaponize genetics. 

The solution to the weaponization of genetics isn’t gatekeeping research, experts studying the issue agree. But, they say that academia hasn’t confronted the ways science can be used to embolden bigotry. 

“We have basically a metric for how much Nazis like your research,” said Jedidiah Carlson, a population geneticist at Macalester College who led an analysis of how preprints circulate among right-wing extremists online. But it’s not a feature many are interested in. He wants to see researchers more attuned to the long-term impact of their work. 

Incentive structures in research are also responsible for the continued popularity of research on topics like the links between genetics and intelligence or educational attainment, Carlson said. It’s “easy to get money for it, because you can say this has immediate policy implications for education and immigration policy … It’s just treated as this generic ‘apolitical’ research when it never has been.”

Challenging the idea that genes are ‘in the driver’s seat’

The failure to deeply engage with the dark history of eugenics and the way it’s informed a number of academic fields is linked to current political hostility directed toward immigrants, according to Marielena Hincapié, an immigration scholar and lawyer at Cornell University who hosted a symposium on the 100-year legacy of eugenics and the Immigration Act of 1924. 

She points to recent attacks on immigrant communities carried out by people that believe in the Great Replacement Theory, a conspiracy that posits there is a concerted effort to diminish the power and influence of white people in the United States. The gunman behind one such attack, in Buffalo, New York, directly cited genetics research in his thinking.

The incident sparked some soul searching within the genetics community, which has also pushed back on problematic use of its research. In one case, a genetics consortium challenged the use of its data by a private company to screen embryos. On another occasion, a now-defunct app claimed it could test users on whether they had genes associated with same-sex sexual orientation, drawing on a paper published in Science. That prompted a protest petition signed by more than 1,600 scientists. 

There’s also growing interest in the scientific community in how social determinants, such as economic policies, racism, and climate change, shape people’s health, and in the field of epigenetics, which studies how the environment affects gene expression. These paradigms open up an understanding that “genes are not necessarily in the driver’s seat, but they’re in an interactive relationship with a whole bunch of other factors,” said Panofsky. “They seem to open a door to a post-deterministic biology and genetics.” 

Even so, the field has yet to truly rethink its buy-in of the idea that genes play a central role in people’s abilities and behaviors, Panofsky said. That thinking can inadvertently support the kind of problematic rhetoric Trump has applied to immigrants. While much of the U.S. has moved on and forgotten about its eugenic past, the country hasn’t done the work to refute the ideas it made so popular. 

“We presume that we’ve done the work of rooting these matters out of our society,” said Michele Goodwin, a professor of constitutional law and global health at Georgetown Law. “But that presumption is proving to be quite thin and weak in these times.”

Just over 100 years ago, eugenicist Harry Laughlin testified before the U.S. House of Representatives that “The character of our civilization will be modified by the ‘blood’ or the natural hereditary qualities which the sexually fertile immigrant brings to our shores.” His argument wouldn’t be out of place today.

[floral-ashes]

Thought I’d share this review of Gender/Fucking: The Pleasures and Politics of Living in a Gendered Body, posted to Goodreads by a user named Haley:

“Wow, wow, WOW— this is a book that invites you, the reader, not only to learn but also to EXPLORE— it’s a patchwork quilt of memoirs, erotic interludes, and critical analysis, and it’s gripping and devastating at every turn. Florence Ashley, a transfem jurist and bioethicist, is a brilliant writer with a penchant for luscious prose and biting commentary. This collection is equally brilliant, introducing the concept of “academic smut” as a vehicle for telling stories of love, loss, growth, and tragedy against a backdrop of trans identity and intellectualism. As a nonbinary person, I found myself represented in living color on every page; reading this collection left me tear-stained and devastated, and yet immeasurably hopeful at the same time. It’s a storytelling format I could never have predicted enjoying, as I’m rather open about not enjoying erotica as a written genre (with the exception of fanfiction!) due to my own discomfort with first-person-POV sex— however, the erotica here DOES something. It gives a tangible example of the theories and thought-processes that Florence describes in each chapter; it gives the reader an opportunity to imagine sexual dynamics playing out not only in front of them but with them in the driver’s seat, and again— as someone whose queer activities echo some of Florence’s own, it was deeply eye-opening to see myself and my desires on paper that exposes the pleasure, shame, and possibilities that we all partake in.

In particular, I'm drawn to one phrase that Florence concludes with in their "Trespass on the Fox" essay: these are questions without answers. am i open to being loved, to being lovable? maybe. Upon reading that, I had to sit and stare blankly at the wall for a time I can't begin to measure. Not only for the raw questioning of how I exist in regards to love, but for the openness in stating that these words, and all the words in Florence's collection, do not exist to serve as definitive answers of, well, pretty much anything! I've spent the past 18 years of my life entrenched in academia, and the idea that I don't have to always answer "yes" or "no" when asked about my "take" on something isn't necessarily foreign, but it's under-represented in nonfiction works, and it was a breath of fresh air to see it so frankly discussed here.

Though I am hesitant to describe any essay in detail, as I do truly think each entry deserves to be experienced firsthand, I want to conclude my review with an analysis of "Libidinal Vertigo," one of two essays that Florence warns about in their Preface for their potentially-triggering material. It's a deeply unsettling essay for two reasons: one, it discusses famed (or, rather, infamous) TERF (trans-exclusionary radical feminists) scholars like Mary Daly in detail, and their works are ones that have caused me a lot of personal strife as well; two, it explores Florence's (and that of all transfem folx) vulnerability to the very same transphobic rhetoric that most of us wish was contained solely in now-fading academic texts. We (and I use this word here confidently, despite existing not as a transfem person as AFAB and nonbinary) are all deeply susceptible to the internalized transphobia that runs rampant across our social media threads and bathroom-sink conversations. Florence, in protest of Janice Raymond's vitriol, invites us to embrace our monstrosity... echoing a brilliant passage of poetry discussing Frankenstein many pages prior. If they cast us as monsters, without giving us a chance to recite our lines, then perhaps we should acknowledge our hatred— and use it as fuel to empower healing amongst our own.

I cannot put into words how much I recommend this collection; it deserves to be immortalized in the canon of transgender studies, and it also deserves to be passed around amongst friends and highlighted and annotated to no end, the pages themselves becoming a living museum of memory and community. Whether you are trans, cis, or beginning your own journey of self-discovery, this book is a light amongst a sea of uncertainty and darkness, and I highly encourage you to pick up a copy of your own.

Note: I receive a gifted ARC from Clash Books; as always, I was under no obligation to leave a review, and all my thoughts/ramblings are my own <3”

[bonesy-doodles]

Can you explain your process of how you came up with your ghoul designs?? I’m struggling a tiny bit and wanted to know if you could share a bit about your process 🖤🖤🖤

Hello!!! Of course! I can try my best. I hope this helps :D

I guess I should start with saying that I've been designing characters for years now, I think I've either hit ten years since I started or am about to hit the mark. Which means I've gained a lot of knowledge when it comes to design processes and such, which I put to use when doing all of the Ghouls. I always recommend looking into things like shape language, color theory, color language, and things like that. Just having a basic understanding of what parts of character design can say about the character and communicate their personality is really helpful. Some of my ghouls are rounder, softer, while others are sharper, more edgy and those things will communicate different things. Dewdrop is very sharp, which makes him look dangerous, while Cumulus is very round, which makes her look friendlier.

I think most of my ideas for the ghouls actually comes from the fact that I've been playing Dungeons and Dragons since I was a freshman in high school, and races like Tieflings and Genasi really helped me when thinking about what elemental demons would look like. I also knew, when going into my ghoul designs, that I wanted them to literally embody their element, not just be a gray demon with some minor things here and there (not saying that that sort of design is bad, I just wanted something more cause I LOVE details).

So, I sat down and looked at each of the ghouls, their elements, as well as things about their stage presence. I would highly recommend just thinking about what you would do for common features of each different element. Like, what would a fire ghoul's skintone range be like, would they be reptilian or dragon-like, what sort of ear shapes or horn shapes are common for them. Then move onto the next element. I've described Quintessence ghouls as space/spirit ghouls, but so far all I've drawn are space inspired Quint ghouls (but plan on making other ghost-like).

That's basically what I did to start off. Fire ghouls often have red, orange, and brown skin tones, resembling a literal fire, and will draw their visual appearance from different types of heat sources (lava, fire, sun, etc.) Reptilian scales, pointed ears and thin pointed horns that tend to go straight up. Quintessence ghouls are bovine like, they got cow ears, swirly horns, and space freckles.

Once I had all the figured out, I just started drawing. This was actually the fifth time I was attempting to design the ghouls, so embrace the trial and error, see what you like and don't be afraid to scrap what you don't like. Literally, Mountain does not look anything like my first attempt at designing him. Dewdrop on the hand stayed mostly consistent, with somethings changed or scrapped here or there. Sunshine, for example, I redid her color palette alone three different times because I couldn't capture the sunspot design the exact way I wanted to.

Character design is trial and error, just keep on trying different iterations, keep finding new inspiration, and I highly recommend making Pinterest boards of references and inspiration to help.

[storyowls]

Anna Harris: Pre-Embrace drabbles

Some of the drabbles I did for my VtM character Anna!

Warning, these works can include: Mentions of a body, negative feelings towards family, death of a family member, and strong language.

The weird, uneasy feeling that I expect to have in my tiny dorm isn’t there. All media has told me that I’d feel weird being away from my family, so removed yet so close. But I don’t, I don’t feel that at all.

I feel relieved.

The relief fades as I realize what that means. That nagging, aching, buried in my chest and squeezing my throat feeling. My hands cover my face as I try to hold it all inside, like the scared seventeen year old that I am. All my cousins are so much older than me, the youngest was ten when I was born. And uncle Rocco….he was nine, when I came around, but he cared.

He cared so much.

The others didn’t.

I was just there, a constant, annoying, young kid who was too small to do what they wanted to do. I was just annoying to teenagers, young adults. They had moved on so far with life when I was a teenager myself.

The severed feeling I felt from that side of the family when he died is still strangling my soul so hard.

I don’t belong, I never belonged. I’m so sorry Rocco.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

And I hate that I will never belong.

Mom insisted on putting a full body mirror in my tiny dorm (I’m tossing a sheet over it, fuck this) and I don’t want to tell her how I feel. We stand in front of it, and I just stare at myself. Try to ignore how different we look, how Dad’s genes won over hers except for the color of my hair.

I can’t even look like the others, can I?

She makes a comment about how beautiful I am, placing a hand on my shoulder. Am I, Mom? Am I really when I’m so far detached from the family? I can’t tell her about the aching in my chest, the longing for a sense of belonging.

How I’ve wanted to scream at her for making me have a different last name than everybody else.

She seems to be done with her check in on me (please give me space to grieve whom I never was in peace), and starts to walk towards the door. I follow her, we talk for half an hour more as her hand rests on the handle. I watch as she leaves before stepping back in and shutting the door.

And I toss a sheet over that stupid mirror.

The sketchbook is full.

Looking down at the last page, I study the drawings of a dissected tulip. The Darwin Hybrid tulip breed; beautiful, steady, a resilient flower for any discerning gardener. Or the favorite of a somewhat depressed, extremely bored college student. It’s my sophomore year, still stuck doing my general classes. I’ve moved to a somewhat bigger place; a near by apartment complex with my first roommate from the dorms.

And she’s currently out on a date so I have the place to myself.

Letting out a content sigh, I grab my fancy colored pencils and begin to color the pictures. I’m happy with this, feel like a real artist. And a real big dork too, haha. I soon finish up, closing the sketchbook up and going to hide it for now. Maybe I’ll share these one day.

Hell maybe I’ll design my own tattoo sometime.

But for now, I’m just get another sketchbook and fill that up too. Got a lot of plants to draw after all.

And a lot of college ahead of me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad. A country singer and a man who, if he so decided, could break the blue grass music industry with a smile and a wave created me. I do not sing country, I do not play blue grass.

I do metal.

I quietly pluck my guitar strings, my roommate out for the night to celebrate her first degree. We’re both very driven, ready for more, and we’ve agreed to move into one of the college apartments once we leave this dorm. More room, more privacy. And the parking doesn’t suck.

As for me, I’ve recently finished my minor in music theory, making Mom prouder than the day she got her first platinum album. Dad voiced his pleasure in a letter, and I can feel the radiating warmth of his joy. This degree has made Mom back off a little, giving me room to go after my true joys.

The sound of my music quietly fills the air as I try not to be a disturbance to our neighbors. Music sheets litter the tiny, shitty desk I have crammed into a corner. I pause, picking up my marker to connect a few more notes, write down another line in the lyrics. This has been my little project for a while, a hidden knowledge and joy. Smiling, I hold the pages up to see what I have.

Mom probably wouldn’t like it, but I don’t care. The words work, the music works. I just need somebody else to be part of this, and the song will be perfect. It’s me, all the way down to the screams and the resentment, it’s me.

I got the singing from Mom, the guitar skills from Dad, and the song from me and me alone.

I’m sitting through a classmate’s dissertation defense. While most people outside us would be bored, I and the others here are fascinated. Out of the corner of my eye I see their family; a bunch of fellow nerds in some degree. They may not fully understand, but they’re clearly interested.

I wonder how mine will look, if they come.

While most of them went to some form of schooling beyond high school (yes, trade school counts and it’s very important), their interests didn’t exactly align with mine. Most went into business, music, trades, and a couple became lawyers.

I once more settle under the very lonely “odd ball” section of the family.

Sitting back in my seat, I let my mind snap back to my classmate. Charles catches my attention briefly, tilting his head as if asking me a question. I nod in reply, knowing what he’s curious about. Giving me that soft, knowing smile, he turns back to the front and I follow his lead.

Damn, he’s good at knowing when I need him.

The defense wraps up, and we all stand around to talk for a little. After about ten or so minutes we disperse, going off in our own merry little ways. My mind thinks about Charles, trying to not think about who I will see at the end of the week. I spot him ahead, clearly waiting for me with a hand out stretched.

I eagerly take it when I catch up to him.

I try not to look too much at them as I give my defense, I don’t need to see. My paternal grandparents clearly are into it...mom and her side are doing their best to be supportive, but it’s all falling a little flat. Of course it is, but I’m trying not to let it get to me.

My classmates are into it, watching and listening intently. They’re my people, and I’m their person. I keep my attention on them, giving little glances once in a while as they watch. Charles is here, of course, and there’s a big smile on his face. It breaks my heart for a moment, knowing that we’re going to be parting ways after graduation.

I’m going to LA, and he’s going to Alaska.

I let my mind go back to the task at hand, finishing with a sense of triumph and confidence. My family come up to talk with me a little before leaving. Mom lingers a little, the smile of a proud mother on her face as she tells me I did great. I know I did, but I don’t say anything. I watch her leave before going to my classmates. We talk, and I let the pain melt away for a little bit.

I try to ignore the fact that I’m part of the painful, lonely “odd ball” section of the family where nobody else resigns.

It’s midnight, and I need a rush of caffeine before I fall asleep on the next job site. I know I’ve joked about wanting a dirt nap during exam season, but I did not mean like that. Pulling into a parking spot at the random gas station between point B and C, I look at the building. Lively enough to hopefully have coffee, but quiet enough that only the single person on shift will be there to judge my piss poor life choices.

Perfect.

Grabbing my purse, I pull my lanyard off and shove it in there so as not to just hand out my name to random people. My van shifts slightly as I open the door and climb out, which doesn’t surprise me anymore. Maybe someday I’ll get something else, something that hasn’t seen Michigan winters. Double check the doors locked before shutting the driver’s side and heading inside.

I don’t even check to see if somebody’s at the counter, I’m technically on break so I can take a moment to just look around. If they’re off doing something, they’ll come back. And since I’m here, might as well get some sort of lunch…late dinner, early as shit breakfast? I consider getting a hot dog, but eh, I’m just going to chip it.

Looks like I haven’t really gotten out of the college mindset yet. Getting a PhD will do that to ya.

After grabbing my chips of choice, I look at the coffee. Oh, oh no. It looks like the last shift made this, and I know stuff happens, but not this. Even I have standards for my coffee, and something I’d do to torture myself during my dissertation period isn’t on the list.

Once was enough, thanks.

This means I’m stuck with energy drinks, fuck me. Turning, I look at my choices, no to the Red Bull, the Monster….shit. I resign myself to my fate of the tiny, weird looking bottle of 5-hour Energy. Picking it up, I decide to stop wasting time and go up to the counter.

The person on shift looks like they don’t wanna be here. Don’t really think I can blame them. As they scan my items I notice the multiple magazines they have laid out to read when nobody’s around. I wonder when the last customer they saw before me was. I count the change out once they’re done, handing it over. The worker quickly glances it over, seeming somewhat grateful for exact change, and puts it in the register.

Once I’m handed my receipt, I pick my things up, say bye, and leave. There’s a strange, lingering sense of emptiness as I step out into the parking lot. I decide to chalk it up to the time of night, and unlock my van before slipping inside. It shifts as I get inside and slam the door closed.

Double checking that the doors are locked, I turn it on just enough for the radio. I put on the lanyard once more, making sure my work ID is facing out so people know who I am. Ripping the energy drink open, I let out a sigh before drinking it the only way I know. Chugging it.

If these people wanted me to sip it like a fine wine, they’re going to have to make the idea seem good.

Once done, I put the bottle and its cap in the little bag I have for trash. Fully starting my engine, and after buckling up, I start to back out of the spot I’ve been holding onto. I can eat in the parking lot of my next destination (damn me for not packing a real lunch), chill out for the rest of my break before pretending to be a whole person for some other botanist.

It’s sometime after midnight, and I’m banking on a rush of caffeine to carry me through the rest of the night.

Well, this certainly wakes me up.

Pulling out my phone, I find the non-emergency line for the police. After giving them the details of where I am, and what I found, I hang up and call my boss. She seems surprised and states that she’s on her way to me.

“How far back are you standing?”

“I backed up like five feet the instant I saw what I dug up.”

“Okay, good. I’ll be there soon, you just wait.” She hangs up and I put my phone away. 

I back up a few feet more, just to make sure. I’m still within sight so I can keep an eye on it, and this way nobody has to try and find me. 

Luckily I already have lights set up so I’m not just sitting in the dark. Sighing, I go and get my book from my purse before sitting down. I leaf through the pages, and wait.

It’s not like the body’s going anywhere anyway.

My boss gets here a few minutes before the police who instantly go to the body. She and I discuss how this will probably slow down the job site for a few days. There’s promises that I’ll still be paid, even though I’m not working. Works for me; I probably just saved her a lot of legal headache by finding it tonight.

I hear a cop remark that the body looks pretty fresh, and my heart sinks.

I try not to think about how it took some willpower to not just stand and stare at what I found for a few minutes before calling. The classes I took in college really piqued my curiosity in this line of work, though I was going to stick with the botany. 

I hope whoever this is gets identified and returned to whoever cares about them.

A cop comes over to talk to me. I pull out the laminated map showing where the dig sites were supposed to be and explain I was to get dirt samples. The workers during the day dug up the exact spots already, I didn’t have to do much that night.

“However,” I pull out a white board marker, circling the spot where the body was, “this was not supposed to be dug up. Naturally this got my attention, and I was very careful during my look over. The soil seemed to be dug up later too. So I carefully dug up some of the dirt and well…”

“You found the victim. What’d you do then?”

“I dropped my tool on the edge of the hole I dug up and then backed up about five feet before calling. I already messed with the scene enough, I didn’t want to do more damage.”

“Well, you didn’t do enough to mess with our work, and thank you for calling right away Miss Harris, we appreciate it. We’ll get our stuff set up so you can get yours and get home. Hopefully this won’t keep you up tonight.”

“Yeah, hopefully, thanks officer.” I watch him walk away before standing back, not wanting to get in the way. I’ve definitely earned the right to spend the rest of the night at a karaoke bar after this. 

And that’s where I’ll be.

I stand in front of the shitty, second hand full sized mirror I got at the thrift store. I’ve shoved it into a corner of my bedroom where I can easily hide it, turn it away. But I’m looking myself over, thinking about how I’ve grown and changed since the last mirror I had.

The one I smashed in college.

I have the stare of a stubborn fool who got a doctorate in something most people don’t wanna hear about. It’s going to be a struggle making friends, I feel like, for many reasons. I can just imagine the awkward silence when I introduce myself now.

The stares that tell me I don’t belong here.

I turn, staring over my shoulder as I check out the backwards reflections of my patches. Most collected over the years, bought myself or gifted. A couple of them…well, if Ridley wanted to keep them he should’ve come the fuck back to Detroit.

The thought that I probably won’t find him ever again catches in my throat and I choke down the tears.

Instead, I just stare at myself, Mom’s words about how beautiful I am ringing in my ears; metaphorically of course. Straightening myself up, I grab the tattered sheet I brought with me and toss it over the mirror. I can bring myself to stare at it some other time.

But for now, I’m going to a quick job to do before I go to church.

I exit the church, disappointed but somehow not surprised. There’s the aching pain in my chest, again, the longing of…something I’d rather not admit. Times like these make me wish I smoked so I’d have something to cut the anxiety.

Coffee doesn’t help and I’m not too keen on having too many college level nights with a punch bowl again.

My mind turns to the one guy I sat down by, the one with the stare of a man who hated nearly everybody he saw in there. It was fucking creepy, but somehow, I related. Maybe he feels just as let down by this whole shitshow like I do, maybe that’s what led me to talk to him. That or the fact that I’m dressed like a metal head dipshit and he was rocking the crusty punk look.

Fucking hell, what good is a PhD if you don’t know how to control your emotions?

I realize that I paused by the door’s side, not blocking the entry way but still close enough to hear any loud praying inside. I wish that stuff worked, gave me any sort of peace. Instead I have to deal with the fact that I’m just an idiot who thought that moving to LA would fix me in some fashion. Sure, being away from Mom helps, but…

Shaking my head, I turn and go towards the parking lot. Maybe I’ll just go drink some shitty coffee at Mic’s, scream the emotions out. Probably going to make some shitty art tonight, that’ll help for sure.

And I just need to ignore the aching in my chest.

Oh fucking hell, is this another body?

Is it going to be a common trend for me to find bodies while on the job? If so I’m going to need more...personal test tubes. I look around, spotting nobody. Fuck it, might as well. I back up to my equipment, grabbing one of the “spare” test tubes I keep on hand. In reality it’s for more, well, opportune moments like this.

I need to back up my college work somehow, right?

I’m quick to grab some of the dirt that’s furthest away from the body. I stare at it for a moment, guessing that it’s been in this spot for at least six months. A guess, of course, I’m no expert. I desperately want to study it more, but I can’t. Pocketing the tube, I back up and make yet another call.

I just hope nobody saw me.

I’m having the dream again.

Rocco sits across from me at one of the many coffee tables my grandparents owned in one of multiple sitting rooms. We’re on the floor, playing cards sprawled out in front of us. Probably UNO, not that the memory would serve me well. He’s got that smile on his face, and I can feel my heart sinking.

“Hey kid, what’s up?”

“Oh, same old…”

“College done?”

“Yeah, moved out to LA.”

“...didn’t wanna be by your mom?”

“….I couldn’t take it anymore. Being there.”

“Come on kiddo, you know she loves you.”

“And she loved you.” My voice breaks a little as I stare at him. His face falters for a second as he glances at me. “I know she blames herself for what happened. Over heard her talking to Dad once.”

“And why does she blame herself?”

“I know she asked you to come pick me up from school, surprise me. I was having one of my days after, after…”

“The diagnosis.”

“Yeah, that. She knew that you getting me would just make my whole day so much better. So she asked you, and you were coming..”

“And the guy side swiped me.” He pauses, looking me over. “You don’t blame her, do you?”

“Never.”

“Then who do you blame?” I don’t want to answer, feeling like I can’t breath despite it being a dream. “Anna, darling, who do you blame?”

“Me, I blame me.” The tears start to roll down my face, “If only I’d been normal, I wouldn’t have had one of those days, you wouldn’t have to come get me!”

“Anna, hey, hey.” He reaches out, drying my face with his hand, “It’s not your fault, that guy would have hit anybody coming his way. The way the universe shook that shit out isn’t your fault, okay?”

He gives me that smile, and all I can do is nod as I feel like a scared nine year old again. Grabbing a tissue from the box on the table, he cleans me up, humming softly. Soft, knowing, loving. Like the piece of my soul that was severed from me that day.

“Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, Roc.”

And with that, I wake up.

[rappaccini]

Alright alright alright im starting to try and get into the spidergwen comics after learning about her existence through spiderverse and have been rotating her (or at least a version of her that exists in my head) in my skull while she bounces around like the dvd screensaver as I try to work out all of what I’m supposed to read (why are comics like this?)

Anyways I found ur account today and have been reading through it and such (you have so much insight even if a lot of it isn’t super understandable rn) and you seem pretty qualified here. I was wondering if the transcoding of Gwen is a spiderverse invention or if there’s some in the comics as well perhaps.

Have a good day ^^

hello! thank you for reading, and if you need a reading list i can get you one.

but to answer your question.... i'm gonna say something controversial here so just run with me.

the short answer is: no. gwen-65 from the comics is not trans.

the spiderverse movies added that to her character (specifically, in atsv; itsv gwen isn't trans-coded at all), likely as a way to at best, acknowledge that spider-gwen is inherently queer... but without interfering with their overpowering need to ship her with a straight boy. or at worst, it's a way to sidestep gwen's sapphicness without getting called out for erasing her queerness. and it worked. people embraced the coding, insist comics gwen should be everything sv gwen is too, and they claim she was always that way (she's not), and now any conversations about the spiderverse films’ queer erasure are so muddled that they can’t happen: anytime someone says “uh, why the fuck is gwen being straightwashed so miles can date her” someone will swoop in and say “but she’s trans-coded.”

the long answer is: here. it's 50+ pages long. i'm not exaggerating. but it's the fullest answer you'll get about what kind of queer gwen is... and it's not trans. i'll take the trans-specific sections of that meta and post them below the cut.

the mid-length answer is: no. there's plenty of evidence for a trans reading, but the coding is shaky at best, and it's basically canon that gwen-65 is cis.

gwen is indisputably queer-coded in the latour run... but the latour run keeps the coding vague enough that you can identify her as whatever kind of queer you want.

sure, gwen could be trans. but the things people point to as 'evidence' can also be read as proof that she's asexual, a lesbian, bi, pan, so on and so forth.

discovering a secret side of yourself during puberty and hiding it from your parent because you're afraid they'll hate or fear you, or have you locked up, if they know? insert any queer identity here.

gwen's coming-out speech to her father? is lifted nearly word for word from gwen's first issue. where it can apply to being any other kind of queer.

concealing who you really are from a straight boy who's attracted to you because you're afraid he'll reject you if he knows, and that being in a romantic relationship that's expected of you will inherently hurt you? again, insert any kind of queer.

having your boyfriend's parents reject you off a single look? yes, that could be very applicable to the trans dating experience. it's more likely that this is intended to reflect the interracial dating experience, since gwen is white and miles is black.

there isn't a point in gwen's solo where the pink, blue and white colors of the trans flag rain down around her. her covers do often use the pink/orange/white of the lesbian flag during the latour run, and moves more towards the blue/purple/pink of the bisexual flag in the mcguire run. if you want to play the color theory game, you'll lose. (... and even in itsv, gwen's also surrounded by pink/orange/white and blue/pink/purple. so just off the colors of her backgrounds in the movie, there isn't a consensus.)

george stacy calling peter's death gwen 'taking a son away from him' is new and unique to the movies. in the comics, peter's death (which she is directly responsible for) is essentially an act of police brutality on gwen's part. and the queer subtext is there, but it's that peter's an incel who gwen defended herself from after refusing to give in to comphet. that entire theme is Gone from the movies, likely to make sure gwen's more positive towards the idea of dating miles.

gwen leaves her dimension right after revealing herself to her dad, but it's not because she's too afraid to stay or thinks she can't go home (george immediately backs down when she reveals herself, never tries to arrest or shoot her, and instantly starts protecting her from the cops). it's because she wants to help the spider-army fight an interdimensional threat. the whole time she's away, she knows she's going back. no theming whatsoever about being a trans girl fleeing an unaccepting world. if anything, earth-65 is more accepting than the rest of the multiverse, which constantly insists to gwen that she must enter heteronormative relationships.

other things that may ring true for the trans experience also have other explanations:

gwen's fear of revealing her secret identity to her friends because she's worried they'll see her as a monster: is a universal teenage anxiety with many different interpretations. but in context... she literally killed their friend and is on the run because of that.

gwen's transience and constant secrecy: is because she's a fugitive. she's not running away from home because she's a trans girl fleeing persecution. she's constantly running because she is guilty of the crime she's being accused of. she did kill peter.

gwen learning she's a part of a subgroup of people who are subject to a disproportionate amount of violence and sexual assault, and objectified yet treated as inherently disposable to the point where their premature and often violent deaths are normalized-- and that these issues are considered unsolvable and acceptable by everyone around her: could read as a commentary on the treatment of trans women by society. it could also apply to queer women, and to women in general.

gwen's love of traditionally masculine nerdy culture and hobbies: is a tactical move to get a mostly-male audience (... who wouldn't be very open about reading about a more conventionally feminine girl) to relate to gwen as a person. they made her a tomboy.

gwen's grungy, androgynous wardrobe and lanky build: are a protective measure to keep gwen from being sexualized by her artists.

gwen's spider-suit has nothing to do with the trans flag, and wasn't originally, pink, white and blue: it was purple, white and blue. the blue was a reference to latour's hometown basketball team, the charlotte hornets. the pink was purple, but it kept being miscolored and now that the movies and animation stuck with pink (especially the spiderverse movies; remember how aggressively pink gwen's backstory sequence was?), it's gonna stay that way. if anything, the shift from purple to pink is some gender essentialist Pink Is The Girl Color So Give It To The Girl Hero bullshit.

gwen's fondness for hoodies: was a very misguided 2014-era commentary on how "wearing a hoodie doesn't make you a criminal." yes, it's referencing that. and it did not age well (especially since gwen is guilty of the crime she's being accused of) so we don't talk about it anymore. it's also a design loophole to make sure she's recognizably feminine, without having to show any hair or skin (because the hood stands in for long hair; more gender norm enforcement).

gwen's dependency on pills to access her powers: is part of a recurring theme in the latour run about substance abuse: gwen ditches and lies to her friends and family, vanishes for weeks and wakes up in bars and alleyways, is presumed dead by her loved ones many times, enters an abusive partnership with a much older man who plies her with drugs to keep her coming back to him, goes on the run with harry osborn (famously a drug addict in the main universe) as her dependency intensifies and he's near death due to his own... and her symbiote, which looks like black tar, is referred to as an addiction. could it be a metaphor for gwen transitioning? yes! is the more likely subtext that gwen's abusing drugs to cope with peter's death, especially given that her dependency on the pills and initial bond with gwenom are negative? yes. if you want to use the transition metaphor, go ahead. but be careful of what the negative framing then implies about the transition.

gwen using "we" pronouns in her gwenom form: is something all the venoms do. take it or leave it.

during the latour run, if you want to interpret gwen as trans, you can. there's plenty of fuel, and there's never a point where gwen says "i'm cis" out loud.

... until sitting in a tree. ironically, the crossover that got gwen in the spiderverse movies to begin with is the point where the possibility of gwen being trans ends, because it canonizes that earth-8 is a "possible future" of earth-65 (aka gwen-8 is a future version of gwen-65; same person, same consciousness, same body). and earth-8 is a world where gwen has biological children with miles. logically speaking, the only way that can happen is if gwen has a uterus (because you know miles is definitely cis).

is it hard canon that gwen gave birth to the kids? no. but look at the heteronormative hellscape that is earth-8 and the gwiles ship. gwen being the vessel for miles's biokids is an inherent part of the fantasy (because it's proof they had sex, it ties her to him forever, and it's that weird advance-my-bloodline shit straight people are into). the writers and fandom want gwen to have the hardware for that to be possible. they will never want the door closed to that possibility, so realistically gwen will never be transgender.

(... extremely funny to me that gwiles killed the possibility of trans gwen for a cishet nuclear family fantasy, then brought it back and pushed it hard a decade later to dodge straightwashing allegations, and both times it was to make sure miles could date her. pick a struggle.)

so. gwen is cis. and she'll almost certainly stay cis.

after the latour run, the mcguire run introduces the elements that atsv adopts: gwen feels unwanted, persecuted and alone in her world, is upset that she can't have a romance there, is driven out by being accused of a crime she didn't commit and starts aimlessly multiverse bouncing.

but given that it's pretty much canon that gwen's cis, the trans-coding you can squeeze out of gwen being run out of restaurants while she's on a date is paper thin. you can read gwen as trans, but she's definitely not being coded as such.

past the latour run, though gwen's sapphicness and avoidance of heteronormativity keep getting more and more obvious (the queer coding narrows down our options from the latour run's "who knows but she sure doesn't want to date or marry men" to the mcguire run's "gwen's not asexual and probably sapphic" to smash's "gwen's into women but in the closet about it"), the gender aspects completely fade away. gwen-65 is queer, but she's a cis woman.

... but. there is a canon transgender spider-gwen in the comics, that even appears in 2023, the year of atsv's release (... which definitely feels on purpose).

in shadow clones, we get a glimpse of dozens of alternate gwens across the multiverse (several of whom seem to be queer). including this guy to the lower right.

who is the only male gwen variant shown.

who has a trans flag and what looks like a trans symbol (⚧) pinned to his backpack. it's a canon transmasc spider-gwen.

he's very intentionally shown to not be our spider-gwen from earth-65... in the miniseries that comes out barely a few months after atsv. they're telling you 'we know a lot of the people who are reading this comic came from atsv and think gwen's trans. no, she isn't. but hey, there's one out there somewhere, if you squint!'

yes, it’s backhanded.

and that's the most we'll ever realistically get of a canon trans spider-gwen in the comics. be for fucking real: since marvel comics still won't let gwen-65 come out as bisexual, there's just no way they'll let her be trans at all. they're not gonna retcon a reveal that she was trans all along. they're not gonna have gwen go through a coming-out process that ends in her identifying as trans. it would be cool! but we have to be realistic, and realistically... it's not gonna happen.

gwen is and will be trans-coded in the spiderverse movies (...as long as a possible earth-8 ending doesn't blow a hole in that headcanon), but that won't spread to the comics, or likely anywhere else-- including future animation and live-action depictions.

in the long run, spiderverse gwen's most likely just a one-off whose lasting legacy on the character will be implying to the general public that spider-gwen is queer... while also delaying comics-gwen's confirmation as bisexual by muddying the water about what type of queer she is (which buys more time for gwiles to swoop in and stop her coming out from happening anytime soon... or at all).

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

prussia x reader: childish games

Hello Lovelies~ Was ridiculously bored at work, and this silliness was birthed. Please enjoy!

Over the years, you had compiled a list of all the things you most loved about your husband, and somehow, only slightly surprising, his zest for life and the itch to have fun easily slotted its way into your top ten.

 For someone nearing 1000 (a fact you loved teasing him with), you would have thought that he would have grown more reserved by now, bored and listless with the world. But the truth was that he was restless, and rarely allowed for a single dull moment.

 And while you had grown yourself- maturity and social obligations demanding a certain image, he had a knack for making you forget all of it, embracing that whimsy and playful energy that you refused to completely abandon in your childhood.

 Which was what often led to moments like these.

 Gil was sitting across from you at a table in some cafe in Constanța, eyebrows furrowed in an almost comical way as he glared down at the series of incomplete triangles on your napkin.

 A little riddle or trick- you couldn't really decide which- you had briefly remembered from your childhood, one you knew would annoy your husband to no end.

 As much as you loved him, he did have a habit of over-complicating things.

 So far, his guesses had all followed a pattern you had expected: an ECG, a triangular sound wave, and then he rambled off something nearly incoherent involving quantum theory which had you giving him a Look. Seeing your expression at that last one had him offering you an embarrassed half-smile, before he went back to staring at the napkin with annoyance. "I'm going to hate myself when you tell me, right?"

 It wasn't really a question, but you hummed in acknowledgement, fighting and failing to hide your grin. "Probably."

 To his credit, he had more guesses, a couple theories, even asked if it had something to do with your own work, eyes slanting towards you in curious consideration. When you shot that down as well, he huffed melodramatically in defeat, flopping back into his chair and gesturing magnanimously towards the offending piece of recycled paper and its 18 unassuming little lines.

 "Alright; you win. Hit me with it."

 You were enjoying this way too much, but you couldn't help it; he brought out the best and worst in you. "Sure you don't want another guess?"

 "Can't you just put me out of my misery instead?"

 You leveled him with another look, fond and irritated all at once, catching too easily on the smile hidden in his words. "No martyrdom before supper."

 "Wow. Rude."

 Ignoring his comment, you spoke with perhaps a little too much presumption. "Gilbert Wilhelm? Prepare for me to blow your little mind."

 "You already do that every day." You bit your lip at his fond murmur, digging in your pocket for a different colored pen. Carrying an assortment had become a bit of a habit as of late; Gil was constantly losing his, and sometimes you just needed a change from the monotony of black-and-white. 

 Finally, you pulled out a purple, a good offset to the black. Pulling the napkin back into drawing range, you motioned for him to watch.

 You took it slow, intentionally choosing the option that would take the longest for him to guess. He loved puzzles and thought experiments, and you wanted to savor this for as long as possible.

 Starting with the furthest edge, you connected every third triangle with an inverse arc, the temporary image almost reminding you of the base of cartoon campfires. Gil was hovering over your shoulder now, having swapped chairs sometime in the past few moments.

 You paused, intentionally drew your pen away long enough for him to analyze the new data, catalog the latest information. Some part of you had a feeling he would be trying the same trick on Vlad at the conference tomorrow, and you couldn't fight your smile. "Want me to keep going, or do you want another minute?"

 He hummed after a moment- a quiet acquiescence.

 For a moment, you stared at your work in progress, contemplating your next move. With a small quirk to your lips, you scribbled what looked like three clouds, one for the top of each of the tallest triangles.

 "Was zum Teufel," Gil demanded eloquently.

 That was enough to finally make you giggle, turning to him with a smirk and a feigned attempt at innocence. He leveled you with a look of his own, before indicating with a pointed glance that you needed to continue.

 You waggled your eyebrows in playful amusement, now turning to add two dots to each of the three connected shapes, followed by another cloud-like doodle at the based of each of the three tallest triangles.

 As it stood, you could argue for some funky mountains or some kind of sailboat, but you were only half finished.

 "One more guess?" you asked in an effort to be nice, to at least sound like you weren't secretly enjoying his suffering. Instead of a proper answer, your ruse easily seen through, you received a poke at your waist, the lightest threat to continue.

 Biting your lip, trying not to flinch away, you added six arrows- two per shape, each facing the center of its respective shape from the left and the right.

 "Wait..." Gil's voice was scarcely a whisper at this point, teasing your neck. "Are those..?"

 With a small triangle and two quick flourishes each, you announced the final results with pride, no longer holding back your giddy grin. "Behold: Three Cats in Party Hats!"

 It was worth it just to see him bringing his palm to his forehead, hiding his face in his hand. You could see him fighting a smile though, and knew the last few minutes had done more than enough to help him out of his prior languor.

 "I hate you sometimes; you know that?"

 It was too affectionate to be true.

 "Love you, too."

Inspired by my remembering learning this about 20-ish years ago from some random guy while I was helping out at a market stall. He also taught me how to draw a cat by stacking C-A-T atop each other. Anyway, have some kitties~