Author's Note (Order): This is the last chapter of the story that I had ANY amount of prior work done for. Back in May 2022, I blitzed the first five chapters of the story, and then decreasingly detailed outlines and lines of dialog for the next four. This one certainly had the least of any of them… but it IS home to my single favorite line I created for it. It truly is "a new low."

After this chapter, we'll be in entirely new waters, with zero pre-written material. The only thing that existed for any chapter beyond this one was pure notes and ideas, almost all of which were either scrapped or condensed when I decided to return to ALID earlier this year.
You know funny thing is, I'm publishing this basically a year to the day this chapter should have been published had I kept my original momentum going— the "Luna mulls on everything/Lincoln talks to his friends" chapter was planned to go live ~May 28th, May 29th 2022 because I figured "Yeah, I'll plot everything out right quick, then get right back on top of this stuff." Lolnope.

Luna Loud's heart thumped faster than a death metal blast beat. The low hum of Mark Knopfler's "What It Is" wafted through the air from an old, battered radio perched precariously on a shelf. Its tinny speakers strained against the weight of the tune, yet it persisted, the melody echoing off the well-worn walls of the bedroom. Amid the sea of discarded guitar picks and crumpled set lists, Luna sat on her bed, her hands against the neck and body of her ax.

Her fingers traced the familiar chords, matching the rhythm flowing from the radio. Each strum was a counterpoint to her thoughts, resonating through the cluttered room, muddling with the chaotic cacophony of posters and music paraphernalia that marked her territory. Her brow was furrowed, eyes glazed with a mix of concentration and a far-off look that hinted at a mind deeply engrossed in a mental labyrinth.

The melody was a comforting constant, a lifeline in the midst of the storm that was Luna's life. She drew upon the music, let it seep into her, let it be the salve to her troubled thoughts. Luna knew the power of a good tune, how it could lift spirits and serve as a refuge. And at this moment, refuge was what she sought.

In the silence that followed a strummed chord, Luna opened her laptop. Her heart provided continued percussion, and a taste more metallic than her riffs overwhelmed her mouth. Yet she powered on.

The LED screen flickered to life, casting a pallid glow across her worried features. A quick web search, a few clicks, and she found herself staring at the object of her new dread: the Online Society for the Appreciation of Rock n Roll Scumbags. Her heart couldn't take it, and her face turned hot.

Every thought acknowledging the website caused some renewed pulse of anxiety. Yet most days, she left it at that— a background detail, something she knew existed and received discussion, but which she needn't concern herself with.

And sometimes, she'd promise herself to never look again.

And every time, she'd betray herself.

The search bar read "Luna Loud". Her eyes darted over the profile details, every word a needle prick to her self-esteem.

Her public image, her actions, everything was meticulously cataloged, served up for public consumption and criticism. The worst of her sins, she found, were showcased with relish, neatly arranged in chronological order like a damning discography.

This piece of shit website was a rogue's gallery of individuals who had, in one way or another, disappointed the rock and roll ethos, proved themselves to be human mildew hiding behind stardom, or had merely flamed out in a blaze of self-inflicted misfortune.

G. Glitter

Count Grishnackh

Jesus David Torres

I.D.K. Watkins

To be included on such a list— it was the digital equivalent of the scarlet letter. There was no removal request form, no sympathetic admin she could plead with. It was a lifetime sentence, unappealable, unflinching.

But what really twisted the knife was the realization that the site wanted her there.

This was the Online Society for the Appreciation of Rock n Roll Scumbags. They reveled in the missteps of those listed, thrived on the drama and the downward spirals. The worse people like her fell, the more they cheered.

Weeks prior, upon first discovery of the site and with the emotional torment threatening to torpedo his reconciliation with her, Lincoln rode into battle against the site to force Luna off, accomplished with a wave of emails and direct call-outs proclaiming his sister's redemption. As the sole victim listed, he'd wrestled with the website, earnestly and without any ulterior motive to whitewash Luna's mistakes. Lincoln was steadfast; the description that painted Luna as a violent domestic abuser and guilty of neglect, including her "sadistic treatment of an 11-year-old brother," must remain. It was a painful truth, but a truth nonetheless. The boy had a strong desire for Luna to remember her wrongs, to grapple with them and learn. His wish wasn't for Luna's absolution, but for recognition of her efforts to amend her past wrongs and to heal the bonds she'd strained.

Lincoln wanted acknowledgment for Luna's tenacity, her efforts to repair the damages she had wrought and her dedication to rebuilding their relationship. She hadn't retreated to the comfortable role of the victim or shrugged off her responsibilities. Instead, Luna had met them head-on, determined to come back stronger and more compassionate.

But the denizens of the OSftAoR'nRS took no interest in such stories.

The owner and site admin, knowing full well who he was talking to and the full context and motive behind the request, gave Lincoln a friendly little reply: "Piss off, albino faggot."

What's more, there was a pattern in the profiles that Luna found deeply frustrating. The site admin made no effort to segregate the listed scumbags between those who embraced in their scumbaggery and those who offered words of regret. Perhaps there was no point. The parade of remorseful figures proved to be more infuriating than the unrepentant monsters: their repentance seeming as rehearsed and hollow as a politician's promise. Predictable cycles of scandal, disgrace, apology, and triumphant return. But never any indication of genuine remorse, growth, or resolution with those they'd wronged. Only an idiot mistook their shame for guilt. Never guilty for doing wrong; only truly sorry that they had gotten caught. They were every YouTube e-celeb's haggard and fake apology video, condensed into a few mocking scribbles on a screen written by an emotionally-bankrupt edgelord.

And that was the most agonizing part of it all. The site, its visitors, they reveled in the missteps and stumbles. It was a morbid fascination, a perverse joy taken from the downward spirals and disgrace.

Luna was a rare paragon. She had acknowledged her guilt, she had striven to make things right, starting with her confession. Her concern was not for herself but for Lincoln, ensuring his well-being and recovery. Who could fault a person for giving their victim the agency to do as they wish with a situation? Most people were not so decent-hearted, and yet Luna proved to be the vanguard pulling her family from the brink.

Yet, how did the OSftAoR'nRS community respond to her attempts at redemption?

"LOONY LOUD LOONY LOUD LOONY LOUD LOONY LOUD"

Transformed into:

"LAME-O LOUD LAME-O LOUD LAME-O LOUD LAME-O LOUD"

Luna's pursuit of penitence was met with scorn and mockery. They seemed to crave her downfall, to want her to remain the scumbag. This site, so awash with negativity, seemingly couldn't bear the thought of one of their listed scumbags actually striving to become a better person— be a scumbag! Be liberated! Screw society's rules and abuse children!

And on her profile, there were 478 comments. 62 new ones since her last visit. The top ranking was the sane.

EIOUR:

"Who else fantasizes about Lincoln Loud going Michael Myers on his family? Maybe he can make Loony play the Halloween theme while she's watching her family get stabbed."

The newest comment:

Locopoton1:

"Loony should be human trafficked"

If she couldn't trust herself to not betray herself, how on Earth could she ever be Lincoln's diary?

The house was always a bustle of activity, but it was not the vibrant, chaotic mirth it once was. It was an eerie procession of fragmented routines, sisters meandering through the motions of their lives in the wake of upheaval. Luna, once lost in the heady beats of her music, now watched, acutely aware of the splintered relationships.

She observed Lily, the youngest, toddle about with an awkward grace, Lisa carefully guiding her. Their interaction was simple and gentle, a sliver of innocence in the middle of a tarnished household. Lincoln, their lone brother, was standing just at the edge of the scene, getting ready for another day at Royal Woods Elementary. He greeted Lisa with a curt "Hey," his tone casual but his gaze lukewarm.

Lincoln then turned to Lily, putting on a goofball face, trying to coax a smile, a giggle, anything from the toddler. He reached out to cuddle her, his arms wrapping around her small body in a protective gesture. But Lily wriggled free with a vehement "Let go! Let go!" before scampering off, leaving Lincoln staring after her with a look of desolation.

Lisa, still beside him, attempted to offer comfort in her own peculiar way. "Statistically, siblings often harbor resentments in the wake of familial disputes," she began, her voice a little shaky, "you just need to..."

Lincoln cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Lisa, if this involves one of your experiments, I'm not interested," he retorted, his tone curt.

Lisa's expression remained impassive, a mask of stoicism. "I understand. All apologies for my intrusion, fraternal sibling unit."

Yet as Lincoln walked away, her mask crumbled, revealing a tear-streaked face she furtively tried to pretend was not the truth, her face contorting as she struggled to contain an endless stream of tears. She had meant well, she truly had. But her relentless pursuit of scientific knowledge had severed any emotional bonds with Lincoln, and she knew it. Even though she had procured all of his belongings, Lincoln didn't trust her anymore. Not really. And that hurt more than any failed experiment. Whatever second chance she had earned, she and Luna both felt was about as much as she would get with Lincoln 'til their natural deaths.

But then again, that was just their guess. Neither of them truly knew what was going on underneath that mop of white hair. In fact, if Luna's eyes didn't deceive her often, should might have believed she saw Lincoln look back to Lisa with a face twisted by second thoughts, before the schoolbus beckoned.

As the scene unfolded, Luna's heart ached. The wounds were deep, the bonds frayed. Lincoln, their brother, their kin, felt betrayed by them. His love was strained, his trust eroded. He was in the house but not part of the family, a stranger amongst those he grew up with. Yet there was one bond, one relationship, that had held strong throughout the storm. One beacon in the tumultuous dark, a ray of sunshine too pure to hate.

But that ray of sunshine, that sweet, innocent Lily, now loathed him. And as Lincoln stood alone, Luna realized the devastating truth. Their baby sister saw Lincoln the same way he saw them, as strangers in a house that was no longer a home. And much like his sisters, Lincoln was lost, unsure of how to mend the bond that was now irrevocably broken.

He surely blamed that night when Lily had seen Lucy's exposed eyes, when the veil was lifted and the child saw despair she was too young to comprehend. If only he had shielded her from that sight, kept the innocence in her gaze untainted. Maybe then she would not harbor such resentment.

Lily didn't understand the extent of the bond between Lincoln and Lucy, didn't know how far the trust stretched before it snapped. There was an odd discomfort about the whole Lucy situation, a shadow of unease that no one could shake off.

Either way, witnessing this interaction was a harsh reminder for Luna of Lucy's revelations. The betrayal was not just about Lincoln's diary or the broken trust, but about the extent of Lincoln's emotional deterioration that necessitated the creation of such a diary in the first place. That the situation in the House had grown so dire for Lincoln's emotional state prior to the Bad Luck Incident that he needed a living diary was already a terrible sign. What would he have penned down if he kept a written diary? Luna was sure that even with Lucy, Lincoln held back. She was his baby sister, after all, and no matter how much he trusted her, there were things he wouldn't risk saying.

This realization was like an amped-up blast through a wall. Luna wanted to help Lincoln, she truly did, but she felt woefully inadequate to be his new confidante. It wasn't a question of trust but of capacity. If Lincoln hadn't chosen her to begin with, he wouldn't now.

"That's for damn sure," Luna muttered under her breath.

"Hmm?" Luan looked up from her homework, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion.

Caught off guard, Luna quickly came up with an excuse. "Just coming up with lyrics. Don't mind me."

The chill of the early December morning nipped at Lincoln's cheeks as he trudged his way to Royal Woods Elementary, backpack slung over one shoulder. Alone, without his younger sisters following. Though the Michigan cold was biting, it couldn't dampen the festive spirit that had enveloped the school. Christmas decorations adorned every corner, tinsel and fairy lights twinkling cheerily in the winter sun. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the anticipation of the holiday season. Students chattered excitedly about the gifts they were hoping to find under the tree in a few weeks. It was a stark contrast to the austere atmosphere at the Loud House.

As Lincoln stepped through the school gates, a group of familiar faces came into view. Clyde, Rusty, Zach, Liam, and Stella— his friends, his safe harbor. They greeted him with a flurry of waves and welcoming grins.

"Hey, Linc!" Rusty called, clapping him on the shoulder as he joined them. "You read the latest few Ninja Jack chapters yet?"

Lincoln nodded, a spark igniting in his eyes at the mention of their favorite manga. "Yeah. So much stuff happening in three chapters! Oh man, that plot twist with the Okuri Inu was insane!" he exclaimed.

Clyde agreed enthusiastically. "I know, right? I never would've guessed!"

They dove headfirst into a heated discussion about Ninja Jack's latest predicament. The Shinobi of Shadows had fallen into the clutches of a seemingly benevolent Okuri Inu. But the wolf yōkai's true colors were revealed in a shockingly evil plot twist, leaving Ninja Jack's faithful blood-brother enslaved. And Jack, currently currying favor with the Shogun and his consorts, was none the wiser. At first.

"And when Jack's pet pig showed him the premonition..." Liam murmured, wide-eyed. "Man, that was some dark stuff."

Zach shivered dramatically. "Yeah, can you imagine seeing your friend in that kind of danger and not being able to do anything about it?"

Stella, ever the voice of reason, pointed out, "It's a testament to Jack's character, though. Despite everything, he truly loves his blood brother, no matter how harsh his feelings were."

Zach added, "And holy crap, those harpies! I knew they couldn't be trusted, but hearing their plan out loud is just… oof."

Lincoln added, "Yeah. Jack's in for a world of hurt. His friends are the only ones who have his back, but he still doesn't trust them fully yet. But if he doesn't accept their apologies, he's totally screwed harder than anyone in Neo-Japan. And oh man, just wait until he also has to deal with what's happening to the Shinobi of Shadows."

Stella said, "Yeah, I know. I feel so bad for him, but… he kinda brought all this on himself."

Lincoln finished with: "Just goes to show, karma's a wheel, not a platform."

As the cool morning air of Michigan in December swirled around them, the close-knit group of friends were joined by a familiar face. Ronnie Anne sauntered over, her usual cool, collected demeanor in place.

"Hey, Lame-O," she greeted, her dark eyes glittering with a teasing glint. "What's going on?". Her use of the affectionate nickname elicited a groan from Lincoln, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, Ronnie Anne," Lincoln returned the greeting, his tone one of friendly resignation. "Everything's… going.".

"Still talking about that dumb comic?" Ronnie Anne started, her teasing tone breaking through the crisp winter air. Lincoln groaned good-naturedly, though his eyes were alight with mirth.

Like a nerd, "For your information, it's a manga, not a comic. Ace Savvy Number Zero is an example of a comic," he replied, his breath visible in the frosty morning. "How's Bobby doing?" His voice held a twinge of concern as he thought about Lori's former boyfriend.

Ronnie Anne's smile faltered slightly at the mention of her older brother. "Bobby? Oh, he's...he's doing okay. Better than I expected, actually." She shrugged, casting her gaze away for a moment. Her tone was nonchalant, but Lincoln could detect a hint of protectiveness.

Clyde sniffled.

"Yeah," Ronnie Anne replied, returning her gaze to Lincoln. She held his eyes for a moment before moving on. "But he's been keeping busy with work, so that helps."

That was good news, Lincoln mused.

"So, the Casagrandes finally moved in, huh?" Lincoln asked, a wistful smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, they did. It's been...noisy," Ronnie Anne admitted, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "But I guess you'd know all about that."

Lincoln couldn't help but chuckle at that. Oh, he knew all about the chaos of a big family, all right.

"Having a big family...it's different," he commented, his mind wandering back to his own sisters.

"It sure is. But it's nice to have them around." Ronnie Anne's smile was genuine. Lincoln could only nod in agreement, his own heart aching with longing.

As the conversation began to slow, Lincoln hesitated for a moment.

"So, uh, guys, um… You wouldn't happened to know how to repair relations with a baby, would you?"

Everyone blinked, and the air was so cold and heavy, Lincoln felt he could hear the twinkling hits of a xylophone as they did. Zach's face morphed into the color of a beetroot, puffing up as he could barely hold back the guffaws as Lincoln's words finally registered.

Stella and Clyde looked at the ground, trying to avoid all eye contact with anyone, as if having heard someone they loved dropping a nasty shart.

Ronnie Anne's jaw lowered as she processed the words. "What? Repair relations with a baby?"

"Well, um… I think Lily may have disowned me."

Ronnie Anne gently, smugly pressed her wrist against her cheek. "That's kinda pathetic when a baby disowns you, Lame-O. You've truly reached a new low."

"Ugh, tell me about it," Lincoln replied, rolling his eyes and hands.

Her curiosity getting the best of her, Ronnie Anne ventured to ask why Lily was so upset.

To which Lincoln said, "Sigh."

"Oh. Oh! Her?"

Lincoln confirmed with a reluctant nod.

"Hmm." Ronnie Anne rubbed her face. "Y'know, I've been meaning to ask about that. The hell happened between you and Spooky? It's like you hit the bullseye on the wrong target."

Clyde swiftly interjected before Lincoln could respond. "He hasn't told me either," he admitted, an apologetic glance cast in Lincoln's direction. Lincoln's sigh of resignation hung heavily in the frosty air. He did not want to discuss the matter, but he conceded that it was a personal matter. A family matter that was too complex, too painful to put into words. As the conversation petered out, they were each left to their own thoughts, punctuated by the first period's school bell.

As their conversation drifted to an end, Lincoln found himself swallowed up in the day's routine. The bell rang in the distance, pulling him away from his friends and the fleeting warmth of the morning sunlight, back into the bustling halls of Royal Woods Elementary. A slight tension nestled itself in his chest, a persistent reminder of the ongoing discord at home. Yet, within the school's animated atmosphere, he found a modicum of respite.

It was a stark contrast to the somberness that held the Loud house hostage. Despite the frost-laden windows and chilly drafts that seemed to creep into every corner of the school, it was bursting with life, veritably humming with the excited chatter and unrestrained laughter of his peers. The holiday spirit was, indeed, infectious, if not slightly jarring given the grim undertones his life currently held.

However, during lunchtime, an encounter managed to pique Lincoln's interest. Seated across from him, amidst a group of students, was Jackie Lynn Majors, an enigma in her own right. Her familiar features were almost uncanny– the pale white hair, the orange shirt paired with a blue skirt, the familiar lanky build. Lincoln would have called her his mirror image or a long-lost twin sister or maybe even some previously unknown spawn of one of Lisa's experiments into the esoteric edges of reality, if not for her big round glasses that framed her curious eyes, and her distinctly un-Lincoln-like demeanor.

Being the only child, Jackie had led a life that was almost the polar opposite of Lincoln's. She didn't have to deal with the chaos of sharing a single bathroom with ten other siblings or the constant battle for privacy in a house teeming with people.

On the other hand, Jackie's wealth was incomprehensible to Lincoln. While his life revolved around making do and hand-me-downs, Jackie had access to a world filled with unlimited choices and unimaginable luxuries. They were two different worlds colliding, a bizarre reflection that was just off enough to be disorienting.

But despite the glaring differences in their backgrounds, Jackie Lynn was a part of the L.O.U.D Defense Club, a group of students who had rallied around Lincoln during the "No Such Luck" incident. Their shared experience had formed an unlikely bond, a sense of camaraderie that was comforting in a strange way. It was a connection born from adversity, a reminder that even in his darkest times, he wasn't completely alone.

The school cafeteria hummed with life as lunch was in full swing, and Lincoln found himself seated opposite Jackie Lynn Majors. Despite their differences, Lincoln felt a sisterly affection emanating from her. It was comforting, and he'd come to appreciate the care she'd shown him in these trying times.

"So, Lincoln," she began, sliding her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a quirked eyebrow. "Any progress with Lily?"

Lincoln shrugged, frowning slightly as he poked at his lunch. "Not really, J.L. She still doesn't want anything to do with me."

Around them, the cafeteria buzzed with scattered conversations and half-heard rumors. It was easy to tune out most days, but every now and then, something caught his attention.

"...so I said to him, it's like a bullseye on the wrong target..."

The phrase made Lincoln look up. A group of kids at a nearby table were talking about him, about his sisters. About Lucy.

"Hey," Jackie Lynn said, snapping her fingers to regain Lincoln's attention. "Don't worry about them. They don't understand what happened. No one can, except you."

But he'd heard enough, the sentiment hitting closer to home than he would've liked. They thought he should've unleashed his wrath on Lynn instead of Lucy.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "You know what, J.L.? I'm starting to feel... dumb for picking on Lucy."

Jackie Lynn's gaze softened, but she didn't reply immediately. Her eyes held a mixture of empathy and a sort of sorrow that felt too heavy for a girl her age.

"But, I can't help it," Lincoln continued, his voice quieter. Something in Lincoln's chest tightened. "It just...doesn't feel right, all this hate towards Lynn. It's like no one cares what she's done. "

Jackie Lynn smiled faintly. "Does anyone hate your family besides the L.O.U.D.?"

The table fell into a silence. Lincoln's eyes remained lowered, thoughts swirling. In the quiet, Jackie Lynn sighed, a sound that carried a hint of disappointment.

"Well... not really, I guess. For the most part, no."

"Exactly." She pull a bottle of milk to her lips and took a sip. "When all you focus on is the negativity and vindictiveness, you warp your mind into thinking that's all that exists. You see how that's ruining your sisters, right?"

"But the L.O.U.D. are still a thing, even though I told them to disband. You are the one who said they ought to stay together. And look what that did: my sisters can't even go to school anymore. How do you think that makes me feel?" Lincoln sat back. "And now Lily's so angry at me." He ran his hands over his face. "And you know what? She's right. She's completely right. I know she's completely right."

"Lincoln," she began again, her tone soft, almost reluctant, "it's concerning to see Lily so upset. She's the baby, after all. People around town have always seen her as a beacon of hope within your family."

Lincoln looked up sharply, a twinge of defensiveness coloring his tone. "Are you trying to imply Lily's become worthless just because she's mad at me?"

"No, no," Jackie Lynn was quick to reassure, shaking her head in an effort to dispel his misunderstanding. "That's not what I mean. It's just... well, disappointing, I suppose. It's just, hearing you angst about how much your hate your sisters' fate is funny coming out of your mouth."

Jackie Lynn's response hung in the air between them, forcing Lincoln to face the reality of his situation. It was hard to swallow– acknowledging the truth in her words. He had been so absorbed in his anger, so focused on his grievances against his sisters, that he'd forgotten there was more to them than their mistakes.

Lucy... despite her betrayal, was there really anything else wrong with her? Lincoln allowed his mind to wander to memories of his gothic sister, her monotonic laughter echoing in his ears, her gloomy yet encouraging words, her sudden glomps that took him by surprise. A pang of worry for her welled up in his chest, squeezing his heart uncomfortably.

He knew she wasn't alright. And that's what hurt. Wherever she was, he knew she was in a lot of emotional pain. He wanted to take pleasure in that once upon a time. The idea that his ex-family were hurting. What changed?

Did anything change?

Jackie Lynn saw the pain on his face and said nothing.

His introspective thoughts were interrupted by Ronnie Anne's approach. She was accompanied by a boy from the second grade, a kid named Zim. He was a quirky character with a wild mop of dark hair, round glasses perched on his nose, and an ever-present mischievous grin.

"Hey, guys," Ronnie Anne greeted, breaking Lincoln's train of thought. Her gaze fell on Lincoln, concern evident in her eyes as she glanced between him and Jackie Lynn. "What's up? You two look serious."

Lincoln shook his head. "Just talking about stuff."

Jackie Lynn cleared her throat, pressed Lincoln's shoulder, and said, "Our Boy is doubting himself right now."

"It's complicated. Everyone's telling me I made the wrong choice."

"Linky, they're not saying you made the wrong choice. They're telling you you didn't make the right choice."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Pfft," Ronnie Anne began, crossing her arms over her chest, "Spooky wasn't exactly a saint herself."

Jackie Lynn, eyebrows arched high behind her round glasses, looked from Ronnie Anne to Lincoln, a contemplative hum leaving her lips. "People aren't that simple, Ronalda," she said, "Everyone has their own feelings about what's happened."

Ronnie Anne huffed, "Well, my feelings are pretty clear. If Spooky died today, who'd care?"

A pulse of rage scrunched Lincoln's face, but he kept himself seated.

There was a moment of tense silence before Jackie Lynn broke it. "Lincoln would, for one," she said, her tone gentle but firm.

"But look, what I'm saying is, I don't think anyone has any lost love for Spooky. It's not about people feeling bad for her. People'll are just confused why you went with her."

His rage passed, Lincoln let out a soft sigh, focusing on his half-eaten lunch as he contemplated their words. He felt Ronnie Anne's gaze on him, somewhat softer than before.

"I don't get it, Link," she confessed, "You had Lynniot right there, and yet... it was Lucy you decided to aim at."

The comment felt like a thorn under his skin. It was a question he'd asked himself countless times since that night, and yet, he could never come up with a satisfying answer.

"It wasn't like that," he said, shaking his head, "It was just... I don't know. It's hard to explain."

Jackie Lynn leaned back, studying Lincoln closely. "Could it be that you couldn't pick on a girl in a wheelchair? Was that it?"

Lincoln looked up at her, an odd sensation creeping into his heart. "Lynn's not in a wheelchair anymore."

Jackie Lynn's eyes widened at that, the surprise clearly etched on her face. "Really?"

Lincoln nodded, a bit of pride seeping into his voice. "Yeah, she's been working hard. Made a lot of progress."

Jackie Lynn's expression softened, and she seemed to sink into her own thoughts. Casting a quizzical gaze at Lincoln, Jackie Lynn asked, "And where did Lucy end up?"

"Some couple I've never heard of. They were pretty close to my dad, though. Billy and Mandy, I think?" Lincoln shrugged, his brows knitting in thought.

Zim, listening with interest, piped up. "You mean the creepy ones from Endsville?"

Jackie Lynn quickly corrected him. "No, not them. They decided to move to Sterling Falls instead. I think Lincoln's referring to the couple from Toronto. The Bierpongs."

At Jackie Lynn's confirmation, a sense of surprise flashed across Lincoln's face. It was a genuine double-take, and he half-grinned. "You know them too?"

Jackie Lynn simply shrugged, a mysterious twinkle in her eyes. "Not personally. But my father does. He and Mr. Bill go back a ways."

The moment of revelation hung in the air. Jackie Lynn's parents, Sheriff. Marshall Majors and Millicent Majors, were figures of influence within Royal Woods, despite being recent arrivals. Lincoln couldn't quite wrap his mind around how his father was acquainted with this elite couple from Synecdoche, New York, who had connections with a Canadian DINK family. It seemed like a complicated web of relationships, all linking back to his own tangled family affairs. However, the world often didn't make sense, and Lincoln was starting to accept this reality.

Just as he seemed about to say something more, Ronnie Anne interjected. "Enough about Spooky," she said, "Let's talk about something else."

In the lull following Ronnie Anne's words, Lincoln once again found himself grappling with the weight of his past actions. He thought back on the fiery sister he'd once shared countless battles and arguments with. Their relationship had never been easy, defined by a constant stream of disagreements and fights that always seemed to spiral out of control. He'd blamed her so many times, saw her as the main source of his problems.

But now, having thoroughly beaten her, having put her in a place where she no longer posed a threat to him, his feelings had changed. He looked back on Lynn not with the raw anger and resentment he'd felt before but with something akin to sympathy. Perhaps it was the visible struggle she'd gone through, her fall and rise again, that made him see her in a new light.

He had seen her suffer absolute defeat. There was no lower for her to go. The victory lap he secured by giving her her own room felt increasingly pyrrhic.

"Fine, let's talk about Lynn then," Lincoln suggested. Ronnie Anne's gaze met Lincoln's squarely. There was a hardness to her eyes that hadn't been there before.

"I still can't believe you didn't kick her ass out."

Lincoln felt a twinge of irritation at her words. "What is it with everyone? I made my choice, Ronnie Anne. Isn't that just... I don't know... humanity?" His gaze had grown distant, clouded with countless complexities he was trying to decipher.

Ronnie Anne let out a soft sigh, her stern gaze softening. "Link, no one's saying Lynn didn't deserve a second chance if you seriously think she earned it. But...considering what she did to you—"

"And what she did for me, people keep forgetting," Lincoln cut in, an almost bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "She was the troublemaker, right? The instigator, the bully...the menace that always seemed to ruin my day one way or another." He swallowed, a distant look in his eyes as he continued, "Yeah, she wasn't perfect. Far from it. But she's not the same person anymore. I've seen what she's gone through and the pain she feels. So what if I was angry? She deserves a second chance. She deserves better than to be treated like... like trash."

"And Lucy doesn't?" Ronnie Anne's question was gentle, merely a whisper amidst the growing tension.

Lincoln's lips formed a tight line, his gaze firmly planted on the table. The silence that fell over them was heavy, almost suffocating.

A week ago, two weeks prior, he couldn't let it go. He needed to make that girl know she blew it harder than anyone in the family ever had.

But in times like now, when he's so consumed by turmoil and confusion…

I wish I had my vampiress diary….

The lunch bell rang.

At a local basketball court…

Lynn, once a picture of energy and competitiveness, now bore a stark contrast to her old self. She was on crutches, her legs aching with every step, the muscles screaming for relief. A pain that was as physical as it was psychological, a haunting reminder of what once was and what was taken away.

Despite the pain, Lynn's stubborn resolve pushed her to keep trying. Every step was a defiant act of rebellion, a silent war cry against the shadows of her detractors, those who, perhaps, wished her to remain confined to her wheelchair forever. But there was another side to her determination, one not borne out of defiance, but survival. Lynn felt the gnawing helplessness that came with her current condition. She was far from the formidable athlete she used to be, and the thought of being unable to defend herself was a bitter pill to swallow.

Lynn had always been a protector at heart. Even when her relationship with Lincoln had hit rock bottom, she had risked her own life to shield him from danger.

The memory was still vivid in her mind, that evening months ago now when Lincoln had come to talk to her. Her, specifically. Her, here. At this very park.

She had been a pitiful sight back then, emotionally and physically broken. He had wanted to talk privately, and his words had cut deep, laying her weaknesses bare.

"You're a sad sight, Lynniot," he'd mocked. Of all his ex-family members, she was the most pitiful. Yet, she could only stare back at him, too broken to retaliate. "Look, we can't have you guys living on the streets forever. I can't guarantee you much, but I can promise you a roof over your head and food in your belly."

The conversation was interrupted when the shadows shifted and two figures emerged, their menacing countenances cast in the dim light of the sunset. They had recognized Lincoln, his newfound popularity apparently reaching the unsavory corners of Royal Woods and Hazeltucky. They had come with the intention to extort him and his friends at L.O.U.D., their gluttonous eyes gleaming with greed.

Lincoln, though braver than most his age, was a boy of eleven. He had tried to make a run for it, but one of the figures had caught him with an iron grip. The words he'd hissed still echoed in Lynn's ears, a venomous promise to "roll his legs up" and ensure he'd never walk again if he didn't comply.

Fear had flashed in Lincoln's eyes, his body freezing as the reality of his predicament set in. He was powerless in the face of such odds.

Lynn attacked.

The sight of a 13-year-old girl fighting two grown men had been a spectacle of raw, desperate courage. With every punch, every kick, every defiant shout, she'd stood her ground, putting up a fight that left the attackers dazed and Lincoln in awe.

As the dust cleared, she had emerged victorious, but at a terrible cost. Her body was broken and bruised, her limbs failing her as the adrenaline subsided.

Lincoln's cries still rang in her ears, soaked in panic and remorse, echoed in her ears as vividly as if he was standing right next to her.

"Damn it, Lynn... I'm sorry," Lincoln had choked out, his grip tight on her as he fell to his knees beside her. He cradled her in his arms, careful not to hurt her further.

His voice was a broken whisper, a stark contrast to his usual confident tone. "I'm so sorry, Lynn. You... you shouldn't have had to do this. You shouldn't have... God, it's my fault. This... this is all my fault."

His trembling hands held onto her as if she was his lifeline, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. "Thank you, Lynn. You saved me... you saved me. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." The police and ambulance sirens grew louder, and Lincoln's grip grew tighter.

The doctors had been grim, their prognosis shattering her world. Lynn might never walk again. The damage was severe, and recovery was uncertain at best. The wheelchair became a symbol of her new life, a constant reminder of that fateful night and the price she had paid.

When Lynn first sat in it, she looked to Lincoln, expecting to see his horror and repentance once more. Yet, to Lynn's despair, she saw nothing. No strong emotions. In fact, though she could not be sure even today, she believed she could make out the faintest curls of a sneer.

Yeah.

She protected her baby brother, alright.

Now to return to the regularly scheduled programming.

With crutches by her side, Lynn walked. Each step shocked her nerves, and her body seemed to resist her desire to move. The memories of that night served as a bitter-sweet motivation. Every ounce of pain was a challenge she had to overcome, a hurdle she had to cross. Her body screamed for relief, but her spirit remained unbroken. She took a deep breath and pushed herself up, the crutches supporting her weight less and less.

Each step was an act of defiance, a refusal to accept her current state. The pain was real, but so was her resolve. She took a step, then another, her body trembling with effort. Her heart pounded in her chest, matching the rhythm of her steps. She could do this. She would do this. She had to.

Even as the pain intensified, Lynn continued. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, a thin sheen of sweat dotting her forehead as she persevered. Each step was a battle, but it was a battle she was determined to win.

It wasn't defiance against Lincoln's vindictiveness. The boy had a right to be angry.

No.

She could remember every syllable of the doctors' prognosis. Their words were a nagging whisper in the back of her mind, but she refused to let them consume her. She wouldn't let herself be defined by this wheelchair, by her injuries. She was more than that.

A grimace contorted her face as a particularly sharp spike of pain shot up her leg. But she didn't let it stop her. She gritted her teeth and pushed forward, a shaky breath escaping her lips. There was something almost cathartic in this pain, a physical manifestation of the internal struggle she'd been fighting.

She stumbled, her leg giving out beneath her. Her heart pounded in her chest and her breath hitched, fear momentarily seizing her as the court pavement rushed up to meet her. But she caught herself, gripping her crutches so tightly her knuckles turned white.

With a shaky breath, she righted herself. Every muscle in her body was screaming at her to stop, to rest. But she couldn't. She wouldn't. She'd been a fighter all her life, and she wasn't going to stop fighting now.

The mid-afternoon sunlight illuminated the battle she was fighting, an intimate struggle between her and her own body. But she welcomed the solitude. This was her fight, after all.

Her mind flashed back to the alley, to the horror-struck face of Lincoln. He was safe because of her. He was safe. He was loved.

She wasn't forgiven. She had but taken the first step.

The afternoon was beginning to cool, the school having emptied out minutes ago, but Lynn was still pushing herself, forcing her legs to move despite the searing pain. She was determined not to give in, to prove wrong all those who wanted to see her fail.

But there was only so far she could go before the sense of exhaustion took her. Throbbing weakness, heavy breaths flaring into clouds, icy sweat— she had done all she could do for today.

As she forced her aching body to hobble back towards Franklin Avenue, she became aware of a certain atmosphere, something shifting in the air. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed two figures approaching her. The swagger in their steps, the glint in their eyes, it was all too familiar. Mac and Terrence.

Two L.O.U.D boys.

Lynn's heart dropped. They weren't alone. Alongside them were seven others whose names Lynn didn't particularly know or care about. Their approach was not accidental, their intent crystal clear. They hadn't just stumbled upon her. They had been watching her.

"What's this? Cuck-Lynn's out and about?" Mac's voice sliced through the quiet afternoon, the venom in his words unmistakable. He was grinning, a twisted smirk playing on his lips. "You're out of your chair? Need some help sitting back down?"

Fear spiked through Lynn's veins, but she stood her ground, her expression defiant. Her body was screaming for rest, her legs feeling like they were about to buckle under her, but she wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

Gritting her teeth, she prepared herself, her hands tightening around her crutches.

Nine against one... just like Lincolndome. A realization hit her as she realized there was another aspect of this familiar: they had been waiting for her to push herself to the brink of exhaustion. Traumatic flashbacks of that September day flooded her mind, when the Louds had been forced to do punishing, demeaning, and muscle-tearing hard work for no other reason than to exhaust them. And then, as a "reward" for their 12-plus hours of dirging labor in the sun, they were all gathered in a circus tent. She, her mother, her father, Lori, Leni, Luna, Luan, Lucy, Lola, Lana, and Lisa thought it to be a welcome and air-conditioned respite… only to suddenly be separated and have spotlights cast upon them.

And that damn announcer's booming voice came roaring back in her ears.

WEEEEEEEEEEELCOME TO LINCOLNDOME, ROYAL WOODS' PREMIER FAMILY ASSKICKING SPORTING EVENT!

She pushed her exhaustion aside, gripping her crutches tighter. "Why don't you try me, Mac?" She spat back, her voice filled with defiance. The odds were against her, but she wasn't going down without a fight.

A gust of wind rushed through the air as Terrence took a bold step forward. His voice was harsh, echoing against the surrounding buildings, "We ain't gonna try. We're gonna do." And as if on cue, all nine of them reached behind their backs and produced gleaming softball bats. The sight alone sent an icy shiver down Lynn's spine.

A sudden hush fell over the scene. The only sound audible was the soft clink of a marble bouncing against the pavement. The world seemed to have paused in anticipation of the pain to come.

Lynn found herself stepping back involuntarily. Fear surged in her veins, her heart pounding against her chest. Her grip faltered, causing one of her crutches to slip from her grasp and clatter on the pavement, echoing through the tense silence. She lifted her gaze back to the boys, her voice shaky but resolute, "W-wait! Stay back! You can't just attack me like this! You'll get arrested!"

Mac simply shrugged, an arrogant smirk painting his face. "In for a penny," he retorted, lifting his bat. He lunged at Lynn, his bat slicing through the air with a vicious speed. But it never reached its target.

The onlookers watched in utter disbelief as a figure blurred past them. A girl, not much older than Lynn, possibly even younger, swooped in between them. She was swift, her movements fluid and confident. Her tan skin was partially visible under the hood that concealed most of her face.

"What the— get them!" Mac's voice sliced through the stunned silence. His command was met with an unexpected response. A loud pop and the area was suddenly blanketed in a dense cloud of smoke, causing everyone to choke and cough, their vision obstructed.

Within seconds, the smoke faded and Lynn was gone. The mysterious girl had taken her away, leaving the boys to stare at the empty spot where Lynn had stood. The sudden turn of events left them baffled, their bats hanging loosely in their hands.

Far beyond the lingering cloud, in the safety of a familiar alleyway, Lynn turned to look at her rescuer. Her eyes widened in surprise and she let out a stunned gasp.

"Ronalda?"

Author's Note (Chaos): I'm sure some people were blue balled by Lynn's recovery, but if I have to be truthful…. I never actually intended on Lynn being crippled forever. The reviewers who correctly called out that I was deliberately riling the Anti-Lynn sentiment in the fandom by even suggesting a poll had it right.

I cheated you. I cheated you and you let me do it. I cheated you and you didn't even notice.

And just to be completely insufferable and obnoxious and post-modern and whatever, that was the point. Everyone who wanted Lynn to remain paraplegic? The L.O.U.D. Defense Club is essentially the embodiment of that anger and vindictiveness of every Loud sister hater.

Anyway, this chapter was still pretty dour and severe.

Next chapter's going to be a bit nicer to read. Ronnie Anne and Lynn, Lincoln and Polly and Mollie and Haiku and Kat and Girl Jordan, and Lucy's first day at Milhouse Alternative. Okay, maybe that last part isn't "nicer," but it's better than her being in a state of severe depression all the time.
It might not be here for a while, though, so expect a bit of a hiatus for this story at this moment.