#and nearly a decade later here we are

[tagidearte]

Apologies for the lack of DCA fanart as of late. Have a sketch of my oc Diderik when he was a baby. I might add-in his twin brother too, we'll see (don't let his sweet face fool you, this boy was a massive crybaby).

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

I'm sorry but the irony of Nico calling Max unprofessional is sending me so bad like sir there's an entire garage full of people, who were literally in the trenches trying to survive the Brocedes fallout while just doing their jobs, who might have a few things to say about your (& Lewis') level of professionalism at that time 😭✋️

[timeisacephalopod]

Admittedly I don't know much about the Israel Palestine war but I keep seeing news articles that refer to it as the Israel Hamas war and no it is not. After all Israel has done it gets to be referred to by it's country name and not "terrorists who kill babies and children at the speed of light" but Palestine gets reduced to Hamas?

It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth that the struggle of the Palestinian people keeps getting reduced to the existence of Hamas, but at no point does the ongoing state violence of Israel define its existence when by all means it should when my understanding is that the creation of Israel was stealing land from Palestinians. Why is Israel's violence ignored while Palestine is defined by the admittedly shit group that only arose out of decades of occupation and imperialism? Those two things are not the same and ignoring Israel's violence to act like Hamas came from nowhere just to hurt the poor Israeli government who acts like they've done nothing wrong is ridiculous to me.

[liberaljane]

Women's Not So Distant History

This #WomensHistoryMonth, let's not forget how many of our rights were only won in recent decades, and weren’t acquired by asking nicely and waiting. We need to fight for our rights. Here's are a few examples:

📍 Before 1974's Fair Credit Opportunity Act made it illegal for financial institutions to discriminate against applicants' gender, banks could refuse women a credit card. Women won the right to open a bank account in the 1960s, but many banks still refused without a husband’s signature. This allowed men to continue to have control over women’s bank accounts. Unmarried women were often refused service by financial institutions entirely.

📍 Before 1977, sexual harassment was not considered a legal offense. That changed when a woman brought her boss to court after she refused his sexual advances and was fired. The court stated that her termination violated the 1974 Civil Rights Act, which made employment discrimination illegal.⚖️

📍 In 1969, California became the first state to pass legislation to allow no-fault divorce. Before then, divorce could only be obtained if a woman could prove that her husband had committed serious faults such as adultery. 💍By 1977, nine states had adopted no-fault divorce laws, and by late 1983, every state had but two. The last, New York, adopted a law in 2010.

📍In 1967, Kathrine Switzer, entered the Boston Marathon under the name "K.V. Switzer." At the time, the Amateur Athletics Union didn't allow women. Once discovered, staff tried to remove Switzer from the race, but she finished. AAU did not formally accept women until fall 1971.

📍 In 1972, Lillian Garland, a receptionist at a California bank, went on unpaid leave to have a baby and when she returned, her position was filled. Her lawsuit led to 1978's Pregnancy Discrimination Act, which found that discriminating against pregnant people is unlawful

📍 It wasn’t until 2016 that gay marriage was legal in all 50 states. Previously, laws varied by state, and while many states allowed for civil unions for same-sex couples, it created a separate but equal standard. In 2008, California was the first state to achieve marriage equality, only to reverse that right following a ballot initiative later that year. 

📍In 2018, Utah and Idaho were the last two states that lacked clear legislation protecting chest or breast feeding parents from obscenity laws. At the time, an Idaho congressman complained women would, "whip it out and do it anywhere,"

📍 In 1973, the Supreme Court affirmed the right to safe legal abortion in Roe v. Wade. At the time of the decision, nearly all states outlawed abortion with few exceptions. In 1965, illegal abortions made up one-sixth of all pregnancy- and childbirth-related deaths. Unfortunately after years of abortion restrictions and bans, the Supreme Court overturned Roe in 2022. Since then, 14 states have fully banned care, and another 7 severely restrict it – leaving most of the south and midwest without access. 

📍 Before 1973, women were not able to serve on a jury in all 50 states. However, this varied by state: Utah was the first state to allow women to serve jury duty in 1898. Though, by 1927, only 19 states allowed women to serve jury duty. The Civil Rights Act of 1957 gave women the right to serve on federal juries, though it wasn't until 1973 that all 50 states passed similar legislation

📍 Before 1988, women were unable to get a business loan on their own. The Women's Business Ownership Act of 1988 allowed women to get loans without a male co-signer and removed other barriers to women in business. The number of women-owned businesses increased by 31 times in the last four decades. 

Free download

📍 Before 1965, married women had no right to birth control. In Griswold v. Connecticut (1965), the Supreme Court ruled that banning the use of contraceptives violated the right to marital privacy.

📍 Before 1967, interracial couples didn’t have the right to marry. In Loving v. Virginia, the Supreme Court found that anti-miscegenation laws were unconstitutional. In 2000, Alabama was the last State to remove its anti-miscegenation laws from the books.

📍 Before 1972, unmarried women didn’t have the right to birth control. While married couples gained the right in 1967, it wasn’t until Eisenstadt v. Baird seven years later, that the Supreme Court affirmed the right to contraception for unmarried people.

📍 In 1974, the last “Ugly Laws” were repealed in Chicago. “Ugly Laws” allowed the police to arrest and jail people with visible disabilities for being seen in public. People charged with ugly laws were either charged a fine or held in jail. ‘Ugly Laws’ were a part of the late 19th century Victorian Era poor laws. 

📍 In 1976, Hawaii was the last state to lift requirements that a woman take her husband’s last name.  If a woman didn’t take her husband’s last name, employers could refuse to issue her payroll and she could be barred from voting. 

📍 It wasn’t until 1993 that marital assault became a crime in all 50 states. Historically, intercourse within marriage was regarded as a “right” of spouses. Before 1974, in all fifty U.S. states, men had legal immunity for assaults their wives. Oklahoma and North Carolina were the last to change the law in 1993.

📍  In 1990, the Americans with Disability Act (ADA) – most comprehensive disability rights legislation in U.S. history – was passed. The ADA protected disabled people from employment discrimination. Previously, an employer could refuse to hire someone just because of their disability.

📍 Before 1993, women weren’t allowed to wear pants on the Senate floor. That changed when Sen. Moseley Braun (D-IL), & Sen. Barbara Mikulski (D-MD) wore trousers - shocking the male-dominated Senate. Their fashion statement ultimately led to the dress code being clarified to allow women to wear pants. 

📍 Emergency contraception (Plan B) wasn't approved by the FDA until 1998. While many can get emergency contraception at their local drugstore, back then it required a prescription. In 2013, the FDA removed age limits & allowed retailers to stock it directly on the shelf (although many don’t).

📍  In Lawrence v. Texas (2003), the Supreme Court ruled that anti-cohabitation laws were unconstitutional. Sometimes referred to as the ‘'Living in Sin' statute, anti-cohabitation laws criminalize living with a partner if the couple is unmarried. Today, Mississippi still has laws on its books against cohabitation. 

[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.

[autogyne-redacted]

Let's Talk About Security Culture: Why Keeping Secrets is Cool and Sexy

It's a natural impulse -- if you love crime -- to want to talk about how great it is. And if you hate America, it's only natural to want to share your dreams for its future with the rest of tumblr dot com. It can feel brave and transgressive. And there is a drive to share your soul with the world at the heart of social media. Surely I should be posting the most concrete implications of my politics, right? This is the poster's curse.

Security Culture refers to a set of "best practices" developed over the past several decades, largely (in a US context) coming out of radical environmental groups as they faced intense state repression, infiltration and entrapment. If you're not familiar, there's some fascinating crimethinc write ups to give you a window into that world:

Much of it boils down to: don't talk about crimes, past or forthcoming with people who don't need to know about them, and be mindful of the possibility of surveillance and infiltration. And, we can support each other as a community in minimizing risks, with an eye towards enabling bold action rather than getting bogged down in fears and anxieties. The guidelines that make sense for AG-based trouble-makers are different from the guidelines that make sense for posters, but plenty of common principles apply. To speak briefly to our position here as posters:

First, it bears saying that long term anonymity is nearly impossible to maintain. Unless you've never accessed Tumblr without a vpn, and avoided connections with other ppl who can be associated with you/your location, and never shared pictures without scrubbing metadata, and a bunch of other 100% consistent steps, it's trivial for the state to know who you are.

Second, just because something isn't actively being prosecuted now doesn't mean it can't be prosecuted later. The priorities of the state change and a shift in power towards the right or a growth in radical action from the left can suddenly make it a priority to destroy anarchist networks or just find a few ppl to prosecute as examples (who probably weren't that plugged into larger networks before getting arrested). Advocating for specific anti-government crimes or declarations of intent to commit such crimes are likely prosecutable, and even if charges don't stick, they're an easy vector for legal harassment.

Third, it's worth thinking about heat as separate from prosecutability. There are modes of engagement that may not be directly criminalized but signal that you are someone worth watching. Some people choose to be public in ways that make heat unavoidable. But it's worth noting that heat isn't strictly individualized, that it persists over time but also is going to shrink over time.

It's easy on here, ime, to see yourself as a proud member of the crime fandom but not much of a content creator. And it's easy to feel like you've generated an amount of heat where you're locked into that role. But heat you generated 10 years ago is probably pretty well gone. Heat you generated 5 years ago has faded substantially. It's worth thinking about how the world might shift in the coming years and what doors you want to keep open.

The non-individualized nature of heat also means that leaning into the spiciest of anti-state positions will make it a bad idea for people who are acting out those positions end up tied to you. Loudly talking about how "more people should be doing [X/Y/Z]" unfortunately sets you up to remain distant from people who might be doing or thinking about doing such things.

Which brings me back to: keeping secrets is sexy. Not spelling everything out builds intrigue. You can lay out a theoretical position and leave working out the practical implications of that as an exercise for the reader. There's value in opacity. The poster's curse and the drive to confess are extremely convenient for the state, but we can resist them. We can hold dreams in our hearts that we refuse to offer up to the posting spectacle.

[confused-pyramid]

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

[aurumalatus]

𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 [𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞]

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 700

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff and angst, drabble collection

summary.

in which kinich learns the value of all things: lives, friendship, and, of course, you. or, in which kinich realizes that you are the only priceless thing in this world.

author's note. this is just a short prologue to show how things end (yay happy endings!), but the two have a lot of trauma to go through before they reach endgame. i love kinich's character and design so i'm excited for this! interaction is highly appreciated :)

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ↣

Kinich thinks he’s loved you since forever.

He has no way of proving that, of course; those years are long gone, and even if he had the opportunity to ask, he’s not sure his younger self would have a comprehensible answer. He can only see now that he’s come so far, when the memories are too murky to make sense of but the warmth remains—when he thinks of your smile and feels something akin to the weightlessness of grappling and flying through the trees.

He says “forever” because he really has no idea when it started—the realization came far after the feeling. He’d been before school age when he met you for the first time, and it’s been over a decade since then.

“Kinich!”

Your call interrupts his thoughts, and his gaze is drawn skyward—you’re standing somewhere far above him, on one of the walkways lining the cliffs of the Scions of the Canopy. You’re waving so wildly and ridiculously that it almost makes him smile.

“Are you coming down?” he calls through cupped hands, well-acquainted with this kind of long-distance communication. Sound tends to echo well between the cliffs here, and he’s sure you heard him when you offer an enthusiastic thumbs-up in return. 

“Yup! I bought a few things, so I was hoping you could help me carry them home!”

Kinich rolls his eyes teasingly. “Somehow I doubt that you have enough Mora left to afford my services.”

You pout in reply. Ajaw decides to appear then, a malicious puff of smoke over Kinich’s shoulder. “Of course not! You better not be making fun of me, letting some mortal treat you like a servant! The Almighty Dragonlord, K’uhul Ajaw, won’t take this kind of disrespect—”

Ignoring his wordy introduction, you call down to Kinich again. “I’m coming down! Think fast!”

“—Don’t make me lau—wait, what?!”

Even Ajaw yelps in surprise as you take a running leap off the walkway, freefalling fast down the plane of the cliff. If he were any younger, Kinich might’ve had a heart attack. But you’ve been pushing your luck with him for years, and it comes as instinct when Kinich grapples up, deftly catching you in his arms with a light ‘oof’.

You’re holding a few boxes in your arms, he notices, and you smile. 

“I bought some Puff Pops for us to share later. I was thinking we can do some climbing, or there’s this cave I’ve been meaning to explore.”

His heart does a sort of flip that cannot be attributed to the way you fly through the sky. It’s all so much: the sensation of your warmth pressed against him, the scent of the wind rushing past, and the laughter of his tribe members below. Their eyes shine as they watch the two of you pass above them, chuckling at the familiar sight. 

And really, he can’t remember ever being this happy. When he thinks of how much it took to reach this point, the heartbreak and trauma aren’t the first things to come to mind. Instead, it’s you. The way you held him, the way you cried for him, the way you chased him. Always laughing, always in love.

Too lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t notice your curious stare for a moment. You poke at his cheek, and he startles, nearly dropping you both.

“Is something wrong?” you ask shyly, suddenly self-conscious of the box in your hands. “We don’t have to do any of that. Really, if you have a high-value job or something, I understand.”

Ajaw decides to butt-in again, reddened with rage. “Yes, all of that sucks! I mean, seriously, don’t you have anything better to do—”

“No, it’s great,” Kinich murmurs in reply, flicking Ajaw away with a strong hand—the Saurian’s roar dissipates with the wind. He holds you tighter against his chest. There’s nothing worth more to him than you. “That all sounds really, really amazing.”

As the two of you burst through the trees, laughing the whole way, he thinks that it doesn’t really matter when he started to love you. All that matters is that he doesn’t stop.

Kinich thinks he’ll love you forever.

[vexwerewolf]

Should I read homestuck

tl;dr: no

actual answer: yes, but with some extremely important caveats.

Firstly, because Adobe shitcanned Flash, you can now no longer experience Homestuck in the form it was intended upon release... unless you download the Unofficial Homestuck Collection. This act of unbelievable, nay, saintly generosity by Homestuck's most dedicated fans allows you to experience Homestuck as it was intended - as close as is humanly possible.

"As close as is humanly possible" is the key phrase here. One indelible part of the original Homestuck experience was UPDATE! Homestuck would sometimes go weeks or even months (and later, years) between updates. I wasn't on Tumblr back in the day, but at the peak of Homestuck, even if you knew nothing else about it, you'd know when an update dropped because Tumblr's net traffic would increase something like three to fourfold. People would go apeshit bananas about whatever new revelations the Huss would drop on us.

You also need to realise that Homestuck is a product of its time and while its takes on sexuality and gender identity was pretty progressive (for its time), Huss did use the r-slur a bunch.

While we're on the subject of the author, Andrew Hussie (of whom my current understanding is that they have not changed name but go by they/them nowadays) is, in the most diplomatic possible terms, a very unique person. They are, at times, a visionary storyteller with genuinely fascinating ideas. At other times, they come off as kinda spiteful towards their readers.

Without meaning to dip into spoilers, some story beats seem (in my opinion) almost intentionally calculated to upset, irritate or mock certain fans. It never rises to the sheer vicious contempt that Steven Moffat had towards Sherlock's fanbase, but it does leave a bad taste in my mouth whenever I go back.

Additionally, and this is where a sort of birds-eye-view spoiler is unavoidable, the story suffers from the Game of Thrones pitfall of repeatedly increasing its own complexity by adding new plot threads without resolving existing ones, eventually leading to fatigue on the part of both the reader and the author. The arcs of a lot of characters just straight up get abandoned, while a couple of characters take an unnecessarily large amount of screen time.

There's one character in particular that the author openly states within the narrative (the author exists within the world of the story. It's... a whole thing) that they favour, and whose behaviour the story is warped to accommodate. You'll know exactly who I'm talking about almost the moment they show up.

Another reason I say that it's not really possible to read Homestuck as it was originally intended is because a lot of the shit that happens in it fits into the zeitgeist of the internet at the time any individual update was written. There's a whole section in the late middle third that is inextricably and very specifically tied to how it was like to use Tumblr in 2012.

Additionally, a lot of things have soured with time. There was the whole Hiveswap debacle (it was first announced in 2012. We got the first act in 2017. We got the second act in 2020. We do not even know if the third act will ever come out.). There were the legal threats. There were the Epilogues and Homestuck 2, which were... how do I put this? Not universally liked. There's been nearly a decade of discourse since Homestuck ended, and a lot of things haven't grown better with age.

All of that being said.

You should read it.

I cannot express to you just how big an impact Homestuck has had on internet culture. Even people who claim to hate Homestuck unconsciously use slang that it invented. Its unique ideas on storytelling, character design and narrative chronology have, in both subtle and unsubtle ways, changed the way millennials and Gen Z tell stories.

A lot of people were inspired to tell stories because of Homestuck - one example I always give to Lancer players is that Kill Six Billion Demons started as a comic on the MSPA forums (before it was homestuck.com, it was MS Paint Adventures), so Homestuck is in an indirect but demonstrable way responsible for the existence of Lancer. The sunglasses that Gideon Nav from the Locked Tomb wears have been explicitly stated by Tamsyn Muir to be Dave Strider's. Toby Fox made music for Homestuck, and worked on large parts of Undertale while living in Andrew Hussie's basement.

We also know someone in the Bluey creative team is a Homestuck, because...

There are subtle but direct references in Bojack Horseman, Hazbin Hotel, Steven Universe, Adventure Time - and those are just the ones that it's easy to prove! In a more general sense, I think there's a lot of cartoon series, movies, games, etc. that would either be very different or wouldn't exist if Homestuck hadn't happened.

It's certainly influenced my work.

I think, being very cautious to manage your expectations, that you should read Homestuck. At the very least, a lot of things people say on Tumblr will start to make, if not sense, a different kind of nonsense.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Steve grows up playing piano, absolutely hates it, but is so good at it. His parents aren’t around enough by the time he’s a teen to force him to his practices, so he slowly stops going.

His music teacher happens to be Robin’s mom, who studied at Juilliard, and traveled for nearly a decade with various orchestras and bands before settling down with her husband in Hawkins.

She can see what’s going on with Steve from day one, but knows better than to interfere.

Until he quits.

She can’t stand by and let someone so musically gifted give it up.

She shows up at his house with a violin, her own violin that she hadn’t used in years.

He’s hesitant at first, but decides to give it a try as long as she doesn’t tell his parents. The last thing he wants is for them to find out he picked up a new instrument.

She can’t give him official lessons, so she shows up to his house twice a week and hopes that he practices in his own time.

He’s a natural.

He takes to it like a duck to water.

She encourages him to perform in a local talent show, all kids under 18, most of them not half as talented as he is.

He only agrees when she says she’ll be front row.

And sure enough, for once in his life, someone shows up when they say they will. She’s sitting front row with her husband on one side and her daughter on the other. She smiles as he takes the stage, nervous about people who know him seeing him and reporting back to his parents.

He performs with heart, something he lacked with the piano. He performs with talent, something he may have with any instrument he picks up.

But most importantly, he plays with a smile. He’s having fun.

He sticks around to watch some of the other people performing: Tammy Thompson singing a very out of tune rendition of America The Beautiful, some kid from one of his classes playing piano miserably, and some band performing very loud, very angry music.

Steve wins, and for once, it feels better than when he wins at a swim meet or basketball game.

He spends the next three years secretly practicing, only performing in shows out of town, never saying anything to his parents.

He doesn’t want them to ruin this for him.

He applies to Juilliard, not thinking he has a chance in hell, not with his academic grades.

Luckily, they see that he’s “exceptional with the strings” and “plays with emotion that can’t be trained.”

He gets in.

He goes.

He thinks he may actually be able to do this, use a gift he has to make his life better.

His parents even find it acceptable, mostly because he got into the best school he could have. They still don’t bother showing up for his shows, but Mrs. Buckley always finds a way.

In his sophomore year, Robin gets in, and they both move into a small apartment off campus together. He promised to look out for her.

She tells him that music wasn’t really her passion, she was just good with a trumpet. She really wanted to be an engineer.

In his junior year, Robin transfers to Columbia, starts doing what she really wanted to do from the start. He’s proud of her, but misses having someone on campus during the day to have lunch with.

Until he stumbles, literally, into someone vaguely familiar.

“Sorry, man. Running late.”

Steve pats the man on the shoulder and turns to get to his class when the man stops him.

“Harrington? You’re a student here?”

He turns back and finally recognizes the man in front of him.

“Munson? When did you get here?”

“I got in this year. Kinda fucked up my first audition last year and they were kind enough to give me another shot.” Eddie smiled. “What on earth are you here for?”

“Violin. You?”

“Guitar and songwriting.”

“That’s great, man. I’m just really running late. Catch up soon?”

Soon was two weeks later, when Steve ran into Eddie again while leaving class.

“We should probably stop running into each other like this,” Eddie smirked. “The universe is trying to tell us something.”

“What’s it trying to tell us?”

“Not sure. Maybe we should go grab dinner and find out.”

“Now?”

“Why not? Got better plans?”

Steve thought about how Robin was barely at the apartment due to studying for midterms. He thought about how his only other friend from here was busy rehearsing for their senior showcase.

“Nah. Let me bring this home first,” he held up his violin case. “Actually.”

Steve was on a budget. His parents gave him money, sure, but they thought he was living on campus so the money they sent covered rent and groceries and nothing else.

“I could make dinner. If you want?”

“Steve Harrington cooks? And plays violin?” Eddie fake swooned. “Be still my beating heart. How will I not be seduced?”

Steve rolled his eyes. He remembered Eddie’s dramatics from school and knew better than to feed into them.

“I can make some spaghetti. Nothing fancy.”

“Spaghetti sounds great,” Eddie’s fake swoon turned to a soft smile. “You want some help?”

Steve didn’t need help, usually didn’t even want any.

But something about the way his stomach dipped when Eddie stepped closer, and the way he thought about having Eddie in his apartment, made him agree.

“Sure.”

They walked to Steve’s apartment in a comfortable silence, though Eddie kept tapping the back of his fingers against Steve’s hand.

Eddie fit next to Steve. They cooked together, they ate together, they even managed to clean up together. It was easy to find something to talk about. He’d never clicked with anyone like this, not even Robin.

By the time Robin came home, Steve and Eddie were both passed out on the couch, fingers laced together as if they hadn’t been brave enough to do anything more before they fell asleep.

By morning, Steve’s head was on Eddie’s shoulder, Eddie’s arm wrapped around him loosely.

Waking up to a soft kiss on his lips was something Steve couldn’t have imagined when he first ran into Eddie, but he was pretty glad it was how he started his day.

And almost every day after that, whether he woke up to a kiss, or met up with Eddie on campus for a kiss, he started his day with love on his lips.

[gracexthoughts]

Seven

jacaerys velaryon x targaryen!aunt!oc

content/warnings; canon typical incest, slight talk of death/violence, Alicent being rude, angst and fluff

summary; Jacaerys and Aelyria were childhood bestfriends, inseparable and mischievous, until the princess Rhaenyra moved her family to Dragonstone, leaving her youngest half sister without her closest companion. Nearly a decade later, King Viserys has decided the feud within his family too far gone and declared the betrothal of Prince Jacaerys to his youngest daughter to help heal the rift. 

a/n; inspired by seven by taylor swift and jace’s talk with baela about fathers. I know this pairing has been done a lot but I really love it and hope I did it justice. about 4k words. 

Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?

“Aely!” The young prince Jacaerys called after the princess as she sprinted off into the woods. “Slow down!” Even though he was taller, she was quick and had run off before he could even get ready. Her laugh rings out over the grass as she darts into the woods, Jacaerys on her heels. 

The entirety of the royal family, accompanied by many lords and ladies, had traveled to the Kingswood for a royal hunt in celebration of the Prince Jacaerys' 10th name day. As he is the future heir to the Iron Throne, the crown had spared no expense for the celebration. Jacaerys himself, however, was not at present interested in whatever creature was being tracked down in his name, his sights set on adventure with the young Princess Aelyria, the King and Queen’s youngest child. Having been born mere months apart, they had grown to be quite close; they trained with their dragons together in the Dragonpit, had discovered and begun exploring the passageways in the Red Keep, and Aelyria had taken to sneaking into the princes’ training sessions in her own desire to learn to fight along with her favorite nephew. And when she would inevitably get dragged away by her mother or the septa, Jace would sneak into her chambers later that evening with two training blades in hand to teach her what he had learned that day. 

As Jacaerys breaks through the treeline, he runs straight into Aelyria, who had stopped suddenly in the woods, sending the pair tumbling forward in a heap of limbs. “Jace!” the princess cried, a laugh in her voice as they disentangled themselves and their cloaks. 

“You’re the one who stopped!” Jace laughs in his defense. “Why did you? I thought we were racing to the creek,” he wonders, standing and extending his hand down to help up the princess, a princely boy even at his young age. 

“I thought I saw something but we must have scared it off now,” she says, taking his hand and standing, not bothering to brush the dirt off her skirts. The princess’ lilac eyes flicker with mischief as she looks around the woods surrounding them, her eyes settling on a nearby tree with low branches fit for climbing. “C’mon!” 

Before Jacaerys can respond, the princess is pulling herself up to the lowest branch, swinging her legs over with ease, not a care in the world for the preservation of her skirts. She was always quite boyish, never heading her mother’s lessons of ladylike manners and behaviors. The young prince has never minded though, enjoying her wildness and sense of adventure. A day with her was never boring. 

Soon the young royals were high in the treeline, standing on either side of the large trunk balanced on branches as they took in the view around them. Their breaths were labored from the climb, their cheeks flushed and smiles wide. The ruckus of the hunt was left far behind and below them, not able to reach them in the trees. “I wish we could stay here forever,” the princess sighs, sitting down on her branch, her legs swinging. 

“Why?” the prince asks, watching her curiously. 

“It’s quiet,” she says softly, looking up at the still standing prince. “And beautiful and here my mother can’t yell at me to be more ladylike.” She rolls her eyes and mimics her mother’s intonation. Jacaerys laughs, climbing over and sitting next to the princess on her branch. 

“When we are older, I’ll be King and I’ll command your mother to leave you be.” 

“Will you let me be a knight?” the princess asks, excitement in her voice. 

“If you’d like!” Jacaerys laughs. “You could be my sworn protector.” 

“I’d be a brilliant knight.” the princess declares, straightening her back and puffing out her chest and the pair fall into giggles. 

“Well I promise then, once I’m King I’ll make sure your mother can never tell you to be ladylike again!” Jacaerys declares, holding out his pinky to the girl, who smiles and links hers with his, thankful for him. 

Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you

Jacaerys makes his way through the dark halls of Dragonstone, his footsteps echoing through the hall as he makes his way to the Great Hall. Nearing his destination, the voices of his mother and stepfather leak out through the ajar door. He pauses for a moment, not wishing to walk in on an intimate moment. 

“He says he wishes for it in the hope it will heal the rift between our families,” his mother says, her voice smooth and calm. 

“So he may fall prey to their vicious children? How do we know this isn’t a Hightower scheme?” Daemon challenges with clear disdain in his voice. 

“I cannot believe this idea came from Alicent nor Otto,” the princess responds. 

“Does not mean she won’t take advantage of it. She may be instructing Aelyn on how to best manipulate him at this moment.” 

“Her name is Aelyria, Daemon,” Rhaenyra corrects, peaking Jacareys’ interest further. His mother’s youngest half-sister was not a common topic of conversation in their home, even if she far preferred her half-sisters to her half- brothers. “They were friends when they were children; Jace doted on her even. It may prove to be a good match.” 

Daemon opens his mouth to respond but stops when he sees Jacaerys entering the room with a questioning look on his face. 

“Jace,” his mother says happily, smiling at him and motioning for him to come in. He obliges, his long stride carrying him through the room quickly to stand at the Painted Table with his mother and stepfather. “Apt timing. We just received word from your grandsire the King, he has suggested a match for you.” 

“A match? Who?” the young prince inquires, his gaze darting between Rhaenyra and Daemon, acting as if he had not been eavesdropping. 

“The Princess Aelyria. You are the same age, both unwed, and the King remembers how close you were as children,” his mother states, setting down the scroll of parchment in her hand on the table. “He thinks you would make a fine pair, and she a good Queen to have by your side.” Daemon scoffs slightly to her left, walking away to lean against the mantle above the hearth. Jacaerys stays silent for a moment. Marriage was something he knew would be coming but in truth, he hadn’t given it much thought. The princess he remembered was a small, spirited little girl with a quick wit and even quicker temper. She often snuck out of her own lessons to join the princes in their trainings, and trained in the Dragonpit alongside them for many years. He’d certainly held a boyhood crush on her then but Jacaeyrs struggles to imagine who she has grown into.

“What say you, Mother?” he asks finally, looking up from the Painted Table to meet her eyes. 

“I quite agree with my father,” she says after a moment. “It would do well to have our line of succession shored up, and the princess would make a fine match. While she has a reputation for being a little wild, I also hear that she has a good heart and a kind reputation among the smallfolk that would strengthen your reign when the time comes,” She says, moving closer to her son, “But it is your opinion that matters most in this.” 

“And of the Hightowers?” Daemon interjects from his place at the hearth, his eyes fixed on the flames. 

“Even they are not above the will of the King,” Rhaenyra responds, “We would have to go to King’s Landing for the wedding, but we needn’t stay.” Jacaerys holds his mother’s gaze for a long moment, mulling the idea of marriage, to someone he hardly knows any longer, over in his mind. “So?” 

“Yes, I accept,” he says with a nod, attempting to look more sure of himself than he feels. His mother smiles, raising his confidence slightly, and nods. 

“Then I shall write to my father,” she says, and kisses Jacaerys’ forehead before retrieving the scroll from the table and retreating from the room. Jacaerys lingers for a moment, watching Daemon whose eyes are trained on his wife’s retreating figure.

“The Hightowers are scheming and dangerous. You should watch this girl carefully,” he says to the young prince finally. 

“She’s not a Hightower, she’s a Targaryen,” Jacaerys responds quickly, already feeling protective over his betrothed. 

“Same thing for that lot,” Daemon responds darkly before grabbing his sword from the table and following after the princess. 

Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

The Prince grunts slightly as his feet hit the solid ground after lowering himself from Vermax’s back, stiff from the long ride. He and his mother have come to King’s Landing for the first time in many years so he and the princess can be reacquainted before their wedding in a moon. The rest of their family will come for the wedding but Rhaenyra wanted to avoid any repeat of the last time they were all together. 

Jacaerys would never reveal this secret but he was quite nervous. He could barely remember the face of the princess, let alone what she could look like or what her personality was now. Was she still as wild and rebellious and boyish as she was or has she relented to her mother’s will and become a lady? Jacaerys watches quietly as his mother speaks with the guards, requesting a carriage be brought to take them back to the castle, and as the Dragonkeepers escort Vermax and Syrax into the Dragonpit. Jacaerys wonders if Vermax remembers his first home still, the place they first bonded. He is quickly torn from his thoughts as a shadow passes over them and looking up, he sees a beautiful white and golden dragon making its descent to the ground.

The dragon and her rider’s backs are facing the prince once they land but the woman in front of him was undoubtedly the princess, for he’d recognize her dragon, Starfyre, anywhere. He watches as the princess pats her dragon on the neck, before leaping from the saddle and landing easily on the ground. She faces away from him still, speaking to the Dragonkeeper in High Valyrian but the prince finds himself taking in every detail he can. Her silver gold hair is intricately braided to hang down to the small of her back, her legs are long and wrapped in trousers made for riding, and a black riding coat accentuates her curves and hangs to her knees, her voice is melodic and sure in her High Valyrian. She nods to the Dragonkeeper and turns, pulling her riding gloves off with her teeth before her lilac eyes find Jacaerys and Rhaenyra. 

“Jace?” she calls, stepping away from her dragon and closer to him. She has the wide doe eyes of her mother still but everything else of her is Targaryen through and through, sharp features and high cheekbones, and her smile more beautiful than Jacaerys remembers it. 

“Aely,” he responds with a smile, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword, unsure of where else to put them. 

“I didn’t think you were arriving until later this evening,” the princess says, her eyes scanning the prince. Like Jacaerys, she has spent much time wondering how the boy she knew has changed into the man she’s been betrothed to and she is stunned at what she finds. His face is angular and handsome framed by long dark curls. He is tall and lean while still appearing strong, his warm brown eyes the exact same as she recalls. 

“We got an earlier start than expected,” Rhaenyra steps forward, “How are you, sister?” 

“I am well, and you?” Aelyria nods. Rhaenyra has always been her favorite sibling, even if they weren’t close. She looked up to the women as a child, and her mother’s distaste towards the princess made Aelyria feel a certain kinship with her half sister. 

“We are well. Are you headed back to the Keep?” 

“I am, would you ride back with me?” she offers, motioning to the carriage pulling up to the gates of the Dragonpit. 

“That is kind, thank you,” Rhaenyra says with a smile, and a wink for her son, and moves toward the carriage but Aelyria hangs back, her eyes trailing over her betrothed again. 

“You are much changed since I last saw you,” the prince says, stepping forward. 

“I can say the same for you, nephew,” she says, failing to keep her mischievous smile from her face. Jace had always hated when she called him that as children, but he can’t find the annoyance in him at the moment, too entranced by the sound of her voice. Instead he laughs and shakes his head, holding his arm out to escort the princess to the carriage so they can make their way back to the Red Keep. 

And I've been meaning to tell you I think your house is haunted Your dad is always mad and that must be why And I think you should come live with Me and we can be pirates Then you won't have to cry Or hide in the closet And just like a folk song Our love will be passed on

Jacareys wanders through the halls of the Red Keep, familiarity and strangeness battling in his mind. The castle has changed much in the near decade of his absence and yet, he could see it as it was in his youth: the halls the same he and his brother ran through, the Dragonpit the same as it was the first day he rode Vermax, the secret passages the same as when he and Aelyria discovered them as children. Jacareys found himself mindlessly making his way to the training yard, allured by the sound of steel against steel. 

Jacareys steps into the training yard to find Princess Aelyria and Prince Aemond sparing in the center. He remembers well how she would watch the princes in training, even picking up a sword and practicing herself before being run off by Ser Cristen or her mother or the septa. She’s grown much in the years since he last saw her, her skills far outpacing that of which he had imagined. Jacareys watches as she circles Aemond, striking, blocking and dodging with surprising speed and accuracy. Jacareys finds his gaze drawn to her legs, unhidden by skirts as she stands in trousers, the riding coat she favors tossed over a training dummy. 

Princess Aelyria’s laughter echoes off the walls of the yard as she stands up from her dodge of her brother’s blunted sword, having ducked and rolled under the blade to recover behind him. Aemond turns around in frustration, swinging again with his blade as Aelyria reaches up to block his attack before stepping under his reach and elbowing the prince in the side. With her small stature and lesser strength, the princess had learned that speed and agility were her friends in bouts and quickly excelled in her capabilities. Aemond grunts from the blow to his side, his steps staggering slightly as his sister circles him, waiting for her to recover. 

“Ready to yield, brother?” she taunts, her lips turned up in a smirk. 

“You’re the one running,” he bemoans, righting himself and raising his sword, readying to strike again but lowers his blade, his eyes fixed over Aelyria’s shoulder with a sly smile. “Come to train, nephew?” The princess turns, her eyes finding Jacaerys pushing off the wall, his brown eyes trained on the prince. 

“To speak with my betrothed,” he answers, his gaze shifting to Aelyria and softening for her. Aemond eyes narrow, upset at the match as much as his mother, leveling a menacing glare at his nephew before taking his leave without another word. “He doesn’t like me,” Jacaerys states, as the door to the yard slams, and turns back to Aelyria who chuckles. 

“Aemond likes no one,” she responds, leaning on the training blade, "He merely tolerates me as he has no one else to spar with save Cole."

“It may be,” the prince says, suddenly feeling uneasy under her gaze. “When did the Queen surrender to your training?” 

“Soon after your leave, if I remember correctly. They grew weary of disciplining me with no effect,” the princess smirks. 

“As you always hoped,” they chuckle, a hint of their old familiarity returning. The prince glances at the table of training weapons. “Care for another round?” 

“If you can keep up,” she smirks, tossing him the blade Aemond had left in his wake. Aelyria makes the first move, but Jacaerys quickly counters. He holds back at first, unsure of fighting with a woman, but he quickly learns that Aelyria is quite capable and a formidable opponent and he begins to let loose. They are well matched, meeting blow for blow until both of them are sweaty and panting. 

“You fight well,” the prince compliments, his chest rising and falling quickly and a curl sticking to his damp forehead. 

“Thank you, you do as well. Much better than when you would teach me in my chambers,” Aelyria laughs, wiping at her hairline where baby hairs stick to her skin. 

“You make it sound quite scandalous,” Jacaerys jests, setting aside the training blades. 

“It was to us then,” the princess points out, remembering how careful they were to not get caught. 

“True enough,” he laughs, his eyes lost in hers, the soft lilac of her irises beautiful and intriguing to him as ever. “You know, I’ve missed you, in truth. I never had as much fun alone as with you here,” the prince says softly, stepping forward and brushing a stray hair from the princess’ brow. The air becomes thick between them, their eyes locked together. 

“I missed you too, my brothers are poor company compared to you-” 

“Aelyria!” The voice of the Queen rings out over the courtyard, startling the Jacaerys and Aelryia who back away from each other quickly. The queen stalks over to her daughter, grabbing her arm roughly. Aelyria’s face sours and she yanks her arm from her mother’s grip, leveling her with a hard stare. “You have a dress fitting you are currently missing and you look a mess. I thought you could put away this foolishness for one hour. You would think this is my wedding for as much as you seem to care about it!” 

“Mother, I-”  

“I apologize, your Grace. The princess had finished near an hour ago but I stepped in. I don’t have many sparring partners save my brothers on Dragonstone. The fault is mine,” Jacaerys steps in, unable to ignore the anger bubbling in his stomach at the queen’s treatment of her daughter. 

“Price Jacaerys, it is good to see you again. I am afraid I cannot stay, but I hope you are settling back in well,” Alicent says to the prince, her face barely masking her distaste of him, before she turns back to her daughter. “Come, Aelyria.” Jacaerys watches as the princess takes a deep breath and, flashing him an apologetic smile, turns to follow her mother back into the castle. 

Please picture me In the weeds Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

“Come in,” Aelyria calls softly at the knock on her door. Jacaerys steps into her chambers at her permission and smiles as he closes the door. “Hi.” 

 “Hi,” the prince says softly, moving to sit next to Aelyria at the table in the center of her room. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I did not mean to keep you and I regret that I did.” 

“I do not. I could have been bathed and early and perfectly excited and she still would have found something wrong. The fault is not yours,” the princess assures, placing a hand over his and squeezing gently. Before she can pull her hand back, Jacaerys clasps his hand to hers, relishing the feeling.  

“I’m sure it is hard for girls and their mothers as it is with boys and fathers,” the prince says sympathetically. 

“Is it hard, with you and your stepfather?” The princess asks, her eyes on their hands. 

“Sometimes, it was strange at first but he’s been my father almost as long as my actual father was,” Jacaerys shrugs. 

“You know, I don’t think I ever got to tell you how sorry I was for you when your father passed,” Aelyria says softly.

“Oh,” the prince says, surprised by her and shakes his head. “Seems so long ago now but I was glad he passed on Driftmark, I know he missed it while away.” 

“That’s not who I meant,” the princess says, and Jacaerys, on instinct stiffens at the realization she means Ser Hardin Strong, and not Leanor Velaryon from whom Jace received his name. “I don’t hold it against you like my mother and brothers do. Seems a silly thing for them to care so much about,” Aelryia adds quickly, sensing his unease. 

“Really?” Jacaerys eyes find hers, shock shining in the dark brown of them. 

“You wouldn’t be you if you had another father and I’ve always quite liked you as you are,” the princess smiles, her thumb grazing against the back of Jacaerys’ hand as a slight blush colors his cheeks. “What was he like?” She asks after a moment. 

“He was gentle, and fierce… They called him Breakbones,” Jacaerys smiles, Aelyria along with him, but there’s a sadness in his eyes still. “He loved us, I think.” 

“Of course he did. Otherwise he would not have defended you so fiercely against Cole.” 

“You remember that?” 

“I do,” Aelyria nods, leaning back in her chair. “It was the first time I saw a true fight. I remember thinking that I had to learn how to fight like that. It felt so necessary, like it was all I wanted… Your father gave me that.” Jacaerys blinks at her for a moment, a strange smile on his lips. “What?” He shakes his head slightly. 

“No one ever calls him my father, not even my mother,” he says after a moment, looking down to where their hands are intertwined on the table. “It’s nice,” he adds after a breath. 

“He’d be proud of you, of who you’ve become,” Aelyria says suddenly, sitting forward and using her free hand to lift Jacaerys’ chin. 

“He’d be happy we’re betrothed,” Jacaerys smiles, leaning closer to the princess. 

“Really?” 

“Yes,” he nods, “I remember one time, he happened to be watching training and you had just gotten dragged away by the Queen but you had put up a good fight before you left and he said, ‘There’s a warrior if I’ve ever seen one.’ I remember looking up at him and he just winked at me, almost like he knew.”

“I wish I had known him better,” Aelyria says softly after a moment and  Jacaerys nods, squeezing her hand. 

“Me too…” Jacaerys nods. For a moment, the pair sit in a comfortable silence, gazing at each other, taking in the fact that they’re together again after all this time. “Do you remember that hunt we had on my tenth nameday? When we ran off into the woods, hiding in the trees?” Aelyria laughs, the memory washing over her at his question and nods. 

“Yes, I do. Oh, what fun we had that day. We only got found because we could not stop laughing as they rode underneath us. Mother was so angry I ruined that dress,” they laugh at the memory together. Even though it had ended in a scolding for each of them, neither ever regretted that day. 

“I remember what I promised that day, and I swear I’ll keep it. Now that we’re betrothed, you are mine, and I am yours and once we’re wed, I’ll make sure you never have to heed your mother unless you wish to,” Jacaerys leans forward, intensity in his gaze as he makes this promise to Aelyria. “I quite like you as you are, and I won’t have her try to change you.” 

Aelyria smiles gratefully, wondering how she got so lucky as to be marrying this man; the boy she grew up with and loved as a girl, and the man sitting in front of her, with all his fierceness and devotion. Aelyria, too moved to speak, leans forward instead, pressing their lips together softly in thanks. Jacaerys doesn’t miss a beat, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek as he kisses her back. Her hand winds in his hair and their hands hold to each other tighter on the table between them. As their lips part, they don’t move away, instead connecting their brows together. They smile at each other, giddy in their love, hearts beating rapidly as one, as they always have and always will.  I, I Sweet tea in the summer Cross my heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Pack your dolls and a sweater We'll move to India forever Passed down like folk songs Our love lasts so long

[lovebugism]

Okay maybe Eddie bought a silly couple costumes for himself and r (something cute with “Why aren’t you wearing a costume?” and “I’m not wearing that.”) 🩷

ty for requesting lovie! happy fictober! ily! — eddie buys you a costume you don't feel pretty enough to wear and the gang crashes your cuddling session (hints of smut, hurt/comfort, established relationship, 2.5k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Your bare bodies stick together beneath a decade-old quilt. Eddie’s nice enough to let you use his lanky bicep as a makeshift pillow while you cuddle on the couch. His other hand hovers over your face, smoothing out the subtle furrow between your brows with the pad of his thumb.

“What’s this face for, huh?” he singsongs into the heavy, golden, post-sex silence of the trailer. His smile is swollen and crooked and barely there. It’s a very hushed sunshine compared to your distant pout.

“‘Cause I still feel bad,” you confess, voice so soft it’s nearly inaudible. Your feet knock with Eddie’s when your anxious legs entwine with his. “I made you miss that movie.”

“You didn’t make me miss shit,” Eddie laughs, assertive but not unkind. His warm palm spreads over your cheek. His chocolate eyes dance between both of yours. “I stayed in ‘cause I wanted to, alright? I wanted to spend time with you.”

“You called me a succubus,” you tease with a gentle giggle.

He had, though he doesn’t have much recollection of it. You looked far too pretty underneath him, and he’d been far too close to his orgasm. 

His hips rutted sloppily against yours, his rhythm gone totally stupid after feeling you gush around him. “Fuck— oh, fuck,” he babbled into the sticky skin of your neck, voice tighter and higher than usual. “You’re a goddamn succubus, you know that, baby? Pussy’s so good… I’d fucking— I’d do anything you wanted me to— shit.”

His legs are still numb from the mind-blowing climax he had a moment later.

Eddie’s chuckle is louder and more boyish than yours. It fills the trailer with sunlight. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause you are. Which means I’d much rather be here with you than at The Hawk with all those other schmucks.”

He kisses you to seal his promise — a chaste peck upon your smiling mouth. It’s beautifully innocuous compared to how good he was making you feel hardly more than five minutes ago.

“I know you don’t like those movies anyway, so…”

“That’s not true,” you argue with a very believable pout.

His gaze goes sympathetic. “Babe… You almost cried when we watched Nightmare on Elm Street the other day.”

“No, I didn’t!” You most certainly did.

“You said you weren’t gonna sleep ever again.”

“I like horror movies ‘cause you like horror movies, dummy.”

The term of endearment makes him grin. He likes it when you get all mean, though you never really mean it. “Is that so?” he lilts with raised brows that disappear behind his fuzzy bangs. The ends of the umber strands are damp with sweat.

You nod lazily against his arm. His fingers are starting to tingle with numbness, but he loves you too much to move.

“Mm-hmm. That’s how relationships work. Compromise. I tolerate horror movies, and you tolerate—”

“Your Harrison Ford obsession?”

You lose your firmness and get all sheepish. “Shut up…”

“I’m pretty sure they were showing Return of the Jedi in the theater over, right after Sleepaway Camp,” Eddie observes suddenly, brushing stray strands of your wild hair from your temple. “We coulda had a double feature tonight, but you wanted to stay in with little old me.”

“That’s ‘cause I love you a whole lot more than some guy I’ve never met.”

Eddie beams at your words. His eyes start to glitter like he’s won something, and his cheeks speckle pink with pride. He’ll never get tired of hearing you say that. He’ll never get tired of you loving him.

“I’m flattered,” he singsongs and means it.

You smile and lean in to kiss his grin. The boy gasps before you can. He springs up from the couch at a moment’s notice, climbing over you with naked limbs. He flashes you his bare ass just before he tugs on the crumbled pair of boxers left forgotten on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, eyes narrowed in curiosity and mouth quirked in amusement. You twist on the couch so you’re propped against the back of it. You clutch the heavy quilt to your naked chest.

“I forgot something,” Eddie mumbles, halfway to himself, then sends you a lighthearted glare over his shoulder. “Don’t move!”

You still, grinning softly at the boy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. You watch him while he rifles through a plastic bag beside the TV stand. “I got us something while I was at the Halloween store with Harrington earlier,” Eddie explains over the noisy crinkling sound.

“Oh, god…” you murmur.

Eddie laughs and looks at you over his shoulder again. “C’mon, babe. Have a little hope, would you?”

He returns to the couch with a smirk and something he hides behind his back. He grins like a kid when he reveals them to you — two packages of Star Wars themed costumes held in both his hands. 

Pictured on one is a guy who looks eerily like Han Solo — complete with the vest, blouse, and holster triad. The other is an uncanny Leia Organa in a skin-tight white suit, beige knee-high boots, and a flowing cape.

You blink at both of them, then at Eddie. 

“…I don’t know what I’m looking at.”

“Our Halloween costumes!” he exclaims with a beam. “See, I’m gonna be Han Solo— ‘cause I’m, you know, charming and sarcastic and handsome.”

“Don’t forget humble,” you joke with a lovesick grin.

“—And you will be my beautiful, hard-headed Leia Organa.”

You glance again at the package in his right hand, at the pretty woman on the cover. You know you won’t look nearly as good in the costume as she does. Your soft smile flickers. 

“Eds…” you mutter in a wavering lilt.

A frown forms between his bushy brows, similar to the one you’d been sporting earlier. “What?”

“I told you I wasn’t gonna dress up this year, remember?” you remind him, shifting awkwardly on the couch and clutching the blanket closer to yourself.

“But it’s Halloween, babe! Why wouldn’t you wear a costume?”

Your mouth opens and closes as you stammer out an excuse. “Because— I don’t know— I’m too… indecisive. Like, that’s a lot of pressure.”

“That’s why I picked for you!” Eddie grins, totally oblivious.

You laugh. It’s a bit cynical but not totally unkind. “I am not wearing that.”

He pouts, like a child or a hurt puppy. “But why not?” he wonders with a crestfallen inflection.

Again, you stammer. “Because— I mean— Just look at her, Eds!” you gesture to the package he holds with a significant focus to the girl on the front. “I don’t look like her!”

He grows from sad to confused. His brows pinch as he tilts his head to the side. His wild curls tickle his bare, pale shoulder. “Oh… kay?” he mutters, trying his best to understand you but not getting it completely.

You huff. Your chest stings as you explain it all to him.

“I’m… I’m not gonna look like the girl on the cover. You know that, right? I’m not— I’m not Princess Leia kind beautiful, you know?”

“Yeah,” Eddie shrugs, seemingly agreeing with you and smiling all over again. “You’re a you kind beautiful. That’s what makes you so damn sexy.”

He leans down over you with the intention to kiss you. 

Still pouting and inwardly aching, you pull back from him.

“Eddie…” you murmur, still gentle but obviously sadder.

He concedes with a small sigh. The couch cushions dip with his weight when he sits down beside you. He leaves the packages abandoned on the other side of him and gives you his full attention. 

“Look… You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, alright? We can stay in for Halloween for all I care. I just… I think it’d be a lot of fun, you know?” the boy rambles with a seriousness that’s typically foreign to him. His palm smooths across your knee over the thick quilt. His lips quirk into a crooked grin. “And I think you’d look… very pretty as my Princess Leia.”

His chocolate eyes twinkle with an undeniable sincerity. It makes your chest feel so warm it burns.

“Yeah?” you mumble, not quite believing him but wanting him to hear him say it anyway.

“Totally,” he scoffs like it’s obvious. He presses a lingering peck to your lips, then melts when he tastes leftover sex upon them. 

A switch flips within him then. His belly twists, and his eyelids get all heavy. His smirk is weighed down by lust as he pulls back from you and shrugs. “I think I could show you better than I could tell you, actually…”

Across the living room, the door busts open. 

Sunlight explodes throughout the dim trailer, making the two of you squint. 

Steve enters first, knocking on the open door to announce his arrival. “Phone’s off the hook,” he observes, pointing to the telephone lying face up on the table beside the front door. 

Eddie had two fingers inside you, and the thing just wouldn’t stop ringing. He grumbled in annoyance when he had to part from you to hang it up.

Steve puts the thing back on the hook while Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Argyle walk in behind him.

Mortified, you watch with wide eyes as your uninvited friends file in. Your grip tightens around the blanket. You use one hand to make sure every inch of your naked body is covered with it.

Eddie doesn’t seem nearly as bothered by it as you are. Instead, he huffs in annoyance and spreads his arms along the back of the couch. They were the ones barging in, after all. If they had a problem with his pale, lanky figure and his thin, plaid boxers, then that was on them.

“Oh. Come in,” he hums, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Make yourselves at home.”

Robin’s got a thousand-year stare in her eye and a blue, red, and purple mouth. “Can I use your bathroom?” she wavers, voice strained. Her fists are clenched beneath her baggy flannel. They tremble beside her baggier jeans.

“Uh, yeah. Knock yourself out.”

She’s already rushing down the hall before he can get the words out.

The two of you watch her leave and then turn to Steve. He’s an expert in all things Robin Buckley nowadays. He shrugs and tells you, “She had, like, four slurpees while we were waiting on you guys at The Hawk.”

You shift awkwardly like you’re getting scolded. Eddie only laughs.

As all the gang settles around the trailer — Jonathan on the recliner, Nancy on the arm of it, and Steve sitting on the adjacent table — Argyle is the only one without a place to sit. He idles beside the couch, smiling at you with rosy lips and rosier eyes.

“How are you doing today, amigo?” he wonders with a curt nod, as mellow as ever.

You smile up at the boy, not nearly as fazed by the bright style and long raven hair as you used to be. Actually, you’ve grown quite fond of his slurred jokes that don’t really have a punchline because halfway through, he realizes he’s forgotten it entirely.

“Good,” you respond, crossing your arms over the quilt you’ve got bunched at your chest. “You?”

“I’m peachy, brochacho,” he nods back at you. He grins, but the bright expression is weighed down by the weed. The skunky smell entwines with his musky cologne, creating a deep earthy scene that’s much more bearable than the weed alone.

“Not that I’m not thrilled you guys showed up—” Eddie starts with an inflection that would imply otherwise, wide eyes flitting around the room. “—But what the hell are you doing here?”

“You’d know if you answered the phone,” Steve retorts with a scrunched nose, flipping through a random car magazine. The Beemer on the front matches the sunshine yellow of his sweatshirt.

“Well, I was a little busy, Harrington—”

You nudge Eddie before he can finish the stupid joke. Everyone could already hear it anyhow — “I was a little busy, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” 

He shoots you an innocently confused look. You give him a half-hearted glare in return.

“You guys flaked on movie night, so we brought the movies to you,” Nancy singsongs with a sweet, pink smile.

Jonathan unrolls the folded-up paper bag between his feet. The flimsy cardboard crackles loudly as he rifles through it. He pulls out a number of unblanketed VHS tapes with handwritten stickers glued to the front of them. 

“Uh… We got Sleepaway Camp, obviously,” the Byers boy mutters in his usual Byers way. He waves the tape in his hand and sits it off to the side. He reaches into the bag and grabs two more. “Twilight Zone and, uh, Return of the Jedi.”

Eddie is as grateful as he is confused. Movie night wasn’t totally gone, and both of your movies had been seemingly carrier-pigeoned to his trailer, but neither should be out on VHS yet. “How…?” the boy trails off with pinched-together brows.

Argyle answers. “Let’s just say I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy…” he smirks, then swirls his features in puzzlement. It looks like he’s trying to do math in his head. “…Who knows a guy.”

“I can pop some popcorn if you guys wanna, you know, make yourselves decent,” Steve teases with a feigned maliciousness as he hops off the square table. The old thing squeaks under his weight.

Eddie’s retort doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh. Right. My bad, Stevie. It’s not like you totally barged in on us or anything.”

You shake your head at their bickering, though you’re still smiling quietly to yourself. Eddie shields you while you rise from the couch. You wear the heavy quilt like a dress as you shuffle down the hallway to his bedroom. The thing trails behind you as you go.

“Sorry about them, sweetheart,” Eddie apologizes as soon as the door clicks closed. 

He’d wanted to say something earlier, but kept his mouth shut instead of making it a bigger deal. He knew you were bound to be embarrassed — because you almost always tend to be, anyway. He didn’t want to draw attention to the situation, or least of all to you, and make it that much worse.

“’S okay,” you shrug and drop the blanket on the carpet. 

Eddie tries not to go all teenage boy at the sight of your naked body, but he nearly loses his mind when you bend over to pick up one of his t-shirts from the floor. 

“We did sorta flake on them,” you reason as you tug the cotton over your head. The baggy fabric falls over you like rain.

Eddie shakes his head, mostly at himself. He couldn’t love you more if he tried.

“Only you would blame yourself when those assholes walked in on us,” he laughs, walking the short distance to you and wrapping you in his arms from behind. He presses a sweet kiss to your neck. You smell like flowers, sex, and his cologne. 

“You’re too sweet for your own good, baby. No wonder those schmucks won’t leave us alone.”

Robin’s voice seemingly comes from within the walls — ‘cause the bathroom is only one room over, and the walls are especially thin. “Rude!” she grouses, voice muffled. “I mean, it’s true, but still.”

[flemingsfreckles]

Heartbreak Girl

Synopsis: You’re always the one picking up the pieces of your best friend when her relationship has rough patches. That’s what a best friend does, only you have a lot more feelings for Jessie than she knows.

Warnings: angsty, mentions of bad girlfriend, arguing, language

WC: 2.0k

A/N: italics in readers inner thoughts in case that isn’t super clear… I listened to old 5 seconds of summer music the other day, heartbreak girl came on, inspired this fic 🤷‍♀️ most likely leaving it as a single fic…

Seeing Jessie name on your phone always brought a smile to your face, the two of you had been friends since you were 10, growing up together, going to college just a few hours from each other, not to mention you had been in love with the woman since you knew what a crush was. Her face and name always put you in a good mood.

“Hiya!” You say, plopping down on the couch with your phone held up to your ear.

“Hey.” You can immediately detect the negativity in Jessie’s voice. She had been your best friend for years, you knew her as well as you knew yourself.

“What's up, are you okay? How was the banquet?” You remembered Jessie was supposed to have attended a banquet for her nomination for the Green Sport Award. You were a little surprised to be hearing from her at this hour assuming she’d still be out at the banquet or an after party of sorts.

“Uh.” You hear her breath shake before she composes herself. “It was nice, I got the award.”

Still noticing the defeated sound of her voice, you decide to pry gently at the topic. Confiding in you was something Jessie did often, you did the same to her. “You don’t sound like someone who just won an award, Jess what’s wrong?”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, you’re not sure what to expect. The low rumble of her car fills in for her while you wait to hear what she has to say. “She didn’t show up.” Her voice is hushed, almost as if she didn’t want you to hear her say it.

“Ray?” You question, even though you knew you didn’t have to.

“Yeah, she said,” You hear Jessie sniffle before clearing her throat. “She said she’d be there, and I know she’s busy at her job but,” there’s silence on the other end of the phone before you hear Jessie clear her throat again, letting out a sigh. “This was important to me, she promised she’d be there.”

You set your phone in your lap, putting it on speaker as you rubbed your hands harshly into your face. Fuck, here we go again you thought to yourself. This wasn’t the first time you’ve had to sit and listen as Jessie’s heart was hurt by her girlfriend. You don’t know why she stayed, but she always did.

Ray had never been on your good side. She and Jessie met at a bar one night, immediately she tried to take the Canadian home with her. After Jessie had denied her multiple offers to go home with her, Ray finally suggested a date, joking that she’d “have to take her to dinner first before she got to the rest.” You expected that to be enough for Jessie to reject the date, but she still accepted. Ray had been late to their first date, and nearly every date since, and despite Jessie being a stickler for punctuality, she continued going on dates until one day she told you they were officially girlfriends and you thought someone ripped your heart out.

You can still remember the sinking feeling, the way your chest tightened as she told you they had made it official. The fake smile you threw across your face, trying to show your friend you were happy for her. Deep down you were devastated, when she left your house that afternoon, you had cried. Feeling only sorry for yourself, you’re the one who’s loved the woman for nearly a decade and haven’t been able to tell her.

You had always assumed they’d never work out, they weren’t compatible, and yet nearly 2 years later, Jessie was still putting up with her.

Jealousy was part of it, you never liked anyone who was interested in Jessie, but you couldn’t blame them. You found it hard to believe there was anyone in the world who wasn’t fully in love with her. She had the kindness of an angel, not to mention the adorable freckled covered face. Ray had been the only one you blatantly hated, her previous other girlfriends had been nice and at least respected her so you found no issue, other than the constant jealousy. Ray however, you couldn’t find anything you liked.

“I’m so sorry.” You truly were but in the moment you didn’t feel super sorry, you felt enraged toward Ray. “Congratulations by the way on the award, I didn’t say before.”

“It’s nothing.” Jessie says.

“It’s not nothing, you were excited about it last week, it’s a big deal.”

You shouldn’t meddle, you know you shouldn’t. That’s what you always told yourself, you weren’t going to get involved, it wasn’t your place to throw your own feelings onto her. It’s not her fault you loved her. She didn’t need something else to complicate things. This was her relationship, her life, she wanted this. But you couldn’t help yourself, after years of pining for her, you couldn’t handle seeing her being treated like this. “You deserve better Jessie.” I could give you better, you think to yourself.

“No, she didn’t mean it, she just got busy.” Jessie comes to Ray’s defense, you were so sick of her doing that.

“Stop making excuses for her! I’m so sick of seeing her hurt you and you just fucking go back to her. You’re smarter than that Jessie! But for some reason you let her hurt you again and again.” You’re shaking your hands in front of you as you shout at the phone.

You could practically picture Jessie in the car, dressed beautifully in a dress shirt and slacks. The way she spoke you imagined she had tear stained cheeks, probably tinted pink from crying. Her knuckles were probably slowly turning white as she gripped the wheel in frustration and disappointment. You also knew you’d still find her to be the most stunning woman you’ve ever seen. “It’s not that big of a deal, so what, she missed a small banquet, it’s really not her fault she had to work.”

Your rage finally boils over, unable to hold yourself back you let out the list of feelings you had always had towards Ray. “It’s not just a small banquet Jessie, how can you not see this?” You could hardly control your anger, not at Jessie but at Ray, for putting Jessie through this. “She’s missed so many things! Your first official game as Captain, your first game at Portland, she didn’t come to any of the Olympic Games, she hardly even called during that week Jessie! You would think with what you were handling, she would’ve checked on you! Where was she at the World Cup? Jessie, she doesn’t give a shit about what’s important to you! It may have been a small banquet but it was important to you, that’s all that should’ve mattered, she should’ve fucking been there!” I would’ve fucking been there! You don’t say it outloud but the thought crosses your mind.

“She’s just busy, she has work, and she-” Jessie tries her best to defend Ray to you. You couldn’t stand listening to her,you had spend enough nights listening to her, calming her down, justifying her feelings because her shitty girlfriend wouldn’t.

“I was busy too Jess! But guess what, I figured it out, I used my time off to come see you, watch you play on the biggest stages, I stayed up and talked with you when you didn’t know what to do in Paris, I knew how important those moments were for you, so I showed up because that’s what you do when you fucking love someone!” Oops.

You stare frozen across the room where your tv hung on the wall. You weren’t supposed to say that. Sure Jessie knew you loved her, you had been best friends for what felt like forever. You told each other you loved the other, but this felt different than how you normally said it. It was different.

Silence falls on the phone line between the two of you, the sound of nothing feeling more extreme after your yelling.

“You love me?”

Obviously, how can you not see that? You pushed your inner thoughts away before responding trying to mend your mistake. “Yeah, you’re my best friend of course I do.”

“I don’t think you meant it in a best friend way.” Jessie says under her breath.

Just tell her. The silly thought crosses your mind, to sit here and confess every tiny feeling you’d ever had for her. You can’t tell her, she’s not single, it’s not your place. You fiddled with your hands, bitting the nail of your thumb on your left hand. She deserves better, maybe I could be that better for her. Maybe she’d leave Ray. Or maybe it would ruin everything and I’ll lose her forever.

Jessie, fed up with your silence, decides to question you further. “Is that why you hate Ray? Are you just jealous of her?”

“No, god Jessie no! I hate her because she treats you like the scum of the earth! I don’t know how you don’t see it, you deserve someone who’s going to treat you like a priority, not a chore!” You pinch the bridge of your nose hard with your hand, eyes shut as if not being able to see will take away all your problems.

You hear Jessie click her tongue. “I should, I should go, I’m pulling into the driveway.” The driveway to her house, where her girlfriend was probably perched on the couch ready to make it up to her, either in the way of sex or buying her something. Those seemed to be the options Jessie usually got when Ray hurt her, a half assed apology on top of it all. She’d try and please Jessie, make her forgive her again just as she had numerous other times. You hated that she always forgave her.

“Jessie, wait.” You just want to explain, you want her to talk to you, not to Ray. You want her to know she doesn’t deserve to be forgotten or ignored, she deserves someone’s attention, she deserves someone who cares.

“I gotta go, I’ll, I’ll talk to you later, sorry for calling.” You hear the tone ending the call.

You flopped back onto the couch, not caring how hard your head hit the armrest.

Your eyes begin to burn as you try to blink through the blurry vision caused by welling tears. The blank ceiling above you providing nothing to distract you from the tightness building in your chest. She’s never going to talk to me again. Self deprecating thoughts began to swirl your mind. Why would she want to even be with me? I’m not enough for her. A sob finally makes its way up and out of your mouth before your hand quickly muffles it. There was no one around to hear it but you and you didn’t want to listen to your self deprecating. You’ve done this before, you’ve spent too many tears on her, too many hours trying to talk sense into her, only for her to go and get herself hurt again. Too many hours only for you to go and get yourself hurt again.

I’m done.

You grab your phone, through a haze of tears find Jessie’s name before sending her a text.

You: I’m done, I’m not interested in being the person who has to put you back together every time she fucks up and hurts you. I shouldn’t have to be your comfort person, that’s what a girlfriend is for.

You: Until you learn how to respect yourself enough to leave her, don’t contact me.

[yumefag]

whatever.

thankful i don't have feelings for ichimatsu again (yet)

[doingbad]

Let's talk about Sherlock Holmes' work style when we first are introduced to him in A Study in Scarlet (lost post!)

He explains his job to Watson like so:

I’m a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. Here in London we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put them on the right scent. They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight.

Here we get the famous title "consulting detective" and what it means originally: That people consult Holmes and then prove their problems themselves without much more interaction.

[Watson] “But do you mean to say,” I said, “that without leaving your room you can unravel some knot which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?” [Holmes] “Quite so. I have a kind of intuition that way. Now and again a case turns up which is a little more complex. Then I have to bustle about and see things with my own eyes.

Holmes even says he does most of his work in that conversation with the client, or at least by thinking it over in his room. It is only "now and again" he actually goes out and does the legwork that he is famous for in most of the stories.

You may note this sound an awful lot like the methods of Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft Holmes. Here is Holmes explaining Mycroft's brilliance to Watson:

'You wonder,' said my companion, 'why it is that Mycroft does not use his powers for detective work. He is incapable of it.' 'But I thought you said-!' 'I said that he was my superior in observation and deduction. If the art of the detective began and ended in reasoning from an arm-chair, my brother would be the greatest criminal agent that ever lived. But he has no ambition and no energy. He would not even go out of his way to verify his own solutions, and would rather be considered wrong than take the trouble to prove himself right.

Seems like the Holmes brothers used to have pretty similar method. Sherlock may have more energy "now and again" but he's also nearly a decade younger than Mycroft.

So what changed? Dr Watson

Watson convinces him to take the STUD case

“Surely there is not a moment to be lost,” I cried, “shall I go and order you a cab?” “I’m not sure about whether I shall go. I am the most incurably lazy devil that ever stood in shoe leather—that is, when the fit is on me, for I can be spry enough at times.” “Why, it is just such a chance as you have been longing for.”

and even then, Holmes only goes on the condition that Watson joins him

“Get your hat,” he said. “You wish me to come?” “Yes, if you have nothing better to do.”

and later in the book Holmes says as much directly:

I must thank you for it all. I might not have gone but for you, and so have missed the finest study I ever came across: a study in scarlet, eh?

All of this is a long way to say: I think there is strong canon evidence that Holmes has his adventures because Watson is there. Watson is what makes them adventures and his enthusiasm, help, and encouragement are just as big a motivator for Holmes as the cases.

[sereinnu]

Fractured Tides

Warnings: STEP-CEST| drugs and alcohol use| Rafe Cameron| very foul language| more yet to come| DON'T read if you're uncomfortable with these themes| MDNI| I already warned you not to read|

Rafe Cameron x Step-sister!Reader

Despite your efforts to make peace, your stepbrother Rafe's hatred for you persists. Each attempt to bridge the gap only seems to widen the divide, leaving you wondering if you'll ever find common ground in this family.

The Outer Banks were alive with the sounds of summer—the rustle of the breeze through the palm trees, the distant roar of the ocean, and the hum of a world that seemed so far removed from the chaos within Tannyhill. You had lived here for years now, but the house never truly felt like home. It was a place you were forced to adapt to, much like the family you were thrown into when your mother married Ward Cameron.

You were only eight years old then, a wide-eyed child trying to make sense of this new life. But even at that young age, you could sense Rafe's disdain. He was older, already on the cusp of adolescence, and his resentment towards you was palpable. You were the intruder, the outsider who disrupted the Cameron family dynamic.

Now, a decade later, little had changed between you and Rafe. If anything, the years had only deepened the chasm between you. You tried to keep your distance, knowing that your presence in his life was unwanted. But living under the same roof made that nearly impossible.

You were in the kitchen, making a cup of tea when you heard the front door slam. The heavy, hurried footsteps that followed told you it was Rafe. His presence was almost always announced this way—loud, forceful, a storm barreling through the house.

You didn’t have to see him to know he was upset. You could feel it, like a pressure in the air that made your skin crawl. But when Rafe appeared in the doorway, his eyes wild and his hair disheveled, you couldn’t ignore him.

“What happened?” you asked cautiously, not sure if he would answer.

Rafe’s eyes snapped to you, narrowing in that way they always did when he looked at you—like you were something distasteful, something he wished would disappear. “None of your business,” he growled, moving past you to rummage through the cupboards.

You watched him, your fingers tightening around the handle of your mug. “I’m just trying to help,” you said softly, knowing your words would likely fall on deaf ears.

He slammed the cupboard door shut, making you flinch. “I don’t need your help,” he spat, turning to face you with a sneer. “You’ve been here for years, and you still don’t get it, do you? You’re not a Cameron. You never were, and you never will be.”

The words stung, even though you had heard variations of them before. But there was something particularly venomous in his tone today, something that made you realize this wasn’t just his usual hostility. He was angry—angrier than usual.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Why do you hate me so much, Rafe? What did I ever do to you?”

Rafe laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You want a list? Because I can start with the fact that you ruined everything. Before you and your mom came along, we were fine. We were a family. But then you showed up, and everything went to shit.”

You shook your head, trying to make sense of his words. “That’s not fair, Rafe. I was just a kid. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Yeah, well, neither did I,” he snapped. “But here we are, stuck in this fucked-up situation. And every time I look at you, I’m reminded of how much I hate it.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of you. You knew Rafe didn’t like you, but hearing him say it out loud, with such malice, was something else entirely.

For a moment, the kitchen was silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing. Rafe’s gaze bore into you, his eyes dark and unforgiving. You wanted to say something, to defend yourself, but the words wouldn’t come. All you could do was stand there, rooted to the spot, feeling like the intruder he had always accused you of being.

Finally, Rafe shook his head, as if he were disgusted with himself for even engaging with you. “Just stay out of my way,” he muttered, brushing past you to leave the kitchen.

You watched him go, the tension in your chest slowly easing as the distance between you grew. But the ache his words had left behind didn’t fade. It lingered, a reminder that no matter how hard you tried, you would never be part of this family—not in Rafe’s eyes.

As you stood alone in the kitchen, the house around you seemed to grow colder, the warmth of the summer day outside a cruel contrast to the chill that had settled within. The Outer Banks were supposed to be a paradise, but for you, it was nothing more than a gilded cage, trapping you in a life where you didn’t belong.

And Rafe, with all his anger and resentment, was the constant reminder that you were an outsider—a permanent stain on the perfect Cameron image.

The days following your confrontation with Rafe were tense, but that wasn’t unusual. Tension had become the norm in your life at Tannyhill, and you had learned to navigate it as best you could. But this time, the tension felt different—more personal, more cutting. Rafe's words had sunk deep, and no matter how much you tried to shake them off, they lingered like a bruise that refused to heal.

You spent most of your time avoiding him, retreating to the few places in the house where you could find some semblance of peace. One of those places was the library, a grand room lined with shelves upon shelves of books. It was one of the only rooms in the house that felt like it belonged to another time, another life—somewhere far away from the chaos of the present.

You were there now, curled up in a corner with a book that you weren’t really reading. The words on the page blurred together as your thoughts drifted back to the encounter with Rafe. His anger had always been a part of your life, but now, it felt like something you couldn’t ignore, something that was slowly suffocating you.

The sound of the door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts. You tensed, hoping it wasn’t Rafe. But when you looked up, you saw Sarah standing in the doorway. Her expression was tentative, as if she wasn’t sure she was welcome.

“Hey,” she said softly, stepping into the room. “Mind if I join you?”

You shook your head, offering her a small smile. “Of course not.”

Sarah walked over and sat down beside you, her gaze scanning the room before settling on you. “I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “You’ve been hiding out in here a lot lately.”

“Just trying to stay out of the way,” you replied, knowing she would understand the implication. Sarah was the one person in the house who tried to bridge the gap between you and the rest of the family. She had always been kind to you, always tried to make you feel included, even when Rafe made it clear that you weren’t.

She sighed, leaning back against the armrest. “I’m sorry about Rafe,” she said quietly. “I know he can be… difficult.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Sarah looked at you, her eyes full of sympathy. “He’s just… he’s been through a lot. But that doesn’t excuse the way he treats you.”

You nodded, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. What was there to say? You had known Rafe was troubled from the start, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with his hatred.

“Have you talked to him?” Sarah asked after a moment. “Really talked to him?”

You shook your head. “What’s the point? He’s made it clear how he feels about me. Talking won’t change that.”

Sarah frowned, her fingers twisting a strand of her blonde hair. “Maybe not. But I think he needs to hear that you’re not the enemy. You’re not the reason things changed.”

You knew she was right, but the thought of confronting Rafe again made your stomach turn. “I don’t think he cares about what I have to say, Sarah. He’s always seen me as an outsider, someone who doesn’t belong here. I’m not a Cameron to him, and I never will be.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, as if she was trying to find the right words. “He’s not the only one who gets to decide that,” she said finally. “You’re a part of this family, whether he likes it or not. And I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide because of him.”

Her words were comforting, but they didn’t erase the fear that had taken root in you. “I just don’t want to make things worse,” you admitted. “The last thing I want is to set him off again.”

Sarah reached out and placed a hand on your arm. “You won’t. I’ll talk to him. Maybe I can help him see things differently.”

You smiled weakly, appreciating the offer but doubting it would make much of a difference. “Thanks, Sarah. But I don’t want you to get caught in the middle of this.”

“I’m already in the middle,” she said with a small shrug. “But that’s what family is for, right? We stick together, even when things are tough.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. Family was a concept that had always been complicated for you, especially since moving in with the Camerons. But hearing Sarah say it, hearing her include you in that definition, made you realize how much you longed for that connection—for a place where you truly belonged.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I guess it is.”

Sarah gave you a reassuring smile before standing up. “Come on, let’s get out of here for a bit. We can go down to the beach or something. Clear our heads.”

You hesitated, glancing out the window at the fading light. The idea of leaving the safety of the library made you uneasy, but you knew Sarah was trying to help. And maybe getting out of the house, even for a little while, would do you some good.

“Okay,” you agreed, closing your book and standing up. “Let’s go.”

As you followed Sarah out of the library, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. For now, at least, you didn’t have to face Rafe alone. But deep down, you knew that sooner or later, you would have to confront him again—and when that time came, you weren’t sure how it would end.

The two of you walked down the grand staircase, the wooden steps creaking under your feet. The house was quiet, almost too quiet, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. You tried to push the feeling aside, focusing instead on Sarah’s presence beside you. She was your anchor in this chaotic world, and you were grateful for it.

As you reached the front door, you hesitated for a moment, glancing back down the hallway. It was irrational, but you half-expected Rafe to appear out of nowhere, his anger boiling over once again. But the hall was empty, and the silence remained unbroken.

“Come on,” Sarah urged gently, sensing your reluctance. “It’ll be good to get some fresh air.”

You nodded, finally stepping out onto the porch. The warm evening air greeted you, carrying the scent of salt and sun-warmed earth. The sky was painted in shades of pink and orange, the sun dipping below the horizon. It was the kind of evening that should have brought you peace, but the tension in your chest refused to ease.

You followed Sarah down the steps and onto the path that led to the beach. The sand was cool beneath your feet as you kicked off your shoes, the grains slipping between your toes. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was soothing, a rhythmic reminder that the world kept turning, even when it felt like everything else was falling apart.

Sarah walked a little ahead of you, her hair catching the last rays of the sun. She glanced back at you with a smile, trying to draw you into the moment. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? This is my favorite time of day.”

You managed a small smile in return. “Yeah, it is.”

The two of you walked in companionable silence for a while, the only sounds around you coming from the ocean and the occasional call of a seabird. It was peaceful, almost serene, and you found yourself relaxing just a little. Maybe Sarah was right—maybe this was exactly what you needed.

After a few minutes, Sarah spoke again, her tone more serious. “You know, Rafe wasn’t always like this.”

You glanced at her, curious. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “He was different when we were younger. Before Dad… well, before everything changed. He used to be kind, protective even. But when things started going wrong, he just… I don’t know, he shut down. And then he started acting out, getting into trouble. It’s like he became someone else.”

You listened intently, trying to picture the Rafe she was describing. It was hard to imagine him as anything other than the angry, volatile person you knew now. “What happened?” you asked softly.

Sarah hesitated, as if she were weighing her words carefully. “A lot of things. Mom leaving hit him hard, harder than he let on. And then Dad… he put so much pressure on Rafe to be the man of the house, to live up to this impossible standard. I think it broke something in him.”

You had known about Rafe’s struggles with his father, but hearing it from Sarah made it feel more real. It wasn’t an excuse for his behavior, but it gave you a glimpse of the pain that might be fueling his anger. “I had no idea it was that bad,” you admitted.

Sarah nodded, her expression sad. “He won’t talk about it, not even with me. But I see it in him, every day. He’s drowning, and I don’t know how to help him. And now, with you here, it’s like he’s lashing out because he doesn’t know what else to do.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a surge of empathy for both of them. “I don’t want to make things worse for him, Sarah. I just want to find a way to coexist, to be a part of this family without everything falling apart.”

Sarah reached out and squeezed your hand, her touch warm and reassuring. “You’re already part of this family. Don’t let Rafe make you feel like you’re not. He’ll come around eventually. I know he will.”

You wanted to believe her, but a part of you couldn’t shake the doubt. Rafe’s hatred for you ran deep, and you weren’t sure if anything could change that. But for Sarah’s sake, you would try. You owed her that much.

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the beach in shadows, you felt a sense of resolve settle within you. You couldn’t change the past, and you couldn’t force Rafe to accept you. But you could control how you responded to him, how you chose to live in this fractured family.

For now, that would have to be enough.

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, you and Sarah found a spot to sit on the sand. The ocean stretched out before you, dark and endless, a stark contrast to the earlier warmth of the day. It was as if the world was mirroring your own emotions—caught in a delicate balance between light and darkness, peace and tension.

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you watched the waves. Sarah sat beside you, her gaze also fixed on the horizon. For a while, neither of you spoke, content to just be in each other’s company. The quiet between you was comfortable, a welcome reprieve from the turmoil that so often surrounded you.

But even in the calm, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rafe. His anger, his pain—it was like a storm that loomed over you, always threatening to break. You knew it wasn’t fair to place all the blame on him, but his behavior had shaped so much of your life at Tannyhill. And no matter how much you tried to avoid it, you couldn’t escape the impact he had on you.

“Do you ever wish things were different?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop it.

Sarah looked at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Different how?”

You sighed, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. I just… I wish things weren’t so complicated. I wish I didn’t feel like I have to tiptoe around Rafe all the time. I wish I could just… be.”

Sarah was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I get that,” she said finally. “I wish things were different too. I wish Rafe could see that we’re all on the same side, that we’re family. But it’s like he’s stuck in this loop of anger and resentment, and he can’t break out of it.”

You nodded, feeling a pang of sadness. “Do you think he ever will?”

“I hope so,” Sarah replied, her voice soft. “But I don’t know. Sometimes, it feels like he’s so far gone that nothing can reach him. But other times… I see glimpses of the old Rafe, the one who cared about us. I just wish those moments lasted longer.”

Her words echoed your own feelings—this constant push and pull between hope and despair, between believing that things could get better and fearing that they never would. It was exhausting, living with that uncertainty, but it was all you had.

“I don’t know how to help him,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know if I can.”

Sarah turned to you, her eyes filled with empathy. “You’ve already helped him more than you realize. Just by being here, by not giving up on him, you’re doing more than most people would. And I think, deep down, he knows that. He just doesn’t know how to show it.”

You looked at her, surprised by her words. “You really think so?”

She nodded, her expression sincere. “I do. Rafe’s angry, but he’s not heartless. He’s just… lost. And maybe, in time, he’ll find his way back. But until then, we just have to keep being there for him, even when it’s hard.”

Her words gave you a small glimmer of hope, something to hold onto in the darkness. Maybe Sarah was right—maybe there was still a chance for Rafe to change, for things to get better. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t happen overnight, but you were willing to try. For Sarah, for yourself, and maybe even for Rafe.

The two of you sat in silence for a while longer, watching as the stars began to twinkle in the night sky. The air had cooled, and you found yourself shivering slightly. Sarah noticed and nudged you with her shoulder. “Come on, let’s head back. It’s getting cold.”

You nodded, standing up and brushing the sand off your clothes. As you followed Sarah back up the path to the house, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creeping in. The peace you had found on the beach was fleeting, and you knew that once you stepped back inside Tannyhill, the tension would return.

But you couldn’t avoid it forever. You had to face Rafe, and you had to find a way to live in this fractured family. It was the only way things would ever change.

As you approached the house, you caught sight of a figure standing by the front door. Your heart skipped a beat when you realized it was Rafe. He was leaning against the doorframe, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the glow of the ember illuminating his face in the darkness.

Sarah stiffened beside you, her steps faltering for a moment before she continued forward. You followed her lead, trying to keep your breathing steady as you approached Rafe. His eyes flicked to you, a scowl already forming on his face.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked, his tone laced with irritation.

“Just down at the beach,” Sarah replied, her voice calm. “Needed some fresh air.”

Rafe’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes narrowing. “What about you? Hiding out again?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just… trying to stay out of your way.”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Yeah, right. You always have to be where you’re not wanted, don’t you?”

You flinched at his words, the sting of them hitting you harder than you expected. But before you could respond, Sarah stepped in, her tone firm. “Rafe, don’t. She’s just trying to keep the peace.”

Rafe glared at her, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the usual anger. “Whatever,” he muttered, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his heel. “I’m going out.”

He pushed past you both, his shoulder brushing yours as he walked away. You watched him go, the tension in your chest returning with full force.

“Let him go,” Sarah said quietly, placing a hand on your arm. “He needs to cool off.”

You nodded, your eyes still fixed on Rafe’s retreating figure. As much as you wanted to believe that there was hope for him, moments like this made it hard to hold onto that belief.

But you had promised yourself that you wouldn’t give up. Not yet. Not until you had tried everything.

With a deep breath, you turned back to the house, following Sarah inside. The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the coldness you felt inside, but you forced yourself to push those feelings aside.

For now, all you could do was take it one day at a time, hoping that eventually, the storm would pass, and there would be something left worth saving.

-

The warmth of the house greeted you as you stepped inside, but it did little to chase away the chill that had settled in your bones. The encounter with Rafe had left you rattled, and no matter how much you tried to push it aside, it lingered in the back of your mind like a dark cloud.

As the night grew deeper, Sarah suggested heading to bed, and you agreed. The exhaustion was starting to weigh on you, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your eyes open much longer.

But as you made your way up the stairs and to your room, your mind was still racing, your thoughts still tangled in the web of emotions that had been spun over the course of the day.

You paused outside your door, glancing down the hallway toward Rafe’s room. The door was closed, and the light was off, but you knew he wasn’t asleep.

You could feel his presence like a shadow, lurking just out of sight. The anger, the resentment—it was all still there, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for the next opportunity to boil over.

With a heavy sigh, you turned away and entered your room, closing the door behind you. The familiar surroundings did little to comfort you tonight, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

You changed into your pajamas and slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin in a futile attempt to ward off the chill that had settled in your bones.

As you lay there in the darkness, your thoughts kept drifting back to Rafe. You couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind, what demons he was battling in the privacy of his own room.

You wished you could reach out to him, break through the walls he had built around himself, but you didn’t know how.And maybe, deep down, you were afraid that if you did, you would only find more anger, more pain—more reasons to keep your distance.

Sleep came slowly that night, your mind refusing to quiet down long enough for you to drift off. When you finally did fall asleep, it was restless, filled with fragmented dreams that left you feeling more exhausted than before. But even in your sleep, only a name remained constant.

-

You tried to sleep, but your mind refused to let go of the events of the day. The tension between you and Rafe was like a thorn lodged deep, impossible to ignore and growing more painful with every passing moment. You tossed and turned, the silence of the house amplifying the thoughts racing through your mind. Finally, you gave up, deciding that lying in bed, wide awake, would do nothing to ease the unrest.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed and made your way to the window. You pulled the curtain aside, letting the moonlight spill into the room. Outside, the world was still, the garden bathed in silver light. The sight should have been calming, but it only made the turmoil inside you feel even more out of place.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you grabbed a sweater and tiptoed out of your room. You needed to clear your head, and the fresh air might help. As you moved through the dark hallway, your steps were cautious, avoiding the spots that creaked. The last thing you wanted was to wake anyone up, least of all Rafe.

But as you passed his door, something made you stop. The door was slightly ajar, and a sliver of light spilled into the hallway. Your heart rate quickened. Rafe was awake. You hesitated, debating whether to go on with your plan to escape outside or to check on him.

Part of you wanted to keep walking, to avoid another confrontation that might end with more hurtful words, but another part of you was drawn to him—curious, worried even. Before you could overthink it, you stepped closer and gently pushed the door open.

Rafe was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. His room was a mess, with clothes and other belongings strewn about carelessly. He didn’t notice you at first, too absorbed in his own thoughts. But the moment your shadow fell across the threshold, he looked up, his eyes narrowing.

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, his voice low but filled with irritation.

You swallowed, not entirely sure what had driven you to enter. “I couldn’t sleep,” you said softly, taking a cautious step forward. “I saw your light was on.”

Rafe’s gaze flicked to the bedside lamp, as if realizing it was on for the first time. He looked back at you, his expression hardening. “So what? You came to check on me? Don’t bother.”

The sharpness of his tone made you wince, but you didn’t retreat. You stood your ground, despite the tension crackling in the air between you.

“Rafe,” you started, trying to keep your voice steady, “I just… I wanted to see if you were okay.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. You don’t need to pretend like you care. You’re just another person in this house who’s waiting for me to screw up."

His words stung, but they didn’t surprise you. You’d heard them before, in different forms, always laced with the same bitterness. Still, hearing them now, when you had genuinely been concerned, cut deep.

“That’s not true,” you said quietly. “I do care, Rafe. Whether you believe it or not.”

He stood up abruptly, making you take a step back. His eyes bore into yours, intense and full of emotion that he kept bottled up most of the time. “Why? Why do you care, huh? You’re not even really part of this family. You’re just some—”

He stopped himself, but the words hung heavy in the air. Just some outsider, some girl who was forced into his life, someone who would never really belong.

You felt the lump forming in your throat, but you refused to let the tears fall. Not in front of him. “You’re right,” you said, your voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady. “Maybe I don’t belong. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what happens to you.”

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you thought you saw something soften in his gaze, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the familiar mask of anger and resentment.

“Don’t waste your time on me,” he said finally, his voice cold. “You’re better off staying away.”

The finality in his tone was like a door slamming shut. It was clear he didn’t want you there, didn’t want your concern or your attempts to reach out. But instead of retreating, you took a deep breath and pushed back.

“I can’t do that, Rafe,” you said, surprising even yourself with the firmness in your voice. “I can’t just pretend like you don’t matter. You’re my brother, whether you like it or not.”

Rafe’s eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite identify—anger, hurt, maybe even fear. But he didn’t respond, just stood there, staring at you like he was waiting for you to leave.

When you realized he wasn’t going to say anything more, you turned away, feeling the sting of rejection but refusing to let it break you. You paused at the door, looking back at him one last time.

“If you ever want to talk… I’m here,” you offered, even though you knew he wouldn’t take you up on it.

With that, you left the room, closing the door softly behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

This was going to be harder than you thought, but you weren’t ready to give up on Rafe. Not yet. There was something underneath all that anger, something worth saving, and you were determined to find it—even if it meant getting hurt in the process.