Hello all, and welcome to the October 2018 South Park Drabble Bomb! It’s been a little while since the last time we met up, but hopefully you’ll be ready to come up with some more truly great works!
October 2018: Look to the Future
In direct parallel to the most recent Drabble Bomb, this month is going to be dedicated to something I think we all find ourselves thinking about sometimes- the future! One of the most integral parts of South Park fanfiction is the power to shape these kids’ future, as we very frequently will age them up beyond canon depictions. The prompts for this month challenge you to think of the future however that may manifest, at whatever life stage you may decide to write them; after all, as the writers, we’re able to decide just where our characters stand in relation to time as it passes. Without further ado, here are the prompts chosen for the October 2018 South Park Drabble Bomb.
Day One [10/29]: Dream
Some of our life’s most important moments are predated by a dream. Is your muse motivated by a dream they’ve had since they were little? Did they have a literal dream, which woke them up in a state of panic over the contents? What is your muse dreaming about? Is it some passion they’re pursuing, or one they wish they pursued? Is it about someone specific? Is it happy, sad, or somewhere in between?
Day Two [10/30]: Psychic
Perhaps one of the quirkier options in the list, ‘psychic’ refers to the ability, or person, capable of looking into the future. Does this mean your muse has the ability to see what’s to come? Are they a fake, or are they for real? Is psychic ability possible, and is it believable? Is your muse forced to think about the possibilities of their future, when faced with someone who might know what it contains?
Day Three [10/31]: Omen
Today is Halloween, and what could be spookier than a bad omen? Is your muse disturbed by what they consider a harbinger of doom for their future? Are they superstitious, or do they deny its significance? On the other hand, is the omen good? Why is this thing significant to your muse? Why does it mean what they think it does? Could it be the terms of a curse, or the start of a blessing?
Day Four [11/1]: Time
Time is what moves us all toward our future. What about time is causing your muse distress, or elation? Are they happy that time will keep moving forward, or troubled? Is there something they want to prevent that’s yet to come? A sci-fi take would be fun too- is time-traveling involved? What moment in time does your muse want to change, and why?
Day Five [11/2]: Wish
When we make wishes, we think of the things we want to happen to us in the future. What does your muse wish for? Why are they wishing? Is this a tender moment, or perhaps even a tense one? Is your muse wishing for something good or something bad? Are they wishing for themselves or someone else? Is this about someone else’s wish, which your muse finds out about? Is it something even possible to achieve?
Here’s my offering for the @spdrabblebomb prompt decade!
Predominantly Craig focused but there’s some light Creek.
Just a story about Craig and all his Stripes throughout the years.
On ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14765684/chapters/34146584
Drabble Track - Sixteen - Lucy Camp
I Don't Wanna Be Sixteen Again I’m Just Nostalgic
Craig has been a keen owner of Guinea pigs since age eight. He used to hang around the pet store while his mother ran errands a couple of stores down. He’d place his chubby little hands on the glass and peer in at them as they waddled around the cage going about their day. He wanted one more than he wanted the new season of Red Racer on DVD or maybe, even more than he wanted a telescope, to look up at the stars.
But his Parents said no, both to the Guinea pig and the telescope. They said that he was too young to be responsible for either of them. That didn’t stop him from asking, though. He begged almost every day for a year, and on his eighth birthday, his tired parents finally gave in.
He woke up to find a small cage in the middle of their living room with a tiny, squeaking fluffball inside. An all-black baby with only a singular white stripe across its nose. Craig was almost too scared to pick the baby up: what if he broke it? He remembered the instructions from one of the books on Guinea pig care he read religiously, in an effort to try and convince his parents that he was responsible enough to take care of one. He gently picked up the baby, making sure all four legs and its bottom were supported before he nestled it to his chest.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” He asked.
It is, in fact, a girl. Craig and his family find that out for sure when Craig peers into her cage one day to see Stripe (Craig wasn’t very creative with names), and two smaller Stripes wheeking up at him for breakfast.
Craig has to cover his mouth to stop himself from shrieking with excitement. (Loud noises scare Guinea pigs, one of the many things he recently learnt about them.)
He goes bounding down the stairs from his bedroom into the kitchen to where his mother’s packing their school lunches for the day.
“Stripe had babies, Mom!” It’s the most animated Craig’s sounded in a good while. Well, probably since he got Stripe, at the very least.
“She what?”
“She had two babies! Look!” Craig excitedly grabs her hand with his own little one and tugs. Laura Tucker obliges, bewildered that her son’s Guinea pig has somehow managed to multiply.
(When they call the pet shop they got Stripe from, they get a bored teenager who tells them that it’s hard to tell when a Guinea pig is pregnant. Thomas and Laura know there’s no way they can take Stripe back for a refund now. Craig is attached.)
That afternoon, Craig borrows a book about caring for Guinea Pig babies at the library. He decides to name the babies “Stripe #2” and “Stripe #3”, and his parents give up on any idea of giving them away.
All three (all girls, by some kind of freak of nature) die suddenly and together not long after Craig has turned ten. Craig strongly suspects foul play, but he can’t prove it. His parents blame it on the temperature, but Craig doesn’t buy it.
All he can do is try not to cry about it in front of his friends, lest they label him a crybaby like Clyde. According to all the books he immersed himself in after becoming a Guinea pig owner, two years isn’t a particularly long life for a Guinea pig, and that makes him very sad. For all he could see, they were just happy, furry goofballs who had never done anything wrong in their short lives.
Why did his pets have to die? Why couldn’t it have been someone else’s, someone who didn’t care as much? Or why couldn’t they at least have been older? It doesn’t feel right or fair.
Despite the fact that Craig called him a crybaby countless times, Clyde still comes over and helps him make drawings to mark their graves. Clyde later takes those drawings and gets them laminated for Craig, so they’ll still be there after the rain.
Craig doesn’t call Clyde a crybaby again after that.
Craig starts dating Tweek before deciding to get a new Guinea pig. He hadn’t meant to; they’re only ten and have no idea what they’re doing, but it seems to make everyone around them happy. Tweek’s not so bad himself, not really, it’s nice to be spending so much time with someone he genuinely likes and doesn’t feel like he needs to impress all the time. Craig discovers that’s one upside to dating Tweek instead of girls. Girls seem to have these expectations of him that he could never hope to meet. He’s supposed to not play in the dirt? No way! At least Tweek is there, playing in the muck with him, which is much more fun in his opinion.
Tweek knows Craig is sad about Stripe and her babies. So sad that he hasn’t even thrown away their cage or any of their toys. Craig is pretty sure that his parents aren’t going to let him have another one anyway. Tweek is nice to him about it, though. He takes Craig to the movies, and offers him his leftover fries when they go to McDonalds afterwards. He holds his hand a lot, which is more helpful than Craig expected.
When they head past the pet store, Tweek stops, and they both end up hovering out front for a few crucial seconds. “Can we look?” Tweek asks, and Craig shrugs.
Tweek wants to look at Guinea pigs. Craig tries not to fall in love with a particular tricolour—one with a white stripe across their nose.
“Do you like that one?” Tweek asks him. “I want to get you -nnn- one you like.”
“You want to get me what?” Craig frowns. There’s no way his Mom will just let him bring home another Guinea pig.
“I’ve been saving up… you seemed so -ah- sad. Your Mom and Dad said I could. As long as I got a boy.”
“Oh,” Craig says, dumbly. “I like that one, yeah.”
He doesn’t say thank you in words—but in the way he holds Tweek’s hand the whole way home.
Craig comes home with his first boy Guinea pig in a cardboard box. There won’t be any surprise babies this time, but Craig is sure both he and Tweek can be enough to entertain Stripe #4.
Stripe #4 passes when Craig and Tweek are teenagers. Just on the cusp of making their relationship more real, more genuine. Not just two little kids play-dating because that’s what they saw their parents do. At least Craig has had the label ‘gay’ slapped on him since he was ten, so he doesn’t feel so weird about wanting to kiss Tweek for real.
Craig has braces, and Tweek is a little chubby around the middle, but Craig figures at least they can go through their awkward stage together.
The vet suspects cancer, which is very common in rodents, and Craig is inclined to agree. Tweek promises over and over that it was nothing Craig did and that even the best care can’t prevent something like cancer. Craig still feels guilty anyway. Tweek bought Stripe #4 for him, and Craig hasn’t kept him alive very long at all. Five years is a good run, but this Stripe had only gotten to have four.
Craig makes Stripe #4 a marker for his grave in woodwork, and Tweek lovingly bedazzles it. They add it to the Guinea pig cemetery in Laura’s flower beds and sit in silence as a tribute. Craig rests his head on Tweek’s shoulder, and Tweek holds him close so that any nosy neighbors won’t see him cry.
When they decide to get Stripe #5 (there’s no discussion on what he will be named), they go together. They also pay together, half and half - it feels weirdly adult. Craig feels like it’s a commitment even if they’re only fifteen and clueless. Their only condition is that they have to get a boy again: Craig’s parents are still scarred from the surprise baby debacle and will not chance a girl ever again.
“That one looks like he has hat hair!” Tweek exclaims, pointing to a small boy with black and white fur, a white stripe along his nose, and an impressive-looking crest. Craig doesn’t correct him regarding the crest, and instead laughs along with him.
“He looks small,” Craig says. “Do you think he’s okay?”
“I think he’ll be just fine if someone who really -hnn- cares takes him home with them,” Tweek replies, knowingly. After nearly five years together, Tweek can read him like a damn book, and Craig has a love-hate relationship with that fact.
“Okay then,” Craig says. “I want him then, if you do?”
Tweek does, although he argues on the way home that they should have named him Pepe Le Pew.
At eighteen, ten years after he set his eyes on Stripe #1 in all her glory, Craig and Tweek have a huge decision to make. Sure, applying for colleges and choosing your future is super hard, but for Craig the most agonising part is deciding what to do with Stripe #5. He’s three years old, and as far as Craig can tell, he’s perfectly healthy and thriving. He’s doubled in size since they first brought him home as a tiny runt who could fit nicely in Craig’s palm. They could take him along, but that would mean they’d have to find a pet-friendly apartment. Living on campus would also be completely ruled out. It narrows their accommodation options by a lot.
Craig thinks maybe it might be better if they leave him behind. Craig and Tweek could always come back to visit him during their holidays - Craig’s bedroom in South Park is all he really knows, and Craig isn’t sure that it would be kind to move him somewhere else potentially hours away.
When Tricia offers to take him, Craig breathes a secret sigh of relief.
He feels, in an odd way, he’s passing the baton to her. Maybe she’ll become as avid a Guinea pig lover as him. Maybe in the future, Craig and Tweek will get another Guinea pig once they’ve finished college and have a place all their own.
That doesn’t mean Craig still doesn’t shed a tear as he and Tweek bundle their things into Tweek’s hand-me-down car. Tweek holds his hand over the console as they drive away, without their beloved Stripe #5.
Prompt: PDA
Words: 1880
My only entry for this @spdrabblebomb… It’s very late since I was feeling pretty unwell this week, but I still wanted to do just a little something ;v;
An absent-minded person Kyle usually was not, but he was certainly finding himself drifting in and out of some kind of daze. He supposed it was possibly the weather, since earlier it snowed and often that left most people a bit lethargic if not scattered. Either way, Kyle couldn’t complain since fresh snow had a sort of romantic affect on things, and he was quite partial to that idea, though he wasn’t going to admit it. Definitely not today.
When Kenny opened his passenger door, Kyle went to nudge the volume on the radio down a few notches to greet him. “Hey,” he chirped, watching the other climb in and buckle up. “You still want to go see the same movie we agreed on, right?”
“Uh huh,” Kenny sounded.
Nodding, Kyle pulled off from the McCormick’s house easily. With the roads mostly cleared, the ride over to the movie theater would be relatively calm. It wasn’t very far before Kyle felt a prickling sensation on his neck, though, that sense of eyes on him weighing on the moment of silence. Glancing over, Kyle caught Kenny staring, his mouth mostly covered by the collar of his zipped parka.
His hand shifting and re-gripping the steering wheel, Kyle goes out on a limb. “What?” he asks.
“Nothin’,” Kenny answered in a peculiar way, as if knowing something that made his response sound just slightly too teasingly sweet, but he only sat back quietly in his seat for the rest of the trip.
They sauntered in from the cold and into the warm theater, stopping in front of the concessions after receiving their tickets to decide on what to get for a snack. Kyle griped about the overpriced popcorn before looking to Kenny. “Well, what do you want to do?”
“I could split the pay on one?”
“No, no, that’s okay. I want to pay,” Kyle insists. “How about we forget popcorn anyways and just grab some candy and drinks?”
Kenny leaned in a little closer. “So, you’re up for something sweet instead of salty today?”
Pursing his lips at the other, Kyle favors stepping forward in line instead of giving an answer. Without even seeing it, he knew Kenny was smiling at him.
They found their seats toward the back of the room, the prime spot to be for avoiding any distractions. The red chairs squeaked when they sat down, and soon the movie came on, booming over the speakers and pushing them into that nostalgic sense of anticipation. Kenny liked anything with some action in it, and Kyle found himself becoming interested too, making sure not to talk much as the plot of the film really started getting underway.
Kyle was curious if Kenny was also getting into it. He glanced over, only to see that Kenny was already avidly gazing at him as though he were the screen instead, his eyes seeming almost glassy in the glow of the movie.
“What?” Kyle asked again, this time more intently.
“Nothing,” Kenny answered, softly giggling afterward at what Kyle could only imagine was the incredulous look he wore on his face.
Dusk had fallen by the time they emerged from the theater, streetlights clicking on all across town. They zippered their jackets back up to brace the colder temperatures, heading back to the modest vehicle that was Kyle’s mother’s car. Kyle felt that the colder air was refreshing, though, noticing that small snow crystals sometimes swept up with the occasional gust of wind, that Kenny’s eyes crinkled when the sparkling particles tried to cling to his lashes. The contour of Kenny’s profile was flattering when Kyle caught that moment, and Kyle had to subtly look away. He didn’t want to let on that he was observing so closely.
“So…” Kyle spoke up into the night air. Though he felt it was putting him in the position of some type of self-fulfilling prophecy, he didn’t quite want their time together to end yet. “You want to walk around for awhile or something, dude? Go look at the shops?”
“Oh, really spoilin’ me this time, huh?” Kenny coos quietly, peering over his shoulder at him, but his tone shines with a genuine interest as he goes on. “Yeah, dude. We can go look around.”
They head toward a nearby shopping district, where people were walking around a kind of strip mall of small shops and restaurants. Kyle parks in the parking lot near a café, appreciating how Kenny’s silence gave him a second to think.
Once out of the car, they walk aimlessly together past the few storefronts that were lit, salt and snow crunching under their shoes. The loose shoelaces of Kenny’s boots tapped as they bounced off the leather, and his keys gently jingled from within the confines of his pockets like always. Kyle studied Kenny’s passing reflection in the windows, feeling as though it was fitting the way his slim body flowed between the panels. Things felt so easy with Kenny. Maybe too easy.
Kyle snapped out of his thoughts as he felt some kind of small object pelt him lightly in the back, turning to realize Kenny had thrown a tiny snowball at him. He stops to snicker at his companion, watching Kenny kick around in some snow looking for another chunk worth throwing. “Hey. If you want to start a fight you’re picking a bad place to do it.”
Kenny’s nose scrunches up in mirth, stepping into the foot of smooth snow that had remained untouched thanks to being at the end of the road, away from traffic. “Dude, we used to go apeshit over so much snow like this,” he recalls.
As if it were just calling to him to be laid in, Kenny flops back into the snow, sinking into the surface.
“Oh god,” Kyle laughs as Kenny moves his arms to create a quick, makeshift snow angel. It seemed fun, he could give it that at least. “Kenny, you’re going to get wet…”
When Kenny stood, the imprint he left behind was so large in hindsight of what they’d create as kids, it only made it more amusing.
“Well now he’s going to be lonely, dude,” Kyle points out. Knowing they couldn’t have that, he quickly lies back in the snow himself, pushing it out and away with his arm span and legs. Grunting, he pulls himself up, brushing off his jacket as they check out his work.
“Call me sacrilegious, but that’s one hot angel,” Kenny chimes in cheekily.
“You would know,” Kyle mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing. Let’s head back and keep going…” Kyle crosses his arms tightly as the cold begins to seep into him, especially now that they took a detour of playing in the snow. “It’s getting pretty chilly, anyway. Maybe we can grab a coffee from that café?”
“Yeah, I’m down for it,” Kenny assures.
With the sky now dark, the café was blindingly bright for a moment when Kyle pulled open the door. Inside, Kyle ordered himself a latte and a hot chocolate with whipped cream for Kenny. Under the warm yellow colors of the café’s lights, they stood by the window to nurse their piping hot drinks, Kyle feeling that daze dissipating somewhat again.
“Is yours sweet?” Kenny asks, curiously looking down at the frothy foam of Kyle’s uncovered drink.
“I guess you can say that. I get them flavored,” Kyle responds thoughtfully.
Thankfully he was holding the cup up carefully, because Kenny stepped closer and leaned in for a taste. Kyle stood still, awkwardly glancing around at the other distracted patrons of the store before watching Kenny’s lips slowly latch onto the brim of the cup, the liquid rippling against his lip as he took a cautious, small sip.
“It’s not bad.” Kenny admits when he straightens back up. Then he holds out his hot chocolate, offering the much sweeter option to Kyle. “Wanna try mine too?”
“That’s alright –”
“Here.” Kenny brings his warm beverage up to Kyle’s mouth anyways.
If only to make Kenny happy with the gesture, Kyle can’t help but to take a small drink, even though being unprepared left him a bit clumsy in doing so. The mound of whipped cream ends up smudging against his cupid’s bow, of course, despite how hasty he tried to be. Kenny’s hand naturally starts to come up to remedy it, but Kyle goes to swiftly wipe it away with the back of his hand first.
“It’s definitely sweeter…” Kyle shuffles on his feet, having a hard time bringing his gaze back up from his cup with Kenny standing a mere inch away and all. Kenny was making this harder, there was no doubt.
“That’s how I like it.”
“Oh, I know,” Kyle retorts, and Kenny’s sweet, knowing giggle did little in appeasing him and more in making Kyle feel like he was fighting a losing battle.
Coming out from the café, Kyle appears somewhat defeated. They walk elbow to elbow not far before he comes to a slow halt, sighing out through his nose.
“I thought we could go without it, you know,” he says candidly. “Just take a breather. But now, I don’t know what I was thinking…”
Kenny didn’t say anything.
When they planned this date, Kyle had told Kenny that they should try to be more “hands-off” this time. A few too many times they had gotten carried away, and he figured maybe this time they could hold off on getting latched onto each other in public, avoid getting weird looks from strangers and focus on talking, but it only served to just complicate things. Brushing Kenny’s hand away during the movie, avoiding those little affections that would have led to lighthearted kisses – all of that just seemed so unnatural and hard to do, and having suggested such an idea, Kyle couldn’t deny it left him feeling annoyed with himself. “Why do I have to make a big thing out of everything…” he complained.
His head tilted contemplatively, Kenny asks, “Worried about too much of a good thing?”
Kyle felt almost dejected about the situation. He could only simply shrug, laughing in spite of himself and how much truth that question actually held. “I guess…”
An expression comes over Kenny’s features that was faintly more solemn and ardent than expected. “You think too much,” he says.
Of course, Kenny knew, and probably before their date even began. There was no way it could be helped. In fact, Kyle knew the daze he felt had a lot less to do with the weather, and far more to do with the way Kenny made him feel.
“Alright…” Kyle sighs, submitting and reaching out to finally take Kenny’s hand in his.
The contact instantly shifts Kenny’s mood, perking up like the touch had sent a delightful jolt through his whole body. His eyes shined with the big grin that came to his face, and there, outside the café, he pulled Kyle close and started leaving kisses on his cheek, and subsequently, the rest of his face.
“You’re really fucking hamming this up, aren’t you?” Kyle huffed, bracing his hand against Kenny’s arm. Still, he did nothing to stop him, even as people had to maneuver around them on the sidewalk. “Not in the eye though. Kenny… Kenny.”
David has had a crush on Kyle for months that feel like decades. It’s driving him insane, but the taunting of a traditional holiday plant hung pathetically above him might give just the right push to get the boy of his dreams- or, he guesses, embarrass himself to death trying.
Hello my friends! This is a fill for the prompt “Mistletoe” for the November 2017 South Park Drabble Bomb. I hope you enjoy it! My love to @mcnuggyy, @valzilla and the rest of the Kyvid gang for their support! Read it on AO3 here.
Kyle has been standing nine feet away from him for almost ten minutes. He is looking anywhere but at him, but mostly at his own shoes, and David’s palms are getting sweaty and he’s pretty sure he might faint before they even start dinner. They haven’t spoken to each other once and yet they’re locked in conversation; one that neither of them knows how to address, or may even want to, David corrects for his selfish, overeager heart. Still, he can’t help but feel as though Kyle is just as painfully aware of the ceiling as he is.
He’s seen this before. They’ve all seen this before, and it’s part of why David feels so frustrated watching Kyle nurse generic store-brand punch in one hand with his back to the snack table. The music still beats steadily behind them but it’s distant enough not to drown them out if they were to actually speak aloud. They both must know what comes next, David insists to himself, and yet they’re both left pretending they don’t see what’s right above them. It mocks David, hangs merrily beside a light with a bit of fishing line stabbed into the ceiling with a safety pin. It’s shoddy and lame, just like this party, and just like David who has just told himself once more to get a grip and acknowledge the elephant in the room- or mistletoe, as it were.
For a minute he fears that maybe he is over-analyzing Kyle’s every move, because God knows that he’s been doing that for months already. Maybe Kyle truly hasn’t noticed, and David’s upper lip and neck and hands are getting slick with nervous sweat for nothing. Though it’s part of his charm, sometimes David wishes Kyle had a bit more of a clue. The dampness feels cold under his nose and he sniffs, rubbing at it quickly, and he catches Kyle’s swift glance up before it darts back down and hides from him once more. David is surely dying inside.
He wishes this wasn’t hosted by the school. They do this holiday party that’s like dinner and a dance in one each December, and it costs money but they all shell it out for some reason and go like it’s something worth seeing. It never, ever is, and they leave just to make fun of it on Twitter in a few hours, which is the real fun of it. David doesn’t know so well, though. He doesn’t usually go to these things. They never seem worth it when that money could go to something much more important. He’d been coaxed into it this year though, and now here he is, frozen in place with his crush right across from him, awkwardly ignoring him as the traditional command to kiss him signals like an air traffic controller from above.
David sighs.
He lets his shoulders slump, his eyes fall to the floor, and any of his prior confidence deflate. Honestly, they didn’t even spend a lot of time together anymore. Part of that was because David recognized when he was getting in over his head about things and had backed off, but still. There is no excuse for why Kyle gives him such anxiety when he usually finds himself so effortlessly casual with people. He likes a challenge, but he’s not liking them so much anymore. Now he just wants to go home and wallow in his playlist of sad old songs his mother likes to sing along to for the first hour of his usual three hour moping session.
David starts to turn away on a squeaky heel to accept defeat when suddenly there’s a tugging on his arm to keep him in place. He looks back and sees Kyle up close, with his soul-deep green eyes and wrinkled brow and lower lip between his teeth as he nips at it nervously. It’s one of David’s favorite habits that he’s observed in all his time staring in class, because it just looks so cute on him. His braces are charming and they make his smile boyish and sweet, and he loves it. This Kyle is not smiling however, and it wipes the bliss from David’s memories clear.
“W-wait,” he stutters, and as he realizes what he’s done he recoils sharply so that he’s standing up straight and a foot further away from him. Even in the dimmer light David can see that his face and neck are going red, and the bliss is back.
“What?” David asks, because he doesn’t want to be the one to say it, desperately does not want to. Not because he’s too afraid, because he’s totally not, but so it validates some of his feelings just a bit more to hear from the other party. He wants to know for certain that he’s not being pushy, and the best way is to let Kyle take the lead. He also knows that Kyle is so oblivious sometimes that a first move is something impossible to wait for, but maybe this stupid mistletoe will give him the boost he needs. Maybe he’s not crazy. Maybe-
“There’s, um,” Kyle stumbles over his words, and it’s so different from the confident debater that David is used to. It’s cute but he also doesn’t like seeing him uncomfortable. Then Kyle ruins it. “Your tie is messed up,” he says, quietly, and David kind of wishes he’d been able to just walk away, because all the hope in his heart has vanished completely. He looks down and, sure enough, it’s loosened and started to slip down so that it hangs crookedly around his neck. He sighs again and reaches for it, but then realizes he can’t tie it when it’s actually on him and has to take it off to do it right, so he’s stuck. The nervous sweat returns and he’s praying he doesn’t smell, but he doesn’t think he does, especially because he can still smell his father’s cologne on his wrists. Why did he put so much effort into this stupid dance?
“Do you need help?” Kyle asks, just as timidly as when he pointed out the blunder in the first place, and with a genuine flush to his cheeks, David nods. He could do it, if he went to the bathroom or something, but this meant Kyle would have to get close to him, and just the step forward he has to make sends David’s blood rushing through his veins hot and tingly. Kyle reaches for his neck and starts to pull his tie apart and David swallows, hard.
“I don’t know if you’re the same, but I can’t do it on myself, only on a table or something. This is fine though, because it’s not like, on me, so it isn’t reversed,” Kyle babbles, but David doesn’t care because his delicate fingers are inches from his throat and it’s such an oddly intimate sensation that he’s stunned to silence anyway. “I think ties are a bit much to expect from us for these dances, don’t you think? But we always do it. I wonder why we bother. We should all just come in jeans and t-shirts next time. Or better, bring a bunch of glowsticks. What if we just like, flash-mobbed in? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Kyle blinks at him a few times before David realizes that not only is he finished tying his tie, but he’s waiting for him to respond. He still can’t think though, because Kyle’s hands are still resting on his chest, the slightest amount of pressure on his rib cage that combats his quick-breathing lungs. “Yes,” David says, and Kyle looks a bit defeated, because David knows that it’s the weakest response he could have come up with when put on the spot with an angel in the room. “I’m sorry,” he admits, “I actually missed what you said.” He prays he hasn’t screwed things up yet with his idiot mouth.
“I just-” Kyle cuts himself off. “Well,” he tries again, and finally, he snarls in the back of his throat in annoyance. “Ugh, whatever,” he says, and then, he places each hand on David’s shoulders with a bit of force, and leans forward to press their lips together.
It’s less of a press and more of a push, with more force than necessary and their positioning not exactly right and uncomfortable, but eventually David’s brain catches up and he realizes that actually, Kyle Broflovski is kissing him, like, right now. As soon as he makes this revelation he fixes their match-up so that it melts together, and he lets his eyes flutter closed at the same time that Kyle’s do. If there was an angel choir around him, they would be singing Kyle’s name in a heavenly tone that vibrates as quickly as his heart beats. He feels like he might explode and also like he might fall apart at any moment, and when Kyle pulls away from him, David had never thought his lips felt so bare in his life. The first thing he does is pull his hand up quickly to touch his lips where Kyle’s had just been, as though shocked that he’s still here.
Kyle looks very nervously up at him. “That wasn’t for no reason, there’s-”
“Mistletoe,” David breathed, “yeah. I know.”
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t want to do it for no reason too, because I would! Um, I would. I think you’re pretty. Pretty handsome! Is pretty okay? Your eyelashes are so long,” Kyle chatters, his eyes wide and his cheeks cherries, and in the background, David is faintly aware of the music changing. He’s also faintly aware that the rest of the world maybe exists, but he really can’t be bothered to consider anything else when freckled cheeks are blazing and soft lips are bitten, and words are being tossed into the thick air between them with no meaning assigned to them besides how beautiful the music they encompass is to David’s ears.
David takes action, because Kyle is still talking, and looking worse and worse for wear with each syllable he spits out. He cups Kyle’s face in his hands, touching the soft skin of his hot face with just the tips of his fingers and thumbs, and kisses him again. He can practically feel Kyle melting beneath his touch, and he has to wonder just how much sooner he could have lived this reality if he’d gotten his head out of his ass. He could have been doing this exact thing for months, from the first time that Kyle’s ‘good morning’ had him reeling and oh so suddenly gasping for air. It’s been a long time of thinking and fantasizing, and now it’s here, and David is kissing Kyle in the hallway at a dumb school dance that doesn’t matter.
When they disconnect, David watches Kyle’s eyes open slower than his, blinking gently open under auburn lashes that dust the stars on his skin. When they look at his, their green is so brilliantly emphasized by such a perfectly timed green light from the dance floor that he looks ethereal, different, even more lovely than he’d ever daydreamed about. He realizes too late that his hands are still on Kyle’s face, and he brings them to his chest quickly, the nerves making his face burn too. Kyle makes a sound like a giggle, and David’s heart soars.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” he says, embarrassingly shaky, “I’ve just, been thinking about doing that for so long.”
“Really?” Kyle asks, his eyes wide and sparkling, so bright, so wonderful.
David smiles. “Really.”
Kyle leans in closer, grips him by his lapels, and boldly kisses his cheek, chirping into his ear, “Me too.”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/5
Fandom: South Park
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Craig Tucker
Characters: Stan Marsh, Craig Tucker, Kyle Broflovski, Butters Stotch, Eric Cartman, Randy Marsh, Clyde Donovan, Tweek Tweak, Jimmy Valmer, Token Black
Additional Tags: Fantasy, LARPing, Sexual Tension, Knight Stan, Rogue Craig, relationship milestones, Aged-Up Character(s), mild violence
Summary: Sir Stanley the Knight is on a mission to retrieve the Elven King's stolen magic crown from the notorious rogue Craig. Along the way, he discovers he may just have some hidden feelings for the young thief.
Written based on a prompt from @gloriouskouhai (and the Staig discord server) for the @spdrabblebomb Feb 2018 (Relationship Milestones). (GK is eventually going to draw something for this story as part of a creator swap (because it’s not *quite* an art swap).)
Notes – this is for @spdrabblebomb who is probably regretting all the sappy stuff that’s being sent in this month BUT HERE IS MY ENTRY FOR PROPOSAL AS YOU DO
@redgoth
Cartman drops down onto the faded red mulch. The swing is still moving. The chains creak, but it's a dull sound. "Hey, Kenny. C'mere."
"No way, fatass. I already told you, I'm not giving you this seat." Kenny's perched at the top of the old slide. The metal poles holding it up are halfway rusted through, and the plastic is weather worn, is sun warped. It's still one of the best seats in the playground, especially on days like this when it's been raining for hours and the whole world is sort of gray.
"I don't want your seat," snaps Cartman. "I want you to get your ass over here and sit next to me. I've got something for you."
"Tell me what you have," says Kenny. He drums his heels against the faded yellow plastic of the slide. "And maybe I'll come over there. Maybe - if it's good enough."
Cartman digs his fingers into the mulch. It's a thin layer, barely enough to cover the wet mud underneath. Water soaks into the back of his jacket, the legs of his sweatpants. "I'm not telling you, Kenny. Fuck, you're too poor to be that picky. Either come over here and sit with me, or I'm not giving it to you."
He shoves his other hand into the pocket of his jackets. They curl around the thin loop of metal, fingers running over the protruding stone, over the carved petals. It looks like it might start raining again. Dark clouds stretch over the sky, blocking most of the sun.
"Dude, that's not right. You shouldn't be holding gifts hostage." Kenny kicks the slide again, harder this time. Then he hooks his hands around the metal siding and pushes off. It used to be a straight shot to the ground, but the plastic has distorted over the years, and it's pretty much impossible to go down without shimmying and bouncing the whole way.
It takes more work than it's probably worth. Cartman still thinks it's pretty great, being up at the highest spot in the area. For a while, they used this place as the domain of the Wood Elves, when the actual kingdom burnt down.
They finished that arc up ages ago, though. Hardly anyone comes out here these days. Kenny complains the entire way across the playground, but he does, eventually, drop down next to Cartman. They’re stretched out on their backs, close enough that their shoulders are touching.
"Where'd your jacket go?" Cartman digs up a handful of wet mulch, drops it on the front of Kenny's shirt.
"It got wet." Absolutely no attempt is made to brush off the handful of mulch. Kenny folds his arms under his head, uses them like a makeshift pillow. "It's pretty much shit, anyway. I need to pick up a new one. Hey! You wanna go to the thrift store with me tomorrow?"
"No, Kenny. I don't want to go to some shitty poor person's store."
"Dude, I've gotten a lot of nice stuff from that place. I've given you a lot of nice stuff from that place."
"You've given me a lot of shit from that place," corrects Cartman. He slips one finger into the ring, just a little bit. A sudden wave of nausea washes over him; butterflies that sink into his stomach, into his chest; this fluttering sort of awfulness that he just can't shake. "Don't pawn this, alright?"
Kenny turns his head, gives Cartman a gap toothed grin. "I can't make any promises. If it's worth a lot, I might hock it."
The ring was his grandmother's. It's probably the nicest thing that she had before she died; second to the million dollars, but Cartman tries not to think about that too often. Cartman slides his fingers over the surface again - two flowers and a square in the center, with just the one stone but a lot of carving, a lot of embellishment.
"You can't hock it," insists Cartman. He pulls it out, keeps it tucked up against his palm. The surface of the ring is cold. The ground is cold, too. "Just quit talking, Kenny."
He doesn't say that it's important, because the word is lodged in his throat. Cartman doesn't want this to be important. He always seems to blunder his way through things that actually mean something.
The grin slides off Kenny's face, but just by a little bit. "Alright, I'll quit talking about pawning your very special gift. What did you get me?"
Cartman slaps the ring down, just like he did the moss earlier. He can't stomach thinking about it any longer. It makes his skin crawl in all the worst ways. "Here, Kenny. I just want you to know, I completely lied about not wanting your seat. Next time, you should try and be smart about stuff."
A deep breath, and then Cartman lurches to his feet. Chunks of red mulch cling to the back of his jacket. He ignores it in favor of making a bee line towards the slide. There's probably a conversation that should follow this, he knows there is, but Cartman's never been good at stuff like that, either.
He scales the rungs of the s;ide like a pro, effortlessly skipping over the broken one at the center. It's a little bit of a tight fit, but Cartman settles down at the top, anyway. He splays his legs out over the slide, heels banging against the warped plastic.
Kenny's still half laying on the ground. He's propped himself up with one elbow, rolling the ring around in the fingers of his other one. There's no sun to catch on the stone. "Cartman?"
"I'm not giving this seat back, Kenny. It's your fucking loss."
"Cartman, is this - what is this?"
"If you really need to ask, you got less of an education than I thought. Come on, Kenny. Even you should know what that is.” It’s easiest to fall back on insults that long ago lost their sting; traded comments that are more comfort than anything else, familiarity found in the fact that there might be truth in the words but no actual ill-meaning.
Kenny doesn't say anything else after that, not right away. He sits up, holding the ring up like he's trying to get a better look at it. It's probably not the fanciest thing - all of the ads they play on television show those huge things, with twisting diamonds and colored stones - but he only sort of cares about that, and he only sort of cares about what Kenny's thinking over there. It's pretty, even if the band is a little tarnished in spots.
He drums his heels against the slide, pulls the phone out of his back pocket. There aren't any new messages. Cartman pulls up Stan's number, sends him a text just for something to do.
There's no answer back, at least not quick enough for Cartman's liking. When he glances up from the phone, Kenny's standing at the foot of the slide. He's still holding the ring. "What the fuck is this, Cartman? This isn't fake. Like, this isn't from a gumball machine or some stupid shit like that.” A pause, face twisting up, blush lying heavy on his skin. “Are you – fuck, is this a proposal?"
Cartman huffs. He looks back down at his phone, but Stan still hasn't texted back. "No shit, Kenny. Of course it’s not fake. It's pretty nice, right?"
He doesn't look back up this time. It sounds like Kenny's grinning, this whoosh of laughter that's half eaten by his words. "Damn, Cartman. It's great. I mean, this is pretty fucking amazing."
"I'm an amazing kind of guy."
"Are you asking me to marry you?"
The air gets all knotted up in Cartman's throat. He pulls up another screen on his phone, but the image is sort of swimming. He shrugs his shoulders, this sharp jerk that says more than any other answer could. Heat spreads over the bridge of his nose, the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess. Something like that. Just don't pawn it, alright?"
Kenny looks back at the ring, rolls it around in his fingers. It looks old - the band is worn in spots, the engraving on the inside of it worn too smooth to actually read. It's not green, though, like those cheap gold plated rings get, and the color isn't fading off the flowers at all. "Cartman - "
He cuts himself off. Kenny's teeth clack together. He holds the ring up again, and then he slips it on one finger, tugging it over his glove. It doesn't take any effort to get it on at all. Kenny grins, all gap tooth and squinted up eyes.
It's adorable.
Kenny is absolutely adorable, and Cartman sort of wishes that he wore his hood down more often because the scar curling around the ridge of his jaw is adorable, too. Kenny crows, "it fits!"
Cartman snorts, scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. "Of course it fits. Gammi had really fat fingers."
"Fuck," says Kenny, and then he says it again. His tongue presses against the gap between his teeth. "I do. I totally do! That's what you're asking, right? Fuck it, you're totally asking me to marry you."
"We already covered that, Kenny. Seriously - why else would I give you that?"
"I want to hear you say it."
"You - what?"
Kenny clutches his hand against his chest. He keeps running his fingers over the stone - a diamond? He thinks it might be an actual diamond. "I want to hear you say it. Come on, Cartman! Ask me."
"I gave you a ring already," huffs Cartman. He scrubs at his face again. He's blushing so hard that it almost hurts. "You shouldn't be so damn greedy, Kenny. What happened to being happy with whatever you get?”
"Ask me," insists Kenny, and he's got that look on his face when he says it. It's the one where his eyes are wide and sort of wet, and it sounds like he really needs whatever he's asking about.
It's awful, because Cartman's never actually been able to ignore him when he looks like that, when he sounds like that. He kicks the slide again, harder this time. Important conversations haven’t come easy to Cartman since he was in middle school, and there’s something about this not taking place at three in the morning that makes the whole thing seem a little less real.
In hindsight, Cartman thinks that he should have done this somewhere else.
He had plans on doing this somewhere else.
He’s had those plans for two months and counting.
Cartman slams one heel down against the warped plastic, hard. He rakes his fingers through his hair, hat lost somewhere around the twisted chains of the broken swings. “Okay,” he says, and then he says it again, more firmly. Cartman’s mouth is dry. It feels like he really might vomit. “Yeah, Kenny. I want you to marry me.”
The words are heavy and solid and even though Kenny had been asking for them, he still looks surprised. “Yeah?”
And saying that first bit might be hard, but then it’s like being on their make-shift stage all over again, for their LARP wedding between the Wizard King and the Princess of All. For a small mountain town that never seems to grow, there are very few aspects of South Park that ever seem to be the same, and among those things is Kenny. When he was little, his mother used to send him to church every Sunday morning, and he'd sit with the Marsh family in the third row on the left side. Most of the lectures are long forgotten, but sometimes he thinks about David and the lamb, sent out to slaughter to please a God that isn't really benevolent at all. Sometimes, too, he thinks that Kenny is their modern day lamb.
South Park is the slaughter house and everyone within city limits has played the role of David. Cartman lets out a heavy breath. He is an undignified mess of limbs when he wiggles down the side, taking the same path that Kenny had just a few moments before.
He plants his feet down on the faded red mulch and does not think about other times, when the red hasn’t been so faded, and Kenny’s eyes haven’t been so bright.
-except that’s a lie because he always thinks about that and will always think about that and it’s not fucking fair that they are still stuck in this town and it’s not fucking fair that Cartman himself has had to hold the knife -
“I want you to marry me, ‘cause what I said was true. Back at, uh, the thing. You’re my best friend, Kenny. Of course I wanna marry you.” There are stones in Cartman’s stomach. Someone has unhooked his joints.
The arms suddenly wrapping around Cartman’s neck help push him back together. Kenny’s face is pressed against the side of Cartman’s neck, but his voice sounds wet and cracked. “That’s good, you fucking asshole. Cause you aren’t getting this fucking ring back.”
Summary: The McCormick siblings go on a road trip.
Prompt: Road Trip - Road trips are one of my favorite things. There’s something great to be said for those long hours sharing your favorite music, having deep conversations, and complaining about the one who snores so loudly you wish you had earplugs. Where are your muses going? Are they going for a destination in mind, or did they come up with a classic route where the journey is the destination? Do they love it or hate it? Are they fighting, having car troubles, getting lost? Sometimes it’s not until after the road trip that you appreciate it. Is that the case this time?
Words: 2658
Link is in the title if you wish to read it on AO3!
It’s when Karen nearly gets hit in the face with a jar of pickles during a fight between their parents that Kevin finally gets up and starts packing.
Karen’s well-being being directly threatened for the umpteenth time is the final straw. He’s just about had it.
It’s around midnight, the day after the fight, when he wakes Karen and Kenny up gently, and while Kenny gets up almost immediately, having been told of Kevin’s plans earlier, it takes Karen a while to comprehend that it’s Kevin talking to her in the middle of the night, in hushed whispers, while Kenny’s hauling a few bags out the door as quietly as possible.
“Where’s Kenny going?” She asks in a voice drowned in sleepiness.
“He’s going to my car,” Kevin reassures. It’s technically Shelly’s car, really, but she hadn’t really taken to it and had shunted it off to Kevin as a birthday gift. He had refused it, believing in the concept of working for his own things, but Shelly had pretty much forced him into keeping it, and, honestly? He was pretty grateful for it - he could get to his job faster and on time, and he could take Karen and Kenny places.
Karen sits up slowly, yawning, looking out the window as she does so. Kenny is indeed loading the bags into the back of the car, so she turns again to her oldest brother. “Why?”
“We’re... going on a little road trip, Karen,” It’s not a lie, technically. They are going on a little road trip - preferably out and away from South Park, and out and away from their parents. He’s old enough to be his siblings’ legal guardian by this point, and he has enough money saved up for his own place somewhere far away from the redneck mountain town, so he’s not too concerned yet about funds.
Karen rubs at her eyes. “At... midnight?”
“Yeah,” Kevin helps her to her feet, and dresses her in a shirt and pants before tucking her into her green jacket - a dead ringer for Kenny’s own fur lined parka, except in green instead of orange - and pulling the hood up on her head. He leaves her pigtails sticking out in the front before tenderly grazing the small bruise on her right cheek with his thumb. “Does it hurt?”
“Not so much anymore,” Karen mumbles, eyes to the floor, and it’s all Kevin can do not to take his little sister into his arms and just hide her away from the world forever. He pats her head, and takes her hand, and she takes her doll’s hand in her other hand before they tiptoe out the door and onto the lawn, where Kenny’s already waiting, leaning against the car and staring up at the sky above South Park with an air of melancholy on his face.
“Oh. You guys ready?” Kenny says, putting on a smile, but Kevin knows it’s just to make sure Karen is smiling too - there’s a crinkle between his eyebrows giving his distress away.
She doesn’t know what we’re going to do.
Karen looks up at him like he’s the sun though. Her smile is just as brilliant, her eyes finally alight after the haze of sleep lifted from her being. “Yeah! Where are we going?”
Kenny looks at him for the answer, so Kevin replies, “It’s a surprise, Karen. It’s a road trip, remember? It’ll be our little adventure, us three siblings.”
“What about our parents?”
“... They need to rest,” Kenny murmurs, and even Karen manages to catch the bitter tone in his voice before he changes his tune, smiling. “Think of it like our little getaway, Kare. A vacation.”
“That sounds really exciting!” Karen skips past Kenny to crawl into the backseat, and as Kevin takes the driver’s seat and Kenny takes shotgun, Karen asks one last time, “But... what about our parents? Did you guys leave a note? They might get worried.”
“I’m sure they won’t be too worried,” Kevin mutters under his breath before replying in a louder voice, “I left them a note on the counter before I woke you two up. We should be fine. Now buckle up.”
Karen dutifully locks the seatbelt in place before nudging at Kenny. “Kenny, you too.”
“Okay, okay,” Kenny laughs, and, humoring her, he straps himself in as well. “Alright, Kev. Let’s go.”
They leave South Park with little to no ceremony, under the cover of the night.
The McCormick parents continue to sleep, undisturbed.
-=-=-=-
You have 1 new messages.
“Could you check it for me, Ken?” Kevin asks, at the buzzing sound. It’s been three hours since the last town they passed by, and while the road was long and empty, he wasn’t about to risk getting arrested for using his phone on the road.
Kenny, who had been blinking in and out of sleep for a while now, not wanting to leave his brother as the only one awake, jolts up and takes the phone. “... It’s from Shelly.”
“Oh, fuck,” Kevin swears under his breath, because he forgot about Shelly, Jesus shit, Shelly. If she found out about the McCormick siblings’ plans, she would most likely chase after them and drag them back home. “What does it say?”
“Um...” Kenny peers at the text. “It just says ‘Don’t forget to put your shirt on right today at work.’ Aww, how sweet. I didn’t know you two were dating.”
Kevin wants to deck him. “We aren’t.”
“... I was joking, but really? You two aren’t dating?” Kenny looks incredulous. “I always kinda figured-”
“I want to ask her out but she’s still hung over that one guy,” Kevin blurts out before groaning, nearly banging his head on the steering wheel. “You know what, let’s stop at the next gas station. I’m fucking exhausted.”
The blond brother’s gaze softens, and he gives Kevin a small pat on the shoulder before they both glance backseat. Karen’s curled up on the backseat despite the seatbelts, holding her doll close to her chest, and the peaceful smile on her face melts her brothers’ hearts.
They turn back to the road, smiling in content.
-=-=-=-
They end up somewhere in Los Angeles after a few more hours, and by that time of day Shelly’s messaged Kevin at least twenty times about his whereabouts. Kevin instructs Kenny to tell her he forgot to file a leave, and that he’s on vacation with his siblings, and to not tell their parents.
“Why?” She asks over the speaker.
“It’s... we’re doing this for Karen,” And it’s not a lie, really. It really was for Karen, and Karen alone. Karen, who’s sleeping in the backseat without a care in the world, waiting to go to the place her brothers promised. “We wanted to do something special for her.”
Silence.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long are you going to be gone?”
“Oh, uh...” Kevin looks to Kenny, who shrugs helplessly, before he replies, “Give it... a month?”
Silence again.
And then...
“Tell Karen I said hi, then, and take care, all three of you,” Shelly finally says, and puts down the phone.
Kevin really can’t express how much he’s in love with this woman right now.
By the time they find the place they’re supposed to stay in, it’s nearly jam packed, but since Kevin had the right idea to call beforehand, they get their room, and while it’s small and cramped, it’s nothing they aren’t used to.
Karen’s preoccupied with the fact that they’re in Los Angeles, for starters. She’s jumping on the bed with glee, which makes her brothers laugh as she asks, “I can’t believe we’re in LA! We should take lots of pictures and we should explore all the places!”
“Not until we get some food, kiddo,” Kenny ruffles his sister’s hair before turning to Kevin. “You going job hunting again?”
“Wait- you lost your job?” Karen looks up at Kevin, lip wobbling.
Kevin pats her head. “I’m getting a second job here in Los Angeles while we’re here. I still have my job back in South Park, but I can’t go to South Park for work every day, right? Have to find a job here too.”
“That makes sense, I think,” Karen muses. “Kenny? What are you gonna do?”
“I’m going to look up schools here for us when school starts again.”
“... You guys make it sound like we’re not going back to South Park.”
“Oh, we are going back to South Park!” Kevin hastily corrects, but the tremble in his voice gives away what he really feels about it.
Karen raises an eyebrow. She’s not dense enough to let that pass. “... When?”
“... In a few years,” Kevin ends up admitting, which makes Karen’s eyes grow as wide as saucers.
“W-why?! We’re- what about our parents?!”
“They’ll be fine, Kare, really,” Kenny drops down to her height and embraces her tightly. “We just- let’s just... try living out here, just the three of us, for now, okay?”
“I don’t understand...”
“You will one day. You don’t get it yet, but one day you will. You’ll just... know.”
“...”
“...”
“...”
Karen breaks away from Kenny’s embrace to sit down on the bed, silent and contemplative. Hesitantly the two McCormick brothers take a seat on either side of her, and for minutes, all is quiet, save for the sounds of the outside world. Surprisingly enough, it’s much quieter than South Park, which only serves to highlight the silence, which threatened to suffocate the two brothers whole.
Eventually, however, Karen speaks. “Is it because I almost got hurt yesterday?”
“...”
“That’s it, isn’t it?” Karen’s voice gets marginally louder. “That’s why we went on a road trip to LA. Because I got hurt. We ran away from home.”
“... Yeah. Guess we really can’t pull the wool over your eyes, huh?” Kenny tries to crack a smile, but it’s weak. Despite it, however, Karen manages to smile back, and the three share a tight embrace.
“You know there’s probably going to be people looking for us, right?” Karen asks, after a while. “Shelly, especially.”
Kevin sighs. “I know. But they don’t know we’re in LA specifically. We’ll be fine for a while. We just-”
“- need a little vacation?” Karen asks slyly.
Kevin laughs, and hugs them both tighter. “Come on, you two. If we’re going to get caught out here in LA, we might as well make the most of it.”
-=-=-=-
Surely enough, the moment Kevin, Karen, and Kenny don’t come back after a month, Shelly straps herself into her car and takes Stan and Kyle with her. Stan sits shotgun next to her, while Kyle is unceremoniously squished next to Ike and Ruby, who had been with Ike when the Broflovski brothers were unceremoniously picked up and dumped into the back seat of the Marshs’ car.
“Aren’t they on vacation?” Kyle asks before fussing over Ike and Ruby, strapping them both in. Ruby’s eyes are trained on her phone as she texts her brother that she’s with them.
“It’s been a month. They’re not back yet. Something must have happened.”
“It’s literally only been a day, Shelly. Maybe they ended up in Costa Rica.”
Shelly gives her brother a glare as she manages to make it across before the red light flashes. “They’re not that rich.”
“Still though. It’s a possibility!”
“Whatever. Call them up, Stan, use my phone,” Shelly manages to toss her phone in Stan’s direction before making a sharp turn to the right in order to avoid the traffic. “God damn traffic jams.”
Stan catches the phone with expert reflexes before scrolling through her contacts. “I can’t find his name.”
“It’s the one with the tree emoji.”
“Why a tree?”
“Do you ever stop asking questions, loser?” Shelly snarls self-consciously before skidding to a stop at the next stop light. “God dammit. Just- go call them, dammit!”
“Alright, yeesh!” Stan complains before putting the phone on speaker. It takes a while, but pretty soon Karen’s sweet voice wafts in. “Hello?”
"Karen, I need to speak to your brother,” Shelly states, direct-to-the-point. “The brunet one.”
Karen is silent for the most part. And then... “He’s out.”
“Out where?”
“Out. At his job.”
“... What job?”
“His job at the Five Guys a block away from our place.”
“From McDonalds to Five Guys. He’s moving up in the world,” Stan comments.
“Stan?” Kenny’s voice wafts in. “Holy shit, dude, what’s up?”
“Kenny!” Kyle’s voice takes on an excited tone. “Where are you guys right now? How’s your vacation?”
“We’ve decided to take an extended vacation, really...” Kenny’s voice is apologetic, which sets off warning bells in Shelly’s head. “Kevin’s really built up rapport with our neighbors and we’d hate to stop now. How are mom and dad?”
Stan sighs. “Your parents went batshit around day three of your vacation? They got featured on ‘I’m White Trash and I’m In Trouble” again.”
“God dammit.”
"The good news is that with Kevin with you guys, you don’t need to go to a foster home anymore,” Kyle offers helpfully. “Should you come back, that is.”
“What do you mean, should they come back? Of course they’re coming back!” Shelly hisses as the light finally changes, and she starts the car again. “I’m hauling their asses back to Colorado or so help me God-”
“Shelly... Kevin doesn’t want to go back.”
“What?”
“We... we initially ran away from home for Karen.” Karen sighs in the background. “And... now we’ve just... established our lives here. Sorta, anyway...” Kenny’s voice is nothing but apologetic. “It’s kinda like running away from our South Park lives, I know, but... that’s what Kevin wants for us.”
"...”
“And honestly? This place is marginally safer for Karen than South Park. I’d rather she grew up in this neighborhood.”
“Dude! You’re literally moving there for real now?” Kyle is flabbergasted, to say the least. “What about everyone else?”
“I’ll still be on Facebook? And you can text me or call me.”
“Dude...” Stan shakes his head. “Having you with us is different.”
“Stan... Kyle...” Kenny’s voice is hesitant. “I... dudes, I love you both so much, you know? But... Karen... we just-”
"Want the best for her,” Shelly finishes quietly, slowing to a stop just outside of South Park. “That’s what Kevin says all the time. I understand.”
Silence.
“... Are you really never coming back?” Ruby asks quietly, after some time, startling everyone except Ike, who is holding her hand as she voices their shared question.
It’s Karen who answers her. “I’ll come back one day. Not today though.”
“Next week?”
“I don’t think so...” Here, Karen takes on a hopeful tone of voice. “Our neighbors have a computer, so maybe we can Skype a lot instead in the meantime?”
“That works!” Ike brightens up considerably. “Have fun there, Karen! We’ll send Firkle your love!”
“IKE!”
The passengers of the car erupt into laughter for a moment before Shelly quietly says, “Kenny?”
“Yeah?”
“Take... take care of Kevin for me. And for Karen. Please. That man doesn’t know the meaning of taking it easy. It’s for his own good.” Pause. “Please.”
Silence.
“... You two are so in love with each other, I can’t believe this,” Kenny mutters over the phone.
“Who’s in love with each other?” A voice in the background asks.
“ACK! KEVIN!” Kenny yelps, and by accident, he presses the ‘End Call’ button. The call stops, leaving Shelly, Ruby, and the three boys to look at each other.
“So we’re really just... letting them stay wherever they are?” Stan asks, after a moment.
Shelly sighs, and starts up the car again, but this time, she turns it around and back to South Park. “They’ll... they’ll be okay. They’ve got each other. And they’re not dead. That’s all that matters to me.”
“They’re gonna be okay,” Kyle repeats.
It’s the only thing any of them can say, at least for now.
