#and who even wants them to be hyperrealistic?

[big-tiddy-goth-ghoulfriend]

So excited for the day that game developers collectively realize that no one actually gives a fuck about the hyper-realistic raytraced lighting and other graphical advancements if it means we have to wait for the game to "optimize shaders" every time we launch it

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 10

Summary: Spencer shows up for Maddie’s birthday party with a gift straight out of a fairytale. Overwhelmed by how deeply he’s become a part of their world, Y/N does something that changes everything. Couple: Spencer Reid / Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+) Content Warnings: so much fluff, feelings of rejection, angst (towards the end) Word Count: 7.3k

Series Masterlist

There’s something about birthdays that makes you think about time. How it slips past you quietly, how it adds up. How it circles back around in ways you didn’t expect.

I’d been thinking about it all morning. Not consciously, at first. Just little things — the smell of wrapping paper, the way the light filtered in through my blinds, the sound of a child’s laughter echoing faintly from somewhere outside my apartment window. All of it kept tugging at something quiet in me. Something I hadn’t wanted to name.

I hadn’t gone to many birthdays as a kid. Not the kind with cake and balloons, anyway. Most years, it was just me and my mom. Sometimes she remembered the date, sometimes she didn’t. I never held it against her. But I think part of me learned early on not to expect much from those days.

Aside from me not having too many birthday parties of my own, I was also just never invited to many. There’d been a couple of times where I’d get a pity invite, but for most of it I’d just stay by myself.

Which is probably why I spent so long planning the perfect gift for Maddie.

���Garcia, do you know how I could illustrate a children’s book without any actual drawing experience?”

“A children’s book?” She spun around in her chair, narrowing her eyes at me. “Why would you need to illustrate a children’s book?”

I didn’t answer right away.

Part of it was self-preservation. Y/N and Maddie were… mine, in a way I wasn’t ready to explain out loud yet. I’d only just told her about the darkest parts of my life — the kind most people wouldn’t stick around for… I didn’t want to involve them further.

So I kept them to myself.

Maybe I shouldn’t have — especially considering how the last time I kept a relationship secret, it ended in ways I still can’t think about for too long. I knew I should be honest. I just didn’t know how to be. Not yet. Not all the way.

So I shrugged. “It’s for someone’s birthday.”

Garcia blinked. Her brows lifted slowly, like she was putting together a puzzle she already knew the answer to. “Who?”

“It’s for… my niece.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at me with that knowing look that meant she absolutely didn’t believe me — but also wasn’t going to push. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said eventually. “You’re writing her a whole book?”

“I already wrote it,” I muttered. “I just need help with the illustrations.”

Of course, Garcia knew someone. A friend-of-a-friend who freelanced for indie authors. She texted me the contact information before I could change my mind. I sent the manuscript that same night — along with a painfully detailed list of character notes, color preferences, and very specific instructions for how Maddie’s dress had to be purple.

I ordered two copies of the book. One for them — and one for me.

Just in case.

In case one day they woke up and decided this was all a mistake. That I was a mistake. If that ever happened… at least I’d have this. A small, tangible reminder that for a little while, I got to care for something good. That I tried.

It was a simple book. Short. The kind with thick, cardboard pages meant to survive peanut butter fingers and bedtime rereads. The cover showed Maddie as a fairy princess, smiling mid-spin, her dress sparkling in layers of purple — just like I asked. Y/N and I stood in the background, slightly blurred, like illustrations often are. Not hyperrealistic, but recognizable enough that anyone who knew us would know.

It was perfect.

Exactly how I pictured it when I first wrote the story. Maybe even better.

I kept the extra copy tucked away in my apartment. Top shelf. Behind a stack of old psychology journals I hadn’t touched in years. Safe. Hidden. Just for me.

But the other — the one wrapped carefully in pastel tissue paper, sealed in a small gift bag with stars on it — that one sat in the passenger seat beside me as I drove to the park. I’d checked it three times before leaving. Adjusted the ribbon twice. It was ridiculous how nervous I was.

It wasn’t like I was proposing.

But still… it mattered. Too much, maybe.

The park was already filled with giggles when I got there. It was the kind of early afternoon that made everything feel a little softer — sunshine dappled through tree leaves, the faint scent of hot dogs from a nearby cart.

I spotted them almost immediately.

Y/N had set up beneath a wide oak tree, a picnic blanket sprawled across the grass, its corners fluttering in the breeze. Maddie sat cross-legged in the middle, paper crown tilted sideways, a streak of frosting on her cheek like a badge of honor. Y/N looked up just as I stepped out of the car, brushing hair from her face. Her eyes found mine instantly.

It had been a few weeks since the planetarium.

I’d like to say work got in the way — that the only reason I hadn’t seen them was the job — but that wasn’t the truth. Not really. The truth was, Y/N wasn't communicating as much as she used to. I thought about the many reasons she could be avoiding me, but each one tends to get more and more dramatic. Maybe she's just been busy, but still… things felt different.

And that scared me more than anything else.

She smiled — open and real, like she was glad I came. Like she’d been waiting.

And I felt it again. That ache I’d been trying not to name.

Because I wanted this.

I wanted them.

More than I probably should.

“Spencer!!” Maddie’s voice cracked through the afternoon like a firecracker.

She launched off the blanket with the kind of wild, sugar-fueled energy only birthdays can bring — arms outstretched, paper crown wobbling with every step.

I barely had time to catch her.

“You’re late!” she announced, throwing her arms around my waist.

“I’m exactly on time,” I murmured, hugging her back carefully — like I was afraid she might dissolve if I held too tight. “I brought you something.”

That got her attention. She pulled back instantly, eyes wide. “Is it magic?!”

“Better,” I said, holding out the star-covered gift bag.

Y/N stood then, brushing grass from her jeans. She didn’t say anything — just watched us with that unreadable softness she wore when she was trying not to let me see how much something mattered.

Maddie tore into the wrapping like it might contain fireworks.

“Maddie!” Y/N called, her voice half-laugh, half-motherly scold. “Don’t open it yet! You know the rule — gifts come after we sing happy birthday.”

Maddie froze mid-rip, pouting. “Okay.”

She hugged the bag to her chest anyway, like even waiting couldn’t undo how excited she already was.

I sat with them after that — a little stiff at first, knees tucked awkwardly under me at the corner of the blanket. Y/N handed me a juice box with a crooked grin, like she knew exactly how out of place I felt and was offering the simplest kind of kindness.

“Apple or grape?” she asked, holding both out like I was a very large child at a school picnic.

I blinked. “Grape, I guess.”

“Good choice. Apple’s for suck-ups.”

I gave her a look. She winked.

Maddie, meanwhile, was humming “Happy Birthday” under her breath, already halfway through her second cupcake. Purple frosting smeared across her chin like war paint, glitter from the crown in her hair, socks dusty from the grass. She looked feral. Perfectly, beautifully feral.

Y/N leaned back on her palms beside me, stretching her legs out lazily like she belonged to the sun. She had sunglasses perched on her nose and her shirt knotted at the hem, and I couldn’t stop noticing the way her shoulders moved — soft and unbothered, like she was finally relaxing for the first time in days. Her ankle brushed mine at one point. She didn’t move it.

And that shouldn't have meant anything.

But it did.

We sang the song a few minutes later — too loud, too fast, Maddie clapping offbeat and Y/N laughing halfway through. I watched them more than I sang. Watched the way Maddie’s cheeks flushed when we hit the “dear Maddie” part. The way Y/N’s smile went crooked when she tried not to tear up. The way their voices filled the space between my ribs like they belonged there.

I think that’s when it hit me — not just the ache, but the weight of it.

I no longer just wanted this, them… I ached for this. I needed them in my life like I needed air to survive.

Y/N lit the candle — a purple number five — and Maddie closed her eyes before blowing it out. She didn’t say her wish out loud, but I watched the way she peeked at me when she opened her eyes again. Like maybe her wish had something to do with me.

“Presents now?” she asked, practically vibrating.

Y/N made a show of checking an imaginary watch. “I don’t know… might be too soon.”

“Moooom.”

“Fine,” Y/N relented, reaching for her phone. “But let me take a picture of you two with the gift first.”

Maddie grinned, immediately scooting closer to me like it was routine — like we’d done this a hundred times before. Her head bumped against my arm, her crown tilting dangerously sideways. I instinctively reached up to fix it, and her hair — soft and warm from the sun — brushed my wrist.

Y/N stepped back a little, framing us in her phone. “Okay, Maddie, big smile.”

Maddie’s was automatic.

Mine wasn’t.

Not because I wasn’t happy — I was — but because I could feel the moment crystallizing. Y/N holding her phone steady. Maddie leaning into me like I belonged there. The late sun painting everything gold. And I knew, even before she clicked the shutter, that this photo would haunt me if I ever lost them.

“Spence,” Y/N called gently.

I looked up.

“Smile.”

So I did. Soft. Quiet. Barely-there.

Click.

“There,” she said, lowering the phone, already smiling at the screen. “One for the scrapbook.”

Something about that word — scrapbook — lodged in my throat.

Maddie didn’t wait. She immediately dove back into the gift bag like the brief delay hadn’t happened. She fished out the book, already familiar with the shape of it, like she’d memorized it by touch. When she pulled it into her lap again, she turned it around and held it up toward her mom like she was presenting a trophy.

“Look! It’s me!”

Y/N’s expression immediately changed.

It was subtle, but I noticed it — of course I noticed it. The slight parting of her lips, the sudden stillness in her shoulders, the way her fingers went lax around the phone like she’d forgotten she was holding it. Her eyes scanned the cover in slow motion — not blinking, not smiling, not yet. Just… looking.

And I knew that look.

I’d seen it before — on grieving families when we gave them answers, on victims who’d just been told they were finally safe. That look of something cracking open inside them. Relief, disbelief, awe, and sadness all sitting in the same breath.

She didn’t say anything right away.

And neither did I.

Because I could feel the gravity of the moment pulling tight between us — heavy and fragile and full of things I didn’t know how to say out loud.

Her daughter was holding a book I wrote. A story I built around her. A version of the world where she got to be a hero, a dreamer, a star. I hadn’t done it for credit. I hadn’t done it because I thought it was what a good person should do. I did it because I couldn’t not do it. Because ever since that day in the Library, with her teary eyes that turned excited once I did a magic trick — I’d felt this quiet, persistent need to give her something. Something kind. Something lasting.

And maybe, selfishly, something that proved I could be good for them.

I watched Y/N’s throat move as she swallowed.

Her fingers brushed Maddie’s curls absently — a grounding motion, but I could see her eyes start to gloss over.

She was trying not to cry.

I’d seen people getting emotional before, but this was different. There was no sadness in it. No fear. Just… overwhelm. The good kind. The kind that sneaks up on you and wraps around your ribs when you realize someone has seen the people you love and chosen to love them too.

And for some reason, that hit me harder than I expected.

She looked up at me.

Eyes soft. Wide. So full of feeling it almost knocked the air out of me.

“You made her a book,” she said, barely above a whisper.

I tried to smile. It came out lopsided. “It’s just a short story.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly, voice breaking like she couldn’t hold all of it in at once. “You made this. You wrote her a book.”

Her voice cracked at the end. Not enough to draw attention. Just enough to make my chest tighten with something unbearably tender.

I wanted to reach out. Touch her hand. Say something — anything — that could make the feeling in my lungs settle. But I didn’t.

Because Maddie had already curled up against me, book in her lap, head resting on my leg like it was her default position.

And that, somehow, made the moment louder than anything I could’ve said.

She flipped the cover open gently, like it was something sacred.

“Mama,” she mumbled, “Spencer’s gonna read it to me.”

Y/N blinked, then nodded. “Okay, baby. Go ahead.”

I hesitated only a second — not because I didn’t want to read it, but because I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to breathe through this.

Through the feeling of this small, trusting body curled into mine.

Through the look in Y/N’s eyes like she was seeing me differently now — not as someone orbiting the edges of their lives, but someone inside the center of it.

I opened the book.

And read the first line.

“Once upon a time, in a world made of books and stars and peanut butter toast, there lived a girl with a laugh so bright, it made the flowers bloom twice as fast.

Her name was Madeline, but everyone in the Kingdom called her Maddie the fairy princess. She wore glittery skirts and mismatched socks, because she believed lucky socks helped her run faster through dreams.

One cloudy afternoon, while chasing a butterfly made of stardust through the Royal Library Gardens, Maddie found herself somewhere new. The book castle of the Great Wizard Spencer….”

At that, Maddie gasped. Her head lifted just enough to look up at me, wide-eyed and smiling. “That’s you!” she whispered.

I nodded, smiling back, my voice catching slightly on the next line.

“…a tall, silly man with too many books, too many facts, and not enough snacks.”

Y/N snorted — an actual snort — then quickly covered her mouth like she’d broken something sacred. Her eyes met mine and sparkled. “Accurate.”

I swallowed down a laugh and turned the page.

Maddie was still, listening. Her thumb traced the corner of the page, slow and methodical, like she was absorbing the words into her skin.

Y/N, meanwhile, wasn’t looking at the page at all.

She was watching me.

And not casually — not politely. Watching me like she could hear everything I wasn’t saying. Like she knew that I had written that line not just for the story, but for myself. Like she could see straight through me — into every silent hope I hadn’t admitted yet.

I looked back down at the page before I could let her see too much.

Yet still, I noticed everything.

Despite not wanting to — or maybe because I always do — I could see her from the corner of my eye. The way her fingers curled into the edge of the blanket. The way she blinked, deliberately and too often. The way her mouth pressed flat, like she was trying to stay composed for Maddie’s sake.

Maybe she thought we couldn’t see.

Maybe she thought we were too immersed in the story to notice. And to be fair, Maddie was immersed — curled tight against my leg, eyes wide, head tilted toward the page like it was casting a spell on her. But I wasn’t fully in the story anymore. Not with the way Y/N was slowly, silently coming undone beside me.

She wasn’t holding it in anymore.

She was crying. Quietly. Not with sound, not with breath. Just tears slipping down one by one, unannounced, as if her body had decided for her.

And still, she didn’t say anything.

Didn’t get up. Didn’t wipe them away. She just sat there, watching me — watching us — like this was the softest kind of heartbreak. Like she didn’t know what to do with the way it felt.

And I…

I didn’t know what to do either.

So I kept reading.

Not to ignore it. Not to pretend I didn’t see. But because stopping would have drawn attention to it, would have broken the spell — and I knew, somehow, she needed the spell to keep going. Just a little longer.

So I gave her that.

I let the words come soft and steady, even though my throat was starting to ache.

Even though my hands had gone clammy from the warmth of Maddie’s weight.

Even though my whole chest felt like it might split open if she looked at me like that for one more second.

And in between the pages, in between Maddie’s tiny whispers and occasional gasps, I thought about how it felt to sit here like this — with one of them against me, and the other quietly falling apart beside me, and both of them staying.

“And they all lived happily ever after… The end.”

My voice faltered slightly on the last word. Not enough for Maddie to notice — but enough for me to feel it.

It landed heavy in my chest. Not because of the line itself, but because I meant it. In that fragile, irrational way you mean things when you know they might not last. I wanted them to live happily ever after. Not the characters — us. Them. Me. This.

“I love it!” Maddie squealed, practically bouncing in my lap. “It’s my favorite book ever!”

She turned and threw her arms around my middle without warning, squeezing me so tight it knocked a breath out of me. She smelled like grass and cake and sunscreen. Her cheek was warm against my shirt.

I wrapped an arm around her carefully, trying not to let my hand shake.

“I’m glad,” I murmured. “It’s yours to keep.”

“I’m gonna read it every night,” she promised, pulling back just enough to look up at me. “But you have to read it again. At bedtime.”

Before I could answer, Y/N finally spoke — her voice quiet and a little hoarse.

“Baby, maybe Spencer’s tired…”

I looked at her.

Really looked.

Her eyes were still watery, but she’d wiped the tears away. Her hand was curled over her knee, knuckles pale from holding tension she hadn’t let out yet. But her expression — God, her expression — it was something I wasn’t sure I had the vocabulary for.

She looked at me like I’d done something irreversible.

And maybe I had.

Because nothing would ever be the same after this. Not for me. Not for her. Not for the three of us. No matter what happened tomorrow, or next week, or in a year — this would always be the moment everything changed.

I swallowed. Hard.

“If it’s okay,” I said, voice lower than usual, “I can stay for bedtime. Just for a little while.”

Maddie cheered.

Y/N didn’t say anything.

But she nodded once. Soft. Like she was afraid her voice might betray her.

And then she reached for the book — not to take it from me, but just to touch the cover. Her thumb moved over the illustration like she was still making sure it was real.

Her hand brushed mine.

Neither of us moved.

And for a second, I thought she might say something. Something big. Something that would make the ache in my chest snap wide open.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she looked down and whispered, “Thank you.”

And I think that might’ve ruined me more than anything else could have.

By the time we got back to the apartment, Maddie was trailing behind us like a balloon losing helium — crown in hand, glitter on her cheeks, book clutched to her chest like something sacred.

Spencer held the door open for us without saying anything. He hadn’t said much since we left the park, but his silence didn’t feel cold. It felt… full. Like there was too much inside him to spill out all at once.

And honestly? I understood the feeling.

Maddie padded inside first, holding the book close to her chest like she was afraid someone might take it. Her crown had been removed with care, cradled under her arm like a stuffed animal. There was frosting still crusted near her ear, and her eyes were a little sleepy now — that sweet, softened calm she always got after something big and exciting.

“Alright, birthday girl,” I said, crouching next to her. “Shoes off, book on the couch, and go take a quick shower while I make some dinner, okay?”

She pouted immediately, that tiny lip wobble she knew could sometimes buy her five extra minutes.

“But I wanted to read it again…”

“You can,” I said gently, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “After dinner. And after your shower. Deal?”

She hesitated. Then gave a tiny nod, already kicking off her shoes. “Deal.”

She walked past Spencer on her way to the bathroom and tilted her head up just long enough to whisper, “You’re gonna eat with us?”

“If it’s okay with your mom,”

She didn’t wait for my answer. Just gave him a quick smile and padded down the hallway, still holding the book tight to her chest instead of leaving it at the couch like Y/N said. A few seconds later, the bathroom door clicked shut, and the apartment felt suddenly quieter. Still warm — but quieter.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen for a beat, not moving. I could feel him behind me, standing near the table, probably trying to figure out whether he should sit down or hover or offer to help. I didn’t turn around.

Instead, I reached for the soup cans. My hands were steady, but my chest wasn’t.

The truth was, I didn’t want him to leave.

And that thought — so quiet, so sharp — made everything inside me ache.

“I have tomato or chicken noodle,” I said eventually, keeping my tone light.

Behind me, I heard him shift, finally taking the seat closest to the window.

“I’ll eat whatever Maddie likes.”

I smiled to myself. “That wasn’t the question.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I like tomato. But only if there’s grilled cheese.”

“There’s no grilled cheese,” I said, glancing at him over my shoulder. “Just soup and me.”

His gaze met mine. “That’s enough.”

Something in my stomach twisted, low and hot. I turned back to the stove before he could see what that did to me.

Still, I’m pretty sure the silly smile on my face was beyond obvious.

“I’ll make you a grilled cheese with it,” I said softly, setting the pan on the burner. “I’m sure Maddie would appreciate one too.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” I murmured, buttering the bread. “But I want to.”

He didn’t say anything after that, but I could feel it again — that silent shift in the air, like he was about to say something and thought better of it. Like my answer had pressed on something he wasn’t ready to let move.

I dropped the slices into the pan and listened to the sizzle.

There was something grounding in the sound. Something normal. And yet nothing about this felt normal.

Spencer was sitting at my kitchen table like it wasn’t strange. Like we did this all the time. It wasn’t the first time we had spent time together in my home, or even the first time he was here late at night. In fact, he stayed the night the other day. Still, The domesticity of it wrapped around me so tightly, I almost forgot how rare it was.

“I’m glad you came,” I said, barely loud enough to be heard over the crackle of butter.

A pause.

“I’m glad you invited me,” he replied.

When I glanced back at him, his face was all soft lines and careful eyes. Not guarded, exactly — just like he was trying to memorize the way this felt. Like he didn’t want to risk breaking it by being too loud.

The grilled cheese hissed in the pan as I flipped it, the crust already golden.

I focused on the sandwich, but my mind was elsewhere. On the fact that he hadn’t hesitated when I asked him to stay. On the way he’d looked at Maddie like she was the center of something. On the way he looked at me now.

And I didn’t know what to do with all that softness, except pretend I wasn’t afraid of how badly I wanted it to stay.

I placed sandwich after sandwich on the plates, moving carefully, like rushing might shatter the quiet between us. Three grilled cheeses, sliced on the diagonal — the only correct way, according to Maddie — and set alongside three small bowls of tomato soup.

The smell filled the kitchen. Warm, nostalgic. Familiar in a way that felt foreign to me.

Spencer helped without asking, lifting two of the plates and carrying them to the table like he’d done it before. Like he’d done it here before. He didn’t ask where the napkins were. Didn’t need to. He just moved like someone who wanted to help, like someone who paid attention.

I watched him for a second, standing there in the soft yellow kitchen light, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, eyes scanning for where to set things down.

It made something in my chest pull tight.

Once everything was set, we paused — both of us hovering just slightly, neither sitting yet.

All that was left to do was wait for Maddie.

And then, softly, he spoke.

“You were crying.”

I turned toward him slowly.

It wasn’t an accusation. There was no edge to it. Just a quiet observation, spoken carefully, like he didn’t want to scare the truth back into hiding.

I let the words settle. Didn’t rush to explain. Then I gave a small nod.

“Yeah,” I said. “I was.”

He didn’t press. He just looked at me like he was listening, even in his silence.

“I’m sorry I made you cry…”

“It wasn’t you, Spence,” I chuckled. How could he possibly think that he made me cry? I mean he did, but not in the way he made it sound.

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed loosely over my chest. “It caught me off guard, I guess. What you did for her.”

He tilted his head slightly, not quite understanding.

I paused. Swallowed.

“I’ve spent so long trying to protect her from disappointment. From people who come close but don’t stay. I didn’t expect you to make space for her so easily. I didn’t expect it to matter this much.”

The room was still. The kind of still that only happens when something important has been said out loud.

He didn’t respond, not right away. But he didn’t look away, either.

I let out a soft breath. “I think I cried because I wasn’t ready for how good it felt.”

There was more I could’ve said. About how scared I was. About how easy it was becoming to picture him in this kitchen, at this table, beside us. About how I didn’t know what to do with that kind of softness.

But before I could say anything else, the sound of the bathroom door creaked open. Light footsteps padded into the hall.

Then, in a singsong voice, “I smell grilled cheeeeese!”

Maddie’s curls were damp and a little frizzy from the towel wrap. Her pajama shirt was slightly crooked, one sleeve tugged higher than the other. She made a beeline for the touch to get her new book. She held it under one arm like it was her most prized possession. 

She didn’t notice the way Spencer straightened when she entered. Or the way I quickly wiped my thumb under my eye even though no tears had fallen.

She just smiled.

And just like that, the moment folded itself away — quiet, unspoken, unfinished, but not forgotten.

“Just for you, Birthday Girl.”

Dinner passed in the soft way things sometimes do after big emotions — like the air had shifted just enough to slow us all down.

Maddie swung her feet under the table, one hand gripping her spoon while the other cradled the edge of her book, which sat beside her like a fourth guest. She insisted on placing it there — open to her favorite page, The final page where Fairy Princess Maddie, Wizard Spencer, and Queen Y/N, lived happily ever after in the magic star castle. She kept glancing down at it like she needed to remind herself it was real.

Spencer didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His presence alone did more than words ever could. Every time Maddie laughed, he smiled like it caught him off guard. Like joy still surprised him. Like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to sit at this table, next to this little girl who adored him, across from me.

I barely ate. I pushed soup around in the bowl, took a few bites of sandwich, nodded along to Maddie’s monologue about her next birthday party even though this one wasn’t over yet. My body was here, but my head… my head was somewhere else entirely.

I kept stealing glances at him — not on purpose, not at first. But every time he laughed under his breath, or offered Maddie the last triangle of sandwich without being asked, I felt that ache come back. The one I thought I had under control.

It wasn’t even the grand gestures that did it. It wasn’t the book, though that nearly broke me. It was the small things. The way he listened like everything Maddie said mattered. The way he helped clean up with barely a word, quietly rinsing her cup in the sink like it was just second nature. The way he didn’t just make space for her in his world — he stepped into ours without rearranging a single thing.

I watched him from across the table and thought, not for the first time, I don’t know how I got here. Not in the sad way. In the way that felt a little like wonder, and a little like falling.

I’d been so careful with us. So slow. So guarded.

And yet tonight, despite having recognized these feelings already, everything inside me felt loosened. Warm. Lit up in places I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

When dinner ended, Maddie leaned her head against my arm and yawned — big and dramatic and half-fake, her version of a bedtime alarm.

“Come on,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go get cozy.”

“I get to sleep with you tonight,” she reminded me, already sliding off her chair. “You promised.”

“I remember,” I said, brushing a crumb from her cheek. “Go pick a movie. I’ll be right there.”

She nodded and disappeared down the hall, dragging her book behind her — the corner of it catching softly against the carpet, a rhythm I’d come to know as hers. The sound faded, replaced by the quiet hum of my apartment and the slight creak of Spencer shifting his weight behind me.

I didn’t move at first.

Neither did he.

There was something fragile about the stillness. Something holy. Like if we spoke too loudly, we might wake whatever spell had settled between us. So I just stood there, watching the empty hallway, feeling the pulse of everything I hadn’t said buzzing just beneath my skin.

Eventually, I turned.

He was already looking at me.

Not in a casual way — not like someone politely waiting to be excused. It was the kind of look you give when you’re trying to memorize a room you know you have to leave. His hands were relaxed at his sides, but his shoulders were tense, like he couldn’t decide whether to stay grounded or float away.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I said, my voice too quiet, too careful.

He nodded once. Said nothing. And we walked, slowly, side by side.

The apartment felt different with him in it, even in silence. Or maybe it was me that felt different — like the gravity had shifted, like I was carrying too much of something unnamed in my chest. I could still hear Maddie singing softly to herself in the background, flipping through the movie drawer like it was her life’s purpose. It should’ve anchored me.

It didn’t.

At the front door, we both hesitated.

He didn’t reach for the knob. I didn’t move to open it. We just stood there, two people orbiting something neither of us had named yet. The light from the kitchen spilled out behind him, catching in the soft gold of his hair, turning it warm. And for the first time all evening, I let myself really look at him.

His profile was lit in this quiet, reverent glow — like a portrait half-painted in shadow. His lashes cast soft arches under his eyes, his mouth slightly parted, like he’d started to say something and forgotten how. His tie was loose now, the collar of his shirt wrinkled from the long day, and I knew he probably hated that. But I loved it. I loved that he wasn’t perfect here. That he let himself be here.

And God, he looked tired.

Not in a way that made me feel sorry for him — in a way that made me ache.

Because I knew that kind of tired. The kind you wear in your bones. The kind you don’t speak about. And still, there he was — here, with us, helping clean up after a four-year-old’s birthday party and smiling like it was the most important thing he’d done all day.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes finding mine again. “For what?”

“For showing up.”

He looked like he wanted to respond. Like there were a dozen things he might say, and none of them were coming out right. But he didn’t look away.

I stepped closer without meaning to.

It was small — just a shift in the natural pull of something soft and magnetic — but it was enough. I felt the air change. Felt it thicken between us.

He didn’t move back.

And now that I was closer, I could see more.

The faint stubble under his jaw. The small scar at the side of his neck. The way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides like he was holding something in, or holding something back.

I thought of everything he was. His quiet. His gentleness. His wild, unfocused thoughts and how hard he worked to harness them. The way he made space for Maddie, not like it was a duty, but like it was joy. The way he listened to me. The way he saw me.

His heart was the kind that didn’t ask to be held — but you held it anyway, just by being near it.

I couldn’t stop myself.

Another step. Closer.

I was close enough now to feel his breath, to see the way his chest rose and fell, steady but slow. His gaze dropped to my mouth for half a second. Just one. And then back to my eyes.

Neither of us said a word.

And then I reached up — gentle, hesitant, like I was afraid to break him — and pressed my lips to his.

It was soft.

Not desperate. Not rushed.

Just a quiet, trembling kind of reverence.

The kind of kiss you give someone who doesn’t know how much you already love them.

It probably lasted about a second, maybe less, but to me it felt like a lifetime.

Unfortunately, things like this — moments this good — never stay too long for me.

I had once again gotten too close to the light, and I got burnt.

He pulled away.

Not with care. Not with hesitation. It was sharp — immediate. Like his body had acted before his mind caught up, like the panic shot through him faster than reason could. He stumbled back a step, breath catching in his throat, eyes wide with something that looked far too much like fear.

“Y/N…” he said, and just the sound of it — my name on his lips, weighted with hesitation — made my heart twist. The tone wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t reassuring or curious or kind. It was startled. Shaken. Like the ground had moved under him and he couldn’t quite find his balance again.

And that was all it took.

The warmth that had been building between us, slow and sacred, crumbled in an instant. It fell away like something I had made up, something that only lived in my head. One second I had been standing in it — in the glow of what felt like a real thing — and the next, I was outside of it. Locked out.

My throat went dry. My body filled with that awful, sinking heat that always followed embarrassment — not anger, not even sadness yet, just humiliation. My voice barely made it through the wall that suddenly existed between us.

“Sorry,” I said, so quietly I wasn’t sure if it was sound or breath.

I felt it leave me. A word so small it hurt. My apology, even when I hadn’t done anything wrong — but what else was there to offer? There was no way to undo the kiss. No way to forget what I had just felt. And no way to unsee the way he’d pulled back from it like it had burned him.

He didn’t respond. He didn’t explain. He didn’t soften the blow. He just stood there, frozen in that moment, eyes wide, mouth parted, saying nothing. And the longer the silence stretched between us, the more that nothing turned into something. It turned into rejection. It turned into confirmation. It turned into of course.

I blinked a few times, trying to ground myself, to push the heat out of my eyes before it turned into tears. I stepped back because it was the only direction I could go. The only way to give him space that he clearly needed. I tried to think of something to say that would make it okay, something light or dismissive or forgiving, but I couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t also break me.

“I should check on Maddie,” I said, and I didn’t mean it as an escape. I meant it as a shield. As the only thing I could offer to excuse myself from standing there and watching the distance grow wider and wider with every breath he didn’t take toward me.

But I couldn’t just walk away. I had to wait. I had to be sure he left.

He finally moved toward the door, and I followed — not closely, but enough to make it clear I was seeing him out. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t touch me. He just reached for the knob and stepped out into the hallway like he was leaving the scene of a mistake.

The door shut behind him with a finality that made my skin prickle. I stood still for a moment, blinking at it, trying to breathe through the way my body felt like it had been hollowed out.

Then I reached for the lock.

My hand stayed on it longer than it should have. The bolt slid into place with a click, and I stared at the door like maybe it would open again. Like maybe he’d come back. But nothing moved. Nothing changed. He was gone.

I leaned forward, forehead against the cool wood, and exhaled.

It was the kind of exhale that felt like a surrender — a quiet release of something I hadn’t realized I’d been holding onto all day. Hope, maybe. Or just the belief that I wasn’t alone in this. That he’d felt it, too.

Apparently not.

Apparently, I’d misread everything.

Maybe I was wrong at the planetarium. He did mean the clean cut of we’re not a family.

No matter what was actually going on in his brain, the result was the same.

He was gone.

And I was standing here, my lips still tingling, my chest aching, trying not to fall apart before I made it back to my daughter.

I didn’t even let myself wipe my eyes. I just turned away from the door, every step down the hall slow and heavy. The sound of cartoons echoed faintly from my bedroom. Maddie was waiting. She had no idea anything had happened. And she didn’t need to.

So I straightened my spine. I walked.

Because if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s pretend I’m okay when someone walks away.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

taglist: @Tokalotashiz @livbonnet @jakiki94 @23moonjellies @saskiaalonso @ellaomalalaalala @deltamoon666 @person-005 @reidssoulmate @quillsandcauldroncakes @blog-du-caillou @codedinblack @imaginationfever13 @measure-in-pain @lunaryoongie @Marcelaferreirapinho @Reidrs @tiredqueen73 @scarlettoh @reidsjuno @un-messed @Happydeanpotter @ravenclaws-stuff @Ortega29 @rhinelivinglife @Skye-westwood @xxfairyqueenxx @pablopablito01 @Frickin-bats @alrat13 @ozwriterchick

[luna-azzurra]

Enemies to lovers Prompts

Rival Bakers Who Can’t Stand Each Other… She thinks his croissants are too buttery. He thinks her cupcakes are overrated. They’ve spent years side-eyeing each other from across the town bakery scene, but now? They’re stuck in the same high-stakes baking competition. Forced to share tips, kitchen space, and maybe a few late-night practice sessions, they realize that hate tastes a lot like love, just with extra frosting.

The Nerd vs. The Popular Kid, but Feelings Get in the Way She’s the star of the debate team. He’s the guy who doesn’t even bring a backpack to school. They’ve never exchanged a sentence that wasn’t filled with sarcasm, until they’re paired for the biggest project of the semester. Deadlines, arguments, and way too many late-night study sessions later, the real problem isn’t the assignment. It’s the way they suddenly can’t stop looking at each other.

Small-Town War Over a Garden (And Also Their Hearts) She wants a peaceful community garden where kids can learn about nature. He wants a shiny new business development that totally doesn’t need another Starbucks. They start as enemies, throwing around legal jargon and passive-aggressive town hall speeches, but somehow, between planting flowers and fighting over zoning laws, their arguments start to feel a little too much like foreplay.

Fairy vs. Guardian... a Magical Disaster (That Ends in Love) She’s a reckless little menace with wings. He’s a brooding, by-the-book guardian of the enchanted forest. They get stuck together on one mission and immediately hate everything about each other, until late-night stakeouts and accidental life-saving moments make them rethink everything. Turns out, magic isn’t the most powerful force in the forest. They are.

Two Rival Animal Shelter Volunteers Who’d Rather Strangle Each Other than Fall in Love She thinks dogs belong on cozy blankets. He thinks they belong outside, running free. Every time they cross paths at the animal shelter, someone ends up yelling. But when a batch of abandoned puppies needs their help, they’re suddenly stuck working together. Between midnight feedings and arguing over the best chew toys, their rivalry starts feeling a little too much like flirting.

Office Enemies Forced to Play Nice (And Maybe Fall in Love) She’s a marketing genius. He’s a numbers guy. They’ve spent years throwing petty jabs across the conference table, but now? HR has shoved them into a mandatory team-building retreat. Hating each other is easy, until trust falls, long hikes, and a surprise power outage force them to rely on each other. Somewhere between late-night drinks and sharing a terrible hotel room, work rivalry turns into something else entirely.

From Prank Wars to Romance She runs the arts-and-crafts cabin. He’s all about extreme sports. They’ve been locked in a summer-long war of sabotage, but when a campfire accident (or an inconvenient thunderstorm) forces them to spend the night together in the mess hall, they realize that under all the teasing and competition, something softer has been simmering all along.

When Rival Artists Collide (and Create Something Unforgettable) She’s abstract. He’s hyperrealistic. Their art styles don’t match, and neither do their personalities. But when they’re stuck working on the same community mural, the insults fly fast, the paint starts splattering, and suddenly their rivalry turns into something far more intimate. Passionate arguments turn into passionate… other things.

Surfing Enemies Turned Ocean-Loving Soulmates She’s got the fastest wave rides. He’s got the sharpest turns. They’ve spent years battling it out on the water, but when a storm hits and they’re stranded on the same beach overnight, the salt air starts playing tricks on them. Maybe the real thrill isn’t the competition. Maybe it’s the way their names sound in each other’s mouths.

Here's My Free E-book On Amazon on character development,

And Here’s the Show, Don’t Tell freebie book and my newsletter.

[changeling-droneco]

I think what bugs me the most about live action reboots is that there is a way to do it well, that in many cases already exists, aka THE BROADWAYS THAT ALREADY EXIST

like fuck cgi lions or whatever! Just make a version of the broadway show that already exists in a lot of cases with a bigger budget! Not only would it give them an interesting visual identity, it would be a way to see these shows legit and be a fantastical form of preservation of the stage plays!

The idea of animation into live action isnt an inherent death sentence or even an inherently bad idea, its studios cutting corners, overusing cgi, and not wanting to take even the slightest risk that's killing these remakes.

Like even with the limited budget and potential of the space, look at HOW WELL frozen the musical does the broadway only song Monster, like it's not super flashy, but the use of fog and lights really helps sell the scene, could you IMAGINE what it would like with the full brunt of the disney creative team allowed to actually experiment and get interesting with it?

And here's a bit from the lion king musical, could you imagine this with like, more budget for environments and backgrounds? The expert use of more traditionally african styles of theater? Do you know how fucking cool a live action lion king movie done like this would have been????

Hell even the on ice versions at least know how to have fun

When people just say all live action adaptations are bad it's actually letting Disney get away with the fact that the bad live action isn't because its live action, but its because of the use of short cuts and cheap cash grabs. People have been making good and unique versions of disney movies for the stage where basically everything needs to be practical effects and real people for YEARS.

It's not an inherently bad idea to reinterpret animation as live action as long as you actually embrace you know, theater, and take some risks. Even if it turns out kind of mediocre, at least it's still ART it's still passion it's still something with its own identity.

I don't want a cgi movie pretending to be hyperrealistic, i want stage actors with puppets and symbolic outfits or hybrid designs that keep characters recognizable while also feasible for the actor. Not only should the disney live action trend be condemned for being shitty cash grabs that didnt need to exist, they should also be condemned as an insult that has utterly tanked the reputation of how damn good a live action remake with genuine passion in it can be.

These musicals are already really good, they don't need to be official movies, but if you want to do live action, this should have been the route to go on. These are really good or at least interesting, so giving people who know what they're doing the money and space to expand on them and take advantage of more space and room is just, so obviously the choice if you want to make a GOOD movie. However, it's not how you make the super profitable movie everyone hates but still goes to see.

Live action can work, there's so much interesting potential with live action! The fact Disney has so utterly disgraced the idea is just a shame to the genuine really cool art that people have and are actually making. Live action can work once you embrace it through more of a lens of theater.

Look at the difference between these two, and weep for what could have been if cgi animators were unionized and got to work in proper harmony with practical effects.

[moonlitenvyillust]

Ithacan Royal Family headcannons because I have free will

•] I have a feeling Penelope, Telemachus and Odysseus would all be light sleepers. But for different reasons

Ody because of the war and you know what happened in the sea

Penny because of the suitors yes, but because they are loud as fuck

And tele being so anxious he can't sleep idly

•] ody trauma response is freeze. Penny is fight, tele is fly

•] animal kingdom nicknames include: ody being owlet, tele being little wolf, and pen as an eagle (idek)

•] ody is a bi mess. Penny is Penny. And tele is a raging bisexual gender bender

•] tele and ody Bond over SA survivor trauma

•] pen and ody had palace shaking sex for three days straight even after the extended night ended and tele went off on another diplomatic mission to clear his mind (read: go to his lover. Choose who)

•] all three of the family members has been virgins until marriage. No I do not count being r-worded as virginity loss. Fuck you

•] Ody has horrible sense of fashion. You can see him in purple pants in modern AU. And then there's Penelope "local fashonista" of Ithaca and Telemachus "asked to be a model (my modern AU)" of Ithaca

•] if any of them had addictions- oh who am I kidding? Odysseus refuses to take more than two cups of wine. Same for Penelope. Telemachus would not let himself drink more than half a cup but would take some weed and maybe some maladaptive daydreaming

•] Telemachus was 100% on something during little wolf. He was regressing during Legendary and We'll be fine. The real Telemachus is cold and calculating like his father, and yet still as gentle as Penelope

•] Penelope "master Weaver" Of Ithaca, Odysseus "Carved a bed from a living tree" Of Ithaca, and Telemachus "painted ten hyperrealistic portraitd of himself and his mom and soon a family portrait" Of Ithaca

•] Penelope is the embodiment of patient. Odysseus is the embodiment of "I just want my wife bro..." And tele is just your average maladaptive daydreamer

•] Telemachus is somehow just chilling with everyone. Odysseus is still struggling, but he's doing good. Penelope only meets people for social cues

•] Penelope of Sparta was 100% ready to murder the suitors herself. And then Ody shows up and when Tele was told to go and tell his mother, he went and helped his mother pamper herself to look fabulous

•] about the modern AU thing, I was thinking Ody may or may not be a navy captain, hence the left for war thingy he's also a really important one, so yeah. Popular. Penelope is a really popular local cafe owner, and Telemachus was asked to be a model on a random Tuesday and ended up really well known somehow so now The family is just rich and popular ig Telemachus decided he can be a model as a side gig (it pays pretty well)

•] their issues include:

Odysseus now has abandonment issues and fear of leading. Also he's scared of the water now. And thunder. And refuses to eat beef/pork but will eat fish. He's scared of being touched by someone who he isn't sure who is. He has night terrors too! Sorry not sorry<3

Penelope is sleep deprived and now has insomnia after her fucked up sleep schedule because of the shroud bluff. She is now unable to stay asleep for long.

Telemachus is a touch starved, sleep deprived, average closet Emo, maladaptive daydreamer, with trust issues. He is scared of drinking more than one half cups of wine because... The suitors. And he's afraid of staying with a large group of loud men also because of the suitors

•] Ody is a bear hugger. Penny hugs back immediately. Tele tries to run at first but secretly craves the physical fatherly affection

•] remember that one meme that goes....

"Does it matter, who wins the argument?"

Penelope: "it matters, but what matters more is, fairness"

-argues fairly

-the voice of reason™

-knows when to use her words

Telemachus: "it doesn't matter, what matters is, who the fuck are you to start an argument with me?"

-can and will roast you, if he knows what you are, you're so over

-are you even on his standards of "decent debate opponent" Or are you just a practice dummy/entertainment?

-sunshine boy who? This is "hanged twelve maids" Telemachus speaking.

Odysseus: raises eyebrows "...?"

-has yet to loose a single argument (except with crew, unfair)

-pet liar of Athena goddess of wisdom, has fooled her too

-he's just- you know

•] all hail King Odysseus "I tried to stab my male crush during the war" Of Ithaca. and next in line to the throne, Telemachus "fuck a fight with a suitor was my masochist awakening" Or "gender? What gender?" The heir Of Ithaca.

•] modern AU Telemachus has killed a man. Penelope and Odysseus doesn't know. He is not sorry

•] Penelope is good at hiding her feelings through seriousness. Odysseus is the greatest liar in history. Fooled hundreds of King's of what he truly thinks or feels. While Telemachus has some kind of switch in his head that goes from "sunshine boy" To "Emo kid" To "over observer" To "hanged twelve maids in a day. Will do it again" And it's somehow, all the real him.

•] Hermes gave Telemachus a gun and told him to only use it during dire situations. Telemachus shot it at Antinous's eye. That's why he only has one now (idk how he survived he just did)

•] in my modern AU, their last name is Laertedes. And Penelope, before marrying in, her name is Penelope Icarius.

[gffa]

You know why the Jedi are right in this scene? Because it's literally how the Force works, this moment is undivorceable from the very basic worldbuilding fact that: The Force works based on their emotions. That is part of everything to do with the Force in the movies, that is the very first layer of the foundation of how it works! If they use the Force while they're afraid, that is straight up a path to the dark side, that's not just what the Jedi say, it's how Star Wars' worldbuilding functions. “Once you become afraid that somebody’s going to take it away from you or you’re gonna lose it, then you start to become angry, especially if you’re losing it, and that anger leads to hate, and hate leads to suffering. Mostly on the part of the person who’s selfish, because you spend all your time being afraid of losing everything you’ve got instead of actually living. [....] So that is ultimately the core of the whole dark side/light side of the Force.” –George Lucas Fear is the path to the dark side. It doesn't matter if the fear is justified or not, it's not necessarily a moral or value judgement, but it just is how the Force works. So, the scene in The Phantom Menace goes like this: Yoda:  "Afraid are you?" Anakin:  "No, sir." Yoda:  "See through you we can." Mace:  "Be mindful of your feelings." Ki-Adi:  "Your thoughts dwell on your mother." Anakin:  "I miss her." Yoda:  "Afraid to lose her, I think, mmm?" Anakin:  "What has that got to do with anything?" Yoda:  "Everything. Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. I sense much fear in you." The Jedi are repeating Lucas' explanation almost word for word in this scene, fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering, this isn't what the Jedi decided was how things work, it's how the Force works as decided by the guy who created the Force, they're absolutely, 100% correct about it. And that's why it's important that Anakin isn't acknowledging his fear here, that it's not that he's afraid that's the problem or what the Jedi are saying is the problem--the Jedi express emotion all across the movies! that whole "there is no emotion" thing is NOWHERE in the movies or TCW! that is something Lucas himself never put in ANY of his canon!--but that he won't even be mindful of his feelings. Being mindful isn't immediately purging them, it's acknowledging that they're there, working through them, eventually letting them go. "But it's normal for a nine year old to miss his mother! How can they say he's bad just for--" They're not saying Anakin is bad. Nobody is saying Anakin is a horrible person for missing his mother! Nobody is even saying that Anakin is a horrible person for not being mindful of his feelings! Nobody is saying that it's Anakin's fault that he doesn't have the tools for better emotional regulation! But they are saying that he's not a good fit for the Jedi. And they're right! He's not a good fit for the Jedi! Not one single Council member even so much as implies that this is any kind of judgement of Anakin as a person or that he's bad for it! They're saying he doesn't have the rock solid foundation that a Jedi needs because that's how the Force works--and they're right. Every commentary Lucas ever makes about Anakin's fall is that he didn't want to regulate his feelings, he didn't want to let go of things.

The Jedi never once say or imply that that would make Anakin a bad person or that he's a failure because he didn't magically have things he wasn't taught, but they're saying that it would make him a bad fit for being a Jedi and they can already feel--given that they're psychic space wizards who can sense others' feelings--that he doesn't really want to change. ("He's nine! You can't judge a character at that--" Girl, it's a fairy tale meant to illustrate Lucas' personal philosophies about emotional regulation via fairy tale logic, not hyperrealistic examinations of characters, come on now.)

Which doesn't make Anakin a bad person or that he's in the wrong for being scared and not having the tools to deal with it. The Jedi can say "He's not a good fit for what we need to be because of the way the Force works." and not have it be any kind of condemnation of him as a person. His later actions, once he has the training and support to know better, sure. But nobody's saying the nine year old is at fault. They're saying the nine year old doesn't have the foundation he would need, which it doesn't matter that it's not his fault, it's still quite literally how the Force works, that you need that foundation.

[yayasvalveplay]

Ugh Yaya don't do this to me. Not OP having a Sari doll that he thinks it's real 😭😭

But honestly, I'm laughing a bit too, cause right now in my country, Brasil 🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷🇧🇷, there has been a nightmare with people having realistic baby dolls and calling them their children.

Baby Reborn or Bebê Reborn is the name of these hyperrealistic dolls, look at these creepy ass dolls. And these baby reborn parents, as they are calling themselves, are fighting for their rights as parents?!

One of these days, it appeared on the news, that a baby reborn mom fought with an actual mom over the preferencial sit on the bus. And I heard from my stepmom, who's a lawyer, abouting someone wanting her to take a case involving divorcees fighting for their baby reborn child.

Please God take me away from these people, The zueira is too strong even for meeeeeee

Pancake I am so sorry to remind you of that. But I just thought it would make sense for him to have that. Considering his freaked outs are about his eldest daughter.

Unless he's having a hallucination and thinking she's still there when she isn't.

Either one you think would be more appropriate.

[huntershippings]

i have GOT to steal the gender your timeskip kris and silver are giving!!!! also more serious question but what hobbies do your timeskip characters have... wait also what are kris and lyra's professions!

silver and kris have awlays had the most . Gender vibe to me in the quartet so i wanted to make them . ggggender.. its free to take... free to steal first come first serve

IN TERMS OF HOBBIES. fun question!!!! big ramble about my timeskip ahead!!

ethan i think is big on sports/exercise andddd exploring. Nature. but honestly thats kinda it. a big thing about my timeskip ethan is that he is kind of.. a blank slate. its sorta hard to explain but a big part of his character is that he doesn't really know who he is. and doesn't really have a solid personality or sense of self.. ........ my poor son silver!! i think he is not so secretly a huge nerd. he has shelves in his room filled with manga and anime. he collects knives. has a giant fancy knife collection and it freaks ethan out. i think he reads the dictionary for fun. hes a big tech nerd. likes video games and programming. he'd probably hack into poorly protected databases for fun on a friday night. probably jailbroke his phone. i think he likes to draw. his sketchbooks are mostly filled with slightly unsettling charcoal drawings though the occasional page is probably something hyperrealistic. when he was a kid he used to play the piano and he eventually got back into it after ethan convinced him to. kris is probably a big explorer... i think her and ethan would go on little adventures together sometimes. i think shes a big history buff and would "erm ackshually 🤓☝️" someone if they said something even slightly inaccurate about the history of the ruins of alph. in terms of jobs, i think she'd be a professor who bases her research on the history of johto. she'd know how to play the electric guitar and would often play it with silver while he plays the piano... :3 i think she and silver would be good friends lyra would be big into fashion. she'd probably make and modify her own clothes often. i think she'd know how to crochet. she likes to bake and would make sweet treats to give whenever she meets up with friends. she probably travels a lot. i think alongside ethan she'd also be into some sports. i like the idea of her working at a nice lil bakery in goldenrod.

[midnightnautilus]

alright welp here we go @raddcards

putting a readmore cause this is probably just going to a long rant of cephalopod spite about a topic that probably will only interest a select few so let's-a go

I'm going to be honest, I really wanted to like this movie. I did.

Positives first!

This movie is not the worst thing I've seen in my life.

It's got inklings of fun concepts and good stuff here and there. I think the base concept as a whole around satirizing reboots and bootlegs is a fun concept for a Roger Rabbit type movie (though the idea of stealing characters and turning them into bootlegs seems a little roundabout? why not just have characters made in a lab, come up with a clone identity crisis dealio or-- I'm trailing off with this idea alone, stick with positives right now). Things like The Uncanny Valley, the gag with Ugly Sonic taking a new lease on life, and the claymation style cop all brought some genuine pleasure to me. There is creativity at play here.

But... it just has such a cynical center that feels like it has nothing to say outside of the surface level "haha too many reboots" without making any additional comments aside from "oh but since this is OUR reboot, it'll be good and anything bad that happens we can write it off as self-deprecating and meta!!!" Falling into a trope and acknowledging that it's a trope does not make it cool unless you do something fun or new with it. The Lonely Island crew, while talented in their own ways, were just not the right people to helm this movie because it feels to me like they don't really love the sincerity and bits of camp that truly makes this type of concept. (The Peter Pan thing really is its own can of worms, there are other articles talking about it, but whether it was intentional or not, it really does make it feel that much cheaper in its satire.)

The animation... literally on everyone else looks fine except for the cel shaded 3D. Why did we do that. What are we doing.

"Oh, 2D on the main characters is too expensive!!!" Well they sure spent SOME money on those crossovers

Honestly, unearthing the legal battles on all those characters from other studios would be interesting to research... and like that intro was entirely 2D too! That looked amazing! At least make it look properly 2D or something, like maybe 2D puppet rigs?? For a movie that's coming from Disney, it really cheapens the whole thing further. You don't have to have a bajillion recognizable characters from different studios for the clout and the youtube cameo videos.

And for that matter, this doesn't really feel like a chip and dale rescue rangers necessary movie. It really feels as if you could switch the duo with any toon duo (IP or OC) and the plot would still work.

It just feels empty and pandering. I dunno. No hate to the creative team that worked on it, I'm sure the animators and story artists worked their hardest to make this good. But it just wasn't it for me.

And now, hey, look at that, it's been pretty much forgotten outside of a quick "hey remember when ugly sonic cameoed in that one movie?"

There are a lot of cool ways to push a concept like this! I was actually reading an interview with Owen Dennis who said that when asked what IP he'd like to make a series out of, he said he'd want to do a take on GEX in which the character itself tries to grapple with his existence as a character being brought into a reboot of his own franchise, and becoming a character with more depth. That sounds really neat and I wish we got that.

And the reason that got me thinking about this movie again is that, in the year of our lord 2025, Doctor Who really nailed the energy and excitement of a toon creature concept. From the BTS, you can really feel that EVERYONE involved was buzzing with the idea and process of making this. (And hey - the episode even has a bit of a jab at those hyperrealistic ""Real"" Fictional Character in Real World CGI in a fun way without beaning the symbolism over your head.)

[mad-not-disappointed]

speaking of Flow, i want to compare it to the “live action” CG remake of The Lion King and its prequel Mufasa.

now i haven't fully watched either of these movies but i've seen enough to know that the animation is... not good. the first movie, The Lion King remake, boasted itself for being “hyperrealistic” while literally no one asked for this.

however, all of the animals in it are like robots. they don't make any expression even during scenes that are tense or sad. and i am baffled by the number of people who think that animals don't express emotions. anyone who has a pet knows that animals are very expressive, even comically so.

just take the scene where Simba sees the stampede approaching from afar. the original movie, despite being a cartoon, showed the natural cat reaction of Simba flattening his ears in fear. meanwhile the CG version of Simba is just him going 😐 and that's supposed to be “more realistic”.

cats when frightened arch their backs, their fur stands up on the end, their ears flatten, and their pupils dilate. and Flow does all of this so well. despite not being hyperrealistic like The Lion King, Flow manages to nail the mannerisms and expressions of the animals, so much so that you sometimes forget you're watching an animated movie.

Mufasa seems to have taken some notes from the criticism of the first movie but even then, instead of making these hyperrealistic animals emote and behave the way animals do, they now do human things like smiling. and this is somehow worse than the robo-lions in the first movie. it sends these characters straight into the uncanny valley territory because they look like real lions but smile and talk like humans.

not to mention, these movies have talking characters and songs, and yet, Flow is a thousand times more compelling and emotions despite having zero dialogue and no big musical numbers. and the animation on general is so much more visually interesting despite not having the big budget or seasoned creators like Disney.

it's just baffling to me how Disney just keeps getting more and more washed. i think it's time to turn our attention away from it and pay more notice to indie creators and smaller studios who actually care about telling a good story and put in so much effort. can we just pull a The Last Airbender and pretend like the Disney remakes don't exist?

the creators of Flow have done their research on animals and were able to create such a moving story with such small budget. meanwhile, Disney probably zoomed in on a HD picture of a lion and was like “we're gonna get every strand of fur right but forget to make them act like sentient beings”.

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

welp i accidentally deleted your ask @ ai anon. and it was after i wrote out a long ass response too so i'm kinda annoyed and i'm just gonna give you the cliffnotes of what i said:

ai art/video is based.

"it's slop" is cope. most "art" that's produced today is already slop. that's just how it goes. the vast majority of any medium is slop. that's what makes it slop. but just because most of it is slop doesn't mean that there aren't a few greats that rise to the top. why would ai art be any different?

you don't have to spend years grinding. makes art much more accessible. in the case of ai film especially, it subverts old, sclerotic liberal bourgeois order of art driven by capital and conformity. you know who controls hollywood. why do you trust them to be tastemakers?

the idea that art is only made meaningful through suffering is cringe commie theory of value/priest fetish shit.

people who have suffered will obviously feel bitter about people being able to reach their position (or beyond) without also having to suffer. old guard is just sad because they trained 20 years to become a cog in a machine that no longer exists. don't be one of those slavish losers.

no one dreams about being a pipeline animator. everyone dreams of being a studio director. ai enables that. also kills art-by-committee. empowers the individual will. the artist. the godhead. art as will-to-power again, you no longer need to "collaborate" with others or seek the approval of a committee of executives who just say "make it more like frozen" in order to see your horrifying vision realized. you can just do it. everyone is a one-man studio or a one-man film crew or one-man orchestra. auteur theory on steroids. every man a mythmaker.

it doesn't destroy the need for skill anyway. it just transform the skill set and establishes new standards for excellence. you still have to be good to stand out. why wouldn't that be the case? you just don’t have to be good at drawing fingers anymore. now you have to be good at composing, refining, worldbuilding, directing, etc. people always whine when the domain of mastery shifts. photography was "not real art." digital was "not real painting." cg was "not real animation." but all that means is: you’re no longer elite. you're just old and slow.

art is not even about technical skill anyway though. it's more about vision, taste, style, etc. curation. narrative instinct. symbolic force. conceptual clarity. the human part of art. that's what matters. people might be impressed by the dude who can draw hyperrealistic eyes for a few minutes but it doesn't leave a lasting impression. people want meaning and inspiration. artists are not technicians or engineers. they are visionaries and dreamers and seers. vision > technique.

ai doesn't destroy art. it purifies it.

revives artist-tyrant. reification of logos. speech as an act of creation.

[tossawary]

The AVALANCHE group in "Final Fantasy 7: Remake" keeps cracking me up. They're not wearing any face masks to hide their identities when busting into secure SHINRA facilities full of surveillance cameras??? They don't even change outfits when they're not running missions??? It's killing me.

Assuming that they are not outright killing every SHINRA trooper they encounter (maybe they are, idk), even if they weren't being caught on a bunch of surveillance cameras (the opening mission shows this happening), there's like dozens of people who should be able to give relatively detailed descriptions of them??? (Also, I laugh every time the screen says that Cloud has "defeated" a SHINRA trooper. If he's a super soldier swinging that much sharp metal around at high speeds, he should (realistically) be cutting people in half. It is amusing to me to see the people enemies just fall over and the machine enemies get trashed. I find it very cartoony.)

(I am still failing to properly watch my way through this series during work. I personally don't super love the hyperrealistic dolls design style and I don't think it jives all that well with the incredibly cartoony world building, clumsy "as you know" exposition, and wacky gameplay execution so far. It's just not my thing. Yet I found "Ace Attorney" utterly intolerable to watch but very fun to actually play through the wackiness, so I'll give FF7 the benefit of the doubt there and say, "Sure, I assume this is still really fun to actually play and that the world is immersive enough that way.")

This game is a "AAA" remake of a super popular game in a super popular franchise, but they apparently couldn't be bothered to make secondary "civilian" models for Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge? What is this? A cheaply made cartoon series? These characters are waltzing around the slums in their matching bright red bandanas and Jessie, who is apparently a former performer and therefore especially recognizable, is always wearing her silly tit-sculpted armor. AVALANCHE took a crowded passenger train home from their opening terrorist mission when they should rightfully all smell and look awfully beat-up and suspicious after fleeing a massive reactor explosion???

Like, I don't really care if the characters think they're hacking the camera systems here or if the game wants pretty character faces to be visible at all times. I also don't really care about faithfulness to the original setup. They could yank facemasks down during specific cutscenes? Cloud could lose his facemask at a dramatic moment during a cutscene? And Jessie could exclaim over how cute Cloud is at the end of the mission or whatever; you can frame all of their faces as a rewarding reveal at the end of the opener. I know that character models removing clothing is super hard in 3D animation, especially games, but there are storyboarding and model swap tricks for that. You can fake ripping off a facemask relatively easily.

If the point is for SHINRA to know it's them all along and to set them up to take the fall for something later, then AVALANCHE taking greater precautions and the Turks catching them out anyway could be used to make both AVALANCHE and the Turks look more competent / dangerous. Maybe you could generously interpret SHINRA's apparent failure to catch our protagonists out as the corporation being a bloated wreck of greed and incompetent, overly reliant on their technology and wealth, but that still doesn't really excuse for me making the AVALANCHE characters look this reckless. Jessie later visits her SHINRA employees PARENTS' HOUSE in her TERRORIST UNIFORM??? JESSIE, NO!!! That's so dangerous.

There's so much detail in the backgrounds here already! If it's a matter of resources, surely some random mob NPC models could be cut so that I could see Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge in cute civilian wear outside of their missions! I am already suspending so much disbelief for so much of FF7's wacky worldbuilding, but these little details are what's really tripping me up for some reason, like, come on. SHOW ME that these characters are good at what they do by having them take some basic precautions.

I laughingly shared these thoughts with someone and they said (jokingly critical of the game as well) that Barret probably doesn't bother with secrecy because he's already apparently the only big black guy around and almost certainly the only big black guy with a gun for an arm. Which is a point! But also, BARRET!!! YOU'RE A FATHER!!! SUNGLASSES ARE NOT SUFFICIENT ANONYMITY HERE!!! THINK OF MARLENE, MAN!!!

[literallynharmonia]

hate the ultimate guide. heres a few reasons why.

reused art: I understand how hard it is to make art, especially at that calliber of detail. I'm an artist, I get it. but the charm of the original ultimate guide was that we had these hand painted, unique pieces of art of these characters, it showed a little personality too.

How stale and lifeless the art is: This is a complaint that I've had with the current western artist for years, the art is just... boring. the colors are pretty, yeah, like wow hyperrealistic cats. cool. but what else? can we see their personalities? what's the book gonna be like? the old covers had that charm, but not these ones. at all. (also is that even... i could not tell that was runningnose and littlecloud. i mean. runningnose has water in his snout, thats not what cat snot looks like but go off. he just looks a little soggy ig, not in a perpetual state of sick.)

Lack of Personality: this is a different complaint I promise. I dont like how the art seems to take away the personality of every character so theyre staring stoicly at the camera. some of these characters arent all that stoic. I never liked the firestar art in the last hope because I deadass thought it was mapleshade until someone told me it was firestar. firestar isnt this scary, stalky cat in the shadows. not to normal people at least. if i can mistake your main character as one of the villains in your cover art that isnt fucking good. I don't want to see these cats staring bug eyed at the camera, I want to be able to tell what they're like JUST from a glance at the art. Who is that- harestar?? why doesnt he look nervous?? he looks almost noble here, which is the opposite of who he's supposed to be, he's a wuss and a loser and i love him for it. like girl that is NOT mudclaw thats some random cat i saw at the shelter once, WHERES HIS ANGER? WHERES HIS FUCKING RAGE??? RISE RISE RISE RISE RISE RI

the Characters are hard to recognize, even with the title cards: Who are these cats. who. who the fuck are they. I can recognize a few cats, sure, but thats if I can pick out a defining trait. Squirrelflights tail, Scourges Collar, Ravenpaw's white chest, those are things that are explicitly told to us that these characters have, but everyone else??? WHO??? Like that was supposed to be leafstar?? HUH?? Wait that's supposed to be Oakheart? I cant even tell if hes red, its so YELLOW OUT I CANT FUCKING TEL WHO HE IS. Sagewhisker is described with yellow eyes, yet she has blue ones in the ultimate guide (i dont usually get pissy about eye color but not only are these cats supposed to be distinct from each other but i really like sagewhisker and i would die for her, yes i will gatekeep her from the artist fucking fight me), Bluestar is barely recognizable, i didnt know who half of these cats were before i read their nameplate. thats not a good thing.

Red mapleshade. Why she red. WHY SHE RED.

Leafpool. I didn't even know that was you at first but man they did you dirty.

sol. dude that is not sol no matter how much you stretch it- why is he a tabby?? hes supposed to be a tortie, why does he look like lionblaze?? and even then he doesnt look that lionlike, even though hollyleaf literally thought he was when she first saw him like what?? HUH???

mothwing. why she anger. also why she not fluffy

squirrelflight. i always hated her SE art but seeing the whole thing makes me angrier. like she isnt not accurate to canon or anything i just... hate it. i hate it withe very fibre of my being. ALSO WHERE IS HER PERSONALITY I WANT TO SEE HER BEING ENERGETIC NOT STARING 😐 AT THE CAMERA FUCKING HELL-

yeah, so im not gonna buy this book. i dont even want to know how they wrorte any of the female characters to make them somehow evil or how they somehow make a completely irridemable male character a sweet uwu baby. and everyone has talked about the ableism to death so im not going to beat this clearly still living horse, im just gonna let you find it yourself.

[masteraqua]

it is once again time to rank the kh3 disney worlds and wowee have things changed since the first playthrough.

my general takeaway from this run is that kh3 lives and dies on novelty. the initial experience is very fun and exciting—and i don't want to discount the value of that—but after that it just feels like a chore to get through. or at least it does to me.

my futile hope for future games is that the length of the levels is trimmed back down to something breezier.

San Franksokyo. i somehow didn’t notice until now that the reason you’re supposed to do this world last is that, in terms of writing, it’s the best scenario by a country mile. i am obsessed with tiny evil riku and everything that comes out of his mouth. the drama with hiro and evil baymax is just fantastic. and the roxas callback!!! this is how you write a disney world that matters. i wish all the others were this good.

Monstropolis. mike wazowski is the best thing in this game. that’s all i have to say about it.

Olympus. this world is a lot of fun spectacle and not much else. and i think that’s fine. the verticality makes it unique. as far as the experience goes, the only real problem i have with it is the number of tutorials you’re bombarded with.

Arendelle. i did not remember how much of this world is just straight hallways LOL. i think the first half of the level is pretty good and the second half is kind of bad. the part where elsa exploded heartless with her magic made me go :D. larxene is a fun villain as always. but i’m still mad about what they did to hans.

Toy Box. i enjoyed this world a lot more on my first playthrough when it was novel—it was #1 in my original ranking, after all! and i’m still very impressed by all the graphic design work and the level design in general, as someone who loves enclosed spaces crammed with details. but the experience is hampered by the fact that the majority of it revolves around the mechas, and i cannot stand the mechas. awful gimmick. beat of lead can kiss my ass.

Kingdom of Corona. this is another one that i liked more the first time around when it was new and shiny. without that on its side, i just ended up spending most of my time here getting lost in that damn forest and feeling annoyed about it. the rapunzel interactions are still cute, though.

Hundred Acre Wood. this one only scrapes its way out of the bottom rank by virtue of being short. in no other context would i consider that a compliment. the minigame isn’t even fun :(

The Caribbean. whatever enjoyment i find in the open world exploration is completely cancelled out by the interminable cutscenes and the obnoxious boat battles. i never want to see johnny depp’s hyperrealistic pores ever again. when you aren’t being inundated with cutscenes, the scenario in this world is essentially just a bunch of janky setpieces strung together haphazardly, and i enjoy basically none of them.

[mlleclaudine]

New Exhibition Explores the Timeless and Perplexing Tradition of “Trompe l’Oeil”

by Eva Baron - My Modern Met, May 12, 2025

George Ayers, “Swamp Frog,” oil on panel

Much like a puzzle, an illusion demands patience. But it also rewards that endurance, offering, in return, a complete story from its singular and sometimes baffling parts. Fool Me Twice, a new exhibition staged at Robert Lange Studios (RLS), sets up such an agreement: visitors may initially be perplexed by these visual tricks, but those determined enough will decipher them—and to great satisfaction.

Encompassing 20 artists from around the world, Fool Me Twice celebrates the artistic tradition of trompe l’oeil, often translated as “deceive the eye” in English. As its name suggests, the technique relies heavily upon illusion, blurring the boundaries between reality and representation. These artists seem to ask What do we believe to be real? and How confident are we in defending those beliefs?

If the paintings in Fool Me Twice are any indication, we should be wary and perhaps even suspicious of what we encounter. George Ayers, for instance, beckons viewers toward Swamp Frog, in which a hyperrealistic frog seems to be breaking through the surface of the canvas. His Wall Tart composition, on the other hand, mimics a decadent slice of cake tearing through a plaster wall.

“I wanted to create something that makes people question the limits of the painting itself,” Ayers said in a statement. “The frog isn’t just painted on the surface—he’s breaking through it, challenging what’s real and what’s illusion.”

Sharon Moody’s The Year of Great Shocks achieves a similar effect, showcasing a comic book splayed out to reveal a spread in which New York City is swamped with water. The pages appear so weathered, so delicately thin, that it feels almost impossible to resist the urge to flip through the book, exploring what other shocks it contains. But resist the urge we must—the comic book is, in fact, meticulously painted onto a canvas.

Other works in Fool Me Twice pay homage to the early pioneers of the genre. Lange, who owns RLS but is also a realist painter, contributes Illusions Within, featuring an iPhone whose background is René Magritte’s The Son of Man. During his lifetime, Magritte was renowned for his surreal, illusory style, one that can be succinctly described through his iconic painting The Treachery of Images.

To echo Magritte, is a painting of a pipe really a pipe? Fool Me Twice doesn’t propose an answer, but it does exemplify the joys of posing such a question in the first place. The exhibition’s artworks are certainly rigorous in their technical accomplishments, but it’s their insistence on wonder and mystery that truly set them apart.

Fool Me Twice is currently on view at Robert Lange Studios in Charleston, S.C., through May 25, 2025.

Sharon Moody, “The Year of Great Shocks,” oil on panel

Daniel Caro, “Prêt-à-porter,” oil on panel

Joel Carson Jones, “Inside Out Outside In,” oil on panel

Leeah Joo, “Parrhasius No. 62, Cranes,” oil on panel

Robert Lange, “Illusions Within,” oil and vinyl on panel

Natalie Featherston, “Nested,” oil on panel

Natalie Featherston, “Nested,” oil on panel

Jacob A. Pfeiffer, “In a Bind,” oil on panel

Patrick Nevins, “Halcyon,” oil on panel

Robert Lange, “Bend and Blend,” oil on panel

Jacob A. Pfeiffer, “Middleman,” oil on panel

Robert Lange Studios: Website | Instagram

[roadhogsbigbelly]

i'm sorry but I always thought this meme was really corny and bad in general, and not really helpful in actually acknowledging crunch culture and feels like it just treats asking for more mediocre products as "the solution" to workplace abuse, i am sorry that one trans artist got harrassed, and i'm sure most of the harassment they received was due to transphobia but i didn't start hating the meme because of them, i mostly tolerated it until people kept using it to defend criticism of like. pokemon games with bad graphics and other underdeveloped features because wanting a game that looks good must mean supporting crunch culture as if the game doesn't look bad because of said crunch culture, or using the meme to describe game's that do have good graphics but use stylization, as if that doesn't just feed into the idea that the only way for a game to look good is for it to look hyperrealistic (i also think that there's an actual difference between having high graphic fidelity and looking good which i don't think people acknowledge), that's why "worse graphics" is just not a great term i think. it's inherently volatile even if you're on the side of "worse graphics". i think people were already sick of the meme, so the trans artist was just in the wrong time, but i also think there a transphobic people who would of harrassed them no matter how luke warm the take was. i don't know though i don't use kiwi farms.