It was only when he put the costume on when Kenny really felt depressed. For some reason, as Kenny McCormick, he could easily push all his inner turmoil and struggles aside, running about with a carefree attitude, always smiling and joking. Most found him immature, oblivious, blunt, and untroubled. Despite his home environment, everyone expected him to be as happy all the time, assuming he shrugged everything off as one of life's bad jokes and letting it was over him like rocks on a beach.
But with that outfit on, the troubles overwhelmed him, possessing him, controlling him. He could hide from his angst, like a child pulling the covers over his head to escape the monsters in the closet or under the bed, but in the end it was all inside him, and he couldn't escape from that. The demons weren't outside, they laid dormant within, finding outlet in the shady persona of the town vigilante.
It was a trademark of heroes of his calibre, he supposed. Batman, Superman, the whole lot of them had some sort of issue spurred by a crappy life experience screwing them over. Superman's planet blew up, Batman's parents were gunned down, and Mysterion had to deal with the wrath of poverty, the villain he couldn't fight. However, he could still defend the rest of the town, do something good, channel his negativity to rid the streets of crime.
It was such a childish desire in a sense—fighting bad guys with underwear pulled over his pants and blurting out random monologues every so often—but it kept him going. Well, that kept Mysterion going. He thrived off Kenny's displeasures, the collected ball of darkness becoming an energy core for a brilliant mastermind. Mysterion was serious, calculating, even merciless sometimes.
Kenny? Kenny was a comedic, slacking, sometimes flaky teenager.
Nothing like Mysterion.
But maybe that was a good thing.
Kenny didn't like being compared to his alter ego, not anymore.
Mysterion was a dark manifestation of wishes Kenny never fulfilled and help he never got. Always grim, always downcast, always the bearer of bad news it seemed. Despite the lives he saved, there were the few he couldn't save, those lives digging deeper than any mere bullet could. Mysterion symbolised not only the town's saviour but also the most tortured soul, bone-crushing sorrows woven into the thick purple fabric of the cloak.
He hated it, he really did at times. Kenny's bottled up emotions of anger, frustration, depression, and the like only flared when the costume was on, often sparking his character change. That's why Mysterion was violent, unstable; he was volatile emotions and nothing more. There was always a streak of wry humour to the whole 'town hero' thing, the kicker being that no one could ever understand or help the hero through his own mess. All he really could do was help others, never himself.
"Pathetic..."
He sat alone, brooding in solitude. Though the other so-called superheroes of the town hung up their capes long ago, Kenny still defended the town.
Over the years he built a small lair, using the money he accumulated to pay the rent of an abandoned gas station at the town limits. The plumbing barely worked, the electricity shorted out often, and the heat only worked when the weather was warm; but it was better than nothing. Hell, it beat his room at his house! The scent of gasoline appealed to him more than cat piss and booze. He didn't have to worry about waking up to a screeching cat or shattering plate. He had a semi-operating fridge to keep a stash of Miller Lite and old cold cuts. He even fashioned a bed from a mattress he lifted from the dump, some course throw blankets, and a few deflated pillows.
Nice as it was, it was MYSTERION'S house, and he only went there as Mysterion. Kenny put up with the shit that went on at home until Mysterion couldn't stand it, needing to simmer down in the hideout for a few hours, or days, or even weeks.
That's where the shadows consumed him; troubles engulfed him, all the repressed feelings swirling in the air. There the burdens weighed down on his shoulders, straining his sanity, waiting for the bottled up unwieldy feelings to burst something in his brain, pull a trigger, and just set him off.
As Kenny, he could keep the light on, identify the monsters and laugh in their faces. But with a hood over his golden hair and a chamber of icy blackness, the monsters could laugh at him. And he could ignore them, or at least appear to, but they'd get to him.
And he just wanted them gone.
He sighed, shuddering as a gust of wintery air blew in through the crack in the window. He kicked one foot steadily, heel banging against the mattress in an even rhythm. His hood covered his ears, keeping them warm. The mask kept the frost from nipping at the upper face. The cold chapped his lips, almost to the point of bleeding, and stung his cheeks, leaving them pale as the blanket of snow outside. He ground his teeth, snorting clouds of translucent white air out his nostrils. Every breath he inhaled burned his lungs with ice, shards of sleet tearing at his throat.
His sapphire eyes fixed on the corner of the room, surveying the shadows as though they were plotting against him at that very moment. His gaze was locked, barely blinking as he stared, eyes dry as arctic tundra. He disconnected from the world, isolated in his own reality, the one governed and occupied only by bad, and he was the lone streak of good. Not once did he recognise himself as any form of saint, deeming himself the last of the good things in that chaotic realm, searching for someone who wasn't corrupted by these evils. This search, this quest, Mysterion called futile on many occasions, frustrated and convinced that this other good thing-which could possibly ease his pain and give him peace-was as real as El Dorado or the Fountain of Youth. Kenny, meanwhile, kept hoping, feeling it out there. His string of optimism kept the cynical side from tainting his heart and spoiling his core, it kept him from hardening into a crusty asshole shitting bitter words and sarcasm on everyone around him.
It kept him from transforming into one of the things he so hated.
His thoughts raced, thinking of everything and nothing at the same time. A dull drone buzzed in his mind, like static on a television, waiting for the polar bear to leave and the snow storm to cease but ending up continually disappointed as the clock ticked by without a defined picture.
There, in truth, was nothing to mull over, no cases to ponder, no reason for intense thought. He pressed himself to think of something, something to give him purpose, but all that blew back at him was more frustration and aggravation. This outcome made him more determined to come up with something, only driving the unhappy cycle.
The motor of his brain rattled and wind as he fought to wrap it around imaginary concepts, all which ebbed away and provoked more fury and swears.
"Shit," He growled, grating voice rising above the howl of the wind. His arm swung behind him, hand balled into a fist, impacting the wall with a loud bang. The entire wall vibrated to recover from the sudden, violent blow, a slight indent left behind and bits of paint chipping off.
These acts of violence were becoming more frequent, he realised, more of his pent up and soured emotions lashing out. That outfit invited them to come out, he figured, it gave them a green light to turn radioactive.
Fucking wonderful... I'm finally going crazy...
It was only a matter of time. He was invincible in the physical sense, possessing immortality that wiped all others' memories of his death and fit him back into the town seamlessly. Yet he knew that his mental state wasn't perfect-nobody's was-and after years and years of build up, the dam was finally leaking. And as far as he knew, there were not supplies coming to save him when the water came to whisk him into the abyss.
He was Mysterion, the Superman with kryptonite blood that slowly ate him away and weakened him, the Achilles without a tendon to pierce and free him from this curse, the hero without a reason a better reason to protect people than that he couldn't protect himself.
"Pathetic..." He uttered again.
He was pathetic.
"The only thing that's pathetic..." A voice said suddenly, penetrating Kenny's thick aura of self-loathing and pity and snapping him out of the static thought.
Kenny glanced over at the doorway, eyes sharp blue daggers, lips pressed into a hard line. He scarcely held back an animalistic snarl, a good portion of him wanting to whip out his handgun and shoot down the villain who dared enter his hide out.
Everyone felt like an enemy to Mysterion; even those he protected.
The figure stood still, pausing, staring at the vigilante. The moonlight cascading through the dust-tinted window cast on the boy, adding a dramatic light, accenting certain features while blending the rest. His cloak, mask, and costume became one amorphous blob of darkness, the silhouette of a true creature of the night. The cardboard question mark bobbed atop his head, resembling a swaying hook more than a symbol of mystery. The only truly defined part of Mysterion was his set of eyes-Kenny's eyes-the familiar cerulean glazed with umbrage and rage.
It pained Kyle to look into his eyes, at least when they were like that. He could see through Kenny's facade-he always did-and seeing the trouble in his eyes, the pure distress; he saw the abused little boy glued to the window waiting for some passerby to notice the bruises blossoming on his skin, the scraps oozing crimson from his forehead, the dirt caking his body, and the tears streaming down his cheeks as he mutely called for help.
Kyle never saw Mysterion how others did, not since the day, in the privacy of the prison, he revealed to Kyle-and Kyle alone-his identity.
From that day forward, he saw Kenny, and only Kenny. This whole Mysterion thing had always been a way out for him, but it wasn't working. He needed help, and standing by as the madness infected him would only lead to guilt piling up inside him.
No, it was time to intervene, time to be a good friend and slay the demons with his own hands. Kenny always cared more than any one person could bear; he broke every bone in his body just to prove he was strong. But that wasn't what real strength was, not at all.
Kyle stepped forward, every soft step in sync with Kenny's heartbeat. The blond watched as the moonlight revealed a pair of green Converse, then dark jade jeans, then an orange coat, then a pale neck, then a head, then a lime green hat. Kyle opened his eyes, emerald reflecting the lunar beams and glowing so brilliantly they could've been mistaken for actual gemstones.
The moment their eyes met, Kenny disarmed, tense muscles relaxing, expression slightly softening. The shimmer of concern and gleam of care in the green lulled the savage emotions into a tranquil state, unable to attack a gentle hand as that.
It's not safe... Kenny thought at once, Kyle shouldn't be here...
Kenny—Mysterion—was in one of those explosive moods, one of the dangerous ones that teetered on the edge of contained aggression and all out frenzy. Kyle was a good friend, one of the most faithful and caring. He didn't want him to fall victim to a hero's woes, somehow slip onto the threat radar and wind up with a broken limb or a bullet in his chest.
No, not to Kyle.
"The only thing that's pathetic," Kyle repeated, ready to continue. His tone contrasted his softer expression, each word coming out assertive and rough. "Is that you think wallowing in your own pity will solve your problems."
Kenny's eye twitched, but other than that he remained motionless. Fury flared, but the volcano didn't erupt, smoke rising as a warning. The remnants of restraint and taming gaze kept him at bay, Kenny biting the end of his rope as he waited for the redhead to continue, eyes wide.
Kyle, thinking Kenny would reply, didn't speak, staring back into the brooding blue, analysing his emotions and calculating a proper argument.
He knew it would eventually come to this, a confrontation of the heroic tormentor. Mysterion was going too far... Going too far for too long. He was breaking Kenny slowly, the man with the best intentions souring from the overwhelming lack of expression.
This wasn't a game anymore, this wasn't a fucking game.
Kenny observed the redhead, absorbing every darkened detail, engraving a precise image of him into his brain tissue. Crimson curls peeked from beneath the brim of his cap and out from the side flaps, the deep red fiery as his temper. In the moonlight, his skin became marble, pure and white; yet he was so finely chiselled that the stone was soft as flesh. His pale lips parted, tongue visible through the thin gap in his front teeth, balancing words on the tip but not knowing when to speak them. His eyes, his vibrant emerald eyes, stunned Kenny every time, the colour so dazzling, accented with his tender interest in the blond's despair and light hints of determination to defeat, or at least aid in the crusade to, the burdens bombarding him.
There was a beauty to him, a majesty no other could pull off. Kenny didn't know how to describe it, and Mysterion didn't want to. It was that element that scared him.
Strange... he thought.
Very strange.
Kyle's words hung in the air, like the lingering note of a guitar string, an extended buzz only the two could hear. The air felt colder, the wind felt harsher, the shadows seemed darker; neither of them could make any sense of it but everything had a sinister mood to it.
Even in his worst moods, Kenny still saw things brighter than that.
"So you're not talking to me, now?" Kyle asked, tone sharp and frosty as an icicle, "You're just going to give me your superhero stare?"
"You sound cheery," The blond muttered bitterly, rolling his eyes and leaning back.
Kyle raised a red brow, not up for any of Kenny's warped sarcasm. His eyes demanded for the hood to go down, wanting to talk to Kenny and not Mysterion. There was a difference, Kyle knew that.
Kenny sighed, grasping the edges of the fabric and yanking back the hood, revealing a mob of messy, glittering gold. Just by showing his hair he looked more human, more like a little boy wearing a bandit mask pretending to fight crime instead of a serious, reckless watchman of the weaker.
Funny... Kyle thought.
Funny how just doing that made him look more like the Kenny he knew. The Kenny he cared about. The Kenny he loved.
"Better?" Kenny asked, sticking out his tongue.
"...Better," Kyle nodded. It was the exposure he liked, how he could see his friend and not the cold stranger behind a cape. Mysterion might have been a hero, but he paled in comparison to his true identity. Mysterion lacked compassion, lacked kindness, lacked humanity at times.
"What are you even doing here?" He never told anyone about the hide out, for good reasons. This was where he came to disappear, a place people didn't care existed, an asylum for his wayward emotions.
"Looking for you," The redhead replied, eyes flickering around the room a moment before returning to his friend, "I had a feeling this was where you came anyway."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He covered his tracks; he made sure people didn't find him.
"Random disappearances for days on end aren't exactly subtle, Kenny," Kyle took a step towards him, moving cautiously, like he was approaching a tiger instead of a boy, "And every time you come back all your clothes smell like gasoline. It doesn't really take much thinking to figure a few things out."
Shit... Kenny covered his tracks well enough for normal people to ignore. Not enough for Kyle though. Kyle noticed things.
"I guess I should've figured that much from the smartest boy in class..." He murmured, a sour smirk teasing at the corners of his lips, "What I get for being so damn stupid."
"Don't talk like that," Kyle snapped, quick and fearful, voice cracking.
Kenny cocked his head, surprised at crack. That meant Kyle was nervous, and holding something back, something in that wanted to come out.
He took a deep breath, regaining perfect composure before continuing, "Look, I didn't come here to listen to you insult yourself."
"Then ya could've waited for me to come back," Kenny said, straightening up, "Waited till I wasn't such a cynic," The thought made him snort. At this rate I really will end up like Stanny...
"You're not a cynic," Kyle frowned, "I doubt this is even you."
"The fuck are you talking about?"
"You're not you when you're him," Kyle paused, letting his cryptic message sink into the blond, watching his bewilderment, "You aren't the same person when you're Mysterion. You're not Kenny."
"No, I'm not," Kenny rose to his feet, features hardening again. He took long strides, prowling up to the smaller boy, every footstep echoing, "Kenny's a jerk-off and Mysterion actually does something to help people. So would ya rather me go back home and sit on my ass while people get hurt, Kyle?"
"You weren't exactly out knocking out criminals when I found you, genius," Kyle sneered.
"Don't give me that smartass shit," He growled.
"Don't give me your misunderstood moody hero crap, then," Kyle retorted.
Kenny stopped, right in front of Kyle, giving him as little personal space as possible. He loomed over him, his face less than an inch away from Kyle's, warm breath caressing Kyle's face, the aroma of tobacco and undertone of iron heavy. His cheeks defrosted, using Kyle's body heat as a fire to warm up. The intensity in his eyes increased, contradictory emotions warring deep within the blond. Which emotions, though, Kyle couldn't tell. There was anger, outrage, and shock against... other things he just couldn't identify.
The Semite held his ground, rooted to the tile flooring. His muscles locked into place, transforming from human to statue. The emerald eyes narrowed to slits, combating Kenny's conflicted stare with a defensive glare. He embodied tension, giving off an aura of stress and trepidation. In his chest, his heart pounded, beating quickly against the walls of bone, unnerved by the piercing eyes.
His body felt unease, but his mind refused to accept it, shrugging the reactions off as reflexes, putting his mission to help a friend before his emotions. But, in the recesses of his mind where he banished them, the feelings battled, mixed, and blended, brewing a batch of passions alien to the redhead. That only emphasised his disquieted air.
"Ha," Kenny let out a short, sardonic chuckle, "Because you know everything about me, Kyle."
"I know more than you," Kyle grumbled.
"Oh?" An inquisitive rise accented his sentence, raising a brow behind the mask.
"I know that you used to knock out assholes who bullied your sister," Kyle said; ready to list all the good Kenny did, "Even before this. And you helped Satan get out of an abusive relationship. You helped all of us at some point. Mostly me. Don't you remember?"
Kenny didn't respond, simply staring at Kyle with hollow eyes and thinning lips.
"...You really hate him, don't you?" Kyle asked lowly. Kenny's eyes widened, but he refrained from speaking, letting Kyle go on, "You hate being Mysterion because he's just telling you that you can't get help?"
Kenny stiffened, turning into a stone statue. His stare intensified, trying to channel rage at the one boy he could never stay mad at. The worst part was that Kyle was, as always, totally right in every respect. But he couldn't admit that.
"Shut up, Kyle," The grizzly displeasure coated his words.
"I'm right," He spoke more to himself than the blond. From the way he said it, it was clear as day he was right, "That's all he is, he's your dark side, and he only does good deeds to make up for the bad you've done."
"Kyle...
"You're not bad, Ken, and you know that. You don't need to use Mysterion as some twisted way of making amends."
"That's stupid. You're wrong."
"You called yourself stupid a minute ago."
"Smartass motherfucker."
"Call me whatever you want, that doesn't change things," He swallowed down a droplet of frozen saliva, ice rolling down his throat, "But this has to stop before you hurt yourself. No one else really gives a fuck but I do, and I'm stopping this while I still can."
"So Kyle's trying to be the hero now, huh?" Kenny leaned in more, the tip of his nose tapping the tip of Kyle's. Something about those eyes absolutely terrified the redhead, "Gonna go around callin' me Lois Lane? Tryin' to play Superman? Thinkin' ya can be like Dick Grayson and just upgrade to some faggy hero? Well, sorry to tell ya, but ya don't go around saving people without having a few issues that make ya batshit, KyKy."
"Get off your high horse," Kyle snapped, gusts of breath slapping Kenny's lips. Whenever he leaned back, Kenny simply loomed forward, "You're not like this. You're not this person. You're not making any goddamn sense."
"Like the sheltered little kosher boy is gonna understand..." He trailed off, waves of regret already rolling over him.
"Are you seriously doubting me?" Kyle didn't make blind accusations, and when people disputed him he'd sick his temper on the poor bastard, "I've stood by and let you do this to yourself long enough to pick up a few things."
"Bull-shit."
Kenny reached out to run his hands up and down Kyle's arms, feeling them shudder under his touch.
"I can help, you know, if you actually let me."
Kyle tried to stop the quavers, but his muscles decided to perform mutiny against his brain.
"Would you help a psycho, Kyle?"
He pressed his fingers on the fabric, making light impressions on the redhead's skin.
"You're not psychotic."
He clenched his hands into tight fists, gritting his teeth.
"But I'm going crazy."
Kenny's hands passed over Kyle's elbows and stopped midway to the shoulders, hands wrapping around the boy's forearm.
"I can stop that."
Kyle ignored the hairs standing on the back of his neck, the crippling feeling of terror coupled with the enthralling delight of thrill, and the treacherous glimmer to the blue pools.
"If I go crazy then will you still call me 'Superman'?"
His grip tightened, nails prying between threads, forcing bruises. The gleam in his eyes—the threatening menacing shimmer—vanished, replaced by a terrified, pleading shine. He sounded like a villain, he knew that, and he didn't want to, it was the last thing he wanted to. He'd deny it and deny it but deep down he yearned for that outside force to swoop in and raise him from the personal hell he—Mysterion—crafted. That grip wasn't a sign of malignant brute force but a boy tugging on a caring loved one, begging him to check under the covers and scare away the monster.
Kyle had to scare away the monster.
He had to make all the bad things go away.
He had to ward them off and usher Kenny into a new place.
A happy place.
A haven that would house him with light and comfort instead of dwelling in darkness and misery.
He'd show Kenny that he wasn't the bane of anything, and he didn't need to be a superhero to show that he was a good person.
He wouldn't have the burdens strangling and suffocating him any longer.
"Kenny..." Kyle whispered, "I can help..."
There was a pause, a long, heart-stopping pause.
Kenny hesitated, opening his mouth, not a word leaving his lips. The cowering child gazing out the window of his eyes looked at Kyle, hopeful, yet downcast, cooking up a plan, reluctant to act on a last resort. But he knew he'd have to, just to muster up the last of his hope and blow it all on this one gamble that would either save him or kill him. He'd have to do it regardless.
"...I know you can..." He finally muttered, lips trembling as he leaned in the rest of the way, planting a tender kiss on the Jew's soft, tepid lips.
Expect it? He didn't. Fight it? He didn't want to.
Kyle let it happen, part of him just awkwardly going along with it, reminding himself that this was for keeping Kenny from winding up in a rubber room. Yet, a lab in the back of his mind exploded, the mixture of emotions reacting at last, igniting, burning, flaring, setting a slew of senses aflame with wild, carnal vehemence.
But no, he couldn't just... This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. What was going on?
He...he wasn't supposed to feel like that! For God's sake, this was KENNY MCCORMICK. A mentally unstable Kenny, yes, but still Kenny. If anything this was just a way to weasel out of confrontation, using sex as a distraction. Using Kyle as a distraction.
Kyle was not going to do that, not willingly.
He tore away, turning his head to the side, avoiding Kenny's lips.
"No..." He muttered, eyes slamming shut, stomach flipping. This wasn't how to do it, this wasn't right. This wasn't healing. It wouldn't heal him. It would just keep him from suffering, but not lift any more of the pain from the boy. He wouldn't do it.
In an act of protest, he broke free from the other's grip, surprised at how easily he did so. Kenny, twiggy and weak as he appeared at times, was a lot stronger than him. He could've easily overpowered Kyle...
...Unless he didn't want to.
Kyle stumbled back, waiting a few moments, expecting to feel Kenny grab him again. That never happened.
Carefully, he opened one eye, easing out of his tense, defensive position. He saw Kenny staring blankly at the floor, utterly broken. Kenny might have acted like a big boy, but he was always a kid at heart. And that kid deep down didn't like playing superhero anymore, he didn't like this game, and he wanted it to stop. Tears hid in the ducts of his eyes, formed from his sorrow, kept trapped their by his pride. Big boys and superheroes didn't cry.
Kyle figured, though, that they did more than the comics led on to believe.
"Kenny...?" He asked quietly.
"Go," His voice was strained, pained, as though the air skinned it alive.
"Kenny," Again, he crept towards him. Instead of approaching a vicious big cat, he was stepping up to an injured elk. An elk so proud, so noble, so majestic, but in so much pain. He reached out, shaky hand reaching to touch the blond's cheek.
The moment his fingers brushed his face, Kenny sprung back, snapping up to look straight into the emeralds.
Fear. Confusion. Worry. Pain. Oh so much pain.
"GO!" Kenny barked, backing away, "GO NOW!"
"I'm not going anywhere!" Kyle asserted. When he was determined, there was no stopping Kyle Broflovski. And, right now, he was more than determined to help Kenny. Mend the wounds torn and deep. Cleanse the infections throbbing and oozing. Ease the seas of suffering and torment swirling within the boy always feigning a smile.
"I'm dangerous!" Kenny's voice cracked, just like his smile. Everything was cracking, breaking, crumbling. When he blinked, a tear escaped his eye, stream of sadness running down his face.
"If you were dangerous you would've killed me by now!" If Kenny was dangerous at all, he only was to himself. He knew Kenny wouldn't hurt him. And yet a part of him somewhere wasn't so sure.
"I could, though!" He cried. He reached for his belt, taking the handgun out of the holster. He held it out, pointing it right at Kyle, aiming right between the eyes.
Kyle froze, that unsure part of him growing. He kept telling himself that Kenny would never shoot, never on his life; but his doubt was stronger than his faith.
Kenny watched terror gleam brightly in the green. Shock. Panic. Distress. All those emotions and more crossed Kyle's face. And, inside, Kenny was just as horrified as Kyle.
"See?" More tears rolled down his cheeks as the blond raised the gun to his temple. It was all a stunt. Suicide wouldn't work. He couldn't die. Kyle wouldn't even remember this. Only he would, "Monster."
Kyle's blood ran cold. But rather than freezing, freezing and letting the horrible happen, he leapt to stop it.
"DON'T!"
BANG!
The barrel smoked, wisp of grey air dancing in the night. The bullet embedded deep into the wall, missing Kenny's head after Kyle knocked the gun from his hand. The two boys stood in silence, Kyle gripping Kenny's wrist, and Kenny standing still.
The tears wouldn't stop now; the little boy couldn't fake it anymore. He let them fall, and stared helplessly into the eyes of his one true friend, silently pleading "Help me..."
Kyle took a deep breath, overwhelmed with relief. He heard muffled whimpers locked in the blond's throat, saw the weakness in his eyes, and felt him start trembling.
"K-Kyle?" He croaked. Kyle heard him use that tone one other time in his life, and that was the night his cat Stray got hit by a care. It was the tone of someone who had nothing, someone who felt abandoned by the world, someone gravelling on his knees for just a scrap of compassion.
Kyle pursed his lips, then pulled off a smile. He wrapped his other arm around Kenny, pulling him closer, ushering him into a hug.
"It's okay," The redhead whispered, feeling a head rest atop his, "I'm here, man... I'll be your Superman."
A/N: Jesus christ how long has it been since I got around to finishing something SP related? A while, I know, too long. Just so y'all know, yes, I am writing an awful lot of other stuff lately but I'm not done here. Don't think I am. I've just been under a lot of stress and, frankly, my muse in SP has been dying a bit. I was taking a break to get it back. So NO I've not forgotten you folks. On the contrary. But you have to understand that I'm going to write whatever I want and if you don't like it...tough!
After that semi-bitchy "Why I haven't been contributing..." paragraph, I'd like to thank you for reading! This is one of my oldies I just finished tonight and I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review, too. For those of you still following me for my SP stuff, calm down. I need some breathing room. Anyway, love y'all to death! I don't know when the next SP story'll come out, but give me time. This is NOT the last. Not even close. ~CQO