#of course I could also.... draw something

[anonf1writer]

“but please shut up” — ln4

summary: from the SINGLE PARENT UNIVERSE and based on THIS request, I present to you 2k words about the moment Yn first said the three words to Lando, and then told him to shut up (or something like that). (I am reposting this because I didn’t like the first version, so... yeah. no more yn now)

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You and Lando had been dating for no longer than six months when the words finally slipped out of your mouth. 

It was a Saturday morning. A sunny one, to be precise. One of those rare occasions that normally meant peeling Olivia away from the TV and getting her ready for a picnic at the park, or for riding a bike, or for doing just any activity that allowed you to soak the sun as much as possible. 

On that particular Saturday morning, though, the clear sky wasn’t the only rare thing happening in London.

For starters, you weren’t at your place, but at Lando’s apartment. Something that had never happened before. Not in the morning, at least. Not as a result of spending the night there. 

Then, of course, because you weren’t at your own place, there was also the fact that Olivia wasn’t there, with you. Instead, your sister had taken her to Bristol so she could spend a fun weekend with her cousins. And so you and Lando could have some time alone. 

So, yeah, of course—things were different that morning. 

And yes, maybe you could have sensed that something else would happen, something you didn’t see coming because it also normally never happened. 

But you didn’t.

All you did was wake up wrapped in Lando’s arms, kiss him good morning, and drag yourself out of bed. On your way across the bedroom, you grabbed one of his hoodies and put it on. Warm, oversized, and smelling like him. Exactly how you liked it. 

Once you made it to the kitchen, the space opened into sunlight and sleek surfaces. Fancy. Clean. Organized. Looking not even one bit like the messy tiny home you owned. With no crayons forgotten on the table, no mermaids and unicorns in the mugs and cups and plates, no colorful drawings stuck to the fridge. And yet just as comfortable and cozy in its own Lando Norris’ way. 

It made you smile, for some reason. A smile that you kept on your face while trying to decide what to make for breakfast, and that only grew bigger when Lando finally joined you in, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder while you cracked four eggs into a small bowl. 

“Hmm,” he murmured, his morning voice sending chills down through your spine. “You look really nice in my kitchen… Wearing my clothes… Smelling like me…”

You tilted your head slightly, leaning into his curls as he kissed your neck and just settled there, keeping up with your movements—with the whisking of the eggs and the soft clink of the fork echoing in that quiet morning. 

You could tell Lando was happy with that setting, with spending the morning together after also having spent the night together. Something you couldn’t really do very often, considering you still weren’t ready to add him into Olivia’s routine like that. Not without making sure—making fully, fully sure—that this wasn’t just a temporary thing for him. That he was staying in for good, and that he was actually willing to have a role not just in your life, but also in your daughter’s life. 

Which, to be honest, was becoming more and more easy to see as time went by. 

Like when he stepped away to grab the milk from the fridge and very casually asked, “Talked to Liv yet?”

“Not yet,” you said, then waited until he had splashed a bit of the milk into the small bowl to keep going. “Told my sister I’d give them a call after breakfast.” 

You sprinkled in a pinch of salt and went back to whisking, meanwhile Lando got himself busy by grabbing a pan and dropping a knob of butter into it. 

“I hope she’s having fun,” he said, distracted as he switched on the hob and placed the pan above the humming heat. “Y’know, I was thinking about what it’d be like to take her to the beach.” 

You paused. 

You paused and stared at the bowl. Right in front of you. 

And Lando laughed. 

And the butter sizzled gently. 

And then the smell of it filled the space. 

Warm. Comforting. 

“Sandcastle chaos, for sure,” he added.

Still chuckling. 

Still nonchalant. 

As if mentioning he had been thinking about your daughter and about how it would be to spend time with her didn’t bring this funny feeling to your chest. As if it wasn’t a big deal. As if it was normal. 

You swallowed.

To be fair, when it came to Lando, it actually wasn’t weird. Because he did that a lot—dropping how much he cared in the most subtle, random ways. In the little things. 

But this morning, for some reason, it seemed to happen more than usual. 

He did it again, for instance, as you were sitting around the small table and having breakfast. As he was telling you about these new clothes he had bought online. Casually, randomly. Just by asking, “Purple’s her favourite, right?” 

To which you furrowed her brows and mumbled a simple, “huh?” 

“Liv’s.” He scraped the fork against his plate, gathering the scrambled eggs, and shrugged. “I saw these really cute tiny trainers that made me think of her.” He scooped up the food and shoved it inside his mouth. But he didn’t stop, he just chewed as he talked, muffling the words. “They were… Mmph… Puh’pul… Yeah?… Puh’pul’s her fav’rite… Innit?”

 “I—Yeah. Purple’s her favourite color, yeah.”

He smiled, swallowed and nodded, all proud of himself. 

“I knew it.” He took a sip of coffee, then focused on the beans still left on his plate. “Didn’t get them though…” He shoved the fork back into his mouth. Words mumbled as he chewed again. “Didn’know’er size, so… Oh!” He swallowed and shuffled on his seat. “Shit.” He coughed, choking a little around the food that had gone down his throat. “Um… Just remembered… Did I tell you about this… About this new idea we had for the next collection? I didn’t, did I?” 

“Um… I don’t think so, no…”

“Right. Yeah. So, listen to this…” 

And so he rambled about something else. 

And you listened. 

Trying to absorb as much as possible. Trying to understand. Trying to make sense. 

But then, as you were putting the dishes in the sink and talking about the next few weekends and how busy his schedule would be, he did it again. 

He brought her up again.

“I’ll try to come home as much as I can,” he said, “but y’know, if you ever want to come to a race one day, I’d love to have you there. Not just you, but Liv, too. Like, not now, of course, but later, when you’re ready. I’d like that.” 

And like a cherry on top, while you had your hands submerged in warm soapy water, he asked, “Hey, is it weird if I frame that little drawing Liv made the other day?”

You stopped.

And blinked at the plate you had in your hands. 

“The one she said was for good luck?” Lando added, pacing in the kitchen. Not in a nervous way, but in that very particular excited version of him. Full of caffeine. Hair sticking up in three different directions. Hands moving along with his words. Babbling. 

Always babbling.

“Or maybe not frame it but put it on the fridge or… I don’t know… Something. Just… Somewhere I can always see it… Y’know? Would that be weird?” 

You blinked again.

“Because I won’t if it’s weird… Don’t want to make it weird…”

“Lando…” you mumbled, eyes still fixed on the dish in your hand. 

“I mean I don’t know what the protocol is here… I know you said you wanted to take things slow when it comes to her, and I totally get it… I mean you know way better than I do, so I trust your judgment… It’s just that she’s so great, y’know? And that drawing is so cute. It’s been back and forth with me for weeks now, but I wanted to check with you because I—”

“For the love of God!” You dropped the sponge and the plate and turned around, water dripping from your fingers as you glared at him. “Lando, I swear I love you so much, but can you just please shut the fuck up for a moment?”

Lando stopped. 

No. Lando froze.

Mid-step. 

Not even looking at you.

Just.. Hand reaching into the cabinet. Eyes fixed ahead. Blinking to the clean tableware. 

And you didn’t even notice, so you just sighed. Loudly. Dropping your shoulders. Grabbing a tea towel to wipe your hands. And then trying again.

“Sorry. I don’t mean like, shut the fuck up, but just… Y’know, give me a minute to think? You’re like… Nonstop right now! Just going on and on and on about Livie and it’s just—”

“What did you just say?”

You looked at him.

He was still facing away, still frozen on the spot.

“That you’re going on and on about—” 

“No. Not that.” He dropped his arms to his sides and turned towards you. “Before.”

You frowned, searching inside your head for whatever you could’ve said that made him look like that right now—pale, shocked, terrified. On the verge of freaking out.

“I don’t know. What did I—”

“Love me,” Lando murmured. “You said you love me.”

“What?”

“You said,” —he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if gathering the strength to say the words— “Lando I love you so much but can you please shut the fuck up.”

“Oh.”

“That’s what you said. You said you love me.”

“Shit. Lan…”

You stepped forward. 

And he stepped backward. 

“Nuh-uh.” He raised one finger, pointing it at you. “Nope. Stay there.”

Your lips tugged up.

“Babe… C’mon.”

“You love me.”

“Mhmm…”

Lando dropped his arm.

Then opened his mouth, then closed it again. 

And then he looked away, dropping his posture like he had just been punched in the stomach.

“Holy shit,” he said. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—wow. Wow. Ok. Okay. Yeah. That’s—That’s just… Ok. I mean, did you—You really meant that?”

At that, you laughed. 

“Lando…” You dropped the tea towel on the counter and took a step forward, a tiny one. Just to make sure you could. That he wouldn’t run off. “Baby. Just breathe, okay?”

“I am breathing.”

“You’re also sweating.”

“I’m not—” He raised one hand, touching the back of his neck. And then he shook his head. “Maybe, who cares. That’s not the point.”

“Right… Then what’s the point?” you tried, softly this time. Stepping just a bit closer.

“That you love me.”

“Okay.” Standing in front of him, you placed your hands on his chest and nodded. “So? You’ll get used to it.”

Lando snorted and looked at you, his own hands instantly finding your waist. Almost involuntarily. As if they belonged there. As if it was the only natural reaction when having you so close to him. 

“You’re just… You think this is funny?”

“A little, yeah.” 

“I’m freaking out here.”

“I know. I know you would. That’s why I’ve been holding myself from saying it out loud.” 

He pulled you closer, and yet also flinched. Chin and head jerking back slightly while he made sure your body was as close as possible to his. “Why would you ever do that?”

“Why?!” You laughed and slid your hands up his chest, then up his shoulders and neck, until you were able to link your fingers through the short curls on the back of his head. “Did you see your reaction just now?”

“So? Just because I’m weird and freak out like this sometimes doesn’t mean that I… Y’know… That I don’t… I mean I just…”

“I know.” You nodded and launched yourself forward, kissing his cheek before landing back on your feet. “I know you do, babe. So whenever you’re ready. That’s okay.”

He sighed and leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“Bloody hell I do. But now I’m gonna wait until you least expect it. Freak the hell out of you, too.”

You laughed and arched forward, barely lifting off your heels as you reached for a kiss.

Lando reacted quickly, closing his eyes and kissing you back.

And then, around his lips, you murmured, “Bring it on, babe. I dare you.” 

──────────────────

[unikhroma]

rambton, or idk fucken. puppetsocket if you like those wacky ship names that last drawing isn't their actual standing height difference btw, ramb is sitting

can an email and a power strip find love? yes. i have a lot of thoughts on these two interacting

so my theory for these two is that both of them have come in contact with DEVICE_FRIEND. they both were exposed to forbidden information through FRIEND, and although it affected them to different degrees, they both kinda.. lost it. obviously it's much worse for spamton, but it's still the case for ramb as well. he just tends to hide his issues.

the horror of the information they possess is something that they bond over, and something they feel like only the two of them could understand (maybe jevil can but spamton doesn't get along with him ;;). they also see themselves in each other, having been outcasted by their fellow darkners and kept in solitude. maybe together they could be less lonely?

they also think lowly of tenna, having to deal with the side of him that's not great. when they first met again, spamton got extremely angry when he was brought up, which startled ramb, but he broke down sobbing soon after the anger (which is the context for the first drawing).

that moment was when ramb fully understood that this mailman that tenna's always complaining about had more going on than just a big ego. of course he already figured, but yknow it's different seeing the guy show symptoms right in front of you

it's also just nice to spend time with another guy from the same dark world too. ramb doesn't have to feel like a fish out of water anymore, and even though spamton is scary, he's fun, he cares about him, and he doesn't judge. they kept spending time with each other and began to catch romantic feelings.. and that's how they became a couple

though i haven't figured out in what context they met again. something something the knight really did take ramb after kris gets the shadow mantle and they chuck him into castle town for some reason (maybe so he can do that "work to do" he was talking about after the shadow mantle fight)

[kxsagi]

I always pronounce your name as Kissagi because you love Isagi so (Kiss Isagi) 😭

Also every time I see you post about Sae, I have to take a breath to not go feral cause he’s my favorite and it’s bad for my heart 😞

And to all the people thirsting about Sae, I love you all, I relate so hard like you have no clue– He takes up like 30% of my brain at all times (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝) I’ve made 3 playlists (about to be 4) for him and drawn him multiple times, guys help me–

~ 💜 anon

“𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞”

a/n: OMG I PRONOUNCE MY USER AS KISSAGI TOOOO like kiss isagi yessssss mwah mwah 💋💋💋

please don't be shy and share the playlists and drawings 😩 (only if you're comfortable!!)

also, for your kind message, take this sae drabble i had in my drafts ❤️

the rain isn’t heavy, but it’s persistent, enough to soak the hem of your jeans and leave misty streaks on your cheeks. the train station is quieter than usual, the fluorescent lights above humming with an indifferent buzz. you’re standing there like a character in a drama you never asked to star in, arms crossed over your chest, waiting for the person who always makes you wait in ways that aren't just about time. 

sae itoshi shows up five minutes late, umbrella tilted lazily over his shoulder, hair slightly tousled by the wind. he doesn’t apologize. of course he doesn’t. he just glances at you, lips pressed into that unreadable line, like your presence here is both expected and inexplicable. 

“you’re wet,” he says flatly. 

“great observation,” you reply, deadpan. “next you’ll tell me the sky is blue.” 

he doesn’t respond, just lifts the umbrella higher so it covers the two of you. his arm brushes against yours, barely, but you feel it like a spark anyway. 

you hate how calm he looks. you hate how he does this – appears in your life again like he never really left. one text. that’s all it took. “you still take the 7:15?” and you said yes. gosh, of course you said yes. 

“so… what is this?” you ask, voice low. “you miss my sarcasm or something?” 

his eyes move to yours then, slow and deliberate. sae’s always been like this – silent, heavy with meaning, like he communicates in pauses more than words. and you’ve known him long enough to read between them, even if it hurts. 

“i saw that photo,” he says finally. “the one with you and that guy.” 

you blink. “what?” 

“the one where he’s got his arm around you. you were smiling.” he says it without inflection, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s testing you. or himself. 

you cross your arms tighter. “so? people smile in photos.” 

sae looks away, jaw tight. “you looked happy.” 

“and that bothers you?” you ask, stepping half an inch closer. “why? because i moved on?” 

he doesn’t answer. just stands there, rain dripping off the edge of the umbrella like it’s marking time. you want to hit him and hug him at the same time. classic sae effect. 

finally, he says quietly, “i didn’t think i’d care. but i did.” 

that makes your heart thump in a way that makes you furious. you hated how he left things. always cool. always distant. always expecting you to read the fine print of his silences. 

“you could’ve said that months ago.” 

“i know.” 

“so why now?” 

he shrugs, but it’s not casual. nothing about him is, when it comes to you. “i thought if i gave you space, you’d forget me. or i’d forget you.” 

“did it work?” 

his eyes flick to yours again, sea-green and solemn. “no.” 

you should be angry. you should tell him it’s too late. that you’ve built a life without him. that you learned how to stop checking your phone every five minutes. but somehow, all you do is sigh. 

“i don’t know what you want from me, sae.” 

he’s quiet for a moment. the kind of quiet that aches. 

then he says, voice barely above a whisper, “i don’t want anything. i just… wanted to see you. make sure you’re still real.” 

your chest tightens. 

the train screeches in the distance, and the moment feels like it’s suspended between then and now, like you could choose to walk away and it would hurt, but it wouldn’t kill you. you’re not sure you could say the same for him. 

you glance up at him, still standing close, still sharing his umbrella with you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“you don’t have to say anything,” he adds. “i know i messed it up.” 

your voice is softer now. “you did.” 

he nods. doesn’t try to defend himself. doesn’t move away either. 

but as the train pulls in and the wind gusts again, you feel his fingers graze yours under the umbrella – tentative, like he’s asking for a second chance without the pride or the words. 

and for some reason, you don’t pull away. 

not yet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[whisperedmeg]

DARK MATTER ―.✦ s.r. soft animal series ∘ part xi

pairing: spencer reid x fem!nurse!reader

summary: spencer belongs to this history, she’s still finding her place — but love, like dark matter, doesn’t need to be seen to hold everything together.

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff | w/c: 3.3k

tags/warnings: post-prison spencer, reader meets more members of the BAU (past & present!), rossi doing rich old man shit, reader feels like an outsider looking in, big relationship milestone, suggestive makeout at the beginning and implied/fade to black intimacy at the end but nothing super explicit, still 18+ MDNI

a/n: this one has some fun guest appearances from our fave BAU team members 🥳 and something big happens towards the end hehehe. also icymi, I shared some headcanons about soft animal reader & spencer last week. part 12 (the penultimate chapter AHHH) is coming next week. im a lil scared to post that one ngl…prepare yourselves for angst in advance lol

series masterlist

The invitation arrived on a Monday, tucked inside a cream-colored envelope with the kind of dramatic embossing only someone like David Rossi would consider necessary. Both of our names graced the front and Spencer’s eyes lit up like Christmas morning when he opened it.

“‘You’re invited to a celebration of friendship, food, and fine wine at Chateau Rossi.’” He grinned as he read it, shaking his head. “He named his house. Of course he named his house.”

I laughed from the couch, legs tucked beneath me and a half-completed crossword puzzle in my lap. “What’s the party for?”

“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Spencer said, turning the card over like it might reveal more secrets. “It’s not a birthday or an anniversary or a retirement or anything. I think he’s just bored and rich.”

“Sounds about right.”

Spencer looked at me with a kind of boyish hope, a spark I didn’t see often but always loved when it surfaced. “Rossi said a bunch of old team members are all coming into town for it. Morgan, Hotch, Blake... everyone. It’ll be amazing.”

Something fluttered in my chest — mostly joy, but tinged with a touch of nerves. I kept my tone light. “You sure I won’t be crashing a BAU greatest hits reunion?”

He crossed the room in two steps and stood in front of me, hands warm on my shoulders. “I want you there. That’s the whole point. And I’m sure everyone else will be bringing their partners, too.”

I looked at him for a long moment, my lips curling into a soft smile. “Then we’ll go.”

—

Five days later, I stood in front of the mirror with the front of my deep green midi dress clutched in place. Spencer stood behind me, eyes focused. His knuckles grazed my lower back, feather-light, teasing the sensitive skin along my spine before catching the zipper between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss between my shoulder blades, and my breath caught in my throat.

“You’re moving awfully slow for someone who’s supposed to be zipping me up,” I murmured, eyes half-closed as I watched his reflection through heavy lashes.

He raised his gaze to meet to mine in the mirror, dark and playful, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m just admiring you. Thoroughly.”

Turning slowly in his arms with my dress only half-zipped, I slid my hands up his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his crisp shirt. “Flattering me into social functions? That’s low, Dr. Reid.”

“Effective, though, right?” His voice was a husky murmur, his mouth hovering close enough to mine that I could taste the faint sweetness of his breath.

I answered by pulling him into a deep, slow kiss, one that unraveled my resolve with every brush of his lips, every gentle sweep of his tongue. Spencer’s hands tightened around my waist, fingers gripping me possessively as he pressed his hips into mine, drawing a soft gasp from my throat. My hands found their way beneath his jacket, gripping the smooth fabric of his shirt, tugging him even closer.

When we finally pulled apart, our breathing was uneven as I rested my forehead against his, our eyes closed as we steadied ourselves.

“We can’t. We’re already late,” I whispered softly.

He exhaled slowly, nodding with reluctant agreement as he reached around to pull my zipper up the rest of the way. “Then let’s go before we don’t.”

—

David Rossi’s mansion was every bit the chateau he claimed it to be — glowing lanterns in the trees, jazz filtering through the air, tables draped in white linens, fountains twinkling beside flower beds that probably each had their own landscaping teams. The whole thing looked like the opening scene of a very expensive movie.

Spencer held my hand tightly as we crossed the lawn.

“They’re all going to love you,” he said. “Just wait.”

He believed it. I tried to believe it too. The anxious knot in my stomach said otherwise, but I smiled and nodded. This meant something to him — returning to this circle, showing me off like a part of his present that could stand beside his past. I’d met some of them before, but never all at once — and never like this.

I wanted, desperately, to belong to all of it.

Garcia greeted me with a flourish and a kiss on both cheeks. “You made it! I was starting to worry you two were going to skip out and stay in bed all night.”

“Tempting,” Spencer murmured under his breath for only me to hear, squeezing my hand.

“Hi, Penelope,” I said, smiling. “This place is incredible.”

“Oh, Rossi doesn’t know how to do anything halfway,” she said, eyes twinkling as she began to pull me along with her. “Come on, there’s champagne and stuffed mushrooms and something with truffle oil I can’t pronounce.”

—

One of the former members of Spencer’s team, Alex Blake, approached me at the bar and introduced herself. “Spencer told me you’re a nurse at Millburn. That’s vital work — thank you for doing it. Correctional healthcare doesn’t get nearly the attention it deserves.”

I blinked at her, surprised and touched by the comment. “Thank you,” I said. “That… really means a lot.”

For the first hour, it was easy. We sipped champagne under the lights. Penelope made me laugh. Alex asked smart questions. Luke and Tara and Matt were nice, too. Spencer stayed close, his hand constantly brushing mine or curling lightly around my waist. He was so clearly happy to be here and to have me here with him that it made something in my chest ache in the best way.

But then the night deepened. Conversations shifted. Circles formed.

I watched Spencer drift naturally between pockets of conversation. He looked like a younger, happier version of the man I knew, catching up with Derek Morgan and Aaron Hotchner, laughing loudly at something Tara said, hugging Emily with a kind of familiarity that came from war zones and grief and saving lives together. He slid so easily into that past — like muscle memory, the kind built from years of trust and friendship. Still, it kind of sucked that I couldn’t totally slide in alongside him.

I didn’t mind — not at first. I picked at a small plate of food, wandered the edge of the garden, refilled my drink. But slowly, invisibly, the distance started to hum.

The first pang hit when someone I’d already met — an agent named Anderson — introduced himself again. A small thing. Forgivable. But it knocked me slightly off balance. I smiled through it. Laughed politely. Told myself it didn’t matter.

Then came the question: “So, how did you and Spencer meet?”

I answered carefully. “At Millburn. I’m a nurse in the infirmary there.”

The air shifted. A tight smile. A polite nod. And then the conversation wandered away without me. It wasn’t rude. It wasn’t intentional. But I still felt it like a bruise forming.

—

Candles flickered down the center of a long table set for twenty, silver gleaming beside fine china. Spencer sat across from me, deep in conversation with Luke and Hotch. I ended up beside JJ’s husband Will, who passed me a basket of bread and offered a sympathetic smile.

“You surviving?” he asked.

I gave him a wry look. “Trying to.”

He chuckled. “Took me years to get used to how tight this group is. Even now, I still mostly just nod and smile and try to act like all the inside jokes don’t go right over my head.”

I laughed softly. “Sounds like a solid strategy.”

“Seriously though, don’t worry too much about all of this. You’re doing great. Getting integrated with the BAU crew just takes some time.”

I nodded gratefully, feeling slightly less alone.

Across the table, conversation flowed around me, punctuated by laughter and anecdotes that stretched back years. Hotch shared updates about his son Jack’s travel soccer team. Derek proudly displayed photos of his little boy, Hank Spencer Morgan. Laughter broke out recalling a time Derek and Spencer got trapped in an elevator, anxiously calling out for Hotch as if he might magically appear to rescue them. There were more tales of prank wars and Halloween costumes and magic tricks in the bullpen.

Spencer’s laughter was bright, his eyes shining. I loved hearing the stories, loved watching him come alive in the telling of them, even the ones I’d heard before. I laughed along softly, but inside, I wondered if this part of him would always feel slightly out of my reach.

Spencer looked at me a few times. Smiled across the candles. But he didn’t see it. Not yet.

Later, while he talked with Emily and Tara about a recent case in Miami, I wandered back toward the garden. The string lights overhead seemed to blur slightly. I stood in the corner of the patio and tried to breathe.

Someone offered me dessert. I declined. Anderson brushed past me with a joke I didn’t quite catch. I nodded along, still smiling. But my chest was tight.

And then I slipped away.

Upstairs, I found a quiet balcony and stepped out into the night.

The air was cool, the stars clear and sharp above me. I wrapped my arms around myself and breathed.

I heard him before I saw him — the soft creak of the door, the familiar cadence of his footsteps. I leaned into the railing, hoping the dark might soften the vulnerability on my face.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood beside me, close but not crowding.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice low.

“Hey,” I echoed, trying to smile. It didn’t quite reach my eyes. I turned my gaze back up to the stars.

“You okay?”

I hesitated. “Yeah. Just needed a minute.”

He didn’t push. Just let the quiet stretch, open and kind.

Eventually, I exhaled. “Rossi sure knows how to throw a party. And I’ve really loved meeting everyone tonight,” I said with a small smile. “I still need to corner Derek before we leave and get some more dirt on you.”

He chuckled at that, but then the rest of the words tumbled out of me before I could stop them.

“They all know a version of you I’ll never get to meet,” I said quietly. “And I don’t think anyone meant to make me feel out of place, but I still did. Like I was standing just outside the frame all night.”

Spencer’s expression softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I should’ve seen it sooner.”

I shook my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong. No one did. I just…” My voice dipped. “I wish I could belong to this part of your life, too.”

“You do,” he said, without hesitation. “You already do.” He looked down for a moment, then back up at the sky. “Most of the people here tonight have seen the worst of me,” he said slowly. “Watched me fall apart more than once and helped put me back together. But you… you met me in a totally different kind of wreckage. And you chose to stay anyway.”

He turned to face me more fully.

“I want them to know you — not just meet you, but know you. Because you’re the person who pulled me out of something I didn’t think I’d survive. I didn’t even know there was a future out there left for me to want until you reminded me what it felt like to hope.”

My breath caught.

He reached for my hand, his voice low. “I know this part of my world feels like a closed room sometimes. But it’s not. You’re already inside it — just by being here. I’ll keep making space, because I want you in all of it — the past, the present, whatever’s next. And if it ever feels like you’re outside the door, I’ll open it. Every single time.”

The words settled in my chest like warmth after a long cold, and I leaned into him. We stood in comfortable silence, looking up at the stars.

“You ever think about how much of the universe is invisible?” I asked softly after a minute.

“Only all the time,” he chuckled. “Dark matter holds galaxies together. You don’t always see it, but it’s there. Holding the shape. The structure.”

He paused for a moment before his gaze shifted from the sky down to me, eyes full of something I could barely hold. “You’re that for me. You hold me together. You’re part of this, even when it doesn’t feel like it. You’ve changed my center of gravity. And they’ll see that, too.”

He threaded his fingers through mine, and I felt my breath steady at last.

—

Two weeks later, I walked into Spencer’s apartment and took stock of what had changed.

One of Rossi’s books sat on my side of the bed, the page I’d left off on marked with a receipt from our favorite diner — the one with the pie. A framed photo of me and Spencer, mid-laugh on Rossi’s lawn at the party, had taken up residence on his bookshelf, perched next to a faded copy of Cosmos by Carl Sagan. My favorite mug now lived in his cabinet, nestled between his like it had always belonged there.

And on the couch, quietly waiting, was a soft leather-bound journal.

Spencer picked it up and handed it to me once I sat down. “I’ve been, um, writing things down,” he said, voice low. “Things I want you to know. Memories. Anecdotes. Cases that still live somewhere in my head. I realized I never told you half of what made me, me, but I want to start.”

I opened it slowly, fingers tracing his familiar handwriting across the pages. Scribbled thoughts. Stories. Annotations in the margins. I felt the weight of it hit me all at once — not just the pages or the words, but what it meant. That he trusted me with this. That he wanted me to know him, fully and without omission.

I glanced up at him, eyes warm. “You really want me to know it all?”

“All of it.” He leaned in gently, thumb brushing my cheek. “If it ever felt like I was closing doors, this is me opening them. You’re not on the outside.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and leaned in to kiss him softly. “Thank you,” I whispered against his lips.

We curled up together, my head resting gently on his shoulder, the journal open on my lap. Through the window, stars shimmered in the quiet, scattered like secrets we hadn’t told yet. The room felt hushed in that way only night can manage — like the whole world had paused just long enough to let us breathe.

—

After an hour or so of flipping through the journal, Spencer shifted beside me, almost imperceptibly — just enough that I could feel the nerves radiating off of him.

“Turn to the last page,” he said softly, his voice low and careful.

I glanced up at him. His expression was unreadable — serious, but not heavy. Just… open. So I turned the page with one hand, the other laced with his.

There, in his messy, scribbled handwriting, were seven words:

Move in with me. Please say yes.

My breath caught in my throat.

He didn’t speak, just waited, his hand still warm beneath mine. I stared at the words and felt the weight of them settle in my chest.

We weren’t kids. This wasn’t a fantasy, or a giddy impulse, or something he hadn’t thought through. We were two people who had seen some of the worst in life and in each other. We knew what hurt looked like, and we knew what it meant to carry grief and still try to build something anyway.

My mind immediately spun into motion — not just the logistics, but the stakes. What if we made a home together and something still cracked open? What if the walls closed in and started to suffocate us? What if the things he loved about me eventually hardened into something he didn’t recognize?

What if we messed it all up?

I looked at him.

“I know it’s a big step,” he said quietly, as if he could hear every thought I hadn’t spoken. “And I don’t want us to rush anything. But I want a life with you. This — us — is the only thing that’s ever made complete sense to me, even when everything else didn’t. And I’d rather do all the hard parts with you than the easy ones without you.” He studied me a moment. “Plus, I mean, we already spend almost every night together. Your lease is up in a couple months. Half of your clothes live in my drawers. It’s practical, really,” he rambled in typical Spencer fashion. Then he paused, took a breath, and said, “But… that’s not why I’m suggesting it. I’d want this even if it made no practical sense at all.”

I took a breath, and then another, trying to quiet the pulse in my ears. Then I brushed my fingertips against the page, tracing the words he’d written for me with so much hope for the future. I let myself feel that same hope, too.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

His breath stuttered like he hadn’t let himself dream of that answer. And then he smiled, wide and a little dazed.

I leaned in and kissed him, gentle and sure.

It wasn’t a fairytale, and I didn’t need it to be. It was real. Big and messy and soft.

“You know you’re going to have to clear out some shelf space, right? I have at least three milk crates-worth of books, and I refuse to make sacrifices,” I teased.

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “I’ll make room. I’ll even ask Luke for help putting up more shelves if we need them.”

I grinned. “We’re going to have, like, furniture store arguments, aren’t we?”

“Probably,” he said. “But in a deeply intellectual way. Like over the ethics of couches.”

I giggled. “And we’ll decorate for every holiday and accidentally buy the same coffee beans twice and probably fight over whose turn it is to clean the shower.”

“And I’ll lose, every time,” he said, entirely unbothered. “But you’ll still let me sleep in your arms.”

“Yeah,” I replied simply, because I suddenly didn’t know how to say all the things I felt — about home, and us, and what it meant to be chosen like this.

He leaned over and pressed his forehead to mine. “I want all of it,” he murmured. “The books and the arguments and the coffee and the shower. A full life. With you.”

—

Later, as we lay in bed, the journal still open between us and the stars humming quietly beyond the window, I turned toward him, heart full and aching in the best way.

“Spencer,” I whispered, not really sure what I intended to say next. I think I just needed the shape of his name in my mouth.

He looked over at me — soft, steady — and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Come here,” he murmured, voice low.

I did.

The journal slid to the floor with a quiet thud as I moved to straddle his lap, his hands finding my waist as mine curled against the back of his neck. There was no rush, no urgency — just the slow, reverent unfolding of clothes coming off, of skin against skin. Kisses that felt like punctuation. Touches like promises.

And as we moved together — quiet and close and sure — I felt it again: that invisible tether between us. The way he anchored me without even trying. A kind of gravity you don’t always see, but feel all the same.

Like dark matter. Invisible but everywhere, holding us quietly in place.

ᝰ.ᐟ

[girllblogging777]

IN WHICH you force spencer to help you with the only thing he doesn’t know about. makeup.

the video of your makeup routine pops up on your phone, and you press the mic to record the voiceover, a smile on your face “go ahead baby…”

spencer braces himself, rolling his eyes “remind me why i agreed to do this again ?”

“because you love me, obviously” you answered with a shrug, and a tilt of your head.

“right. i do”

you gesture your hand towards your phone, signalling him to finally start talking. internally, you’re giggling, because you once again got him to indulge in your weird little activities he doesn’t know the first thing about.

“ahem, so… hi, hello everyone, whoever’s watching this video of my beautiful girlfriend making herself even more beautiful. i’m spencer… spencer reid - the boyfriend, and i’m supposed to explain what exactly she’s doing in this clip.”

you grin and give him a thumbs up, motivating him to keep going.

“so, she begins by washing her face with some fancy cleanser, which is very important because it maintains hydration, prevents breakouts, exfoliates and removes dead skin, - too many details ? right, sorry.”

he purses his lips when you glare at him, amused.

“then, she proceeds to use some serum, as well as eye cream and moisturiser, which surprisingly works wonders - don’t ask why i know, just… i know. and she also uses sunscreen, as all of you should because, well… it prevents aging and skin cancer.”

but then, the clip shows you opening your makeup bag, and his eyes widen a bit.

“uh, now’s the part where my IQ slashes to 60… this is uh… foundation ? oh no, that’s concealer to conceal blemishes and eye bags she doesn’t have - damn babe, i could use some of that too. now this is foundation ! she puts it on her hand for… some reason, and applies it with a brush… so, that’s kinda like painting-“

you facepalm yourself. painting ? really ?

“wait, why is this so dark ? oh, she’s drawing shadows with a stick… to try to make it look like her nose is tiny and her cheekbones are sharp… baby, you really don’t need that-“

okay, this was really getting amusing to watch, especially because he was analysing the video so carefully, his brows furrowed as he stared at the phone.

“glitter ! liquid glitter… on her cheeks. wait, that’s why you always look so glowy… gives her that ethereal look, you know ? i very much approve of the glitter. oh, and that’s blush. i know that too. but my favourite blush is the one she gets when i kiss her. or the one she’s got right now because i’m very much embarrassing her-“

he’s looking up at you, smiling like an idiot before you point back at the phone.

“right, sorry. i got distracted. baby, who’s even gonna watch that, seriously ? this is some fancy powder… i don’t exactly know what it’s for, but it originates from ancient egypt !”

“spence, come on”

“this is mascara, i know that too… woah, is that some kind of torture device ? hey, what are you doing to your lashes !”

you giggle, covering your mouth as he goes on about the lash curler.

“this is a pencil. for her lips. she uses it like twenty times a day, but i don’t know why. it tastes bad too. oh, and the lipgloss of course, couldn’t forget the lipgloss.”

his words are slowed down, because he’s too busy staring at your lips on the screen.

“uhm… and now she’s spraying something all over her face ? i’m guessing that means we’re done, damn, that was something. thank you for listening, i hope you enjoyed this video because i sure did - enjoy the video, not voiceovering it”

and with that, you take the phone from his hand, pressing the stop button. he lets out a relieved sigh, looking at you with puppy eyes. “how did i do ?”

“not bad at all, spence. but glitter, really ?”

of course, over the next few weeks, the girls at the BAU never stopped teasing him about it. jj kept calling him a “lovefool” and when emily asked penelope for her lash curler, they both warned him “careful, genius, we’ve got a torture device in the room”

okay, makeup may not have been the subject he mastered the most. but he was still glad he had complied and made the stupid video with you, because the smile that had formed on your face back then might have been the most precious thing he’d ever witnessed.

no makeup needed.

[weavingstarlight]

Happy Pride, have some angsty art of Four and Shadow ~

So I decided I wanted to draw Four and Shadow for Pride because, hey, I love these gay boys — but when it came to deciding WHAT I wanted to draw, I had a little more trouble. Instead of doing a classic “Pride post,” I wanted to tell a story. I’ve been spending a lot of time recently with Four and Shadow in Guiding Lights and so I felt like it made sense to draw that version of them (even though it felt a little self-indulgent). I didn’t want to illustrate a particular scene, but instead capture the emotions of the characters symbolically. So, uh, this is what I ended up with!

[Spoilers for chapters 1-17 of Guiding Lights below the cut]

Four was not meant to take over the narrative the way he did. Neither was Shadow. Both characters managed to insert themselves into my outline and demand a larger chunk of the story for themselves. I accept this as “the way writing goes.”

I mention in the fic tags that the soulbonds that unite the Chain are entirely platonic, and this is important to keep in mind with Four and Shadow, who are bonded but who additionally have a non-platonic relationship. It is also important to remember that the soulbonds “activate” the moment a pair of Links get close enough to each other, physically or emotionally (and depending on each Link’s sensitivity to the bond). This means something very important for Four and Shadow’s relationship, which some of you may have already figured out but I’ll lay it out plainly here: The Colors were already soulbound to Shadow when Shadow destroyed the Dark Mirror.

Imagine what that felt like for a moment.

Imagine what Link went through, immediately after his adventure — not only losing his friend, Vio’s partner, but losing his soulmate. And at the same time, rejoining for the first time — going from being Link to being the Colors to being Four — and all that that entailed. (We’ll learn more about what that entailed later in our story.) And the choice, the sacrifice, was made by Shadow and Shadow alone.

Four is no stranger to grief… nor to anger.

And then, quite by accident, Shadow was revived. And Four had to adjust his worldview yet again, now to include the person he was sure he’d lost forever.

But Shadow was the same person as the day he’d died, and Four… wasn’t, anymore.

Fast forward to the “present” day.

Shadow desperately wants to use his powers to rejoin his partner — to save him — but practicality prevents him from doing so. He’s not just worried for Four, he’s scared. And he’s also scared for the other Links, and though he’d be embarrassed to admit it, scared for himself. What happens to Shadow if Four is seriously hurt? What if he dies? Guilt of several kinds bites at Shadow at every moment. He feels angry at his enemies, but also angry at himself for not being able to do more — and even though he knows it’s unfair, he’s angry at the Chain for being slow, angry at Wild for not taking a bigger risk and transporting them with the Slate, and angry at the world for just being sucky. And, selfishly, he misses Four. He’s sad.

Meanwhile, Four is going through his own ordeal. He has no way of knowing where the others are or even if they’re coming to save him. Half of him wants to have faith in his partner and brothers; the other half wants to focus on right now and on saving himself. And there’s a little bit of anger on his part, too — of course the others did the best they could, of course they did… and yet. Four is scared, injured, and lonely, and he can’t afford to be any of those things if he’s going to survive and escape.

But despite all the pain they’ve been through, what unites these two — what unites all the Links — is love. They take strength from each other no matter the distance between them, secure in their love for each other. Nothing can destroy that love, not even death. They’ve already proven that.

During Pride month, it’s great to see examples of queer joy — it’s important to see that! But I think it’s also important to see queer sadness, anger, fear — the full range of human emotions, because queer people and queer relationships contain the same kinds of pleasure AND pain as non-queer ones do. So I don’t feel bad about drawing my poor stressed-out boys during Pride month, and I promise I’ll do happier art of them at a later time. ***

Technically speaking, this piece went great. I’m especially pleased with how the colored pencils came out. My white ink was very dry but it rehydrated well!

8 x 11. Alcohol markers, colored pencils, micron pens, and white ink. Digital background.

[IMG: An illustration of Four from Linked Universe and Shadow (Four Swords manga with a Linked Universe-based design). Four is walking away to the left, visible from the knees up. Shadow is floating behind Four and reaching out for him. Shadow is surrounded by a dark, fiery aura, which flames out behind him. Four is reaching back over his shoulder and their fingers are intertwined. Four is wearing a patchwork tunic, black pants, and black gloves over a light gray shirt. He has blonde hair, pale skin and multicolored eyes. Shadow is wearing a black tunic, white pants, and black gloves over a light gray shirt. He has black hair, paler skin than Four, and red eyes. His feet melt away into dark flames. The “flames” surrounding him are various shades of purple. The background is a textured dark gray-blue. The drawing has black ink lineart and is colored with markers and colored pencils.] *** UPDATE: I made additional posts about the process of drawing this illustration, check them out here!

Process photos Inking timelapse

[pseudophan]

Nora, do you have a gifset of that Iconique™ moment from their radio show where Phil goes "what would you do if your boyfriend cared more about a cactus than you?" I wouldn't think much of that moment if it wasn't for Dan's face literally giving away that they had had that discussion already and he could not believe Phil was bringing it up again, airing out their dirty laundry like that, lmao

i haven't made one personally and i actually don't think i've seen a gifset of this in like... forever??? surely somene giffed this at some point omg. maybe i'll gif it though actually, i could do that

back in the day we were all like "this is phan proof because dan was drawing a cactus earlier!!1" but while i absolutely do think they were telling on themselves i feel like surely the drawing the cactus thing was just also a reference to whichever weird ass argument they'd had earlier. phil asks dan to draw an angry cactus and dan's like ? alright

in my mind dan was obsessing over a cactus earlier that day/week right when phil wanted attention and phil made it his mission to psychologically torture him on the radio. of course it could also just be phil doing that thing both he and dan do where they get hung up on one specific word and it comes up too much, so when he was trying to think of something for dan to draw during a song he was like 'angry cactus' and then later he needed a lol XD random quirky question and cactus came up again, and maybe dan (permanently on edge) just remembered the drawing he just did and was like 'oh no they're gonna run with this for miles' BUT.... the other version is funnier, and honestly also more believable if you look at some of the other instances where dan's had an extreme-lack-of-poker-face reaction on the radio (shoutout lion babe and, above all, avatar in 3d glasses)

[writing-for-life]

The Weight of Goodbye

Dream’s SoM-meetings with Hob Gadling, Lyta & Daniel Hall and his subjects

Sorry not sorry for using this one again, because I’m Jon J Muth’s no. 1 fan, plus it helps me to get over Kelley Jones’ art which I find… challenging 🤣

I’ve been thinking about The Sandman #22 for our reread, and while there are many gut-wrenching issues, this is one of the most quietly devastating ones. It’s a bit like Dream writing his will while pretending he’s just going on a business trip (and of course we get something similar again later on in The Kindly Ones 🥺)

The Speech to His Subjects

Dream addresses the denizens of The Dreaming before departing for Hell. He frames it a bit as instructions for his absence (and sounds super awkward when admitting he made mistakes—it’s honestly like car crash TV), but the emotional undertones suggest something far more permanent:

He tells them about how to maintain the realm if certain situations arise (like him not coming back, either because he dies or because he gets captured) and presents it like contingency planning (for lack of better term). But the truth of the matter is that he’s putting his affairs in order. The formality of it, the careful way he addresses potential concerns: This isn’t just someone covering all bases, this is a ruler preparing his kingdom for the real possibility that he won’t return. And it’s the first time we get told, in no uncertain terms, that if he gets destroyed (his choice of words, not mine), another aspect of Dream will take over.

[Also: Is it just me who thinks that Kelley Jones draws him at his most beautiful when he’s vulnerable? Because some of his other artistic choices are… well, definitely choices 🙈🤣]

What truly gets me is the narrative use of Matthew. He’s concerned, but he doesn’t grasp the hint of finality in Dream’s tone. And at this stage, the reader may not either (we need to remember that we didn’t have the type of hindsight we have now back when the comics first came out; we didn’t know how the whole run would end). So Matthew is, once again, a stand-in for us, the reader (that always makes me think of The Wake, and even after decades, I’m still not over Matthew's speech and his grief). It doesn't help that we’re starting to see their growing bond, and the cracks in Dream’s armour he hid only a minute ago when everyone else was still there:

“I wanted to stick around. Do you mind?” “No.” 😩

The Meeting with Lyta and Daniel

Dream’s visit to Lyta Hall and baby Daniel often gets brushed to the side a bit, and without the knowledge of what’s going to happen, I get it.

But of course we do know what has already happened in The Doll’s House. Even there, it was painfully obvious that Dream, at least on some level, had plans for Daniel. So yeah, this is not a social call; he’s checking in on his replacement (for lack of better term). They have a bond because Daniel was conceived (show)/gestated (comics) in the Dreaming. It’s not Morpheus who gives Daniel his name—it’s most likely Daniel who told him his name.

Lyta’s discomfort throughout the scene isn’t just about supernatural entities dropping by unannounced, or about her deep-seated hatred of Dream because she considers him responsible for Hector’s death. She knows, on an intuitive level, that he is marking Daniel in some way because he already told her back in The Doll’s House that he’ll one day come for the child. At the same time, he’s acknowledging here that this might be the last time he sees the child for a very long time, and that he means Lyta no harm (“today” 🙄). And maybe that’s the only explanation for this:

Because I don’t know about you: If a strange guy whom I deem responsible for my husband’s death tells me the “true” name of my yet unnamed child, I'd certainly not consider that name and smile about it happily…

Hob Gadling and the Toast

Dream appears to Hob in a dream, and that’s a deeply significant choice. He could have met him in the waking world just like Lyta, but instead, he chooses to visit Hob in his own domain, where he has absolute power. But he doesn’t really use that power here, other than for getting in contact in the first place. He rather reveals something that could almost be considered vulnerability:

That’s the same Dream who stormed off in a huff in 1889 because Hob dared to suggest they were friends. The same Dream who tentatively acknowledged that friendship in 1989. The same Dream who now decides to say goodbye to the one person he actually considers a friend. For someone whose entire existence is built on pride and hierarchy, this shows character growth. But it also shows how desperately alone he really is, and that he doesn't want to be a burden to anyone (and that's compounded to the umpteenth degree when they meet the next time 😔).

But there’s subtext here that’s even more heartbreaking: Dream is settling his accounts. He’s making sure that if he doesn’t return from Hell, Hob won’t spend the next century wondering where Dream is, or if their friendship was real. By choosing to appear in Hob’s dreams, he’s giving him something lasting: a memory. And many of us know that this will be one of the cornerstones of Sunday Mourning.

The tragedy is that Hob doesn’t even truly realise this is a goodbye, and he hopes he’ll be back “eventually”. He's happy to have seen his friend, even if it was "just a silly dream"...

Patterns...

When you read these three sequences together, you can't help but see that Dream is systematically saying goodbye to the, at least at this point, three most important cornerstones of his existence: his successor (Daniel), his one true friendship (Hob), and his realm.

This isn’t the behaviour of someone who expects to return unchanged from his mission. This is someone who understands that going to Hell to demand the release of an ex-lover he condemned 10,000 years ago is likely to have consequences he may not survive.

Which brings us to the most important question of this issue:

Does Dream already know he will die?

I don’t think he knows, at this point, specifically how or when. But I think he does understand that his existence is reaching some kind of conclusion. The family intervention, the guilt over what he has done to Nada which makes him return to Hell: They’re really only the culmination of ten billion years of accumulated mistakes and regrets, and it’s only going to get worse from here.

The paradox is that Dream is finally ready to change, but change is antithetical to how he perceives himself. So perhaps, on some level, he understands that real change might require becoming someone else entirely. And that is something I think he does know at this point.

What makes issue #22 so powerful is how it recontextualises everything that comes after. When he eventually faces his final choice in The Kindly Ones, we can look back and see that he was already preparing himself here (and if you know me, you will also know that I staunchly insist he already made an, albeit subconscious, choice in #8). Maybe it’s a masterclass in dramatic irony: Dream thinks he’s being practical with making his contingency plans. But we can see him subconsciously preparing for an ending he hasn’t yet acknowledged to himself. But he also has...

Kelley Jones’ Art

I just briefly want to brush (no pun intended) on how Kelley Jones’s art reinforces these themes. His Dream is somehow always in shadow, even if it’s just his face. There’s a weight to him in every panel, a sense of someone carrying an enormous burden. I am generally not a fan of Jones' art (sorry), and I find his constantly changing Dream difficult to get used to (but I guess that's the point, and I totally get it on a conceptual level). But one thing stands out to me: The way he draws Dream against various backgrounds (Lyta’s apartment, the dreamscape with Hob, the throne room) consistently makes him seem isolated, separate, already partially absent. Even when he’s surrounded by other people/beings. But maybe I'm just reading too much into it…

Anyway, to put it all in a nutshell: The real tragedy, but also the deeper meaning of The Sandman, is that Dream tries to make amends for a lifetime of mistakes, only to discover that some changes require transformation so complete that the self doesn’t survive the process. But in metaphorical terms, the death of the ego is also a beautiful and necessary thing…

[icanexplainwhythisnameisbad]

DUMB@$$ DELTARUNE 3&4 (really dumb) WHAT IFS

these are in no way directly related but basically dumb thoughts I had that since I have poor story writing skills (like I can conceptualize a story but I can’t describe an environment or write dialogue which is 2/3rds of any good story (only half if you include art as well I mean I have decent art skills… but it’s a kindergartener’s drawing in comparison to most art on here )

the point is I’m putting ideas here (some of which others may have also come up with but I’m putting my own spin on it )

spoilers ahead (while most who see this probably have played both new chapters and don’t care. Just in case.)

-Toriel wakes up early in chapter 3. V1:

this version has her wake up during the Tenna boss fight and that’s a whole confrontation as the tv with abandonment issues is losing his mind

-Toriel wakes up early. V2:

this one has her wake up relatively early in chapter so The $#@* Squad/Fun Gang/Lancer Fan Club & Tenna (separately but they both do it) kinda try to keep the whole “end of the world / the knight wants to kidnap you + your divorce & abandonment of me has caused me a ton of issues” thing(s) away from Toriel (meanwhile literally everyone else there (anyone who isn’t the 3 heroes & Tenna) doesn’t care and tells her anyway ) meanwhile Toriel is just confused, curious & kinda worried that her own TV got issues from her (and the others but they aren’t here right now )

-Tenna burns a woody doll (expy) at the stake.

-Gerson ends up in castle town:

(the old man is too powerful to be bound by death & a mere meta video game’s depressing story progression )

-Susie takes Tenna “home” with her instead:

(I know I know Mettaton & Tenna is a whole thing but while we haven’t seen Susie’s house in canon yet. it can’t be a good place from the context clues hidden in some of her actions & dialogue throughout the chapters (as faking calling home isn’t normal (plus a bunch of other things but this isn’t about that (well this part is but not this whole post ) so that’s a thing and a half alone let alone if a fan made dark fountain appeared

-Jackenstein shows up again/survives:

(as from what I saw after he disappears he doesn’t show up again but isn’t directly stated to have died and while this could be a thing in a later chapter … 🤷)

-the soul ditches kris to possess noelle instead:

(as in a pacifist or neutral route the soul wouldn’t like being beaten up for trying to prevent the end of the world & everyone in it & just being curious in general. or for a snowgrave version, the soul decides it’s a better course of action instead of using kris (sure there’s the whole “your choices don’t matter but the game itself talks about you as if your kris and kris is you. so what if it’s “Kris’s choices don’t matter “ & not “the soul/player’s choice don’t matter” ) )

-noelle decides for whatever reason to visit Kris’s house in the middle of the night:

and therefore ends up in TV world (aka a reason for Tenna to get depressed again & dess is mentioned )

-Susie stumbles upon something she shouldn’t have…:

aka she ends up unintentionally watching kris play the hidden game and sees the snowgrave route portrayed (especially the “used up” scene ) and/or sees kris rip the soul out at the end of chapter 2 and is too stunned/shocked to do anything about it and doesn’t bring it up directly

-ralsei & Toriel meet and that’s pretty self explanatory

-Toriel wakes up early V3: she wakes up somepoint early in the chaoter but separate from kris, Tenna & the others & ends up going on her own adventure (kinda like the second one but without kris & the others there to give even more focus on Toriel meeting the tv world darkness (minus Tenna)

-the soul copy pastes Kris’s code into a genocide route in undertale to let them kill sans:

(meanwhile frisk+chara+the undertale player (its a mix of players being legitimate players in a game + being outerworldly beings so yeah. Multiple ) are just watching in confusion as a teenager kills sans on their own as another soul just floats there menacingly )

-since Gerson is technically a lightner reborn as a darkner he doesn’t have a theme… so potentially like ralsei couldn’t he potentially go anywhere (ignoring what ralsei said about reborn lightners turned darkners needing very specific conditions to even form cause gersons just too OP for that):

so basically (ignoring what I said in another post about something keeping the dark sanctuaries separate from the other dark worlds ) Gerson gets to be OP everywhere in every chapter

-Queen sees noelles search history:

(technically a chapter 2 one but I’m surprised nobody else had this idea) basically queen ships Susie & noelle meanwhile berdly is berdly & ralsei is confused by most of berdly’s even saying (meanwhile meanwhile kris is eating moss in a dark alley )

-asgore shows up in chapter 3 when he finds Toriel left something of hers behind (technically another attempt but she did legitimately leave something at the church (before chapter 4. I know it’s at the church but -) (this one would technically have to wait for chapter 5 as that one’s implied to be the asgore chapter but it’s mainly chapter 3 so 🤷

-something something Elnina & Lanino (and potentially roulxs) related:

no explanation needed here (well maybe one is needed but assuming this gets atleast 7 hearts/likes/whatever tumblr calls em. in 2 days I’ll reblog this with the explanation added )

(;

[stellargh0ul]

FTM reader and Perpetua fluff?

enough fluff to stuff a pillow <3

-

the mask turns heads in the streets. how could it not, someone walking down the sidewalk in dying light of dusk with a silver half-mask in the shape of a skull strapped to their face? you’re plenty used to people taking out their phones to take photos or just staring as you and Perpetua walk past.

it doesn’t bother you, and he’s never said that it bothers him- you don’t think he thinks much of other people’s opinions at all, really. besides your own, of course.

“lamb, this way,” he says, and there’s excitement in his voice as he pulls you towards one of the little shops squatting on the corner. you laugh a little at his enthusiasm, Perpetua reminding you of an over-grown puppy in that moment.

as you get closer, you can see displays of brilliantly colored flowers in the windows: arranged bouquets that absolutely drip with blooms of all sizes and shapes, arranged in beautiful tableaus across the front of the shop.

“this is the only flower shop in the city open past dusk,” Perpetua announces proudly to you as the pair of you duck inside. the air is filled with the scent of dozens of flowers, working together to fill the space with an aura of freshness and vitality.

“i’m impressed,” you say as you spin in a circle, taking in the displays inside. there are more flower arrangements, but also a shelf of stuffed animals and more racks of greeting cards than you think you’ve ever seen in your life.

a woman comes out from behind the counter with an apron around her waist and a smile on her lips.

“can I help you?”

“yes,” Perpetua says, winding his arm around your shoulder to draw you into his side. as if there was any doubt that the pair of you had walked in together. “I want to buy my boyfriend a bouquet.”

she looks at you and for a moment, your heart thuds in your chest as you have that familiar sinking feeling you always get upon meeting a new person- but then she smiles and nods.

“you’re a lucky man,” the florist tells you. “let me go get my catalog and we can start building your bouquet, alright?”

she vanishes into the back and inwardly you breathe a sigh of relief. outwardly, you glance over at him, finding that there’s a smug grin plastered across his face.

“I can’t believe you’re buying me flowers,” you tell him and he scoffs, waving a hand through the air.

“more people should buy men flowers. there’s something about the ephemeral nature of their beauty, coupled with the lasting effects of the memory of the moment.”

“or they’re just, you know, pretty.”

“bah. you need more poetry in your soul.”

you knock your head sideways into his shoulder.

“so you can rip through it? like a vampire should…?”

he rolls his eyes at you even as you giggle at your own joke.

“I am in love with a clown,” Perpetua announces to the empty shop. you smile fondly at him.

“and I am in love with you.”

[the-s1lly-corner]

I feel as if you get Razzle & Dazzle requests fairly often, but I enjoy all of them every time, so, so much. Because I hardly see them anywhere else.

So thank you for keeping the RnD fans fed. I love all of your writing for everyone else as well! I’m constantly checking for more every few days.

Speaking of, may I request something with the twins as well? Might be oddly specific, but, I was wondering if I could have some little Headcanons on what they’d think of a Toon with scars

(Not SH, dw. I wouldn’t ask that of anyone)

Please and thank you :3

Razzle and Dazzle x reader w/ scars

oooooo honestly the idea of a toon having scars- esp pre game- has always kind of entranced me. like. idk- even if its something mundane. kinda shows that the toons were put to work even prior to gardenview closing-- thinking ill go this route to make things interesting... esp since i think post game seeing a scarred toon is... more common... notes: gn toon reader, pre game, scars are a product of accidents for the most part- nothing actively malicious or anything, short and sweet, written on computer, theyre written separately just to make it easier to write and read cws: scars, body image issues

RAZZLE

tries his best to be polite but theres so much concern for you- toons arent exactly easy to hurt, theyre made durable to handle being on their feet and handle visitors... suuuuure theyre not indestructible, but theyre a little tougher than normal people... so for you to not only be hurt but also hurt enough to leave a permanent mark makes him feel a certain way- hes not... blurting it out in front of others but he does pull you aside to ask if youre doing okay

he doesnt think theyre anything to be ashamed of though, and he does try to backtrack his concern to show that hes not disgusted. theyre just.. a part of you and hes not going to make you feel a certain way about them.. and if you already do hes going to make sure you change your mind about it

this can sometimes come out in the form of almost excessively reassuring you theyre nothing bad-- drawing a lot more attention to it than if he said nothing at all. he means well, but..

DAZZLE

he doesnt directly point out your scars, because odds are you know theyre there already and bringing attention to it might be rude at best and traumatizing at worst. they dont want to make you feel uncomfortable in any way--- and he does his best not to stare

though... he leans so much into avoiding them it draws attention anyway- the refusal to look and touch, theres a difference between acting theyre no big deal and acting like theyre something to be hidden and shunned. he really really doesnt mean to make it seem like the latter..

hes the opposite of razzle, of course he is. thats part of their whole... thing... and the best you can do is have an honest talk with them to get them both to stop being weird about it

[alexanderwales]

When you finish writing a big story and you became very close the characters, was there a time after where you were like "i kind of want to revisit these characters again, but i should probably just let the story be, they deserve to rest" Im not talking about wanting to write a sequel, is more about still coming up with fun ideas for them, maybe a little scene or something, but choosing not to do anything with it because it'd feel disrespectful to the ending you gave them?

Hrm. I think for me, characters exist as a vehicle to tell a story, and when that story is done, I'm off to the next character and the next story. It's vanishingly rare that I want to revisit anything that's been "completed".

There are a few exceptions. Worth the Candle had some conceits that worked well for specific jokes and gimmicks and discourse, and sometimes I'll have an idea and then think "ah, but that only really works in the context of Worth the Candle, not the other things I'm working on". I keep having an itch to get back to Shadows of the Limelight because there's always stuff that interests me about fame, fandoms, parasocial relationships, and the act of creating for an audience. But in both these cases, it's about what the framework allows for.

I think that characters get slowly pinned down over time as you add in backstory and traits, and eventually you've pinned everything down. Or to use another metaphor, you've mined them out. Ideally they've gone through some kind of narrative arc in the process of all this, or maybe they haven't, but there's nothing "new" left to them, nothing to discover or explore or say. They're less interesting to me.

And in the course of writing webfic this is especially the case, because by the end you've done like three to five books, and what more could there be that you didn't already get at? Unless you're doing the sort of book with no interest in diving into their personality and psychology, I guess, where there's nothing you actually had to say about this person and how they operate.

That said, I do think that I'm drawn to particular archetypes, and those I'm much more inclined to return to, but part of the reason I'd prefer that to an old character is that there's new stuff to discover, even if I'm working within familiar ground. There's backstory that will provide a particular texture, there are variations, places that I couldn't explore the first time around because it didn't work for that other character. I'm sure that someone who's read all my stuff could draw a bunch of parallels between characters, but hopefully they would see the ways in which they're all importantly different from each other, and how it was worth doing "the same" character a second time.

And to answer part of the ask: I have no regard for endings, except that the ending usually means that I've said all that I wanted to say. If I had some hot new idea, I would write a short story in a heartbeat using some old characters, if I needed to use them. (But also, I would still probably not want to do that because of all the old stuff that I would have to load back into RAM, and all the continuity checking, which takes some time.)

[freyafrida]

rilla of ingleside, chapter three

this turned out to be a long one bc i can't shut up about these kids lmao

This is probably the chapter I've reread the most! After hearing about the Blythe-Meredith kids from the gossipy ladies in chapter one, and meeting Rilla, Walter, and Miss Oliver in chapter two, the war generation all finally shows up in this chapter, and we get a sense of them from the way they talk and interact on the way to the lighthouse dance. Since it's the only pre-war chapter featuring all the kids, I find myself rereading it a lot for fanfic personality/relationship references, haha.

“The latter had come over from Lowbridge the previous evening and had been prevailed upon to remain for the dance at the Four Winds lighthouse the next night.”

Sometimes I forget that Gertrude is meant to be living in Lowbridge for parts of the book because she's at Ingleside all the time anyway lmao.

“It’s my first really-truly grown-up party, Miss Oliver, and I’ve just lain awake at nights for a week thinking it over. ”

Something about this sentence reads so much like young Anne to me (maybe the phrasing of "really-truly"); despite Anne's concern over Rilla's lack of ambition, Rilla is her mother's daughter in that sense of dreaminess and earnest excitement over things she loves.

Inch restingly, it seems like Rilla turns fifteen between this chapter and the last (last chapter was June, she's turning fifteen next month, it's now August, per the events of the chapter and Walter's description of "How beautiful the old Glen was, in its August ripeness"). I have thoughts about this bc I was wrestling with her birthday in a fic and realized -- the book doesn't recognize her birthday at all, not in the four years it spans. You'd think Rilla would've had a fifteenth birthday party before the war, at least, but it doesn't appear so. I don't think Anne has a proper birthday party ever, either, although she's mentioned to attend one or two over the course of the series.

“Of course Carl and Jerry can’t dance because they’re the minister’s sons, or else I could depend on them to save me from utter disgrace.”

Carl swooping in to save Rilla from utter disgrace!!! LMM why can't you let me have these things 😭 (Also, I realize they must see each other often, given that they're from two close families in a small town, but I have to admit I find it hard to believe that Jerry even knows Rilla exists.)

Disappointingly for the Rilla/Carl agenda, the bit abut Jerry and Carl not being able to dance was not in the original draft, per Readying Rilla -- instead, it says "but they're just like my brothers and I'll feel they're only doing it out of charity." LMM sniping me from beyond the grave 😩 Also curious if LMM like...forgot that minister's children shouldn't dance, or if it was more of an expectation that not everyone followed, and she made the decision to use it as a reason. (The bit about it feeling like charity is applied to Gertrude feeling that way about Jem and Walter dancing with her instead -- also, it's initially written that Jem and Jerry will take her out, but Jerry is crossed out and replaced with Walter, presumably due to the above edit.)

“I tried to draw back—and I saw that the edge of my dress was wet with blood—and I woke—shivering. I don’t like the dream. There was some sinister significance in it. That kind of vivid dream always ‘comes true’ with me.”

@batrachised pointed out that Gertrude's (I'm going to start calling her Gertrude instead of Miss Oliver because otherwise I'm going to keep going back and forth weirdly) dreams were actually based on LMM's, which, fair enough! That very much tracks with how seriously (almost) everyone takes Gertrude's visions. Idk -- I'm struggling to articulate why it comes off as almost laughably melodramatic to me -- because the war and death do come to Ingleside and touch our characters, and the shattering of their idyllic world is devastating to them (as it was to LMM); it's not as though her dream is wrong, necessarily. Maybe it's just the benefit of hindsight -- like Gertrude's going on about waves of blood on their shores and I'm just in the future like, "maybe you should save some of the dramatics because it's going to get so much worse." (Buuut I am also melodramatic and superstitious so maybe I just do not like looking in this mirror 😔)

“I think the party promises to be pleasant for young fry. I expect to be bored. None of those boys will bother dancing with an old maid like me. Jem and Walter will take me out once out of charity. There will be nobody for me even to talk to. So you can’t expect me to look forward to it with your touching young rapture.”

lmao jesus christ Gertrude. It's especially funny that she says this while also saying that she wants Rilla to have the "splendid, happy" girlhood that she didn't. Let her live then!!! (Also funny that Cousin Sophia is being portrayed as doom and gloom when she says stuff like this, while Gertrude is ~alluringly moody~)

And of course, the war is starting to become a concern for everyone except Rilla -- Dr. Blythe, Jem, and Walter are mentioned to be poring over the paper (none of the girls, even with their interests in 'ologies and 'isms, seem to care -- which sadly tracks, see Anne basically refusing to have a political opinion in House of Dreams. Gertrude, in fairness, is following the war news and mentions it to Rilla). It's interesting that part of the honor in fighting, for Jem, is entwined with defending the British Empire, considering it a family that they're a part of. Iiii...haven't developed any deep thoughts on this, lmao, I've always sort of taken it at face value that Jem -- and Ken, later -- feel this way as Anglo Dudes From 1914, particularly as there is a streak of...insularity, perhaps, in the books re: Anglo Canada. (But it is equally interesting that later on, characters express that they're fighting for Canada instead, not Britain.)

Walter's reaction to the war is telling -- he not only hates the idea (also, lol/sigh that they're just too civilized in the modern age of the twentieth century to go to war) but is kind of in denial about it, refusing to think of it and trying to distract himself with beautiful things.

“Mary Vance is a habit of ours—we can’t do without her even when we are furious with her,” Di Blythe had once said.”

I suppose it says a lot about Mary's character and general self-confidence/lack of self-awareness that she hangs out with people who talk about her like this, because I would not, lol.

“Carl Meredith was walking with Miranda Pryor, more to torment Joe Milgrave than for any other reason.”

LMAO what did Joe Milgrave ever do to Carl? I can't quite make out what this says about Carl -- it doesn't really jive with any of his behavior in Rainbow Valley; he doesn't particularly enjoy getting a rise out of people (e.g. in the chapter where he's not whipped, he feels bad over throwing the eel in the buggy; in the rest of the book, he's almost like, blissfully unaware that his various critters freak other people out). I suppose you could read him as being a bit competitive, or simply that he still enjoys mildly teasing people (which makes his friendship with Rilla pretty funny, given that being teased harrows her soul). Of course, worth mentioning that there's also not much evidence that Rilla and Carl are still close at this point :(

“Shirley Blythe was with Una Meredith and both were rather silent because such was their nature. Shirley was a lad of sixteen, sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour. He was Susan’s “little brown boy” yet, with his brown hair, brown eyes and clear brown skin. He liked to walk with Una Meredith because she never tried to make him talk or badgered him with chatter. ”

Shirley being the personification of that "best friend I ever had, we still never talk sometimes" Parks and Rec quote, lol. The summation of him is so good, though -- despite what a nonentity he is compared to the other Blythe kids, you get such a good measure of him just from "sedate, sensible, thoughtful, full of a quiet humour." ❤️ I always go back and forth on the possibility of shipping him with Una -- it's lovely that Shirley appreciates her for who she is, that he likes that she's quiet and unassuming. On the other hand, like...what, do they never talk? Lmao. (Una also strikes me as having a bit of...repressed emotion, see her bottling things up and telling them to her mother's old wedding dress as a child, idk that Shirley would be able to draw that out of her...? But he is thoughtful and wholesome, so, maybe!)

“Una was as sweet and shy as she had been in the Rainbow Valley days, and her large, dark-blue eyes were as dreamy and wistful. She had a secret, carefully-hidden fancy for Walter Blythe which nobody but Rilla ever suspected. ”

MY GIRL \O/ I've seen it said that it seems unlikely that no one but Rilla suspects Una's feelings for Walter, but I actually quite like it -- it hints at Rilla actually being empathetic and perceptive under her frivolity, which she'll grow into over the war.

“She liked Una better than Faith, whose beauty and aplomb rather overshadowed other girls—and Rilla did not enjoy being overshadowed.”

Lol, it is very on-brand for early Rilla to feel she's in competition with Faith -- and I'm sure Faith doesn't think about Rilla at all, being 4-5 years older than her. (That said, I sympathize with Rilla not being a Faith enjoyer -- even though she's set up as getting into Anne-like scrapes in RV, the books lean a little too hard on how charming and intelligent and beautiful she is; she loses the flawed, earnestly trying vibe that made Anne endearing imo.) (Also, I love Rilla and Una, but it cracks me up that Rilla basically just likes Una better because she doesn't see her as a threat.)

“ bell was ringing in the little church over-harbour and the lingering dream-notes died around the dim, amethystine points. The gulf beyond was still silvery blue in the afterlight. Oh, it was all glorious—the clear air with its salt tang, the balsam of the firs, the laughter of her friends.”

I haven't been mentioning the nature descriptions because I don't really have anything to say about them other than they're lovely! Such a good sense of those moments when you're just happy, everything around you feels beautiful and you don't mind your problems in that moment -- and of course, the moment here is poised to be shattered very shortly.

“And how humanity responds to the ideal of self-sacrifice!”

Oooooh the foreshadowing! Also a very good summation of the theme of this book, in general -- there are other moments later that I think illustrate it more clearly so I won't go on too much about it now, but -- yeah, there's such a sense in this book of trying to understand and justify the pain of the war as a worthwhile sacrifice.

“We know the real charm of night here as town dwellers never do.”

Hey, leave us town dwellers out of it >:( (I do have a city girl story of visiting family out in the country when I was twelve, and being shocked by how dark it actually got at night, lmao.)

“Rilla flushed. It did not matter to her if Kenneth Ford walked home with Ethel Reese a dozen times—it did not! Nothing that he did mattered to her. He was ages older than she was. He chummed with Nan and Di and Faith, and looked upon her, Rilla, as a child whom he never noticed except to tease.”

First mention of Ken! The funniest bit about this is that his name was originally "Selwyn", and the first like 2/3rds of Readying Rilla have every single mention of him written as "Selwyn Ken". Anyway -- there's kiiiind of a set up for Rilla and Ken here; he teases her and she hates it while secretly liking/wanting more of his attention. There's a short story in TBAQ that adds on to this (honestly, it reads a bit like it's still trying to explain Rilla/Ken twenty years later lmao) -- it mentions that Ken and Rilla fought a lot as children, implying that he liked getting a rise out of her, sort of in a "pulling on her pigtails" kind of way. (Also, again, Nan and Di are set apart from Rilla here 👀)

some stuff from the glossary (minor frustration, the glossary isn't footnoted and is in alphabetical order, so you just kinda have to flip through it and try to remember what each entry is referencing):

More Readying Rilla bits:

After Rilla mentions that Jem and Faith will sit out on the rocks all evening, the next sentence starts with "They're", which is then crossed out and Rilla just starts talking about sailing to the lighthouse. While I'm sure it wasn't a big deal, it reads like someone being cut off right before saying something juicy lmao, tell meeee the Jem/Faith gossip

The line about Rilla being the only one unaware of the worry over the war originally said "only Rilla and Susan", lmao.

Miranda Pryor's name was originally Jennie.

Shirley's originally described as being "full of humor and quiet fun" (instead of "full of a quiet humor"), which does read as something a bit different to me -- the final version makes him sound like more like a quietly amused observer than someone that actually gets into hijinks.

Re: Rilla's silver slippers, the book says that Mrs. Ford (Leslie) sent them to her. The original draft says "Jean gave", which like...who tf is Jean?

[ileseg]

Almost Shojo

You, a frustrated aspiring shojo mangaka stuck in the shonen industry.

"You can't have the villain confess in the middle of a power-up sequence," Akaashi says calmly, flipping through your storyboard like it's a math textbook and not your heart on paper. You’re slumped across the table, your cheek squished against your notebook. You groan into the cover like a ghost lamenting her unfulfilled destiny. “But that was the point! Love is a power-up!”

He sighs, the kind of long-suffering sigh of someone who knows this battle too well. “This is a martial arts tournament arc. Not Cardcaptor Sakura.” You sit up dramatically. “You wish it was Cardcaptor Sakura! That show had better emotional stakes than any training arc in the history of shonen!” Akaashi doesn’t rise to the bait. He never does. He simply adjusts his glasses and says, “I’m rejecting this draft. Again.” Third time this month. You clutch your heart. “You’re cruel. A dream crusher. The destroyer of tender feelings.” “I’m just saying, the romance doesn’t feel grounded. Maybe we could focus on—” “Don’t say it. Don’t say ‘character development.’” “—character development,” he finishes. You let your forehead fall onto the table with a dramatic thud.

You don’t know when it started, this strange camaraderie with your editor. Maybe it’s the shared resentment for the paths you didn’t take. You wanted to write sweet, fluttery shojo romances where confessions happen under cherry blossoms and there are sparkles in people’s eyes. He wanted to work on literary fiction, the kind that gets reviewed in journals and makes people cry existential tears. Instead, you draw teenage boys punching each other in slow motion, and he edits titles like Fury of the Jumping Thunder Rooster. You're both, in a word, suffering. But you're also doing your best.

Later, you're leaving the meeting, juggling your sketchbook, a cup of vending machine coffee, and your backpack because your life is a constant balancing act. And, of course, your pencil case slips. You fumble. Your coffee tilts dangerously. Gravity screams in delight. Then— A hand wraps around your waist. Steady, firm. The other catches the pencil case in the air like a scene out of an action manga you definitely don’t care for. You blink. Akaashi’s face is way closer than you expected. His hand is still on your waist. He blinks too. You both freeze. “…You almost spilled that all over your manuscript,” he says, very, very quietly. “I almost fell,” you whisper back, heart thudding. “You caught me.” “Yeah,” he says. Still no one moves. And maybe it's the dim hallway light, or the leftover caffeine in your bloodstream, or just the quiet, soft pressure of his hand not quite letting go—but you think, this. This is what it feels like.

Later that night, you throw open a fresh notebook and begin writing. The words come easily. The romance isn’t tacked on this time. It’s awkward. And soft. And a little ridiculous. But it feels real. Your protagonist still throws punches. Still powers up. Still yells cool catchphrases. But this time, in the middle of all that, he also thinks about someone’s laugh. Someone’s hand catching his. Someone who makes him want to fight a little harder—just so he can live long enough to figure out what he’s feeling. You title it: “Volume 7: The Fight I Don’t Understand Yet.” When you send it to Akaashi, you add a note: “Still a fight scene. Just… with something to lose” The next day, his response is short. “Accepted. Let’s work on it together.” You don’t even mind the revisions this time.

[cult-of-dollbabies]

Not that it's a profound discovery or anything but I noticed this moment and immediately zeroed in on it bc I'm that desperate

[sysig]

Skelekinz (Patreon)