Choso’s Cum Sock

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claws sink in to my flesh

like the titanic in the ocean

one thing gone wrong

sending me spiraling;

the iceberg that is life

killing thousands

claws sink into my flesh

dragging me under the surface

below the crashing waves

pulling me down, down, down

where the water is calm, serene

and darkness covers all

claws sink into my flesh

forcing me under

as water fills my lungs

as my ears pop!

as my mind goes numb—

i become one with the ocean

claws retract from my flesh

my body is limp

i float back up to the surface

where the ship still sinks

where passengers still fall

Info/Warning(s):

highschool AU, (underage) drinking, suicidal thoughts and depression, cursing, brief mentions of a heart attack and r*pe, can be read as platonic or romantic

south park masterlist

———

The ravenet sits on an old log, one that's been there for years, a bottle in one hand and his phone in the other. The sky is a dark blue- almost black, the only light visible coming from the full moon and shining stars that glitter and glisten. The time reads 1:07 on the teens too bright phone screen. 

The boy takes a swig of the liquid in the almost empty bottle (one of many that he's downed that night), setting it down once emptied and picking up a rock in its place. He tosses the grey weight into the pond, watching as the rock skids against the water. 

I wish that was my body against the pavement... heh, that'd be funny. 

He frowns. Those are the thoughts he's been attempting to escape- the thoughts that fueled his addiction as he subconsciously followed in his father's drunken footsteps.

Picking up the last brown bottle from the six pack (he'd stolen the drinks from his blackout-passed out halfway onto the couch-drunk father), the boy looks at his phone again. 1:59, the device reads, no notifications seen. I oughta head back soon, he thinks to himself. Just a few more minutes...

He looks over at the water, thinking about how easily he could dive in a never come back up. He could never back. He doesn't want to come back. He wants to leave, to disappear, to die. 

The teen shakes his head, short raven hair swaying as he did so. "Shut up..." he mumbles to himself, to his thoughts. "Just shut up... shut up, shut up, shut up!"

He's yelling now, voice echoing in the night. He stands as he shouts, chucking his (now empty) bottle of beer as far as he could- the glass shatters as soon as it hits the ground. 

"Goddamnit! SHUT UP!" He shouts as loud as he can into the night sky, his steps swaying before he falls onto the snow-covered ground. Yelling a fierce "FUCK YOU!" to the stars, the teens feels tears prick the corners of his eyes as he breaks down. 

He's not crying because of the fall though, no, he's crying because he can't take it anymore. He can't handle all the hidden emotions, all the pent-up anger and frustration, the sadness and depression. He just can't handle it- he needs to let it out. 

So, he does. 

The young man screams and screams and screams, crying harder and harder as his eyes flood with more and more acidic tears. He cries, shouts until his voice is raw and there's no more tears left to be shed. 

Beginning to calm down, he realizes how tired, no, how exhausted, he is. He could pass out right then and there if it wasn't for the sudden buzzing. 

"Huh?" His brows furrow, red rimmed-sky blue eyes looking around in confusion. What is that...? He pats down his pockets feeling nothing, then the ground around him, his hands eventually touching... my phone? My phone! He must've dropped it when he stood up, maybe when he fell. He's not sure. 

A notification- a text- flashes across the phones screen. "From..." he tries to read the name through his hazy vision, "Kenny?" 

He checks the time. 3:45. Those few minutes really went over his head.

What is Kenny doing up at this time? The boy inwardly questions himself before finally reading the messages from his blond friend. 

Kenny: hey stan 

Kenny: can i come over

Kenny: i know you're probably asleep but if you aren't 

Kenny: can i

Kenny: ???

Stan texts back to the best of his ability, which proved difficult in his drunken, broken-down state, replying that he's at Starks Pond: he receives no response. 

Minutes later, a pair of old, dirty, ripped up shoes appear in front of Stan, who almost doesn't notice- he's on the verge of falling asleep. 

"Ken? He looks up as a hand is placed on his shoulder. A pair of black sweatpants and an orange hoodie (that had been an orange parka just a few years ago) filling his vision. 

"Hey there, Stanny-boy." Kenny sits down on the log behind Stan (the wood digs into his bony ass and he almost wants to curse Stan out for not sitting on- or at least near- the bench), grimacing at all the empty beer bottles scattered around. "Jesus fuck, how much have you had to drink? You'll be dead before we graduate at the rate you're going!" 

Stan mumbles out a reply of "Good." 

Kenny frowns upon hearing his friend. "C'mon Stan," he stands up, holding a hand out to the raven-haired boy, "let's get you home."

Grabbing the blonds' hand, Stan lets himself be pulled to his feet. He stumbles as he soon as he's on his feet, needing to lean against Kenny to steady himself. The blond doesn't seem to mind, wrapping an arm around his tipsy friend as they begin to walk away from the old pond.

(Kenny remembers when the gang would all ice skate here as little kids and he wishes things hadn't changed; wishes they hadn't grown up and that they were all kids again- wishes Stan hadn't become so depressed and picked up his first bottle when he turned ten, wishes Kyle's diabetes and anemia hadn't gotten worse, wishes Eric never had that heart attack in middle school and didn't have to constantly be bed ridden in Hells Pass Hospital.)

With mild difficulty, due to the uneasy footing of Stan, the two friends soon reach a familiar house. Kenny picks the lock to the ravenets front door, guiding both himself and Stan inside and quietly shutting the door behind them. Directing Stan upstairs, Kenny struggles to keep him from falling; luckily, Stan manages to stay quiet when he misses a step and almost sends Kenny and himself tumbling down the stairs (waking up Randy from his drunken sleep on the couch would only end terribly for everyone).

The almost adults make it to the Stans room, closing and locking the door behind them- a force of habit for Kenny. The blond walks the other to his bed, turning on the lamp that sits on Stans bedside table and laying him down. 

"Stan?" Whispers Kenny. "I'm gonna take off your pants, okay?" 

Stan giggles, eyes fluttering closed as he grows closer and closer to sleep. He mumbles a half incoherent response- Kenny cracks a grin when he realizes it's an innuendo he'd used on Stan earlier that day, a faint blush heating his pale, almost too thin cheeks.

Kenny removes Stans jeans, knowing from experience that they weren't the most comfortable thing to sleep in, then slides Stan's boxers down (they've been through this cycle many times before- it'd be weird for Kenny not to) and throws both articles of clothing into a dirty pile of clothes in the corner. Next, Kenny rummages through Stans drawers in search of a pair of clean pair of boxers- Jesus fuck, Stan, when was the last time you did laundry? After a minute or so, Kenny finds an old pair of Terrence & Phillip tighty whities and throws them at his friend.

"There ya go, big boy." Kenny begins to walk to the window as Stan struggles to get his underwear on, but Stan stops him just before he can open it.

"Sleep with me."

"I'm not gonna fuck ya. "Kenny looks to the drunken boy, who is now sitting up on the bed and staring right at the blond. "I'm a whore, not a rapist, Stan."

Stan manages a half assed eye roll. "Not like that, dickwad. Just... you don't wanna go home, right? And I don't wanna be alone. So, stay."

Although surprised Stan can form a comprehensible sentence, Kenny agrees to stay and climbs into the bed next to the ravenet, pulling the covers over both of them a turning off the lamp. 

Stan immediately cuddles up to Kenny, throwing an arm around his waist and burying his head into the blond's chest. He murmurs, "Thanks, Ken", before falling asleep.

Info/Warning(s):

High school AU, drinking, brief mention of weed, implied sexual content, implied cheating, ftm! Stan & Wendyl (he/him), mtf! Marjorine (she/her)x agender! Kyle (they/them), genderfluid! Kenny (he/she)

Side Ships:

Kyle x Kenny, Craig x Tweek, Kyle x Kenny x Craig x Tweek, Wendyl x Tolkien, Nichole x Tolkien, Bebe x Marjorine, (past) Stan x Wendyl

south park masterlist

———

It's a late Friday night and Roger Donovan is away for the weekend on another business trip, leaving his son Clyde home alone. Well, he would be alone, if it weren't for the whole of South Park High being inside the Donovan household; just another one of Clyde's famous parties (there's not as many people as you'd think, as South Park has always been a rather small town, though it is still a wonder that so many young adults can fit into one house).

Stan Marsh happens to be one of these party goers and, in true Stan fashion, said teen is drunk off his ass (then again, so is every other teen at this party- or high) and yelling as his super-best friend, Kyle Broflovski.

"Fuck You, Kyle, you're a piece of shit!" With a defeated sigh, Kyle begins to walk away, only to turn around when Stan speaks again. "...Kyle, I love you."

"You're a piece of shit though, fuck you!"

Kyle once again walks away, though this time they don't turn back. Instead, they make their way over to Kenny, Tweek, and Craig (Kyle's pretty sure their girlfriend is trying to get into the couple's pants again), who had been watching the whole ordeal go down, knowing Kyle has never been able to stand an intoxicated Stan.

("He yell at ya again, babe?" Kenny speaks loud enough for Kyle to hear her over the excessive music and throws an arm over his shoulder; Kyle nods.

"Same thing as always." Kyle leans into the dirty blond only to realize a second too late- "Dude! Get your hand off my ass!"

"Heh. Sorry, Ky." Kyle knows by Kenny's tone that she isn't sorry, that and the smug grin on his face that shows off his tooth gap. Perv.)

Stan watches as Kyle walks away, then makes his way to the kitchen muttering to himself. "Fuck this, I need a drink. Fuckin' dick."

As the raven-haired male opens another can of beer, he sees Wendyl kissing Tolkien and scoffs.

"Daaamn, that's gotta hurt, dude." A voice speaks from right next to Stan and he jumps, accidently splashing his beer on himself. "Oh shit!"

"Jesus-fucking-Christ!" Turning to the side, Stan sees Clyde standing there with a sheepish grin and has to hold back the urge to punch the brunet. "The fuck, dude? Warn a guy."

Clyde lets out a little laugh- holy shiiit, he's cute! "Sorry, bro. You can borrow one of my shirts, come on."

Ignoring his thoughts and blaming the alcohol, Stan follows Clyde out of the kitchen and up the stairs, only needing to push through a handful of drunken teens sucking face (Stan thinks one of the couples are Bebe and Marjorine). The two make it up the stairs with no problem, though Clyde did almost step on someone who looks oddly like Cartman in a dress passed out on the top few steps.

"Sorry about Wendyl, dude." Clyde leads the other to his bedroom. "Nichole is gonna be so mad when she finds out."

"Whatever. I though Tolkien was straight though?" Stan tries not to sound pissed off; the grimace on Clyde's face lets him know he failed.

"He is."

The two males don't say anything else to each other as Clyde rummages through his closet before finally pulling out a blank white shirt that looks a size or two too big for Stan (Clyde is 200 pounds of center, after all), though the raven-haired boy doesn't comment on it, happy enough to just change out of his beer-soaked t-shirt.

"Thanks, man." Stan peels off his old shirt and drops it to the ground, reaching out a hand for Clyde to hand him the other shirt, only to notice the other staring at him. Crossing his arms over his chest in a sudden self-consciousness of the scars there, Stan raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I think I drank too much. Or you're just like, really hot, bro." Clyde is looking Stan up and down with wide eyes, running his tongue over his bottom lip. "Fuck, I might be gay."

Oh fuck.

Before Stan realizes what he's doing, the male is already Infront of Clyde, leaning down and gently grabbing his face between his slender hands to press his chapped lips against the others soft, plump ones. He feels the shirt in Clyde's hands fall and then the other is leaning up to kiss him back, his full hands settling on Stan's thin, yet built, waist and gripping at his hips.

———

A few hours later, deep blue eyes open to a poorly lit room and blaring pop music that only makes the growing feeling of needles piercing through Stan's skull worse. With a groan the male slowly sits up- not slow enough, he finds as he clutches at his head with a pain hiss and shuts his eyes. After a minute or two, the pain fades enough so that Stan can open his eyes without wanting to shoot his brains out and the teen takes in his surroundings.

Medium blue walls adorned with various movie and playboy posters; a long, white desk with a thin, open laptop atop it on the opposite wall of the bed Stan woke up in, and an old blue and green toy chest with the word "football" poorly written on the front sitting to the pristine desk. Next to the bed, on Stans left, is a wooden dresser that also acts as a nightstand, as shown by the half-empty water bottle laying on its side that sits on top of said dresser; in the corner of the room, right next to the dresser/nightstand, is a huge full-length mirror outlined in a yellow gold. There's one window in the room and its closed, though the blinds are open, letting moonlight seep into the room.

As for the bed Stan currently resides in, the sheets are a dark red wine color and there's a lumpy Red Racer blanket on Stans right- suddenly the blanket shifts, revealing chestnut brown hair and a chubby face.

"Clyde?" The blue-eyed boy whispers with confusion, though the male in question doesn't stir. What the fuck...? Why am I at Clyde's- oh. Oh- "shit!"

Putting the pieces together, Stan is quick to stumble out of the bed and grab his shoes (which are conveniently placed next the bed). Next, he searches for his jeans and shirt (he almost trips over the latter, though catches himself in time (Clyde must be a heavy sleeper)). Stan quickly notices how his shirt is damp and grimaces, deciding he could go shirtless for the time being and then exits the room and rushes down the stairs (is that Cartman? and is he wearing a dress?), careful not to trip over any passed-out teens or half-crushed cans of beer.

———

When Clyde wakes up a few hours later, his head is pounding, and he internally curses the sun for existing. Too damn bright.

The brunet slowly stumbles out of bed and closes the blinds, briefly relishing in the newfound dimness of his room before throwing on the first clothes he pulls out of his dresser drawers. Clyde then heads downstairs to rummage through the pantry, taking notice that everyone who attended the party last night must've gone home.

Hmm, gummy snacks? Nah. A muffin? No, those are dads. Pop-Tarts? Score! Clyde grabs a package of cinnamon and brown sugar Pop-Tarts.

"Hey, Clyde!" The male in questions shrieks throwing his breakfast in the direction of the voice. "Ow! Oh- sweet, Pop-Tarts!"

"The fuck, dude?!" Looking at the "intruder", Clyde realizes it a parka-less Kenny, who is now eating what was supposed to be the brunets breakfast. Grumbling to himself, Clyde turns around to grab another Pop-Tart. "What're you still doing here?"

"Got lucky last night." Kenny speaks through a mouthful of his- Clyde's- food. "Ya might wanna clean your dads' sheets, bro."

Clyde takes a moment to process what the dirty blond says, a bit confused. Clean dads' sheets? Why would I- "Sick, dude!"

Kenny only laughs as Clyde glares at him and gags.

"You got lucky too, yeah? Who was it?"

"Huh?" The brunet squints his eyes, having no clue what Kenny's going on about. "Man, I can't remember shit from last night."

Kenny raises an eyebrow. "Dude, whoever it was must've been good, you were so loud I could hear ya over Craig. And he's the loudest dude I've ever been with- hell, he's louder than any girl I've been with."

Clyde tunes out the other, not wanting to hear about how loud his best friend is in bed and tries to remember last night. Short, black hair, tiny tits and scars, tall- "You were with Craig last night?"

"Uh, yeah?" Kenny is the confused one now. "Kyle and Tweek, too. Why?"

"Because whoever I was with looked like Craig, but like, if he was a girl with the smallest tits I've ever seen. And scars."

"Scars?"

"Yeah, she had scars on her chest, like right under her tits." Clyde goes quiet as the realization sits in and Kenny looks ready to tell him off. "Oh fuck. I hooked up with a trans guy, didn't I?"

"Probably, dude." Kenny doesn't look as mad now, though her voice holds an ounce of annoyance and cautiousness.

"That means I fucked a dude... I had sex with a- but I- I'm not..." Clyde is pacing now, walking circles in his kitchen as he begins to panic. "I'm not gay, Kenny."

"Never said ya were, Clyde." Kenny sounds concerned, feeling like he's just gone through the stages of grief with how fast his emotions have changed throughout this conversation. "Y'know, ya could be bi."

The brunet stops his pacing and stares right at the blond, who seems to be typing something on her old phone. Clyde blinks. "What?"

Right as the word leaves Clyde's mouth, a shirtless (covered in hickeys) Craig walks into the kitchen.

"Craig! Thank God you're here!"

Craig immediately turns around.

———

did u hookup w clyde last nite ?

Info/Warning(s):

Ftm! Stan & Wendyl (he/him), mtf! Marjorine (she/her), panic attacks,

south park masterlist

———

"I still can't believe Butters and Bebe are dating."

"Marjorine." Stan corrects the other as he drops his both his backpack and football bag to the ground, immediately throwing himself onto Clyde's unmade bed. He does his best to ignore the stinging in his heart at the mistake; the doubt in his mind- what if he doesn't accept me?

"Shit- yeah, Marjorine. My bad, dude." The brunet copies Stan's motions, his bags falling to the ground, and lies down on the other side of the bed, shifting to his side: he props his head up on his hand. "Can't believe Marjorine and Bebe are dating. Like, totally was not expecting that, y'know?"

Stan smiles into the pillow, the stinging sensation fading, then turns his head to look at Clyde. "Yeah. I kinda thought Bebe and Wendyl had a thing going on."

"Wendyl? Bro, no! Have you seen the way he looks at Tolkien?"

"Well, yeah, no shit! But Tolkien's straight, dude! And he's dating Nicole! You're like, his best friend, shouldn't ya know that?" Stan lightly flicks his boyfriend on the forehead, who pouts at the action.

"Ow. Meanie." He fakes a sniffle, only to grin a second later when Stan rolls his eyes and grabs the brunets hand. "I know that, but Wendyl still has a thing for him! It's totes obvious!"

"Dude. Babe. Bro." Stan fake gags. "You've been hanging out with Kenny and Bebe too much."

Clyde giggles and guides the raven-haired teens hand up to his lips, gently kissing the skin with a soft "mwah!". "You know ya love it, babes!"

"For some reason." Stan moves to get closer to Clyde, planting a short kiss on the other boys' lips.

"Aw..." Clyde lets go of Stans hand to gently grab his face, rubbing the other's cheeks with his thumb. "That's all, Stanny?"

Stan pushes the others face away with a scoff, then shifts onto his back. "Brush your teeth first, pretty boy, then we'll see. Your breath is rancid."

"What?" Clyde breathes into his hand. "What's wrong with my breath?"

"Smells like school bologna. I swear that shit is made out of human meat or something."

"Hmpf." Clyde pouts again though gets up, making his way to the bathroom. Over his shoulder he calls out, "School bologna is good, dude! You don't know what you're missing out on!"

------

While Clyde is in the bathroom, Stan tries not to think about who he is and what he isn't; tries not to think about how Clyde will react when he finds out.

Him and Clyde have been together for only a few months now, and while Stan is... mostly confident that Clyde will accept him as the brunet has no qualms with Wendyl or Marjorine, the lingering fear and uncertainty that resides in the back of Stans mind disagrees.

It did take Clyde years to finally overcome his internalized homophobia and accept that he isn't straight, after all, and even longer for him to finally be comfortable coming out as bisexual. What if Clyde knowing about Stan makes the brunet feel tricked and he realizes he's actually straight? What if he starts to see Stan as something he's not? What if he breaks up with the raven-haired male? What if Clyde lashes out against Stan and tells everyone?

"Stan?" The sound of Clyde's voice breaks Stan out of his spiraling thoughts. "Dude, are you okay?"

Stan realizes his breath is ragged and his chest is heaving up and down, tears pricking at his baby blues. The teen tries to calm himself down, practicing the breathing technique Kyle taught him. In 4, hold 7, out 8. In 4, hold 7, out 8. It takes him a few tries, but after a couple of minutes, Stan is able to steady his breath enough to realize that he never answered his boyfriend.

Speaking of... Stan looks over to the brunet who's standing in the doorway, making eye contact with him only to notice the tears building up in Clyde's eyes.

"...Stan?" The brunet's voice is soft, full of caring and concern.

"I need to tell you something." Straight to the point. No backing out. Stan stands up from his spot on the bed. I can do this. "I'm-"

"Oh my god, you're breaking up with me!" Clyde's voice breaks and the tears gathered in his brown eyes fall, cascading down his chubby cheeks. "You are, aren't you?"

Stan blinks, then shakes his head. "No! No, I'm not breaking up with you, Clyde. I just..."

Clyde sniffles, wiping at his reddened eyes with his sleeve, then his runny nose; Stan sighs.

"I'm trans."

Now Clyde is the one to blink. "Like Marjorine? You wanna be a girl?"

"No!" Stan's voice is firm, and Clyde almost jumps at the tone. "Like Wendyl."

"Oh. Oh!" Clyde smiles as the realization sits in. "Thats cool, dude! But like, you aren't breaking up with me, right?"

Stan smiles back, happy that all his doubting thoughts were wrong. "No, dumbass."

if anyone is interested I’m selling all of the My Hero Academia manga I have!! Volumes 1-31, all in really good condition and I’ve only read them once.

20% of proceeds go to PCRF !!!

The other day, I decided to reread the entire thing and leave a very in-depth review of what I thought of each chapter. I also mentioned how I started reading it when I was 13 and am now 21, but always came back to see if it was ever finished because I loved it so dearly.

Today, said author sent me a private message saying that her analytics showed that the story was still getting views even after all these years, but no one ever bothered to leave reviews other than “update soon!!!”, so she never felt motivated enough to finish it. She said that me reviewing every single chapter with lengthy paragraphs made her cry and meant the world to her. She also mentioned that she felt encouraged to write the two remaining chapters needed to complete the story and that she would send me a message the night before she updates the fic.

I’m literally sobbing. I’m so excited :’)