#I finally wrote the next part

[my-blooming-darling]

I felt like I could have added more to these so the readers could imagine it more, so here’s a revised version! I wonder if I should make another part?

Tw: slight sad in Rindou’s part…I had to do it to ya 😭

Categories: ☁️fluff; 🍡gn!reader; 💫old work; 🎐multi-character (of the same fandom)

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💕 Ryusei is a big cuddler when he’s cold. You could be wearing your own jacket and he’ll still try to trap you in his with the excuse of “we can’t freeze if we’re in the same bubble”. He insists on staying home, but will go with you if you need to run errands. As soon as y’all are done though, he will be on you and squeezing you for warmth. Will reluctantly let go if you ask but he comes back with your favorite drink. He did go outside exactly once during a day in and that was because he was pelting Chifuyu and Baji with snowballs, but then he comes back acting like a wounded puppy after they tag team him. He likes to take pictures of you in the snow and he will gush about you to anybody that’ll listen to him. Chifuyu and Kazutora are tired of hearing it, but Baji will listen to him until he rambles for an hour, by which point he’ll send Ryusei back home to cuddle with you more.

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💕 Baji’s grumpy when he’s cold. He doesn’t like going anywhere and he’ll tell you as much if you wake up earlier than him because he knows what that means. Will squeeze you and grumble when you try leaving him. And by squeeze, I mean koala-type squeeze and you’re either stuck with him or you’ll do what you need to do while he buries himself in blankets like a hibernating gremlin. Sometimes he’ll occasionally wake up and y’all take turns making food or something, although he’s wrapped up in a blanket like he’s a house elf. Will curl up in front of the heater with whatever cat he has that day, and will probably complain if he can’t find his socks. He’s very cuddly when it’s cold too, and he’ll pepper you with kisses until you agree to snuggle with him. He won’t find out about the snowman competition between Chifuyu and Mikey until a full hour later.

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💕 Yuzuha buys you matching socks and takes pictures of y’all’s feet for her scrapbook. She likes having good memories of your time together, so she tries to take as many pictures as she can. She also likes to play in the snow with you if there’s any or enough to do something with, but she’ll also get embarrassed if you take pictures of her in the snow. If not, then she’ll have no problem staying in and cuddling with you while watching your favorite shows. If you’d like to go somewhere, she’ll go with you but only after making sure you’re properly warm, something she’s had to do for Hakkai throughout their lives, so it’s basically second nature to her. Hakkai does sometimes come over and he tries to feed you both because he’s a sweetie. Her favorite thing to make in winter is warm milk tea, but she would make sure to use a milk alternative just in case. Cooking with Yuzuha during winter is always an adventure because you’re always trying different recipes.

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💕 God forbid it snows because Chifuyu will go outside and build snowmen. His cutest one is a snowman of Peke J. If you won’t come out with him, he’s fine with that, but do expect him to come poke his head in the door (he won’t go inside with snow covered feet) and tell you about the snow person he built of you. He will take so many pictures of that snow person of you and send all of them to you. He sends you a picture of them in the group chat and Mikey’s hilariously offended by the fact that Chifuyu made him smaller than Peke, which was absolutely done intentionally because Fuyu’s a joker like that. He’ll take a picture of the snowman he made of Peke J and show it to him like “Look, it’s you!” while Peke meows and tilts his little head. He comes back to cuddle with you though after picking up warm drinks, cuddling with Peke J, and snacks…until he catches wind of Mikey’s snowmen, then it’s war. He also makes a snow person of you and Peke J cuddling after he finds you asleep with Peke curled up on your chest and snoring like a cute little void.

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💕 Mikey, although he’d rather be sleeping and cuddling with you, tries to go outside out of spite to build a snowman of Chifuyu after he catches wind of his hilariously tiny snow version of himself. Yes, that’s probably one of the only times he’ll willingly wake up for anything in this weather. You wake up to hear him grumbling away as he puts his boots on. You quickly figure out why he’s displeased when you see the snowmen that Chifuyu built of everyone in the group chat. Mikey hears you laughing at his expense and proceeds to tackle you and squeeze you. He’ll cuddle with you for awhile and complain until you give him kisses and snacks. Don’t mistake him though, he did go outside and show you his poorly made snowmen of Chifuyu, and wondered why you laughed harder at that one than the one Chifuyu made of him. “You’re supposed to be on my side, don’t laugh at me!” If you have to ask if he’s pouting while he says it, then there’s a 99% chance that he is absolutely pouting, and will continue until you hug or kiss him.

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💕 Emma, much like Mikey, will find you when you least expect her to and wrap you up in a giant blanket. You’ll essentially be a burrito while she makes your favorite soup. You’re not sure how she does it, but she’s able to squirm into the burrito with your bowls of soup without spilling a single drop. She’s just graceful like that, just saying. Y’all both bear witness to the snowmen war between Chifuyu and Mikey voting on whose are more absurd. It’s essentially the same as watching a game show on television but with bragging rights for the prize instead of anything else. Emma intentionally votes against Mikey solely to spite him because his grumpy anger is funny to her, which causes them to bicker, and Draken is subsequently left in charge of diffusing the situation, albeit with lots of grumbling in between sentences. She sneaks pictures of you when you’re not looking if y’all do go somewhere and keeps them in a photo album on her phone, very likely to have them printed so she can make a scrapbook or have them framed to put on her wall.

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💕 Sanzu is displeased when you and Senju declare snow war on him. Firstly, he can’t believe you’d team up with his sister instead of him. The idea mildly offends him, and he makes sure that you know it with petty complaints like “this would be more fun if my beloved didn’t pick my sister over me!”. Secondly, he wants to sleep. He’d much rather be in bed hugging you and having you all to himself with about three blankets and all the pillows you have in your home. Unfortunately , there is no such thing as sleep for him when you two have basically dragged him outside to have a snowball fight, so he gets stuck calling in reinforcements…which is an equally displeased Takeomi. Takeomi, of course, grumbles with Sanzu while you and Senju yell at them to stop complaining and bring it on. He only laughs when Takeomi gets a huge snowball thrown at his face, only to shriek when he gets hit by one himself. He takes a video of it but decides not to post it because although he’d rather have been cuddling with you, this was a fun memory of his. He likes to watch it when you’re not there.

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💕 Hakkai likes to lay on you when he’s cold. He may seem like a shy violet, but he loves his cuddles. He’s another person who thinks it’s cute to match with his partner, so y’all have matching sweaters. You took notes from Yuzuha and got him a pair of matching socks too, and he loves that y’all are on the same page. You don’t let him or Yuzuha go home when Taiju’s there. Y’all three are bound for life, they’re stuck with you for all of time. It’s a slumber party for the night. You two sometimes visit Yuzuha and her lover with food that you both cooked and you try to feed them while you’re there (mostly because Hakkai wants to make sure they’re still alive if there’s a power outage). In the event of an outage, all of you pile together in one room and try to make the most of it while you wait for the power to come back on. You and Yuzuha’s partner are good friends so this makes an already bad situation into a better one where everyone gets along.

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💕 Taiju, the roided out not-so-jolly green giant himself is surprisingly a good cuddler. Probably because, well, he’s huge and has a high body heat. Does not care about how tall or short you are, he will find a way to engulf you while he holds you. Refuses to go anywhere if he thinks it’s too cold, will hug you so you don’t escape. This is the same man who dips a toe in the ocean during the summer and refuses to go in because he thinks it’s too cold, but tells his siblings they can go in if they wish and will stay on a beach towel under an umbrella. You have to find him sweaters and shirts that are larger than life because he has a nasty unintentional habit of ripping them with his tiddies alone. It embarrasses him and he makes you swear that you never witnessed it the first time (but you totally told Inui and Kokonoi about it in the group chat). Taiju grumbles at you to never speak of that incident again when he finds out that you already spilled the tea to his dog and cat.

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💕 You and Kisaki watch Hanma (from a very safe distance) try to build the tallest snowman that he can muster. Not wanting to be caught in the carnage that would be the string bean himself falling, you two are behind a sturdy tree while he’s putting snowballs together. Hanma fully believes that he can do it, and he surprisingly pulls it off after about three hours. Yes, y’all really stayed out there for three hours, watching him put together a snowman as tall as possible. If you’re somebody that likes the cold, then you’re not really that bothered, but you and Kisaki agree to huddle for warmth because he, admittedly, is shaking like a leaf. But if you don’t like the cold, you two agree to go inside and watch from the window. Y’all don’t want him to die, and him somehow dying by his own actions seems a very on-par thing for him. Hanma manages to build it to about 7’9 feet tall with no injuries, thankfully. Kisaki thinks its eyes are beady and shudders. Hanma thinks it’s the greatest thing ever and proceeds to try and make a taller snowman. You and Kisaki have emergency services on speed dial…

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💕 Rindou is outside jogging. He keeps his body in top shape, and he does not care about the weather. He actually doesn’t seem to fear the weather much, truth be told. You’ve seen him in the beating sun working out one summer (but that was also the same summer he got that sunburn and refused to exercise outside in the summer ever again). He’s probably the type of guy to go to Tornado Alley in the States and be like “a tornado? Headed here? Lemme go see this” while standing outside. If you join him, great. If not, you don’t cuddle with him until he’s no longer covered in snow and sweat, and you playfully call him stinky until he showers. Yes, he complains about the lack of cuddles but comes back out tired. This is optimal cuddle time, for he won’t be trying to wake you up for any errands if your social battery is deader than your former friendships. Will bury his head in your neck and hold you like you’ll disappear if he doesn���t. At one point, when Takemichi was doing his time travel business, that was always a possibility. He doesn’t like to think of those timelines where he had to live without you. He also will give you lazy kisses as he falls asleep, telling you how much he loves you. He doesn’t know when it’ll be the last time he does.

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💕 Now why would anybody think Ran would wake up for anything when winter makes him more tired? That man will sleep and will barely wake up even if you told him the house was on fire. Could sleep through an entire apocalypse, even, but he’ll immediately wake up if he feels you getting up. If you do wake him up, he will pretend he’s still asleep so you’d give him more kisses. You almost miss him giggling to himself as he rolls over, conveniently turning on his side so you’ll kiss his other cheek. He’s a cheeky, sneaky little bastard sometimes. Will pounce on you when you’re not looking and pull you back into bed with him. He’s dramatic, so he’ll whine if you escape and act like you’re leaving him to be alone forever, but he won’t make you come back if you really don’t want to. He’ll just miss you a lot until you come back. Will wholeheartedly act like he’s dying and sigh very loudly. He will also come into the room you’re in and flop onto the nearest bit of furniture that’s around and fake cry like he’s a Disney princess (and you have caught him petting an actual raccoon before and not get attacked, so that might not be very far off). If you do want to, prepare to be pelted with kisses.

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💕 You can sense the displeasure in Sanzu’s eyes when you team up with Senju over him. He looks hilariously offended that you would choose her to be your teammate. If the phrase“how could you?!” was a person, it would be Sanzu. Senju, however, is motivated by pure menacery and declares snowball warfare on her brother. Sanzu’s not safe from Senju and she swears she’ll win this war. Once a reluctant Takeomi arrives, it’s game on. Everybody in the vicinity better clear out or else they’ll get caught in the crossfire. You guys spend the day pelting each other with snowballs of various sizes and shapes (yes, Senju had kunai shaped snowballs at one point, you have no idea how she was able to mold them in such a short amount of time). Alas, Sanzu gets revenge on you for throwing a snowball at him after hitting Takeomi, lands a snowball directly on your face, and you “die”. Don’t worry, Senju avenged you by burying him and Takeomi in a pile of snow. She fake gags when Sanzu kisses your cheek in apology.

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💕 Izana hates winter. Absolutely cannot stand it, he immediately starts hunting for his socks and a humidifier as soon as there’s a mild chill in the air. He probably has some sinus issues that could get worse in colder months, which is another reason why he doesn’t like winter. Hilariously, he complains about how he took breathing for granted when one of his nostrils is stuffed while the other one works. You have found him under about 5 different blankets, all of them fleece and weighted with different patterns on them. He’s grumpy, worse than Baji, and can only be bribed into leaving his nest with kisses. Yes, he has actually made a nest with those blankets. He still won’t go anywhere if you have errands to run. Instead, he’ll clean up the place, cook, and then return to his nest where he waits for your return. If you stay with him, he’ll help out around the house but he’ll still go back to his pile after he’s made sure that you’ve been fed. Yes, he will pull you in like the gremlin he is and cuddle you. Does not speak once, only hiss.

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💕 Shinichiro, bless him, tries to get his sleepier siblings to exist in society. Emma’s no trouble, she wakes up pretty easily and is usually in a good mood until Baji comes over, then she’s yelling at him to tell her his hair secrets. Even still, the commotion doesn’t wake up the other gremlins. Izana and Mikey are lazy potatoes that are one fry short of a happy meal, so you end up having to help him. Once they’re done being McMad, you and Shin have some alone time. Y’all spend part of the day putting together a blanket fort and staying there until he has to leave for work. You wait for him to come back at the end of his shift. He temporarily forgot where you were when he left so he goes around the place looking for you until he sees you sticking your head out of the fort, which jump scares him enough to fall onto a napping Mikey, who screams bloody murder and clings to you while dramatically claiming that he’s a victim of attempted fratricide. He kisses your forehead and runs off to shower so he can come back and cuddle. Y’all don’t see Emma tying Baji to a chair Liam Neeson-style and interrogating him for what he does to make his hair perfect.

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💕 Kazutora, the sleepy tiger, reluctantly wakes up and goes to work. He doesn’t leave without cuddling with you for a few minutes. He’ll leave a few kisses on your head before dragging himself out of bed. Yes, he steals your sweaters because they smell like you and it makes him feel closer to you. If they don’t fit, he wears a scarf you wore. He doesn’t care if it’s black or if it’s pink with giant red strawberries on it, it’s yours and he wants to feel like you’re with him. If neither of y’all have work or anything to do, you two either stay in or go outside for a bit. Even sitting on the porch or balcony with a warm drink is enough for you two. He’s so pretty in his landscape with snow or rain falling all around, cheeks and nose bitten pink from the chill and his lips slightly reddened by whatever warm drink you two made. He doesn’t understand why you suddenly kissed him, but he’ll never complain and he’ll always kiss you back. He’s your lock screen, but he doesn’t know yet. He’ll probably find out later on, and he’ll blush so much while you laugh and hug him. You make his heart warm up just a little bit more in the winter air.

[st4rkissedwebz]

||Treat me like a dog. And I will bite like a dog.||

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It was the same. Doing the same thing, choosing the same path over and over again. But this time. It felt different. Something felt..wrong.

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You ran to the exit but like always. It was closed shut with planks. You never choose to pick up the damn axe no matter what, perhaps you would have escaped once. If you Just did.

You heard a noise coming from the other room, you walked there, kneeling before the injured figure, this happened too many times to the point where you memorized every one of his lines, to the point your brain didnt bother focusing on what he was saying. He handed you a map, you got it and walked away. a simple apology leaving your lips like always.

You walked, not bothering to answer your 'friends' questions. You never answered.

You Just ran into a drone, striking without hesitation, it spilled wires like the last time before falling limp onto the ground.

You made your way to the cabin pushing the door open, you knew what was gonna happen but despite that you acted, you performed perfectly like always. Cowering like a fool as the security tore into him, you ran to the button as he told you to. You ran as fast as you can, the war cry's of the employee's Just encouraged you more to reach the button.

As you reached it and pressed the button, the sound of an alarm, the red lighting of the room..you turned back, being face to face with an employee. You let out a breqth you didnt even know you were holding

That was close.

This wasnt a victory, but.. it always felt so good feeling that useless hope again and again everytime you pressed that button. No matter what was gonna happen in a few minutes when you stepped through that door.

You walked through the now motionless employee's the sun hitting your face, the birds chirping, before leaving you turned around, to give one 'last' curtain bow

..

Something was wrong.

You didnt have enough time to react before someone dragged you into the dark.

It wasnt him this time.

The only thing you managed to realize and remember before it all went blank was that you didnt saw him on the ground next to security like you did before this loop.

[darcydarlingdabbles]

Jazz and Jen

Human Hotel Trip ~ Part 5~ 3k

Hazbin Hotel ₊⁺⋆ Charlastor ₊⁺⋆ Eventually Explicit

Part 1 ⚜️Part 2 ⚜️ Part 3 ⚜️ Part 4 ⚜️ Part 5 ⚜️ Part 6 ⚜️ Finale

// Charlie comes to Alastor's rescue when he's captured by a Cougar, and then drags him onto the floor for a dance neither of them will ever forget.//

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Alastor sat at the hotel bar, nursing a whiskey neat as he reveled in the discordant tones assaulting his ears. 

A bastardized jazz cover of a current pop song mocked him from the hotel’s ballroom, where the ‘Roaring Twenties Bash’ was in full swing. The disguised demon grimaced. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking another sip, letting the whiskey burn pleasantly. 

Outside of the bar and across the short hall, a change in tempo meandered through the double doors—and another abomination came to Alastor’s ears, pulling at the edges of his smile. 

Damnable human body made everything just that much more difficult to control. 

His fingers tapped his irritation against the polished wood of the bar. Even so, Alastor refused to return to their hotel room, though he knew Charlie was not there. 

She’d gone to the dance, he was sure of it. Which was probably why he hovered in the empty bar across the hall. Alastor had seen a makeup bag open on the bathroom counter and found a shopping bag that must have contained a dress, and he couldn’t help but wonder. 

Picturing Charlie dolled up like a woman in his time was, more than intriguing—though reality quickly shattered the fantasy. His mind turned to the unshed tears in her golden eyes under the relentless afternoon sun and in the humid Louisiana air the last time he’d seen her. 

Alastor was not familiar with the pang echoing in his chest. 

“Perhaps this auditory torture is a fitting punishment, after all.” He murmured to the rim of his glass. 

When he named the feeling, Alastor chastised himself for even a modicum of guilt. 

He’d only told Charlie the truth. The damn girl just wore her bleeding heart on her sleeve—every joy, every sorrow, every fleeting feeling showed on her face. It put her weaknesses on a marquee for anyone to see. 

It was as endearing as it was naïve, and he had crushed her, with a carefully crafted smile on his face. 

Alastor’s fingers cinched around his glass, wondering if he could shatter it in this human form, and if he would bleed. What it would be like to see scarlet seeping between his tawny fingers again?

The Radio Demon did not apologize. He did not regret. And he was heartless. 

So why did hurting Charlie make him feel so hollow?

Alastor swallowed the rest of his whiskey in one gulp, his mind made up. He had to find the Princess and smooth things over—for purely strategic purposes; he had to remain in her good graces. 

Just as he was about to straighten his vest and leave, someone slid onto the bar stool beside him. The spark of hope at the flash of blonde hair drowned instantly, when her cloying perfume violated his senses. Alastor turned to see a human woman, gracelessly aging into her fifties, leaning towards him. 

“Well, hello there, handsome,” she purred, bluntly sizing him up. “I’m Jennifer. Can I buy you a drink?”

Alastor’s smile narrowed on instinct, wondering what this foolish mortal was playing at. “I beg your pardon, Ma’am. But I was just leaving—” 

Jennifer laughed, her manicured hand coming like a claw to grip his arm. Alastor had to resist the urge to recoil as his skin crawled. “ The night’s still young, and you and I should get to know each other better.” 

Radio silence blanket the demon’s thoughts. 

Was this woman, flirting with him? And why? Some sort of artless joke? He might suspect Angel Dust or even Vox of putting her up to it, if they weren’t realms away. 

Jennifer used his stunned silence to pull Alastor back onto his bar stool, not noticing the way his fists clenched at the audacity of her still touching him. 

“I’m…flattered.” Alastor said, his tone undercutting his words, “but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement with—” 

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Jennifer interrupted him, leaning closer to him. “You don’t come to a bar in that shade of red without looking for attention. It’s so…devilish.” 

“Madam,” Alastor’s teeth grit behind his smile, his eyes flashing an infernal red behind his spectacles. “You have no idea what you’re playing with.” 

Though, to the demon’s surprise and unmitigated horror, his threat only made the stranger lean in closer—and touch his arm again. “I like the sound of that.” 

Alastor’s irritation crackled off of him. Static sizzled from hidden speakers around the bar. He had to extricate himself without causing a scene. He’d promised Charlie no harm would come to humans on this trip, but his patience was wearing thin. 

He couldn’t threaten if his target wasn’t afraid of him. 

“Surely, a woman of your…” Alastor plucked her hand from his forearm and dropped it on to the bar top. “ Experience…could find more suitable company.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine, sugar.” 

Alastor suppressed a groan, suddenly realizing how much intelligence it required to realize you were being insulted. He had no option but to escape. 

“Well, terribly sorry, but I really must be off.” He stood abruptly, his stool scraping against the floor in his haste to leave. 

Jennifer’s eyes lit up. “Why don’t I join you?”

Over his dead body. 

“That won’t be necessary.” The Radio Demon’s perpetual smile tightened. 

“Your room or mine?” Jennifer purred as she too got to her feet. 

Alastor’s eyes widened, interference squealing from him as he stepped back. This was not what he intended in the slightest. And now it wasn’t annoyance but dismay straining his hold on human form.

If she touched him again, he would snap and break another promise to—

“There you are Al!”

“Charlie,” Alastor sighed her name like an answer to his prayers. 

Alastor turned towards her voice, already reaching to pull her towards him—and a lesser man might have let his jaw drop to the floor. Because Charlie was dressed to the nines. Her blonde hair was styled in perfect finger waves and layered pearls dripped from her throat. 

“And who is this chick?” Jennifer asked from behind him. 

Alastor's instant fury sounded like a needle scratching across a record. He knew an an affront when he heard it, but the Princess stepped past him and offered her hand to the human woman. 

“Hi, I’m Charlie.” She offered politely, as Jennifer gave the other blonde a far harsher glance over. “I’m Alastor’s fri—” 

“Girlfriend.” The demon seized the opportunity and Charlie by the shoulders, pulling her back against him and out of Jennifer’s clutches. “And date, to the dance tonight.” 

He could feel Charlie’s surprise as he ignored the intensity of her warm skin under his fingers. 

“Oh?” She turned, catching his eye. And he felt his own throat tighten, pleading that she would have mercy on him and play along. “Honey, I thought you didn’t want to go to the dance?”

Alastor felt his eye twitch at Charlie’s sly smile as he leaned down to emphasize his point. “Since when have I turned down the opportunity to dance with you, my darling?”

Jennifer might just be turning green right in front of them. 

“I thought you wouldn’t be caught dead at. What was you said? A feeble mockery of the glamor of a bygone era?”

Alastor had to hand it to her. That did sound like him. He had no idea she’d been listening to his rants. 

“Well, I’ve had a change of heart. Shall we?” He pulled Charlie’s arm into his to steer her away from the bar. 

“Fine.” Jennifer’s face fell in an ugly way, though she still shot Alastor a smile. “I’ll be around, if you change your mind.” 

Alastor clenched his teeth. “I assure you, I won’t.” 

“Come on sweetie, let’s go cut a rug!” Charlie beamed, dragging him towards the ballroom. 

✧✦✧✦⚜️✧✦✧✦

It was crowded, loud, and flashy. Attention had been put into the atmosphere, with candlelight and warm yellow string lights to make it look like the shell of a jazz club he used to haunt. And that was nothing compared to how the music was already making Alastor cringe.

Charlie caught him and pulled him right onto the dance floor with her. 

“Oh, no you don’t. You owe your fake girlfriend a real dance.” She propped her arm up on his shoulder, her tiny hand never releasing his fingers. “I didn’t get all dressed up not to dance.”

“Is that so?” Alastor pushed Charlie back, lifting their linked hands, so the blonde gave a little spin. 

In a sea of swaying fringe and feather boas, Charlie’s dress was elegant and understated. It was a black crepe romaine gown with a touch of dark sequins that glittered as she moved.

When Alastor’s gaze fell to her sheer stockings, he pulled her back to him, so he couldn’t stare. 

“I’ve seen worse.” Alastor said simply, glancing sideways as a dancer waved her feathered fan dramatically around the dance floor. 

“I’ll take that.” Charlie beamed. “Besides, you can’t avoid me if we’re dancing, can you?”

“And why, pray tell, would I be avoiding you?” Alastor’s eyes narrowed as they turned in loose circles to a song he didn’t recognize. But he wasn’t paying attention to anything other than the petite body in his arms. 

He already knew. That unfamiliar twinge of guilt, twisting in his chest. And he wondered, if she knew. 

Charlie turned a mischievous smile up at Alastor. “You know, Al,” her golden eyes glinted. “You still owe me an apology.” 

A harsh squeal of feedback pierced the air, causing a few human dancers to wince, but the demon didn’t let his steps falter. Alastor’s lips pulled back over his teeth, flickering between amusement and annoyance. 

“I do hate to disappoint, Princess.” He purred, his voice smooth as could be despite the static. 

He spun Charlie gracefully—but this time pulled her back against his chest—trying to distract her, and get his lips to her ear.

“I do not apologize. It’s simply not in my nature.” 

To his eternal surprise, he heard Charlie laugh. 

“Oh, really?” the blonde stepped forward, creating a space between them that the demon instantly despised. He righted his face as she turned. “If that’s the case, I’m sure Jennifer would be more than happy to take my place.” 

Alastor’s lanky frame gave a violent shudder. Without hesitation, he pulled Charlie back flush against his chest, his grip tightening around her waist possessively. 

“I am rather, particular, about who I dance with, Charlie.” He kept his voice low, fighting to keep the smile on his face. “And I’ve no desire to find another partner.” 

She stilled in his hold, almost falling out of step—and Alastor realized what he’d said. How Charlie, who read too much into absolutely everything, just might interpret that. 

Worse, she might just be right. 

“My, my, Charlie,” In an instant, Alastor pulled the smiling mask back over his face, and tugged Charlie back to him. “I do believe you’ve forgotten something rather important.” He crooned to her, watching her guard drop. 

Just so he could spin her out across the floor, then pull her back with a flourish. 

Charlie’s delighted giggle was the best music to meet Alastor’s ears that night. “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“That I am, quite simply,” Alastor’s grin widened as his hand slipped down to the small of her back—before he dipped her low. “The best dancer in all of Hell.” 

“Is that so?” Charlie laughed breathlessly and flushed a pretty pink, as her hand came to rest on his vest. 

“It is.” Alastor pulled her up, swiftly, twirling her again before drawing her back into step with the up tempo beat. “And I’d be happy to show you.”

✧✦✧✦⚜️✧✦✧✦

Dancing with Charlie was easy as breathing. And, with Alastor’s skill, it was easy to keep her from talking. 

But, the slow song always had to come.

And Charlie’s arms found their way around Alastor’s neck, just as his hands rested on her waist, naturally as could be. Being in tight proximity to anyone else would make his skin crawl—but he’d never minded being this close to her.

“You know, Al.” Charlie said, so soft only Alastor could hear. “This doesn’t mean that I forgot about that apology you owe me.” 

Alastor sucked air through his teeth like a sour lemon, but there wasn’t anywhere else to look with her arms around him. 

The demon took a breath before deciding on a new…and entirely unfamiliar tactic. To get back into the Princess’s good graces, he needed to be just a little softer. He could even be sweet—or pretend to be.

“My dear,” he chose his words as deliberately as he could. 

“I admit I could have been more... tactful in our earlier conversation. However,” his voice took on a firmer tone, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.”

“You called me thick-headed and a fool, Alastor.” Charlie scowled. 

Alastor winced visibly this time, his perpetual grin faltering for a moment. He cleared his throat, radio static crackling faintly in the background.

He hadn’t meant to hurt her, had he? The thought was…disconcerting. 

“When I spoke of your stubbornness,” he began, His words slipped out in a whisper, gentler than his norm, “I meant it as an admirable trait. Your determination, your unwavering belief—it’s quite remarkable, really.”

Alastor ducked his head until their eyes met. 

“And…well, only a fool would think that they could challenge Heaven or Hell.” He lifted his hand from the small of her back, cupping her chin with a fondness even he could not deny. “Yet, here I stand with the incredible young lady who has bested them both.” 

“Oh, Alastor…” Charlie’s eyes were brimming with those tears again, though these were happy—he assumed. Though the demon had just as little idea what to do with—but soon she was wrapping her arms around him, squeezing his waist and pressing face into his chest. 

Their dance had turned into an intimate embrace, but the Radio Demon didn’t pull away. His chin came to rest on top of her blonde waves. Wondering when he had stopped trying to sway her, and just kept holding her close.

After an eternity that was not near long enough, Charlie turned her cheek to press to the buttons of his blood red shirt. 

“Al,” Charlie murmured, her words barely audible over the music. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, my dear.”

Charlie hesitated, and Alastor had a heartbeat to regret his instant agreement. “Do you really not want to be redeemed?” She lifted her head to look at him with those big glossy eyes, and Alastor felt his smile slip. “Or…do you just think you can’t be?”

And he felt himself torn down the middle. Between the instinct to deflect and protect himself—and the horrific urge to tell her the truth. 

✧✦✧✦⚜️✧✦✧✦

Alastor’s foot caught, nearly missing a step in their slow dance. The slip was imperceptible from the outside—but he knew Charlie felt it, because her hold around him tightened. Like she could keep him from falling. 

“I…my dear.” He hesitated, actually, hesitated. “Charlie…I know what I am, and what I am not.” 

The words fell heavier than he intended, hanging in the air between them.

 Charlie’s amber eyes blazed with an intensity that caught Alastor off guard. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his black vest, pulling him down until their faces were mere inches apart.

“Yeah? Well, maybe—just maybe you don’t know everything, huh?” The Princess challenged, her whisper fierce.

Alastor’s eyebrows shot up, genuinely surprised by her boldness. By her…closeness. It was distracting, to say the least. 

The scent of her blonde hair pulled him back to this morning, the way it and Charlie splayed across his chest. And everything else disappeared. 

Charlie didn’t relent. “I know who you are too, Al. And I know there’s good in you. I’ve seen it, even if you refuse to.”

“Dear little Princess Charlotte.” Alastor retreated into the perfect performance radio host. “Ever the optimist. But I am afraid this dog is too old for new tricks.” A hitched laugh escaped his lips, slipping from humor into something much darker. 

Part of Alastor knew he was baiting her—Charlie was incapable of resisting a lost cause. It was safer territory than bearing his throat to be bled dry. 

Charlie, predictably, had to do the right thing. She gripped on to him tighter. “You won’t scare me off, Alastor.” Her eyes never left his—and he could feel the determination burning. 

Alastor leaned closer, a breath away, his brown eyes turning a deep, menacing red as his pupils became radio slits—radio dials. A reminder that this dapper exterior was just a thin veil over the predator beneath. 

“Are you quite sure about that?” he let his voice into a dangerous whisper.

Charlie didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I am.” Her gaze locked with his.

The challenge hung between them, charged with electricity. Alastor felt a familiar thrill. 

The push and the pull. Her belief verses his doubt. 

But something else was stirring with in Alastor. A desire to prove to Charlie, once and for all, that her faith in him was misplaced. Before he could second-guess himself, Alastor closed what little distance was left between them.

The kiss was hard with defiance, and burning with longing. 

He felt her gasp against his lips, louder in his ears than the appalling music. 

Charlie tasted sweet like cinnamon, her mouth soft with surprise as she stayed frozen in place.

For a fleeting, heart-wrenching moment, Alastor was sure that he had finally found the line and crossed it. 

Until arms wound around his neck to pull him in closer. 

Charlie was kissing him back.

Deepening the kiss until he was the one to gasp—before remembering that he didn’t have teeth sharp enough to cut her tongue.

Alastor was supposed to be proving a point, not enjoying kissing Charlie.

And wishing it never had to end. 

⚜️ Part 6 ~ Speak Easy to Me ⚜️

Part 1 ⚜️Part 2 ⚜️ Part 3 ⚜️ Part 4 ⚜️ Part 5 ⚜️ Part 6 ⚜️ Finale

[wa-royal-tea]

The Fredericks Returns July 2023 - #Teaser 2/4

[spyderschaos]

I would love love love to hear about the dynamic with pietro, wanda and amber!!! (also cannot wait for chapter two)

Omg omg ok

1. So Amber and Gwanda met in middle school (don’t know which grade exactly) cuz they both had a spider phase (haha)

-Events led to a ‘listing spider facts’ competition and boom besties

2. They both met Pete freshman year of high school. His desk was in front of Amber and he was listening in to their conversation until he decided to jump in with a bad joke and just turn back to his stuff and not talk again

-Then during lunch Amber and Gwanda just sat with him, I like to think they just automatically accepted him into the group

-Pete was just sorta like “huh” and “alright then” so boom besties part 2

3. As said before Gwanda is the responsible one until convinced otherwise, then she’ll help bc if ur gonna do smth dumb you might as well do it as well as u can

4. Pete is no snitch but he’s a horrible liar. So let’s say Amber goes after a bad guy after they, as a group, had decided she should not and would not do that, Pete would try to help her.

-Kinda like “what? Nooo she was with me the whole time. Yeah yeah we went uhhhh duck.. feeding?” And Gwanda looks at him like 🤨 bc he literally texted her (with photos) that he had spent that whole day building a computer from dumpster finds just to see if he could (he could)

5. Amber is always the one walking straight into random shit, as does anyone given the spider-man mantle

6. While Amber and Gwanda are closer, Pietro does not 🙅 get left out (there’s actually three duos in a trio not one) (one would think Amber is the mutual friend and whatnot- NO they are all friends and can, in fact, hang out even if one person is missing)

7. I think Gwanda and Pietro would be more competitive than Gwanda and Amber, at least like trivia wise, especially science

[justworthlessreblogs]

Waffleverse finale... soon... YYYYIIIPPPEEEEE!!!

soon... no promises on when it's going to actually come out but i really want to get it done by the end of august so it doesn't have to get put on the backburner thanks to school!

[natslilcorner]

QSMP EGG FINALE AU

part 5 of this fanfiction + art series

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It’s pouring outside.

The usual sunny weather in Quesadilla Island is nowhere to be seen today. Which in normal circumstances would be nice. Sitting in front of a window watching the droplets hitting the patio, while your dads cook dinner for everyone to enjoy later in the evening. Unfortunately those times are over. For now at least.

Ramòn stares at the little fire he manage to make, with the only dry wood he quickly snatched before the rain drenched it. His clothes are all wet and dirty, his bandana ripped a bit when it got stuck on a branch and worse of all, his backpack.

Everything was going well before all this. He was walking towards the direction of the radio station that Fit showed him before he disappeared, but of course he had to come across some Federation workers. From their surprised expressions it didn’t look like they were scouts trying to find them, but it still didn’t stop them from running after him once they realized who he was.

He managed to quickly hide underneath a root of a massive tree, but he was still in danger. He could hear the Federation workers talking to each other not far away. There is three of them... maybe he could risk it and incapacitate them?

He hears them closing in to his location and pulls out his sword. Fit trained him to be able to defend himself, he knows what to do. He has a mission to fulfil he can’t waste time with them. Ramòn slowly crawls back from underneath the root making sure nobody can see him. He stands behind a tree and tightens his grip on his sword, as soon as he hears them he gets in position to attack-

Suddenly screams can be heard and Ramòn quickly hides again startled.

What? What is going on?

The little egg peeks from the side of the tree and the last thing he imagined was to see two little crows attacking the Federation Workers. The little creatures were vicious against the three workers, pecking them mainly on the face and arms. Then he notices what they were actually doing. While the slightly bigger one of the two was busy attacking, the other one was quickly stealing their communicators and weapons, throwing them off a ditch nearby. For being smaller, that crow sure was fast.

Luckily for the crows (and himself) the workers did not stay long, after a couple of falls they finally run away leaving them alone.

His shoulders finally relax and he looks at the crows. They are on a lower branch and the smaller bird looks like it’s checking the other pecking it around. He is not an expert but the two crows look smaller from the ones he often saw around Tio Phil. Maybe they are young? Would explain it. They also have little differences making it easy to difference them, aside for their size. The smaller one has a flufflier head and under the sun he can see a purplish shade on its feathers while the bigger one has a circular lighter colored shape around its stomach.

Ramòn circles the tree and slowly approaches the two crows. He doesn’t know why they attacked the workers, but for some weird reason deep down his heart, he knew he could trust them.

Close enough to reach them, the two little crows hop from the branch to his shoulders. One on each. And he freezes to not spook them.

“Hello crows.. do I know you? I don’t remember feeding any... did someone send you?” He feels the smaller crow move and he turns his head to it.

Oh.

He feels its little fluffy head delicately peck his forehead. Immediately a memory of his sister, Tallulah, kissing his head flashes in his mind. She would always comfort his siblings like that. Ramòn was not much of an open feeling person, so when one day he accidentally showed that vulnerable part to his sister she immediately did her best to make him comfortable without ever making fun or push into it.

He treasures that memory close.

The two crows get off his shoulders and start flying around him. He tries to look at them a bit better but with the way they are moving it’s a bit hard. The little’s crow fluffy head, the purple, the bigger one’s peculiar lighter patch around its stomach. There is also this weird feeling in his heart.

Ramòn eyes widen.

“Are you-!” The crows caw at him in what it looks like a laughter and then fly away. “ Wait!” He starts running but soon he loses sight of both of them. Was he wrong? No that can’t be... but how..

A loud thunder brings him out if his thoughts.

So here he is. Sitting in front of the fire, inside a small cave, trying to warm himself up. Ramòn looks to his right where his belongings sit trying to dry themselves from the rain, in particular he stares at his laptop. Luckily it didn’t get wet but as he already said before, luck was not on his side today, so of course while he was running away he slipped, and falling he heard a crack coming from his backpack and checking the laptop he saw that the screen got damaged, making 3\4 of it impossible to see.

The little egg puts his legs close to his chest and snacks on the protein bar that luckily did not get wet. With this big inconvenience his plan will have to halt for a bit. He had a lot of information on his laptop and this will make it hard for him to access it, so now he has to find another one to transfer all his information on it.

Ramòn checks his clothes and deeming them dry enough puts them on and lays down. That pc was very dear to him. Fit gave it to him one day out of nowhere, it shocked him. When he asked him where did he get it, he simply laughed it off saying he got it at work. The thing is Ramòn knows what Federation technology looks like.. and that was not a Federation laptop. So where did his dad get it? At first he thought maybe his “Boss” got him it, but he they barely were able to contact him let alone receiving gifts like that. Then probably in his other secret location?

The storm is getting harsher. Ramòn lays down his sleeping bag further into the cave and gets into it. He can’t do anything now anyway. Tomorrow when the storm stops(hopefully) he will continue travelling towards the radio station and use the computer he saw there. For now it’s best to rest.. it has been an eventful day.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

[imperial-nuisance-rudje]

FFXIV Write - Envoy

A shadowless messenger sets off.

Elidibus & Warrior of Light (kind of (it's complicated)), Ascian Azem AU. Early StB era, but contains spoilers for up to 5.x.

-----

It was not difficult to find the sundered Azem.

Even had Elidibus not heard Emet-Selch's horrified description of how his soul looked, the man's aether felt subtly wrong in a way few of the sundered ever did, in a way that left the faintest taste of sea spray on Elidibus's tongue when they spoke.

But the man was not tempered (this Elidibus knew innately), so it was little more than a distracting curiosity.

Azem stood shin-deep in the rising tide, facing the setting sun, black-gold mask hiding much of his expression. His high-heeled boots hung by their laces from his fingers, and the hem of his long dress was already floating in the water. If Elidibus did not intervene, only Ascian immortality would keep the man from drowning in the rising tide or freezing to death.

"Azem."

The only indication that Azem heard him speak was a flick of a long ear, but that was enough.

"I have a message I want you to send to the viceroy of Ala Mhigo."

That got his attention, causing Azem to actually turn and look at Elidibus.

"Why not take it yourself?"

I have dealt with enough of that family's nonsense from Emet-Selch, he very carefully kept behind his teeth. What he actually said was, "I cannot be in two places at once, and will be required elsewhere. From what I have heard of the man, you are most likely to get an opening to speak with him."

He paused, thought, and added, "Keep him alive, but expect to need force."

Azem's mouth twisted. Likely he thought Elidibus's avoidance cowardice rather than the spending the last of his will resisting the call to return Zodiark's heart to it. Elidibus did not comment on it; this Azem was a particularly snappish and short-tempered sort when he wasn't longing for a death he could no more have than a moth could hold flame.

"Fine. I'll do it."

"He is currently in the city of Ala Mhigo. Make haste."

Elidibus teleported away, leaving behind a deeply bitter Veena to carry his word while he allowed Zodiark to subsume his mind and grind away his memory.

[candied-cae]

And Who Are We At The End Of The World? - Please, Be Gentle with My Breaks - II

Chapter 17/? - - - Read it on AO3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20]

Word Count: 7,561

Summary: There's a difference between being broken and having a few breaks. But a lot of these kids and been dealt a lot of blows, and not just from physical monsters of the Upside Down. There's still a lot of stuff hidden just under the surface that they haven't been able to show just yet.

More ST Fics

-----------------------------------------------------

The next morning, everyone in Hellfire had stopped by the hospital for a visit.

It was a very busy room that Thursday. And the nurses warned the whole slew of them to take it easy on him. Eddie might’ve been on the mend, but he was supposed to destress and let his body take care of itself while it began to cover over wounds with scabs to one day become scars.

That’d been an idea to wrap his head around.

Scars. Big ones.

Not just little lines of them from scrapes or spots from embers or other sorts of accidents. But real, big scars. The kind that showed a war had ravaged his body, or something like one. Which was the easiest way to imagine what he’s been through anyway. So, big scars were in store for him. Acted less like something small to point out and tell the story of; and more like a bold accessory - more similar to his own tattoos, more obvious, in that regard - but ones he couldn't really tell the truth about.

However, the gang gathering around him was a welcome distraction to the thought of his flesh trying to piece itself together and with baby fresh skin. With the wrong color and texture compared to the rest of it.

Dustin showed up with a small box of things he’d effectively stolen from the Munson trailer that morning. A couple tapes he grabbed, a player with headphones, a tattered blanket from the floor of his bedroom, a couple books, and his D&D notebook. A few general things Wayne recommended would help Eddie survive all the time spent in the sickbed until he was sent on his way home.

Lucas had wandered in with a similar assortment of wares for Max. A blanket off her own bed, studio pictures she’d taken with El, some of her comic books, and he brought in a stuffed tiger she won and gave to him last summer. She joked that it was going to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn't go messing around with monsters again. Maybe it could watch out for her this time. They were all things that he knew had no real way of making her wake up sooner but even so, he secretly hoped they might help. Somehow.

Mike started making jokes about bringing over some bean bag chairs from his basement to make the hospital room more welcoming to guests. Bruce readily agreed that the stiff, small chairs provided were really no way to treat the people coming by the entertain him. Dustin pulled out a bag of chips from under the blanket and said they should all bring in snacks if they were really going to hold a one-shot there and make themselves at home. Eddie quickly made grabby hands at him and demanded to be given some first as the oldest and hurtest among them.

He also added that if they wanted to treat him, they could’ve snuck him the metal lunchbox that he usually deals out of. Let Eddie make himself a roll, or two, while he was in medical lockdown. That’d really relax him and make him feel at home more than some nicknacks or an old rag. He did pause a second to tell Erica she wasn't allowed to do any drugs until she was a grown-up, though. Before Jeff decided to be the one to tease him and ask if he really thought getting busted for smoking pot in a hospital right after he avoided a murder charge was the best idea.

They’d all started casting in suggestions for the kind of campaign they’d wanna do if Eddie was gonna write the whole thing up himself. Some wanted more puzzle aspects with things to figure out and solve. A few wanted more NPCs to interact with that weren’t just for hiring, fighting, or dying. A side comment was made about maybe not loading the battlefield so much that everyone dies as a way to close the session, they all laughed at that. Eddie swore he wouldn’t take it easy on them.

“What’s the point of fighting if you know you’ll win?” he’d asked.

“Actually getting back to the tavern to brag about it for once. Getting to say I settled down with the pretty barmaid when the adventuring day was done. Maybe.” Gareth argued back.

Josie looked at him doubtfully and asked Gareth how sure he was any character of his stood a chance with a woman, fictional or otherwise.

They all started barking laughs after that. More friendly insults flew around the room, the ones they've all already said a dozen times to each other and knew didn't hit any soft spots. Just the kind to rile them up, earn a few pointed glares and spur the next round of hits.

All the Hellfire members had a good dose of fun during their visit. But after a couple hours, Eddie started feeling pretty worn out. The guests all excused themselves and made sure everyone made it home while Eddie got started re-reading The Hobbit, since Henderson thought to include that in his care package. The familiar lines lulled him into a comfortable nap tucked in under his own blanket pretty easily. The items from home made the sterile room feel a little bit less alien. He didn't even get fifty pages into it - the company hadn't even reached the elves of Rivendell - before his eyelids were heavy. Soon he was putting the book back on the table and rolling his head away from the sunlit window to catch a few z's. But when he woke back up again, it wasn’t to an empty hospital room that felt a little too big.

Steve was back again. He’d been sitting in the chair with pursed lips. Slightly lost in thought while his fingers picked at the pages of the stack of books on the bedside table.

And he figured this was technically the third time he’s woken up with Steve Harrington by his side. Including the CPR incident, of course. As much as he was trying not to think about it. For his own sanity. Of course.

“Don’t get a paper cut,” Eddie cautioned as he pushed himself to sit up in the bed.

Steve startled slightly. Yanking back his hand with a finch, eyes snapping to Eddie before he shook his head. “No need to scare a guy…” he muttered under his breath.

“What? I was just watching out for you. Unless you were looking to steal a sleeping man’s literature, then I’d have to gut you. For the honor of my beloved books, you know.”

“Was just stopping by to pass along a message - a few of ‘em - on my way to the store.”

“Alright then, proceed.” Eddie nodded.

Steve began to count off the many points on his fingers,“ Well, firstly, Claudia wanted to ask if you had any allergies - I think she wants to bake you a fruit pie. If you had any preferences. But then Dustin said you were snoozing, so it’d probably be easier to ask your uncle. So he said you don’t really like pies, then he thought that you’d probably want new clothes until you get out of here. Since the old stuff is gross and ripped up now, and those hospital gowns really suck. But he was about to head off to work, so I said I could run some over.” Steve nudged a grocery bag by his foot at the mention,” And El wondered if you had a trick that grew your hair out long. If there was anything that worked fast. But I think Erica said her mom knew something she’d make for her, so I guess that’s taken care of. Oh! And your uncle wanted the keys to your van so he could check it over? Said you had a long drive coming up he wanted to make sure it’d handle okay.”

“Okay, wow- tell everyone to chill out about me, would ya? Alrighty, so… no major allergies, but yeah, fruit pies aren’t really my jam. But that’s usually because Wayne makes ‘em, and I think he skims when he reads dessert recipes so they all come out mushy. But Lady Henderson could probably make an apple that doesn’t rot in the Munson family refrigerator.” Eddie snickered to himself.

“I’ll pass that along.”

Eddie swung his legs over the side of the thin mattress, and dug a hand into the plastic hospital tote he’d been handed back, rooting around his belongings,“ And I’ll gladly trade you my keys for some clothes since you’re the little postal boy running my deliveries today.”

Steve passed over the bag he’d brought and pocketed the key ring while Eddie giddily broke for the bathroom. Dropping comments about wearing something that didn’t leave his ass hanging out as he slipped behind the heavy door. He was happily greeted by the sight of an Ozzy tee with bleach stains at the top of the bag. He’d nabbed it from a thrift shop in Indy a while back since he still hadn't been able to buy merchandise from a show himself. A little nod from Wayne about the tickets he and the other Corroded Coffin members had saved up for and been waiting to go to for months now. And now the affair was almost in reach, and he nearly missed it bleeding out in another world.

But instead, he tugged the shirt on along with a pair of loose pajama pants, already feeling worlds more comfortable than he had in a while. Alive and breathing. With exciting plans so close he could almost hear the buzz of the speaker system kicking on. Could almost feel his friends jostle around him while the music starts. It was the first time he’s actually gotten to put on some of his own clean clothes and think about upcoming plans in almost two weeks. And those two weeks in particular felt like years. He emerged from the bathroom feeling like both a new man and a little bit more like who he was before he traveled to another plane of existence, twice. And still, Steve was sitting in that damn chair.

“Were you waiting for the fashion show, or was there something else?” he asked.

Steve shrugged a second, like he was pretending he wasn't even sure himself,“ There mighta been another thing I was told to share when I dropped by.”

“Well?” Eddie dropped into the chair next to Steve instead of taking to his hospital bed,” Do you always like holding out to build suspense, or are you gonna share it already?”

Steve’s hand slipped into the pocket of his jacket. And then he pulled out a small golden tin. “Village Moisturizing Lip Lickers Lip Balm” it read with sweeping letters. Wild Cherry flavor.

Eddie’s mouth fell open for a second before quickly snapping shut again.

What was that supposed to mean?

And why did it look like Steve was holding it out for him?

“I’m sorry, what’s this about? This you telling me my lips are crusty after you kissed me awake like little Snow White?”

“CPR,” Steve corrected.

“Tomato-Tamato,” Eddie waved him off and placed a hand over his heart,” Point being, I don’t think an insult is a very nice present after all I’ve been through.”

Steve rolled his eyes and slid the top of the tin back. The container jutted out from under the cover like a matchstick box, and what Eddie saw inside was not some bright red lip gloss like he expected. Instead, it had been cleaned out and now held two thinly rolled joints in the case.

“Don’t judge a man for how he hides his stash when he’s so kindly sneaking you some drugs, maybe,” Steve suggested while Eddie looked down with glazed-over eyes. Almost like he was looking at a little bit of handheld heaven. “Henderson mentioned you had a certain special request.”

“I apologize- I apologize so much.” He corrected with clasped together hands,” Thank you. Thank you dearly, Steve Harrington, for this generous gift. I owe you my life for this immense kindness you found fit to bestow upon this humble man. Now, do I get them both or-”

“Don’t be greedy. I have it on good authority that this is top-shelf stuff right there. California quality. I planned to try it myself too.”

“Oh, so we’re having a smoke sesh together then? Thought you had a job to get to.”

“Eh. I don’t think any of us are betting on the reopening tomorrow being all that 'grand.' I got the keys to the place anyway. I can just stop by after-hours to finish looking over and sweeping up shop. Could hang around here for a bit. Unless you have some business you need to get to and want me to just take mine on the road.”

“Nah, nah. You’re welcome to stay. Plus I don’t think I’ve got a lighter on me so…” Eddie all but batted his eyelashes at him.

Steve couldn’t believe it,“ How does a dealer not have a lighter on him?”

He spoke sorrowfully,“ The one I had in my jeans took a dip in Lover’s Lake. She hasn’t sparked for me since.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve hummed, plucking out one of the rolls and placing it into Eddie’s eagerly awaiting fingers. In the second he spent pulling out his own, Eddie had already placed his between his lips expectantly. Brown, doe eyes wide open and stuck on Steve, waiting impatiently, almost starry with childlike glee. He looked silly to be that excited for a little pot.

“Geez,” Steve shoved on his shoulder as Eddie seemed to just keep leaning closer and closer in anticipation,” Make yourself useful and crack open the window.” He told him as Steve sat back to snake a hand into his pocket for the light.

The window only went halfway up - probably some policy or other about patient safety - but it gave them a few inches of screen they’d be able to blow the smoke out of, so it was enough to not stink up the room too badly. It didn’t take long to get themselves situated with each of their blunts burned at the ends. Steve struggled to remember the last time he’d lit up in the middle of the afternoon. It wasn’t even 3 pm yet. Most weeks around that time he's picking up Robin from the high school, and if his car even smells like cigarettes she'd pinch off her nose and groan about the stench.

Eddie, on the other hand, was no stranger to a little mid-day high.

Most days - when he wasn’t a wanted man on the run, that is - he liked to get a little baked. With or without any of his buddies, it usually slipped him into an easier state of mind. Made movie-watching, channel surfing, or songwriting just a little more entertaining. The thing was… he hadn’t really gotten any action over the last two weeks, his lungs took a bit of a beating in the last few days, and he’s just slept for the last few hours instead of responsibly sipping on the water by his bedside like was recommended. So, while he usually has no problem taking down the smokey sweetness and ignoring the irritation it brings with it, his constitution had taken to rolling with disadvantage on this particular occasion.

“Thank you, Dustin Henderson.” He spoke quietly into the embers like grace before a meal.

Then he sucked in a deep drag like he was so used to doing and immediately felt the prickle settle into his throat. His cheeks soon went red as he put all his efforts into keeping the toke down without hacking it up like an inexperienced little preteen. But in just seconds, the seal of his lips failed. In a fit of sputtering coughs, ashy breath blew away from Eddie, and those previously wonderstruck eyes were holding back tears.

And, had that been all of the event, Steve probably wouldn’t have laughed very much. Maybe a little, he was a drug dealer after all, but it wasn’t lose-your-mind funny.

The thing was, as Eddie’s body fought against the unwelcome feeling, it pulled at the still too-fresh stitches on his sides. He instantly yelped out and threw his hands down in an attempt to soothe the broken but healing skin. He barely caught the roll tightly pinched between his lips, nearly dropping it in his sudden jolt.

He looked ridiculous. Face red and scrunched up, eyes watery and mad, arms crossed and holding himself, joint precariously about to fall. Now that? That was a sight that reached “fucking hilarious” in Steve’s book. Since it was painted over someone you’d think could handle his shit better.

Steve quickly placed his own hand over his mouth, trying to hold back the laughs like how Eddie had just tried to hold back his wheezing.

“What-” he’d been interrupted by more coughs,” What the fuck are you- giggling at over there?” Eddie asked him angrily through the struggle.

And that was it.

The dam broke, and all of Steve’s laughter suddenly poured out of him. Like a tsunami rushing over a quaint coastal town, he was loud and cackling in a way that shook him so hard that he started feeling a similar strain on his own matching stitches. Eddie’s face screwed up further, and he started to kick away at Steve and his chair to separate them if he was going to be made fun of like this.

And then Steve felt the yank on his sides as he tried to bend away and out of reach. He copied Eddie’s pose to hold onto his still sore wounds.

“Don’t mock me!” Eddie yelled at him, assuming it was part of Steve’s joke.

Which was somehow only funnier.

“Stop! Stop it! The nurse is gonna kill me if I make her do these again!” Steve cried out as he pushed himself away, trying to dodge Eddie’s barrage of socked feet before someone actually caused some damage.

That made Eddie finally start to laugh in response. And before they could control themselves, they were both laughing so hard they cried. All the while wincing and swearing it wasn’t funny. Insisting that it hurt, and it was all the other’s fault, and they really needed to grow up, and have they no shame.

It took a while for the two to wind down. It was funny the way they just fell into the funnies so suddenly. Kind of felt like they’d really needed them. There was so much stress hanging around everything all the time. The opportunity to just laugh couldn’t be wasted. And they could only thank their lucky stars that all their yowling and cackling didn’t call a nurse or someone to check on them and catch them red-handed.

Eddie would eventually re-find his tolerance, so he and Steve were able to burn through their lit joints in something closer to peace. Eddie reiterated that he hasn’t had a fit like that in a long time. He could handle a bit of marijuana, but he was on his deathbed just a couple days ago. He deserved a pass.

Steve sighed. It wasn’t like he was judging him much over that part or anything. He hadn’t even smoked much himself recently. Since Robin hated cigarettes so much he just had less time to himself where he’d be able to without complaint. Plus, being alone with it isn’t the same as sharing the high with someone. And that circle he used to have that would crowd together at parties to get crossfaded didn’t exist anymore.

“So, what song did you pick?” Eddie asked as they worked through their inhales more smoothly.

Steve covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. Rubbing over his face in annoyance while a groan erupted up out of him.

“Ugh, which little asshole told you to ask me about that one, huh?”

“What? None of them? Nancy’s on my case about picking one, so I was asking around. Geez, didn’t know that was a sore subject for you, your majesty.”

Something in Steve objected to the title. But he pushed it down and moved on. Giving up the name of his worst-kept secret because even if he didn’t say it, there were about a dozen other people with the answer.

“Oh? Miss Bonnie Tyler is what does it for you?”

“What? You got a problem with her?” Steve came to her - and his own - defense.

“No. Not at all. Bonnie can rock, man. Just… not what I was expecting from all of that.” Eddie said with a motion to the man sitting across from him.

Steve challenged him,“ I thought your whole thing was about how assumptions about people are wrong? Especially in my case after your epiphany in the woods.”

“Look, I’m not a perfect person, alright.” Eddie shrugged and gave himself over to the idea,“ But sure, The Hair likes Bonnie and Footloose, noted.”

“What do you need with a list of my likes and dislikes?”

“Oh, it’s for my super evil satanic ritual. I’m gonna steal your soul and sell it to the highest bidder. It’s gonna finance my everlasting youth and ticket to fame, don’t you know?”

"Didn't realize I fetched such a high price."

"I assure you, I'll be getting top dollar. Might even hold an auction, let the demons enter a bidding war to lay claim to your fate."

“Ha ha.” Steve mocked with a flat, unimpressed tone. "Well, make it even."

"What?"

"Since you're collecting a list on me, give me the dirt on you." Steve reasoned and looked back to the table of paper he was peaking at earlier.

"What do you want to know?"

"What about this?" Steve picked off the top book from the stack," Tell me why this matters to someone."

And before Eddie could brace himself, his own copy of The Hobbit was being thrown at him. He barely caught it, not being a jock like Harrington and Sinclair.

"Have a little respect for a guy's literature!" he cried, cradling the words of Tolkien to his chest like he needed to protect them from further threat.

"Is it any good?" Steve asked. And he wasn't really being a jerk with the question. He seemed a little curious, but in the way that someone who doesn't like to read is only half-interested.

"Is it any good?" Eddie ridiculed. "Yeah, it's good. It's great. It's a staple of the genre, a legend of the bookshelves-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah- It's a classic, a must-read before you die, it'll fundamentally change you with the moral of the story. Sure, someone can say that about anything."

"Well, The Hobbit is the real deal."

"Convince me. Why do you like it?"

And Eddie was off to the races. A smile stretched across his face while he crossed his legs up in the chair. He started by commending the style of the writing. It was a simple, easy read. Something good for newbies to read and get into the fantasy world Tolkien built for the first time without getting overwhelmed. It was a prequel to the big trilogy, something to tell you where some of the pieces came from by following a smaller adventure. And the way it was written... it was written like it was meant to be read to someone. It was built for storytelling. Which Eddie loved to do.

"It's homey. And, I mean, I've buzzed through it a few times myself, and some of these lines just warm me up each and every go-through. Only part that sucks is that since it's such a foundational part of getting into fantasy, everyone I know with any sort of interest has already read it. One day, I'm gonna find someone I can read it to for the first time. Watch them discover it with my voice leading the way."

Steve shook his head. Reading was never a fun subject for him, so trying to make that some kind of expression of love just didn't seem like something anyone could really enjoy. Maybe he was a little stuck in his ways, but books were a headache. He was pretty sure about that. And, if he needed to deal with a hardcover headache, he'd rather take it from a lump on the noggin than spend hours looking over neverending lines of print.

Their Californian gifts had started working their magic though…

Purple Palm Tree Delight. What a thing it was.

He wouldn't say it was making him more agreeable to the idea of Eddie cracking open the book and lecturing at him, but he was in a better mood overall. More comfortable. Less on edge. Maybe a little too honest.

Steve was soon sat all lax in the uncomfy chair. Slumped down in it until his head could rest along the low back. He rolled that head, now feeling lighter than it had when he walked in, over to look at Eddie and snickered.

“I'll tell you a secret,” he offered, his shoulders hiking up to shrug slightly before he closed his eyes and muttered,” I already finished everything up at Family Video.”

“What?” Eddie’s head craned to the side.

“I wasn’t stopping here on my way over there. I stopped here on my way home.”

“Why’d you say otherwise then?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t wanna seem like I was betting on hanging around too long.”

“You brought a guy weed while he was stuck in his sick bed and ‘didn’t wanna seem like you bet to hang around’? What’s that about?”

“Who wants to seem desperate?” Steve posed the question at him, before dropping some of the advice he picked up from always wanted to seem like he's got everyone's approval,” If you always act like you’ve got somewhere else you can be, then it’s easy to run off when it feels like the welcome's expired. It's not as much of a rejection that way. Just you getting to your plans.”

Eddie understood it when it was spelled out for him like that. But that's never been the way that his world worked.

“Well, thank you for sticking around anyway.”

“Yeah…”

Steve seemed like his mind was going somewhere. But Eddie didn’t know how to follow it, wherever it was trekking. Steve's mind was unfamiliar territory. So he asked about his neighbor. Eddie’s eyes shifted over to where she was laid out, sharing their room, but not their conversation.

“Has Red always been as badass as she was last week?”

Steve’s whole expression softened when Eddie looked back at him. He set his hazel-y gaze onto her. Clear fondness was written on his face as he considered the question.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Steve paused. Remembering.

“She was always kinda crazy, as much as I saw. You sorta have to be to follow a kid you just met - one who swears up and down that monsters are real - out to a junkyard past sundown where another kid is saying they’re making a trap for one at. The same night we beat back demented, freaky hound-things, she apparently drugged a real demon, took my bat, and nearly smashed his family jewels under the spikes. Told him to get lost and leave her and hers alone. And I got to get scared shitless while she slammed the gas in his car and nearly drove us all off the road.” Steve would sometimes swear he still felt dizzy from that delirious wild ride.

“Her step-brother?”

“Yeah. Him.” His voice went lower as he continued,” First day I met her and she was beating back a two-legged monster. All on her own.”

Eddie looked back at her, wondering how much more hell she's lived through than he has. And she was still kicking.

“She’ll be fine.” Eddie decided.

“She will.” Steve agreed.

Time stretched on from there in easy conversation. Before they really knew it, the hour had flown by, and the clock would soon hit four. Steve was about to be sent on his way by the seemingly incredibly punctual nursing staff. So he smacked his hands on his legs and stood up from the window seat.

The daze of Purple Palm Tree Delight was already slipping away, so he figured he’d be fine to drive without sitting in the parking lot for a sobering nap.

“I’ll head off and drop these keys with your old man.”

With a nod, Eddie stood up behind him,” Well, since you’ll be running into him later anyway, might as well drop off the rest of this mess too.”

He picked up the plastic hospital bag that was effectively dirty laundry. Messy Warzone vest, tattered Hellfire shirt, black ripped jeans, and the jewelry he’s honestly been feeling sort of naked without. With that thought, though, he figured there couldn’t possibly be any medical harm in him putting back on just his necklace and favorite ring while he waited to be released.

“Just let me grab…” he’d started while he ducked his head down and picked through the sack. But he soon fell silent as his eyes raked over the contents.

Steve gave him a second before it seemed like Eddie wasn’t just quiet out of focus. “What’s up?” he asked, watching the man fuss about his belongings with growing nerves.

Immediately, Eddie grabbed onto the bottom of the bag, turning it over and dumping the entire contents out onto the hospital bed. Dirty, bloodied clothes littered it, but he just shoved past them and touched the bits of silver shining back at him through the grime. Worst part was, it wasn’t all there.

His mother’s engagement ring was gone.

And there weren’t really words for the way that felt.

He might describe it like his stomach hollowed out, or like the ground beneath his feet vanished, or like he was instantly drenched in ice water. He might say that it felt worse than blacking out or hearing his voice crack over a microphone. Could even think about all the other things he would’ve happily given up before that ring.

But he couldn’t say any of that to Steve Harrington. Even if they just spent the better part of an hour giggling and getting pretty damn candid with one another. That ring - his mother - that just wasn't something he talked about. With anyone. Period.

So instead, he froze. His hands pressed heavily into the covers, and he started to curl his finger and dig into the clothes with the anger, and the shame, and the feeling like, suddenly, he didn’t know what he was doing anymore. In just a second, he felt lost. And it was all he could to try and stave off the oncoming tears. The ones trying to boil over, and not over something as surface level as an itchy windpipe.

“Everything cool?” Steve tried again.

And Eddie snapped back up. His face no longer aimed down at the remaining objects thrown out before him. He reined himself back in enough to survive the next few minutes, his fist holding onto the chain looped through a red guitar pick. As if he could even pretend that was all he’d been looking for. He tucked the rest of it back into the bag and handed it over quickly.

“Fine.”

That was all he really trusted himself to say.

And, as if that ending didn’t just flip the last hour they spent together on its head, Steve decided it wasn’t his business. So he took the offer with an attempt at a casual smile.

“Sounds good. I’ll pass it along.”

And he was gone.

The nurse made a face at them when she got to Eddie’s door to dismiss the visitor. Even though they’d been careful to blow all the smoke out the window and dispose of the evidence, the smell of weed stuck out from the otherwise chemically clean hospital. But she let him walk anyway, so Steve went out the door and climbed back into his car.

The passenger seat of the Beemer was full of cassettes and vinyl records from the group for Mikhail to pour over when he got back. He made mental notes to call Claudia and let her know apple pie was the request while he pulled out of the parking lot. Heading toward the edge of town to make a detour so he could hand over the rest of Eddie’s belongings to his uncle.

Steve buzzed the main entrance of the power plant when he arrived. In just a minute Wayne was opening the heavy metal door and greeting him with a friendly expression behind tired eyes. And in those eyes, there was a brief flash of recognition. One not so dissimilar to the way the nurse had looked at him on his way out of Eddie’s room. With a quick quirk of his nose, Steve was pretty sure he smelled the marijuana on his clothes.

But Wayne moved past the notice without comment,” Thanks for making the run for me, son.”

“Sure. I’d say any time, but this was my last day off before Family Video will have me all but chained to the store until we get more hires.” Steve huffed and handed over the bag.

“I feel that. Things are running ‘bout the same over here.” he yawned and took Eddie's stuff,“ And how’d he seem? I won’t be able to go by myself except for a bit tomorrow morning.”

“He’s all good. Needs to make sure not to mess with his stitches too much, but good.”

Wayne smiled fondly,” Yeah, he was always one to pick at scabs when he was little, so that tracks.”

Steve weighed the thought with a light chuckle,“ I don’t know if he’s picking 'em, but he was kicking at me, so he needs to watch that he doesn’t pull them undone overexerting himself too much.”

Wayne cocked his head to the side looking at him,“ He was kicking at you?”

Steve simply answered,“ Long story.”

“Right… Well, thank you again. For the keys and whatever you did that made him worked up enough to kick at you.” Wayne studied him for a moment and added,” But you mighta deserved it, all I know. You a troublemaker?”

“All I did was laugh! I swear!” Steve insisted.

“Hmmmm… maybe so.” he didn't act as if he bought it,” Why don’t you get on home now, ‘fore someone starts to worry about you.”

“Okay. But if you need anything, let us know. We’re all watching out for each other.”

“How ‘bout I call you when we got a place to move back into - one that's not tore in half - and I’ll put you to work hauling boxes. Till then you can relax.”

There was another small chuckle to come from Steve as he was about to head off. “Yes, sir,” he told him. But he turned back around right before Wayne had shut the door to get back to work.

“Actually, I did have a question,” he added.

Wayne looked back at him and stepped out of the doorway,“ Yeah?”

“Eddie was fine while I was there, for the most of it. But, at the end, he got kinda quiet. It was after he looked through his bag and pulled out the necklace. But maybe something was missing?”

Wayne’s eyebrow drew up, and he started combing his hand through everything. It didn't take long for a look to come onto his face. A knowing kind that said he'd pinpointed exactly what it was. Still, he checked with Steve,“ You said the only thing he took out of the bag was his necklace?”

“Yeah, with the red pick.”

“Not one of his rings?”

“No,” he was sure of it,” He just left the three of them in there and handed it over.”

Wayne nodded slowly and looked past Steve. Something like regret or a kind of mourning sat in his eyes. “That explains it…”

“What?”

“He has four rings.” Wayne corrected. “These big ones, he likes them, 'course, but the other one is the important one. He lost one of these and he mighta just been annoyed, but… the other was his mom’s.”

Those last words left Wayne like he barely realized he said them out loud. Maybe he hadn't meant to. It was a wistful thing, spoken with a soft sorrow to believe the news. Mostly just to say it to himself.

But he had said it out loud and just a few feet away, so Steve heard it.

“Oh…”

Steve couldn't exactly imagine how it felt. To picture his mom's engagement ring… it wasn't something that filled him with happy feelings. It… it usually stirred something in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw the large stone glint under harsh lights. To watch it twist between her fingers any time finances became the topic of conversation. It seemed to be a nervous habit of hers that always caught his eye with a sharp gleam.

But the way Wayne spoke of Eddie's, it meant something good to him. And it was gone. After such a terrible thing, he lost something important.

“He never takes that thing off, so if it wasn’t on him when he went into the hospital and got put in this sack… then it’s lost.” he resigned himself to the fact.

“Or maybe it’s in the RV.” Steve offered, trying to find hope.

“Or deep in the woods, or out in the street, or maybe it's stolen…” Wayne argued against the optimistic approach,” There’s really no way of knowing for sure, kiddo. But that- yeah, that would sour his mood.”

Wayne sat with the knowledge a second before he looked back up at Steve and excused himself,“ Uh, thank you for mentioning it. I’ll check in with him as soon as I can. You have a good one now.”

Steve didn't really know what else to say,“ Yeah, you too. Sorry.”

“Not your fault. Things just happen sometimes. Can't do anything about it.”

And the door shut behind him while Wayne’s eyes stuck to the bag. Like, perhaps if he just looked a second longer, the ring in question would appear for him. Because thinking of going back to his boy and telling him that he was right - it was gone, and he couldn't get it back - it almost broke his heart all over again.

Before Steve went home, he stopped by the trailer park. It wasn't completely planned. He more so just found himself there to the thought of Eddie alone in that hospital room looking at his unusually bare finger. He unbuckled from his car in front of the Munson's place. Stepped up the stairs and let himself in through the unlocked door, past the police tape. He walked into the living room and looked over the carpeted floor for the shine of misplaced jewelry.

If it fell off of Eddie's finger when they flipped through the mini-gate, it would've landed there. That's what he figured.

The room around him was covered in mugs and baseball hats, most of which had been knocked off the shelves and hooks. Scattered onto the edges of the room, around the mattress and scraps of torn sheets. They'd all really made a mess of it in their rushing around. He knelt down to the ground and combed his fingers through the short shag, tugging the rope out of his way. But there was no missing ring in that trailer, in or out of hiding.

He came out of the small home and looked across the driving lane. The Jameson's RV had been returned and parked back in their lot a couple dozen yards away. He did mention that place to Wayne when he thought about where a ring could've gone. It could be in there if it was thrown off his hand sometime between the Upside Down and the emergency room. He hadn't thought to look for it when the police let them get back their stuff. Didn't know it was missing back then, of course. But now that he was on the hunt, that was the next place to check.

On his way over, he watched the gravel under his feet for if the ring was lost when Eddie was loaded up, but there was no sight of it down there either. As he turned the corner around the front of the vehicle, he saw the couple lounging in fold-out chairs. Just like they had been when the kids took their mobile home in the first place.

Okay. Steve just needed to ask them if they might've seen a ring somewhere in there since they got it back. Couldn't possibly be too awkward. Surely. They'd understand.

The pair looked up at Steve as he approached. He pulled on his nicest expression and threw up a hand in a quick greeting. They seemed to study him for a second. Not placing his face easily.

“Hi there. Uh- I'm Steve-”

But that was about all it took for their eyes to darken at him.

Mr. Jameson spoke up first,“ How dare you-”

Immediately, Steve fell into apologies,” I know, I know. I'm sorry. I really didn't plan to bother either of you at all. Especially not after… everything. Um- but I needed to ask something. Real quick. Any chance-”

“You don't need to be askin' us anything after what you and those hooligans did-”

“I know. And I agree, and I am really, really sorry. But-” There was a slight stutter to his breath as he tried again,” if there's any chance that the two of you might've seen a ring laying around. One of us just found out it's lost and-”

The fire in the woman's eyes blazed with insult,“ Are you accusing us of stealing-”

Steve tried to signal surrender. “Absolutely not, ma'am-”

But she rolled on through, pointer finger raised to keep him silent,“ If we'd seen anything in there that wasn't ours, we would've handed it over to the police to give back. I don't know what kind of people you think we are-”

“I swear I wasn't assuming-”

“But we're good people. Not the kind to steal a good, honest person's home and drive off with it without an ounce of respect. Knocking over trash, wasting their gas, making a mess of their things with no regard for the people it belongs to-”

“Again, I'm so sorry-”

She raised her voice following the interruption,“ But I cannot believe, after all we've been through since then, that you'd show back up here and try to extort us.”

Steve's eyes almost bulged out of his head at the suggestion. He frantically shook his head,“ No, no, no-”

“So now what?” her husband picked up,” You gonna call Powell with your rich kid connections, tell him you left valuables behind? See if they'll strip our RV and hand you whatever jewelry they might find in there for you to pawn off? Catch your thrills that way?”

“No! I would never. I swear. I just- I already looked around, and this was the last place I could think of where it could've fallen, so I thought I should ask-”

“I think you best get, boy. And I don't ever want to see you 'round here again, or we'll be the ones making a call to that police station.”

“I- I understand. I'm sorry to interrupt your evening. Have a good night.”

Steve scampered away from them pretty quickly. Not stopping or slowing down until he got into his car and closed the door. With his hands firmly on the wheel, he checked the mirrors to make sure there wasn't a disgruntled pair hot on his trail. Though neither of them seemed to follow him away from their property.

He let out the breath he was holding.

“Shit.”

He wasn't sure exactly why he felt so desperate to find that ring for Eddie. Surely he or his uncle would be able to look around for themselves. And, he knew that it wasn't exactly his fault. He didn't see it and kick it away without knowing what it was or anything. But if Eddie was wearing it before Steve picked him up and hiked him across the Upside Down and back to their own Hawkins… and if Steve was careless or something, let his arm flop around or whatever, and that was when it fell off… in that case, it did feel a little bit like his fault.

To think about that whole evening looking back, maybe he shouldn't have let Eddie volunteer to hang back by the trailer with Dustin as the distraction. Maybe Steve would've been faster at outrunning the bats, or maybe Eddie wouldn't have gotten strung up by vines, and maybe Vecna would already be dealt with, and Eddie wouldn't have lost his ring, and Max wouldn't be stuck in a coma, and…

The possibilities swirled around his head long after he'd driven away from the trailer park, made it back home, and excused himself for a shower. Steve's messed up a lot of stuff in his life. Maybe those past few weeks were just the latest mistake he's made so far.

[seventh-district]

wow!!! nothing better than watching your AO3 subscribers stat go down every time you post a new chapter of your current fic!!!

[reneesbooks]

The Knight of Lacuna Lake - Part 3

this one's a long one so buckle up bitches bc it's all downhill from here

summary: Keelan attends Maura's birthday celebration (5.7k words)

intro post, part one, part two

taglist (ask to be added! <3): @serenanymph @lyssa-ink @oh-no-another-idea @lena-rambles @ashen-crest

There are 32 different places in the throne room where the royal seal has been worked into the stone. Keelan is convinced there is a 33rd, but he can't figure out where it is.

“Your Majesties, I beg for your assistance,” a reedy voice says. Keelan pulls his gaze away from the stonework and shifts it to Maura. She is perfectly upright in the simple wooden chair next to her mother's throne, listening attentively as the woman, a cobbler, spells out the economical impacts of the latest trading regulations on imports from Guildi on her small shop outside of the port city of Wareshead, and did Your Majesties know that Wareshead is the biggest importer—

“I believe I might have a solution,” Maura says, cutting the woman's ramble off. “If ports offer bulk pricing to smaller shops, like yours, who only serve smaller areas, would that improve your ability to turn a profit?”

“A wise idea, my princess,” the woman says, bowing.

“How would the ports make up their lost profits?” King Proteus asks, leaning forward in his throne.

Maura's eyes wander around the throne room. Keelan can see the wheels turning in her head, is familiar enough with the way her nose crinkles when she's thinking from three months of spending nearly every morning in the library with her. Her eyes light up as she lands on a solution. “Our Fierodian trading agreement includes incentives for ports who send regular shipments. If they offer bulk pricing domestically and begin building a larger market abroad, those incentives combined with new markets at which to sell should balance out any negative impact.”

“Well decided, Princess Maura,” Queen Rosaleen says, beaming proudly. “The royal scribes will have everything ready by tomorrow.”

The members of the court clap politely as the cobbler is escorted away by the guard. Maura bites her lip, stifling a yawn. Keelan checks the position of the sun through the window. It's nearing dinnertime. He shifts a little where he's standing, flexing his toes. He's been standing behind Maura's chair for hours now, but he's had plenty of practice with that. What's making his limbs tingle with anticipation is the fact that it's Maura's birthday. After the court is dismissed, there will be a grand feast and then a ball. Keelan has never been to a royal ball before. He's heard that they serve chocolate.

Plus, there is the chance that Maura will ask him to dance with her. Not that he's thought much about that.

“I think that is where we shall finish today,” the queen says. Keelan nearly bites his own tongue with excitement. “The court is dismissed.”

Maura turns to Keelan and makes a relieved face. He smiles and bows when she stands. “Would you like to go directly to dinner, princess?”

“I think so,” she says. He follows her towards the great hall. Once they are out of earshot of anyone, she moves closer to him. “I command you to sit at the great table with me.”

They pass by the steps to the library before can make his mouth work. “Maura, I don't know if that's a good idea. I am still only your shield.”

“Come on, Keelan.” She grabs his arm and gives him a pleading look. “It's my birthday. Why wouldn't you sit with me?”

He sighs. “Your father might not approve.”

In the months that Keelan has been Maura's guard, he has been completely unable to discern the king's opinion of him. King Proteus is a stern, generally unsmiling man. He only softens around his wife and daughters, but even then, he has a general presence of intimidation that makes the hairs on the back of Keelan's neck stand up.

“It's not his birthday.” He looks away and she darts in front of him, forcing him to meet her eyes. He inhales sharply, raising his gaze to the heavens. She is still holding his arm. “Please?”

“You're going to be the death of me.”

“Hopefully not.” She releases his arm and continues down the corridor. “I asked the cooks to brew some grapevine tea for tonight. Is there anything else they should add?”

Keelan has been getting better at hiding his feelings, but the blush still creeps up his neck. “That is more than enough.”

When they reach the great hall, Maura makes a beeline for the great table. The lesser nobles and aristocrats are trickling in, mingling with the foreign guests, finding seats and filling the cavernous hall with the sound of conversation and laughter. Maura skips up the steps to the great table, gesturing for Keelan to follow. She walks up to the closest guard. “Sir Keelan will be a guest of the royal family tonight,” she says authoritatively. “I will not need another knight to serve in his place.”

“Yes, princess,” the guard says, bowing deeply. “I'll fetch another chair.”

Before he knows it, Keelan is seated between Maura and Birdie at the great table, a steaming mug of grapevine tea sitting before him. He's on Maura's right while the queen sits to her left. Birdie is telling him about the last ball that they threw for Maura's birthday and how this will be her second ball, but all he can think about is how some of the lesser nobles are staring at him, whispering behind their hands. He's a nobody from a town that doesn't exist and he's sitting between the princesses of the kingdom, two seats away from the queen and three away from the king.

He's not freaking out about it.

Levi is on Birdie's other side, making sure that she eats the vegetables that pass by on platters and in soups as well as the little cakes that she keeps summoning. At one point, the pastry chef appears, red-faced and panting, and pulls Levi aside. Keelan can't hear all of what the pastry chef says, but when Levi returns to the table, he lectures Birdie sternly about how summoning pastries requires taking them from somewhere else. Birdie doesn't seem to be paying attention, but she stops summoning the cakes.

The food is much better than what Keelan normally eats in the barracks with the other guards—strawberries, sugared figs, hearty stews, and fatty meats. The grapevine tea is a little sweeter than how his mother used to make it, but the taste reminds him enough of home that he doesn't mind. Maura pulls him into conversations every few minutes, the topics ranging between the day's work, the court jester's jokes, and Birdie's antics. Keelan has to half-shout in order for her to hear him, but her smile is worth it.

A bard is brought in sometime around the fourth course (another stew) and the hall quiets so that her songs can be heard.

“My princess,” she says, bowing and adjusting herself on her stool. “I am honored by the opportunity to perform for you at your birthday feast. Do you have any requests?”

Maura glances at Keelan, then smiles at the bard. “What is your most requested song?”

The bard's eyes also dart to Keelan. “The Ballad of Keelan O'Leyne, princess. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes!” Maura claps her hands. “Please, play it for me.”

The bard clears her throat and plucks a few notes on her lute. “The story of Keelan O'Leyne is a tragedy, one that shows us the bravery of a lone soul and the devotion of a grieving son.” Keelan's throat is tight but he does his best not to show it. “All who hear of his deeds will pray to the moons that they never cross him, for he is a knight blessed with the strength of twelve men.”

The bard begins a tune that is slow and sweet.

“Gather round and hear the song

of boys who become men—

though the night is cold and long,

the spring will come again.

Even though you are afraid

there's nothing left to fear

for the brave Keelan O'Leyne

protects us while we're near.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me, take all the pain.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me and bring the sun again.”

Keelan can feel the blush rising up his neck, but doesn't dare look at Maura to see her reaction to the song. Birdie is already humming along, splashing in her stew in time to the tune. He can see Levi start to sing along and wonders how many of them have already heard it.

“Long ago in verdant Leyne,

the flames were hot and high.

Everywhere laid people slain

by men who would not die.

All that had been left behind

was one boy and his sword

left with nowhere else to hide

and no one he adored.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me, put out the flames.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me and bring the sun again.

While the boy was creeping towards

the house the raiders stole

there he saw the evil horde

had took his mother's soul.

And he filled with angry grief

and burst into the room

slaughtered all the murd'rous thieves

became their final doom.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me, erase the stain.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me and bring the sun again.”

The majority of the guests are singing along at this point, enough that Keelan wonders how he hasn't heard this song before. Maybe because he rarely leaves the castle. Either way, he's still studiously avoiding looking at Maura.

“When the moons looked down and saw

the hero who had slain

the twelve immortal thieves of Cág

they gave Keelan O'Leyne

The power of a dozen men,

and bravery ceaseless

three months he walked, was knighted then

the shield of the princess.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me, you're evil's bane.

Come rescue me, Keelan O'Leyne!

Come rescue me and bring the sun again.”

The guests burst into applause the bard bows again, catching the coins thrown at her in her hat. People are shouting requests and Keelan can see Maura clapping out of the corner of his eye. He lowers his gaze to his stew and eats, hoping that nobody is looking at him.

The bard stays through the sixth course (tender beef and hearty stewed cabbage), playing a variety of songs, some of which Keelan recognizes. As the meal progresses and some guests start to get intoxicated, drinking songs are requested more and more. This is when Keelan is treated to a second song about himself—this one a rowdy, unfortunately descriptive number about how exactly he went about killing the Immortal Thieves of Cág, who were legendary outlaws that had been terrorizing the west. Keelan has no idea what they're talking about, but it has a nice rhythm.

Levi has to use magic to keep Birdie away from the cakes when they come out with the rest of the desserts and she pouts until Keelan offers her half of his slice of pie. Maura's favorite cook, the one who fed them sandwiches on Keelan's first day, brings out a small sculpture made of sugared buns. It's been shaped into a galloping mare—the mane and tail are dusted with extra powdered sugar to make them look white. Maura laughs with delight, jumping down from the high table to inspect it up close.

“You've outdone yourself, Stiofán,” she says. “It's beautiful.”

Stiofán puffs his chest out. “They're all filled with jelly or custard. Each part of the horse is a different flavor, princess. The heart is peach.” He smiles. “Your favorite.”

Maura hugs him tightly before excitedly pulling off one of the buns on the horse's chest. She bites in and the room holds its breath.

Maura throws her head back, making a sound of delight before shoving the rest of the bun in her mouth. “Delicious!” she says around a mouthful of bun. The court laughs and the servants begin to divvy up the sculpture among the guests. They come by the grand table first and Keelan is treated to the enormous selection of options: blackberry, currant, chocolate, apple, fig, peach, blueberry, and a few flavors he's never heard of. He decides to play it safe and get two chocolate and two blueberry ones.

They are indeed delicious and he has to keep a close eye on his extras so that Birdie doesn't sneak them off his plate while he's not looking. At some point, she stole more of the little cakes from the other guests and Levi is busy using magic to put them back on the correct plates. This leaves Keelan in charge of keeping her out of mischief, so he has been trying to convince her that by only eating her own desserts, she will tempt a good faerie to come to her window and give her a blessing.

“But what kind of blessing?” Birdie asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “Levi says there's different kinds based on the magic that you're using.”

Keelan coughs into his fist, seeing Maura's smirk out of the corner of his eye. “I'm not an expert, princess, so I'm not sure what kind of blessing the faeries would bring to a girl who doesn't steal other people's desserts. Maybe extra cake, maybe good fortune, maybe your hair will grow twice as long overnight.”

Birdie giggles. “I don't think it will be that.”

“Who's to say?” Keelan turns back to his plate to find it empty. “Birdie, what did we just tell you about stealing other people's desserts?”

“It wasn't me!” she protests, her eyes wide and innocent.

Keelan looks to his left to see Maura licking powdered sugar off her fingers, grinning smugly. “You should have kept a better eye on them,” she says. He laughs, unable to be upset when she looks so happy.

After the desserts are cleared away, the guests begin leave to get ready for the ball. Nobody at the great table looks in a hurry to leave, so Keelan nibbles on his last sugared bun and listens while Maura explains the finer points of ball etiquette. He isn't sure he's going to remember a single thing, but he's had enough practice being around royalty and other nobility. He's probably going to be fine. Probably.

When the great hall has emptied, the queen stands. “Well, my beautiful daughter,” she says, reaching down to touch Maura's face, “do you want to entertain any suitors tonight?”

Maura's ears go pink. “Momma, you said I was too young for that.”

Queen Rosaleen laughs, patting Maura's cheek. “You're absolutely right, sweet pea. Just teasing you as mothers are supposed to. Birdie, duckling, come along. It's time to get ready for the ball.”

“Are we going to dance?” Birdie asks, jumping down from her chair. “Sissy asked me to dance last year.”

“You can dance all you like,” the queen says with a soft laugh, “but Maura may ask somebody else this year.” Her eyes land on Keelan and crinkle at the corners. “Only Maura knows, I suppose. Let's go, girls.”

“Wait!” Maura jumps up from her chair and runs to one of the servants nearby. They whisper back and forth for a second before the girl brings out a large wooden box. “Keelan, since this is your first royal ball as my sworn shield, I made sure that you would have this.”

She opens the wooden box and lifts out a deep purple cloak, the color of the water-violets that bloom along the docks. Keelan's eyes widen and he reaches out to touch the fabric, awed. “Princess, I can't accept this.”

“You have to,” Maura says smugly. “It's your official dress uniform as my sworn shield.”

“The other guards don't wear purple cloaks,” Keelan says. “It's not a color to blend in.”

“You're not meant to blend in.” Maura unfolds the cloak all the way and holds it out to him. It feels soft as silk and has a surprising heft to it. Keelan swings it around his shoulders, fastening the silver clasp. Maura presses her hands together excitedly. “You look wonderful.”

Keelan's face heats up and he looks down, fiddling with the clasp. “Thank you, princess. I will see you at the ball.”

“Yes, Sir Keelan.” She curtsies to him and follows the queen out of the great hall. Keelan wanders slowly back to the guards' barracks, feeling his new cloak swing against his legs. Its weight is strange, pulling his shoulders down. He wonders what it's made of—it feels like silk, but he's only seen silk used for light dresses or shirts. His cloak is far too heavy for that.

The captain of the guard whistles when he walks into the barracks. “It's official, then?”

Keelan stares at him. “What's official?”

The captain gestures at his cloak. “The Queen's Knight. The one who wears the cloak made from water-violets. Haven't you heard the stories?” Keelan shakes his head and the captain sighs. “Are you going to the ball tonight, son?”

Keelan swallows the lump in his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“None of that,” the captain says, herding him towards the washroom. “You outrank me now.”

Keelan's head feels light as he's sat down in front of the polished bronze mirror and the captain starts smearing shaving cream on his face. “I'm not the Queen's Knight. Princess Maura—”

“Is the crown princess and will be queen someday.” The captain's hands are quick and sure as he shaves the barely-visible stubble off Keelan's face. “Since Queen Rosaleen never named one, the princess has the right to choose her Queen's Knight before she ascends to the throne. Making you her sworn shield was the first step to officially naming you her Knight.”

“I still don't understand.” The captain wipes off the shaving cream and pats something sweet-smelling into Keelan's jaw. “I've never heard of the Queen's Knight.”

“Likely because the last one murdered the queen he was sworn to protect,” the captain says, a bit sadly. Keelan's whole body goes cold. He heard the story when he was a child, but nobody liked to speak about it. Queen Rosaleen was young, even for a Raedoran queen, because her parents had been murdered in their sleep by their most trusted advisor. Nobody knew why—the man had been found dead at the foot of the king and queen's bed, his own sword through his stomach. Rosaleen ascended to the throne two weeks later. Keelan had never known that the advisor had been the Queen's Knight.

“I would never hurt her,” Keelan says.

“I know that, son,” the captain says, a little soothingly. “But some say the position is cursed. The first Queen's Knight was said to have drowned in the lake after jumping from the top of the mast of the queen's boat.”

Keelan shivers. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because she is putting a spotlight on you tonight,” the captain says, pulling him out of his chair. Keelan is shuffled back into the barracks, where the other guards surround him, helping him into a deep blue tunic with silver buttons. “You need to be ready for what that means—what the court will say about you. What the kingdom will say about you.”

“They're already saying a lot.” Keelan thinks of the two songs about him. “Who are the Immortal Thieves of Cág?”

One of the other guards snorts. “An old folktale. Likely an invention of the bards that you killed them.”

Keelan nods. The raiders had certainly died like men. They'd bled and choked and soiled themselves. The smell had been horrible.

One of the other guards fastens Keelan's cloak around his shoulders. The captain crosses his arms over his chest. “Alright, boy, listen up.”

Keelan's whole face goes red. “Yes, sir.”

“The Queen's Knight is the sworn shield of the ruling queen of Raedora. It is the most important positions a knight can hold. Do you have a title yet?”

Keelan shifts from one foot to the other. “Does Sir Keelan count?”

The captain sighs. “You'll get one when the princess announces you formally. She'll likely do it tonight, since she had the cloak made.”

Keelan curls his fingers into the soft purple fabric. “Is it really made from water-violets?”

“No,” the captain says, laughing. “That's from the old story about the origin of the Queen's Knight. They say he rose from the lake wearing a cloak of water-violets and knelt before the first queen of Raedora to offer his loyalty. The cloak itself is silk, nice and strong and thick, but it's dyed with water-violets.”

Keelan nods and walks towards the washroom again, examining himself in the mirror. In the tunic and the cloak, even with the mud still crusting the bottom of his boots, he looks like a real knight from one of the songs. He reaches up to pat his hair down. “I've never been to a royal ball before.”

“Of course you haven't, son,” the captain says. “Neither have any of us except to guard the doors. Good luck.”

With that, he's shoved out of the barracks and into the hallway. He takes a moment to adjust his tunic before starting towards the ballroom. He rubs his jaw, feeling the softness of his skin. Royal guards are required to keep a clean face, so he's never grown anything past tiny stubble, but the captain shaved him closer than he's ever shaved before. Keelan wonders if his razor is enchanted.

He is one of the first into the ballroom and ends up hovering awkwardly by the table covered in little snacks. He feels ridiculous and out of place, checking over his shoulder every few seconds to see if Maura has arrived yet. It's not necessary to look—they'll announce her and the rest of the royal family—but there is still that nagging feeling to look for her, to try to catch her eye before anybody else does, to make sure that the first face she sees when she enters the ballroom is one of a friend.

He has been standing there for nearly half an hour and is nibbling on one of the figs from the snack table when two young women approach him. One is giggling, shoving her friend forward, while the other puts up a whispered protest. The giggling one pulls the whispering one to a stop in front of Keelan and he bows politely. “Good evening.”

“Sir Keelan O'Leyne,” the giggling one says. Her voice has gone sultry and she bats her eyelashes at him. “My friend here was wondering if you would do her the honor of allowing her your first dance tonight?”

The whispering one turns bright red and dips into a low curtsy, avoiding eye contact. “Sir Keelan O'Leyne. It's an honor to meet you.”

Keelan blinks. “Um, the honor is mine, Miss...?”

The blush begins to fade from the young woman's cheeks and her eyes dart up to meet his. They're a pretty shade of blue. “Aoife, Sir Keelan.”

“Aoife.” He is spared of thinking of something satisfactory to say by the loud ringing of a bell. Everyone turns to face the raised dais for the royal family.

“Announcing Their Majesties Queen Rosaleen and King Proteus of Raedora, and their daughters, Crown Princess Maura and Princess Brigit!”

Keelan turns to the young women. “Excuse me.” He slips through the crowd as they applaud, trying to get closer to the dais. He can see the queen and the king coming out but not Maura and Birdie—

Maura steps out onto the dais and the breath leaves Keelan's lungs. He's frozen in place, near the front but not quite there, and yet there is nobody between them. Her hair is a golden braided halo and the graceful curve of her exposed neck disappears into a gown of embroidered blue silk that flows like water as she moves. She is the spirit of Lacuna Lake and Keelan is drowning in her depths.

Her eyes meet his and her smile pulls him out of the water. He can breathe and the queen is speaking now, thanking the guests for celebrating Maura's sixteenth year and wishing for many more to come. She says something that breaks through the rush in his ears—

“The princess will choose her partner for the first dance.”

Keelan inhales sharply. Maura's eyes have never left his. She is still smiling widely, smiles as she calls out, voice ringing like a bell— “Sir Keelan of Leyne.”

The ballroom is silent. His feet move, propelling him forward even as his brain is scrambling to piece together the eyes on him and the girl that had wanted to dance and the captain's warnings and the way Maura's skirt hangs from her hips. He bows and she curtsies with the grace of the fae, her dress pooling around her.

“Sir Keelan,” Maura says, and he raises from his bow, meeting her gaze again. “Would you do me the honor?”

He wonders if drowning men fall in love with the water as it fills their lungs. “The honor would be mine, my princess.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “But I'm not a great dancer.”

Her smile sharpens. “Just follow my lead.”

She must have spoken with the band beforehand, because they play a song that Keelan actually knows. Leyne didn't have a lot of parties, but he'd been to enough to know a few of the more popular dances. Maura grabs his hand and he rests his other on her waist, his gloves unbearably thick. Her bare wrists are sinful and he has never needed religion less.

The crowd shifts a bit, murmuring at the rowdy tune, but Maura starts dancing before Keelan can start to get paranoid. They spin around a few times before breaking apart, coming back together, skipping around the dance floor together, and starting again in a new direction. It's upbeat, it's bouncy, it's nothing like what Keelan was prepared for, and it's perfect. He is a winemaker's son at the village festival, dancing with a pretty girl. She's smiling the whole time, her eyes on him even when she spins away. He doesn't know the smell of blood and the grey-eyed girl in his arms is free to come home with him and meet his parents and nobody would find that strange. He is seventeen and he is in love and there is nothing else.

The music ends and Maura steps away from him, catching her breath with a laugh. Keelan's cheeks hurt from smiling and he bows, feeling his cloak brush against the floor. “You honor me, Princess Maura.”

“Sir Keelan,” she says, lifting out of her flawless curtsy, “the honor was all mine.” She turns to the crowd. “Please, enjoy the ball!”

The band starts another tune and Maura takes Keelan's arm, leading him up to the dais. He's sweating and can feel the king's eyes on him. He feels more and less like the nobody's son that he is but Maura's bare fingers are resting on his elbow where only his thin linen shirt divides them and that makes him burn.

“Keys, Keys!” Birdie jumps up to grab Keelan's arm. Her hair is in two braids and she's wearing a pink dress that she's already smudged powdered sugar on. “I wanna dance, too!”

“Of course, princess,” Keelan says, unable to resist her. Maura doesn't release his arm.

“Mother, I wanted—”

“Sissy!” Birdie is pulling Keelan towards the dance floor. “It's my turn with Keys!”

“Your Majesty,” an important-looking man says. “I beg an audience.”

“One moment, sweet pea,” the queen says. “Birdie, don't take up Keelan's whole night.”

Maura's fingers leave Keelan's arm and he is dragged into a dance of Birdie's own creation. It involves a lot of spinning and makes him vaguely nauseous, but she's laughing, so he doesn't mind. When the music ends this time, Birdie is whisked away by Levi and Keelan is quickly surrounded by young women requesting a dance. The two from earlier elbow their way to the front and Aoife's friend shoves her forward again. She's blushing less than before and curtsies neatly. “Sir Keelan. I was sorry to have missed the opportunity earlier. I hope you are still available to dance now?”

Keelan can feel the eyes on him and thinks of what the captain told him. She's putting a spotlight on you tonight. You need to be ready for what that means. He puts on a polite smile and bows. “It would be my honor, Miss Aoife.”

It's still early in the ball, so the music remains upbeat and bouncy, assuaging any fears Keelan may or may not have had about random girls trying to get cozy with him. Aoife tries to make conversation with him, batting her eyelashes and laughing at nearly everything he says, but he politely thanks her for the dance and excuses himself when it's over. He wants to find Maura again, to see what it was she wanted earlier, but he keeps getting stopped every two feet by either another blushing young woman requesting a dance (he's too polite to say no) or some lord or another that wants to hear the story of the night Leyne burned (he's too polite to say what he really wants to).

The moons are high in the sky and Birdie has already been whisked away to bed by the queen by the time Keelan finds Maura again. She is standing at the same table he waited by earlier, munching thoughtfully on an apple tart. He feels his shoulders relax at the sight of her and makes his way through the crowd.

Her eyes light up when she sees him and she quickly wipes the crumbs from her fingers. “Sir Keelan. How have you been enjoying the ball?”

He shrugs, leaning against the table next to her. “It's not too unlike the parties in Leyne. The people are more important, but they still get drunk and dance the same.”

She laughs. “You were a popular dancer. I think I've seen you with seven different young ladies tonight.”

Keelan's cheeks flush and he reaches up to rub his eyes with one hand. “I felt bad saying no. I didn't realize they were all so...fascinated with me.”

“The tale of Keelan O'Leyne fascinates people,” Maura says. “A lone survivor of a massacre who single-handedly killed an entire band of raiders in one night? You must admit, it has a folktale feel to it.”

He tips his head to the side, ceding the point. “Still. It's strange to be the center of any kind of attention.”

“You get used to it.” Maura's voice betrays the slightest hint of sadness and when he looks over at her, he can see the tightness in her jaw.

“I'll have to,” he says, looking away and pretending he didn't notice. “I'm going to be your sworn shield for the rest of my life.”

He can feel the warmth of her smile even though he's not looking at her. “And my friend, I hope.”

“Yes, Maura,” he says quietly, so that nobody else can hear. “And your friend.”

She asks him to dance again at the end of the night, this time a waltz. His hands are sweating so much he thinks she must be able to feel it through his gloves, but her smile never wavers. He's not great at waltzing, so she takes the lead and he manages to not step on her toes. This time, there is no fantasy of a village festival in Leyne. She is the crown princess and she chose him, asked him to dance with her on her birthday in front of the entire court and her parents and everyone else, and she hasn't stopped looking at him since the music started. He is a knight in a cloak of water-violets and he would die to see her smile again.

As he bows at the end of the dance, Maura announces that the ball is ending and wishes all the guests a good night. As the guards begin to herd everyone out, she turns back to Keelan. “Would you walk me to my room, Sir Keelan?”

He swallows, suddenly painfully aware of her parents standing mere yards away. “Of course, princess,” he says, bowing his head. He follows her out of the ballroom. Once they are far enough away, she moves closer to him and he feels her hand brush against his.

“Thank you,” she says. “That was perfect.”

“Good,” Keelan says. “It's your birthday. It's meant to be perfect.”

“You didn't get me a gift,” she says, a little teasingly. “Did you forget?”

He adjusts his cloak when it catches on a potted plant that they pass by. “I don't know what I could possibly offer you that you don't already have.”

They make it all the way to her door before she speaks again. “That is a dilemma, is it not?” Her back is pressed against her bedroom door and she smiles up at him. “However, you did leave me alone for most of the night. I must ask for something to make up for it.”

“Anything,” Keelan says. Her smile widens and she taps her cheek with the tip of her finger.

“A kiss.”

He is drowning again even as fire burns under his skin. “Maura.”

“Just one kiss.” The tightness in her jaw is returning, sadness creeping in. “Just this once.”

He steps closer, feeling her breath against his collarbone. “Of course, princess.”

He leans down to brush his lips across her cheek. At the last moment, she turns her head, catching his mouth in a soft kiss that would bring him to his knees if he wasn't frozen in place. She pulls back after a moment, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Until the morning, Sir Keelan.” He just stands there, dumbstruck, staring down at her. She bites her lip, smiling again, and stands on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I will see you tomorrow,” she says, a deadly promise.

He stands out there for over an hour after she goes inside before he can make his body work again. The walk back to the barracks is freezing cold.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[cynicalmusings]

can’t wait to get down this wormhole for that eventual chiori fic!

[butcherb1rd]

highschool me had some based ocs. two of them were child soldiers in a medieval fantasy setting. one died to protect the other, and the survivor became obsessed with finding some way to bring the other back. anyway he teams up with a rogue god to save the world and also become the first necromancer. he brings the other kid back to life, is immediately shunned and then hunted by society, and the two spend the rest of their lives living together and exploring dangerous magic.

their names were stupid as hell and so were their designs, but you gotta admit the plot kinda slaps

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[thankskenpenders]

The Lara-Su Chronicles: Beginnings review

The day has finally come. Many, understandably, thought we'd never get here. Maybe we shouldn't have gotten here. We've been through so much. Lawsuits, reboots, redesigns, unreleased NFTs, empty legal threats over the fact that movie Knuckles has a dad, an attempt to license out Scourge the Hedgehog to fans that immediately got canceled (in both meanings of the term), and many, MANY idiotic Twitter controversies. But now, here we are.

Thirteen years after first announcing it in the middle of his legal battles with Archie and Sega that changed the American Sonic comics forever, former writer Ken Penders has released the first part of his new series: The Lara-Su Chronicles.

Yes. I had to buy the book. I had to take one for the team. Look at the fucking URL of this blog, a blog I've been using to talk about the American Sonic comics for nearly a decade while the specter of this book loomed in the distance. The one time I've actually been paid to write an article about anything in any professional capacity, it was an article about the Penders lawsuits. I'm cited on his Wikipedia page. There was no way I was going to skip reviewing this, and there was no guarantee that scans would ever turn up online given the incredibly small audience for this trash. (Only 166 people preordered this, and even that number feels way higher than it should be.) No, I had to preorder it to ensure I could get a copy and cover it for the blog... even if that meant my name would be forever immortalized in the list of "supporters" in the back of the book. These are the sacrifices I must make as a woman who stumbled ass backwards into being an amateur Archie Sonic historian.

So, what exactly is in this book? How much of it is new? How bad is it? How did we even get here in the first place? How can this exist without Sega pursuing legal action? What happens next? And, most importantly... why are there multiple depictions of an Archie Sonic character breastfeeding in this book?

I'm here to answer those questions as best I can, and in agonizing detail.

First, for those just tuning in to this decades-long saga or those who maybe don't know the full story, here's a refresher on the background info.

"What the hell is this?"

The Lara-Su Chronicles is Ken Penders' long-dreaded long-awaited continuation of his 1994-2006 run on Archie Sonic, ignoring everything written after he left by other writers like Ian Flynn. In particular, it picks up from the cliffhanger ending of the 2003-2004 arc "Mobius: 25 Years Later," which was set in what Ken considers the definitive canonical future of the series. It stars Knuckles' daughter from that future era, Lara-Su, among other new and returning characters. The project was first announced near the start of Ken's legal battle with Archie in 2011, and he's been posting WIP previews online for about a decade. Now, after all this time, a Lara-Su Chronicles book finally exists.

We'll get to the actual contents of that book in a bit.

"He can do that without getting in trouble with Sega?"

Believe it or not, yes, he can.

Thanks to the outcome of Archie Comics' woefully mismanaged lawsuits against Ken (yes, they sued him after he started filing for copyrights, not the other way around), he now has full legal ownership of every story he wrote for Archie Sonic and every character he created for the series. This was explicitly granted to him in the terms of the settlement between him and Archie (acting on behalf of Sega). He can even reprint his old Sonic material as-is to his heart's content. The main catch is just that he can't write new stories featuring Sega characters or trademarks, and his new stories also have to be distinct from Sonic at a glance to avoid confusing readers. As such, reprints can't use Sonic iconography on the cover, a few Sega characters (mainly Knuckles) have been renamed and slightly redesigned in the new stories, and the art style has been changed to less closely resemble Sonic. But otherwise, he can do whatever he wants with his own characters.

All of this is because Archie lost the original copy of Ken's work-for-hire contract that signed over the rights to his work. Without that (or any alternative that was considered permissible in court), his comics and characters are the property of their creator by default. Yes, those old comics are full of Sega stuff, but Sega doesn't automatically own the copyright for every drawing of Sonic in existence. And Sega put their stamp of approval all over those comics and let them get sold at retail for decades, even though (in the eyes of the court) there was no legal paperwork granting them ownership of any of it. It's almost like they were unwittingly distributing a fan comic for years and declaring it a fair use of their property, and now there's no takesies backsies. It's a strange and unique copyright situation. Again, they worked all this out in the settlement. And, yes, fans have long speculated that Ken stole and destroyed his own contract to regain the rights to his work, but frankly Archie was so incompetent throughout the lawsuit (it went so bad that they had to fire and replace their lawyers midway through) that I completely buy the idea of them just losing important legal documents.

Also, in case it needs to be spelled out: while Ken's a weirdo, it's ultimately a good thing for creatives everywhere that Archie lost their lawsuit against Ken. We do not want to live in a world where corporations can claim ownership of peoples' work without the contracts to back it up. That would be an incredibly dangerous legal precedent to set. And more comic creators, and artists in general, should own their own work! Corporations are not your friend! They'll delete your work for a tax write-off in a heartbeat! It's just bewildering that this guy, of all people, was the creator who ended up successfully getting his shit back, and that this is what he's doing with it.

"What about his old collaborators? Are they involved? Is he paying them?"

Ken is mostly doing The Lara-Su Chronicles solo, though he has, in fact, talked about compensating the artists involved in any material he's reprinting. The ones who give enough of a shit to get paid for a small scale reprint of something they did 20 years ago, anyway.

On the subject of his collaborators, it's also worth pointing out that Ken's wasn't the only contract that was lost. Most of the early Archie Sonic writers from before Ian Flynn's time seem to be in the same boat as Ken, with the ownership of their stories and characters defaulting back to them. Again, Archie fucked up big time. But like I said, most of them don't really seem to give a shit. For most of them, Sonic was just a random temporary gig they took to pay the bills while Marvel was busy going bankrupt in the '90s, not the thing that defined their entire careers.

The only other Archie Sonic contributor who's tried to do anything on the level of what Ken is doing was writer and editor Scott Fulop. In 2016 he attempted to sue Archie for the unauthorized use of what are now retroactively considered his copyrighted characters and stories, and he even announced a standalone comic about his most famous Sonic character, the recurring villain Mammoth Mogul (sort of a pastiche of DC's Vandal Savage and Marvel's Kingpin, with wizard powers added for spice). However, Fulop lost his lawsuit because he didn't put together a particularly compelling case. Since then he seems to have wiped all traces of his ill-advised Mammoth Mogul comic and his company, Narrative Ark Entertainment, from the internet. For now, this leaves The Lara-Su Chronicles the only project of its kind.

"What about those other Archie Sonic reprints he just announced?"

At the time of writing, Ken is once again claiming that he's trying to get the band back together to reprint all of Archie Sonic, now under the bad new banner "Floating Island Productions: MOBIAN LINE" that I can't imagine he consulted literally anyone else on.

So, like, look. As we've established, Ken can reprint his own stories. And if he can work something out with the other contributors whose contracts were lost, he can print their work, too. But there is no fucking way he's getting his hands on Ian Flynn's run, which Sega undoubtedly holds the copyright for. Even if they don't, Ian needs to maintain a good working relationship with both Sega and IDW if he's to keep his job, so he'd never go for this. Not to mention that Ian and Ken just... don't get along! Ken's whole plan here seems to be predicated on IDW going out of business (a thing he REALLY wants to happen) and freeing up the Sonic comic license, after which he knocks on Sega's door and goes "hey I've still got dirt on you guys," blackmailing them into giving him the Sonic license back so that he can reprint the later comics. Every step of this plan is ludicrous. It's never gonna happen.

He's been saying he wants to reprint the whole series for a few years now, though. This isn't really anything new. And despite his lofty plans that set Sonic Twitter ablaze, he quickly backpedaled. The only specific things in the works right now are a "two-volume omnibus" of all of his Knuckles stories and a collection of artist Scott Shaw's work on the very early Archie Sonic issues, since they're on good terms with each other. I have no idea how Ken plans on packaging these when he can't put any Sega characters or the Freedom Fighters on the covers, but these projects are small enough in scale that there's a decent chance they'll see the light of day. Scott Shaw only did like five issues. But anything beyond that? I'll believe it when I see it.

Or, y'know, this could've all just been a publicity stunt for his new book. I wouldn't put it past him. Let's just focus on the book that actually exists.

"So he finally did it? He made a whole Lara-Su book? It's out? He finished it??"

Yes and no.

The book that's out now is The Lara-Su Chronicles: Beginnings, a prologue for the series of seven graphic novels Ken somehow plans on making, even though it's taken him 13 years to put out literally anything new. I don't know whether or not this counts as book one of seven, because it only features 30 pages of new comics. 30.5 if I'm being generous.

Most of the book is actually just a reprint of his infamous Archie Sonic storyline "Mobius: 25 Years Later", which ran from issue #131 to #144 in 2003-2004. (Again, yes, he can reprint this, he just can't put Sonic on the cover.) Why's it infamous? Well, Ken had been building anticipation for this future era of the series for basically his entire run. We kept seeing King Sonic and Queen Sally from the future. Knuckles' entire backstory hinges on his dad having a vision of this future. Several years before Silver the Hedgehog was created, it was Lara-Su who was Sonic's equivalent to Future Trunks, the cool-looking child of one of the main characters who traveled back in time to try and prevent a dark future. Believe it or not, yes, there was hype for Lara-Su. And then we finally got M25YL, and none of that cool stuff happened. Instead it really ended up being about how unbearably boring the middle aged Sonic, Knuckles, Sally, and co. are in this peaceful future where Robotnik is dead and they're all married with kids, forced into traditional nuclear family gender roles. Lara-Su is present, but she mostly just does generic teen girl stuff and complains about how Knuckles won't let her do anything even though she REALLY wants to be the new Guardian of Angel Island, like, super bad! Come on, dad!!!

In its original printing, this meandering arc ended on an abrupt time travel cliffhanger that Ken was never able to follow up on before he left Archie in 2006. This new printing slightly changes that ending, using the unresolved timey-wimey shenanigans as a convenient excuse to alter the entire timeline. This creates the slightly different world of The Lara-Su Chronicles, where the few relevant Sega-owned characters have been replaced and everyone is ten times uglier.

After this, we finally get two short new stories picking up where M25YL left off: "The Storm," starring Acorn Kingdom super-spy and known creep Geoffrey St. John, and an early release of the first chapter of The Lara-Su Chronicles: Shattered Tomorrows, the first full TLSC graphic novel.

And now that we're all on the same page about what we're looking at, let's actually talk about the book!

The cover

Let's start by beating a dead horse. The cover art: it's still bad! But why is it bad?

The cover is, of course, based on Patrick Spaziante's cover from Archie Sonic #131, the start of the "Mobius: 25 Years Later" arc. (Ken did the layout for that cover, though, so in the eyes of the law he's the original creator who owns that cover.) That cover was, itself, a tribute to the iconic cover of Giant-Size X-Men #1 by Gil Kane and Dave Cockrum, the issue that introduced the version of the team with Wolverine, Storm, Nightcrawler, etc.

Ken seems to have forgotten that the point of both these covers was to hype up the arrival of a new cast of characters. The new guys are supposed to make a dramatic entrance front and center. That's the focal point. Meanwhile, the cover for Beginnings has the old timeline versions of the cast from Archie Sonic dramatically bursting out of a shattered crystal ball, while their new counterparts look on in mild bemusement - if they're even bothering to look at all, since most of the characters here are just copied and pasted from their profile pages. That's just not how you do this particular homage! The point is supposed to be "out with the old, in with the new." And why are they using a crystal ball to view the past? Hell, why are they even using a crystal ball at all? The original arc was presented as a magical vision of the future courtesy of Tails' uncle Merlin (don't ask), but the new story leans all the way into being futuristic sci-fi.

Of course, there is no real artistic intent at play here. The old versions of the characters are placed front and center in the crystal ball simply because Ken traced over Spaziante's original art of Lara-Su and Julie-Su (the only two characters on the Sonic cover he owns) and threw out the rest, ruining the composition in the process. Look at the awkward empty space where Sonic, Sally, and Rotor once were, and the new drawing of The Character Formerly Known As Knuckles who's no longer properly centered between his wife and daughter. Even if Ken can claim ownership of the cover because he did the original layout, this all just feels scummy and lame.

And, yeah, if it needs to be said, the new characters and Ken's new rendering style look like absolute fucking dogshit. Putting new Lara-Su directly next to old Lara-Su does her no favors. The shattered glass effect looks absolutely atrocious. I could go on, but we'll have plenty of time to talk about the art style when we see how bad the stories inside look.

Changes to "Mobius: 25 Years Later"

Overall, 99% of M25YL is presented identically to its original printing. Sonic, Sally, Knuckles, et al. are still present with no changes to their names and no tweaks to the art. Even the original cover for issue #131 is included only a few pages into this book with its Archie, Sonic, and Sega logos still intact and everything. Again, because of the weird copyright situation described above, these preexisting comics can be released without any changes.

There is exactly one bizarre change to the art, though, where a hand drawn shot of Angel Island is replaced with an unfitting photo background and the ugly Floating Island photobash that Ken has been using as his personal logo for decades. I think he only did this as part of a test for his motion comic app that nobody asked for. I don't know why this had to make it into the print version. It's like the book is firing a warning shot for what's to come if you keep reading.

The new content begins on the final page of M25YL. In the original wet fart of a cliffhanger ending, Sonic and co. accidentally alter the timeline with an old time machine of Robotnik's and Lara-Su begins to fade away. Then, after everything goes white, we just cut to the present day heroes going "gee, you ever think about the future?" In this new printing, that last bit has been cut, and the rest of the page has been awkwardly shrunk down so that Ken can fit in a new panel. We now see the hands of an off-screen villain, seemingly named "Override," proclaiming that "the Praetorian" (Knuckles) has messed up the timeline again and that they'll finally get their revenge.

Who is this Override? I have no fucking clue. The new stories in this book make no mention of them. You have to buy the next book to find out.

My confusion over the identity of this villain overlaps with another big problem: name changes. So many names and nouns have been arbitrarily changed in The Lara-Su Chronicles, even ones Ken didn't have to change for copyright reasons, and I only know what half of them are replacing because Ken's been tweeting about this shit for years.

The echidnas are now a totally original alien race called "the Echyd'nya." Even in flashbacks to events from M25YL attempting to mimic the old art style, if it's on a new comic page, they're gonna call themselves "Echyd'nya." Evil echidna faction the Dark Legion is now the "Cyberdark Dominion," hailing from the "Cyberdark Colony." The Brotherhood of Guardians is still the Brotherhood of Guardians, but now the main guardian is called "The Praetorian." Angel Island is still called "The Floating Island," like it was in the older Archie comics, but it's ALSO sometimes called "Avion"? When I read this I wasn't sure if he had randomly renamed Albion, the other echidna city from the Archie comics. But no. Now we have an Albion AND an Avion. Sally is mentioned simply as "Princess Acorn," while Sonic is referenced once as an unnamed "blue-spined Erinaceinae," using the scientific name for hedgehog to make it sound more sci-fi. In an incredibly ballsy move, Ken even mentions Robotnik as "the Insurrectionist Kintobor," retaining his original surname from the Archie comics that's just "Robotnik" backwards. Guess Sega never trademarked that one.

Aside from every name change being a downgrade, this leads to confusion when you're not sure if something is supposed to be new, or if it's just an Archie thing you're supposed to recognize despite having a new name and design. Is "Override" someone I'm supposed to know already? Am I just supposed to have read a fucking tweet from Ken where he said he changed the name of some existing villain to "Override"? The answer is no, but I had to term search his Twitter just to verify this.

Moving on!

New story #1: "The Storm"

If you've been following the WIPs, this is that story about Geoffrey St. John that Ken's been posting previews of for almost a decade. The title page copyright dates it to 2015, and that absurdly long gestation is probably why the art is so inconsistent here. Even the style of speech bubbles and the font change between pages two and three.

This is a problem when there's supposed to be a deliberate and noticeable change in art style here signaling the moment where the time travel stuff alters the timeline, replacing the Archie Sonic world with the Lara-Su Chronicles world. If you don't already know that's what's going on, the idea isn't conveyed clearly at all. It just goes from one hideous art style to a slightly different one with no explanation.

The main problem here is that Ken has hitched his wagon to a franchise about anthropomorphic animals when he can't draw furries to save his life. (Though a bit later in the book we'll also begin to wonder if he can even still draw humans.) He's shifted away from the cartooniness of the original designs and given them more human proportions and facial features, but this just ends up making them look incredibly uncanny and lumpy and gross. With some designs he's trying to lean into more of a Star Trek alien vibe, but then he still insists upon retaining the giant Sonic eyes on most characters even though he has no idea how to make them emote.

The rendering of these godawful designs doesn't do them any favors, either. Ken's going for more of a painterly look now, but it almost seems as though he's shading everything with Photoshop's burn and dodge tools that are designed to darken and lighten select areas of a photo. The result is a muddy, smudgy look that makes it feel like the color layer has been smeared in vaseline. And it only looks worse after coming off of 14 chapters of M25YL that have way more palatable art.

The backgrounds, too, are a complete mess, a jumble of low res jpeg photo elements (sometimes with extremely noticeable pixelation), stock textures, and smooth digital gradients. There's no real sense of place here, and it gives everything a surreal, dreamlike quality when you can't really tell where anything is supposed to take place. This first story is seemingly set in a high-tech stronghold below Castle Acorn called "the Bunker," but it could just as easily be confused for the bridge of a spaceship. This whole story features characters speaking to each other over floating video displays and hologram projectors from three different locations, but without a hologram effect and without a clear sense of where the characters are it often feels like they're just in the same room as each other. Characters will be in one location on one photo background, and then the camera angle changes and they're in a completely different place, because Ken just uses mismatched photos off of the internet. It's been like 25 years since he first tried using photo backgrounds in the Archie comics and he hasn't gotten any better at it.

When I had my boyfriend read the book to see if it made literally any sense to him (it didn't), Anthony said this: "This is the kind of shit I'd see linked on a Second Life world that hasn't been touched since 2004." I think he really hit the nail on the head. Now, there's actually a contrarian part of me that thinks that might theoretically almost be kind of cool, in sort of a messy counterculture way. I love weird indie shit. I was a Homestuck reader! But this isn't a scrappy mixed media zine, or experimental outsider art from someone just messing around with Photoshop, or a loving throwback to weird old internet art, or even something intentionally bizarre and offputting like Xavier: Renegade Angel or a PilotRedSun video or whatever where the fact that it's weird and ugly is part of the humor. This is supposed to be a sincere sci-fi epic drawing on Star Trek and Jack Kirby comics, made by a guy who's been drawing comics professionally since the '80s. This is supposed to look good. This is supposed to compete with mainstream comics that are on sale right now. He thinks any day now IDW's gonna go out of business and Sega will come crawling back to him so that he can stamp the Sonic logo on shit like this. It just doesn't work.

But, okay. It's ugly. We knew it would be ugly. But that ugliness would be much easier to accept if it was in service of an otherwise genuinely good story. So what about the writing? After all this time, how does Ken choose to kick off this new saga? Well, credit where credit's due. "The Storm" feels like a proper continuation of Ken's writing style from M25YL.

Because it's eleven pages of characters standing around and talking while nothing fucking happens.

Here's the synopsis: A dog woman named Brownie, an ensign in the Royal Secret Service fresh out of training and the only character who's almost cute, walks up to Geoffrey to deliver a report. He's immediately suspicious of her, asking who let her in and if she's a spy for Elias (Sally's brother, if you're new here) or Alicia (Sally's mom). The art style suddenly shifts when the timeline is altered, but the scene continues uninterrupted. Geoffrey points a gun at Brownie when she won't say whose spy she is. Geoffrey is distracted by a call and proceeds to have a conversation via a mix of holograms and video screens with Remington (head of Echidnaopolis security), Spectre (Knuckles' great great great great great grandpa, the one with the helmet who always looks evil), and a new scientist character named Dr. Zephyr/Zephur. (The spelling of this character's name changes multiple times throughout the 11-page story, because I guess nine years wasn't enough time to spellcheck this shit.) They say a bunch of made up technobabble nonsense about how it looks like the timeline was just altered and Knuckles and co. seem to be involved. It's complete drivel that I'm not even going to try to make sense of. Everyone decides to investigate further, and the conversation ends. Brownie tells Geoffrey she's his spy, then walks out and implies she's actually Alicia's spy in her inner monologue.

To be continued!!!

Yes, that's it. It's really just a bunch of technobabble where some characters talk about how it seems like the timeline has been fucked with. That's it. The whole time Geoffrey doesn't even get up out of his damn chair, which he's of course sitting in backwards to show how cool he is. It's just 11 pages of Geoffrey sitting in a chair and talking to people and looking uglier than he's ever looked. Nothing happens. Nine years for this.

I'm also struck by how meaningless all of this is to anyone who hasn't read Archie Sonic. The added context from M25YL may help a little, but "The Storm" focuses on characters who weren't in that arc, and the story does very little to introduce who any of them are. Brownie could've been super useful as an inexperienced point of view character who's only meeting the others for the first time here, but instead she's really just a passive observer who's here as part of some kind of 4D chess game between Geoffrey and Alicia, an off-screen character whose motivations in this era of the story are completely unknown to even returning readers. Who are the good guys and bad guys here? What are the conflicts and the stakes of the story moving forward? What do these characters want? Basic questions like this aren't really answered. I can't imagine a new reader being able to make heads or tails of this. Hell, I can't really imagine a returning reader who hasn't been following the last decade's worth of Ken's tweets about this story making heads or tails of it, either.

...Maybe more will happen in the next story?

New story #2: Shattered Tomorrows preview chapter

After another message from Ken, the story of The Lara-Su Chronicles proper begins with the redesigned Lara-Su walking along a jpeg photograph beach at sunset and crying while thinking about how Knuckles - sorry, his name is K'Nox now - is dead.

Yep! Straight into the dad stuff!

Look, I'm the last person to complain about writers getting super personal and drawing from their own baggage in their writing, but Ken's just no fucking good at it. There's no nuance, nothing interesting to say. He just keeps writing mediocre-to-horrible dads whose misdeeds are always justified by their "good intentions," and then sometimes they die and their kids are like "we may have fought but actually you were the bestest dad ever and I'll miss you forever, I'll never be able to fill your shoes!"

This is the only part of the new material here that feels like it has any heart behind it, because I know how much his complex relationship with his late deadbeat father means to Ken (there's an author's note in this outright saying as much). But the guy died 42 years ago, and it doesn't feel like Ken has had any new thoughts about this part of his life in those four decades. He's just not an introspective or self-aware enough artist to actually mine his personal baggage for anything beyond "father knows best."

Anyway, so then it jumps forward in time(?) and now we're following this human guy who looks like this.

Previously, Ken got a lot of shit for literally just using the likeness of Anthony Mackie for this guy, based on his IMDB profile photo. Ken has thus redesigned the character... and by that I mean I think he looks more like Ernie Hudson now? Ken's clearly just working off of photo references (if not straight up tracing), given his face is the most detailed and realistic-looking thing on any page where he's present.

But you may be wondering: who is this, and why is he here? Well, for one, he's here to run around in front of some low res space photos while making trite references to things like Planet of the Apes and Star Trek. Haha, he makes a joke about red shirts! Original!! But beyond that, Commander Mykhal Taelor (yes, that's really how he chose to spell it) is a human... from Earth! Archie Sonic readers are probably confused, because in those comics Mobius is Earth in the distant post-apocalyptic future. Well, despite being a Planet of the Apes fan, Ken always hated that particular worldbuilding decision from Karl Bollers, always preferring to think of Mobius as a separate alien planet. And now he gets to make that canon in his own stories and throw out Karl's ideas. So Mobius is basically just, like, a Star Trek planet now, with its own alien creatures that sometimes just so happen to look like anthropomorphic Earth animals.

Also, at one point Taelor wonders if the inhabitants of the dead Mobius might have been human, and the alien ally he's talking to over the radio says it's unlikely. "I don't understand why your kind has a problem understanding you're a minority within a minority." Perhaps poor wording for a line said to the only Black character in the story.

Anyway, Commander Taelor here seems to have discovered the uninhabited husk of Mobius after the vague time-space cataclysm everyone was worried about in M25YL has come to pass, and he finds an audio log from Lara-Su that I presume will explain what happened. I guess those are the titular Lara-Su Chronicles. In theory this flash forward establishes some sense of pressing danger, but when the threat to the planet is so unclear and technobabble-y it just kind of lands with a thud.

It doesn't take long before we get back to Lara-Su being sad about her dad. A good little chunk of the chapter is spent with this new timeline's Lara-Su recalling moments in her life, including echoes of the original Lara-Su's memories from M25YL, which feels redundant coming hot off the heels of a straight reprint of that entire arc. And boy, for anyone who read the later Archie Sonic comics, the protagonist having vague memories of the old version of the series from before a lawsuit-related timeline reboot sure does sound familiar, huh?

The art inconsistency somehow becomes even worse in this story, with Ken flip-flopping on whether or not he wants to use outlines, with the no-outline art managing to look even worse by relying entirely on Ken's awful rendering. By this point in the book, readers are also likely to start noticing how often Ken reuses art from previous panels. This is a shortcut that tons of comic artists use, of course. Invincible famously did a joke about this. It's often understandable. But, again... it sure does stand out in a book that took 13 years to make with only 30 pages of new art. Amusingly, Ken even manages to combine his inconsistency and recycling problems by reusing the same art with and without outlines. And, of course, any time Ken tries to draw the Archie era designs it's just... the worst.

And, yes, it's in this dreamlike montage sequence of Lara-Su's life that we get...

The uncomfortable family nudity scene, followed by the dual timeline Julie-Su breastfeeding scene.

Yeah, you might have heard about this one already. If this incredibly eerie presentation of Lara-Su's hazy memories of the two different timelines make it hard to tell what's going on, don't worry. There's another, clearer version later in the book as part of Julie-Su's character profile, because I guess Ken was just so proud of it.

(I censored these myself because I'm not playing Russian roulette with Tumblr's inconsistent nudity rules and risking getting banned lmao)

Like, okay. Is a mother breastfeeding her child really that shocking of a thing to see in a story? No, not at all. But, like... when it's two characters who you previously created for an officially licensed Sonic the Hedgehog comic for 7-year-olds... and some of those officially licensed Sonic the Hedgehog comics for 7-year-olds are reprinted in the same book... and when it's drawn like this... yeah, it's kind of a shocker.

It just looks so unnatural. Julie-Su is posed very deliberately so that you'll see both of her breasts, and in the new timeline version she's barely even holding Lara-Su so you can really get a good look at her supermodel body, showing zero physical signs that she just gave birth. Most people will immediately jump to this being Ken putting his fetishes in his work (a type of criticism that I'm incredibly tired of - it's 2024, all the cool artists are blatantly putting their fetishes in their work now). And my immediate response is that, no, this is probably just Ken trying to come off as really mature on a surface level, a thing he's been obsessed with since the Archie days. Free from the shackles of writing a licensed children's comic, of course he's going to jump immediately into depicting some nonsexual, artistic nudity to try and prove he's A Real Mature Artist For Grown-Ups who just thinks the human body is beautiful and breastfeeding shouldn't be a taboo etc. etc.

But then, like. You look at some of the other character designs. Like Espio's daughter Salma, who's now this horrifying alien lizard person who's always nude, and her scale pattern puts scales exactly where her nipples should be. Or you look at his comments about the Echyd'nya age of consent. Or you look at how he keeps drawing Lara-Su in this. Like, does the shuttle really need this, like... reverse chaise lounge thing in the cockpit? So that we can keep getting these shots of the 16-year-old Lara-Su lying on her stomach and posing with one of her legs kicked up, her naked ass in plain view?

The vibe isn't great, is what I'm saying!

I'm not going to try to ascribe authorial intent here. I don't know. I'm not a psychic. Given his very blatant reliance on photo references elsewhere in the book, it's entirely possible he just referenced some figure drawing photos that were maybe just a little too sexy. And also, he's an American comic book artist, and a boomer one at that. Those guys tend to draw women a certain way, even when it's not supposed to be sexual. I don't fucking know. It just sucks. I'm not gonna make some hyperbolic statement about how this makes him a literal pedophile who should be in jail, but it is deeply offputting and objectifying.

But if you already knew about the nursing scenes and were hoping there was some other really shocking stuff in there for me to talk about in this review, sorry to disappoint, but nope. That's the only shockingly weird new thing in here. Once again, not a lot happens in this story, and what does happen is pretty boring.

Once we get past the recap stuff and the human guy, the plot developments boil down to this: The timeline was altered at the end of M25YL... but not as much as you might think. In the new timeline, Knuckles ("K'Nox"), Cobar (now looking significantly younger), and Rotor (now a rhino just called "The Emissary") still traveled via shuttle to go find a time machine in the Badlands and fix the time-space continuum, like in the climax of the original arc. This time, though, Sonic wasn't there, and Lara-Su came along without having to stow away. Lara-Su watches the ship while the grown ups go deal with the time machine, and then after a couple panels Not Rotor comes back with Cobar and is like "Hey, Cobar got hurt, we gotta leave. Dunno what happened to your dad." And then they just, like. Presume that Knuckles must have died. Even though we have no idea what happened to him. And then they just fly away. And then Lara-Su is sad that her dad died.

And that's pretty much it!

This is supposed to be a really emotional sequence - it's literally the scene where Lara-Su learns that Knuckles is dead - but instead it comes off as unintentionally funny because of how poorly it's portrayed. Not showing Knuckles' actual disappearance is a huge misstep, for one, making his uncertain fate more confusing and anticlimactic than dramatic. But also, Ken keeps just using the same two drawings of Rotor for two pages, so he doesn't really seem to be emoting at all, and he's in this spacey hazmat suit that honestly just makes him look like fucking Moltar from Space Ghost. So the whole time I'm just reading his dialogue in Moltar's deadpan voice as he's like "I dunno. We did what we could. Anyway, let's leave."

After this, we get a two-page spread previewing the rest of the story from Shattered Tomorrows. It's basically like a trailer in comic form. It has one of the most mystifying layouts I've ever seen in a comic book. I have no idea what order I'm supposed to read this in.

Yeah, I kinda have a feeling this is the full extent of what Ken has drawn for the rest of that book. I'd love to be wrong, but I fear that I'm right.

Bonus material: Data files

These are mostly very dull, recapping a lot of events shared between Ken's Archie run and the new Lara-Su Chronicles timeline. It seems like almost his entire run is still considered canon to the backstory of the new timeline, just with some names changed, and things only really diverge at the climax of M25YL. But I'll share the interesting stuff here.

Lara-Su

The main thing you'll notice in Lara-Su's profile is the massive, unreadable wall of text where Ken felt the need to list the entire Knuckles family tree, split across both pages.

This is literally so long that Lara-Su's personal history has to awkwardly cut off mid-sentence and be continued on the final page of the book, after the rest of the data files.

Also, please note that this list gives Julie-Su's mom's full name as Mari-Su of the House of Atrades. Incredible on all levels.

There's also a reference to the dark timeline Lara-Su was originally supposed to come from. You know, the one where Julie-Su is the leader of a rebel movement fighting against a Knuckles who had gone mad with power? The timeline that would have been way more interesting than the one in M25YL? Here it seems to have been written off as the result of another "timeline disruption." Lara-Su allegedly has vague memories of this timeline, in the same way that she has vague memories of the M25YL timeline.

Geoffrey

Geoffrey's bio mostly recaps events from the Archie comics, which means the Sonic/Sally/Geoffrey love triangle has to be alluded to. His rivalry with Sonic is described like this:

"He would later resurface when Kintobor was transporting his latest hi-tech weapon, the Dynamac-3000. It was during that mission he discovered a rival for the Princess' affections. Whereas the Princess would be one of a line of conquests where St. John was concerned, the blue-spined Erinaceinae who protested doth a bit too much regarding his affections for the Princess for St. John's taste would prove to be a source of great sport and amusement."

Yes. It's gross. Saying that Geoffrey saw Sally as "one of a line of conquests" is gross. Ken writing this and then still treating Geoffrey as the coolest badass ever is gross. The "Princess Acorn" is also first on the list of Geoffrey's "female relationships" elsewhere in his bio, though I suppose how much of a "relationship" they had is left vague. Honestly, at this point the fact that Ken didn't explicitly confirm that Geoffrey took the underage Sally's virginity in the book comes off as a display of restraint. The bar couldn't be any lower, I know.

Remington

His bio is, frankly, shockingly long for such a minor character, though I guess he does get a large portion of the word salad dialogue in "The Storm." There's a lot of stuff here about how the identities of his biological parents are shrouded in mystery, a plot point that fans have long speculated Ken just straight up forgot about in his time at Archie. (Ian confirmed that Kragok from the Dark Legion was Remington's dad, though, so this isn't really much of a mystery.)

Lien-Da

She gets a bio even though she's not present in the two new stories, just so we get to look at her awful new design and compare it to how Steven Butler drew her earlier in the book:

Commander Taelor

We get to see two drawings of him with the same exact Ernie Hudson face side by side! That's fun.

Julie-Su

She gets a list of "known friends," but the only character listed is Knuckles' mom. Poor Julie-Su.

Also, Ken feels the need to reiterate that Knuckles and Julie-Su are still distant cousins. He made a whole new timeline where he can change whatever details he wants, but THAT had to remain canon. Thanks, Ken.

And then after the data files we get the special thanks page, listing everyone who preordered the book and/or bought TLSC merch from Ken.

With my name on the list. Because I had to buy a copy to cover it for the blog.

My name is on the very next page right after the breastfeeding panel in Julie-Su's data file.

Yep. He got me.

Is it at least a well put together book? Like, in terms of manufacturing quality?

Its physical quality is... fine. It's a nice, sturdy hardcover. The print quality seems fine, though mine does have a bit of smudging from some sort of printing error on one page. The pages don't seem like they'll fall out on me. The image quality is crisp. The colors are vibrant. This is a low bar, but this is one of the few places where I'm able to give this book anything resembling praise.

The formatting and graphic design work, on the other hand...

(I didn't crumple those page corners, it came like that.)

For one, the placement and sizes of the M25YL pages is inconsistent, largely due to the fact that the book doesn't actually match the proportions of a comic. A lot of pages aren't properly centered vertically. Some pages go all the way up to the top edge of the paper, while others leave a visible gap of about half a centimeter. Every page has a 1cm gap to its left and right, which is sometimes filled in with a solid color or gradient that doesn't quite match the page it's surrounding. I have to assume Ken didn't have any sort of source files or original artwork to work off of, as those ideally would've had more generous bleed to account for slight shifts in printing. It kind of seems like he just got the highest resolution versions he could find of the digital releases online and printed those. The colors are a dead ringer for the digital versions, which have always looked slightly more saturated and pastel than they did in print.

I can't say this bodes well for his further plans for Archie Sonic reprints - sorry, Mobian Line reprints. If they ever come out, please, for the love of god, do not buy those. I don't care how much you love Archie Sonic, they aren't going to be good reprints. For comparison, IDW's similarly priced hardcover Sonic collections have none of these formatting problems, because they're made by people who know what they're doing with access to the actual source files.

The book also has its fair share of text-focused pages, split between the data files and messages directly from Ken about the history of his career and this project, and these are formatted in the most amateurish way possible. Just massive walls of Arial text over either plain white backgrounds, simple gradients, or faded photos. I've seen school yearbooks with better graphic design. Even ignoring my subjective feelings about the art and stories within, this book does not feel like it's worth $36 USD.

It's frankly shocking how shabby he let this thing look considering it's supposed to be his baby. And doesn't that really sum it all up?

Closing thoughts

Obviously, I did not expect this to be any good. But I'm still left kind of dumbfounded by it.

I think what really strikes me about it is that Ken had a blank check to do whatever he wanted here. He got an opportunity many writers would kill for when he gained complete ownership of his most famous work. He's free from the limitations of a monthly licensed comic book for children, free to make whatever creative decisions he wants without editors or other writers or Sega to worry about, free to completely reinvent the series to his heart's content and finally tell the story of his dreams. And with that opportunity and 13 years of his time, he made... this. A direct continuation of "Mobius: 25 Years Later" that barely changes anything about the characters or world beyond their awful new designs, even though much of the word count is spent rambling about how the timeline has changed. A story that makes zero concessions for new readers, or even returning readers who don't already have the last decade's worth of Ken's tweets explaining his creative decisions burned into their memory. 30 pages where nothing really happens and the story barely moves forward an inch despite the decades-long wait - but maybe something will happen if you buy the next book!

Who is this for? Maybe this really is a project for no one but Ken. Maybe he just really, really wants to finish the story he started, a story that's personal to him due to the family history it evokes, and the number of people who enjoy it or buy it beyond that is irrelevant. I think that many of the best artists are incredibly self-indulgent ones working with that exact mindset, artists whose enthusiasm for their own work jumps off the page or screen. So, if that's the case, then why the fuck isn't he telling the damn story? What's stopping him? Why is he still spinning his wheels? Where is that passion for his own work? Because it sure as hell isn't there on the page. There's a huge part of me that really wishes I could say "Man, what a weirdo, but you do you, Ken. You tell your weird little story." But there's barely any story here. It's like he loves styling himself as a storyteller, but he's terrified of finally having to actually tell a story after all this time. He's still stuck in the exact same mode of writing he was in almost 30 years ago when he was doing 6-page backup stories about Knuckles, just killing time and stringing readers along until he's eventually able to truly realize his vision. If not now, then when, Ken?

Even the back cover blurb is mostly just a dry recap of the history of this thing. It was a Sonic comic, the original arc was published in these issues, it went unfinished, Ken left Archie, the lawsuits happened, now he's continuing the story. There's nothing about why anyone should give a shit about this as its own story, even though Ken has spent years trying in vain to convince people TLSC is its own beast that shouldn't be judged as a Sonic story. I think deep down he knows that there's no pitch for this beyond the novelty of it originating from Sonic. And that's why, despite declaring that he'd leave the site, he's still on Twitter riling up Sonic fans. It's the only attention he gets at this point.

Maybe this is too harsh when those 30 pages of new comics are just intended as a preview for the "real" book. But the elephant in the room is that we have no idea if that "real" book will ever actually come out, let alone the entire series of seven graphic novels that will supposedly complete this saga.

Ken is undeniably a complete jackass and all around unpleasant, vindictive person who's rightly become an industry pariah. He's a self-proclaimed paragon of progressive values who'll send Comicsgaters after his successors for the crime of not worshiping the ground he walks on, and then turn around and announce he's going to reprint their work without even consulting them. He's a sore winner who already won his copyright battle on a level most comic writers would never dare to dream of, and yet still won't truly be satisfied until he sees an entire major comic publisher go out of business, putting god knows how many people out of work, because he thinks this would get him back the license to a video game franchise he doesn't even like.

But I still have to pity him.

As an artist, the trajectory of his life is my nightmare. I think all of us fear dying before we can tell all the stories we want to tell. There's simply never enough time to do everything. And here's Ken in his 60s, talking about how he's still planning on making his magnum opus all by himself out of stubbornness and pride, despite demonstrably proving he can't handle the workload, and also talking about how if he dies before the project can be finished he'll have to pass the torch on to his kids and get them to finish it for him. It's so grim. Even just typing that sends a shiver down my spine. It took nine years of his limited time on Earth to finish and release an 11-page comic about Geoffrey St. John sitting backwards in a chair.

This is a purgatory of his own creation. And yet... I'm not sure he's ever been prouder. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

I guess if I want people to take anything away from this review, it's this:

Lesson one: If you're an artist or writer of some kind, or an aspiring creator, don't wait around. No one else is going to tell your story for you. Start writing that novel. Start drawing that webcomic. Start making that game. If Penders can put out this damn book that no one asked for after 13 years of work, then proudly proclaim that he's still going to make six or seven more books and also reprint hundreds of comics he doesn't have all of the rights to, then show up to cons with that foul Lara-Su Chronicles: Shattered Tomorrows banner and sit in front of it beaming with pride, fully aware of his critics but saying "fuck 'em, I know I'm hot shit," then you can do fucking anything. Tell the weird, sincere, cringe story of your dreams. If Ken Penders doesn't have imposter syndrome, then nobody should.

And lesson two: Don't buy Ken's books.