South Park One-Shots

He's Like Art. Terrible Art, But Still Art - Clyde Donovan

Clyde Donovan x Reader

For: All of my Clyde fans! I love him, and I know you do too!

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It was only 11am in Denver, yet here came the Metro bus, bumbling and rolling down the street with its destination - the Denver Art Museum - plastered boldly atop its front.

The day was rainy, and when Y/n pressed her face to the glass, she could see the citizens of this large city moving back and forth without a care.

She had lived her all her life, yet was still awed and mystified to see the beauty of everyday life.

Perhaps that was her 'Everyday Art' major coming out within her, though she'd never be able to confirm or deny it.

Instead, she pushed her headphones over her ears and took her leave of the bus - once it had reached her destination, of course.

She walked up the marble staircase to the building's entrance, biting a tour guide for a 6th grade class and a group of boys who looked greatly out of place based on their attire.

The first one was wearing a blue chullo hat, a cigarette perched on the edge of his fingertips and his other hand stuffed into his blue, spring jacket pocket. He radiated the aura of cool, and Y/n was very intimidated by him...

Until he leaned over to sweetly kiss the top of the next boy's head.

The boy who had gained the cool guy's affection looked like he was short circuiting, mildly jumping or telling and grabbing onto his green shirt every so often. She wondered if he was on drugs, but thought it was none of her business and kept going with her inspection.

Although the first two boys radiated the auras of 'cool' and 'paranoid', this guy was completely different. He seemed to glow with his maturity and intelligence. That wasn't to say that the others weren't intelligent - they might have been - but this guy just held himself in a way that that was his dominant trait. His black skin was slick from the rain, and he raised a gloved hand to wipe it from his brow before going to speak to the last boy.

For some reason, Y/n's heart sped up a little when she saw the last boy; a loud brunet with his football jersey closed tightly to protect him against the elements. His hair was tousled, and he laughed loudly at something the guys said before following them into the building.

That's when Y/n realised she had been staring and ran into the building herself, noticing what way they took and deciding to rub off in the opposite direction. She didn't want her shame following her if she chose to follow some random guys around.

Besides, she had her own objective for being here.

She had to capture the hilarity of the arts, according to her professor, and while she wasn't exactly sure how she'd do that, she was going to pass her class with an A, goddamn it.

She explored the building, noticing the meanings of many pieces, but getting frustrated because nothing was standing out to her in a humorous way.

Picasso was Picasso.

Da Vinci was Da Vinci.

But neither of them were hilarious.

Van Gogh was a genius.

Kahlo was powerful.

But neither made Y/n giggle.

Pollock was talented.

Warhol knew how to portray art into pop.

But neither were known for their sense of humor.

Y/n was on the verge of giving up. Who in their right mind gives such an impossible task?!

But that's when she heard it. Snoring.

The (h/c) girl was confused as hell. Who could sleep with all of this beauty around them? Honestly, it made her laugh a little, and she jolted in shock.

Perhaps... While they slept, she could capture a photo of them and then wake them up and ask for their consent to publish the photos?

Yes, yes. That's what she'd do.

So Y/n lined up her camera, snapping a photo of the person's legs before moving so that she could capture their expression...

And almost dropped her camera.

It was the boy! The one with the letterman jacket,  who laughed loudly and had some odd sort of control over her heart.

She tried to snap the photo without her hands shaking, and barely managed before realizing that she'd have to talk to him...

Well, fuck.

Y/n edged near him, her camera now wrapped around her neck by a strap and her hands outstretched to him. "Hey, excuse me, sir?"

She gently touched his shoulder, and the boy's eyes flew open while his hand clasped over hers.

"Who are you? Where am I?"

Y/n blinked out of shock before nervously replying, "I'm Y/n, and... And you're in the Denver Art Museum. You fell asleep behind a statue... Are you alright?"

The boy's eyes widened before narrowing and he let go of her hand to check his phone.

"Fuckin' douchebags," he cursed, and Y/n raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

The boy sighed, "My dickhole friend saw that I fell asleep and decided to leave me behind before going back to South Park."

"Well, damn." Y/n sat down next to him, holding out a hand. "You know my name, can I know yours?"

"I'm Clyde Donovan." His teeth were a brilliant white as he flashed them at her.

"Well, Clyde Donovan, I took a photo of you for my class, is that alright?" Y/n asked, worried he may say no and she'd have to find something else, even though he seemed like a really chill guy

"Yeah, sure. Would you happen to have a way I could get home?"

Y/n nodded, "Yeah, we'd just have to ride the Metro to my apartment to get my car." She stood up, holding out a hand to him, "Ready to go, Sleeping Beauty?"

"Oh, you bet, Prince Phillip."