I am humbly placing all blame for this on bastardchum
You're the best bby
shit writing is under cut, I'm gonna go hide under a blanket now also insults are surprisingly harder to come up with?
Color of Every Day
He was seeing red.
Then again, he supposed it could easily be the cut above his eyes that steadily bled warm blood down over his glasses and into his eyes. Or the messy streak smeared across his nose. Or maybe even the metallic, unappealing taste that slipped past his lips and into his mouth. Yeah, it was all easily identifiable as the nasty signatures of a brutal fight all over his face, but Mark preferred to be vain about it and translate it the overwhelming anger digging into him.
After all, if Mort could do it, then why the fuck couldn’t he?
The thought alone made the blonde teen bunch up against his seat with a deep frown creasing his features. It went ignored by the fucking fatass sitting next to him—which didn’t particularly improve Mark’s mood. In his rage, all he could think about was how this new fight would just cycle back to the usual life they all lived. He could already see in his mind’s eye as Mort somehow managed to pretend none of this happened as he held up his next stupid, tasteless anime on a bloated pedestal. How he ended up SOMEHOW getting them all in trouble again. How the fat bastard would get them sitting outside of the school councilor’s office in those hard, plastic, dirty chairs while covered in blood.
Of course they had been the only ones send to the councilor’s office, Mark thought irritably. Dave had basically just sat there again, messing with his computer, and Clyde had just stared with his mouth open like a fawn caught in the headlights of a damn semi. Meanwhile Mark and Mort had pounded the everloving shit out of each other because of…God, Mark didn’t even remember this time. It happened too much for him to even pinpoint the specifics anymore. Probably something to do with that shit show Cardcaptor Sakura.
“You know.” Mark said grimly, ignoring his greater whims to just shut the fuck up. Mort barely shifted his head to acknowledge that the tall blonde had spoken. “I was never stuck here in a dirty-ass chair in front of the councilor’s office before I met YOUR fat ass.”
“Cry me a river, you dickless motherfucker.” Mark couldn’t help but roll his eyes; ah, Mort. Always one with words.
“That doesn’t even make sense. Besides, if anyone here is dickless, it’s you.” Mark sneered. “Why don’t you go watch your ‘deep’ show for pussies? Maybe it’ll fill in that gap in your pants.”
“Don’t you fucking start.”
“I’ll start whatever I want.” Mark snapped, rising from his chair with his hands balled into fists. Mort bothered to actually look at him full on now—one of the lens in the fat boy’s glasses was broken out, and his nose looked broken. None of the blood and broken parts could detract from the visible frown and narrowed eyes, though. “I figured after the damn incident with that Smegma Princess DVD and the Japanimation Club that you would grow the FUCK up, but I guess that’s too much to ask!”
“The fuck is your reason for coming back, then?!” Mort nearly screamed, jumping out of his own chair to stand menacingly in front of Mark. Or at least, as menacingly as he could manage being completely unthreatening and a head shorter than his supposed enemy.
“I…!” Mark paused, fists untightening for a moment—he was never prepared for that question. He had a plethora of answers, of course, from having been asked so many times (from Amy to Dave to even fucking Tony, the latter whom he had run into by accident).
He hated the Japanimation Club.
He wanted to be involved in some club.
The Anime Club was there and it wasn’t the Japanimation Club.
The shit that Dave and Mort had pulled at the Nuclear Pop meeting had been top notch.
He wasn’t sure if he could sit through another marathon of Naruto.
But those were all fucking stupid reasons. Mark had known that every time he answered their questions. Those who asked accepted the response (since he was just another one of those idiots from the Anime Club) so Mark could at least pretend he accepted it too. But Mort wasn’t going to buy his bullshit. Especially since the blonde teen had just stood there for a good minute staring blankly at the teen in front of him.
“You don’t even KNOW, do you, fucker.” Mort said smugly, snapping Mark back to a more cognitive state. He narrowed his eyes.
“Yeah? What’s your damn point? What IF I don’t know?” He barked. Mort was unimpressed; he just crossed his arms as if he felt some sort of superiority in the situation. The taller teen stabbed his finger against the other’s chest, closing in on him enough to smell the bitter yet sickly sweet scent of the fat bastard’s blood. “I SHOULD have kept on giving up on your fat ass but I DIDN’T! God knows I would’ve been better off! But you know what, Mort?! You fucking know what?! I didn’t, I joined back up because I knew someone needed to be around to babysit your sorry ass!”
Mort wasn’t often stunned into silence. But standing in the middle of the ugly hallway, next to the sickly yellow plastic chairs, with Mark’s bloody and wounded face right up in his own…it was one of the few times the malicious teen didn’t have at least the ability to scream back that Mark was a fuckhead. That the blonde should go suck a dick or fuck a razor blade. So they just stood there, dumbly, in the middle of the empty hall, staring stupidly at each other and intaking that tinny stench of blood slowly drying on both their faces.
“…I can’t fucking leave.” Mark finally broke the silence. “I don’t fucking know why.”
“That’s stupid.” Mort managed.
“It really is.” Mark breathed in deeply; the outburst had somehow managed to calm him slightly. Not much, but just a bit. “It really is. If I got away, if I bolted, then I probably wouldn’t spent my whole fucking life babysitting your dumb ass. But at this point it looks like no matter what I do with my life, I’m still going to end up doing this shit with you.”
“If you’re looking for an apology, I suggest you look elsewhere.” Mort replied.
“You are such a fucker.”
“Just get it over with, you bastard. No one ELSE is gonna do it to either of us at this point. Not with our easily accessible records.”
Mark groaned explicatives under his breath, wiped the blood of his lips, and smashed his mouth against the shorter boy.
It was awkward. He wasn’t even going to begin to try and say it wasn’t awkward. Being a head taller than Mort did him no benefits, knees bending slightly to continue…this dumb shit they were both now encouraging. The aggressive teen below him certainly wasn’t helping, either; within seconds it turned into a bruising war for superiority with Mort pushing him backwards against the wall. The blonde was not about to take that shit. He smacked Mort’s hand away from his chest, drew back for a breath, and shoved him against the opposing wall to reconnect.
And it could never cease to piss him off that he could feel the smug smirk spreading across Mort’s lips.
Before he could say anything, though, they both heard the creak of the councilor’s door accompanied by the sound of wood hitting cold hallway tiles. Both looks up to a rather shocked councilor, her eyes wide in confusion. The three simply stood there for a moment before clearing her throat and reaching down, with a shaking hand, to pick up her clipboard. The two boys nervously backed away from each other with matching humiliated expressions.
“Boys.” The councilor said in what seemed to be an effort at a stern tone. It didn’t hold up; her shock was still very apparent. “Get in my office. Now. It appears we have a lot to speak about.”
And they finally managed to share the same thought on a situation, for the first time in a long time.
