#without wanting to read canary continuity

[qoldenskies]

Augh I wanna read ur au so badly but I know that I wouldn't be able to handle it TwT I know this may seem rude but could you give like a small summary of what happened so far? Not enough to make people that wanna read it disappointed that they learned too much, but... I wanna know the story but I wouldn't be able to handle reading it based on the snippets I saw because of how well it's written

anooooooon there is sooooo much that happens that i cant actually think of a way to properly summarize it, especially because id argue the premise ITSELF is a bit of a spoiler even though i havent necessarily been cagey about it. the first fic in the series is really meant to be a bit of a boiling frog kind of story, where you KNOW something is wrong (outside of the vague tags, it's the only information i want really provided; something is wrong) but it doesnt really become too clear until its too late, and its only explained in the aftermath of all the horror. i really think what would be best to describe as like,,, pre-existing knowledge for the comic? would be pretty much every landmine they're stepping on and are going to step on LMFAO, but describing the abuse that already happens might be a bit time-consuming for me. 'cause there's a lot.

although i will say there is really painful significance to donnie locking himself in the laundry room and they probably should not have knocked on the shield that is a REALLY loaded thing to do. cc!leo's outburst about c!donnie moving tools around also comes from something that happened, if cc!donnie came back to things out of place he would probably have a panic attack

[gghostwriter]

You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face. 

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.” 

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.” 

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.” 

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?” 

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?” 

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice. 

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?” 

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.” 

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.” 

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?” 

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater. 

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?” 

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk. 

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation. 

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?” 

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed. 

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth. 

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” 

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory. 

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up. 

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who. 

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.” 

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?” 

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them. 

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language. 

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst 

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?” 

“What? No! No, of course not!” 

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow. 

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend. 

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue. 

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course. 

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down. 

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking? 

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time. 

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk. 

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement. 

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered. 

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement. 

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with. 

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.  

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance. 

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest. 

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.” 

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

[wavesalwayscrash]

I hope it's not a spoiler. because I am very invested in this comic and very excited for the story progression. But I wanted to know, was Canary decapitated while still being alive? I ask this because I saw your separate drawing of them being decapitated, and they were alive in that drawing. Or did they lose their head after they had died? Also, sorry for using they/them pronouns if they're not the correct ones. I checked on the toy house at one point(a while ago), and it said she/he, but on YouTube it said she/her, so I'm just a bit confused.

Also, I would like to applaud you for how you're approaching the topics of CSA and abuse. As a survivor of both, I really like how you're portraying it, especially since people usually see abusers as being the stereotypical outright abusive (usually physically or with insults) when in reality they can appear in any form. They can genuinely love us but still hurt us with or without reason. I don't mean to trauma-dump, but I'd just really like to share how this comic has affected me. Because of the stuff I've suffered, I'm very out of touch with emotions, especially sadness, and lacking the ability to cry unless I'm put under pressure of heavy stress. But as I read those interactions with Lain and the King, I will admit I did cry. They’re so well done.

This is such a beautiful comic that you've written and taken time to put care into. And I like that I have something I can relate to. And despite being strangers, I just want to say that I'm glad you and your partner are still around since you've said this comic is based on your own experiences. You're very strong, and to be able to share your story in the form of world-building and storytelling is a very courageous thing to do. Ahh, I'm sorry if I come off weird, by the way. I'm autistic, and I'm not good at interacting with others. And right this moment is my first attempt at actually socializing on this platform.

Thank you, I really appreciate that a lot and I'm glad it's hit a cord for you. But I would also like to remind anyone that this comic does go to heavier and darker places, and if any point you need to step away or stop reading I genuinely wish that you do. I wrote this to give people like my partner something to relate to, but I know that sometimes shit can hit you the wrong way at the wrong time, and really hurt. And I would rather you stop reading the comic then continuing to hurt yourself if it is (not directed pointedly at you op. just as a general statement)

to answer your first question, #1 Canary uses She/He. the youtube description is a typo that I keep forgetting to fix. eitherway, she/her is never wrong for Canary. #2 no, the decapitation didn't happen when she was alive. that drawing where she is was specifically for Goretober where I just thought it would be more fun to draw while she was alive. as lain said on page 50

[daistea]

Hello dais! I’ve been binge reading all of your content recently and first of all I have to say I’m obsessed with all of your writing, it has changed how I look at character from Dungeon Meshi entirely. and second of all, I’ve been thinking about Mithrun with a tall-man reader, or just any short-lived race really and how he would react after they had passed away? I don’t know how you feel about angst really but I’m a sucker for pain and can’t stop thinking about this. Sorry if this seems messy, I’m just thinking too many thoughts about Mithrun right now.

Thank you so much friend!!! Sorry for the late response! This was a good prompt, something close to my heart.

Mithrun x gn, short-lived Reader

tw death, loss, angst

»»-------¤-------««

Mithrun would not do well. 

When he loves, he loves deeply. He wasn’t always so loyal, but after the demon and after working so hard to cultivate desires, Mithrun would attach himself to those he cares about. He isn’t clingy in a traditional sense, but he’s intense. To you, even more so. 

He’d always known it would happen; you started moving slower. You started aging. He didn’t care how you looked. He was aging as well, though at a different rate. Mithrun had never cared for the sentiment of ‘growing old’ with someone. He didn’t understand it, mainly because he truly believed he’d die once the demon was gone. 

Yet, there he was, in his mid-200s. He had you. He couldn’t let you go. When you slowed down, complained of joint pain and laughed at your gray hairs, he’d always brush you off. There was time. There was always time. 

 Awareness did not equal acceptance. Simply because something was a fact of life did not mean it deserved to exist in peace. Most facts of life had negative contexts, but people spoke of them as if they expected Mithrun to be content, to lower his fists, to stop fighting. 

 He knew the day would come. No amount of preparation made it easier. 

 “You’re 252 years old, Captain,” Lycion murmured. 

 Mithrun wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything. He glanced up at the ex-Canary, though the look in Lycion’s eyes immediately made his blood run hot. He forced himself to look away simply to keep from breaking something. 

 “And?”

 “You still have around half your life left,” Lycion continued with that tone that had become all too familiar— insistent, worried, pitying. He should’ve known better than to use it on Mithrun. 

 “And?” “And you still have time to move on.”

 Unacceptable. There was anger, of course, there was always anger swirling within him. But lately, Mithrun had become more sensitive to dread. His stomach churned and sickness crawled up his throat. Move on? As if that was an option. 

The sight of your body haunts him. 

Your skin was cold. Everything was wrong. He couldn’t stop feeling, so much more than he’d felt in ages. All he wanted was for it to stop. When he closed his eyes, he saw you. When he tried to sleep, he heard you. He recalled the lilt of your voice and it refused to leave his brain. Despite how desperately he craved peace, he didn’t want to forget you. He held onto the memories for as long as his imperfect brain would allow. 

Mithrun doesn’t leave his house. 

He only eats because he knows you’d be mad at him if he didn’t. 

He changes nothing about the decor. If you left a sweater on the floor before you died, it will stay there for years. 

Things start changing. If you caught bugs and released them, he’d start doing that as well, despite how he just squished them in the past. If you seasoned food a certain way, he’d do it too, no matter how salty or spicy it is. 

Truly, Mithrun hangs onto every tiny detail of you. He’s never been a detail oriented person, but he knows you. Perhaps now, he knows you better than ever. 

At first, he’ll be doing a chore and, without a second thought, call out for you. He needs your opinion on how to separate this laundry. There’s a sale on veggies he knows you’d be interested in. But right as he says your name, he realizes the truth. You’re not there. He won’t hear your footsteps cross the house, or see your smile as you ask him to repeat himself, or see you roll your eyes at the dumb laundry question. 

It’s a huge change. Mithrun can’t sleep for a bit. His body eventually forces him to sleep. 

He’s lost people before. He’s lost friends, people who helped build Melini. It’s different with you. He isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. 

Mithrun returns to what he did when first regaining his desires— he busies himself with hobbies and work. His universe is falling apart, but he’s getting very good at making noodles. (He’d like you to try them.)

 “I’m not moving on,” Mithrun says. 

 “They were just a—”

 “And you’re just an idiot,” he retorts. 

 Cithis’s jaw sets, tense. She looks at the wall over Mithrun’s shoulder instead, as if looking him in the eye was too tempting, as if she was ready to strangle him. “You know what I mean.”

 He didn’t. He didn’t know much of anything these days. 

 “You’re not usually this concerned,” Mithrun mused as he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Bored of your own problems?”

 It was cruel, he had enough wherewithal to know that. Cithis may have lacked general empathy, though she cared about her friends to a certain extent. If only she was better at comfort. If only Mithrun wanted comfort. 

 Her gaze finally shifted to land on him, “You’ll have to start living again at some point.”

It takes Mithrun around 50 years to realize that life continues. Your death felt like the end of a world— in a way, it was the end of a world. He can’t forget you. He won’t ever stop grieving. He’s so angry sometimes because you dared to leave him, even though it wasn’t your fault. 

Yet, Mithrun is an expert at restarting. 

 “I know,” Marcille murmured. Her voice was thick with emotions Mithrun didn’t bother to identify. He simply glanced at her, his good eye wide. 

 “What?” He asked. 

 “I know how it is,” she explained. She had her hands behind her back as she rocked on her heels in an almost childish manner, despite her age. He supposed that for her, the early 100’s was still shockingly young. He’d never understand how a half-elf’s mindset worked. But he knew she’d lost someone. Everyone. 

 “You couldn’t possibly,” Mithrun told her despite how much of a blatant lie his words were. 

 Marcille rolled her eyes. She looked nearly done with him, and he wouldn’t blame her for that. Still, she managed to send him a half-glare, “It gets slightly easier. You’ll still do stuff and think ‘wow, I wish they were here to see this.’ You’ll still crave their company and attention and touch. You’ll still dream of them.”

 He knew that. “What part of this is supposed to be comforting?”

 Marcille scoffed, “I’m not trying to be comforting. I’m just telling you the truth, as someone who's gone through it too. They’re still there, with you. But life gets easier.”

 What a simple phrase. It wasn’t as if everyone in Melini hadn’t already told him that a hundred times over. 

 Mithrun looked away. Marcille grumbled to herself about useless attempts and arrogant Canaries.

 Perhaps he was arrogant. Perhaps he was angry. Perhaps he wanted to sink his fingers into the fabric of the universe and tear it to shreds for daring to take you. 

 But there was no time for that. He had laundry to do.

[jam3sacaster]

I don’t believe in God, but I believe that you’re my saviour PT. 2

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Unbeknownst to Rupert, you are in serious trouble…

Title derived from Sailor Song by Gigi Perez.

18+ FANFIC / Protective, soft Rupert, all the good stuff. Reader character aged at 21. Injury mentions. Featuring Bas! Read Part 1 here. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

Streams of canary yellow begonias & flamingo pink carnations lined the fading oak stables, the rising sun washing a peaceful glow over Penscombe Court. With knee-high leather riding boots protecting your feet, you pulled open the stable door and almost jumped out of your skin at the sight of an olive-skinned, dapper man, tinted shades hiding his eyes and wrapped tightly in a khaki gilet. “Good morning, babe. Didn’t frighten you, did I? Awfully sorry. Rupert said I could keep Bessie here.” Basil Baddingham beamed, blessing you with a glimpse of his dazzling pearly whites. Bessie was an Arabian horse — regal & imposing, with a striking chestnut colour and an ink black mane. “She’s so gorgeous.” You purr, running your hand over the top of Bessie’s head. “You can ride her if you want.” Bas winked towards you, surveying the apprehensive expression washed across your face. There was something so awfully compelling about Basil that meant you struggled to oppose him.

Less than twenty minutes later, you were bounding across the extensive fields of Penscombe Court, chilled wind rippling through your golden hair — exhilarated and elated. Bas rode alongside you, the smaller horse he was riding struggling to keep up with the rapid pace of Bessie. “Oh come on, Bas! Scared to race me?” You roared as you careered down the bank. Basil chuckled to himself as he patted his horse, urging it to catch up. Before it had chance, Bessie neighed thunderously, subsequently followed by a blood-curdling scream. “Hurry, boy, go!” Basil howled, patting his horse and steadying himself as they bolted down the embankment, and he jumped from the horse’s back before it had time to cease its speed. The scene that greeted him was one of inconceivable horror that he would never forget. You were sprawled across the ground, nose bloodied, arm bent in an anomalous manner & breathing shallow. “Dear God, Rupert is going to fucking kill me.” He groaned under his breath, darting over to you and kneeling at your side.

“God, babe. I’m so fucking sorry.” Basil panted, reaching out to stroke your muddied face but hesitatingly pulling away. Basil was right, Rupert was going to go ballistic, to say the least, but he had to be told. Pulling his bulky telephone from his gilet pocket, he prodded in Rupert’s number with trembling digits. It was ringing for a painstaking length of time, before Rupert answered, half-way through a chuckle. “Hello? Bas, what’s wrong?” Rupert answered, trying to make coherence from Basil’s distressed ramblings.

-

Dressed only in an unbuttoned, unironed white shirt, beige trousers and black wellington’s, Rupert hurtled from the majestic doors of Penscombe Court, thick mud flying from beneath his feet. He had never sprinted so fast in his life. Sprinting down the bank, he gasped — dumbfounded and horrified at your utterly mangled state. “Angel!” He almost whimpered, sinking into the mud beside you and placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry, Rupert, I-“ Basil began, stood yards away with his hand clamped over his open mouth. The look in Rupert’s eyes was one of unbridled rage. Throwing himself to his feet, he stormed over to Basil, lifting him from the ground with fistfuls of his shirt. “What the fuck were you doing?” He spat, but Basil could only splutter and gasp in a stupor. “Taking her out riding, without asking me, when you knew I wanted to? And, worse so, not fucking looking after her!” Rupert continued to roar, fury bubbling through his veins like a steaming kettle reaching boiling point. Basil’s head was hung lowly in shame, unable to provide reasonable explanation. “I’m SORRY, Rupert. I didn’t know!” Was all he could muster. Before long, Rupert was unreservedly apoplectic, howling obstreperously to his Robin, his helicopter pilot — he needed him there immediately.

Comprehending the desperate urgency in Rupert’s voice, Robin complied — the silk black helicopter whirring above, wind projecting from the blades strongly enough to almost knock Basil onto his back.

-

Opening your eyes was difficult, lids heavy with sleep and your head spinning drowsily. After a few moments and through narrowed vision, you took a moment to survey the surrounding scene. Tucked firmly into bed, your typically flawless golden hair was tied behind you, matted and coated in dried blood. “Good morning, angel.” Rupert whispered, leaning over from his wooden seat at your bedside and kissed your lips gently. “Hello, my love.” You groaned groggily, eyes opening wider. Your hands had numerous cannulas and monitors plunged into them, but the room was secluded and clad in orange velvet. “Where on Earth am I?” You questioned, confused panic rising through your voice.

“You’re in the best place for you. Cost a pretty penny, but I can’t deny that you’re worth it.” Rupert joked, smiling in a gentle, solemn way that you had never seen before. “But why?” You interrogated again, winching sharply as you sat up. “Fucking Bas took you riding. Bessie must’ve got frightened, and bucked you off. Pretty nasty, utterly terrifying to watch. You handled it very elegantly though, I hear.” He informed you, reaching beside him and brandishing quite possibly the most adorable teddy bear you had ever seen, and an enormous box of chocolates. “Oh, I love him!” You beamed, your usual sunshine tone filtering back into your voice.

“Now don’t scare me like that again. We have many more years to drink and fuck away together, I can’t have you falling off horses constantly.” Rupert joked riskily, but was wholeheartedly relieved when you grinned back. “Oh, stop it, Rupert. I love you.” You mumbled, eyes closing and drifting softly back to sleep. “I love you too, angel.” He replied, gently kissing your soft forehead again.

[zahri-melitor]

New(ish) Comics 27 March 2025

Absolute Wonder Woman #5: I think the things I’ve really enjoyed about this opening story is the way it grapples with how it wants to portray the Greek mythology around Diana and how kind it shows Diana to be. I also really enjoyed that in this issue we finally get to one of the tension points I’ve been waiting to see addressed: how being Diana’s mother has changed Circe’s character, and how it has not. Our lasso here being θυσία (Sacrifice), a lasso of transformation…and one where the bearer cannot control the transformation? The mythology of this, the balance of power and powerlessness, the commentary on the nature of change in and of itself. And of course Diana’s absolute kindness meaning that her personal choice for how to defeat the Tetracide with the lasso means not to change it, but to change herself?

Ugh this run is so good, I love what Kelly Thompson is doing. I also want to acknowledge how incredible Hayden Sherman’s art has been for this whole story in terms of creating vibe and setting, because it’s really made things stand out, both in terms of art style and in terms of colour use. Every time we saw Diana’s pale eyes shining off the page it felt like she was looking straight into your soul.

Black Canary: Best of the Best #5: I think this is the issue where I acknowledge that unfortunately we have another entry on the list of ‘look I probably can’t recommend this run to people wanting to find out about Black Canary’. Which is not unexpected, because as I’ve said plenty of times, Black Canary solos are cursed. In the scale of Black Canary solos is this still worth reading? I think so, but I’m very much grading on the Dinah solo curve, which does not actually resemble a normal person’s approach to choosing comics.

Things I liked: wigs! The differentiation between the Dinahs’ early costumes! The early flashbacks in this month!

I don’t think the familial relationship we have here is pure post-Crisis, but instead feels like a further attempt to try and meld the n52 calls into the greater whole. Which personally isn’t the approach I would have taken, but I can see the angle of approach. (Also I think King fundamentally wants the conflict, and what is talking about both Dinahs without addressing the fact they’ve always had different expectations of and for the other?)

Still buying all of it though. We get like…one Dinah mini or maxi every decade or so, and this is still a whole comic of Dinah and I am committed to supporting my girl because if I don’t buy stuff she’s in they won’t put her in things. Plus it continues to feel way more faithful and Dinah-like than 2015 was.

Detective Comics #1094: is this pretty much exactly the comic I would expect Tom Taylor to write? Yes. Do I think we need a pretty light Batman run right now where I know everything’s going to turn out just fine, where Bruce clearly loves and wants to protect his children, where various Batfam are being called on to perform to their core competencies? Also yes. Do I expect the commentary on childhood incarceration in this story to go any deeper and to end up in anything more than “this causes systemic problems and changes the direction of young people’s lives”? No but there’s absolutely nothing wrong with retreading the basic statistics here, because it’s an ongoing problem.

Like yes it’s also very very funny that Harvey Bullock is getting used as a mouthpiece for raise the age/dangers of institutionalisation discussions, because of the way Bullock’s been portrayed many times over the years as a reasonably corrupt and comfortable cop, but it’s not like Bullock hasn’t also had other runs where he’s centred as a hero and important viewpoint character into the police. They just sit very, very, very uneasily against each other.

The Flash #18: I think what I want to point out here is that it is nice to see Jai getting centre stage in this arc, especially after so much of Adams’ run was particularly focused on Irey over him. I am a bit cut up about how Skartaris is getting used as set dressing in terms of a number of significant plot changes in respect of the world, but I’m realistic this is a Flash book not a Warlord book, and the vibes are decent; it’s just the bit of me that wants to shriek “you’ve done WHAT to Shamballah?” etc.

Green Arrow #21: We’re still running with the combined Erin Brockovich and Flint vibes with this story, I see. I’m enjoying the way this is interrogating Ollie’s past, but as a story it still feels really, really isolated.

The Warlord #90: this week in Skartaris we are getting back to basics! We not only have Travis and Tara head off on an adventure together (I know!) where Tara ends up having to save Travis (shades of 1st Issue Special), but we also have editor text box references back to comics that came out 60 issues earlier. Look at us specifically visiting and using earlier material! We’re dealing with the consequences of Travis showing up, thinking he’d fixed one problem, only to find when he left he’d created a second one. Look at this commentary, I’m proud of you my silly conspiracy theory land title.

The art is gorgeous, thank you Rich Buckler, I really enjoyed all your dinosaurs and what I am sure is a small herd of Eohippus.

Also Jennifer finally hauls Joshua out of trouble in the second plot and demonstrates her powers as a sorceress again. Thank goodness, can you all now rejoin with Travis so he can meet Joshua properly in about 10 issues? Ta.

[pinkscarlet08]

The moment I headcanon that Prince Desmond first started having a crush on Princess Amber!

"Hey Amber, have you ever noticed this swing?" six year old James said out at recess.

His twin came and studied the swing which actually had wings. "No, not yet. I guess I hadn't been to this part of the playground before," she answered. Amber and other princesses had been spending recess the first two weeks sharing princess-tips they had learned before school. She never really thought about running around and playing. That seemed too much like a boy thing. Well, other than that one prince she noticed would always sit on a bench and read during recess...

"Well, it swings itself. Try it! The other guys and I found it the other day," James told her.

"Having fun without acting like a prince. Sounds perfect," Amber said. She gracefully sat on The Magic Swing and slowly began to sway.

The young Prince Desmond automatically heard the commotion and looked up from his book. He had seen Princess Amber before, but now that her hair was blowing through the breeze and she was giggling, something seemed different. One side of his mouth slowly raised as he saw this. However, he noticed the swing suddenly speed up. Desmond gave a small gasp as he sat his book down and rushed over towards the swing. Next thing he knew, Amber was sent flying through the air. Desmond hesitated for a quick second, but then ran to where he calculated her landing would be and caught her. Almost all the other princes were laughing as James high fived them. "Are - are you ok, Princess Amber?" Desmond asked as he helped her back to standing.

"Oh my goodness! You are my hero," Amber told him. She then automatically turned towards her brother crying, "James! I am SO telling Daddy about this!" James laughed a bit more before noticing his sister storming after him, making him run off.

Desmond simply stood there, unaware of what he was feeling. His jaw was dropped for a bit as his eyes continuously flickered. Slowly, a dreamy smile began to form on his face. He had now realized what was different about Amber than before.

(After this moment, Desmond did everything he could to continue being Amber’s hero and was there whenever she needed him. Whether that was rushing into a geyser field for her or being a living mannequin. Desmond admits in one episode that deep down he’s always wanted to be a hero, a reason he wanted to continue being Amber’s hero when she first called him hers!)

Edit by me, drawing by my friends @wormwood2 and Canary Yellow!!

[unbakedturtledoodles]

What's "Like Father Like Son" even about? I kinda want to know without having to read it because I'm not good with angsty fics. (I barely made it through Canary Continuity) I've seen a lot of content around it but it's mostly out of context

[menop033]

The DC movie Birds of Prey totally disrespected its "source material"

Now, what I am going to post is nothing particularly new or inventive - I am basically preaching to the choir and ranting about meaningless bullshit. But, the movie Harley Quinn: Birds of Prey can barely even be called an adaptation. In my opinion, it doesn't even feature the team, despite what the name claims.

Birds of Prey at first didn't even have a name. It was just... Oracle's field agents, Black Canary being the first but far from the only one. The whole damn premise and reason for the team to exist was to have someone do things for Barbara she couldn't do anymore.

How the hell can you have the team without her?? It's ORACLE'S team. Barbara leads them, plans their missions, gets them intel, recruits new members, funds them. She is the voice in their ears, the eye in the sky...This is why, hot take, I believe the TV series from 2002 is a better adaptation (although, on its own it's a pretty shitty TV series). It at least has the team's founder and leader, however odd and nonsensical it was at times. Yes, I watched it. Most of it, anyways.

I mean, sure, Harley and Barbara have so much in common. Both were created for a Batman show, both had their lives changed by Joker, both went, in at least one continuity, from working with Suicide Squad to founding Birds of Prey, both are highly educated, both have a homoerotic relationship with their best friend... You could totally swap one with another. Totally the same thing.

Alright, enough of disgruntled sarcasm. I am hesitant to call the comic books a source material for this film because it genuinely doesn't feel like it's supposed to be that. If you take out Oracle out of Birds of Prey, what are you left with? Basically any random superhero team but all women.

Making the movie about Harley Quinn is pretty darn insulting. She was already dominating in the media with the movie Suicide Squad, the first season of Harley Quinn show, and she was in many comic books, in Suicide Squad, Harleen was being published... And there was much more to come out and there is still so much of Harley Quinn content to come out. Sticking her into yet another team was just unnecessary. Just don't make a Birds of Prey adaptation if you need Harley that much.

It should've been a Harley Quinn solo movie. Or Gotham City Sirens. I am just mad I was promised a Birds of Prey movie and didn't get it. But that's on me, I suppose. I was dumb. I just found out about the existence of BoP and decided to check out if it was ever adapted, not reading the reviews much...

Alright, the movie had Black Canary and Huntress, apart from Oracle the two most frequent members of the team. That's alright, I suppose. Yes, their personalities, backstories and looks were changed but something is bound to change when adapting a story. That is not a problem (although Helena was sometimes a bit annoying, I am not going to lie. Angry loner and a ruthless and vengeful vigilante that, despite everything, wants to fit in, that has a passion for teaching and is very protective of children, that has moral conflicts with Oracle over her controlling tendencies and disregarding notions like privacy etc. is much preferable to an assassin whose only personality trait is being socially awkward).

There is not much of a point to this stupid rant, except the fact that Birds of Prey are pretty much my favorite comic book series and I am pretty bummed out that this is probably the only adaptation for a long while.

I am just going to ignore the totally unnecessary Cassandra Cain name-drop because holy shit. That was not the character.

Also no Zinda Blake :(

[hourly-canaries]

WOOO okay finally posting a whole explanation thing on what's been going on with this blog for the past. checks notes. about 3 months

I'll be putting it all under the cut here so if you gaf about this, keep reading

first reason for inactivity: Loss of motivation!

Starting in around August of 2024 I had a huge hyperfixation on dungeon meshi and specifically the canaries (yes I am neurodivergent (if you couldn't tell)). but as most of my hyperfixations do, I lost interest after a few months. (though I will mention my fixation on dungeon meshi lasted much longer than most of my past fixations, so consider that a win!) After the month of December I gained other interests which quickly became hyperfixations of mine, leading to the inevitable loss of interest in dunmeshi.

I still really love dunmeshi and especially the canaries and I think I could still talk about them for hours! but still I just don't have the same amount of obsession to remember to post on this blog...

second reason for inactivity: data loss!

Okay now you're probably thinking "oh canaryadmin you are essentially an archive blog, how do you lose access to all your canary photos?!"

and let me tell you a little something, I lost all access to EVERYTHING on my former phone (where I had all my canaries things saved) and I don't feel like going back and downloading every last photo I've ever posted on here. Like I mentioned, I started this blog during the time that I had a huge hyperfixation on the canaries which obviously impacted how much motivation I had for saving and posting every picture. so now that I've lost my fixation (aka my motivation) I simply don't have the desire to take the time to reorganize everything. note that even when I first started this blog, it took over 3 hours to save as much official media of the canaries! that's a lot of time when you take into account that I have other things I want or need to do!

tldr ; I have no more motivation for this blog and have also lost access to all my saved canaries pictures.

I don't know if I'll ever revive this blog. It was short-lived but I also had a lot of fun running it! If I ever get the motivation to continue I promise I'll try to post much more consistently without any sudden breaks.

with much love, canaryadmin <3

[qoldenskies]

hi, huge fan of the canary continuity!! caged lungs truly is the fic of all time. for the fic ask game, 7, 11, and 13!!

YIPPEE THANK YOU!!! :D

7. How do you choose which POV to write from?

for pretty much every story i do i've stuck to a cycle, although i'll break out of it when relevant (in CW i switched to povs in groups of 2s at about chapter 10, for example, and its been mikey > leo > raph, although after these next two raph chapters i'll be switching back to leo because mikey gets 4 in a row go king). and i actually make sure to frame a lot of the events of the story around what pov theyre in

idk if you noticed, but i really like writing most of leo's intense/climactic moments when outside of his head. chapter 14 has been like my one exception. even in coming undone when he FINALLY snaps and breaks down and freaks out, it's in mikey's pov. i think he's just a very fun character to make unreadable to other people because of how much he likes to hide his issues, and i like to frame him as a lot more controlled than he looks. im okay writing his sorrow from his pov, but his rage is a lot more fun to fuck around with without peering into his head.

in general i just enjoy writing angst centered around another character from the perspective of someone else, usually the caretaker in the case of whump, but it really just depends on what i think lends to a scene the best. in ME i chose leo in particular because i really wanted to look into his brain as the only person capable of keeping donnie alive; he's forced completely to confront it all head on, and because donnie is willing to afford a special kind of vulnerability with him, he was a good character to do the kind of flashbacks i did with. i wrote ch11 from raph's pov because it was extra traumatic for him, things like that.

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

i mean it changes all the time but HAVE THIS

cant not link firefight! lmao

13. what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

tip from me to you as a man who writes a lot of fanfic and reads a lot of fanfic:

AVOID LONG PARAGRAPHS. CUT WHEN THE TOPIC CHANGES. PLEASE AVOID LONG PARAGRAPHS.

it makes it a TON more digestible especially for me with adhd attention issues (i will legit just lose my place in long paragraphs and have to reread, and i am an AVID reader so its not like its because i dont care), and i know its helpful for dyslexic people too, stuff like that. it also means things can be a lot snappier and punchier, and it seriously helps with pacing!!! if you think things are too short you might just need to break it up a little more!!

ive also noticed that breaking up dialogue that goes on for a long time is also pretty helpful with pacing. putting in pauses or tangents in separate paragraphs before they start speaking again is always very good for pacing big recommend!!

sometimes longer paragraphs ARE necessary but i recommend being tactical. and ESPECIALLY for punchier action scenes, things are a lot stronger when paragraphs are super short, ive noticed.

[leejenowrld]

Sophie!

The extensive lore that you continue to share with us about the Love & Games Universe is incredible. You spare no excruciating detail in regard to how thrilling and vulnerable it feels to fall in love. You also don't shy away from the fear for the future of the relationship, the wellbeing of the person you can't live without settling into the cracks of each character's heart. Even the aspects from asks that don't explicitly make it into the story still show up in their own ways that further solidify this universe as something living and breathing —an entity comprised of distinctive settings with every bit as much personality as the well-written cast of characters they house— that keeps its heart thundering with once-neon pulses of a bar no longer frequented, constant careful treading in the slices of daylight and raw confessions under the moonlight, and enduring loves that will break free from gilded cages and rotten earth just to prove generational curses aren't the only things coming back from the dead.

I've made it pretty obvious that I adore exploring the messy drama every bit as much as I do dissecting the generational trauma. So, tying this into the crazy metaphor I conjured up a while back on discord (for anyone who reads this and hasn't joined, please join, it's awesome there), I have a roundabout request to pick that brilliant brain of yours.

(Please forgive my long-winded explanations that crashed into actual questions I wanted to ask.)

You're the arbiter of taste to end all arbiters of taste. You're the curator to stars that fell from the endless dark, and they're in a search of a home worthy of their one of a kind sparkle and shine. Toiling away immediately, you unpack a deceptively simple looking platinum band that's slightly misshapen, and the engraving on the inside that's worn away with scratches and nicks burns you with melancholy when you run a finger over it. Tasked to trace the provenance of a sterling silver pendant that resembles the shape of a heart, you swear its center onyx stone met your keen eye and winked at you, the natural veins gleaming in sunlight that streams in through the skylight. The workbench in the back room has a cigarette dispenser from yesteryear that touts delicate, handpainted floral motifs that offset its more elaborate 24k gold trimmings, beckoning you to give it a second life as a gift box to the lavender jade amulet that's rumored to be cursed to turn its owner's heart as frozen as the lake it was uncovered from. There's a silk scarf fashioned into a makeshift pouch that holds several canary yellow diamonds and playful pink sapphires that you see potential in placing together in a rose gold Faberge egg, previously owned by a socialite who was famous for throwing the best parties in her art deco palace. The hours are ticking away outside, but you pay no mind because time and space are held to a different standard in this house of excellent taste and eclectic trinkets. You wrap up another treasure in watercolor paper with a reverence for its legacy. You tuck away a little embossed card that highlights its history into the bag. Regular clients returning are more than ready and willing to pay in the currency of broken hearts and joyful tears just for another glimpse of these enigmatic marvels that were collected from every corner of the universe. Curious windowshoppers will step into the shop for the first time, completely entranced by the dazzling masterpieces that were crafted from studying the lives of stars and the explosive ways they lit up the skies.

Now, those were just some expanded examples to set the scene for what it feels like for me to experience your work. The actual million dollar questions are:

If you were to design a piece of jewelry that encapsulates each beloved character, what would they be?

What materials do you attribute to their tastes and aesthetics? (Ex: gold for Mark's warmth and how it draws the eye like he does so effortlessly, diamonds for Karina because she'll never go out of style no matter where she is and what she's up to)

What design elements reflect their traits and personalities? (Ex: YN's piece has a lobster clasp because it's known for being the most secure and reliable closure for jewelry, Jeno's got a sleek industrial design as a nod to his engineering background but also takes the hits of daily wear without a scratch like the way he tries to convince people he's infallible to the demands of his life)

Since you strive for compelling characters and not perfect ones, and to keep in theme with the vintage shop setting, what are some quirks that have altered their pieces to give it more mystery and intrigue? (Ex: What do you think caused a stone to become loosened from its setting? Was there a hatpin that needed reworked into a ring that could be a fun metaphor for you reworking a character to better fit the story?)

Keeping true to your mission of promoting a better understanding of a character's overlooked traits or misunderstood actions, if those details were to be appreciated in the piece of jewelry, what would they be? Ex: A bracelet with cracked ceramic beads repaired Kitsungi style; instead of adding precious materials just for the sake of adding something expensive to be perceived as flashy, the gold veined cracks elevated the piece's message of resilience to the threats wanted to destroy it)

You've brought them together before through the museum installations that honored their achievements just as much as their aspirations, but if you were to now create a cohesive constellation out of each of each character's jewelry design, what theme would you like to highlight when displaying their pieces together in the front window?

All the love and support to you always 💖💖💖

hiii orbi you always give me an opportunity to really think and dive into such glamorous stuff i love u for this.

🐚 y/n — a clasp that doesn’t come undone

piece: a platinum bracelet, narrow and deliberate, with a lobster clasp, the strongest in the trade, and a single blue-gray moonstone set flush against the wrist like a pulse.

materials: platinum for durability, not flash. moonstone for its shifting light, it never looks the same twice. the stone is domed and softly worn, dulled around the edges from years of friction. you’d have to really look to see the micro-fissures beneath its surface.

design: practical, minimal, fortified. a bracelet you’d miss if it weren’t so quietly resilient. everything about it is clean-lined, purposeful, impossible to break once fastened. the clasp is almost invisible. but it will never slip off unless you mean for it to.

quirks: a single link is soldered back together with a visible line of gold. the story goes that it broke once during a fight, was flung across a locker room floor, but someone picked it up and fixed it by hand. no polish. no attempt to hide the break.

misunderstood beauty: people assume the bracelet is cold. impersonal. but it’s precision-built love. it doesn't come off easily because it's meant to hold. to be held. to last.

🛠 jeno — a cuff that takes impact

piece: a brushed titanium cuff, heavy, flat, industrial. the kind that wears into the skin over time, softening only where the body insists on reshaping it.

materials: titanium for strength, built to withstand stress. matte finish to avoid attention. engraved on the inside with a series of geometric lines — a blueprint — like a hidden schematic no one’s supposed to notice.

design: no clasp. it slides over the wrist with effort. it pinches at first. it’s stubborn. but once it’s on, it becomes part of you. it doesn’t flex. but it remembers.

quirks: a single dent right along the edge, a hit from a fall, or maybe a fight. no one knows if it was caused during a game or something quieter, uglier. but jeno never had it buffed out. it grounds the piece.

misunderstood beauty: people think it’s indestructible. cold. detached. what they miss is that it was made to absorb damage so others don’t have to.

🔥 mark — a chain that catches light even when he doesn’t mean to

piece: a gold rope chain, worn close to the throat, warm to the touch. not flashy but alive. it picks up every glint of sun, every flicker of heat, and reflects it back with no agenda.

materials: 18k gold for softness, warmth, and quiet radiance. no pendant. the chain is the whole point.

design: made of tightly twisted links, the rope motif creates its own texture, you could run it through your fingers for hours. it’s sensual without trying. it asks nothing but still shines.

quirks: the clasp is slightly bent from being pulled off too fast, maybe during a moment of urgency — love, anger, grief. one of the links near the back has a small nick, like someone once tried to cut it and failed.

misunderstood beauty: people think he’s golden because it’s easy. what they don’t see is how often he’s held the whole thing together, how many people have leaned on that chain to keep from falling.

🎀 areum — a locket shaped like a perfume bottle

piece: a miniature locket molded to look like a vintage perfume vial. tiny. delicate. opens with a gentle twist to reveal a dried petal and a fingerprint smudge on the mirror inside.

materials: rose gold, resin, pressed glass. it smells faintly of vanilla and lilac — not because it holds perfume, but because it remembers it. the scent is burned into the metal.

design: round and soft-edged, with a ribbon chain that tangles easily if not handled carefully. the closure is magnetic. never locked, just lightly held shut — like it’s inviting you in.

quirks: the mirror inside is cracked. not shattered — just one long line down the center, right where the face would be. no one’s ever been able to fix it without losing the scent. so she never tried.

misunderstood beauty: people call it fragile. weak. but it’s survived every suitcase, every heartbreak, every drawer it’s been forgotten in. it’s still here. still scented. still sweet. still open.

🧊 karina — a ring that never tarnishes

piece: a white gold signet ring, inlaid with a single baguette diamond turned horizontally — cutting edge first. the band is seamless. polished. unapologetically heavy.

materials: white gold for modernity. diamond because no matter the pressure, it never breaks. cut with edges sharp enough to draw blood. it doesn’t glitter. it gleams.

design: the kind of ring that makes people straighten up when they see it. worn on her middle finger, always. not for status — for precision. everything about it is calculated, down to the hidden engraving on the inner band: “I survive.”

quirks: the diamond has a tiny inclusion visible only under light — like a streak in her voice when she speaks about the past. you wouldn’t notice it unless you looked very closely. but once you do, it’s all you can see.

misunderstood beauty: people think it’s about control. they don’t realize it’s about safety. this is a ring that refuses to fall off, even when your hands are shaking.

⚡ jaemin — a locket no one’s managed to open

piece: a silver locket on a delicate chain — round, glossy, and etched with a pattern so fine it looks like smoke. it rests perfectly against the sternum, right over the heart.

materials: sterling silver for memory and moonlight. soft enough to scratch. bright enough to draw people in. the chain is too thin for how heavy the locket actually is.

design: the locket doesn’t open. or maybe it does, but not easily. people try. they twist it, search for a hinge. but no one’s figured it out. inside? something valuable. something private. maybe something burning.

quirks: fingerprints cover the back. it’s been passed around too many hands. borrowed. stolen. always returned. always kept close.

misunderstood beauty: people think it’s sentimental. sweet. they don’t understand that it’s a lockbox. that he never wanted it opened in the first place.

🪙 chenle — the ring that sounds like laughter

piece: a wide gold signet ring, open-backed and meant to spin. the surface is etched with interlocking patterns — stars, waves, soundwaves — as if the ring was carved mid-conversation. it’s meant to be touched. played with. turned over between two fingers when you’re thinking of saying something smarter than you should.

materials: 22k gold — softer, warmer, brighter. the kind that scratches easily because it was never meant to be preserved behind glass. this ring was made to be worn.

design: it's engraved with small phrases in multiple languages around the inner edge. some are jokes. some are names. some look like coordinates. only chenle would know the code.

quirks: the underside of the band is worn smooth from being spun constantly. there’s a single tiny ruby on the side, not flashy, but intentional, like a secret placed where no one would think to look.

misunderstood beauty: people mistake its brightness for frivolity. but it’s built on inheritance — cleverness, wealth, loyalty, memory. chenle’s joy is a language. the ring speaks it fluently.

🌊 yangyang — a chain made for motion

piece: a silver body chain — delicate, layered, slung across the ribs and collarbone like it was made to move with the breath. it looks fragile, but it’s built with tension wire. it pulls back when stretched. it always returns to form.

materials: sterling silver for reflectivity, flexibility, and sensuality. hints of mother-of-pearl in the center where the lines cross, iridescent but elusive.

design: the chain doesn’t rest flat, it glides. every angle catches light. it was designed to look different depending on how you wear it. fastens at the base of the spine. he never lets anyone clip it for him. always does it one-handed.

quirks: one of the strands was snapped and rejoined with fine black silk thread — his own repair, done with intention, not to hide but to commemorate. the break was from a reckless night. a choice he’d make again.

misunderstood beauty: people assume it’s decoration. it’s not. it’s memory. a relic of movement, music, touch. yangyang doesn’t wear things that stay still. he wears things that know how to shift.

🎐 shotaro — the keepsake no one expected to keep

piece: a pendant made from fused glass and antique silver, a found object turned irreplaceable. it’s shaped like a windchime bell, meant to hang near the heart. it doesn’t jingle, it vibrates softly when touched, like it’s still catching echoes of something once said.

materials: glass and silver, both vulnerable and luminous. the glass has tiny bubbles trapped inside, imperfections from the fire that made it. the silver backing is engraved with constellations. they don’t match any known star map.

design: it was once part of something else. a windchime that hung in someone’s childhood home. shotaro found it, saved it, made it his own. it doesn’t shine under artificial light. only in sunlight. only when it’s really looked at.

quirks: one side is chipped. not enough to break it. just enough to notice. he doesn’t mind. says the chip makes it easier to grip when he’s nervous.

misunderstood beauty: people underestimate its worth. until they hold it. and realise it’s heavier than they thought. quieter than they expected. and they don’t want to put it down.

🌹 nahyun — a brooch you swear is winking

piece: a ruby-and-glass brooch in the shape of an open eye, ringed in copper wire, with gold flecks embedded like scattered mascara. it’s pinned crooked on purpose. meant to draw the eye, confuse it, challenge it to look again.

materials: glass masquerading as gems. faux gold threaded with actual 14k scrap. a deliberate mix of artifice and inheritance. red velvet backing, soft but hard to clean.

design: bold. visible. worn somewhere unexpected — the hip, the cuff, the neck of a silk slip. it makes no sense unless she’s wearing it. then suddenly it’s obvious. it belongs there.

quirks: the glass “pupil” shifts subtly when moved — a trick of cut and shadow, not actual mechanics. but you’d swear it was watching you. she likes it that way.

misunderstood beauty: people think it’s drama. performance. it is. but beneath it is construction — precision, intellect, a sharp eye for what draws blood beneath desire. she pins it where it hurts. and makes it look good.

🧨 donghyuck — a cigarette case full of secrets

piece: an antique cigarette case, lacquered black with inlaid red enamel flames. holds nothing now but folded fortunes, matchbooks, and one single gold tooth someone dared him to steal.

materials: lacquer, enamel, oxidised brass. slightly scorched at the corners — a real fire once happened, and it made it more valuable.

design: opens with a snap. sharp, precise. the inside is velvet-lined and smells faintly of smoke and bergamot. every piece inside tells a story. every time you ask, he changes it. that’s the point.

quirks: one of the hinges is bent from being slammed shut too hard. the case still works. it just squeaks a little. he calls it charm.

misunderstood beauty: people think it’s a game. a trick. something built to impress. but this case is curated. selected. carried everywhere. it holds memories he won’t admit matter. and it’s locked for a reason.

🖤 the front window — a constellation of survival

the theme reads:

“made to endure. not untouched by pain, but chosen. again and again.”

the window is shadowy. not dim, but layered. backlit by slow golden spotlights and reflective dark silk, as if stepping into the room at midnight. the pieces aren’t presented in neat rows, they hang, scatter, and rest at odd angles, like they’ve been placed mid-conversation. some dangle from suspended wire. others sit in mismatched jewelry trays, half-unfolded, part-forgotten. it’s not chaos. it’s intimacy. the sense that you’re seeing something you weren’t meant to.

in the display, none of the pieces are in pristine condition. that’s the point.

jeno’s titanium cuff sits beside y/n’s platinum bracelet, two unyielding forms, forged in silence and tension, built for wear and weather and collision. hers clasps with intent. his slides on like armor. between them, their shared gravity pulls the air tight. above them hangs jaemin’s locket, suspended in the center of the display like a heartbeat caught in midair, sealed shut, glossy, unreadable, but always reflecting someone else’s gaze.

a little off to the right, mark’s gold rope chain catches the light in a slow, deliberate curve, not loud, but sure of its place. it gleams beside areum’s perfume-locket, which hangs half-open, quietly scented, the cracked mirror inside reflecting a version of her that still feels soft. a dried petal rests just above, like it’s hovering in memory. their proximity feels accidental, but isn’t. her shadows make his warmth look real. his glow makes her pain look gentler.

at the center of it all: donghyuck’s lacquered cigarette case, half-open on a black plinth, surrounded by shards of matchstick light, casting flame-shaped shadows on the glass. the hinge squeaks if you listen. the velvet inside is worn. someone left a name written in smoke there, but you’ll never read it twice the same way.

orbiting him, the rest burn and blink like satellites:

nahyun’s brooch is pinned to a mannequin’s collarbone, defiant and glittering, like it’s daring you to mock it and already laughing when you try. it moves slightly when the air shifts, as if breathing. shotaro’s bell pendant rests near the base of the case, strung low, deliberately placed so you have to kneel to see it properly — a secret not available to the impatient. it doesn’t ring, but if you watch close enough, you’ll swear it hums.

yangyang’s body chain loops between the trays like constellation wire, silver glinting under the silk, disappearing behind shadows and reemerging in new curves. it’s been broken once. rethreaded by hand. you can see the silk if you lean in close. chenle’s gold signet ring sits in a velvet box deliberately askew, off-center, tilted, impossible to miss. it has one small ruby on the edge and fingerprints all over it. someone’s been spinning it. maybe still is.

together, they form a constellation not of perfection — but of resilience. not every piece fits neatly into a velvet box. some of them hurt when worn. some need repair. some were never meant to match. but none of them are disposable. and none of them are fake.

there are no price tags. only placards etched in tarnished brass that read:

this one never breaks this one stays warm even in winter this one was dropped, and came back this one knows how to shine through smoke this one only opens when you mean it this one was made to survive you forgetting it this one doesn’t need you to believe in it — but it waits anyway.

and one, tucked quietly behind the chain that binds them all together:

this one was loved. still is this one always will be.

🪞 storefront constellation: “the ones you almost missed”

the plaque reads:

the ones you almost missed. the charmers. the showmen. the broken things hiding in performance. they were never asking to be chosen. but god, when you look closer— they shine like they always knew you would.

🔁 reinterpreted through others’ eyes — what happens when they change hands (a bonus for you orbi)

donghyuck’s cigarette case → in jeno’s hands jeno doesn’t get it at first. the flair, the games, the stories that shift each time you ask. but one day he opens the case and finds a note with his own name on it — written years ago, tucked behind a bar receipt. “you’ve always been the only one who doesn’t need the joke.” and he never tells anyone, but he stops calling the case ridiculous after that.

yangyang’s body chain → seen by karina she admires the architecture of it — the deliberate asymmetry, the elegance in how it stretches and reforms. but what catches her most is the repair. the thread. the choice to mend instead of replace. she thinks about all the times she wanted to be reworked instead of rewritten. she tries it on one night in front of a mirror. it fits. not like it’s hers — but like it understands.

areum’s locket → kept by mark he holds it once and immediately recognises the scent. vanilla and lilac. a note from a moment he forgot was meaningful. he never asks if he can keep it, but areum presses it into his palm one night without a word. he doesn’t wear it. just keeps it in his pocket. pulls it out when he can’t remember why softness matters. it always reminds him.

shotaro’s bell pendant → rethreaded by jaemin jaemin finds it in a drawer. a forgotten gift. he almost sells it for cash. but then he hears the sound it makes when it shifts — so soft, it’s almost a secret. he doesn’t ask shotaro what it means. he just starts wearing it. not as decoration. as reminder. some things don’t ask for your attention — they earn it.

nahyun’s brooch → gifted to y/n (this would never happen lowkey) not out of sentiment — but survival. nahyun pins it to y/n’s shirt collar after a particularly brutal night. “don’t worry. no one can look at you now without thinking twice.” it’s not protection. it’s warning. y/n keeps it. not because she likes how it looks but because she likes how it makes people look at her.

chenle’s ring → flipped through mark’s fingers he plays with it constantly. says it helps him think. doesn’t mention that it reminds him of chenle’s laughter — or the way he always made tension bearable. one day, when mark’s in a dark room with too many unspoken things, he turns the ring once, twice, and murmurs something he never got to say out loud. “i miss you, you loud bastard.” the ring doesn’t answer. but it shines.

(one more bonus) jeno’s cuff → fastened around y/n’s wrist jeno gives it to her without ceremony. no velvet box, no words, just the cool weight of it against her skin as he slips it around her wrist and fastens it himself. the titanium cuff doesn’t shine, doesn’t glitter — it holds. heavy, smooth, precise, too big to be decorative and too tight to ignore. she looks at him, quiet, waiting for an explanation, but he only says, “keep it on.” his voice is low. unreadable. then, after a pause, “they won’t try anything if they think you’re mine.”

it’s not a confession. it’s not even a threat. it’s a boundary drawn in metal. something unspoken welded into place. he doesn’t say i’m worried, or i don’t trust them, or i can’t sleep knowing how they looked at you. he just gives her something unbreakable and hopes she understands. and she does. not because she’s sentimental — but because when the cuff is on, people look at her differently. not like prey. not like a game. like they see the weight around her wrist and hesitate. and that’s what jeno wanted. not softness. not yet. just a signal. just a wall.

she never takes it off. not because she likes how it looks — but because she likes what it means. someone is watching. someone chose to. someone who doesn’t know how to say it any other way.

[zerolostwalks]

IT'S SATURDAY BITCHES hurrah hurrah!! you said you were writing today so good luck on that, but for now i have sleepover questions :3

what you're reading right now?

and what you've been meaning to read? (fic or otherwise)

(also my favorite song right now is the grudge by olivia rodrigo)

WOOHOO SLEEPOVER SATURDAY!!

Right now, I am

in the middle of reading Atomic Habits by James Clear

(actively) rereading afreakingdork's Weak Spot, hittechlatte's Prince Charming's Jacket, almost always have a desceros fic on standby, right now it's Symphony no 4, and also can't stop rereading qolden's Canary Continuity (and a few other random tabs from a bunch of random fandoms)

I have been meaning to read so freaking much!! Like I have open tabs for fics by my fellow Canoe Crew.

This could be home - Innytoes

thus with a kiss i die - bananakeranina

can't let you go (your handprint's on my soul) - InvisibleRaven

(Like I started but didn't want to just speed through them without commenting and have had inconsistent commenting energy so instead they are just sitting as open tabs on my phone judging me.)

Book wise, Subtle art of Not giving a fuck. Plus I need to go and finish Inkspell and Fellowship of the Ring I also want to make a general reading list, (take some Ted Lasso inspo as well as like polling tumblr people at some point. . .really I wish I'd been writing down fav books when those ask games rolled around)

(holy shit, had to detour to listen before answering and like, fuck some of those lines! "It's takes strength to forgive but I don't feel strong"?! "We both drew blood but man those cuts were never equal"!? like holy shit.

Personally I've been stuck listening to Your Stupid Face by Kaden McKay, it was reccomended as a Donnie song which it is! But it's remarkable how well it fits a general Patches and Donnie [and to some extent reader] vibe for Meant to Be ... so long as you ignore everything after the 3rd verse 😅)

[helenaheissner]

Comic Review: Green Arrow by Joshua Williamson Volume 1: Reunion

As a longtime Green Arrow fan, I had been looking forward to reading the first trade paperback of the current ongoing series by Joshua Williamson for a few months now. Williamson's been having something of a moment lately- his also ongoing run on Superman has been widely-lauded and very much enjoyed by me personally, and while I've not yet read his Batman & Robin series, the snippets I've seen online make it look very much up my alley.

In the wake of a recent event storyline titled Dark Crisis (also written by Williamson, and which I've not read either), Oliver Queen, rich brat turned hardcore survivalist turned bow-wielding man of the people superhero, is missing, stranded on an alien world for reasons he knows not why. So he does what he does best: survive.

The drive to survive is something I consider an inherent part of Ollie's character: he's motivated not by a desire for justice, vengeance, or familial obligations like many other DC heroes, but by an iron will to survive implanted by his being stranded on the not-so deserted island of Lian Yu for several years. He wants to survive, by any means, and he wants that for everyone around him as well. That is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness, because sometimes by choosing survival over all else, he neglects to let himself truly live the life he wants with the family he has built, or otherwise cross moral lines for the sake of his (admittedly very noble) concept of a greater good. That dissonance is a huge part of what drives this six-issue opening act. Because while Oliver is doing what he does on the other end of universe, his family- specifically his adoptive son and former sidekick Roy Harper/Arsenal; the on/off love of his life and mainstay of the JLA, JSA, and Birds of Prey, Dinah Lance/Black Canary; and his illegitimate biological son, former Buddhist Monk turned co-Green Arrow, Connor Hawke.

It's on their hunt that they find trace of Roy's presumed-dead daughter by an unrepentant supervillain, Lian, and a touching father-daughter reunion happens... Only for Lian to suddenly vanish in a rush of light, and rematerialize on the same world where Oliver has been stranded.

Let's talk about the Arrow Family for a moment, shall we? The Arrow Family is freaking great! Oliver and Dinah are genuinely one of my favorite ships in all of comics, Roy is a Teen Titans mainstay who's undergone some of the best character development in all of comics, Connor is a brilliant example of a legacy superhero done well, and Oliver's adoptive daughter and other sidekick, Mia Dearden/Speedy, as well as his other-other sidekick and much younger half-sister Emiko Queen/Red Arrow, are two of the most criminally underrated heroines in the DCU. But due to several questionable editorial mandates and a few baffling writing choices over the past twenty or so years, the family has been scattered. Lian was straight-up dead for over a decade in real time, Connor and Mia were stranded in the proverbial comic book limbo after a continuity reboot in the early 2010s (long story), Roy and Dinah were on the outs with Ollie at various points in the past two decades, and while Emiko has gotten to hang around pretty consistently, the character wasn't created until 2013 and didn't became her big brother's sidekick until 2017. And this is without even getting into all the instances of Oliver being an idiot about his personal life and isolating himself from his family in the process.

This comic makes that a driving tension in a very literal sense- something is causing the members of the Arrow Family to teleport away from each other when they're near each other, causing Oliver to conclude that the only way they can all survive is to be apart.

He's wrong, of course. And he realizes he's wrong. And I won't spoil why, other than a very clever reveal of just who from Oliver's personal history would want to mess with him, as well as setting up a new potential archnemesis for the entire Arrow Family going forward in Amanda Waller (which, frankly, is a move that makes so much sense thematically it's surprising it took so long for someone to try it, given the potential contrast between Oliver's humanistic progressivism and Waller's authoritarian patriotism). What I will say that when truly pushed, when truly forced to choose between survival and family, Oliver sticks to his guns (so to speak) and chooses his family, chooses to take a chance on all of them being together no matter what risk there is for something to go wrong. Because when you're hardwired for survival above all else, the idea of letting someone, anyone, let alone a whole family of someones, into your heart is TERRIFYING. But Oliver Queen is not a coward, and he wants very much to be able to prove wrong all the many, MANY people who think that he is a bad man. He wants to be able to look in them in the face and tell the unblinking truth when he says 'no, I am a good man. Fuck you.'

And he does. And it is GLORIOUSLY CATHARTIC.

This book also does emotional beats very well. We get two parent-child reunions in this story, between Roy and Lian and then later Ollie and Connor, and both of them bring on the warm and fuzzies something fierce as these people who have been through so much together put aside all the hurt feelings and bad memories and are just thrilled to see each other once more. And then there's Ollie and Dinah's reunion... Let's just say I swooned. I swooned something fierce when my OTP got a spectacular (and rather hot) kiss scene.

This book also does banter and superhero lunacy very well (Roy and Peacemaker getting into a shoot-off becomes a plot point, and Oliver fights literal alien corporate fat-cats while in space) while still balancing it all in real emotion and a compelling personal story with personal stakes. It's aided by superb artwork from Sean Izaaske, who not only provides fantastic panel layouts, action scenes, and facial expressions, but also does several fun stylistic shifts when representing different periods in Ollie's history. It builds on established lore and character arcs without actually requiring you to know the storylines they originally came from (which is not always easy in superhero comics). Basically, it's very, VERY good, and I recommend it highly.

***

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[daistea]

the extra comics always serve a purpose in developing the world and characters, and im like 90% sure the canaries racism comic is formulated to get two main things across

- establishing elven attitudes towards race-related social issues: certain topics are taboo and there is existing social justice discourse in place, which has changed significantly in the past few decades

- establishing the repercussions of the main aspect of mithrun's desireless character, that he's out of touch from 1. no longer having the desire to keep up with changing norms and 2. the fact that he was literally in recovery for 20 years with no contact from society. and 3. that he simply doesn't have a filter anymore and very likely no longer has a place in mainstream elf society because of it

so like. the way people read that comic and ALL they get out of it is "mithrun racist" instead of all the worldbuilding implications and character implications of all the canaries as well (fleki's attitude towards this is also really interesting because you wouldn't expect her to be a keyboard warrior but it makes sense given her age?), is insane to me. ryoko kui literally wrote a background comic which establishes that you can almost exactly parallel her universe's equivalent of racism to current-day social discourse and y'all are dodging the point just to continue oversimplifying one of the most complex and intricately written side characters in the franchise

FOR REAL!!!!

there’s lots of sides to this discussion. Because I am sleepy, I can’t really describe it other than “some people do be silly” and ya know, jokes going too far, jokes becoming truth in some minds, and so on. As my friends know, I am enjoying the word ‘flanderization’ as of late. Am I using it accurately? Not sure. I just like the word.

Mithrun is fascinating honestly. I won’t claim to be an expert, but I do not understand how some don’t want to pick him apart and put him back together again like a Lego set. Yea sure take Mithrun at face value…… yeah sure walk right past the Sistine Chapel without a care in the world…. whatever

But anyway, yeah. Congrats! You have earned a Yeah

My final say on the subject (for now) is that fandom is made up of a lot of different personalities, and they’re never going to do exactly what’s accurate/right/preferable. I know that’s obvious, but idk it helps me a lot when dealing with bad takes. Make and enjoy your content, speak your truth, and use the block button liberally 👍

[spookyspecterino]

15 Lines of Dialogue Rules: Share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

Thanks for tagging me! @fangbangerghoul

(This is a Picrew of my OC, Canary. I created her for the Bale Batman universe, where she commits various unhinged crimes. Just writing her for fun at this point and I've had a blast with her so far. I really was put on this earth to write crazy characters.)

Lines are below the cut

1. Canary tosses her cigarette into the street with a flick. "I don't know what you were originally thinking, big guy, but you're fucked now."

2. "You know that job was mine... are you stepping on my toes here?" She crosses her arms, leveling him with a stare. "Actually, don't answer that. I don't care."

3. Canary shrugs, that signature, slow smile stretching from ear to ear. "Bats...come on...let's just talk this out first!"

4. "Oh, I would never!" She hesitates, "Unless someone paid me to do it. Then...yeah, then I'd do it." Crane gives her a look. "What? I like money."

5. "Well, I could always break the Clown out..." The startled stares around the room turn to her. The conversation hushes. Canary smiles. "I'm joking, I'm joking!"

6. She takes a drag from her cigarette. The blood on her fingers stain the yellow paper. "You do that again and I'll kiss you on the mouth."

7. "I'm a fairly simple person. I like murder and I hate being in jail."

8. "Sounds good!" She shoves the knife deeper in the man's chest. He's already dead from the looks of it. "Absolutely no problem at all!"

9. "Do I look like I'm the kind of person that goes to a hospital?" Crane just stares at her blankly. "Come on, I keep duct tape in the car for a reason."

10. Canary scratches her head, or tries to to, but the cuffs restrain her movement. "Hey, bats. Can we hurry this up? I have a 7:00 I gotta get to." He ignores her. He always does. "I reaaally can't miss this, Barb is gonna be pissed if I do." Her cuffs rattle as she shakes her hands for emphasis. "We're reading The Great Gatsby this week and I'm in charge of bringing the snacks!"

11. "Fair enough. But I'm still going to put a collar on you and make you walk on all fours."

12. "Please don't growl at me, Croc." She pouts up at him. "You know I'm sensitive."

13. "How on earth am I--" Canary switches the cellphone to her other hand as she kicks the dead man's arm into the trunk. "--supposed to get anyone to respond to an email these days?"

14. "Yeah, listen. I've never had a problem with clowns, but this..." She looks around the room at the sea of colorful masks. "This is a little much for me. And I'm fairly easy going."

15. "So you want me to kill someone?" She shifts her weight, leaning against the half-wall. Her fingers turn over a pack of cigarettes. Crane nods in that solemn way he always does, never giving anything away behind those blue eyes. Canary continues, "Ok. I like you, so I'll do it. But I expect a favor, later on." She waggles her eyebrows trying to get some sort of reaction from him.

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No pressure tagging others that might be interested in playing: @nocturnest @aro-pancake @jakopom @bokatankryze