south park x reader. gender neutral reader.
crackfic. lowercase intended.
a 17-year-old punk degenerate in their senior year makes friends with a bunch of dirty-mouthed boys. together, they form a band, cause mayhem, and ruin their love lives.
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CHAPTER FOUR: 10, 20, 30, 40 tell me that you wanna scold me tell me that you adore me tell me that you're famous for me
🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ you get to make friends on accident and beef with the principal, once again.
on the brink of death, at the edge of your seat, you stare at the clock in front of the classroom. you forgot to eat breakfast this morning, which usually includes more than the half-finished cigarette you had. you hold your stomach, and your face becomes sullen. there's no way you'll survive third period at this rate.
to be fair, this has become an everyday routine for you. nearly die by the end of calculus and when it's over you can gobble down the cafeteria food, like a wild animal.
today was as ordinary as it could be, with emphasis on 'could be'.
you feel one of your chair legs getting repeatedly kicked. opting to ignore it, you stretch out over your desk. it becomes more insistent.
ignoring the rational side of yourself, you slowly turn around, extra-extra slow. you see all that awaits you is stan, scribbling on his paper. your reaction was to raise an eyebrow before turning back around, and then the kicks start back up again.
if you didn't care at all about how people perceived you, like at all, then you would've started tweaking and foaming at the mouth in that very second stan kicked your chair again. but, you sort of want to keep your reputation the way it is and not add "needs-to-go-to-a-psych-ward" to the list of things you are.
ignoring the kicks you look back up at the clock and see that the big hand hasn't moved an inch.
death was upon you.
"psst... psst, hey." you hear a voice behind you, that you know for a fact wasn't in your head.
internally groaning, you adjust your body to look at your classmate. he's tapping you on the shoulder, although he already has your attention, "hi stan."
he puts a finger to his lips, silently telling you to shut the fuck up. you would be beyond this world offended if he distracted you for no reason, but he ends up sliding a folded-up piece of paper to you. you raise a brow at him, before turning around and opening up his note.
it's barely legible handwriting reads, "is that ur stomach growling?"
you look at the paper confused until you hear what appears to be a whale documentary playing inside of your stomach.
