#Ian Loome

[eggsistential-breakdown]

Ian and the twice-divorced gray-eyesed rift Ian from the first chapter of @reblogincarnation-blues's fic!

anyways the closest experience I've had to the the feeling of reading the second chapter is taking my roommate to the ER for four hours for suspected appendicitis only to come back with a UTI diagnosis and an antibiotic prescription. and it breaks your one year streak of roommates getting appendicitis. in a good way.

[floral-hex]

me… sad boy

[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.

[barnbridges]

thinking abt the creature that's all mother and of an abhorrent sort of sex and also, coincidentally, deeply fucked up.

[macrolit]

The 100 Best Books of the 21st Century.

As voted on by 503 novelists, nonfiction writers, poets, critics and other book lovers — with a little help from the staff of The New York Times Book Review.

NYT Article.

*************

Q: How many of the 100 have you read? Q: Which ones did you love/hate? Q: What's missing?

Here's the full list.

100. Tree of Smoke, Denis Johnson 99. How to Be Both, Ali Smith 98. Bel Canto, Ann Patchett 97. Men We Reaped, Jesmyn Ward 96. Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments, Saidiya Hartman 95. Bring Up the Bodies, Hilary Mantel 94. On Beauty, Zadie Smith 93. Station Eleven, Emily St. John Mandel 92. The Days of Abandonment, Elena Ferrante 91. The Human Stain, Philip Roth 90. The Sympathizer, Viet Thanh Nguyen 89. The Return, Hisham Matar 88. The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis 87. Detransition, Baby, Torrey Peters 86. Frederick Douglass, David W. Blight 85. Pastoralia, George Saunders 84. The Emperor of All Maladies, Siddhartha Mukherjee 83. When We Cease to Understand the World, Benjamin Labutat 82. Hurricane Season, Fernanda Melchor 81. Pulphead, John Jeremiah Sullivan 80. The Story of the Lost Child, Elena Ferrante 79. A Manual for Cleaning Women, Lucia Berlin 78. Septology, Jon Fosse 77. An American Marriage, Tayari Jones 76. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, Gabrielle Zevin 75. Exit West, Mohsin Hamid 74. Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout 73. The Passage of Power, Robert Caro 72. Secondhand Time, Svetlana Alexievich 71. The Copenhagen Trilogy, Tove Ditlevsen 70. All Aunt Hagar's Children, Edward P. Jones 69. The New Jim Crow, Michelle Alexander 68. The Friend, Sigrid Nunez 67. Far From the Tree, Andrew Solomon 66. We the Animals, Justin Torres 65. The Plot Against America, Philip Roth 64. The Great Believers, Rebecca Makkai 63. Veronica, Mary Gaitskill 62. 10:04, Ben Lerner 61. Demon Copperhead, Barbara Kingsolver 60. Heavy, Kiese Laymon 59. Middlesex, Jeffrey Eugenides 58. Stay True, Hua Hsu 57. Nickel and Dimed, Barbara Ehrenreich 56. The Flamethrowers, Rachel Kushner 55. The Looming Tower, Lawrence Wright 54. Tenth of December, George Saunders 53. Runaway, Alice Munro 52. Train Dreams, Denis Johnson 51. Life After Life, Kate Atkinson 50. Trust, Hernan Diaz 49. The Vegetarian, Han Kang 48. Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi 47. A Mercy, Toni Morrison 46. The Goldfinch, Donna Tartt 45. The Argonauts, Maggie Nelson 44. The Fifth Season, N.K. Jemisin 43. Postwar, Tony Judt 42. A Brief History of Seven Killings, Marlon James 41. Small Things Like These, Claire Keegan 40. H Is for Hawk, Helen Macdonald 39. A Visit from the Goon Squad, Jennifer Egan 38. The Savage Detectives, Roberto Balano 37. The Years, Annie Ernaux 36. Between the World and Me, Ta-Nehisi Coates 35. Fun Home, Alison Bechdel 34. Citizen, Claudia Rankine 33. Salvage the Bones, Jesmyn Ward 32. The Lines of Beauty, Alan Hollinghurst 31. White Teeth, Zadie Smith 30. Sing, Unburied, Sing, Jesmyn Ward 29. The Last Samurai, Helen DeWitt 28. Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell 27. Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 26. Atonement, Ian McEwan 25. Random Family, Adrian Nicole LeBlanc 24. The Overstory, Richard Powers 23. Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage, Alice Munro 22. Behind the Beautiful Forevers, Katherine Boo 21. Evicted, Matthew Desmond 20. Erasure, Percival Everett 19. Say Nothing, Patrick Radden Keefe 18. Lincoln in the Bardo, George Saunders 17. The Sellout, Paul Beatty 16. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, Michael Chabon 15. Pachinko, Min Jin Lee 14. Outline, Rachel Cusk 13. The Road, Cormac McCarthy 12. The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion 11. The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, Junot Diaz 10. Gilead, Marilynne Robinson 9. Never Let Me Go, Kazuo Ishiguro 8. Austerlitz, W.G. Sebald 7. The Underground Railroad, Colson Whitehead 6. 2666, Roberto Bolano 5. The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen 4. The Known World, Edward P. Jones 3. Wolf Hall, Hilary Mantel 2. The Warmth of Other Suns, Isabel Wilkerson 1. My Brilliant Friend, Elena Ferrante

[nervousd]

The Redemption of Earl Nottingham

#SYNPOSIS . Unable to stand your husband any longer you decide to flee from him

#WARNING(S) . Controlling husband, possessiveness, character death, arranged marriage, violence, brief description of blood.

#CHARACTER(S) . Earl Nottingham

How did it end up like this?

Being confined to your own chambers like a child while your husband belittled you for entertaining the advances of men. You were innnocent and yet your husband believed the words of others. As a woman of virtue and a married one at that— it appalled you that your husband would dare think of you as a harlot. At the end of your argument you were left with a ghostly complexion and your husband seething in rage.

You cried and yelled for him to let you out or for anyone to release you. But there was no response, only the echoes of your own pleas bouncing off the walls. No one would help you, having no source of companionship— not that you had any before. Seeing as how your husband has refrained you from attending any social events. It was just you and the various amount of books stacked in their shelf. When your had ran out of tears only a simmering fury threatened to erupt underneath your skin. You had vowed there and than, to refuse and be kept as a prisoner. How dare he act like a husband! For years he had ignored your very precense in this manor and now he believes he has some say over you?

And so what if you did entertain that mans advances?! He was kind, handsome and an honorable man. How could you not? When your husband could barley hold a torch against him. And now— he dare to act in such a manner? You raged— oh how you raged. You had been treated unfairly your whole life you couldn't bare it any longer. You would leave this manor and forsake this accursed marriage. It was a scandalous decision— but not one you would think twice.

The soft tap on the door broke your sense of thoughts, creaking open revealing a maid holding a tray, “ I have brought you lunch, madam “ the maid announced, her voice was devoid of any warmth. Before the maid could offer the tray, you had pushed her aside. Startled, the maid stumbled back, bewildered by your act of aggression. You hurried past her without a word, leaving the maid standing in the corridor. Your footsteps echoed loudly against the polished floor— not that you cared. You were leaving this mansion and for good. Suddenly, your husband appeared at the end of the corridor where they connected with the stairs leading down towards the front door— towards freedom. His eyes were ablaze with anger as he intercepted your path.

Your husband— Ian Nottingham, stood tall and imposing. His dark disheveled hair fell slightly around his angular face, framing his green eyes with an ominous look. His scar traced a jagged path on his left cheek— a reminder of the battle he fought and the wounds that have left him scarred. In the years, you've been married to him not once did you fully look at him. He was a terrifying man— with unpredictable behavior; he would throw fits of anger that shook the manor whole. His brows were furrowed into creases, adding into the intensity of his gaze. His jaw was set in a firm line, betraying the conflict within him.

“What?” His voice rumbled with venom. “Do you find me even more repulsive up close? Hmm?” Fury twisted his face as he spat the words. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, causing you to cry out in pain from his rough handling. His imposing frame loomed over you, the flickering candles casting ominous shadows on his face. He was terrifying, “Is that why you were unfaithful? Was the baron so charming? Did that snake promise you eternal love?” he snarled, shaking your wrist violently.

With tears in your eyes, you shouted, “Think of it however you want!” You pulled at your wrist, struggling fiercely against his grip. His jaw locked, “No matter what you do to try to change this, dearest, you are still my wife in the eyes of both men and heaven, and I your husband “

It felt as if the world was shattering around you. Husband? How dare he call himself that? He had spent an eternity ignoring you—the same man who took you to the altar and made vows. “My husband? Do you really have the right to call yourself that? You never treated me as a wife! This marriage is over!”

Anger twisted his face into a contorted mask of rage, his green eyes flashing with a volatile mix of fury and jealousy. His jaw clenched so tightly it seemed like it might shatter, and his nostrils flared as if struggling to contain a storm within. His brows drew together into a dark scowl, the muscles in his forehead bunching in a way that made his anger almost palpable. Every line in his face seemed to deepen with the intensity of his emotions, reflecting not just a burning anger but also a bitter, jealous hurt that cut deeper than any physical blow. The very air around him seemed to crackle with his overwhelming sense of fury and resentment.

“Did you truly love him?” he demanded, his voice cold and harsh. It felt like speaking to a wall; his rage was the only thing driving him now. His grip on your wrist tightened to the point of pain, and you could feel the bruising pressure already forming, “ Ow! Let go!” you cried out, struggling against his unyielding hold, “ You cannot escape me! Even in death you shall not leave! Even if this cursed manor collapsed around us!”

Straining to free yourself from his iron grip, you felt a deepening frustration with each desperate tug. “Why are you doing this to me?!” you demanded, your voice breaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “What did I ever do to you?!” The resentment in your voice was palpable, each word a testament to the pain and bewilderment of feeling so unjustly targeted. You managed to break free from his grasp, quickly gathering the sides of your dress in your hands as you hurried away. Glancing back over your shoulder, you shouted, “I refuse to stay here any longer! I can’t spend the rest of my life trapped here like a ghost!”

“You can’t keep me her—!” you yelled, but as you rushed down, your foot had slipped on the edge of the stairs. Instantly, the world tilted as you lost your balance. A cold dread filled your chest as time seemed to stretch, and you felt yourself falling. Each step hit with a jarring thud, and the sharp, unforgiving edges of the stairs seemed to blur together. Finally, you crashed onto the floor below with a heavy thump, pain radiating through your body. The force of the impact left you gasping for breath, your vision momentarily darkening as you lay sprawled, disoriented and bruised. The room seemed to spin around you as you tried to regain your senses, each breath coming in ragged gasps.

A warm trickle of blood began to flow underneath your sprawled hair, staining the floor beneath you. The room swam around you as you lay sprawled, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the sharp pain, and you struggled to catch your breath, the darkness closing in at the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw, was your husband crying out in anguish. Sobbing uncontrollably, hands clutching his face, eyes wide and frantic as he called your name over and over.

A smile crept across your lips.

You suppose you can find some solace in that—if your life, given in exchange for freedom, caused even a single moment of despair for him. That’s enough to ease your soul.

[spyder-junkie]

EARTH-42 MILES MORALES X READER PART 2

part three ??

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Honestly the death of his father traumatized Miles.

It taught him to hold on to the things he loves, things that make him happy, because nothing is forever.

And honestly he was looking for something to fill his father’s void, something to satisfy the itch being prowler couldn’t scratch.

So not even two days later, Miles shows up at you window.

He wanted to scope you out, see if you were something he’s like to spend his time on.

With any person hes ever thought of pursuing, the thought of having to tell them hes Prowler loomed over his shoulder.

But you already knew.

Hes dressed normally this time, and hes come at a reasonable hour.

You smile when you see him, opening the window immediately for him to crawl in.

“I aint’ catch you name.” is the first thing he says, dusting off his jeans.

“Y/n.” You reply, sitting down at your desk.

“What can I help you with, Miles?”

He pauses for a moment, almost forgetting what excuse he came up with.

“Check my wounds for me? You wrapped ‘em so well ian wanna unwrap em.” He says, face calm.

You look at him for a moment before shrugging.

“bien, siéntate.” You mumble, going to grab your first aid kit.

“You speak spanish?” Miles asks, sitting down on your bed and pulling his shirt from his body.

The big gash on his side is covered in bandages, blood stained.

“A little, I take a class at school.” You smile, bending down infront of him. He spreads his knees, letting you settle onto the ground infront of him.

He shuts his eyes tight as you unwrap the bandage.

“Thats a pretty chain.” You mumbled, using a cottonball to dab at the wound.

Miles’ hands come to to touch the chain hes wearing. It was one of the many things he half-hazardly bought with his work money.

“Where’d you get it? Ive been looking for something similar.” You ask.

“I honestly can’t remember.” He mumbles, from his tone you could only assume he was telling the truth.

“Thats okay, anyway Youre all good.” You say just finishing his bandages, standing up and putting your things away.

“Oh.” Miles mumbles, not realizing how little time that would take you.

“Anything else I can help you with, Prowler?” He shivers at the way the name rolls off your tongue.

“Guess not.” He says, standing up and walking towards the window. His hands are in his pockets.

He leaves, climbing back out your window and disappearing past the block.

After two days a package shows up at your door.

When you open it, you realize its a chain, identical to Miles’ and brand new.

You giggle a little while clasping it around your neck.

You dont see Miles again for two weeks.

“You know we can just schedule meet ups instead of you showing up to my window at night.” You say, watching as Miles in his normal clothes climbs out if the darkness and into your room.

He ignores your statement, taking his shoes and jacket off and sitting at your desk. He leans back, legs spread wide and eyes closed.

You shake you head, sitting down on your bed and facing him.

“Whats troubling you?” You ask.

“Nothing important.” He says quickly. He opens his eyes and looks at you.

“Youre wearing the chain.” He mumbles.

“Yeah.” You reach up and touch it. “It’s really nice, I thought you didn’t know where you got it from.”

Miles shrugs

“How much was it? I can pay you back-“

“Eres Bonita, you shouldnt have to pay for your own shit.” He cuts you off.

You pause.

“Thank you.” You smile, looking at his hard expression, he nods.

Its silent for a while, Miles just recollecting with his eyes closed.

“Youve been with the cops yet?” He asks calmly. The question startles you.

“…excuse me?”

“You got my name, you know my face, you could rat me out n’ get that reward money.” He says, opening his eyes to look at you.

“is that…what you want me to do..?” You ask, looking at him in confusion.

“Im asking why you haven’t already.” He stated.

“Oh. because I dont want to.”

Miles furrowed his eyebrows.

“I like you, Miles. Plus you helped me out when I needed you. What you do as the prowler doesn’t really concern me.” You say.

Miles stares at you a bit longer, gears turning in his head.

“You can believe me, Im not lying. Now its late, and I am kind of tired. Stay if you want, but my dad usually pops in at 7 to say hes leaving for work.” You say, moving the covers so you could properly get into bed.

You look over at Miles, whos still sitting quietly at you desk.

You lock eyes with him, holding out your hand.

He stares for a while longer, before slowly getting up and sitting on your bed.

He doesn’t get under the coveres, opting to sit with his back against the headboard. He lets you curl up besides him, laying your head in his lap.

His hand ghosts over your shoulder, rubbing soft circles with his thumb as your eyes close.

“Goodnight Miles.”

“…..goodnight y/n.”

When your father wakes you up the next morning as hes leaving, the bed is empty and Miles is gone.

You rub your eyes a little bit, looking to see if he left anything behind.

On your bedside table there was another note.

“ maybe we should schedule meet ups. xxx-xxx-xxxx -miles”

You smile to yourself, immediately putting his number in your phone.

tags:

@caffeine-mess @arachnenotes @erensbbg @nightshxdex @el-chiste @3alvatore @sh-tposter2021 @miatjie @agstuffsworld @ella34435 @iluvdi0r @pulling-out-my-eyes @vakiui @bigpepperpicker @swaggybae @tsukisaiki @osebb

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The House Guest 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Summary: an old acquaintance calls in a favour, leaving you with an unexpected house guest.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The speaker drones lowly, your playlist cycling through your most listened. You fall into your routine. You always liked cooking. It was always comforting. Your grandmother taught you all her favourite recipes whenever you came around. The familiar aromas bring back what can never truly be. 

You split the squash with a large knife, the thunk jarring you. You might not be the safest person in the kitchen but you’ve yet to do worse than a few nicks. You gut the seeds from inside and scoop in a heap of butter and brown sugar, then drizzle the rest with maple syrup. You’ll bake that while you work on the roast. 

The back door clatters and makes you flinch. Somehow, you almost forgot. That needling presence never really fades completely but you felt somewhat normal. 

You listen as Bucky lingers at the back door. He appears in the kitchen door as you look over. His grey jacket is streaked in dirt and his hands are similarly filthy. You give him a curious squint. 

“Got rid of that dead stump. Rot’s not good to keep around,” he explains. 

“Oh, right, you... wait? How did you do that? I was supposed to borrow Ian’s axe--” 

“Don’t need an axe,” he wiggles his vibranium fingers at you. “Gonna wash up. Anything I can help out with in here?” 

“Think I’m good,” you assure him, “I’m almost done.” 

“Mm, smells good,” he glances the pan of squash. 

“Hope so,” you reply. 

He watches you a moment before he turns away. His footsteps echo after him and fade into the soft music. You carry on, putting quartered onions and garlic cloves round the cut of meat. You baste and season, then put it all in the stove. 

You gather up the peels and seeds into your hands and head down the hall to toss it all in the compost. You get to the back door and clamour through, dumping it all into the barrel. You dust your hands off before you head inside. 

You didn’t notice the open door before. You’re slightly embarrassed as you glance over and catch Bucky lathering up his hands in the sink. You quickly flit away without another look. Oops. 

Cramped quarters are bound to get awkward but you hadn’t expected that sight. Bucky, shirtless, focused on his hands as he scrubbed away the dirt. You can see it vividly as you try not to think of it.  

The tortured flesh around his left shoulder, trimming the dark metal of his prosthetic, his other arm as hard as the other, firm and rounded with muscle. His chest full and just as taut, though his middle was softer. The little bit that stuck out over his pants and the extra layer of padding up his stomach filled him out, though there was strength woven into his entire body. 

You shake your head and swallow. You wipe down the counter and rinse off the used dishes and cutlery. You busy yourself and do your best to forget. 

You open the fridge and take out a bottle of sparkling water. You close it and nearly cry out as Bucky stands behind the door. He reaches up to grip the top of the fridge. He wears a fresh ribbed tank top, his arm flexing as he looms over you. 

“Mind grabbing me a beer, please and thanks.” 

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” you open the door again and take out a bottle of beer.  

“Sorry?” He echoes as the fridge closes with a nudge of your elbow, “for what?” 

“Um, nothing, just, didn’t hear you, I guess.” 

“Ah, so it’s not that Canadian thing you do?” 

“Canadian thing?” 

“You apologised for tripping earlier.” He shrugs as he accepts the beer. 

“Oh? Habit, maybe. I didn’t notice.” 

He chortles, “you know, I served with some Canadians. Good soldiers. They always show up.” 

“Wow, I... makes sense... my great grandfather served. Came back and drove a truck after,” you say. “My grandmother talked about him a lot but I was too young to remember him before he passed.” 

“Sorry,” he says, “ha, there I go, huh? Or is it eh?” You give him a look. He uncaps his beer and arches a brow. “What’s that for?” 

“What?” You wonder. 

“That look? Sam did say you could be a bit... never mind.” 

“He said I could be a bit what?” You twist of the plastic lid of your flavoured water. 

“Nothing, he always says shit, you know? Tells everybody I’m a grumpy old man. I’m old and I’m tired, not grumpy,” he insists as he leans on the counter and drinks his beer. As he does, he lifts his vibranium hand and picks at his thumb with the index. “Mm,” he pulls his lips off the neck, “you got a cuticle stick or something? This damn thing collects dirt like a broom.” 

“I might have something. Got Q-Tips,” you offer. 

“Whatever you got. I should probably clean this thing before dinner,” he says. 

“Sure, let me just go look.” 

You put your water down and squeeze past him. He doesn’t shy away, crowding you as you pass him. You don’t know if he’s just not paying attention or what.  

You go down to the bathroom and pull out the drawer. You wince as something rolls against the front. Shit. You really hope he wasn’t looking around already. You reach inside and take out the suction toy you shove it up your sleeve. Would he know what the silicon rose was? 

You search around and find a nail kit. You bought it thinking you were going to go camping but that never happened. Maybe next year. 

You dip into your room and tuck the silicon toy on the bookshelf then head back to the kitchen. You hand him the small case. “Brand new. You can keep it.” 

“Oh, uh, thanks,” he accepts it, wiggling it between his fingers, “I’ll just go... take care of this.” 

He drinks again from his beer and sidles through the doorway next to you. You slip through and retreat to the stove as warmth blooms around it. Is it the cooking that’s making you sweat or something else? 

[imfoive]

Crystal Bird - Chapter 8

Crown Prince! Chan x Princess (fem.) Genre: Royal au! Angst, Romance, Historical, hidden identity, slow-burn Warnings: mentions of war, assassination, animal hunting/cruelty, disease, death, somewhat proofread WC: 6.3k A/N: god I loved writing this chapter!! I’m so excited for the next one! Feedback, Reblogs, Likes are greatly appreciated! Happy reading! ── MASTERLIST

Synopsis: The Crown Prince is saved by the Princess of a rival kingdom, and he swears his second life to his savior. A forbidden friendship no one knew of, grows deeper with every secret meeting. As the two are kept apart, memories of their sunset playdates by the serene river, begin blossoming into something beautiful. Cheeks blushed, stomach butterflies fluttered at the thought of each other. Years of yearning and imagining had only made them crave a sweeter reunion. And finally meeting at a Royal banquet, he could only stare at the now grown Princess, taken by her beauty, while she only watches as he gives his heart to the wrong princess.

Missed a chapter? - Prologue / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7

CHAPTER 8 ───────────────────

The sound of horses trotting echoed through the Grand Forest, the terrain suddenly foreign yet familiar to Chris who had visited briefly on his first day in Elysium. Tell-tale signs of his carvings that he had marked the trees with, still vaguely visible against the wood, but this time, he felt out of place. 

Surrounded by haughty noble lords who laughed among themselves, he spotted Prince Ian ahead, engrossed in conversation with his friends. The foreign princes remained silent on their horses, observing and waiting at the rear end of the group.

Glancing at Hyunjin, Chris noted the way the Sylvancrest Prince took in the foreign greenery, clearly amazed. It seemed he had reverted to his polite, naive demeanor, as if their tense game of chess had never occurred. Hyunjin caught Chris’ gaze, his lips curving into a smile that irritated the Nightshade Prince, prompting him to quickly look away.

Their guards, Han and Seungmin, lingered several yards back among the Elysium Knights accompanying their hunting party, their attention fixed on their respective princes.

Han felt uneasy, acutely aware that Minho was somewhere in the forest, perhaps in the midst of completing his own mission. Chris’ earlier remark about the possibility of an ambush, even if meant as a joke, lingered in his mind, an unsettling thought that something dangerous could unfold hadn’t left his mind.

The warrior guard would have taken a deep breath to rid him of his anxious thoughts. He would have convinced himself that nothing unusual would happen that afternoon. But a sudden stench of blood filled his nose. A distant, but lingering smell that made him stare straight ahead to his Prince’s form, aware that Prince Christopher had probably picked up on it as well.

The Nightshade Prince’s eyes narrowed, his sharp gaze suddenly scanning the lush greenery around them, instantly guarded as he caught a whiff.

The metallic stench of blood hung faintly in the air, a looming scent that only the Nightshade Warriors seemed to detect, it seemed. Hyunjin remained absorbed in the foliage, while Ian and his entourage appeared completely unbothered, laughing and chatting as if nothing was amiss. 

   “Are you ready princes?” One of the young lords exclaimed as the group gathered, their horses forming a circle. 

They began discussing what was to come.

The rules were straightforward. The more kills, the more points. Bigger kills earned double points, and the winner would receive a thousand gold coins.

   “Last year, Prince Ian got a moose!” Another young noble had exclaimed, impressed anew as he recalled the memory.

Chris and Hyunjin exchanged glances as they watched Ian try to downplay his achievement. Yet the grin on his face and the smug expression betrayed his pride.

   “Knowing Prince Hyunjin’s nature from the brief time I’ve had to observe him, it’s safe to say he isn’t particularly skilled with a bow. Isn’t that right, Prince Hyunjin?” Ian almost snickered, turning to the Sylvancrest prince. 

Hyunjin maintained his calm demeanor, his lips thinning into a smile.

   “Maybe. I’m not very competitive so your observation might be accurate indeed.” Hyunjin replied, his words dripping with politeness. 

The other young nobles erupted in “Ohhh’s,” clearly amused by his calm retort.

All this was pre-game banter. Jabs that were meant to rile everyone up, to make them unleash their rage through hunting.

Ian’s laughter gradually faded as he turned his attention to the Nightshade Prince. Chris, focused on identifying the source of the lingering stench of blood, didn’t have any particular interest in this small talk, let alone have anything to snicker about.

   “I’m very intrigued to see what kind of game our ferocious warrior prince will bring us.” Ian taunted next, locking eyes with Prince Christopher. 

Chris sat upright, his expression impassive, though he raised an eyebrow in response.

   “I fought a bear once, back in Nightshade. Who knows what creatures I might encounter here on your Elysium soil?” He delivered the words with a laugh, but Ian’s gaze sharpened, sensing the subtle slight in Chris’ tone. 

With a final muttering of, “We’ll see,” from Prince Ian, an Elysium guard, who was the referee for this god-awful hunting sport, approached them. The game had officially begun. Each participant slung a pouch of arrows across their back, gripping their bows tightly in hand. 

At the sound of a horn, the noble and royal men dispersed, the atmosphere shifting from playful banter to a sudden seriousness. The competitiveness that had previously masked itself as a leisurely excursion, now surged to the forefront, each hunter focused on claiming victory in the hunt.

They were all prideful, a common personality trait amongst Elysium society it seemed.

Of course Chris couldn’t fall behind, glancing back at his personal guard, who sat stiffly in the distance, before nodding and urging his horse to pick up its pace.

As Prince Christopher disappeared into the greenery of tall trees, Han turned to Seungmin, who remained silent, his narrowed gaze fixed on the direction where his own prince had galloped off in. 

   “Aren’t you worried.” Han found himself asking, the earlier talk of ambushes and poison creeping into his thoughts, the lingering stench of blood still sharp in his nose.

Seungmin shot him a brief glance before returning his focus to the dense greenery of the forest. 

   “My prince is quite capable.” His words were curt, almost mumbled, but just loud enough for Han to catch, suddenly making him realize it was the first time he had heard Seungmin speak.

Han blinked, looking around at the Elysium knights, especially Ian’s head knight, who lingered at the edge of the forest marking the starting line. It was clear they took this game seriously. Even the guards were not allowed to intrude, as if there were no threats in these woods. But for Ian and his noble friends, who could barely handle a bow, it seemed safe. For the foreign princes, however, even the snap of a twig could pose a threat in this unfamiliar territory of the Grand Forest.

Deeper into the forest, there was a stillness, a quiet calm that enveloped the Warrior Prince, eyes wandering around at every rustle of bushes, of leaves underneath the gallop of horses.

   “Why are you following me?” Chris muttered, turning to spare a glance at Prince Hyunjin trailing behind.

The Sylvancrest Prince broke into a smile, speeding up to ride alongside him. 

   “I’m not very good at hunting animals.” He confessed, looking around.

Chris couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at his honest words, surprised that this man was the same one that played chess with him earlier that day. He had been slightly competitive back then, slightly something else. With a look in his eyes that was not present now. Instead looking at the Warrior Prince with a friendly, playful gaze.

   “I don’t think anyone here is as good at hunting as they claim to be.” Chris replied, exhaling in slight frustration as he recalled lord what’s-his-face asking which hand to pull the arrow with.

This time the Sylvancrest Prince laughed lightly, his eyes still wide with wonder at the lush foliage of the Grand Forest. 

   “Then maybe I’ll have a chance to easily catch a moose myself.”  He mused, still fascinated by a scenery he wouldn’t find back in Sylvancrest.

Chris didn’t respond, his attention focused on the trail ahead. He studied the path, still trying to pinpoint the source of the distant blood scent. His senses heightened, he remained alert, ready to fight if the situation demanded it.

   “Prince Ian seemed to be quite skilled, though. At least skilled enough to graze the second princess with his arrow.” Hyunjin said casually, but it was enough to make Chris pull the reins of his horse to a halt.

   “She seemed fine earlier. Did she have any complaints?—Is she in pain?” The Nightshade Prince’s words were laced with concern, his gaze betraying a hint of worry.

Hyunjin blinked, surprised by Chris’ reaction, before his brows relaxed. 

   “She didn’t mention any pain. I was just recalling her unusual behavior from last night.” He replied, referring to her stumbling in the dining hall corridors from the injured shoulder.

Except recalling last night, all Chris could think about was the chill of the night air as he snuck into her chambers. Her wide eyes filled with shock. Her lips trembling under his touch. 

Suddenly anger bubbled up inside him all over again, darkening his expression.

Hyunjin noticed the change, his eyes widening in confusion anew. 

   “Did something I say make you uncomfortable?” His voice cut through Chris’ thoughts, causing the Nightshade Prince to tighten his grip on the reins as he glanced at him.

Then there was this Eastern Sea prince, this man who was becoming increasingly annoying. His riddle-like conversations and air-headed demeanor, which Chris suspected was feigned, his constant hovering around the second princess, all began to grate on his nerves.

   “Focus on the game. I’m going to find my moose.” Chris muttered, a dark glint flashed in his eyes. 

With a spirited “yip!” Chris spurred his horse into a swift gallop, leaving the Sylvancrest prince behind, who watched the Nightshade Prince’s figure disappear into the greenery, a mix of suspicion and curiosity lingering in his expression.

Yet, only a few minutes later, Chris began to falter, his horse slowing to a stop. He sniffed the air, his narrowed gaze scanning the surroundings as the scent of blood grew stronger. It seemed he was getting closer to whatever had been slain, the heavy stench hitting him with increasing intensity.

Finally, as he approached a suspicious heap, his eyes took in the sight of the dead animal underneath the tall weeds and grass. 

The slain moose lie lifeless on the cold forest ground in a pool of its own blood. Multiple arrows were lodged in the body that Chris’ eyes flitted over, catching sight of the bright purple ribbons tied to their tails. The vibrant color stood out starkly against the greenery. Arrows that belonged to Prince Ian, marking his claim on the kill. 

Except Ian hadn’t shot a single arrow, let alone killed anything. 

He had been too busy gloating and boasting to his friends. How could he claim this kill when the hunt had just begun? Unless he had the skills of an archery master, or this moose had simply been waiting for him to arrive and take its life. Both scenarios were so ridiculous, Chris could laugh.

It was a clear conclusion to come to, a guess anyone could make in such a situation.

This moose was killed beforehand, to stage a grand win for the crown prince, who not only sucked at archery, but was perhaps one of the biggest losers Chris had met. 

Maybe he should laugh out loud.

But of course, he didn’t laugh. The approaching sound of hoofbeats forced him to hide, moving out of sight.

It was Prince Ian, the star of this show. He had entered the stage, knowing exactly where he should stand, where he would find the animal he supposedly killed. 

The Elysium Crown Prince dismounted, hands on his hips, staring down at the slain creature. He crouched to count his arrows, making a disgusted face as he did so, his chuckles echoing in the stillness of the forest before he stood. The sound made Chris’ expression harden, anger rising as he watched Ian gloat over the dead animal. Staring at Ian looking down at this dead animal. 

He suddenly recalled how Ian looked down at everyone he deemed beneath him, 

How he looked down on Y/N, his smug smile, villainous as he struck her with that arrow.  

Chris watched, his gaze intent. That of a ferocious beast.

A predator locking onto his prey.

A Nightshade Warrior staring at his moose.

Prince Christopher’s hands had moved on their own, as if he had no control over them. One hand gripped the bow, while the other pulled an arrow taut. And with a single exhale he let go, the arrow instantly released into the air, slicing the silence of the forest before the sharp thud of its impact resonated through the trees.

Prince Ian froze, his eyes widening as he stared at the arrow that had pierced the tree in front of him, just inches from where he stood. Staring at the arrow that shook to a still, the phantom sensation of its swift passage by his ear, still lingered on him. As he exhaled, his breath trembled, fear etched on his face as he grasped just how narrowly he had escaped a deadly strike.

Then his eyes darted to the ribbon tied on the end. The bright red color that had been assigned to the Nightshade Prince was vibrant against the tree. The sound of hooves approached, pulling him from his thoughts. His legs trembled slightly from the near-death experience as he turned to face Prince Christopher, looking up to his figure mounted on his dark horse. Chris still held his bow, staring down with a unreadable intensity at the stunned Elysium Prince. A slight smirk tugged at his lips, but he quickly lowered his head to mask his amusement.

The Warrior Prince finally let out a loud “tsk”, looking back up.

   “You are such a skilled archer indeed, Prince Ian. Striking that moose before I could even nock my arrow.” Chris’ lies flowed effortlessly through his lips as he gazed down at the shaken prince.

Except his made-up scenario only made Ian stiffen further, the color draining from his face. Before he could utter a response, before he could even accuse the foreign prince of anything, the group of the other lords approached, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief as they took in the scene they stumbled upon.

The fallen moose. The countless arrows that stuck out of it. The single arrow lodged in the tree just behind their crown prince.

Their eyes flickered around, settling on the Nightshade Prince who was still mounted on his horse, awaiting for answers. Answers that easily left Chris’ lips, upturned into a gentle smile now.

   “Prince Ian’s aim is far superior to mine. How did he manage to hit this large fellow while my shot barely missed?” He glanced at the arrow embedded in the tree, an action mirrored by the young nobles.

Ian opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he felt the weight of their stares, their cheers and praises echoing in his ears.

He remained silent. Acknowledging this made up scenario, perhaps even an act of an assassination that had been attempted. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to speak out against it. 

His pride was too large. So, he thinned his lips into a smile, masking the turmoil within.

──────────────────────── 

Y/N stared at Anna, who had just returned from running errands in town. Areas which Y/N would have snuck out herself to find solace from the suffocating environment of the palace grounds, but couldn’t due to the personal knight that seemed to not leave her tail. Especially since her mother learned of the arrow incident, berating her knight for leaving her alone after the royal dinner the previous evening.

The older woman had entered her chambers with a fury unsurprising, yet she didn’t know if she should scold her daughter for being an idiotic fool for her bold actions the previous afternoon. Or if she should glance over her wound to ensure that she was alright.

Perhaps Lady Katherine’s motherly instincts had kicked in.

Or maybe it was the fear of losing her ticket to a golden life that kept her anger at bay.

Instead of reprimanding Y/N, she insisted her daughter stay confined to her chambers.

With Sienna summoned to the Queen’s court and no tasks to occupy the second princess, it was an easy arrangement. It was for her own apparent good, for her chance to recover. The mother had claimed, despite Y/N’s protests, that she felt fine, thanks to the Nightshade medicine tucked in the drawers of her dresser.

But alas, she was not allowed out unless summoned. Now, Y/N sat with a new concern as she observed her personal maid. Her mind had been clouded with Sienna’s sad gaze and the words exchanged during their earlier walk, but Anna’s entrance shifted her focus. The girl’s usual cheerful demeanor had darkened, replaced by a solemn expression, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. Y/N couldn’t help but wonder what had happened in town, given that Anna had been bubbly right until she left.

   “What bad news has come to you?” Y/N asked, her thoughts slipping out easily between them.

Anna, busy unwrapping various items she’d brought from town, blinked rapidly at her princess’s words before furrowing her brows. She glanced toward the grand bedroom doors, where Y/N’s personal knight stood watch.

   “You know you can speak freely in the privacy of my chambers. Worry not.” Y/N reassured her, easily reading the maid’s doubt.

Anna sighed, shaking her head as she settled into the open chair. 

   “It’s the usual. The townspeople are quite upset with the royal family for not addressing the ongoing Fading Ill sickness spreading in the slums. They’re afraid it might reach them and have been trying to urge the King’s court to take action.” Her mood had visibly soured from the whispers and murmurs she’d heard from merchants and shopkeepers.

Y/N fell into her own deep thoughts, recalling the illness Anna had mentioned. 

Fading Ill. 

The Second Princess had first heard about it in Melgarde, when she had snuck out of the estate and into the town square. There, people had openly discussed the sickness that seemed to emerge from nowhere. They blamed the harsh winters, the slum dwellers. The poor, who couldn’t care for themselves, spread the disease. After returning to the capital, she had stumbled upon the kitchen maids gossiping about the sickness and the royal court’s apathy, too preoccupied with preparations for celebrations while their citizens suffered.

Y/N pondered whether there was a way for her to help. She had even tried to gather information about the Fading Ill, but nothing useful had surfaced. Eventually, her responsibilities caught up with her, and the whispers of the sickness began to dwindle down as well.

She had assumed her father had taken action, but now, hearing Anna’s recounting of the news, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt. Burdened by the weight of this situation. Responsibilities that weren’t hers to address, to solve.

   “My lady, it’s time for you to apply your medicine.” Anna said with a final sigh, as if resolving to let go of the troubling news from town.

Y/N nodded and as she began to undress, her eyes suddenly lit up. An idea making her stare with wide eyes of enthusiasm at Anna. The young girl who had already understood what that look meant, was quick to settle her back into her seat.

   “Let us apply this salve first. Else you will dash out and forget about your own wounds.” She pointed, rushed fingers already undoing the ties of Y/N’s dress before the princess decided it could wait.

The Second Princess begrudgingly agreed, allowing for the young maid to tend to her.

Her eyes started in fascination, peering down to look at her healing wound as best as she could. It truly felt like magic. The wounded area was no longer tender, now dry, and the skin looked significantly improved from what she remembered that morning. The Nightshade were indeed masters of the healing arts.

The Nightshade Kingdom held the exact solution this ambitious second princess had been searching for.

──────────────────────── 

Ian had been seething. In anger, in embarrassment, that coursed through him. The smug expression of that Nightshade Prince flashed before his eyes, a reminder of his humiliation in the forest. After downing an entire bottle of liquor, the intense rage still simmered within him, refusing to ease. He had stumbled into the royal library, unsure how he had even arrived there, but it was silent and dark, allowing him to stew in his fury.

The hour was late, and Ian struggled to recall what had transpired after winning the hunting game. An achievement that should have filled him with elation and pride. Instead, all he could think about was Prince Christopher. His lies, the arrow that had grazed past him, and the mockery hidden in that smirk. The victory felt hollow, overshadowed by the humiliation he couldn’t shake off.

The library doors creaked open, a sliver of light spilling in from the brightly-lit corridors outside, before the darkness reclaimed the space as the doors closed.

   “I knew I would find you holed up here.” The Queen’s voice pierced through Ian’s inner turmoil, her commanding tone shattering the stillness of the dimly lit library.

   “No one besides that stupid bastard-girl frequents this place.” He muttered, taking another swig from his bottle of liquor.

The Queen Mother inhaled sharply, her eyes darting around the seemingly empty library. His words were true. This wing of the royal library was primarily visited by the second princess and the occasional curious guest. Yet it was here that her son sought refuge in the late hours every now and then, drawn to the lightly guarded doors that allowed him to drink himself into a mess.

   “What is bothering you so that you’re drinking here like a fool?” The Queen’s words were curt, her narrowed eyes fixed on her son with a mix of annoyance and concern.

A bolt of thunder crashed outside, illuminating the library for a brief moment through the grand floor-to ceiling windows. The tumultuous weather seemed to mirror Ian’s emotions that had been bubbling within him all evening.

   “That Nightshade Prince.” He spat, his words dripping with venom.

It was clear something had happened. The Queen Mother had heard that Prince Ian had won today’s hunt, but his current state made it evident that the victory meant little to him.

   “He thinks he’s all high and mighty for being a warrior. And those stupid nobles look at him with admiration that they try to mask in my presence. I just know it.” The Crown Prince spat, taking another swig from his bottle.

The Queen only observed him, the sound of rain pattering against the windows echoed loudly in the tense atmosphere of the library.

It seemed that Prince Ian was feeling insecure, that much she could tell. 

But Ian’s thoughts drifted back to this afternoon in the Grand Forest. While he had to stage a win, the Warrior Prince had effortlessly shot an arrow at him. 

Missing him on purpose. 

Something he couldn’t even voice out loud from embarrassment. It made him even angrier. 

   “They supposedly hold disdain for him and his kind, yet behind my back, I’m sure they compare us. What comparison is there to make with a barbarian?” Ian’s eyes shot up to meet his mother’s grim expression.

   “Who dares to compare?” The Queen’s tone had hardened, yet there was no answer to the question he had asked.

Perhaps she thought her son was indeed less than the Nightshade Prince, true in many ways.

It wouldn’t be surprising.

The Warrior Prince was the perfect example of a future ruler. He spoke when it mattered, fit into any situation, and had sharp observational skills. His impressive defense mechanisms only highlighted what the Elysium Prince lacked.

Ian scoffed at her counter question, at her lack of an answer, dropping his gaze to the wood of the table he was slumped over. His expression darkened as he slowly glanced back up to meet the Queen Mother’s gaze.

   “Mother, when do we get rid of him.”

The Queen inhaled deeply, glancing around the room once again, before settling her gaze on her hunched over son. 

   “Soon. You need not worry. Focus on your upcoming marriage.” Her reply was cold, cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

Another jolt of thunder and lightning ricocheted through the room.

In the shadows at the back of the seemingly empty library, behind the large bookcases, Princess Y/N stood frozen, hands pressed against her lips to muffle any sound. Her downcast eyes widened as she stared at the tiles that glimmered under the flashes of thunder. Her face drained of color, mind reeling as whatever she overheard sank in.

The Second Princess had always been an expert at slipping away, and had done just that earlier in the evening.

Anna had warned her it wasn’t a good idea, that she should listen to her mother this one time and settle in for the night to allow her shoulder to recover. But, of course, the steadfast princess had decided she wanted to do some research. Perhaps she could uncover details about the Fading Ill sickness in the Nightshade texts housed in the royal library. Though the collection was limited, Y/N knew exactly where to find them, recalling the few times she had pulled them from the shelves.

Anna had sighed but reluctantly agreed to help with the escapade. She too had been worried about the spreading disease, especially after what she had heard out in town. Except they wondered how she would sneak out.

But it turned out to be an easy task.

The young maid peered out into the hall and caught a glimpse of the young knight standing rigid at his post. Upon closer inspection, she realized he had fallen asleep.

It made sense.

Ever since he was assigned to guard the second princess, who had no real threats posed against her, he had stood alone all night, often dozing off while keeping watch over a forgotten princess. Every night he had stood guarding against nothing. And he had quickly became comfortable. He had even perfected the art of sleeping on duty, appearing to stand guard.

If Anna had caught him any other time, she would have berated him for daring to look away from the princess. But tonight, she could only roll her eyes, feeling slightly grateful that he felt safe enough to neglect his duties and fall asleep.

That was how Y/N found herself sneaking into the library, a single handheld candlestick in her grip, glancing back every once and then as she cut through the rose garden to arrive without being seen. The library was easy to access, the palace knights stationed in this wing, mostly lingered by the King’s study, briefly passing by the part of the library only Y/N frequented. It was why she enjoyed coming here, able to scour books for hours without disturbance.

Once behind the large bookcases at the back, she began raking through the titles on the shelves, pulling out a few that might be helpful, settling on the ground as she flipped pages.

The loud creak of the library doors jolted her from her studious trance. She quickly scurried to her feet, instinctively blowing out the candle that provided her light. Pressing her back against the bookshelf, she held her breath, grateful for the shadows that concealed her.

Prince Ian’s voice broke the silence, laced with curses, followed by the sounds of chairs and stools being knocked about before he settled atop a table. The hidden princess strained to catch his mutterings, but couldn’t quite grasp them, only hearing more curses and the sloshing of liquor in a bottle.

She expected to remain hidden for as long as Ian lamented whatever had driven him to drink, to come in here. She planned to sneak out once he finished his cursing, either leaving swiftly after him or after he drank himself to sleep.

But she didn’t expect to overhear such vile plans. The words made her heart hammer against her chest, her throat going dry.

The thunder continued to roar in the night sky, its echo jolting the hidden princess out of her trance.

Now there she stood, concealed, processing everything she had overheard in that brief moment between Prince Ian and the Queen Mother. The implied words that made her heart race and her breath quicken.

There were some more murmurs and words exchanged between the Queen and the Crown Prince, but Y/N was too preoccupied with her own worries. The fear of getting caught and the weight of their insinuations clouded her mind.

   “You shall endure it, and entertain him for just a little longer.” The Queen’s final words came out with authority, words her son begrudgingly accepted.

Y/N stiffened as she heard more loud shuffling, her head shooting toward the edge of the bookcase to peek out of the shadows. She caught a glimpse of Prince Ian’s back as he followed the Queen Mother out, before the library doors closed with an echoing thud.

The silence that followed was eerie. Y/N found that she had been holding her breath and finally exhaled, leaning against the large bookcase to steady herself. Her heart raced, her ears rang from the tension, and tears welled in her eyes.

What did he mean by “get rid of him?” 

His tone, his words, replayed in her mind.

Her thoughts darted back and forth, trying to decipher Ian’s vague words.

Surely he meant to send the Warrior Prince back, to rid Elysium of his presence and urge him to return to Nightshade.

Princess Y/N’s heart tried to comfort her. But her mind, the sharper part of her, the part that was always thinking, always curious, understood the implications of that conversation between the two royals.

Get rid of him.

Breach the peace agreement. Perhaps start a war.

Assassinate the Nightshade Crown Prince.

Kill her Chan.

Y/N’s hands flew to her mouth again as the realization hit her, her heart pounding in the heavy silence. She held back a sob, gripping her dress for support as she leaned against the bookcase. Her eyes darted toward the large doors that had just closed, emerging slowly from the darkness. She was trying to figure out what to do with the shocking information she had uncovered.

She had come to the library seeking a solution to a different problem, but now her mind reeled with the new mess she found herself in. The justice-driven princess couldn’t allow the Elysium royals to assassinate Prince Christopher simply because Ian felt inferior.

Teary-eyed, she glanced around the now eerie library before her gaze settled outside, watching the rain pour against the glass. Each flash of lightning illuminated the darkened room.

Y/N inhaled deeply, bracing herself. She had made her decision.

She couldn’t let them kill the man she loved.

But she didn’t know what to do. Her mind raced, her heart pounded. Anxiety gripped her as she hurried out of the library, glancing over her shoulder in the now-darkened corridors.

The Second Princess inhaled, backtracking to hide behind a column, catching sight of a flickering fire ahead. It was a patrol guard, making his rounds of this area before he headed back to the second floor where the King’s study was. Sure there was no reason for her to hide, she was a Princess and he was a guard on duty. Yet what frightened her the most was the whispers of her presence here tonight reaching the Queen’s ears. Putting her in the library, the place where the royals had discussed about the Nightshade Prince openly.

Princess Y/N had never stayed out this late. She had never let herself become so engrossed in her books that she lost track of time. Especially on a night like this, with rain pattering loudly against the windows.

She gulped, waiting for the guard’s footsteps to fade into silence. When the corridor was quiet again, illuminated only by a few flickering wall sconces, she moved cautiously forward.

Perhaps she should have listened to Anna, or even her mother, as the young maid had urged her to do. It was a part of her nature that often led her into trouble. Yet as she stepped into the outdoor corridors, the heavy rain drumming in her ears, she convinced herself eavesdropping had been worth it.

The shortcut through the garden was treacherous, especially on dreary nights like tonight. The rain-soaked mud squelched beneath her feet as she navigated through the dark foliage. The shadows seemed to envelop her, the storm masking the sounds of her hasty movements.

The Second Princess thought she was safe, hidden from the patrol guards off the main path. But then, a sudden presence loomed behind her. A masked man pressed against her, one hand covering her mouth to stifle her scream, the other gripping her waist, pulling her close.

Y/N’s wide, fearful eyes locked onto his. Even in the darkness, in this unforgiving downpour, she recognized that piercing gaze.

Chan’s gaze bore into hers.

Eyes darting over her before narrowing, as he took a quick glance in the direction she emerged from, to ensure no one was on her trail. He pulled down the fabric that masked the lower half of his face.

   “Princess…” His voice carried a hint of frustration, mixed with an emotion she couldn’t quite place.

Realizing he still had her pressed against him, his hand resting on her back, he instinctively recoiled. Yet his eyes that held those unknown emotions stared down at her with a new intensity.

Y/N took in the sight of him, standing in the rain amidst the maze of tall bushes and shrubbery. Her eye raked over his all-black attire, the mask concealing his identity, soaked from head to toe. Suggesting he was out in the night with questionable intentions.

An enemy princess would have summoned the palace knights.

A capable princess would have accused him of treachery, questioning the Foreign Prince’s suspicious presence here, his motives.

A competent princess wouldn’t have been sneaking around in the first place.

Instead, Y/N’s face contorted, and she finally let out her cries that she tried her best to push back as she looked at him.

Looked at her childhood friend, the man she was enamored with.

The man whose life was in danger, a target of vile plans.

Chris’ eyes widened at her expression, at the tears streaming down her cheeks amidst her sobs. He watched as she pressed her hands over her eyes, shielding them from the rain. Confusion flickered in him for a moment, reaching out but instantly faltering. Her shivering form, her cries were enough to urge him to reach out, gripping her arms tightly.

   “Are you hurt? Did someone do something? Princess Y/N, tell me what happened!” He sounded frantic, eyes raking over her to ensure she wasn’t hurt, raking over her shoulder to check if the injury there left her in pain.

The Second Princess grasped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer into a hug that left the Warrior Prince stunned. He could feel his heart racing in his chest, and amidst the sound of rain pouring all around them, he was certain she could hear it too.

But it wasn’t just her hug that made his heart clench, it was the sight of her crying in his arms that filled him with a sudden sense of helplessness.

Chris pulled back slightly, enough to gaze down at her tear-streaked face, drenched by both rain and sorrow. His hands cupped her jaw, his touch gentle and tender. Like the soft touches from the night before, when he had brushed his fingers against her wounded flesh.

The Warrior Prince didn’t question his actions, gazing down at Y/N with the gentlest expression he had ever worn. A twinge of desperation stirred within him as he tried to figure out what had driven her to run through the rain in this dark, like a wild thing, now crying in his arms.

Y/N locked her eyes onto his, letting them drift over his features. His furrowed brows, his parted lips. Slowly, her expression softened as she took in his warmth. She calmed, breaking free from the anxious thoughts that had plagued her, all thanks to his presence and the comfort of his touch. His grip was both gentle and firm, her eyes raking over at the raindrops clinging to the ends of his hair, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

   “You must leave Prince Christopher.” Her whispered words were enough to break his worrisome silence, eyebrows relaxing as he took in the sight of her hardened expression staring up at him.

Here stood the Second Princess of Elysium, the steadfast and stubborn princess who always managed to irk him. The vulnerable girl he had glimpsed was gone.

And here she was telling him to leave, yet her hands gripped tightly at his shirt. Clinging to him, pulling him closer.

Prince Christopher felt something snap. Something not in the world around them, but rather something within himself, had finally come undone.

His fingers, still cradling her jaw, drew her face nearer, diving in to meet her in the middle. His lips finally pressing against hers.

It was a kiss that felt achingly real.

A kiss that Y/N found herself falling into with ease, her hands tugging at him with a hint of desperation, yearning to kiss him deeper, to pull him closer, flush against her.

Chris felt himself drowning in her as well. Her arms, her lips, the kiss that left him breathless. The Warrior Prince pulled back just enough to glance over her closed eyes, gaze scouring over her serene expression. Her lips let out a shaky breath and the enemy prince found himself leaning in for a second kiss.

The thunder roared loudly in the dark sky. Yet, even such a loud sound was not enough to bring them back to reality.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ to be continued.

── ask to be tagged! - @stayceebs97, @palindrome969, @tsunderelino, @solandiszale, @fixation-dump, @ellelabelle, @gaslasyttune, @qwonyoung23, @minh0scat, @candyquokka, @sellomaybe, @kat-unzel, @gujter, @aeri-skzver, @hefflez8 (please ask to be tagged if you’re genuinely interested!)

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

Hard Country by Ian Loome

Rogue Warrior #5

Intrigued with the story and immersed in the plot, I stayed up till the wee hours of the morning to make sure things came “right” in the end. Having missed two books in the series, I stepped right back into this book without skipping a beat finding no trouble picking up the Rogue Warrior’s story.

What I liked:

* Bob: ex-CIA assassin, diagnosed with ADHD & PTSD, intelligent, strong, lethal, has his own personal moral compass, protective, trying to avoid assassins, intriguing, would like to know more about him

* Getting back in touch with Bob and finding out how he is doing

* Seeing that Dawn & Marcus from the first book are still alive and doing well…though Marcus is in a bit of a pickle

* The way Bob adapts and adjusts while trying to use lethal force – most of the time

* The plot, pacing, setting and writing – I grew up in California so some of the places were familiar

* That not all of the bad guys were totally bad, and the good guys were also sometimes flawed

* The way the tables were turned on some who were more than eager to harm others for their twisted pleasure or for monetary gain

* The ins and outs, twists and turns, and ultimate mostly positive conclusion of the book

* That though I was unsettled and upset at times, the author chose not to become graphic as he mentioned dog fights, revenge, payback, and sadistic actions

* Thinking about where Bob will end up next

What I didn’t like: * Who and what I was meant not to like

* The drug kingpin and how evilly despicable he was

* The corruption and evil of the bad guys

* The reference to animal and human abuse/pain – made me angry and want the characters punished

Did I like this book? Yes

Would I read more in this series/by this author? Yes

NOTE: I would recommend reading the first book in the series because it includes Bob’s backstory.

Thank you to NetGalley and Inkubator books for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

BLURB

Bob isn’t looking for trouble. Until someone hurts his friend. When his young friend Marcus is arrested for the murder of a crusading doctor, Bob Singleton rushes to Bakersfield to see if he can help. Convinced Marcus has been framed, Bob will do whatever it takes to clear his name and free him from the violent jail where his life is in constant danger. It doesn’t take Bob long to discover that the murdered doctor was campaigning against a development which would have caused a dangerous level of pollution, harming the local community. He was hurting someone’s bottom line, so he had to go – and Marcus was the perfect fall guy. Bob follows the money which leads him from executive boardrooms back to the mean streets where he battles corrupt police in league with a ruthless gang of meth dealers led by a sociopath who delights in inflicting pain. Bob is just one man fighting a formidable and well-armed organization. They’ll never know what hit them. Hard Country - the fifth book in the thrilling Rogue Warrior action thriller series. Perfect for fans of Jason Kasper, Jack Carr, and Lee Child. What readers are saying about Hard Country: “…I couldn't put this one down… I definitely recommend this.” -Goodreads Reviewer “…one of the best in the series and a very entertaining story.” -Netgalley Reviewer “…definitely a page turner as I got so enthralled I didn't want to put it down.” -Booksprout Reviewer “Good storyline, it kept me engaged. Good amount of action. I can’t wait to see where the series goes from here.” -Booksprout Reviewer

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

🌿 Chapter 7 🐈‍⬛ 🌿 Word-count: 6,700 words Total Word-count: 58,263 words Additional Tags: au, cat shapeshifter mickey, sexual tension, themes of ian wondering if he’s mentally stable or not but it’s presented pretty lightheartedly, car hookup, self-lubrication, pheromones, bonds Banner by the exquisite @callivich Commission for @stocious - thank you for getting my ass back in gear on this one! Summary: Sweetpea, the stray that eats his neighbor’s flowers, is a little asshole of a cat. But Ian still hopes to win her over with treats from his lunch and rambling conversation as he tends to his failing garden. Just as he thinks he’s starting to get her to like him, everything flips on its head. You see, Sweetpea is not a normal cat. And Sweetpea is not a she.

Chapter Summary: Under Sweetpea's tutelage, Ian's starting to get the hang of his new form. But there are still things that loom over him in the background. Things to come to grips with. Like who does and doesn't know about him. And the teensy little fact that he and Mickey are sharing the rest of their lives together.

[ read on archive of our own ]

♪♬ Fic Playlist on Spotify ♬♪

[davinashifts333]

THE SECRET AFFAIR (Jason DiLaurentis x Liar!Reader):

⚫️summary; one year after Alison’s disappearance everything in Rosewood went haywire. Y/n, Aria’s maternal cousin & now 1/5 of the remaining Liars, who had either an equal amount or possibly even more secrets than her childhood friends, had been dating her now presumed dead best friend’s brother. That’s right, since before the summer of Alison’s disappearance Y/n & Jason had secretly been hooking up & began officially dating due to her helping him sober up & help him through his toughest nights that now gloomed over his past. She was his main alibi for the night everything happened with Alison but, obviously couldn’t tell anyone why she was with him. So why now, that they’re finally putting Alison to rest does it all go to shit? Because the whole town believes one of the liars did it.

⚠️warnings; swearing, age gap relationship (Y/n is the same age as the girls but one of the oldest, so 5-6 years younger than Jason), adult themes, murder, gore-ish?, PLL shit dude, it’s crazy, 18+ ONLY!

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Y/N’s POV (the night of Ali’s disappearance)

I woke up with a blazing headache to my phone ringing a very specific tone that had become all too familiar. Jason. Thunder rolled in as lightning flashed the barn awake. The text from Jason saying to meet him at our spot which was a small bench in the woods behind his house. I head over, carefully leaving the barn door ajar so the girls won’t wake up when I come back but, I notice i’m not the only one who had planned to escape. Ali was gone and so was Spencer. I brushed the thought from my mind as I remember Jason’s text,

‘Garrett and Ian brought over some weed and I have the shakes now, meet up? I’m freaking out. Be safe. xx’

Jason had been trying to get clean, key word, trying. His friend group wasn’t as lenient as I was though, every now and then I had to help clean him up and sleep through the high or drunken daze. He wasn’t the best at being drunk believe it or not, he got drowsier than me after smelling the fumes when filling my car up with gas. Regardless, Jason was there for me when my dad left to hunt down my mom’s murderer. Yeah, Aria is my cousin, our moms are sisters.. Well.. Were.. That was until one night in the winter of 1998. I woke up after hearing glass shatter and walked down stairs, all I remember seeing was a shadow of a tall man standing over my mother’s body. Since then, I’ve lived with my aunt Ella and her family. Jason was our neighbor from down the street and Aria knew Alison, so obviously I knew them too. He always told me that death brought new life and my new life I had to live in honor of my mom. We clicked from then on. Of course being older he always taunted us girls and would do the typical big brother things to Ali. But one night when I was 14, I kissed him. He was shocked at first but then admitted he always liked me best out of Ali’s friends. The only bad thing was, Alison saw us kiss. She held it over my head like a looming sword on the thinnest of threads, threatening to tell her parents that Jason tried to force himself on me. Which obviously was a lie but who would they believe. Little did she know, I had secrets of hers to shoot back with so, we bonded in that way. A battle for dominance as one might call it. But nonetheless we were best friends, and secrets so keep us together.

I walk up to the bench hearing the crunching of leaves coming from the opposite direction, they staggered a bit and I saw Jason stumbling towards me, tripping on a rock and landing right on top of me.

‘Shit, sorry babe. I guess drunk me has two left feet.’ I giggled at his comment as we sat up, backs against the trunk of the tree that stood tall above our bench.

‘Who bought it this time?’ I asked, changing the subject back to the issue at hand. Jason then took position on my lap, my hands running through his hair. He sighed.

‘Ian. As always. But Garrett also brought booze. You know I can’t resist a nice cold beer. Those two idiots are probably still up in my room thinking I passed out somewhere. How was your sleepover?’ I rubbed his temples, knowing he got headaches when he drank.

‘It was okay, had some drinks too, courtesy of your sister. Hanna and Emily knocked out first and well you kno-.’ Suddenly the sound of someone walking by caught our attention. Jason shot up and stumbled a bit before helping me up. I held his waist to help him gain balance and he whispered to me to head back to the barn. That we’d talk the next day. With a swift kiss goodbye we went our separate ways. But, just as I got back to the door of the barn I heard a scream. I quickly made my way inside to see Emily, Hanna and Aria still asleep. Gladly I didn’t get caught by Spencer or Ali. I went back to my place on the large ottoman and curled up, hoping for Jason to have gotten back in one piece. He wasn’t as drunk or high as other times but, he still could continue through the night or worse, be pressured by Ian. God, I hated his “friends”. They only enabled him to fail at sobriety and I knew the truth behind their little club. Ian started it all with Jason when Ian took a photo of the girls and I in Emily’s bedroom. Creep.

An hour or so went by and I couldn’t sleep with all the thoughts running in my mind but, I kept my eyes shut. Spencer had come back but seemed a bit off, her breathing was ragged and stuffy. Like she had been crying or running. I wondered if Ali had gone back home or if she was coming back but, my question was answered when a loud crack of thunder woke us all up. Emily and Hanna huddled together while Aria “woke” me up.

‘Damn Y/n/n. You sure can sleep through anything.’ Spencer joked trying to lighten the mood and we all slightly laughed.

‘Where’s Alison?’ I finally asked and Spencer spoke up.

‘I think I heard a scream.’

That night marked a huge change in our lives and seeing how things were, my Uncle Byron and Aunt Ella decided it would be best to move to Iceland for a while, to get away. But now that we were back, things seemed way different. I hadn’t heard from Jason much after Ali’s disappearance. We kept in tough but after I was forced to move across the world, we decided it was best to be apart. I hoped he stayed sober but, I also knew the loss of his sister was taking a toll on him.

Aria and I had begun to unpack when Mike announced he was hungry. So Aria and I took my car that my mom had when she was my age, to a little dive bar/restaurant near Hollis College to get some burgers. When I waited for our order, Aria snuck off with this really cute guy who was apparently studying to be an English teacher. I let her have some fun while I contemplated texting Jason. Low and behold I folded.

‘Hey, I know it’s been a while since we last spoke but I figured a check in from our old spot in Rosewood could be cool? I just got back today and could sneak away from Aria for a few. If you’re up for it. Hope you’re doing well. xx.’

He read it almost instantly as if he had known I was thinking of texting him.

‘Welcome back to hell. I can meet you there in 10?’ I felt my heart skip a beat at the thought of seeing Jason after a whole year and quickly shot Aria a text letting her know what I was doing. During our time in Iceland I confessed to her about Jason and I secretly dating to which she was impressed but mainly saddened by and even wrote a modern day Romeo and Juliet based off of us. It was sweet, Jason had even liked it when I read it to him on one of our phone calls early on. He also felt proud that I was able to trust someone enough to talk about him with.

I drove the 10 minutes to the last secluded park where we had to start meeting after our bench had been compromised by the investigation and waited. A few minutes went by and I heard a knock on my car window. I shut it off and climbed out. He looked good, way better than he did when I left. Healthier, a bit more put together and like his face was hurting from smiling so much.

‘I don’t remember you being this bubbly. Are you sure you’re Jason DiLaurentis?’ I joked and he pulled me in for a hug. His signature cologne engulfed me in the most comforting way.

‘No more red streaks in your hair, you’ve grown up. You sure you’re Y/N Y/L/N?’ He responded and I playfully punch his arm. We walked over to the picnic table and sat down. We talked for what felt like hours but in reality was about half an hour until Aria texted me saying she had the food and was getting dropped off at home. I responded with an excuse she could give her parents and she said she’d have my back. I came back to the conversation at hand and decided to ask the big question.

‘Sorry about that, Aria was just letting me know she’d cover for me back at home. So, truth. How are you?’ I asked, his eyes saddening a bit knowing what I meant.

‘Well, i’m sober. A whole 9 months now. Still dealing with the whole Ali missing thing and just graduated from College. You?’ I felt his hand playing with my rings on mine and sighed.

‘Well, about to start Junior year of High School, still dealing with the whole Ali missing thing and now very proud of this guy I used to date. He was a bit of a mess when I left our hometown so, you know. Surviving.’ He chuckled nodding as I ended my response.

‘He was very broken up. I mean come on, not being able to see your gorgeous face for that long? It was criminal. Poor guy was torn up enough already. You just added to the mix.’ I took notice of how true his comment was, I had left him in a vulnerable moment.

‘Well, I tried to keep in contact with him but, didn’t know how else to help, I was grieving too. Just grieving in a different way and grieving him as well.’ He lifted my chin to meet my gaze.

‘You don’t have to grieve anymore love. He’s never given up that one day you’d make your way back to him. Believe me. He even thought about how if you didn’t come back soon, he’d have to go to Iceland to find you.’ His hand now cupping my cheek as my eyes glazed over with tears. Alison always did tell me she loved how I helped Jason become more human in her eyes. She had seen a change in him from when we started dating.

‘Well, I thought he would hate me for leaving. I know I had no choice but, I still wished I could’ve been there to help him, like always.’

‘Baby, listen to yourself. You were always there helping me. Even when you had to go. You called every day, texted all day long, checked in when you could. You did your part, it was just time for me to do mine and let you move on. I just hoped that if we really were meant to keep going, you’d eventually come back to me.’ At this point I was fully crying and listening to his grief and love pour out of him.

‘I did hound my Aunt Ella everyday in hopes of us coming back sooner. And look at us now. I don’t want to move on, I want us, I want to grow in life with you Jason. I wanna see you be the person you always dreamt of becoming and to let the past stay in the past, all the mistakes were just bumps in the road. You took control of your life, focused on yourself and I couldn’t be happier for you. You deserved to be free from those assholes you called friends.’ He placed his forehead to mine and pulled me into his lap.

‘Can I kiss you now? I’m dying over here.’ He whispered and I laughed nodding. At that moment, we were in bliss. Not knowing what was yet to come and how insanely twisted our lives would soon become. After our reunion we agreed on meeting up as much as we could and even heading to Philly for date nights. However until I turned 18, we had to stay under the radar for a bit. It was all rose colored glasses until the first text from -A. It was a picture of me in Jason’s lap and a whole album of pictures of us before Ali went missing. Who could’ve possibly gotten these?

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A/N: HIIII! IM BACK ON MY DELULU SHIT & HAVE FALLEN BACK INTO MY CHILDHOOD COMFORT SHOW PLL. LMK IF I SHOULD MAKE THIS A SERIES OR NOT, ALSO LMK WHAT ELSE YOU’D WANT ME TO WRITE ABOUT! LOVE YOU GUYS & HAPPY 2024!! 🩷🩷🩷

[starmatzz]

Observation duty

Seonghwa, working alone as a paranormal investigator, monitors an abandoned cabin. Everything is normal, when suddenly strange occurrences begin; the cameras cut out, and the air turns icy. As he sits in the van, he feels a chilling breath on his neck, realizing something is watching him from the cabin—or maybe closer.

author's note: um so this short ramble was inspired by the game "i am on observation duty" which i LOVE..and i actually got this idea while watching markiplier's let's play this morning lol...should i continue this? 👀 first i wanted to do it on matz but i wanted to experiment with dpr ian x seonghwa 😛

Seonghwa sat in the cramped van which he parked few minutes ago in the middle of the forest. His bag lied on the floor and he sank into the worn chair behind the control panel, fingers immediately flying across the keyboard to boot up the monitoring system.

Rows of tiny screens blinked to life one by one, each displaying a different angle of the abandoned cottage bathed in dim, gray light. The building loomed in the middle of the woods, its rotting beams and shattered windows giving it an almost sentient, hostile presence.

Seonghwa adjusted his headset, muttering to himself as he clicked through each feed. “Front hall, clear. Kitchen, clear. Basement… still creepy as hell.” He leaned back, his eyes narrowing at the flickering camera in the attic. “Of course, the attic’s acting up.”

The faint hum of static filled the van as Seonghwa ran a diagnostics check, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard. He glanced at the time—midnight, the witching hour. A part of him loved this job, the thrill of chasing the unknown. The other part wished he were in bed, far away from creaky floorboards and shadows that moved when they shouldn’t.

He reached for his thermos, taking a long sip of lukewarm coffee, and settled in for a long night of watching and waiting. 

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Two hours had dragged by, and Seonghwa was still glued to the screens, his chin resting on his palm. He clicked lazily through the camera feeds, the dim green glow of night vision casting eerie shadows on his face.

The occasional flicker of a light or subtle shift of an object barely registered anymore. A chair sliding an inch across the attic floor? A pile of books tumbling off a shelf in the living room? Nothing out of the ordinary for a place like this.

He stifled a yawn, squinting at the basement feed as the camera stuttered. Static briefly filled the screen before the image returned—a cluster of broken furniture and damp concrete walls. “Classic,” he muttered under his breath, drumming his fingers on the desk.

The clock on the monitor blinked 2:07 a.m. Seonghwa rubbed his eyes and glanced at his thermos, debating whether another cup of coffee was worth it. He sighed, clicking back to the kitchen feed.

Then, something caught his eye.

A faint movement near the edge of the frame. The camera hadn’t glitched this time—this was deliberate. A shadow, faint but distinct, moved across the kitchen floor, stopping just shy of the doorway.

Seonghwa froze, his hand hovering over the mouse. The shadow didn’t belong to anything visible. No trees swaying, no curtains blowing. It was just… there.

He leaned closer to the monitor, his pulse quickening. “Okay,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. “Finally, something interesting.”

Seonghwa grabbed the spirit communication device from the shelf—a sleek, compact machine with glowing dials and faint static buzzing from the speaker. He clipped it to his belt, grabbed his flashlight, and shrugged on his jacket. The chilly night air hit him the moment he stepped out of the van, but he barely noticed, his focus locked on the looming silhouette of the cabin.

The building seemed to breathe in the darkness, its warped wooden frame groaning under an unseen weight. Seonghwa’s boots crunched against the gravel as he approached, his flashlight beam slicing through the mist that clung to the ground.

He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the rusted knob. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath, steadying himself. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The door creaked open with an almost theatrical protest, revealing the dim, empty interior. Seonghwa stepped inside, the stale scent of decay and damp wood washing over him. The cabin felt colder than the air outside, an unnatural chill that seeped into his bones.

He turned on the spirit box, the soft hiss of static breaking the oppressive silence. “If there’s someone here,” Seonghwa called out, his voice firm but calm, “let me know. Move something. Speak to me.”

The flashlight beam danced across the dust-covered floor as Seonghwa made his way through the front hall. His footsteps echoed faintly, blending with the hum of the machine. Nothing responded at first—just the low crackle of the spirit box.

He turned toward the kitchen, where the shadow had appeared on the camera. The moment he crossed the threshold, the flashlight flickered.

Seonghwa froze, his grip tightening. “Hello?” he said again, scanning the room. The spirit box hissed, then sputtered—brief bursts of sound crackling through the static, like words trying to form.

The static from the spirit box fizzled out, replaced by an oppressive silence that pressed down on Seonghwa like a weight. His flashlight steadied, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls, but nothing moved.

His breaths were shallow, the adrenaline coursing through him making his hands tremble. He’d come here looking for answers, for proof, but now… now he wasn’t so sure he wanted to find anything.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath, backing toward the door. His voice sounded too loud in the stillness. “Guess you’re shy tonight.”

He turned off the spirit box and made his way out of the cabin, the wooden floor creaking beneath his boots. The cold night air hit him as soon as he stepped outside, but it did little to calm the racing in his chest.

The van was in sight, a beacon of safety in the dark, but as he approached, something felt… off. The door was ajar, swaying faintly in the breeze.

Seonghwa stopped in his tracks, his flashlight beam landing on the slightly open door. He frowned, his mind racing. He was sure he’d closed it—he always did. Had he been careless, or had someone else… something else…?

“Great,” he muttered, forcing a nervous laugh. “Maybe a raccoon wanted my coffee.”

But the humor didn’t ease the knot in his stomach. He approached cautiously, every step feeling heavier than the last. He reached out, gripping the edge of the van’s door, and peered inside.

Everything was as he’d left it—almost. The control panel hummed softly, screens still displaying the empty cabin. But the thermos he’d left on the desk had been knocked over, rolling onto the floor.

Seonghwa’s heart skipped. “I definitely didn’t leave it like that,” he whispered.

The van felt colder now, the air inside heavy and still, as though something unseen lingered. He swallowed hard, glancing back toward the cabin, then at the van.

For the first time that night, Seonghwa felt truly unsure of where he was safer—outside or in.

Seonghwa locked the van door with shaking hands, his breath fogging in the cold air. The small space felt claustrophobic, but at least it was safe—or so he hoped. He sank back into the chair, the familiar hum of the monitors grounding him as he clicked through the camera feeds again.

At first, everything seemed normal. The front hall was still, the kitchen empty, the basement a motionless void of shadows. But then, like a switch had been flipped, the cabin erupted into chaos.

On the kitchen feed, a chair slammed into the wall, tipping a table onto its side. The attic camera showed dust swirling violently, as though stirred by an invisible hurricane. In the living room, bookshelves toppled, their contents scattering across the floor.

Seonghwa leaned forward, his pulse racing. “What the hell…” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

One by one, the disturbances spread across the cabin. A lamp in the hallway shattered, its light winking out in a shower of sparks. In the basement, the camera jolted violently as something unseen yanked it from its mounting, the last image a blurred streak of gray.

Seonghwa’s hand hovered over the keyboard, unsure of what to do, when suddenly, the screens flickered. The feeds blinked in and out, the images distorted with static. Then, all at once, they went black.

The van fell into an eerie silence, the hum of the equipment gone. The only light came from Seonghwa’s flashlight, which he hadn’t turned off earlier. Its faint beam illuminated the van’s cramped interior, casting long, twisting shadows.

For a moment, Seonghwa just sat there, frozen, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. His own breathing sounded too loud, too fast, in the stifling quiet.

Seonghwa jumped as the computer screens flickered back to life, casting the van in an eerie glow. The once-familiar interface was gone, replaced by a stark red warning flashing across every monitor:

TOO MANY ANOMALIES

TOO MANY ANOMALIES

The text repeated in rhythmic flashes, bathing the van in alternating light and shadow. Seonghwa’s throat tightened as he stared at the words, his mind racing. This wasn’t part of the system—it couldn’t be.

“What the hell is this…” he whispered, reaching for the keyboard, but before he could touch it, the screens went black again.

The silence returned, heavier this time, pressing down on him like a physical weight. His flashlight flickered once, then twice, before steadying again.

That’s when he felt it.

The air in the van grew icy, sharp enough to make him shiver despite his jacket. His breath came out in short, visible puffs, hanging in the still air. And then, just behind him, a sensation that made his blood run cold—a faint, deliberate exhale against the back of his neck.

Seonghwa froze, his heart hammering so loudly it drowned out everything else. He wanted to turn, to shine his flashlight behind him, but his body wouldn’t obey. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and he could feel it—something close, too close, waiting for him to acknowledge it.

Summoning every ounce of courage, he gripped the flashlight tighter and whipped around, the beam of light cutting through the darkness.

Nothing.

The van was empty. No one there, no sign of movement. Yet the cold lingered, an oppressive chill that made his skin crawl.

Suddenly, the flashlight flickered again, and the spirit box clipped to his belt crackled to life. A distorted voice emerged, low and guttural:

“Scared?”

[thankskenpenders]

IDW's Knuckles 30th Anniversary special

I'm still working on finishing Shadow Generations and writing up a big thing about it (yes, yes, it's taken me a month to finish a four hour game, I know), but in the meantime we've got another new Classic era comic out from IDW! Let's talk about that.

The last Classic era release we got was the Fang miniseries earlier this year, which I mostly enjoyed but also found a bit underwhelming. It felt like we were getting diminishing returns with the Classic comics. Ian seemed to be struggling to make the Classic era feel fresh within Sega's current restrictions for that branch of the brand, a branch that by its very nature discourages experimentation and new ideas in a way that the ever-evolving Modern era doesn't. He was mostly just playing the hits, sticking the currently permitted Classic era characters next to each other in straightforward one-off adventures and letting the art team do their thing. We were getting the Ian who was happy to simply be able to take these toys out of the toy box. Again, these comics have been fine, and the art's always a treat, but the novelty of simply seeing a comic with the old character designs was wearing off for me when the stories didn't have as much meat as Ian's (or Evan's) excellent Modern era work.

And then along comes this Knuckles 30th Anniversary special, which is by far my favorite Classic Sonic comic Ian's written for IDW.

...I can't really talk about why it's so good without getting into spoilers, though. The short version is that it's a really nice little story about Knuckles and another character from the games, who's used as a great foil for him... except the solicit didn't even say which character it is, so I'm hesitant to say here. But if you're a fan of Knuckles, you should definitely just go read this. It's great. This one's mandatory reading to me.

And with that out of the way, let's dig deeper and get into the spoilers.

The spoiler zone

After an opening that very blatantly homages Tyson Hesse's old Knuckles comic (yes, the very same one that helped inspire the name of this blog), Knuckles realizes that Angel Island has drifted near the Northstar Islands from Sonic Superstars, and decides that the Master Emerald must be giving him a mission to train the archipelago's own resident guardian.

Yes, this isn't just a Knuckles comic. It's a Knuckles and Trip comic!

I was really delighted by this. I like Trip a lot, and it's nice to get this chance to expand upon her as a character. I think this is her first speaking role, even? I'm glad to see her stick around, and I'm glad to see her appear in the comics so soon, especially since we're still waiting for the mainline comics to incorporate Sage. She's still clumsy and fairly timid, like in the game, but without the looming thread of Eggman she gets to let loose a little. She's very exuberant and expressive and playful, especially thanks to Aaron Hammerstrom's fantastic art throughout the issue (complemented with inks by Rik Mack and colors by Valentina Pinto). It makes sense why she gets along so well with Amy. I hope we get to see those two interact more in the future!

Anyway, so Knuckles shows up on the Northstar Islands after contemplating his lot in life, and realizes that he and Trip have a lot in common. She's not as strong or confident as him, but they're both the last of their kind, these lone guardians of these ancient magical gemstones. He's showing up under the pretense of training her, but you can tell it's nice for him to have a kindred spirit, someone who might be able to really get him.

And then Trip's like... wait, you think I'm the last of my kind?

Yes, the Northstar Islands have actually been inhabited by a whole civilization of sungazers like Trip the whole time! We just didn't see them in the game because, y'know. Eggman was attacking. So Trip told everyone to find shelter and hide from the Badniks. (This actually makes a lot of sense, since you pass by this very village in Speed Jungle Zone. Somebody's gotta maintain those straw roofs and light those torches, and I can't imagine Trip managing all that upkeep herself.)

This also includes a grandfather for Trip, who's been training her as the archipelago's new guardian. Naturally, this has led to some speculation from fans about the old "mandates." In the wake of the Penders lawsuits and Archie's reboot, Sega declared that the comics could no longer create comic-original relatives for the game characters. Has that changed now?

Well, I'm hesitant to read too much into this. For one, as Ian has tried to drill into peoples' heads for years now, the so-called "mandates" aren't a set of concrete commandments from Sega, they just have some general guidelines for the brand, some of which have more wiggle room than others and some of which have changed over time. There's also the simple fact that Sega is working way more closely with the team at IDW, and that people like Ian and Evan are literally on the official Sonic lore team now. Ian can presumably work with the lore team and Sega to figure out Trip's family, and then go and work what they've decided on into a comic, so it's entirely possible Trip's grandpa isn't considered a comic-original character so much as he's a character conceptualized at Sega who just happens to have appeared in an IDW comic before anything else. The lines are a lot blurrier now with all this cross-pollination, compared to the Archie days when it was a separate creative team and a separate canon.

But, again, I don't want to speculate too heavily about what goes on behind the scenes. Regardless, Ian was able to use this comic to expand upon the world of the games and the characters that inhabit it, and I love it for that. It's the first of these Classic comics that feels like truly mandatory reading for the way it builds upon the games. These days we so rarely get to see communities like this in the Sonic world with their own cultures. It's not like we know anything about "hedgehog culture" or whatever. So this is a nice change of pace. The Northstar Islands feel totally different now that I know they've actually been inhabited the whole time, and knowing that Trip is part of an active community with their own history and customs puts a whole new spin on her as a character.

It also makes her a great foil for Knuckles here. He showed up on the island thinking he'd have a lot to teach Trip as someone who's got more life experience as a lone guardian, only to realize his assumptions about her life were completely wrong. Trip brags to her grandpa that Knuckles is gonna train her, but he quickly realizes he doesn't have much to teach her. She may be kind of cowardly, but she knows her way around the island, she can think on her feet, and she can handle herself well enough in a fight, in her own slapstick way.

He doesn't say as much, but you can tell Knuckles is embarrassed about all this. This clumsy kid is showing him up, even though she won't even really listen to his advice! He's also, perhaps, a bit jealous. It's not like he had a grandfather to train him in the ways of being a guardian. (Not in this continuity, anyway.) He doesn't get a whole village of echidnas to teach him about his heritage. He doesn't get fancy ceremonial armor. It's just him, a big green rock, and his two fists. He thought he had this whole guardian thing figured out, and he'd be able to give a kindred spirit like Trip some advice, but it turns out she's lived a whole different life, making him question if he even knows what he's doing. He quickly gets fed up with both Trip and himself, blowing up at her a little.

After reflecting a bit, Knuckles goes back to Trip and comes clean. He doesn't really know how to train her, because no one ever trained him. He figured things out on his own. If he had anyone there to raise him, they've been gone since he was too young to remember. He just knows he has to protect the Master Emerald. That's it. It's a pretty vulnerable moment for Knuckles, one where his dissatisfaction with his life comes to the surface.

Still, Trip sees things differently. He may be used to the fact that he lives on a giant floating island powered by a giant magic emerald, but she thinks that's, like, the coolest thing in the world. HER islands don't fly! And while Knuckles might wish he had someone to train him, Trip thinks that Knuckles becoming such a fearsome fighter all on his own, without even armor to protect him, makes him super awesome and admirable. With both of them feeling better, Trip takes Knuckles to Golden Capital to talk about her heritage as a guardian of the Northstar Islands a bit more, and Knuckles tells her that he thinks she'll be a great guardian before he heads home, once again feeling pretty good about himself.

While this is a pretty straightforward little story about how the grass is always greener on the other side, it's a very effective and sweet one that I enjoyed reading a ton. Aside from the fun of learning more about Trip and the Northstar Islands, it's just a great showcase for Knuckles. (It's definitely a way better showcase for him than his Paramount+ show, as much as I took sick pleasure in that show's baffling creative decisions.) There are also some fun details about his life in here, such as the fact that Sonic, Tails, and Amy have taken camping trips to hang out with him on Angel Island, and the fact that he trained Amy in using her hammer better.

It's just real good, and it feels like the most meaningful addition to The Canon out of any of these Classic era comics Ian's written. We're still gonna be getting more in the future, so hopefully this is a sign that Ian and the lore team have found that happy middle ground where they can keep the Classic comics familiar and nostalgic while also being able to branch out and expand upon things.

Speaking of future comics!

Coming attractions

The end of this issue confirms some things that are in the works for IDW Sonic. For one, we're getting a Chaotix 30th Anniversary special next year. Neat! They also mention some kind of Shadow one-shot dropping following the movie, however fans seem split on whether this is referring to a new story or just the "Best of Shadow" compilation one-shot that's coming out next month. So don't get your hopes up about that in case it's the latter, I guess.

And while we're still waiting for issue #75 of the main series, the IDW team is already thinking all the way ahead to #100, which should drop sometime during the 35th anniversary of the franchise in 2026. Clearly the team's still confident about the longevity of IDW Sonic and excited for the future. And I am, too! Bring on #75!

[wishcamper]

Nessian Week Day 6 - Legends & Destiny

Happy second to last day of @nessianweek! I have for you a Witcher!Cassian and sorceress!Nesta AU.

You can read here or on ao3!

Out of the Fog, Into the Mist

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to underage marriage and sex trafficking.

In the town of Mulbrydale, just north of the river near Hanged Man’s Tree, whispers rode the chill autumn air like restless ghosts. For weeks, the townsfolk held their breath as a dark shadow loomed over them: girls had begun to vanish. Four in total, all last seen in the gnarled woods at the fringes of their fields. And so a notice was put out on boards around Velen, that anyone who could find the girls (or the culprit) would eat and sleep well in any house, and could lay claim to a hefty sum.

It smelled like trouble, the sickly sweet of a body left long to rot, but Cassian needed the coin. And after four nights sleeping on the hard-ass ground of this war-ravaged cesspool, he wasn’t picky about how he got it.

“They go over the ridge to let the goats feed in the scrubs. Come sundown the goats come back, but not the girls,” the local innkeep explained, and Cassian saw the ripple of fear pass through him as he said it, the curl of his stooped shoulders.

“Right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the stink wafting off his new employer, though maybe he’d ceased to be nose-blind to himself. “So you want me to find what’s killing them.”

“Not killin’, Master Witcher - snatchin’.” The man’s voice was grave despite the lilting accent. “We’ve searched these wood a dozen times and found naught, not a bone. Tweren’t even no blood. Must be a fearsome thing to take them without a trace.”

He gave Cassian a look he’d seen a thousand times then, the furtive dart of a gaze that lingered on the cat-like yellow of his mutated eyes, the two swords at his back: steel for men, silver for monsters. He tried to ignore it, along with the rage that bubbled up at how common folk saw him, a beast barely better than those he slayed.

“And it’s only girls? No boys, too?”

The innkeep shook his head, leaned in to whisper, “The boys come home all dazed-like, remember nothin’. Except for Young Ian, but he were half mad already.”

Cassian sighed and considered the possibilities. There were the tragic but mundane - the girls got lost, or else ran off, ending up for the wolves either way. Then the tragic and unjust, that someone or something was abducting them: slavers, traffickers. It seemed less likely the cause was supernatural, though hags were known to have a penchant for young females, maybe a lesser vampire.

He didn’t relish any of the outcomes, if he was honest with himself. But he’d seen the lavish church at the end of the high street and knew there could be no drought of money in this town, despite the dilapidated dwellings. Crisis had a habit of making converts of even the most secular, and the people of Mulbrydale shed their coin for the Church of the Eternal Fire like the yellow birch leaves now littering their street.

“What did this Young Ian claim to see?” he asked, and the innkeep shrugged where he’d turned to wipe a grimy mug. Whether beast or bastard, Cassian figured the snatcher must have a stash spot nearby since none of the bodies had been found, or else there’d be tracks from a caravan or band of outlaws. 

“He says he saw a lady in the wood, the same day the last girl disappeared. Said she spoke to him day afore yesterday when he went lookin’ for his own sister, Abby. Didn’t find no trace of her, but came back babblin’ like a loon about how he met some Gray Lady. Blue eyes and hair spun of gold, he says.”

Instincts prickling, Cassian leaned closer across the grubby counter, trying to hide his voice below the din of other midday patrons who apparently had nothing better to do than drink. “Did he seem.. Out of it? Acted strange ever since?”

“Well he’s never been quite right, but he did turn down a sympathy romp with Marna over there when he came to tell the tale. Never afore he done that.” 

The aforementioned must’ve heard her name, for a dull-eyed woman rose her head from where it had been plastered to a scrubbed wood table and offered him a watery smile. The innkeep gave him a significant look, eyebrows raised.

The pieces were beginning to fall into place, an artist’s first pass of paint over a canvas. It definitely wasn’t wolves, and while he hadn’t ruled out some other creature it was clear this being was intelligent, enough to cover his own tracks. That left fewer options, all of them dangerous.

Cassian straightened, confident he’d wrung every bit of useful information out of the man, tossed his last few coppers on the counter before draining his ale.

“Thank you. Tell me where to find this Young Ian, and the families of the girls, and I’ll be on my way. And as for my fee..”

They haggled for a moment, and he managed to get the innkeep up a few more crowns, enough to see him through until he reached Oxenfurt. Once there he could rest a bit easier, in more comfort with the dearth of contracts in the city. Maybe even spring for a sympathy romp himself.

Cassian left his horse tethered outside the inn and made his way to the main street. Townsfolk froze in their churning and smithing and general idling to gawk at him, some spitting in his path or crossing themselves and mumbling prayers to the Eternal Fire. Even the reedy looking man in the pillory had the gall to sneer at him, but they were all reactions he’d endured for many years, and Cassian only sent his well-practiced curse to his parents for selling him off so young.

For it was a witcher’s lot in life to be both needed and reviled, a freak mutated with poisons to be stronger, faster, with keener senses and quicker healing. His kind were made, not born, though he might as well have been for all the choice he had in it. 

At the first three girls’ houses Cassian found similar scenes - weeping mothers, dull-eyed siblings, fathers crackling with impotent rage. And the same story thrice over: that their daughter walked over the ridge to the forest like she always did, and at sundown only the goats came home, no trace to be found. 

The tale was simple enough, but something snagged in the back of Cassian’s mind as he trudged up the lane toward the last house. Maybe it was that all the girls were near age thirteen, all described as both comely and disobedient by their fathers. The way the mothers cringed away from their husbands, the young boys in each house better nourished than their sisters.

Abby was the third girl who’d gone missing, who also happened to be the sister of the young man who’d claimed to see the phantom in the forest. Her former house was a sad little cottage of pitch and straw at the end of the lane, leaning drunkenly to one side from time and shoddy construction. Its owner leaned in much the same manner where he sat out front, propped up on a stool with a jug between his feet, dirt and sweat caked along his hairline.

Cassian cleared his throat and the man jolted upright at the sound, somehow startled even though Cassian was big enough to cast a shadow across him from several feet away.

“I hear your daughter’s gone missing,” Cassian bit out, already expecting no useful information. “And your son saw a woman in the woods. What can you tell me?”

The man hiccoughed and blinked up at him, weaving slightly though he was sitting still. “My Abby. She’s gone. The Gray Lady took ‘er.”

“What Gray Lady?”

“Ian seent her, my - hic - son. When he went lookin’ for his sister.” He gestured toward the forest and belched wetly, making Cassian take a step back. “Said he saw a figure in the woods before passing out, and when he woke this was - hic - in his pocket along with one of Abby’s hair - hic - ribbons.”   

The man nodded downward. Cassian looked closer now at the jug between his feet and saw a small flower sticking from the opening, an ordinary celandine. But the yellow petals shimmered in the light, strange, unearthly, and he felt his witcher’s medallion hum against his chest at the presence of magic.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It won’t die. The priest says it’s an omen from the Eternal Fire, that it marks the unnatural has - hic - taken ahold of her. That I gotta pay to have my home cleansed so the blight don’t spread to my others. But I think she sent it as a sign she’s still out there, that she needs me to come save her. Somethin’s not right in those woods, I’m tellin’ you. Somethin’ wicked snatched my girl, I feel it.”

Zealots and swindlers, all priests of that bloodthirsty religion, but Cassian couldn’t deny the wrongness that radiated from the flower, a clumsiness in how the magic wavered he couldn’t quite place. The girl’s father burst into pitiful tears then, and Cassian almost felt sorry for him, as much as he was capable of, anyway. 

“And it would take her of course, my Abby. Most beautiful girl in Velen. She was supposed to be - hic - married next month, you know. I knew one day some important man would come through and see her and have to take her for a wife. Offered a handsome sum, too. My girl. Knew she couldn’t have been born so pretty for - hic - nothin’.” He dissolved once more into weeping, mumbling to himself, a man lost in his own head.

Yet despite the way his voice trembled, something about his grief left a bad taste in Cassian’s mouth, like beer gone slightly off. And not because of the myth that witcher mutations robbed one of normal human emotions - he had more of those than this man was having coherent thoughts at present - but he seemed much sadder about the lost coin than his own flesh and blood.

After a few additional questions that got him nowhere, Cassian left the man cradling the flower, stroking it with one delicate finger and muttering about farm equipment that needed repairing. 

The mystery was starting to come together more clearly, though parts still felt obscured, a thick bank of fog blocking the places where it all connected. The flower was strange, the magic rudimentary, but Abby at least had reasons to run away, or perhaps a suitor uninterested in paying her father what he thought she was worth.

He trudged back up the lane, stomach growling.

With information from a street urchin he cajoled by letting her hold his sword, he soon found Young Ian hiding in the community stables. He could’ve been no older than twenty, sprawled in a pile of straw with one hand tugging hard at his fluffy hair, a ragged feather quill in the other. There was a piece of grubby parchment stretched over his knee, and Cassian wondered if the innkeep was right about his sanity when he saw line after line written and crossed out, fitful scribblings of an unsound mind. 

“Wanted to ask you some questions about the missing girls,” Cassian said gruffly, and the sandy-haired head whipped upwards, startled.

“I didn’t see nothin’,” he grumbled, muddy green eyes hazy. “Now git on with ye, I’m in the middle of somethin’.”

“Yes I can see that. Mind taking a break so we can both get on with our business?”

Ian bared his teeth to retort but seemed to catch himself, spotting Cassian’s leather armor, his twin swords. “Aye, you’re one o’ them witcher’s, ye are. I heard stories about ye. No feelings, none at all.”

“Thanks for your input. Now tell me about the woman you saw.”

“N-no, I didn’t see no-” Ian stammered, but Cassian felt his patience growing short. His belly was empty and so was his coin purse, and none of that would be remedied by debating his own emotional capacity.

“I don’t fucking care what you were doing out there, just tell me what you saw.”

“She told me not to tell.”

Beyond aggravated, Cassian felt his hand moving up to cast Axii before deciding to do so. Ian’s eyes instantly went glassy, his own will dampened, and he glanced out the stable door before leaning in close.

“I saw her,” he said, voice wavy with delight. The reverence that broke across his face crinkled the dirt at the corners of his eyes. “The Gray Lady. She was there in the woods, in naught but a robe, and she was the most beautiful -”

“This was a human woman?”

“Tweren’t nothing human about her, Sir Witcher, sir. She was - She -”

A faint buzzing sounded, and Cassian felt his medallion hum against his chest again. Something was preventing the young man from telling what he’d seen despite Axii’s influence, perhaps from remembering it altogether. He could read now the scribbled lines on the parchment - poetry, declarations of love to a golden-haired goddess. The gifts he’d lavish upon her, where he’d lick - 

With a groan, Cassian lumbered away from the young man, who returned moony-eyed to his musings with hardly a second glance. This job just kept getting worse.

It was too late to back out now, he reasoned, and he returned to the inn to wait for nightfall. And to stew over what the fuck he was going to do.

For this was no common trafficker or hag or even an incubus that took those girls, any of which would be preferable to what it probably was. It was most likely a creature more formidable than all others, against which he had a particular weakness. Cassian sharpened his silver sword while the townspeople descended into drunkenness that evening, trying to ignore the dread that had begun to coil in his stomach, wondering if the blade would even make a difference.

When the moon was a pale wisp on the horizon, he slipped out of the tavern and proceeded into the woods on foot, not trusting his horse to resist whatever tricks may lay in wait. The forest was dense and silent, quieter than it had any right to be, and he met none of the usual night creatures as he wound further between the trees. Cassian found himself holding his breath at intervals, the creeping feeling that he was treading somewhere he ought not go, pressing ahead in defiance. Perhaps in foolishness, too. 

Water sounded close by, the smell of wet earth and something sweeter, trunks thinning to indicate a glade ahead. The ground was softer here, and with his witcher’s sight he noticed a crisscross of small footprints in the mud, a scrap of flowery fabric snagged on a branch. A twist of magic drifted on the air, sharp and metallic, making his lip curl and his medallion shudder.

Yet at the same time his better sense begged to turn back, a thread tugged low in his gut, pulling him forward. With the blessing of vision in the dark, Cassian crept through the trees until he came at last to a starlit clearing.

A gray-robed figure stood in the pool of a silver waterfall, hood shrouding the details of her heart-shaped face. He could tell it was a woman from the contours of her body, from the long, golden-brown hair that swayed like reeds in the updrafts from the falls. Though he’d approached on silent footsteps, she turned in greeting like he’d come crashing through the brush, her full mouth bracketed with annoyance as if he’d kept her waiting.

Slender hands reached up to remove the hood, and the woman beneath was unlike he’d ever seen, tall and willowy, her face glowing like the moon. And those eyes - he could see why Ian was trying to put his passion to paper. They were the blue-gray of a winter sky reflected in his sword, smoldering like white-hot embers in the night. His empty stomach fell out then, for such unnatural beauty only graced one kind of creature.

A sorceress.

All around him plants rustled in a phantom breeze, giant tropical flowers, willows with branches that trailed in the clear pool at his feet. He could see silver-scaled fish flashing in the water, chiming where they brushed against one another, against her shapely legs. Legs he’d die to have wrapped around his waist, or crushing his head as he -

A tendril of magic wrapped about his throat, choking off his breath before he could shield himself. Cassian saw one elegant eyebrow raise when he didn’t pass out immediately, knew it was a trap but oh, what a trap to die in.

Fucking sorceresses.

“You seek the missing girls.”

Her voice was like liquid starlight, and he tried to stammer out an explanation but found only a dumb groan pouring from his throat. “Do you mind toning down your glamour?” he managed once he’d collected himself enough. “It’s giving me a headache.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, and he wondered if she expected him to fall to her feet as the village boy had. As many others had before, he suspected. 

But she relented, the intense aura around her dimming somewhat to reveal a woman more earthly, yet somehow more beautiful still. She had a severe look about her, her face all angles, and he couldn’t help how his eyes traced her lush body, more gorgeous than he’d seen in many long years. Not that it meant anything about her potential to rip him in half, though it certainly was an.. Obstacle.

“You know where they are,” he choked out.

She smiled, cloying, and the wind brought the scent of lilacs drifting toward him once more. “I take it you’ve come to rescue them from evil, brave knight.”

Her countenance was soft and inviting, but Cassian knew what wolves could live in pretty clothing. Knew the dangers in taking her kind’s word, drilled into him through experiences both vicarious and personal.

Don’t ever trust a fucking sorceress.

He should be better at learning from his mistakes by now.

“Where are they?”

“Safe.”

“And I’m supposed to take your word for it.”

He’d heard of crooked mages snatching girls to sell to the academies, earning commissions based on each student’s aptitude. In a dream world the law would put a stop to it, a fool’s dream given Velen had a skewed view of justice these days. But something about the woman before him gave him pause, a crispness in her manner that belied a stronger moral code. Mostly the fact she hadn’t killed him yet.

“What other choice do you have?” she said in her silvery voice, and a shudder threatened to steal through him.

“I could kill you.The families think some evil creature stole them. Want me to bring back its head.”

He knew it was a gamble, but he wanted to gauge her power, how much of a threat he posed to her. Her moonbright eyes darted toward his weapons - he saw genuine fear there, and Cassian wondered if he’d misjudged her before her expression melted back into smugness.

“Two swords. I should’ve known.” She wrinkled her delicate nose and gods, he wanted to kiss where the skin crinkled. “They’ve hired you to dispatch the monster, and here you are.”

“Tell me where the girls are and there’ll be none to kill.”

“Those zealots wouldn’t know a real monster if it were clawing at their hollow legs,” she muttered to herself before straightening. “Then it seems I must plead my case. Come. Let’s see if I can’t convince you to spare me.” 

She flashed that sensual, terrifying smile again and Cassian was half tempted to turn around and sprint away. Sorceresses were of a duplicitous ilk at best, abjectly cruel at worst, and whatever this one was doing out here on her own, the whole thing spelled trouble. He got the distinct impression she was concealing something, though what it was difficult to say. But when she extended a hand out toward him, Cassian couldn’t find it in himself to deny her, to think anything but whether its owner would let him press his lips to it, among other places. 

“Well?” she asked. “Are you coming in, or must we do this in the cold?”

She beckoned him forward before turning and walking straight through the waterfall. Cassian  followed dumbly on leaden legs, braced himself for the rush of chill water but was met with only a whisper of warm air, the scent of lilac and parchment dancing on the wind.

They emerged into a circular courtyard, surrounded on three sides by a stone villa tucked into a mountainside, archways leading to various chambers beyond. The remaining side stood open to the night air, the steep drop beyond, shadows shifting in the light of several braziers along the perimeter. His hostess looked different, too, her roughspun cloak transformed into a high-collared gown, the deep plum fabric spotless where it swept against the polished stone floor. A lush banquet was laid out before them, and even as his stomach growled Cassian knew this was a mistake, knew she already had her hooks in him and was just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“Let’s have dinner before you decide to kill me.” Her smile was luminous and terrifying, and he swallowed in spite of himself. She gestured to a plush-cushioned seat at one end of the long table, draping herself in the one opposite. “Well, witcher. Have you the courage to drink for a sorceress’ cup?”

Along with her clothing, she’d transformed into an even smoother, more self-assured woman now they were in her bower, a spider biding time at the edge of her web. A goblet appeared before him when he eased into the chair, as if dropped out of thin air. The wine within was blood-red, and Cassian felt himself overcome with a thirst that he tried to resist.

“Depends.”

“On what?” She quirked her head to the side, amused.

“Whether I can be of some use to you.”

Her eyes flashed, and he thought saw something like his own hunger mirrored there, but it might’ve been a trick of the light.

“Oh I’m sure you can be very useful, Lord of Bloodshed.”

He balked when she used his nickname, the one he’d earned on the battlefield in the last Temerian rebellion. Her smile widened. 

“Let’s negotiate. You believe I’m involved in the girl’s disappearance. The villagers have asked you to come kill me, and offered you a certain amount of coin to do so.”

“That’s right.”

Cassian eased his swords off his back and set them against the table beside them. That she’d let him keep them would’ve been comforting to a novice, but he knew enough now to tell she wasn’t foolish. Just secure enough in her own power not to worry.

“So it would stand to reason that if I offer you the same amount of coin, you’d happily be on your way.”

It might not be an empty promise - along with the fine dishware on the table, all manner of gemstones and arcane artifacts cluttered the high shelves between the archways, any one of which would’ve doubled his commission.

“That would be true if I didn’t have a reputation to uphold. A witcher doesn’t skip out on a job without good reason.”

“Am I not a good enough reason?” she asked, fluttering her lashes. 

His eyes were immediately drawn to the supple curves of her breasts visible above the table. With great effort Cassian managed to keep his expression stony and shake his head. 

She huffed. 

“You’re a harder nut to crack than the rest. I don’t imagine threatening you out of it would work either. Oh, don’t get twisted about yourself,” she added when his hand moved automatically toward the hilt of his silver blade. “All that would happen is you’d break a lot of my things and then I’d have a great bloody mess to clean up. Truthfully I can’t be bothered.”

“You’re wasting my time, sweetheart,” he growled, patience waning. “Where are the girls?”

“Don’t be beastly,” she scoffed, disgusted, and Cassian bristled at her offense, at the accusation in her eyes. Here she was trying to lure him into a trap, bribe him from his duty, yet acted like she saw nothing but a brute across from her, just like the townspeople.

“Snatching children from their homes, I could argue you’re the beast. No better than a bog hag, bathing in blood to stay young.”

It was a low blow but he didn’t care, wanted to see her face twist with fury, relished the silver fire that sparked at her pale fingertips.

“Of the two of us at this table, who was crafted to kill?” she snarled, jumping to her feet to lean toward him, an accusing finger pointed at his heart. Rage pounded harder through his skull, and Cassian found himself on his feet too, fuming at her across the banquet table.

“Tell the truth for once in your crooked life, sweetheart. All this is an illusion. At the end of the day, you’re just like me. Blood and guts, bones and coin. Only you like to pretend the dirt doesn’t cling to your skirts.”

“The girls are never going home.” Her skirts whipped up in a sudden wind, a whirl of violet, lighting crackling overhead. “Tell the families they’re dead, bring back my head if you must. It will not change the facts.”

“Then you’re every inch the fucking monster you pretend not to be.”

He braced himself for her wrath, the wave of magic coming to steal his breath. But to his surprise she stilled, watched him for a moment, that same evaluating stare from the clearing. Something sad passed across her face, and Cassian felt like he could see through a chink in her armor, just a peek at the scared girl she’d likely once been.

“You think I look at you and see a brute. But I know you and I both have curses to bear. Doomed to live on the outskirts, worth just what we offer to others. I only wish for my freedom.”

An understanding passed between them, of two people stranded in an eternal no man’s land. For himself, Cassian had surrendered long ago to his fate straddling the fringes of society, helping people who smiled in his face and spat at his back. He’d tried living away from civilization altogether for a few decades but found it brutally lonely.

There were respites, of course, when he found favor with a noble or a woman who could tolerate him for more than a night, but he aged so much slower that eventually everything permanent proved it was not.

They both sat back down in unison, a truce. Cassian took a sip of wine, and her stormy blue eyes tracked the movement, a blush creeping across her chest.

“You could have both,” he observed, and she wrinkled that perfect nose again. “A sorceress like you could easily find home in a court. Why hide out in this shithole?”

“A boring, sad question with a boring, sad answer. You and I have more interesting things to discuss, I think.”

The hunger rose in her eyes once more, and he saw them rove over his body, pink tongue coming out to wet her lips. He chuckled. So this was the trap at the web’s center.

“You must be wanting for bed partners if you’ll have me, sweetheart.” An understatement given he’d been sleeping outside for a week, but his hostess stood after downing her own glass, waving a bored hand.

“Nothing a little water can’t fix.” 

She crossed to one of the archways and opened the door to a lush bathing chamber, the sunken pool steaming with fragrant water, lilac and sage. Cassian rose and followed, but he caught her arm on the threshold, heard her breath hitch when he pulled her body flush to his.

“I don’t make a habit of bedding women whose names I don’t know.”

“It’s Nesta,” she said, smiling, and the wind echoed her: Nesta Nesta Nesta.

He let her have her way with him the first time, knowing from experience she wouldn’t be satisfied until he was on his knees before her, where he belonged. She combed his hair while he recovered, and atop her silk sheets had her way with him again, only allowing him to explore her once she was wrung out and purring. Squeezed those lovely legs around his head and ceded the high ground at last, crying out beneath him as he took her as he’d wanted to from the beginning, hard and fast and desperate. Whimpered so sweetly when he kissed a line down her back and claimed her from behind, though they both knew who was in charge. He thought he might die from it, from her pressing back into him just as eagerly, the roundness of her hip in one of his hands, her pleasure in the other.

He brushed the hair from her forehead where she lay against his chest after, skin glistening under the soft blanket of the moon. Her bedchamber was cluttered with books, piles of them on the dresser, the small desk. A portrait of her and two other young women hung over the hearth, all with the same gold-brown hair.

Nesta flinched when he bent to kiss her soft cheek, just the smallest amount, that mortal eyes would likely miss. There was something heartbroken about her he couldn’t quite place, a loneliness even their coupling hadn’t remedied. Like she still expected to have to kill him.

Then light shifted in one of the archways, the air rippling, and he knew.

“They’re here.”

She hummed in annoyance and kept her eyes closed. “Don’t speak yet. You’re ruining this for me.”

“Tell me where they are.”

She pulled back and regarded him for a long moment, evaluating, and he tried to be whatever it was she was looking for, if only so she would keep looking.

Nesta nodded, having found it, and strode toward one of the archways wrapped in the blanket, drew back a curtain of air with a graceful sweep of her arm. A portal.

Inside lay a stone chamber filled with moonlight, a round table in the center carved with runes and littered with herbs and gemstones. Beyond a door on the far wall he could see rows of bunks built into the stone, the forms of children sleeping, their gentle snores carried to him on a lilac-scented wind.

“Are they here of their own will?”

“Somewhat.”

“So, no.”

“They are my pupils.”

“Some would call them hostages.”

She clenched her fists, incensed, and he saw the waves of power gather about her, Chaos begging for her touch. “What shall I do, leave them to be used as pawns by their families? Sold to wretched old men or wasting away in that cesspool? I’m giving them a way out.”

“And condemning them to walk alone in the process.”

“They deserve to decide their own fate.”

“And be like you? Hiding in the woods?”

“Do you pity me, witcher?” She was so close he could see the veins of magic in her eyes, as if her very blood was luminescent. “I may not have the splendor nor the influence of a court mage, but I am shackled to nothing but my own desires. Do you not seek the same?”

I seek nothing but a warm bed and a hot meal, he thought. But when he tried to say it, Cassian bit his tongue so hard he drew blood, and her eyes blazed brighter. He tried again and bit down even harder, the spell preventing the lie from passing his teeth.

“Do you not?” she repeated, and he heard the broken edge there, the plea. “When you sleep on the ground, do you not do so with a glad heart because it is ground you have chosen?”

“We’re all shackled to our fate, sweetheart. Trying to defy it only makes it come faster.”

Before Nesta could respond, there was a small cry from the bunk room and she rushed to attend to it, exposing her back to him without a second thought. Guilt leapt in his stomach, and Cassian couldn’t tear his eyes away as she comforted the girl, pulled the quilts back up over her and stroked her hair.

Feeling intrusive, he moved to don his trousers, and was just reaching for his shirt when she reappeared. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You weren’t wrong. About the solitude. Though it does help to have visitors, to pass the time.”

She trailed over to kiss him again and her mouth was sweet as Toussaint wine. They tumbled back to bed once more, slower this time, and he pretended not to see the shine of her tears in the starlight.

“One of your pupils sent something to her family. An everlasting flower. Gave them hope she’s still alive,” he panted when they were spent, having somehow ended up on the rug before the fire.

“Foolish girl. Her father was preparing to sell her to a traveling merchant. Thirteen years old.”

“One of them will go back one day. Bonds of family are strong. ”

“Not for us though, right?”

Cassian swallowed, knew it wasn’t worth bothering to refute her. His own family was likely long dead by now, and he didn’t even know where they were buried.

“You put yourself at risk doing this,” he warned, not wanting to touch that tender spot any longer. “You’ll have to stop or move on soon.”

“I don’t recall asking for advice.”

“Not advice. Concern.”

“I can take care of myself, witcher.” Nesta looked down from where she sat astride him now, smirking. “Haven’t you learned that by now?”

Cassian woke hours later at the edge of the waterfall’s pool, a spray of shimmering lilacs tucked in his pocket, sunrise just a few breaths off. Felt the ringing in his head as he plodded back through the woods, the fuzz of wine, the ghost of her fingers in his hair.

He didn’t bother thinking of a tall tale to appease the townsfolk, didn’t even consider stopping at the inn to finagle his commission. On the way out of town he passed Abby’s father sprawled stone drunk by his front gate. Clutched in his hand was the enchanted celadine, still glinting weakly.

Cassian made the sign for Igni and set the flower alight before kicking the man awake.

“Your daughter’s dead.”

He turned his back on the howls of despair, tucking his cloak tighter about him as he headed down the road toward Oxenfurt.

[pixeldistractions]

May 2088

The dreary winter led into a long and soggy spring, which finally broke now at the end of May. Today they expected their first truly hot day that announced the impending summer.

Especially as the big wedding date loomed closer, Jordan and Ian slept over at the hotel more often so they could wake early and accomplish their outdoor work before the late spring sun got too hot. Given the time crunch and a little persuasion on their part, Sharon offered them a double twin room to share.

And that was quite fine for Ian, who still lived at home with his parents, as well as for Jordan who had a domestic situation of his own to escape. It was kind of fun, even, for someone who never went to college—it almost felt like living in a dorm with a roomie.

It felt like one foot out the door.

The barn build was not only specifically for Stephanie’s wedding in two weeks, but Stephanie was Sharon’s dearest employee and this wedding was going to be the most beautiful they ever put together. Wedding barn included, first time building one or not. It might be close, but he would finish it on time.

Jordan was deeply focused on his work. Ian worked on some calculations on his phone, but Jordan was pretty sure he had a mobile game going. There was some commotion happening in the kitchen. Behind them, the ladies scurried in and quickly back out, hushed voices, something serious. He didn’t know what was going on. He would leave them to it and he was sure Maria would fill him in later.

A while later, sweat in his eyes, sawdust in his hair, he glanced up to see Maria waiting patiently for him to notice her, carefully moving herself between piles of stacked two-by-fours.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“So, the wedding is postponed,” she told him. “Justin’s dad had a heart attack. He, um… he didn’t make it.”

“Oh. Shit.” That was all Jordan could say before his brain flashed back to one of the worst times of his life.

Answer the phone, you asshole. Your dad, he had a heart attack. He didn’t make it. Why aren’t you here? You need to be here! Are you hearing me? He’s dead.

“It was so fast, nobody saw it coming, and he was supposed to be Justin’s best man…”

Maria said some more things, a Maria-shaped fog with sound coming out. Still as a block of stone, Jordan couldn’t even think to move through the cut planks of wood around them, feeling only the news to his core in an ugly ball of memory. Seven years ago now, but it sometimes felt as fresh as yesterday. Someone else’s bad news churned up that roiling ball of grief from its assigned place in the dark pit of his stomach, probably near his gallbladder, spleen, memories of middle school bullies, alien war conspiracies in kindergarten, and all those other useless things he liked to forget were there. He was that same lost twenty-two year old, completely alone in the world, not knowing what to do next. And he was out there when his own father passed, being young and carefree and selfish.

Why aren’t you here, you asshole?

Emerging from his block of stone, he felt Maria’s gentle hands on his wrists, taking the saw from his clenched hand, setting it down on the work table. “Hey, let’s take a little break from the saw, huh? I just made some lemonade. I’ll go get it.”

“Wait,” he said. “Don’t go.” He didn’t know why he said that.

“You don’t want lemonade?”

“I mean, sure.” A nervous laugh came out, though nothing was funny. “Yes, I’ll have some lemonade.”

She looked at him like he had two heads. She looked at the worktable, the sawdust, the sweat dripping down his brow. He must have been a wreck because she watched him carefully, a small pinch in her lips. “You should be careful out here, wearing all that black in the hot sun. You might get heat stroke. You’ve got a couple chairs set up in the barn? Wait for me in the shade? I’ll be right back.”

He went inside the barn, cluttered with his tools, lumber, and wedding decorations that would need to be boxed back up. It was messy in here, but the shade was nice. Maybe he did have a bit of heat stroke. He felt so stupid. His dad was already gone, long long gone. Poor Justin. Poor Stephanie, whose wedding was interrupted. He should offer his condolences instead of having a panic attack and combined sun stroke all together like a weirdo.

— “why are you here? #2: little sparks catch fire” (part 2/6)

notes: wild guess on who left Jordan that voicemail when his dad died??? It’s not supposed to be a mystery, so let me know if you have no idea, lol!

We are also now at the point where this prequel story will begin to intermingle and expand upon some of the previously published chapters for this set of characters. Specifically, for this scene, “my sweetheart #1”, which was told from Cynthia’s POV (Justin’s mother).

Next -> // WAYH #2 start // index