#ddals

I’ve known the scene for a long time now. Not since the very beginning—because, honestly, I thought they would kiss much earlier. But they didn’t. They couldn’t. It became a huge thing in their relationship. Readers felt it too.

And so the kiss stayed suspended.

For about fifteen chapters, it has lived quietly in my head, growing more precise, more inevitable. Chapter after chapter, their relationship has deepened, shifted, burned slowly. No shortcuts. There were sparks—sudden, sharp—but never enough for them to be honest and brave. Oh, more likely, the sparks were so many and so strong that they were afraid to take one more step and discover that they were alone in their heads.

Either way, it's all about, all about tension, longing, shared losses, and all the unspoken things that build when two people orbit each other for too long.

But no kiss.

Now Dark Days and Lost Suns is in chapter 20 and the moment is finally close. [More or less].

I know exactly where it happens. I know the emotional weather of the scene, the weight they’re carrying when it arrives. What I don’t know is how much I should reveal about it beforehand.

Because some moments deserve to be waited for.

So I won’t tell you how the kiss will be. Or what it will mean. Not yet. I’ll write about it after. I promise.

I know I’ve been pretty absent lately, and I wanted to stop by, show some signs of life, and most of all apologize. I’ve been a bit sick, and you know how it goes… life gets in the way, everything gets a little messy, and before you realize it, weeks have gone by. But I’m doing better now and slowly finding my way back 💛

Content-wise: I’ll be picking “The Truth ☀️🦇” back up soon, it hasn’t been forgotten at all n.nU.

But what I really wanted to talk about is DDaLS, which I know is what interests most of you (and also what has been stealing my feverish sleep).

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what to do. I’ve carefully reread all your comments (thank you, truly), taken note of so much of what you’ve told me (what impacted you, what felt unresolved, what you would’ve liked to see explored more deeply), and I’ve also gone back over my own notes. With all that in mind… here comes the announcement:

Right now, I’m immersed in writing the outline for the continuation of DDaLS.

That said, it’s not finished yet, and outlines take me a LOT of time and work. As soon as I have it ready, I’ll give you an approximate date for when I’ll start writing and posting chapters, and if everything goes well, we’ll all set off together on that continuation ✨ whose initials will almost certainly be OfoeS (if anyone guesses the title, I’ll gift you a oneshot of your choice hahaha).

In the meantime, if anyone has questions, theories, details they’d like to see, or anything related to that possible continuation… you’re more than welcome to tell me. Seriously, I love reading you and it helps me a lot. It doesn’t mean everything will happen (things will unfold the way they need to), but you help me remember details and see really enriching angles.

On another note, I’m also working on a Clark-centered fanfic (though yes, it’s Superbat 👀) for a Discord group project. It’s been a bit of a struggle (I’ve been working on it since Christmas), not gonna lie, but it’ll be out soon.

And who knows… maybe some discarded bits from DDaLS might see the light of day 👀

Thank you for your patience and for still being here 💛

Dark Days and Lost Suns is sitting at 160,000 words. Which is EXACTLY the medically recommended amount to survive that long.

One of the things I’ve always admired about DC’s storytelling is its choice to carve its own geography. Gotham, Metropolis, Central City, Star City... none of them exist on our maps, and yet they feel more tangible than many “real” places in fiction.

There’s a strange brilliance in that decision. By refusing to anchor their heroes in New York or Chicago, DC freed itself to build landscapes that reflect the characters who inhabit them. Gotham is not just a city—it’s Bruce’s mind, all sharp corners and shadows. Metropolis shines because Clark sees the world through hope. Central City hums with Barry’s restless energy. They are archetypes, emotional cartographies, as real in tone as any street we’ve walked.

And yet, these invented cities are always just close enough to reality that we can believe in them. That’s part of why these stories resonate. Because the battles don’t happen in a galaxy far away—they unfold in a world that mirrors ours, recognizable and lived-in, yet transformed by myth.

I’ve been thinking about that a lot as I shape my own fic. I like everything to make sense, for things to be in place, and I'm always afraid that the reader won't get a clear picture (I don't need it to be exactly mine, but at least it should evoke for them the same thing I feel when I talk about it). So here are some references I'm using.

Gotham Map

Wayne Manor Photo

There is something terrifying about writing the end of a story.

Because everything has already passed. The battles are over. The confessions have been made—or have not been made. The wounds have been inflicted and are either healed or not. The dead are dead. And yet, somehow, it feels like there is still so much left to say.

An ending isn’t just a final scene. It’s the moment when every thread you’ve been holding—every promise, every wound, every look exchanged across a room—comes to rest in your hands. And you realize the weight of it. The weight of expectations, your own and the readers’. The weight of all the quiet details you planted chapters ago, trusting that one day they would bloom.

And, of course, you have to decide where to let go.

That’s the hardest part. Not the climax. Not the plot twists. Not even the love and the heartbreak. It’s choosing the last line. It’s looking at characters who have lived inside your head for months—sometimes years—and saying: this is where your journey ends.

Because when you write the ending, you’re not just finishing a story. You’re saying goodbye.

Goodbye to the routines you built with them. To their voices interrupting your thoughts. To the longing to wake up early to have your moment with them, writing about their lives, their problems, their failures and their victories. Goodbye to the version of yourself who started writing them, who needed this particular story told in this particular way.

It’s strange how fictional people can feel like companions. How their growth mirrors your own. How the conflicts you resolve for them sometimes help untangle knots within yourself. Writing a story—especially a long one—isn’t just creation. It’s a way of living.

But endings aren’t really about loss, although a very similar feeling overwhelms me (when the pressure of expectations finally fades). I think they’re proof. Proof that you stayed. That you carried the story all the way through. That you brought something to its end and reached the finish line. And that you took everyone—characters, story, and readers—with you.

And maybe, once the goodbye stops hurting so sharply, what remains for me is gratitude.

For the journey. For the characters. For the version of me who needed to tell this story. And, above all, for you, who have accompanied me.