#he talks like a robot and he pretends to be oh so harmless while being built like he could kill with his bare hands

[coffincoitus]

and ofc, to no one's surprise, i think malcolm is the shiiiiiiit

[zosonils]

😱🤝🐱👗🤷‍♀️🐺🧸📚 for hex ace, if that’s ok

hooooo this is gonna be a long one babey!! [that's a good thing i love hex ace and talking about them :)]

😱 [any fears?] - honestly hex doesn't scare too easily. between all the Weird Shit that naturally happens in space and how much they close themselves off emotionally, she's pretty unaffected by the kind of stuff most people would be afraid of. their fears are more on the abstract, existential dready side - stuff like abandonment or isolation rather than anything concrete - and he deflects them with anger hard

🤝 [approach to intimacy?] - they're VERY resistant to intimacy, and even on the rare occasion where she doesn't instinctively reject it they'll try to worm their way out of the situation. responding to sincere compliments with less committed ones or trying to casually deflect them, pushing away hugs that go on for more than a few seconds, immediately following up any indication that they care about the other person with something lightheartedly mean to balance it out, that kind of thing. he might need intimacy but they sure as hell want to convince herself that they don't!!

🐱 [pets or thoughts on animals?] - spending as much time as they do in space, hex doesn't have much experience with animals at all. he probably runs into the support units at the lab sometimes, but they only very rarely get to meet actual biological animals. she's utterly fascinated by them due to that unfamiliarity, but he doesn't have much emotional attachment to them

👗 [fashion sense?] - since most of their body isn't solid, their options for clothes and accessories are realistically bracelets and nothing else, so he doesn't bother thinking about it. in theory though they'd probably like loose floaty clothes if that makes any sense, as well as some goth/emo fashion staples like platform boots and dark colours and gratuitous accessories [disclaimer: i do not know my fashion subcultures at all. this could be a blatant misdiagnosis]

🤷‍♀️ [approach to strangers compared to friends?] - hex isn't the friendliest to new people, under the self-perpetuating idea that since she doesn't have much success forming relationships there's no point trying in the first place. they usually waste no time getting into the snarky remarks or harmless-but-annoying practical jokes, unless they've been explicitly told why it's a bad idea with a certain person. while they don't have many people they consider friends [it's pretty much just time and oil + any other siblings from the powered up line, and eventually glass man when the events of wily scheme number whatever lead them to meet each other], he makes considerably more of an effort to not be mean to them, although there's still so much affectionate ribbing and trolling in the equation that it can be hard to tell the difference bkjngjkb

🐺 [thoughts on being alone?] - HOOOOO boy is this pandora's can of worms. most of hex's issues stem from being chronically lonely, and while they defensively pretend that everything is fine and actually they WANT to be by themselves so suck on THAT, they really hate being alone as often as they are. whether she's physically far away from people or not doesn't make much of a difference, since their problem at its core is that they feel emotionally isolated and struggle to connect with people. it's a complicated issue that runs pretty deep and isn't as easily solved as just having them interact with humans or other robot masters more often

🧸 [any sentimental keepsakes?] - probably not; he isn't the sentimental type. i can see them maybe hanging onto broken bits of the satellites they repair, but it's more of an oh hey this looks sorta cool type of thing than any kind of emotional attachment

📚 [taste in books?] - most of hex's reading list consists of very long and dense and obtuse manuals on engine parts that never saw commercial use, so they're a little put off by reading in general. if she ever took it upon herself to give fiction a try [i can see glass man introducing them to books that aren't work related] i think they'd LOVE horror literature, as well as having fun with more tongue in cheek stuff like the hitchiker's guide to the galaxy

[persephonescat]

Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons

Okay, so the first two chapters turned out to be a little dry, but I have big hopes for the third one, so... hang on there! Yes, I know the first few paragraphs are flat, I tried to make them better, and I failed miserably.

IMPORTANT: This is an AU, so things are a teeny bit different. The Francoise-Dupont is an eight-year grammar school (those are a thing in Europe, or at least in a few countries. The kids start middle school and go to the same school until high school graduation, so its both a middle school and a high school in one. Foreign languages are usually thaught there on a higher level, so that explains Marinette's and her class' language skills.)

That's it so far, most changes will be written down in the story, but keep an eye on the summaries! ;) (Even though no one reads these.)

This is also posted on my AO3 account, under the same name.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187025/chapters/50674913

Follow #Birds and Other Supernatural Phenomenons if you don’t want to miss any of the new chapters. ;)

Ch. 1      Next    Masterpost    AO3

________________

Ch. 2: This Was a Bad Idea

Their plane didn't crash.

That was about the only good thing Marinette could think of.

It all started when she and Adrien were forced to sit next to each other during the flight. It wasn't that bad, but things have been a little... tense between them lately. Even though Marinette forgave him a long time ago, she still felt a sense of betrayal every time she had to fight an akuma alone. She knew it was wrong. She had no right to prevent others from being happy. Especially not her friends, but she couldn't help it.

So they sat next to each other, and the first half-hour was spent with Marinette awkwardly staring out of the window and playing with her braid nervously, while Adrien was pretending to read a book, - very poorly, given that he only turned the page five times in thirty minutes. Marinette was counting it.

What a pleasing situation.

Then, of course, Lila got bored of talking about her experience with planes and started throwing around phrases like 'helping defeat the Joker', 'out-riddling the Riddler' and 'knowing who Red Robin is'.

During the past two years, her lies have gotten smaller. Smarter. More innocent. They were no longer fourteen, they didn't believe anything she said, and she realized that. After Lila swore to ruin Marinette's life, Hawkmoth's attacks got stronger and Marinette got... well, older, probably. Wiser. ( Sadder. ) Sometimes she still called her out on her lies, and on a few blissful occasions, her classmates believed her. She wasn't the only one who got wiser, as it turned out. Adrien started to see the wrong in his ways not long after he told Marinette that Lila was harmless and stood up for her almost every time the Italian girl's lies got too toxic to ignore.

There was some kind of quiet compromise between her classmates. They liked Lila, even if she wasn't always "completely honest" - that was the understatement of the year -, and they all had this "proceed with care but do no harm" attitude towards the girl.

So Marinette was pretty surprised when sitting only two seats behind her, Lila once again started feeding them lies so blatant and stupid that they almost managed to make her laugh. It would've been a long and sarcastic laugh, but a laugh nevertheless.

She turned to Adrien who was looking back at her with an expression somewhere between angry and surprised. They stared at each other for a few seconds before they both started grinning uncontrollably.

Then Nino interrupted Lila by showing the group his newest playlist, and the moment was gone.

The awkward silence was threatening to drown them, but Marinette was familiar with drowning and decided she didn't like it.

"What are you pretending to read?" Adrien's ears turned red at the question but being himself, he tried to play it off cool.

" Armada  by Ernest Cline."

She raised a brow, clearly amused by that. "Since when are you into sci-fi?"

"Since it was the first thing I could grab from the bookshelf this morning," he told her with a shrug and closed the book moodily.

Marinette grimaced at him and took a small copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's  Sherlock Holmes out of her bag. Adrien told her to check it out a long time ago, but given her lack of free time, she's only read two stories so far.

She gave it to him without a word.

"Thanks," he said brightly, and actually started reading this time.

Marinette gave him the ghost of a smile, then pulled out her sketchbook hesitantly. She hasn't designed a decent piece of clothing in ages. One would've called it a year-long artist's block, but she preferred "idiocy". It was shorter.

She fell asleep like that, with an empty sketchbook on her lap and a pencil in her hand.

***

Their hotel was near the Gotham Academy, which was near Arkham Asylum, which sucked. Seriously, Gotham? Yeah, let's put the kids next to the murderous psychopaths.

Once they arrived, it was already well past nine PM, so they were sent to their rooms to sleep. They had three rooms for the girls, two with four beds and one with two. Luckily, Marinette managed to occupy the double-room all to herself - Mylene, Chloe, Juleka, and Alix got a room together, and Alya, Rose, Lila, and Sabrina got the other-, so it was pretty easy to sneak out after she realized there was no way for her to stay still after sleeping on the plane.

Being inside past ten o'clock felt weird. She missed the patrols and the light breeze on her face while she swang around Paris, the sensation of falling freely from hundreds of meters, the calm of the environment as she made impossible leaps and jumps in a graceful rhythm.

With no better things to do, she pulled a blanket out of the closet and climbed to the roof.

That night, the sky was more blue than black, and the stars were dull from the city's polluted air. She sat there for who-knows-how-long, wrapped in a blanket, looking upwards, listening to the unfamiliar city beneath. Then she heard quiet footsteps behind her back.

Over the years, she learned the difference between the sounds of someone walking casually and someone trying to muffle their steps, just like she usually knew what kind of shoes they wore, their gender, and approximate height too. These were the steps of a thin man, probably young in leatherette boots, trying to sneak up on her and failing miserably. She let him come close and didn't bother to let him know she was aware of his presence.

"What does a young lady like you do here at this time of the day?" he asked in a charming but threatening voice, and Marinette had to suppress a smile at how badly he did it. She knew she should send him away, or go back to her room before he tries something that gets him ended up on the asphalt beneath them, but she was bored, and he seemed like a very entertaining person.

Instead, she answered just tonelessly enough for it to be challenging, but innocently enough to make him question it.

"Stargazing."

The man - more like a boy - stopped just a step behind her back, unsure how to proceed. Then he let out a resigned sigh and sat down next to her, far enough to not be in stabbing range -  smart decision.

"No, seriously, it's past midnight and you're sitting on a roof, eighteen stories from the ground, in  Gotham," he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the building and looking at her with genuine concern.

Marinette finally looked at him and recognized him almost immediately. He was wearing a black hoodie and a ski mask, with jeans and dark boots.

"Oh, you're the Dark Nomad, right?" She's read about him on the plane, just like she checked out and memorized every hero and villain in Gotham. There were a few.

The Dark Nomad was one of the small, relatively harmless ones. His mother worked in the Asylum - they didn't know who she was exactly, just that she worked there -, he didn't actually do much except for exiguous vandalism, but it was enough to get him on the " List of Gotham's Villains (updated every week) " published by the city's very own newspaper, the  Gotham Gazette .

"The one and only," he saluted awkwardly.

"Then you're pretty good with psychology, right?"

He seemed a little taken back by the question.

"Yes, I mean... I guess."

Marinette turned to him with her whole body, sitting cross-legged, looking like someone who is looking forward to a great conversation. This was so much better than she thought.

"What do you think about the phenomenon where the people with higher-than-average IQ have lower-than-average EQ, but if someone has lower-than-average IQ, they most likely have average or lower-than-average EQ?"

Dark Nomad just stared at her for a moment but then decided to roll with it. It really was a good topic.

"Well, it's interesting because... it's not like you have a maximum of quotient points, and you've to live with what you have. It depends on a lot of things, and we still don't even  know  what half of those things are."

"Exactly! It could mean you need a high IQ to be able to understand and feel emotions healthily, but it's not always necessary, plus the trope of the genius robot-person is way too overused in media. That's not how smart people think!"

"Yeah, and in some cases, the low EQ could be the consequence of loneliness and isolation from a young age because of the differences in one's and the environment's thinking," Dark Nomad said, gesticulating widely.

"And by the way, EQ is pretty hard to express with numbers. If you give a test to someone, they might know what the appropriate responses to a situation are, but they might never actually... do them in practice."

Dark Nomad nodded.

"Have you read Daniel Goleman's books about emotional intelligence? It's pretty dope."

"Not yet, but I'm planning on it."

"By the way... I'm Jeremy," said the boy, sitting closer to her and reaching out for a handshake.

"Marinette," she told him with a genuine smile, accepting his hand.

________________

Comments and coffee are my life-juice, so please, share your thoughts. I'm sorry for any possible mistakes and feel free to point them out. 

Ch. 1      Next     Masterpost    AO3

[seraph-novak]

Just the Way You Are

Summary ~ When Cyrus writes his number on TJ’s hand, a misunderstanding ensues... 

Also available on AO3 ♥

(Notes at the end)

It wasn’t until the streetlights flickered to life that TJ realised what time it was. He’d been sat on the swings with Cyrus for almost four hours, simply basking in the easy conversation that bounced between them, never once lapsing as they casually drifted from topic to topic. With Cyrus, talking was like breathing; his words never tripped over themselves, and his mind never wandered. His only complaint was that in moments like this, when it was just the two of them enjoying each other’s company, time moved far too quickly.

“It’s getting late,” Cyrus said reluctantly, glancing at the distant glow of the streetlights creeping into the park. “I should probably head home…”

TJ smiled tightly. He knew saying goodbye was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any less hard. Talking to Cyrus on the swings was his favourite part of the day, and the only time he felt truly content. He only wished they could hang out more often.

“Okay,” he said, offering Cyrus his hand as they hopped off the swings together. For a moment, his fingers curled and tightened around Cyrus’ hand, his pinkie shyly brushing the pink of his knuckles. When Cyrus’ pulse jumped beneath his touch, he finally let go. “Sorry,” he muttered, not sure why he was apologising in the first place. “Do you want me to walk with you?”

Cyrus shook his head. “I’ll be fine, but thanks.”

“Okay.”

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he said, smiling despite the sting of Cyrus’ rejection. Well, it wasn’t exactly a rejection, but it still hurt. If Cyrus knew how badly he wanted to walk him home, maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to turn him down. Or maybe he’d be creeped out. TJ wouldn’t blame him.

“Are you okay?” Cyrus asked, as if sensing the downward spiral of thoughts wreaking havoc in TJ’s mind. At his answering silence, Cyrus placed a comforting hand on his arm and smiled knowingly. “I hate saying goodbye, too.”

TJ winced, a self-conscious blush pinching his cheeks. Despite Cyrus’ confession, he still itched with the embarrassment of having his feelings exposed. He felt inside out, the evening breeze brushing his beating heart as he stared down at his feet, too overwhelmed to meet Cyrus’ gaze. He wasn’t sure when his harmless crush on the younger boy had developed into something bigger – something real – but he knew for certain that there was no going back now. Ever since Buffy had introduced him to this loveable dork in the cafeteria almost three months ago, TJ had been a goner.   

“I just wish we could talk more,” he said softly, absently kicking at the woodchips beneath his feet. He scratched the back of his neck and sighed, finally daring to peer up at Cyrus through quivering lashes. “I mean, I get it… Your friends hate me. They think I’m a bad influence.” He huffed a humourless laugh. “They’re probably right, but still… I like talking to you.”

Cyrus chewed his bottom lip, visibly moved by TJ’s words. “I like talking to you, too.”

“But only on the swings, right?”

“No,” he said, a deep frown creasing his brow. “You think I like avoiding you in school, pretending I don’t know you? I hate it, Teej. I wish we could be friends without having to hide it. If only Buffy and Andi –”

“I get it, Cy. You don’t need to explain yourself.” TJ gave him a half-shrug and smiled, his jaw trembling with the effort not to cry. Even in the falling darkness, he could see the guilt etched into Cyrus’ expression, and he hated it, hated people feeling sorry for him. “I think I’m gonna head out, too… I’ll see you later.”

As he turned to leave, Cyrus grabbed his arm and held him back, the guilt shimmering in his eyes now shifting into desperation. “Wait!” he cried. “I don’t wanna leave things like this.”

“It’s fine, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow –”

“No!” Cyrus’ grip tightened around TJ’s arm, his knuckles turning white as he urged him to stay put. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. For some reason, it made TJ chuckle. Of course Cyrus was the kind of person to carry emergency pens in his pocket.

“What are you doing?” he asked, studiously fighting the fond smile curling his lips.

Cyrus removed the pen cap with his teeth, then scribbled something on the back of TJ’s hand. When he moved his head out of the way, TJ could see a string of numbers written across his skin. It looked suspiciously like a phone number, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

“What’s this?”

“You know what it is,” Cyrus said, a flirtatious grin brightening his beautiful face. He traced the numbers delicately with the pad of his thumb, and TJ felt his breath hitch. “You’re right,” Cyrus murmured. “We don’t talk nearly enough.”

TJ dared to smile. “Are you asking me to call you, Underdog?”

“Call, text, FaceTime… I don’t care, as long as I get to talk to you as much as possible.”

A warm sense of giddiness pooled in his gut as he stared down at Cyrus, an uncontrollable grin devouring his face. They stood there in silence for a few moments, simply smiling at each other like a couple of idiots, and then Cyrus cleared his throat and took a step back. A light blush was creeping up his neck, and TJ had to look away before the urge to kiss him became unbearable.  

“So… I’ll text you?”

Cyrus nodded, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah, okay.”

“Night, Cyrus.”

“Night, TJ.”

On his way home, TJ replayed the past few minutes in his head over and over again, his heart fluttering at the memory of Cyrus’ bashful smile after writing the number on his hand. His face was aching from smiling by the time he crawled into bed, and he didn’t waste any time putting Cyrus’ number into his phone and sending him a text.

Hey, Underdog. Guess who?  

A few seconds later, a red exclamation mark popped up beside the message, underlined by the words “failed to send”.  

TJ frowned. That was weird. After resending the text, and getting the same result, he tried calling him instead. There were a few crackling beeps, and then a robotic voice told him the number wasn’t recognised.

“What the hell?”

His throat started to tighten as understanding set in. Cyrus must’ve given him a fake number. It was the only explanation. Yeah, there was a chance he wrote it down wrong, but this was Cyrus; he was meticulous when it came to things like this. And it made sense, didn’t it? Cyrus had clearly chosen Buffy and Andi over him, and now he was delaying telling him. Everything that had happened in the park earlier had been a lie, just a sneaky way to appease his desperation to be liked for a little while longer. He felt like an idiot.  

“Well,” he said to himself, swallowing thickly as silent tears spilled down his cheeks. “I guess that’s the end of that.”

~~~~~

Avoiding Cyrus was more difficult than he’d anticipated. Despite his betrayal, TJ still ached for the other boy, still missed him in a way that tied his stomach into knots whenever he thought about him. He kept searching for him without even meaning to, his heart begging for just a glimpse while his head cursed at him for being so weak. He couldn’t help it; he was a mess.

Even now, when it was growing dark outside and Cyrus was surely at home texting his real friends and forgetting all about him, TJ found himself heading towards the park. Besides a couple of birds picking at the woodchips, it was empty, but TJ had excepted as much. Still, he couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment in his chest.

“Damn it,” he muttered to himself, throwing his bag on the ground as he approached the swings. With his hands gripping the cold, metal chains, he hung his head and sighed. “I miss you…”

“I miss you, too.”

TJ flinched, his heart leaping into his mouth as he turned around. Much to his surprise, Cyrus was standing on the edge of the park, a sad smile ghosting his lips. After a moment of simply staring at each other, Cyrus made the first move and walked towards him.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

TJ shrugged. “Well, I’ve been busy.” The lie was heavy on his tongue, like a lead weight slipping down the back of his throat, but he soldiered on. “I’m surprised you noticed.”

“What’s that meant to mean?”

“It’s not like we see each other much, is it?” TJ tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a strangled whimper.

Cyrus frowned. “But, that’s why I gave you my number –”

“Oh, yeah! Your number.” He shook his head slowly, a cynical smile twisting his mouth. “That was a good one. You really got me.”

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not!” Cyrus exclaimed, his confusion giving way to anger. “Why are you being like this?”

“How did you expect me to react, Cy?”

“I thought you were happy when I gave you my number? I thought… I thought that we…” For a moment, Cyrus seemed lost, like the world was off-kilter and he couldn’t find his balance, and TJ had to restrain himself from reaching out and offering his support. “I guess I misread the situation,” Cyrus murmured, more to himself than TJ. “I’m sorry.”

At that, TJ deflated, all of his pent-up frustration dissolving into utter, bone-deep sadness. “Why did you do it?” he asked. “That’s all I wanna know.”

“You already know why.”

“I really don’t.”

“Fine.” Cyrus threw his hands in the air, flecks of tearing springing from his eyes as he did so. “I like you!” he cried. “And not just as a friend. Are you satisfied now?”

TJ blinked at him. “Wait… What?”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“But that makes no sense!”

“Why not? You’re handsome and funny and you listen to me –”

“No, no, no.” TJ waved him off, his head spinning too much to appreciate the compliments spilling out of his crush’s mouth. “I mean, why would you give me a fake number if you liked me? Is that your weird way of playing hard to get or something?”

Cyrus wrinkled his nose. “Fake number?”

“The one you wrote on my hand? It didn’t exist!”

“That can’t be right.”

“I tried texting you and calling you, but the number wasn’t recognised.” He paused to gather his thoughts, internally wading through the confusing mix of emotions buzzing inside his head. “I thought you did it on purpose, so you wouldn’t have to reject me in person.”

Cyrus spluttered a laugh. “Are you serious? You really thought I was trying to reject you?”

“Well…”

“TJ, I gave you my real number. I know I did.”

“You definitely didn’t.” TJ fished his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Cyrus. “Check the messages. They failed to send because the number wasn’t real.”

Cyrus scrolled through the undelivered texts, a brief smile passing his lips, then pointed at the screen. “This isn’t my number,” he said, raising his eyebrows at TJ. “You must’ve copied it off your hand wrong.”

“I didn’t! I checked!”

“Well, I didn’t forget my own number, TJ!”

“Then how do you explain –” He froze mid-sentence, a sudden realisation dawning on him. Within seconds, his cheeks were burning with shame, and his stomach was starting to churn. He clenched his fists and stared down at his feet, a tremor running through his jaw as he forced himself to open his mouth and speak. “Cyrus… What does that number say?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can you please just read it out for me.”

Cyrus furrowed his brow, but did as he was told. “It says 801-460-1254.”

“Oh no…”

“What’s wrong?”

“This is so embarrassing.”

“TJ?”

“I’m an idiot,” he said, his voice cracking as fresh tears sprung to his eyes. With a shaky breath, he took the phone out of Cyrus’ hand and read the number, a sob catching in his throat as his brain refused to focus on what he was seeing. No matter how hard he tried, the numbers felt jumbled and confused in his mind, like the order was lost in translation from the screen to his brain. “I thought I was past this… Guess not.”

Cyrus placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me, TJ.”

“You won’t like me anymore.”

“I seriously doubt that’s going to happen.”

“Even if I’m stupid?”

“You are not stupid,” Cyrus gently scolded him, his hand slipping down TJ’s arm to thread their fingers together. “Please, just tell me what happened.”

Encouraged by the squeeze of Cyrus’ hand, TJ sucked in a deep breath and told him the truth: “A couple years ago, I was diagnosed with a learning disability… Dyscalculia. It’s like dyslexia, but with numbers. Which explains why I suck at math, but… I never thought I had to worry about stuff like this.” He flicked a glance at Cyrus, chewing the inside of his cheek as he tried to gauge his reaction. “Still like me now?”

Cyrus swept a thumb over his knuckles. “I think I like you even more, actually.”

“Because I’m stupid?”

“Because you’re brave.”

TJ snorted. “I’m a coward, Cy. A stupid coward.”

“You just had the guts to confide in me about something you’re clearly uncomfortable about. You don’t think that’s brave?”

“I’ve been avoiding you for days,” TJ countered, finally looking Cyrus in the eye as his embarrassment gave way to frustration. He was overwhelmed with anger and guilt, caught between apologising profusely and punching himself in the face. “Doesn’t that bother you? I was in so much denial over this stupid disability that I blamed you, the only person who’s ever given a damn about me… Why aren’t you more upset right now?”

“I am upset,” Cyrus said, his words achingly soft as he took a step closer to him. “But not because I’m mad at you. I’m upset that you don’t understand how amazing you are.”

TJ winced. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I do.”

“We hardly talk… Your bodyguards make sure of that.”

“Well, not anymore,” Cyrus said, his eyes twinkling. “I love Buffy and Andi, but I’m not gonna let them control my life. And if they’re really my friends, they’ll understand.” He hooked his pinkie around TJ’s thumb and smiled. “At the end of the day, they want me to be happy. And you’re what makes me happy.”

TJ licked his lips and glanced away. “What about the other thing?” he asked, his eyes glued to the corner of the sky. “I can’t even copy a number off my own hand without screwing up… Why the hell would a straight-A student like you wanna be with an idiot like me?”

Cyrus shrugged. “Why would a perfect athlete like you wanna be with a physically-incompetent nerd like me?”

“That’s different.”

“It really isn’t.”

“But –”

“We all have our own stuff,” Cyrus carefully interjected. “You struggle with numbers, and I struggle with sports. Our brains are just wired differently, okay? That’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s not as black and white as that…”

“Maybe not,” Cyrus conceded. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I still like you. I doubt anything would at his point.”

After a few moments of silence – no longer heavy with tension, but light with the promise of a fresh start – Cyrus took TJ’s other hand and slowly eased the phone from his grip, completely casual as his fingers danced across the screen.

“What are you doing?” TJ asked.

Cyrus waggled his eyebrows. “I’m giving you my number,” he said simply, handing back the phone with a giddy smile that erupted a swarm of butterflies in TJ’s stomach. “I like being with you, and I like talking to you. So, if you feel the same way, give me a call sometime.”

A boyish grin crept across his face. “How about tonight?”

“Okay.” Cyrus bit his lip. “I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, he bounced a few step backwards, his eyes gleaming as he held TJ’s gaze, and walked away. At the edge of the park, he turned around and waved goodbye, his gorgeous smile making TJ lightheaded even from a distance. A dizzying sense of happiness filled his lungs and burst out of him, painting the evening sky yellow with the colour of his laughter. Cyrus had barely been gone for two minutes, but he couldn’t wait any longer; he had a very important call to make.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at the sound of Cyrus’ voice on the other end of the phone. “You free to talk?”

THE END

Hey, guys! I’m taking a little break from writing at the moment to focus on work and school, but last week’s episode inspired me... Plus, I missed writing Tyrus! I’ve still got a few requests to finish (sorry for the delay!) and then I might consider writing a multi-chapter fic. Would anyone be interested in a Prince!Cyrus/Apprentice!TJ AU? I’ve got a story planned out, but I’m not sure if this sort of thing would appeal to anyone. Please let me know!

[moreracquetball]

Excerpts from “I’d like to believe that I’d do it again”

Hey, so I wrote this Whizzvin College AU (which clocks at about +60k words), and I thought that maybe I could share some of my fave excerpts from this behemoth. It’s a little long, so apologies for that. BUT HEY, JUST WANNA THANK EVERYONE AGAIN FOR SUPPORTING THIS STORY AS SO MANY PEOPLE DID. IT MAKES ME HAPPY.

See, right now, Whizzer's supposed to be the nice guy—tell him that while he's flattered and all, getting into any sort of sexual relationship with him would be wrong and irresponsible. You have a girlfriend, he'd remind him, grasping his shoulder and giving him a significant look, after everything you've been through together, you can't do this to her. He's supposed to help him along this journey of sexual identity by being a simply platonic mentor who watches out for him and lets him discover his own sexuality in his own way and time. Whizzer's supposed to not take advantage of a sad, lonely man who has no idea what he wants.

But Whizzer is not a nice guy, which is why he disregards all these supposed-to’s and leans in, tightening his grip on Marvin’s thigh and giving him a wicked smile, “You and I are going to have so much fun together, Marvin."

“So I’m a game to you?” Marvin asks, his voice carefully neutral.

“Don’t beat yourself up. Everything’s a game to me.” Whizzer sighs and repositions his head, right over Marvin’s heart, “I’ve always sorta liked you, you know. You never backed down from me, even when I made you look like an idiot. You’ve caused me a lot of grief over the years, not gonna lie, but you’ve never bored me. Not yet, anyway.”

Marvin pauses, “I guess you want me to be flattered by that.”

“Feel however you want about it; it’s the truth,” Whizzer draws back and untangles himself from Marvin, prompting, “So same question about me then.”

Marvin stares hard at him for a moment too long, vague emotions flitting across his gaze. He seems conflicted as to what to say, what to admit. Finally, he settles on, “You’ve never bored me either.”

Not even thinking about it, Whizzer takes Marvin in his arms, burying a hand in the man's hair and letting his breathing even out. As he comes back to his senses, he begins to hear the faint hum of traffic from outside, a faint but constant reminder of the world around them.

Whizzer doesn't know what to do with this information, so he stays silent and lets Marvin lament. Instead, he simply watches as the man restlessly rolls his shoulders, the fluorescent lighting above making the sweat glisten on his toned skin. He's alluring in an abstract, unattainable way. No one has really caught him, Whizzer believes. Marvin has always held everyone at arm's reach, closing the shudders within his eyes every time that something becomes too close to home, too real. Whizzer used to contribute the distance as another sign of the man's pretension, as if he believed himself to be too high above everyone to give anyone leverage on him. But now that he's actually spent time with him—has gotten to know Marvin intimately in the dim lighting and tangled bedsheets—Whizzer thinks that maybe Marvin is just scared.

Scared of being vulnerable. Scared of giving someone a map of his weaknesses and trusting them to not destroy him in the end.

No one has really gotten to know the real Marvin. To his friends, Marvin is just the snobbish but harmless kid whose bark is bigger than his huge. To his teachers, Marvin is just a try-hard with so much potential that it seems to choke him at times. To his girlfriend, Marvin is the fulfillment of some unrealistic, romanticized fantasy. But to Whizzer, he's...

Whizzer isn't saying that he himself knows the real Marvin, but he thinks that maybe he's gotten the closest.

"Fuck off. Beyoncé is in Dreamgirls."

That night, Whizzer comes home early from a disappointing fuck and can't sleep, tossing and turning on his shitty mattress and kinda wishing he was in Marvin's comfortable bed. However, he imagines Trina to be in his place right now, tangled in his bedsheets and threading her fingers through his lover's hair. Wildly, he wonders if she could smell his cologne on the pillow just as he sometimes breathes in and gets a faint whiff of her perfume.

And Jesus Christ, Whizzer cannot be pining right now. He refuses to let himself. It's ridiculous. Whizzer does not chase after men—especially not closeted ones with pretty girlfriends and psychological complexes.

"Whizzer, I don't hate you because you're gay," Marvin declares incredulously, like the sheer thought of it baffles him, "I hate you because you're a pain in my ass. I mean, come on, I know I'm a dick, but give me a little credit here."

At his surprising response, Whizzer laughs. He laughs and laughs until his sides start hurting and he's panting for air. He looks over at Marvin and finds the man watching him, his face desperate and hungry—but for what, Whizzer's too drunk and upset to try to figure out.

Whizzer slaps the man on the back, breaking Marvin from his spell, "You're alright, Marvin. Fuck, sober me will hate me for saying it, but you're damn alright." And they stay like that for a little while longer, staring up at the stars in the night sky.

"Passion dies eventually," Whizzer tells him as they lay breathless in the aftermath, "Just because it's not today doesn't mean it can't be tomorrow."

Marvin shrugs, pulling Whizzer into his arms, "We'll deal with it tomorrow then." And it seems so simple right now between the two of them, but Charlotte's words of warning still echo in the back of his mind.

Whizzer admits quietly, "Marvin, that night...I think I wanted to kiss you, too." Marvin’s hold on him tightens, and his smile is blinding in the pale lighting of the room. And Whizzer knows that he is devouring this man and his bleeding heart, but he doesn’t think he could stop even if he tried.

He wonders if this is what love feels like.

“Oh well, I’m sorry that I disgust you so much,” Marvin grits out, mimicking his tone, “You know, for someone who fucks any guy that buys him a drink, you sure act like you have standards!”

Whizzer scoffs, his anger radiating off him like waves, “For someone who swears he’s not a fag, you sure take it up the ass like one!” The heat off of that barb seems to fly across the room and slap him in the face, causing Marvin to redden even further and throw his shoulders back. Whizzer feels dizzy with the satisfaction, can practically taste the blood in his mouth and wants more.

“For someone who likes to brag that he’s nothing like Trina,” Marvin says, his voice softer but no less cruel, “You sure bitch and whine like her.” 

It’s the way that she talks that unsettles Whizzer—the knowing lilt in her voice when she talks about Marvin. Whizzer has always liked to trivialize their relationship—to pretend that Trina is a nameless, robotic mannequin that Marvin simply dresses up and shows off—but it’s ignorant to believe that they aren’t close in at least some ways. Marvin hasn’t shared all of himself with Trina, but he’s given her breadcrumbs of himself—his past, his insecurities—to soothe her desire for any intimacy at all.

They’re sitting at a park bench and absently watching kids play on a swing set and dogs shitting in the bushes. They talk and talk about nothing that really matters, but the hum of organic conversation is soothing. Whizzer has almost lost in the chill that he’d developed earlier when Trina randomly blurts out, “Marvin doesn’t want kids.” It doesn’t take long to connect this line of thinking to the way her gaze has followed the children playing in the park.

Whizzer doesn’t find that hard to believe, “What about you?”

Trina hesitates, “I don’t know. I think I would be a terrible mother. But. Sometimes I think I would really love it, you know?”

Whizzer finds himself shrugging, “I think you’d be a good mom.”

Trina smiles, “Thank you. That means—a lot.”

“Marvin doesn’t like the thought of sharing,” Whizzer tells her, as if she doesn’t already know, “That’s why he doesn’t want kids. He’s very needy—of everyone.”

Trina scoffs, “Trust me, I know. You think being friends with him is bad? Just try dating the bastard.”

Whizzer is thankful that she’s too busy looking at a little toddler in pigtails to gauge his expression. He responds after a beat, his voice sounding stilted even to himself, “No, I don’t think I ever wanna do that.”

Her eyes mist over, a fond sense of wistfulness coating her voice, "We ended up talking for like four of five hours after that, even went to this shitty twenty-four hour diner when the library closed. He talked more, of course. I just listened, mesmerized by how he seemed to command every room he stepped in and the way he talked with his hands." She pauses and adds quietly, "And I wanted him to love me—desperately—so I changed my personality a little just so we could fit perfectly together." She lets out a self-deprecating laugh, "It sounds so stupid to admit it out loud. But I tend to always do that; I warp my own qualities so I can be whoever the other person wants me to be."

“What do you want me to say?” Marvin demands, pulling Whizzer closer and rubbing calming circles into his skin, “Why are you so mad at me, huh? You already know that she means nothing to me. I’ve always been honest with you, Whizzer—more than I have been with anyone. Ever.”

“He’s actually quite good at that,” Trina’s words suddenly come back to haunt him, “At making you believe that you’re the only one who understands him. It’s part of his charm.”

Whizzer is a terrible person. He’s always known this, deep down, but sometimes it hurts to be reminded of the fact.

He doesn’t really know what he was planning to accomplish by coming here. To give Trina some justice? To prove his own decency somehow? But that would require Whizzer to be selfless.

Whizzer kisses Marvin then, ending wherever that conversation was heading. He pushes Marvin back onto the couch and devours him, turning the man into a quivering puddle of shuddering sighs and moans.

Whizzer keeps having to make a choice. But, time and time again, he refuses to make the right one.

Marvin soon appears, hopping off the stage and walking over to him. Whizzer smirks and begins to offer him a harmless taunt about the tights that he wore, but then Marvin seizes his collar and pulls him into a kiss.

In public. With people still around.

Jesus Christ, has he lost his fucking mind?

"No one knows us around here," Marvin whispers against Whizzer's mouth, noticing that the other has been too stunned to reciprocate, "Relax." As if that broke the spell, Whizzer loops his arms around his waist and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss. 

It's incredible, really. Whizzer had forgotten that he'd had pressure wedged in his chest until Marvin kisses him and suddenly releases it.

"What?" Marvin asks when they eventually pull away, eyeing his dazed expression.

Whizzer thinks about blowing it off, but the quiet words tumble out of his mouth anyway, "I think I'm happy."

Marvin smiles, suddenly looking as shy as the day that Whizzer had first introduced himself, "Me too." 

In bed that night, Marvin pushes him to lie flat on his stomach and starts pressing chaste kisses along his spine, mumbling words into his skin that Whizzer can't make out. It's so easy, Whizzer thinks amazedly, to be with him. How can it feel so complicated and fucked up one moment and then feel like this the next?

Whizzer tries not to think about it. He presses his face into the pillow and just enjoys the ride.

Marvin stiffens, "You didn't have to say it."

"Does it still bother you?"

"Of course it bothers me," He snaps, suddenly defensive, "I'm not like—that. I'm not like you."

Whizzer narrows his eyes, pushing out of Marvin's arms, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm not gay," Marvin declares, "Whizzer, you know that." Whizzer knows that that's what Marvin likes to tell himself. It's never stung to hear him say it before though. Until right now.

Maybe because of last night. Maybe because Whizzer had thought that something—anything had changed.

But the air between them has shifted. It took Marvin essentially showing his hand to him to clear the dust from Whizzer’s eyes, but he gets it now. He understands the game that they’ve been playing has been revised; it’s become dirtier, more calculated.

He’s more aware of Marvin now—of the mind games that transcend verbal arguments and offhanded gestures. As if things weren’t already complicated before, both men have now gone straight-up nuclear—so much so that they’ve convinced each other that every word and gesture is a tool to work against the other, is a ploy for domination, is a zero-sum game with nothing off-limits and everything to lose.

It’s fucked up. Whizzer loves in a sick sort of way that has his heart breaking but his mouth begging for more.

Whizzer doesn’t want a fairytale. He doesn’t want glass slippers or talking horses or handsome princes telling him what to do. Whizzer wants passion and bitter fights and rough sex and the taste of heartbreak and loneliness on his tongue. He wants as little as possible, just enough to get his rocks off.

Marvin doesn’t want a trainwreck. He doesn’t want the harsh collision and crushing of bones and shrapnel to the heart. Marvin wants romance and submission and doe-eyed devotion and the cult of domesticity. He wants more, enough to make him choke on it.

Marvin kisses him deliberately, making it clear that this conversation is over.

But the tension hasn’t left his body, so Whizzer pulls back and clarifies, “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Marvin shakes his head, pulling at Whizzer’s shirt, “Help me forget.”

Whizzer doesn’t fight him on this. He knows when to pick his battles.

“What can I say? I have a way with men,” Whizzer says jovially, tasting acid in his mouth when he adds pointedly, “Even the straight ones.” Trina and Whizzer make eye contact, and he sees the real question she desperately wants to ask in her eyes. Why you? What makes you better than me?

Everything, he wants to tell her, an obnoxious sense of pride rising in his throat, everything.

At times like these, their afternoon together seems like such a distant memory. After all, they do share a bed with the same man, and nothing is more polarizing than the desire for attention and the yearning for…for an unspeakable thing. For a four letter word that Whizzer refuses to name.

Marvin tilts his head back and ignores the rising resentments, seemingly tired of more than just his parents at the moment.

"And hey," Whizzer prompts before the other man can hang up, "I just want to remind you...You don't have to change for them, you know? If they don't like you—the real you, they can piss off. You shouldn't have to—you know, wear this mask all the time and put up this huge wall around yourself. It'll get lonely; trust me. I mean, it already is, isn't it?"

There's a pause of silence before Marvin says quietly, "I told you. It's not that easy."

Whizzer sighs, resigned, "Goodnight, Marvin." After he hangs up, he stretches out on his shitty mattress and looks up at his ceiling fan, letting the blur of motion lull him into sleep.

"He seems to know his way around here quite well." Marvin's mother makes the offhanded comment, and it seems harmless enough but Marvin flinches like she's just slapped him.

"We're friends." Marvin explains tightly as he and Whizzer finally make eye contact. Taking one look at the man, Whizzer knows that he didn't take his advice to heart. Marvin has transformed back into his former shell of a self, stapled this ill-fitted persona to his skin as he continually tries to hide the cracks in the façade. Whizzer has spent the last several months mapping each nook and crevice on this man's body, but at this very moment, Marvin might as well be a stranger to him.

Whizzer adopts a chill he just can't shake throughout the entire meal.

Whizzer feels like a passive observer as he watches the dynamics of those around him. Marvin's parents dote on Trina, every word directed in her direction being some form of glowing compliment. By contrast, they are curt and strangely formal with their own son. His mother makes mere small talk with him that reminds Whizzer of how one talks to a stranger. Meanwhile, his father simply stares down at his untouched plate more often than not, his mind far away from here.

Marvin smiles and charms and lies his way throughout the meal, readily putting on this mask that his parents have forged for him. He pretends to be enraptured by Trina and plays along with his mother's unrealistic envision of his future. And he fits into this role of obedient son and charming boyfriend so effortlessly, Whizzer starts to wonder if Marvin could theoretically put up this act for the rest of his life. But then he notices the bags under Marvin's eyes, the edge in every single one of his easy smiles, the tension in his squared shoulders. How exhausting it must be, he quietly marvels, to be so aware and calculated in your every word and movement.

Sensing he's crossed a line, Marvin softens, but he doesn't apologize. He never apologizes. Even when he knows he’s wrong.

It takes a few seconds for Whizzer to regain control of his voice, but when he does, he makes sure it sounds as cold and brittle as ice, "You think you're so much better than me, don't you? You're so much smarter than me, Marvin. You're so much more successful than me, Marvin. You're so superior at everything," He takes a step closer, bring their chests close together, "But you get on your knees for me again and again. You beg for it time after time—why is that, I wonder?” Marvin’s muscles clench tighter and tighter, but he holds his tongue. Whizzer presses on, wanting something—anything at all that proves he’s gotten under his skin, “And how would Mommy and Daddy react if they saw you like that, huh? Do you think they’d believe me if I told them all about it?" He raises his voice to a yell, "Hey Everybody, Marvin is a fa—"

Finally, Marvin shoves Whizzer against the wall, slapping a firm hand over his mouth. Pain erupts in Whizzer's back, but he barely registers the sting through his fury. He removes the hand as soon as Whizzer cuts off, but he keeps their bodies pinned together. With a pang, he’s reminded of that first time in the small closet at a stranger’s house. It seems like that happened an entire lifetime ago, though he knows it hasn’t even been a year.

Marvin's face is still just inches away from his, and Whizzer feels fear beginning to coil in his stomach, "Enough." 

"Or what?" Whizzer taunts in a low voice, and he wants him to hit him. He wants the sting of a busted lip, needs the distraction to the turmoil brewing in his chest. But Marvin doesn't look as angry as Whizzer feels; he seems heartbroken at Whizzer's words, as if something actually brought the High and Mighty Marvin down a peg. And so Whizzer breaks their silent truce on to never speak of what’s going on between them, but he makes a pointed decision. He lies.

"You think I give a damn about you?" Whizzer whispers, and Marvin takes his words like a punch in the gut, "You're just an easy fuck, Marvin. That's all you are to me. We aren't boyfriends. We aren't even close."

"You mean nothing to me." 

Marvin nods, letting the words wash over him. He straightens his posture, all previous emotions of fury and heartbreak wiped from his face. He's slipped the mask back on. Good, Whizzer thinks to himself, it suits him.

“Stop being petty,” Whizzer snaps, walking towards him and crowding him against the wall of the hallway, “You know that I—“ The words get caught in his throat, so he settles for something easier, “You know that you mean something to me.” He doesn’t say it, but Marvin hears it all the same.

A few hours later, as they lie cramped and entangled on Marvin's shitty couch, naked and sated, they don't talk about what happened before or what will happen later. Maybe they should—after all, several wounds are currently left untreated, exposed to viscous infection that could occur any time in the form of a careless word or barbed insinuation—but they're young and mean and they don't give a flying fuck about the problems that lie just on the horizon. Marvin keeps trying to make him laugh—desperately—and Whizzer refuses to give him the satisfaction, biting his lip to keep the treacherous snickers at bay.

And it isn't perfect, Whizzer thinks as he tries to smother his laughter into Marvin's mussed hair, but right now, it's enough.

Whizzer notices that Trina's hand has entangled in Marvin's hair.

"Yeah," Whizzer agrees faintly, the jealousy choking him, "Let's enjoy it while it lasts."

I love you.

It means nothing to Marvin. It means everything to Trina. 

I love you.

To Whizzer, those words have always been an excuse for mistreatment or a ploy for sex. It's always been his parents' "I'm justifying being the cause of your unhappiness" or one of his lover's "Please give me head later." It's never just I love you. It's always had a double meaning. It's always had strings attached.

The words are never meaningless per se, Whizzer rationalizes; they just never only carry the surface implication.

I love you.

Marvin tells Trina this, but what he’s really saying is a plea for submission, for her to stick her head in the sand and never question him. It's a ploy. It's a deceit. It's a breadcrumb.

I love you.

Sometimes Whizzer imagines Marvin saying those words to him—perhaps mid-sex, or huddled beneath the covers and trying to ignore the rising sun, or in the middle of an argument when Marvin needs a trump card.

Whizzer ponders just what his reaction would be. Would it mean anything to Whizzer? Would Marvin ever mean it in the first place?

"I love you." Whizzer whispers once, alone in his apartment.

The words still feel hollow to him—be it in his mind or mouth.

"Jesus Christ, I can't believe I fell in love with someone like you." As soon as the exasperated words fly out of Marvin's mouth, the man stiffens in shock and horror (Whizzer can't tell if it's being feigned, if this is just one of those theatre workshop activities that he's been obnoxiously doing all the time).

Up until that point, Whizzer had been pretty sure that he knew just how those words would affect him. They would hardly even register, he had reasoned. Whizzer would be mindful of the mind games that Marvin plays, and he would be reminded of the ease that Marvin spouts off those words to Trina, and he would be able to rationally see it as the bullshit that it is. He would be calm and indifferent and unwavering, he had imagined.

He was wrong.

Whizzer's eyes widen, and his mouth goes dry, and his chest does something a little funny that makes his breathing turn stilted. And he feels like his heart is devouring every sense of rational thought. 

"...Whizzer, I love you." Whizzer rips off Marvin's belt and tears open his shirt.

"Don't say it," Whizzer whispers harshly, threading his hands through Marvin's hair and pulling Marvin's head so their mouths are two little words apart, "Prove it."

"And she deserves more," Marvin continues after a pause, "She deserves someone who doesn't tune her out when she starts talking for more than five minutes and likes sleeping next to her and holds her hand when she's sad—"

Whizzer interjects, supplying, "Someone who loves her."

"I do love her." Marvin protests sharply, his gaze snapping into focus. He's on the defensive now, as if he's still trying to cling to that lie as much as Trina. But Whizzer gives him a pointed, knowing look, and after a beat, Marvin softens.

He amends roughly, "Well, I care about her."

"You know that's not the same thing."

"Yeah," Marvin looks at Whizzer, echoing faintly, "I think I’ve realized that now."

Whizzer snorts, "Always the idealist."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting it all," Marvin tells him, leaning in for a kiss, "As long as you can actually achieve it. And I can."

"He told me he loves me last night," Whizzer confesses to her, the words buzzing on his tongue, "He's breaking up with Trina today."

Cordelia watches him, "And how do you feel about all of that?"

Whizzer keeps his eyes on the endless blue above him, smiling in a way that hurts his face, "Happy."

"She's pregnant." Marvin says, measured and neutral.

A lot of things happen at once.

Charlotte sucks in a surprised breath, and Mendel drops the beer that he’d been holding, and Cordelia beams at Trina but squeezes Whizzer's hand tightly, and Whizzer—

For Whizzer, the entire room is spinning. He's surprised that he doesn't throw up.

"Oh." He exclaims faintly, more breath than word.

At that moment, Whizzer and Trina make eye contact, and he wildly expects a gloating expression on her face. After all, she's won, hasn't she? It's over. She's got him beat.

But there is no pride or boast in her gaze. Trina looks at him, and she smiles, and she just looks so genuinely happy. And it makes Whizzer feel disgusted with himself—for that day in the park, for sleeping with her boyfriend, for hating her.

"I'm happy for you." Whizzer tells her, holding her gaze. He doesn't mean it. From the way her smile dims, Whizzer thinks that she kinda knows that.

"You're going to have a family," Whizzer rationalizes, "I don't exist in that world."

"You exist in my world," Marvin says tightly, "That will never change."

In his dream, nothing is awful. He's in a crowded ballroom, feeling tipsy and happy and in love. Across the room, he spies Cordelia and Charlotte, getting drunk on champagne and giggling into each others’ ears. A few feet away from the two girls are Trina and Mendel, holding each other tight as they dance to the melodic melody echoing throughout the hall. Trina looks beautiful and happy in the arms of a man who loves her. Whizzer watches his friends laugh and fall in love, and he's struck with a sense of deep contentment. In his dream, he's happy.

Sturdy arms wrap around his torso, pulling him into an embrace from behind. Whizzer relaxes against Marvin, turning his head so the man can see the unadulterated adoration on his face.

"I love you." Marvin says, and it is beautiful in its offhanded nature. It means nothing and everything all at once.

"I love you, too." Whizzer admits finally, his voice aching with the honesty of it.

When he wakes up, Whizzer is alone in a cold bed.

"You know you can go to somebody whose actual job that is, right?" Whizzer says bluntly, looking down to fiddle with his camera so he won't see Trina's smile dim.

"Well, yes, I know," She admits slowly, caught off guard by his defensiveness, "But I just thought that it would be more special. You know, to be taken by a friend."

Friend. She thinks that they're friends. Well, that’s just—spectacular.

Whizzer nods, swallowing down the lump in his throat, "You're going to marry him." It isn't a question, so he doesn't phrase it like one. Of course Trina will say yes—because she's young and she wants so desperately to pretend that he loves her and she's always wanted the All-American, tight-knit family. 

No, if he were to ask a question, it would be: He's going to marry you?

But that shouldn't be a surprise either. Of course Marvin will propose—because he's gay and he wants so desperately to pretend that he isn't and he's always wanted the All-American, tight-knit family.

Maybe they are perfectly suited together; they're both so willing to play into delusions and pretend that they're happy and everything happens for a reason and a marriage will somehow make things better.

At this point, Marvin and Trina have almost finished digging their own graves, but Whizzer himself still hasn’t broken the ground yet. Right now, he's still holding the shovel, trying to decide if it's all worth it, if he's all worth it.

"Okay." Whizzer says faintly, "I'll take the picture."

Trina hugs him, and even though her grip is light and her body is soft, Whizzer feels like he's being crushed.

This picture is a lot better, though Marvin looks into the camera with a pained smile and Trina is smiling like she does realize that she's delivering herself into a devouring mouth but just can't seem to help herself.

Whizzer makes sure to give her a look of solidarity; he knows the feeling.

Marvin huffs as he walks in, his back facing Whizzer, "It's never meaningless when we do it."

"Speak for yourself."

The muscles in Marvin's back tense, but he doesn't take the bait, "Why didn't you answer me?"

"Because I didn't want to," Whizzer says as he closes the door, sneering, "Is that alright with you? After all, my needs are always subservient to yours, aren’t they?”

"Stop it," Marvin commands, like Whizzer's some lapdog, "I don't want to fight right now."

"Why is it always about what you want, huh?" Whizzer demands, "I'm not just some mindless sex doll, Marvin. I have wants and needs, too."

"I know that," Marvin snaps, turning around to face him, "Of course I know that. You're Whizzer. I love you."

"You're Trina," The memory of Marvin's words hits him like a truck, "I love you."

"Trina was right,” Whizzer says coldly, “You really need to get new material." And the words are so meaningless to Marvin, he doesn't even seem to know what Whizzer is referring to.

"You're ruining her life. You're ruining your life." And once Whizzer has started, he just can't stop. Anger and frustration leak into his calculated voice, thickening it to the point of almost incoherency, "You're ruining the baby's life. You're ruining my life.” He hates pretending that it doesn’t bother him, that nothing has changed, that Whizzer can somehow fit into that family portrait. Because it does bother him and everything has changed and Whizzer doesn’t want to waste his life shadowing somebody else’s family and being fed breadcrumbs by a man too cowardly to be honest about what he wants.

Whizzer is trembling now, admissions and anxieties rising in his throat and gagging him.

But Marvin is perfectly composed, his eyes narrowed and mouth fixed in a sneer.

"How am I ruining your life," He asks sharply, "When apparently you don't love me anyway?" Whizzer doesn't answer. He can't.

"What, you want me to feel sorry for you?" Whizzer scoffs, his voice cold, brittle, ”Fuck you, Marvin. That's just another bullshit excuse. Everyone always has a choice. You're just making the wrong one and trying to blame it on the invisible gun to your head." 

Marvin shrugs, Whizzer’s justifications lost on him, “I only play games that I know I'll win.”

“We both know that that’s not true.” Whizzer points out, smiling, “You’re playing one with me right now.” 

“I said that you mean something to me because it’s the truth,” He scoffs, overwhelming disgusted with the both of them, “But that isn’t good enough for you, is it? You want to mean everything to me. But that will never happen.”

“I did all those things because I’m in love with you,” Marvin says after a long, agonizing pause, unflinching, “And you’re trying to fault me for that? For being nice to you and hoping against hope that you could ever learn to love me back? You call me selfish? You’re the one who’s been using how I feel to get yourself off. You’re the one who constantly reminds me that I am one of a dozen others. You’re the one who took advantage of a closeted guy who had his entire life figured out and ruined everything because you could—because you were bored.

“And now you get pissed at me for trying to get my shit together and be there for the woman who is having my child. What did you expect for me to do? Break up with her anyway so I could still just be one of your many booty-calls?” He scoffs, shrugging, “Maybe I am selfish, but at least I’m honest about it. You want to crucify me for wanting to have it all while you’re trying to pull the same shit by wanting me to abandon my kid and girlfriend when you won’t even tell me that you love me!”

“So, if I did choose you,” Marvin challenges, “Would you choose me? Would you stop fucking other guys and make me dinner and kiss me goodnight and tell me that you love me?”

“No.” It’s honest—brutally so. And it makes Whizzer so shocked at himself, has him forgetting his plan and looking up at Marvin.

Marvin nods like he expected that answer, but he looks like Whizzer broke his heart by confirming it.

“Trina does all those things for me,” He says tightly, “Because she loves me.”

Whizzer does things for him, too. He cooks for him and always gives him his honest opinion and calls Marvin out on his bullshit and challenges him to be better and encourages him to follow his stupid dream of theater and tries to get him to accept himself for who he is.

He does those things for him. Because he loves him.

"I'd love to meet them," Mr. Total-Dick-Face looks at the picture again, "To hear the rest of their story—the things that not even images can show." No, you really don't want to know. 

Because it's a sad story—the kind that keeps getting bad and never gets any better; the kind that only has a few moments of happiness and lightheartedness but is overall fucking awful; the kind that no one really gets a happy ending.

And Whizzer wants to go back to how things were before—when it was just fun, with mouths pressed against inner thighs and secret glances when out with friends and arguing for the sake of getting the other to take his pants off. 

But no, no, no, Whizzer wants to go back to how things were before even that—when they hated each other and it seemed like it would always stay that way, with mouths shooting off snappy retorts and pointed glares when out with friends and arguing just for the sake of hearing themselves talk.

Whizzer wishes that Marvin had never kissed him that day. He wishes that he himself could have been smart and kind enough to not kiss Marvin back.

But Whizzer doesn't dwell on past decisions and wrong choices. He refuses to lament on the past and instead keeps his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead.

Because he'll never be able to fix his mistakes but he can always run away from them.

Whizzer always walks away. And he never looks back.

"Look, I just don't care anymore." Whizzer tells them lowly, keeping his gaze trained on his beer bottle, "About any of it." He says those words with a strange amount of confidence for a man who had to drag himself out of bed and then had a full-fledged break down in the shower this morning.

"Did he cry?" Whizzer blurts out, "Over me?"

"Yes. And it was not a pretty sight," Charlotte hits his arm, "Stop smiling."

"I'm not." He lies stubbornly, turning away from her.

Though Marvin looks away immediately, Trina doesn't stop staring at it for a long time.

"That's not the picture you gave us." She says faintly, her tone and face unreadable. Her eyes are glued to the photograph, flickering from her own terrified face to Marvin's lovesick gaze directed at someone else.

"I took two, remember?" Whizzer says, trying to pawn off any of the tension, "I hope you don't mind." Trina finally looks at him then, and she knows. She finally knows. Whizzer can see it in her face.

Every single one of them wait for her reaction with baited breath.

"Of course I don't," Trina says, steeling her face and voice as her grip on Marvin's arm tightens, "It's beautiful. It shows the beginning of our family. Wouldn't you agree, Marv?" She takes the easy way out, pleading ignorance. For the sake of her relationship. For the sake of her kid. For the sake of her future.

Whizzer is disappointed in her.

"Yes," Marvin is stunned, looking as if he was gearing up to be defensive, “Baby, you look, uh, very beautiful in it. Glowing, even." At the compliment, Trina looks like she's trying very hard not to cry. She kisses Marvin then, slow and sweet and not letting him pull away. And Whizzer watches the two of them, like always. He's the dark cloud over them, the shadow, the observer, the open secret.

"Passion dies and love fades," Whizzer tells him roughly, "It's all just chemicals, isn't it? Come on; Don't be such a fucking romantic."

"You know, I always thought we had nothing in common," Mendel muses bitterly, smiling sadly at him, "But you're pathetic. Just like me."

The insult surprises him, coming from Mendel. Rather than lashing out, Whizzer just looks at him and doesn't say anything for a long time.

"Why did you come out here?" Whizzer asks, "Hoping for a quick screw in the back of an alley?”

"I don't know," Marvin admits quietly, dropping the coyness, "I don't know what I want."

"Stop it. You know what you want," Whizzer scoffs, "You want it all."

Marvin looks away, doesn't deny it. 

He's giving Whizzer a choice, like he always does. Because Whizzer has always said yes. Because Whizzer has always put himself before anyone else. Because Marvin thinks that Whizzer never changes either.

And before this very moment, Whizzer had thought all those things too.

Right now, Whizzer has a choice. And for the first time, he makes the right one.

When Whizzer turns around, he reflexively snaps a picture of him, desperate to suspend this moment in time.

And Whizzer wants to kiss him—one last time. He wants to close his eyes and lick his lips and sigh into his mouth and breathe him in. He wants to memorize the feeling that this man has given him, the love and ache of it all.

He doesn't kiss him. He just sticks out his hand for him to shake.

And he keeps his gaze on the horizon. And he doesn't look back.

His gaze lingers when he gets to one of the nicer apartment buildings, a faint echo of pain igniting in his chest. All of a sudden, he's reminded of slamming doors and yelling in elevators and giggling in the soft glow of the refrigerator light and whispering half-hearted promises in between ragged breaths and moans.

Whizzer wonders if Marvin's old apartment is the same as he remembers it—spacious and messy; a safe haven and a battleground.

Shaking himself, Whizzer continues walking, keeping his gaze stubbornly fixed on the horizon. He doesn't look back at the building. 

But there's a part of him that wants too. Maybe there always will be.

Youth. Ignorance. Selfishness. Whizzer doesn't miss any of it as much as he once believed he would.

"Take a breath and let it out, and swing." Jason finishes, smiling a little, "Thanks, Whizzer." And there's something about that lopsided smile and tilt of the head in that very moment—something that knocks all the air of Whizzer's lungs.

Jason's smile fades, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Whizzer says quickly, looking away, "You just, uh, reminded me of someone." And now that he sees it, he can't unsee it. The wavy hair, the brown eyes, the crooked smile...

“And you didn’t have another job lined up before you quit?” Charlotte asks, ever the practical one.

Whizzer shrugs, “It was kinda like an impulse decision. Like, I was in Ohio and it sucked, and I just didn’t want to be there anymore.”

Cordelia hits him on the arm, “Don’t blame this on Ohio.”

Whizzer rolls his eyes, exclaiming to get a rise out of her, “Fuck Ohio.”

New York hasn’t changed, but Marvin has.

“I divorced her.”

Whizzer stares at him, bewildered at the stranger before him, “Why would you do that?”

“Whizzer, I don’t know if you know this,” Marvin says calmly, straight-faced with zero inflection, “But I’m really fucking gay.”

Marvin reaches out again, threading his hand through Whizzer’s hair and messing up the hour worth of hair products that Whizzer dedicated to make it look just right. Whizzer tries to scold him and push him away, but right now the only thing he’s accomplishing is maintaining measured breathing. As Whizzer and Marvin lock eyes, he knows that they’re both thinking of the same thing—of Marvin pulling Whizzer’s hair all those times during sex, of holding him in place by his hair so Marvin can press tender, hurried kisses to his exposed neck and jawline.

Marvin pulls a little, and Whizzer bites his lip.

“Not wearing a wig, either,” Marvin comments lowly, smiling filthily, “Jesus, Whizzer, would it have killed you to gain a few pounds or lose some hair? You make the rest of us look so old.”

“Jesus, Marv, you’re at a little league game,” Trina scolds, snapping the two men out of their daze, “Keep it in your pants.”

Whizzer looks over at Marvin, who’s watching Whizzer with stars in his eyes.

“What?” He demands, defensive.

“You’re incredible,” He murmurs, almost absently to himself, “You know that?”

At least one thing hasn’t changed about Marvin.

He’s still very, very charming.

It’s like the universe is trying to get him laid. And Whizzer can’t just not do what the universe so clearly wants him to do:

Bone Marvin. The universe totally wants Whizzer to bone Marvin.

“I knew your dad,” Whizzer elaborates, not missing the slight trace of panic on Marvin’s face at the mention of the past, “We went to college together, actually.”

Jason just makes a lighthearted Hmpf, the significance of that time lost on him.

When Marvin finally comes back, Whizzer wastes no time, crowding him against the door and kissing him.

Marvin’s mouth is soft and warm, and just one kiss drives a chill from Whizzer’s bones that’s been there since he walked out of his boss’s office with his head held high and heart racing.

Whizzer kisses him once, chastely, before backing away.

Marvin’s eyes have already fallen shut, and his lips try to chase after Whizzer’s as he pulls away.

“What?” Marvin demands softly, opening his eyes again to stare mystically at him, “What’s wrong?”

It all feels so familiar, so second-nature. Whizzer remembers kissing him like that dozens of times before, whether to shut up his latest arrogant rant or to communicate feelings that he couldn’t with words.

He thought that it’d feel different—that it’d be different. But it’s not. It’s the exact same.

Whizzer doesn’t know whether to find that relieving or troubling.

Whizzer kisses him again, rougher this time—with more desperation and teeth. Marvin buckles against him, letting out a low, guttural groan like a wounded animal. He slips his hands around Whizzer’s waist and grabs his ass, and it’s good—fuck, it’s really good. Whizzer doesn’t so much as kiss him as devour him, his kisses quick and biting and prompting shaky, quivering noises to release from Marvin’s mouth.

Marvin breaks the kiss and turns his face to the crook of Whizzer’s neck, retracting one hand from the other’s ass to slip it down the front of Whizzer’s pants. When he touches him, Whizzer makes a sound so shameless and dirty, it makes Marvin flush even redder.

“Fuck. Fuck,” Marvin keeps repeating, laughing breathlessly, “I’ve missed that sound.” He rotates his wrist and makes Whizzer make it again.

“Take me to bed.” Whizzer says, pleads actually, “Marvin, come on. Take me to bed and fuck me.”

At his demand, Marvin shudders, making a gasping sort of sound almost like he’s drowning.

“Fuck yeah. Okay,” He says shakily as Whizzer impatiently starts tugging Marvin’s pants down, the hunger between them so palpable, it’s all that they can taste, “Okay.”

He hears Cordelia’s phone ring in the kitchen, followed by the blonde’s panicked voice, “It’s Marvin.”

“Answer it.” Charlotte instructs.

“Cordelia, don’t you dare!” Whizzer yells.

The two lock eyes for a split second before both bolt to the kitchen.

As they bust through the door, Cordelia already has the phone pressed to her ear, “Oh, hey, Marv. What’s up?” A pause, and then her gaze flickers to Whizzer, “You’re asking if Whizzer is here?”

Whizzer hurriedly, enthusiastically mouths the word No, No, No, No, No…

“You know,” Cordelia says nervously, biting her lip, “He actually just walked in.”

Whizzer makes an audible noise of surprise and betrayal.

Whizzer sighs, “Look, Marvin, what do you want?”

“What do I want?” Marvin repeats incredulously, “I want you, Asshole.”

It’s a sucker punch to the gut, causes Whizzer’s heart to jump to his throat.

He stutters out, “Will you settle for a cup of coffee instead?”

"During all those years,” Marvin asks suddenly, "Did you ever think of me?" It seems off-subject, but really, maybe it isn't. Because the answer seems important to Marvin, even though it won't change anything.

Whizzer pauses, biting his lip, “Sometimes.”

“All the time,” Marvin says quietly, “I thought about you all the time.”

"What else is there to do?" Marvin demands, and well, Whizzer can't say what he would rather do, right? Just friends may be able to 'compliment each other on their best features,' but they probably can't freely admit, I would really like you to fuck me so hard, I lose my voice from screaming your name.

Marvin huffs a laugh, and because he still never knows when to stop and drop something, he asks, "What's your type then?" It's a stupid, pointless question to ask, and it just seems weirdly uncalled for, given their history and all that Marvin already knows about Whizzer. Marvin knows his type already, but he still asks it. Because he's fishing for a certain answer, one that would assure him that Whizzer is just as silently miserable at being just friends as Marvin noticeably is.

And Whizzer could answer this question in many ways—the slutty any man who buys me a drink; or the coy men who have cruel smiles and nice hands; or the honest the unattainable sort of men; or the pointed the type that lets you hold them and kiss them but never keep them; the type that will always say that they love you and they may very well even mean it, but they'll never be willing to meet you halfway.

Whizzer calmly uncovers his face, calmly sits up, and uncalmly says, "Come again?"

Living with Marvin, sharing a home with Marvin, is easy. They eat breakfast and dinner together, and they watch shitty cable television in the evening, and they bicker about weird domestic things like the electricity bill (Whizzer’s fault) and the mysterious dent in the living room wall (Marvin’s fault), and they entertain Jason on the weekends, and it’s all just so—

Domestic. So disgustingly, repellently, achingly domestic.

“So, you two were good friends?” Jason suddenly asks, causing both men to remember themselves and break eye contact. Whizzer notices that Jason is paying full attention to them now, his phone laying forgotten on the table as he stares pointedly at the two men sitting across from him.

“No, I don’t think we were,” Marvin says honestly after a beat, “That’s what caused the problem.”

And this is why Whizzer has to always look toward the horizon—because looking back leads to nostalgia and sadness and the overwhelming desire to recapture the past.

“You’ve been testing me,” Marvin says, oddly sounding both sad and hateful, “You don’t think I realized that? You want me to prove this preconception in your head that you’ve built up for years. You think everyone else is capable of change except me.”

Whizzer stays silent, not answering. Marvin looks a little broken.

"Then what are you still doing here?"  He demands roughly.

Seeing him shattered like that, it takes awhile before Whizzer can find his voice, and even when he does, it’s small and broken, "Maybe I want you to prove me wrong."

"Bullshit. I've been proving you wrong," Marvin points out, "You want me to prove you right."

"Whizzer, I already told you," Marvin says, horrifyingly calm, "I’m too old to be chasing after people who only want to be chased and not caught." Whizzer belatedly places the vague look on Marvin’s face.

It is one of a man who is ready to let go.

Gripped with shock and fear and denial, Whizzer doesn't respond and walks out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Marvin doesn't ask him to wait, to stop, to stay. 

As he walks away, Whizzer doesn’t look at the horizon. With each step, he keeps stopping and turning his head and looking back, expecting Marvin to still—without fail—to chase after him.

But the only thing chasing him is the past, and Whizzer refuses to let that actually catch up with him.

"You've grown meaner." Whizzer notes idly, an undercurrent of appreciation for her in his voice.

"I've had to." Trina says vaguely. 

"Trina, I'm really sor—"

"Don’t. Just—don’t. I don't need your late, guilt-tripped apology." Trina scoffs, exasperation and bitterness clogging her tone, "I don't need this anymore, you know? This—This migraine that you two have always given me. I'm not a side character in the Great Opera of Whizzer and Marvin anymore. I have a child and husband who love me. I have a life where I am happy. I got my happy ending."

"I didn't." The words spill out, accusing and pitiful.

Trina doesn't look sorry for him. She gives him a cool, withering look, "Well, that was your own fault."

"It was Marvin's fault," Whizzer tells her, and he wants back that silent, subtle gaze of hers, that solidarity—he wants her to make him feel less alone, "He ruined us, Trina. He—"

"Us? There is no us. Oh my god, are you serious right now?" Trina looks at him with scathing disappointment, "Jesus, Whizzer, you want me to feel sorry for you? News flash: just because Marvin was a bigger asshole than you doesn't take away from the fact that you were an asshole, too. We are not allies in this, Whizzer—not anymore. And honestly, looking back on it all? I don't think we ever were."

They talk and listen and laugh and cry. And Whizzer wants to say that it had been everything that he thought it would be—renewal of passions, happiness only found within one another, the promise of a future together, the promise of love—but it is not everything. It is only one thing.

It is forgiveness. And Whizzer thinks that right now, that’s more than enough.

Whizzer doesn’t like to look back, to admit to any regrets, but still he needs to know, “Would you do it again? If you—If you knew then all that happened afterwards. Would you have still kissed me that night?”

Whizzer remembers his own response to that question, years ago: "It doesn't matter," Whizzer says quickly, releasing his grip on Marvin's hand, "Just let it go."

“I’d like to believe I would,” Marvin doesn’t hesitate, saying firmly, “That I’d do it again and again. That I would choose you, every time.”

Whizzer looks up at the sky, feels a warm smile spread across his face. He feels happy.

“I’d like to believe that I’d let you, every time.” Whizzer concedes.

Whizzer covers Marvin’s hand with his own, the giddiness and hope rising within him and threatening to split him open. They stare at each other for a long time—adoringly, nervously, disbelievingly—before they slowly turn their gaze to the horizon.

And they don’t look back.

[krat395]

How To Make A Lizard, Ghost, and Robot Laugh (Chapter 4)

Chapter 4 of this story. In Chapter 3, Frisk and Chara gave MK a tickling experience that he won't be forgetting anytime soon. And after an hour of tickle torturing the young lizard boy, an unexpected visitor showed up and startled Frisk, Chara, and MK. Who is this visitor? Let's find out! Undertale(c) Toby Fox.

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

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

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

HOW TO MAKE A LIZARD, GHOST, AND ROBOT LAUGH

Chapter 4: A Ghostly Visitor

 Upon closer inspection, the figure was revealed to be… Blooky (Napstablook)! He came in without ringing the doorbell or knocking the door. Why he did so is currently unknown to the kids.

 Frisk and Chara: *both of them stop tickling MK and are nervous*

Frisk: Blooky, what are you doing here?

Blooky: Oh, sorry. I interrupted you didn’t I? You kids looked like you were having fun.

Chara: No, it’s alright Blooky. You just startled us; that’s all. Why didn’t you ring the doorbell or knock on the door?

Blooky: Well, Mettaton said it was ok if I just walked, or in my case, floated right in.

 Mettaton has a compulsive habit of going into people and monsters’ houses without ringing the doorbell or knocking on the door. Because of this, he told Blooky that it was ok to just go inside the house without doing so and he made it sound like it wasn’t an inappropriate thing to do.

 (How does Mettaton get in when the doors are locked? He has his ways. Good thing he’s not a thief or a crazed murderer!)

 Frisk: I should have known. Blooky, that’s not a polite thing to do. Mettaton does that way too often and he never seems to catch on to the fact that it annoys practically everyone.

Blooky: Oh, I’m sorry.

Frisk: It’s ok Blooky, you didn’t know. But now you do.

Chara: Yeah, we’re not mad at you Blooky. In fact, we’re glad you stopped by. Why are you here anyway?

Blooky: Oh… just visiting, that’s all. Well, I’ll let you carry on what you were doing.

MK: Do you want to help Frisk and Chara tickle me Blooky?

Chara: *completely surprised* What did you just say MK?!

 Chara was completely surprised after hearing what MK just asked Blooky. At first, MK wanted the tickle torture to end very badly because he initially hated it. But as time went by, he actually started liking it and Frisk could tell he was enjoying himself despite the massage oil making his feet more ticklish. He loved the constant tickle talk and teasing from Frisk and Chara because they were acting really goofy and “playful” when they did so. MK himself is a young goofball and that type of behavior from the two girls appealed to him greatly. When MK told them to stop teasing him earlier, he didn’t mean it because having their goofy behavior combined with their tickling and his own silliness was a winning combination for him. It also helped that they left his tail alone. While MK’s tail may be his most ticklish spot, Frisk and Chara find it more fun to tickle his feet and belly. MK has been tickle tortured for an entire hour before, but it was under very negative conditions (That was when he was tickle tortured by Undyne, Alphys, Bratty, and Catty as punishment for tickle torturing Undyne under her bed). But the tickle torture he just went through was not under any negative conditions and it was a surprisingly enjoyable experience for him in the long run. And strangely enough, he liked that his feet were made more ticklish by the massage oil.

 MK: You heard me guys. I just asked Blooky if he wanted to help you guys tickle me.

Chara: So let me just get this straight, you actually enjoyed being tickled like that MK?!

MK: Not at first, no. But as time went by, I began liking it more and more. Especially due to all of the playful teasing you guys did. That really sealed the deal for me. So thank you.

Frisk: You’re very welcome! Glad we could be of service MK. *teasingly tickles his belly and ribs*

MK: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! FRIHIHHIIHHIIHIHIHSK! GAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAA!

Chara: What do you say Blooky, wanna help us tickle Lizzy Boy here?

Blooky: Um… no, that’s ok. I don’t want to be a bother to any of you.

Frisk: *stops tickling MK* Blooky, you’re not a bother to us and you never will be! Why would you ever think something like that?!

Blooky: I’m sorry… it’s just that I’m still not entirely comfortable around everyone. Sure I’m a successful DJ nowadays, but it hasn’t helped me get over my shyness entirely. Plus, it’s been a while since I last tickled someone and I don’t want to mess anything up.

MK: There’s nothing wrong with a few harmless tickles Blooky. Here, I have an idea. Since you’re a DJ and all, how about you pretend my belly’s a record… or something like that.

Frisk: Excellent idea MK!

Chara: (Awww! MK, that’s so nice of you!)

Blooky: Um… ok, I guess. If that’s what you want.

 Blooky then floated shyly towards MK and did as the lizard boy suggested. The shy ghost pretended the MK’s belly was a record and wound up tickling him as a result. Blooky has hands. They’re just not visible like the rest of his body.

 MK: AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Blooky: Oh… I’m sorry, is that too much?

MK: NAHAHAHAHAAT AT ALL BLOOHOOHOOHOOKY!! YOHOHOOHOOHOU’RE DOOHOOHOOING GREHEHEHEHEAT!! AHAHAAHAHHAAHAHAHHAAA!!

Blooky: Really?

Frisk: Yeah Blooky! Just listen to that adorable laughter!

Blooky: *starts smiling a little* Heh.

 Frisk and Chara then stood aside to let Blooky tickle MK on his own. Both girls don’t know why Blooky was so nervous to tickle MK because he’s doing a great job making MK laugh. And MK loves every passing second of it.

 About two minutes later, Blooky started using both of his invisible hands to tickle MK’s belly, making the young boy laugh even harder and in the process.

 MK: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!! NAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT BOHOHOOHHOOOTH HAHAHAHAHANDS!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Blooky: Oh, sorry. I’ll stop if you want me to.

Chara: No Blooky, keep going. That’s just an involuntary reaction to you doing something different. MK doesn’t actually mind what you’re doing.

Blooky: Is that true MK?

MK: YEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHES!!! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHAHHAAA!!! KEEHEEHEEHEEEP UP THE GOOHOOHOOHOOD WORK BLOOHOOHOOHOOKY!!! AHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

 After another two minutes, Blooky started getting more and more comfortable tickling MK. He is so happy that the three kids are being nice to him and letting him do things at his own pace. Before too long however, Blooky accidentally made one of his hands phase into MK’s body and it made both him and MK very nervous.

 MK: *completely surprised and laughing frantically* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAT THE HEHEHEHHEHEEHEHEHEHCK?!!!! BWAHAHAHAAHAAHHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

Blooky: Oh no, I’m sorry! Are you ok?!

 Blooky’s hand phasing into MK’s body is not hurting him or MK. Instead it’s providing completely new ticklish sensations for MK. MK is receiving… INTERNAL TICKLING! He’s being tickled on the inside of his body and it’s making him laugh even harder as a result.

 MK: YEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHHEHEHEHES!!!! MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! I’M FIHIHIHIHHIHHIHIIHINE!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAAHAHAHA!!!! IT JUST REHEEHEEHEEHEALLY TIHIHIHIHIHIHCKLES!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! HOHOHOHOHOLY CRAHAHAHAHAAP!!!! WAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHHAA!!!!

Blooky: Is it ok if I continue doing this?

MK: YOOHOOHOOU BEHEEHEHEHHET!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!!

 Frisk and Chara are very impressed by this method of tickling that only Blooky can provide and they’d like him to try it on them very shortly.

 MK: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!

Frisk: Blooky, that’s amazing! Could you try that on me and Chara next?

Blooky: *happily responds back* Sure.

 After one minute, Blooky stopped ticking MK and floated next to Frisk. He then phased head-first right through her belly and stopped about halfway in between. Doing this to Frisk made her fall to the floor and start rolling around while laughing very hysterically, which Chara, MK, and Blooky adored to no end. Frisk falling to the floor however made Blooky phase completely through her and as a result, he had to reposition himself. So Chara then decided to hold Frisk still for him so he could phase through her once again.

 Chara: *holds Frisk still* Here you go Blooky! She should stay still for you now!

Blooky: Thanks Chara. *phases through Frisk again*

Frisk: AHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAAHA!!!!!!! OHOHOHHOOHO MY GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAD!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAA!!!!!!! THAHAHAHAHAHAHAT TIHHIIHHIHHIHICKLES SOOHOOHHOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

 Meanwhile, the still tied up MK just lied there and watched Blooky tickle Frisk.

 MK: (Awwwwwww! So cute!)

 Frisk was laughing so hard that she couldn’t even finish her sentence. Her belly is her most ticklish spot and being tickled internally is completely new to her. Right now, all she can do is continue laughing hysterically at these ticklish sensations that she never thought were even possible. She’s completely losing her mind… and she loves it!

 After about three minutes, Blooky stopped tickling Frisk so Chara could switch places with her. Since Chara’s upper body isn’t as ticklish as Frisk’s, she feels that it will be unnecessary for Frisk to hold her down. With that said; Frisk stood back and watched Blooky perform his method of tickling on Chara.

 Blooky: *phases through Chara*

Chara: PFFFFFFFFFFFFFT!!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!!! WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THE HEHEHEHEHEHEHELL IS THIIHIHHIHIIHIHIS FEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEELING?!!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAHAHAA!!!! THIS TIHIHHIHHIHIHIHCKLES JUST ABAHAHAAHHAOAOUT AS MUCH AS MY FEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEET!!!! AWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAA!!!!

MK: Go Blooky go! Go Blooky go! Yeah! *joking* Make her pee her pants!

Chara: *without any actual spite* AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA!!!! SHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUHUT UP LIHIHIHIHIHIHIZZY BOHOHOHOHOHOY!!!! RAHAHAHAAAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAA!!!!

 It turns out Chara is more ticklish on the inside of her body than the outside. Blooky phasing through her body tickles just as much, if not more than someone tickling her extremely ticklish feet and Chara is shocked by this discovery. But she still enjoys the ticklish sensations nonetheless, even if it doesn’t exactly appear that way at the moment.

 Frisk: *moves near Blooky and whispers* Psst, Blooky. Do you mind if I join you?

Blooky: Go ahead Frisk. I don’t mind.

Frisk: Speaking of your feet Chara…

 Frisk then positioned herself on top of Chara’s legs, removed both of her socks, and began tickling her extremely ticklish feet. All while Blooky keeps tickling the inside of her body.

 MK: (Holy crap! Frisk took Chara’s socks off! Oh man, her feet are gorgeous! I would do anything to be in Frisk’s position right now!)

 Upon seeing Chara’s bare feet and due to his strong foot fetish, MK REALLY wishes that he could be the one tickling Chara’s feet instead of Frisk. If only he wasn’t tied up.

 Chara: NOHOHOHOHOHOHOOHOHOHOHHOHHOOHOOHOO!!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! FRIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHHISK, STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!!!!!!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!!!!

 Those were the only three words Chara could say. What followed afterwards… was PURE GIBBERISH… and lots of maniacal laughter and shrieking!

 Chara: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAAHHAHAHAA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! *gibberish* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!!!! *gibberish* AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!!!!!!!!!! *gibberish* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!!!!!!!!!! *gibberish* WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!!!!!!

MK: (Oh man, she’s completely losing it! Oh my god, I wanna tickle those feet so badly!)

 Chara is completely losing her mind right now. Blooky tickling her internally and Frisk tickling her extremely ticklish feet is just too much for her and she is laughing, screaming, shrieking, and squealing with maniacal laughter because of it and tears are running down her face like waterfalls. This also happens to be the first time Chara is speaking gibberish while being tickled. Normally, she can be understood surprisingly well when she’s being tickled out of her mind. But right now, she is unable to form a single sentence and she’s lucky enough if she can say a few words every now and then. For about five minutes, Chara made no efforts to fight back. One reason is because she can’t concentrate hard enough to fight back due to how badly her feet and insides tickle; a second reason is because she doesn’t want to ruin Blooky’s tickling; and a third reason is because she’s having fun.

 Five minutes later…

 Chara: AHAHAHAAHHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!! *gibberish* AHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHOHOOHOHHOHOOHOOHEEHEEHEHEEHEEHEEBAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHKAKKAAKABABBBABABABBAHAHAHAHAHA EHEHEHEHEHEHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!!!!!!!!

 Before too long, Chara tried grabbing her stomach to reduce the feeling of the tickling. But what she didn’t realize was that she stuck her hands inside Blooky and what followed was a very surprising reaction that rendered all three kids speechless for a brief moment.

 Blooky: Hahahahahahhahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!

Frisk: *stops tickling Chara and is very surprised*

MK: *also very surprised*

Chara: *still laughing because Blooky is still tickling her insides* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHA!!!!

Blooky: *gradually floats upwards while continuing to laugh* Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!

 The kids have just made a mind-blowing discovery. BLOOKY IS TICKLISH!!

 MK: *mouth is hanging open* (Blooky’s ticklish?!)

Frisk: You’re ticklish Blooky?!

Blooky: Yes Frisk, I am.

Chara: How is that even possible?!

Blooky: I’m not quite sure Chara. I just am.

 Frisk then came up with a fun idea. All she needs is Blooky’s approval.

 Frisk: Is it ok if I tickle you Blooky? It’s ok if you say no.

Blooky: Sure Frisk, I don’t mind. Go right ahead.

Frisk: Thanks!

Chara: While you’re doing that Frisk, I’ll go back to tickling Lizzy Boy over there.

Frisk: Great idea Chara. He’s definitely in need of more tickles. Do your worst.

Chara: Oh I shall! Mwahahahahaha!

 Chara then walked over to MK and stood right next to him.

 Chara: I’m back for more you cinnamon roll!

 Chara, who still has her socks off, then started tickling MK’s belly with her right foot, eliciting several squeaks and silly laughter from the young boy. She is tickling him by wiggling her toes against his sensitive skin

 MK: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!! NAHAHAHAHHAHAHAT YOHOHOHHOOHOUR TOHOHOHHOHOES CHAHAHAHAHHAHAHARA!!! AHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAA!!!! THEHEHEHEHEY TIHIIHHIHICKLE SOHOHOOHHO MUCH!!! HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!! FWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!! (Don’t use your feet Chara! Your… very… beautiful feet. Oh my god, they’re so pretty!)

Chara: I’m glad you think so MK! And because they tickle so much, I’m gonna use both of my feet!

MK: WHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT?!!!!

Chara: You heard me Lizzy Boy!

 Chara then sat on MK’s legs (she is facing toward him) and used her feet to tickle his sides and belly. She once again wiggled her toes against his skin to tickle him.

 MK: OHOHOOHOHO NOHOHOOHO, NAHAHAHAHAHAHAT BOHOHOHOHOHOTH YOHOHHOHOHOUR FEEHEEHEEHEEHEET!!!! *squeak* (Oh man, your feet are so gorgeous Chara!!) BWEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHHAA!!!! *squeak* STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAP!!!!

Chara: Nope! I’m having way too much fun Lizzy Boy! *in a goofy voice* Awwwww! Who’s a tickwish widdo wizzy?! You are! *does teasing motions with her toes* You are! Hee hee hee ha ha ha! *starts making really goofy noises*

MK: (Chara, you B-word! Stop teasing me with your beautiful feet and your silliness, I don’t know if I can handle it!) AHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHA!!!! *squeak* AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!! *squeak* EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!!! GAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!

 Unlike Frisk, Chara doesn’t know that MK has a foot fetish. She has no idea that using her bare feet to tickle and tease him in addition to her adorably goofy tickle talk is driving him absolutely crazy. MK wants to touch and tickle Chara’s feet so bad but he can’t because he still has his arms tied up. All he can do is just lie there and deal with the constant teasing from Chara’s feet. MK just hopes that she won’t start showing him her soles (his absolute favorite parts of a girls’ feet) because that might drive him completely insane if she starts doing that!

 While Chara was using her feet to tickle MK (and unknowingly driving him crazy), Frisk concentrated on tickling Blooky. First, Frisk wiggled her fingers against Blooky’s ghostly body.

 Blooky: Hahahahahahahahahahaahahhahahaahahahahahaha!!

Frisk: I just can’t believe you’re ticklish Blooky. I didn’t think it was possible for a ghost to be ticklish! (Then again I didn’t think it was possible for skeletons to be ticklish, but just look at Sans and Papyrus!)

 Frisk still can’t believe that Blooky’s ticklish and as she tickled him for the next five minutes while Chara concentrated on MK , she found out that he was ticklish everywhere on both the inside and the outside of his ghostly body (He’s slightly more ticklish on the inside). Out of all the individuals Frisk has tickled, Blooky is the least ticklish. And overall, Blooky doesn’t mind being tickled because right now, all he’s doing is just floating in the air and letting Frisk do her thing.

 Blooky: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahaha!! Thahahahahahahank yoohoohoohoohoou sohohohohohoho muhuhuhuhuhuhuch Frihihihihihihihisk!! Hahahahahahahahahahaha!!

Frisk: You’re welcome Blooky!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[the-desolated-quill]

Victory Of The Daleks - Doctor Who blog (Matt Smith And The Amazing Technicolor Pepper Pots)

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. If you haven’t seen this episode yet, you may want to before reading this review)

When did Mark Gatiss lose his bollocks? Back when he worked as part of the dark comedy quartet the League of Gentlemen, he wrote some truly great stuff. Even his first Who story, The Unquiet Dead, was pretty good, although he was somewhat hindered because he was having to write for children as well as adults and so had to dampen his dark material down a bit. But since then his work has slipped further and further downhill. The Idiot’s Lantern was rubbish. The less said about his work on the god awful Sherlock, the better. Now we’ve got Victory Of The Daleks.

The Doctor and Amy arrive in WW2 to meet up with Winston Churchill, who has a new secret weapon that could help turn the tide of the war in Britain’s favour. But these so called Ironsides may have a more sinister goal in mind...

First let’s quickly talk about the WW2 setting. Not exactly original, I know, considering we’ve already explored it in The Empty Child two parter, but to be fair that story was told more from the perspective of the civilians. We haven’t seen the soldiers and higher up’s perspective yet, so there could still be some gold in this mine yet. Pity they don’t bother digging for it.

Yes this is WW2, but it’s the stereotypical WW2. Pilots and generals shouting ‘tally-ho’ in OTT Received Pronunciation British accents. People saluting the Union flag while composer Murray Gold gives himself a patriotic boner with his constant fanfares crashing and banging in the background of every scene. Even Winston Churchill (who is portrayed exceptionally well by Ian McNeice) is little more than a caricature (did he have to smoke a cigar in every scene?). There’s no effort to really explore the grim reality of fighting in a war like this. There is an effort to get us to form an emotional connection with that woman whose boyfriend gets shot down whilst flying over the Channel, but it just felt a bit half-arsed. This is a romanticised version of war. Heroic men and women doing their bit for Queen and country, and back home in time for tea. Compared to the likes of, say, Genesis Of The Daleks where they don’t shy away from the morbid and tragic misery of battle, Victory Of The Daleks feels a bit pathetic by comparison.

While I’m not too fond of the romanticised WW2 setting, and this episode in general, I must confess I do love the first 15 minutes. The Daleks feel right at home here, which is not surprising considering that they’re supposed to be an allegory for the Nazis. And a shiny gold star has to go Matt Smith’s performance. His frustration toward Churchill and his pure rage toward the Daleks, culminating in him hitting one of them repeatedly with an oversized wrench, was incredibly powerful. After centuries of fighting these pepper pots, the Doctor has just about had enough of this shit, and Smith conveys that perfectly. He’s no slouch at the comedy neither. I love how he uses a Jammy Dodger to trick the Daleks into standing down. That feels so utterly Doctorly.

Ideally Victory Of The Daleks should have been a two part story, I feel. The first 15 minutes has some legitimately good ideas, but they’re not given the time to fully develop. Gatiss is clearly taking a lot of inspiration from the Patrick Troughton era story The Power Of The Daleks, with the Daleks operating from a position of weakness and tricking a bunch of humans into thinking they’re harmless (they even substitute the line ‘I am your servant’ with ‘I am your soldier’). But the reason why The Power Of The Daleks works so well is because it takes its time. We really get to know the characters and get drawn into their deception, making the final reveal that much more tragic and horrifying. It would have been really nice if the first 15 minutes could have been extended to a full episode. That way we could have explored Churchill’s desperation to win the war a bit more, we would get a chance to properly get to know Professor Bracewell, the supposed creator of the ‘Ironsides’, and perhaps draw out the mystery as to whether or not Bracewell is being genuine or not, with the reveal that he’s actually a robot making a great cliffhanger ending. It would also give us a chance to see just how cunning the Daleks are. That’s the reason why they’ve endured for so long after all. They’re not mindless killing machines. They’re scheming, malevolent killing machines, which The Power Of The Daleks managed to demonstrate so effectively.

So having rushed through quite possibly the most interesting part of the story, the Doctor takes the TARDIS to the Dalek spaceship. And this is where things go horribly wrong.

What are the Daleks most famous for? Killing. Russell T Davies understood that, hence why we got Dalek and The Parting Of The Ways. Two stories that demonstrated how merciless and unstoppable the Daleks were (before they were reduced to toothless stand up comedians during the David Tennant era). What are the Daleks not doing in this episode? Killing.

That’s really my main problem with Victory Of The Daleks. Outside of the Jammy Dodger scene, it feels like the majority of this episode consists of nothing but the Doctor and the Daleks just talking each other’s ears off, and nothing they have to say to each other is particularly interesting. As it goes on, you realise that the purpose of this story is not to entertain us, but rather to establish a new status quo for the Daleks. A new and improved Paradigm of Daleks that were no longer constantly fighting for survival. From this episode onward, they would be back in full force and would come in a variety of colours.

Yeah. You all knew this was coming. I’m sure you’re all excited to know what I thought of the Mighty Morphin Dalek Rangers. Take a random guess what I thought.

Seriously, whoever came up with this design, I hope they got sacked. They look fucking hideous. It’s not just the awful colour scheme. It’s everything. The plastic look. The over-sized midsection. The weird eyeball on a stalk. Their MASSIVE arses (which is apparently supposed to hold a secondary weapon that we will never get to see). And they’re so ridiculously tall to the point where the white Dalek Supreme’s domed head was inches from hitting a light fixture on the ceiling. The new design is just laughably bad. Even with a khaki paint job, the older Daleks look a squillion times better and I’m relieved that in the series to come, the BBC would eventually come to their senses and slowly phase out these new Daleks and subtly return to the old ones. So we’ll never know what was the mysterious purpose behind the yellow ‘Eternal’ Daleks. Never mind. I’m sure it wouldn’t have been very interesting.

But how did this new Paradigm come about? Well the Daleks have got their hands on this Progenitor thing that can create all these shiny new Daleks, except the Progenitor doesn’t recognise these Daleks as pure (oh the irony). They’re going to need a character reference. How about their greatest enemy? But they can’t just ask him obviously. They’ll have to lure him there and trick him into giving a reference. So how do they do that? Do they start attacking the Earth and killing people, knowing it will draw the Doctor’s attention eventually? Oh no. That’s far too sensible. Instead they invent a robot to pretend to invent them, even going to the trouble of implanting human memories and feelings into him, before becoming war machines for Winston Churchill. Then Churchill will call the Doctor because... despite coming across as obedient servants, they’re still suspicious enough to warrant calling a Time Lord for advice? Wait... so they want to look like allies, but their whole plan hinges on not looking like allies.

That makes no sodding sense.

So having been bored senseless with the Doctor and the Daleks’ constant monologuing about what they’re going to do to each other like kids in a school playground arguing over whose dad could beat up whose, the Daleks then reveal their trump card. Bracewell is actually a bomb. But don’t worry. Amy can solve that by making him horny. Um... I mean... reminding him of his humanity.

Putting aside the whole disarming a bomb through the power of love crap, since when did the Doctor turn into Mr. Spock? The same thing happened in The Beast Below where Amy figures out the solution using her humany goodness as though the Doctor is completely out of touch with human emotion. But we know that’s not the case. He’s alien, but he’s not that alien. Also Amy’s reaction to the Daleks escaping annoyed me. Yes they saved the Earth, but a bunch of multi-coloured space Nazis are now free to rain death and destruction across time and space. This is not what I call a win. Mind you, the Doctor annoyed me too at that point. He feels so powerless when the Daleks escape. If only he had a time machine. That way he could go back in time and stop the Daleks before they escape.

...

Oh wait. He does have a time machine. WHY DON’T YOU JUST GO BACK IN TIME AND STOP THE DALEKS BEFORE THEY ESCAPE?

So that was Victory Of The Daleks. It had some potential in the first 15 minutes, but it all turned to shit the moment the plot reared its ugly head. Better luck next time.

[maychorian]

Weekly Voltron Fic Recs #28

Rules: You can find past weekly rec lists here, and non-list recs in my general fic rec tag. This is stuff I like, and I have a huge bias toward Lance, hurt/comfort, and general fluff, in that order. Gen unless otherwise noted. Please comment on the fics if you read and enjoy them!

Secret of the Blood by exclamation Words: 30,685 (WIP 13/?) Author’s Summary: AU version of season 2. When Keith and Shiro were thrown from the wormhole, they crashed by the Blade of Marmora headquarters and were captured. When the Blade reveal the secret of Keith's heritage, Keith must decide if he can trust these people... and if he can trust himself. My Comments: Really well-written canon-divergence AU. I love all the things that change because Keith meets the Blade of Marmora before he and Shiro can warm up to the idea of there being good Galra out there through Ulaz. It makes a HUGE difference, for them and for everyone else as well, and I love the way the idea is being explored.

The Color Of Our Planet From Far Far Away by LonelyGirlInSpace Words: 13,942 (WIP 3/?) Author’s Summary: A story in which Lance and the team has a lot of difficulties, because they don't sleep and sometimes make poor choices as a result and others are forced to suffer more than they deserve due to those poor choices. Or Lance gets hurt because the team didn't listen and everyone desperately wants to fix it. My Comments: Lance is a little too perfect and the rest of the team is a little too mean for my tastes, at least in the first chapter, but this is a well-written and poignant hurt/comfort fic, and it’s gen, and the third chapter almost made me cry, and I’m very, very hooked. Can’t wait for more.

with quiet words I'll lead you in by strikinglight for goukyorin (sashimisusie) Words: 5,216 Author’s Summary: “You were screaming,” Keith tells him. “I heard you through the wall. ”That wall, Lance wants to point out, is supposed to be soundproof. It shouldn’t let you hear anything, no matter how hard you listen. What he says instead is “I can’t breathe.” “Take it slow.” Keith’s voice is steady, but as Lance’s eyes struggle to focus his face is a blur. The image goes shaky and then comes clear, shaky then clear, like looking into water. “Pretend it’s low tide. Tell me about the ocean again.” My Comments: Klance, but reads platonic to me. Really lovely hurt/comfort fic about kids caught in a war far, far away from home.

Disappear Completely by Bandity Words: 7,053 Author’s Summary: Lance knew something was wrong with him. He thought it would pass on its own eventually, but as time went on, and the pain continued, he realized that something inside of him must be very broken. My Comments: Possibly my favorite fic this week. So far I’ve read it three times. Lance’s trauma is so awful and visceral, and the aftermath is realistic and carefully handled. There are no easy solutions, but things do get better, and everyone is doing their best to help.

Space Mall Take 2 by CondensationOnGlass Words: 3,618 Author’s Summary: Shiro won't stand for the Paladins looking like no-good troublemakers. And with the Galra Empire so spread out and with such a gripping hold, they may need more than what they have. And for some reason the mall seems like the place to get it. And it seems like a great place to have more trouble pop up. Aka: Where Shiro has to play the big brother and apologize for the others making a great big damn mess, and nearly has another one on his hands for picking today of all days to do it. My Comments: Equal parts comedy and hurt/comfort, and a joy to read throughout. Poor Lance.

Nomenclature by Awkwardly_social Words: 7,885 Author’s Summary: It took almost five months to find Lance after the wormhole. And when they finally do, they're stuck on the planet until the castle can come get them. Lance takes the opportunity to teach the team a little about the planet and a little bit about himself along the way. My Comments: Lance has had a rough time, and the gradual way the others find out is really well-handled. Plus the worldbuilding is just really neat. Also read the sequel for some great aftermath and Lance with PTSD.

It Is Enough by nadagio  Words: 1,020 Author’s Summary: Nowhere near close to finding Shiro and uncertain what he should do now, Lance spends some quiet time with the Blue Lion. My Comments: Really sweet fic with Blue helping Lance deal with his grief and figure out what to do next.

mostly void, partially stars by dakhtar Words: 9,403 (WIP 3/?) Author’s Summary: “Werewolves can’t be astronauts,” Derek’s annoying voice had grumped. “Werewolves can’t be pilots. Werewolves can’t be fighter jet pilots, Lance, for God’s sake, Werewolves can’t pilot giant space robot cats that join together to become a giant space robot man and fight an evil purple bat-cat empire!” Well, he hadn’t said that last part, but Derek totally would’ve. (Alt title: seawolf) My Comments: Teen Wolf crossover, but I haven’t seen a single episode of that show and I’m enjoying this fic very much. The worldbuilding is really cool, and I love this take on Lance and the relationships he wants and needs and is trying to build.

Going Up! by Olive_theCat Words: 2,373 (WIP 1/?) Author’s Summary: When Sendak is chosen over Shiro to pilot the main engine test of the new Kerberos shuttle, he's got to take up an offer that Matt gives him: To be a camp counselor at the Galaxy Garrison summer program!Of course, herding five super-smart teenagers through some simulated astronaut training can't be all that bad, right? What could go wrong? Well, with the help of a malfunctioning little robot named Beezer towards the end of the summer...It turns out a lot can.SpaceCamp AU (movie and real life), constructive critisism is welcome! My Comments: Space Camp was one of those movies I watched over and over as a kid, and I can’t wait to see what my favorite space kids do in that setting. The author is having a lot of fun with it, and I am too.

Trust Fall by Pidgeon_Online Words: 2,869 Author’s Summary: Pidge usually dealt with her issues on her own. No one needed to be bothered with her problems when she could easily deal with them herself. Especially when it came to this. There was no way she would ask anyone for help with this. Because she was fine. She didn't need help.or Pidge definitely needs help before her body turns completely against her. My Comments: Poor Pidge, but I wish I had a whole team of adorable boys trying to help when I felt like this, so also not poor Pidge at all, I am jealous.

Uninvited Guest by YukiSkyes Words: 3,375 Author’s Summary: The most interesting stories about Glasycus Mountain, said to be the gateway between Earth and the Abyss, were the ones about the black dragon that guards it. There was no end to the people stupid enough to try to find Shiro and Keith would do anything to protect him and help hide his existence. One evening, Keith comes home to someone already inside. My Comments: This is the first of a series of nine stories so far, with the paladins in a fantasy AU, some of them not human anymore. It’s really fun, a lot of great worldbuilding, and some great character interactions. I’m really enjoying it, and I subscribed to the series.

The Once and Future Snore by hufflepirate Words: 980 Author’s Summary: Allura and Coran think about the past. Coran can't figure out how to tell Shiro he's as welcome to affection as all the younger paladins. Everybody ends up in the same nap pile anyway. (Note: Everybody (on the main team) is in this, but I only individually tagged the people who do something besides trap Coran in the middle of a nap pile while he's too asleep to know how they got there.) My Comments: Absolutely ADORABLE cuddle puddle fic focused around Coran. And can I note how wonderful it is that cuddle puddle fic is practically a genre in this fandom? Because it is.

The Home You Make by rednight16 for psyraah Words: 1,304 Author’s Summary: Sometimes the ones that end up close to you are the people that you least expect. My Comments: It’s so wonderful for Shiro to have friends who he is not responsible for, who can just talk to him as adults and have conversations that don’t have anything to do with saving the world. Yet another reason I would have been happy to have Thace and Ulaz stick around on the show.

shades of blue by behestha Words: 1,104 Author’s Summary: Eventually, Shiro's scales reach a tipping point. OR the one where Shiro has a panic attack and Lance gently helps him. My Comments: I love these two supporting each other in any situation, and this is lovely. Hinted Shance at the end, but reads as gen to me.

Trap by macShitFuck Words: 1,272 Author’s Summary: Alt title: Hell or High Water You don’t consider the amount of pain and panic an animal must go through when they’re caught in a leghold trap until you’re in one yourself. My Comments: Oh man, Hunk whump. This is brutal, but I love how he tries to calm Lance down even while he’s in horrible pain.

Turnabout is Fair Play by CondensationOnGlass for taylor_tut Words: 7,623 (WIP 2/?) Author’s Summary: Iconic pranks, blistering fevers, and fair play.Or, where some of the Paladins pull a joke and then get slammed with guilt about 8 hours later, and for others it is much more immediate.Based off a tumblr post by @taylor-tut. Might change the title. Multichapter, and in progress. I'm slow to update. My Comments: Probably my second favorite fic on this list, and yes, I read what’s available twice already. It’s a very indulgent kind of hurt/comfort that I adore, and I can’t wait for more. The prank the others pull on Lance really was harmless and cute more than anything, but he just happened to be in the middle of developing a terrifying and dangerous fever, so yeah. There’s some guilt there, poor babies.

Swallow the Sun by valkyriered Words: 1,934 Author’s Summary: Shiro has a panic attack. Kolivan tells him a story. Very background Shiro/Ulaz. My Comments: The worldbuilding here is freaking GORGEOUS, holy smokes. Just read it.

Defying the Odds by Mists Words: 13,562 (4/?) Author’s Summary: *Voltron Season 3 AU* Also known as: The Continuing Adventures of Space Dad Cat! Let's just say, a certain cockpit is not quite as empty as the paladins believe... "Highly improbable. Especially for this reality," he haughtily said with a self important air. "The odds of which being: one trillion, seven billion, eight hundred thousand, point three, two, eight, five-" SLAV! New chapter now up! The Voltron Paladins play "Dungeons and Dragons!" Poor Hunk tries to save his campaign from Lance and Pidge. While Keith and Shiro are helplessly along for the ride. Let the craziness begin! Deep character exploration. Friendship, Humor, Team as family! My Comments: Crack alert! This story is super fun, and I’m not just saying that because the most recent chapter has the kids playing DnD with Lance as a bard and Pidge as a rogue, nope, not at all.

The Pizza One by taylor_tut Words: 1,268 Author’s Summary: Like four people requested an AU where Lance is a pizza delivery man and delivers a pizza to the other paladins (modern, college AU) while running a very high fever. They make sure he gets taken care of. My Comments: This author just uploaded a whole CATALOGUE of Lance sickfics, so yeah, definitely check the author profile if you’re in the mood for a whole bunch of short fics featuring Lance injured, sick, feverish, or otherwise in need of care. I certainly enjoyed reading through the whole bunch. Picking this one out as my favorite for the way the others take in lonely, sick Lance who is just working way too hard and needs someone to look out for him. I love it.

Senmō by TheOtakuWithHazelEyes Words: 4,399 Author’s Summary: While under the effects of an alien fever, Shiro dreams of another time when he was sick. Confused and ill, he cries out for the only person he thinks can aid him- his mother. (A moment of Shiro bonding with the paladins stemming from him being sick, and a look into his thoughts.) My Comments: Really sweet hurt/comfort for Shiro, and some backstory that is poignant and lovely.

Day at the Beach by JackieNeedsMoreSleep Words: 1,804 Author’s Summary: The team takes the day off to go to the beach but Pidge has to deal with Lance and some other asshole's shit. My Comments: Really cute, fun teamfic.

Intrinsic by buttered_onions Words: 1,219 Author’s Summary: The first time Shiro felt the Force. My Comments: Miss Onions just writes the BEST AUs, gah. This is full of powerful moments. I’m so proud of wee Padawan Shiro.

Lost in the Fog by oldmythologies for melonbug Words: 2,395 Author’s Summary: Each one of them gives him something on his way back to them. My Comments: Great take on what happened to Shiro in the S2 finale and how the others get him back.

Allura's Twelve by windscryer Words: 2,217 Author’s Summary: The Paladins learn that while there are a great many differences between Earth and Altean culture, movie genres are not one of them. Some things are just universal. My Comments: Cute, fluffy teamy goodness. Just a pleasure to read.

Part of the Team by wingedflower Words: 3,785 Author’s Summary: After a training session gone terribly wrong, Lance finally reaches his breaking point. Luckily, Coran knows exactly what to say. My Comments: I just really really really love downhearted Lance and supportive Coran, gah, just give me all of it, just pour it over me, it’s SO GOOD.

Sweets at 7am by JackieNeedsMoreSleep Words: 1,223 Author’s Summary: Keith walks into the kitchen to find his friends baking. My Comments: Really cute, fluffy teamfic.

Emergency Lessons by Kalira Words: 3,210 Author’s Summary: Pidge, Lance, and Keith land in several 'emergencies' and pull each other through them. My Comments: Really lovely teamfic with a trio you don’t usually see put together. The second chapter was my favorite, but it’s all absolutely delightful.

Five Times: Keith and the Dads of Marmora by EdgarAllenPoet Words: 4,816 Author’s Summary: [Bonus, one time it literally saved his life and he really didn't have a choice but to roll with it]. So actually, this is a 'seven times' fic, but that doesn't quite have the same ring to it." 'If you want to rest more, I will stay. You are safe.' Keith wondered quietly how the person talking to him now was possibly the same leader he’d met at the Blade of Marmora." My Comments: I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. Parts are funny and parts are poignant, but it’s all good start to finish. Favorite line: “Antok, listen. Listen, Antok. They are toddlers.”

and yet by achieving elysium (Ogygia) Words: 1,194 Author’s Summary: After the Castle of Lions is reclaimed from Sendak, Coran finds himself left alone to his thoughts— guilt and sorrow for children who do not belong in a war. written for voltron angst week on tumblr | day one: smile My Comments: Oh man, Coran angst always gets me in the throat. Really good stuff.

7 Times They Noticed by the_unoriginal_fox Words: 5,549 (WIP 5/7) Author’s Summary: Lance was alright. He was happy. He was fine. Except when he wasn't.“Listen. Are you alright?” “Uh…are you alright?” “Are you okay buddy?” “Are…are you in good health, paladin?" Are…are you okay, paladin?" "Hey. You okay?"His team mates, his second family - they noticed. My Comments: It’s a genfic with Lance being supported by his entire team. I love it.

The Great Escape by Eastofthemoon Words: 2,619 Author’s Summary: Keith did not like being cold, but he hated being chased by the Galra even more. My Comments: The latest installment in one of my favorite Voltron fanfic series. Read it all if you haven’t before.

Previously Recced Fics That Updated:

Love and Other Questions by squirenonny familiar by achieving elysium (Ogygia) When You Reach Me by writterings Shifting Sands by Cardigan_Quincy A Dream Away by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Here Stands a Man by awkwardCerberus A Song of Storm and Ice by BreakTheDawn Gate Keeper by MoonlitPaladin (MoonlitStardust) for cupcakelevi Masks by TiedyedTrickster As Color Fades Away by IcyPanther Must Surely Be Learning by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions) Someplace Like Home by squirenonny The Meadows of Asphodel by Genesister (papirini) (now complete) Taking One For The Team by ShiningRegalia Little Lions by MidnightCreator (now complete) Truce by kyanve This Is New by TheHomestuckWhovian The Garden of Heaven by Genesister (papirini) It's Getting Darker But I'll Carry On by CamsthiSky A Million Stars Apart by SerenePhenix Coming Undone by Emerald_Ashes

[scarletkate1881]

Coming Down - Chapter Three

A/N: If you’re reading, THANK YOU! And don’t be a stranger, send some requests if you want. I just want friends.

Promise

To say I’d become rusty may be a huge understatement, after only twenty minutes of basic training in the Danger Room I’m out of breath and have a stitch in my right side. Sweaty and panting, I watch as my fellow teammates whiz by me; Colossus charging full speed toward the “Sentinel” while Kurt pops up here, there and everywhere. Thankfully, Gambit was nowhere to be seen, I wonder if he’d just skipped or if he just didn’t have to practice alongside the rest of the team.

It’s not like I just sat on my ass while I was away, I did go running most days when I could be bothered, maybe I should have joined a boxing class or something.

“Rogue, I know you’ve just came back, but we can’t have anyone here lacking; get it together!” Cyclops shouted from the other side of the room before turning on his optic blasts and propelling a flying Sentinel into the ceiling before it came crashing back down.

“I know,” I muttered, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to hear me, but I did try to get back into the action.

Gaining control of my powers had come with other perks; the powers I’d absorbed I could call upon, at least the ones that I’d had the most exposure to, like Wolverine’s and Magneto’s. So, channeling the old bucket head himself, I pulled his abilities to the front of my mind.

It. Felt. Amazing. Just to feel the metal around me, it made the hairs on my arms and on the back of my neck stand up, while also giving me chills. The fact that I could tear this room in two filtered through my mind, and I’m not sure that those thoughts could be solely blamed on Magneto.

I scoured the room, looking for who needed the help most. My eyes landed on Jubilee, who still wasn’t allowed to go out on proper missions as Summers didn’t think she was ready.

Easily, I lifted myself into the air, going higher and higher until I was eye-level with the thirty-foot Sentinel; it’s focus was on the small girl who was throwing harmless firecrackers at it. So, I raised my hands and extended the power to grasp the metal giant.

“Might want to move, Jubes!” I called down, I didn’t look to see if she heeded my advice, I kept my eyes on the robot as I concentrated on stripping away it’s iron shell from its face; it was easy, like pulling down wallpaper. I got the sudden instinct to clench my fists, so I did.

The thirty-foot metal monster crumpled like it was nothing but paper; the yells and bangs behind me stopped as the ball of jagged iron fell to the ground with a loud crash. As I lowered myself to the ground I could feel their eyes on me and hear the whispering.

I took a deep breath as I worked on pushing Magneto back into his cell before I turned around and faced them with a smile on my face. “If Sinister’s anything like this, I think we’re in with a chance,” Keep smiling, stay confident, you totally meant to do that. I moved some of my white fringe back behind my ear. “I might just be this team’s lucky charm.”

“That was awesome!” Bobby exclaimed with a wide smile on his face; Scott and Jean didn’t seem to share this opinion if their worried looks were anything to go by.

“And that brings a close to this session, go clean up everybody, same time tomorrow.” Scott instructed, his eyes still on me, so I knew he probably want me to stay behind.

It took a few minutes for everyone to filter out and for the simulation to shut down, so we were just standing in a bare metal dome room. So, I was left facing Summers and Grey, the main team leaders.

“Rogue, I get that you want to help, but using those types of powers could go wrong; we don’t know how much hold you have over them, they could easily spiral out of control which may cause more harm that good.” Scott spoke slowly, as if he was talking to a child, while I may have been doing work on my social skills, one thing I didn’t even bother trying to change was my quick temper, that would take too much work.

“Don’t you think that’s the reason why Mystique and Xavier wanted me back here? Because I have all of these powers? To maybe give you guys a slight advantage? I’m practically a one-woman army here!”

“That’s really not a good thing, Rogue, remember what happened before when you absorbed too much? Maybe it’s the same if you keep calling up those psyches, if you keep using them they may take over.” Jean, as always, trying to be the calm voice of reason with a soothing smile.

“Fine, I’ll just rely on being a leech and knocking people out, without giving them a taste of their own medicine, sure, that’s just great.” I muttered as I turned and stalked out of the Danger Room, not waiting to hear either of their responses.

After a blissful shower, I ventured down to the common room, not really wanting to just sit in my temporary room in silence. I was surprised to see only Kurt, Jubilee and Rahne sitting around; then again, I guess now that most of the occupants are in their twenties and have a lot more freedom than they did when they were teenagers, they’d be out doing other stuff, rather than just sitting around watching TV or playing video games.

Maybe it was because this place didn’t house as many people as it used to; from dinner last night, I’d heard talk that Sam, Amara and Ray had left, they stayed in contact with some people here, but they were either back with their families or doing their own thing. I wasn’t too sure about Jamie or Sunspot. And those were just the people I knew during my time here, I knew from Logan that for the first two years after I left, there had been an influx of mutant children passing through the doors of Xavier’s, yet none had remained after the school was shut down, not that I could really blame them.

Jubes and Rahne were busy reading celeb trash magazines and gossiping, while Kurt was raptly watching some cartoon, from what I could gather in the couple of seconds I was taking in the scene, it was about a grandfather and grandson going through portals.

“Hey Rogue, what you did in training was awesome!” Jubilee exclaimed when she noticed me in the doorway.

“It’s too bad Cyke and Grey didn’t think so,” I muttered as I sat next to Kurt on the couch, he barely even acknowledged me, too captivated with the TV.

“They’re both stressed out, you know, with the whole Sinister thing and the wedding,” Rahne said almost absentmindedly while flipped through her magazine with a bored expression.

“Scott and Jean are getting married?” I wasn’t sure if the cold feeling that washed over me was from the jealousy that Scott and Jean were really in love, even though I thought my infatuation with Scott was over, or maybe it was due to the fact that yet again, Jean was getting everything that I always wanted but never could get, and I don’t mean Scott; just anybody who would love you enough to want to marry you.

“Oh yeah, they’ve been engaged for about three years, though, Jean kept putting it off but this time they’ve really started to get everything together; she’s even got her dress sorted, I’m not much of a fan of it, I preferred another one she tried, but apparently, she values Kitty’s opinion more than mine, but you know, whatever.” Jubilee ended bitterly.

“So, they’ve set a date?”

“Oh yeah, October 12th, so save the date!”

I restrained myself from making the point that I probably wouldn’t get an invite, and even if I did, I wouldn’t really want to go; hopefully, I’ll be out from here by then. Instead, I turned my attention to my fuzzy blueberry of a brother.

“Kurt, don’t suppose you want to do something? I feel like I’m gonna go crazy if I just sit and stare at a wall.”

“We can play pool?” Kurt offered, finally ungluing his eyes from the television set with a hopeful expression; I guess it wasn’t really that common for me to actively want to do something social and it must have taken him by surprise.

“Sure, just don’t raise the stakes too high; wouldn’t want to swindle you out of your comic book collection.”

I jinxed myself, that’s the only explanation that I could think of after the third game Kurt beat me at. Pool had always been my game! Mainly down to the number of hours I used to play it alone; when I was a child, Mystique used to visit this friend of hers and because they were talking business, I’d have to find something to do; it was a big house however most of the rooms were sparsely furnished, but there was a room with just a pool table, I’d play for hours, normally having to stand on a beer crate to be able to reach the table. I’d even been able to score me some food money in California by betting against drunks in grimy dive bars.

“Since I am clearly the king of the table, I deserve a reward,” Kurt proclaimed with a victorious, goofy smile.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have much to offer, would you take seven dollars?” While it may have sounded like I was joking, it was the truth, I’d spent most of my money just getting here.

Kurt pretended to consider my offer for a moment. “As tempting as that is, I’d prefer something else. I want you to do something for me.”

I visibly braced myself, expecting him to ask me to get revenge for him against Bobby for something stupid or maybe something more demeaning. “And that would be?”

“I want you to make me a promise; that you’re not just going to disappear when this is over, if you need to get away, please tell me and stay in contact,” he took a pause, but before I could respond he started again. “I’d also like you to give Mystique a chance – “

“Now hold on a moment,” I interjected, but he carried on.

“I know you don’t trust her and knowing what I know, I don’t blame you, but I’d like to think you trust me, so when I say that I believe that she has changed, that she does want to be part of our lives in a positive way, that you’ll accept it.”

There was only a couple of seconds of silence, but it felt like hours. Kurt was staring at me with pleading eyes; I sighed loudly, I really must have changed in the years I’d been away from here, because in the past his puppy eyes never worked.

“You asked for a reward, not two,”

“I won three games, so really, I still have another one to claim, but don’t worry, I think I’ve asked enough for one day, I’ll just wait for the right time for my last one. But please, Rogue, she wants us to be a proper family.”

A proper family? And what in the world is one of those? Are we gonna have dinner together and talk about our day? Go on vacation and play board games? My face must have given away my thoughts, as I saw Kurt’s shoulders slump and he lowered his gaze to the ground.

“I understand, I know – “

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise you more than that. I’ll spend time with Mystique with you, but if she thinks we’re gonna go on shopping trips and have girlie days out, then she’s got another thing coming.”

“No, no, that’s enough for me,” Kurt’s smile was like nothing I’d ever seen before, he was practically glowing. “Can I – uh – can I hug you?”

I didn’t even have to think about it, I set down the pool cue I’d been leaning on and walk around the table to him; he didn’t waste any time in enveloping me in an almost bone crushing hug.

When we parted he looked serious again. “I want you to say that you promise.”

“I already did,” I argued lightly, he just raised his eyebrow and waited. “Fine, I promise won’t disappear and I promise I’ll try to get along with Mystique as long as you’re in the same room.”

“Danke, Schwester. And now, my stomach is telling me it’s time to eat.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to pinky promise, just to solidify this agreement?”

Again, Kurt pretended to think about my offer. “No, I think I’ll trust you this time.”

I let myself smile as he bamfed off in search for food. Kurt trusting me is all well and good, but I couldn’t whole heartedly say that I could stick to my promise, mostly because I don’t believe that Mystique has changed, I wondered if she gave him the same speech she did with me and he was foolish enough to believe it.

Shaking my head, I set about setting the table back up, even though I was usually the only one considerate enough to think about the next person wanting to play. As I did, a thought popped up in my head; if I was about to accept Mystique back in my life, I should probably reconnect with Irene; I still thought of her as my mother, even though she knew what Mystique wanted from me and didn’t try to help me, she was still the one who gave me the most love and affection.

Back for only two days and already I’ve thrown myself into a tangle; it was sure to drain me, I was already fully aware of that being the case when I decided to come back here, this place had a really good way of making people face up to their problems. Makes me remember why I left in the first place.