#sirenseraph

BEBE STEVENS

WENDY TESTABURGER

RED MCARTHUR

NICHOLE DANIELS

STAN MARSH

KYLE BROFLOVSKI

KENNY MCCORMICK

CRAIG TUCKER

.݁₊ ⊹PLAYLIST FOR FICS ݁₊ ⊹

BORN AGAIN

BACK TO YOU

because i have not been posting basically at all, i made this to give more insight on the characters aesthetics as well as both the series I’m working on.. 🌺🩰💕

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏. 𝟏: 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐢𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐭?

“𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓷 𝓾𝓰𝓵𝔂 𝓴𝓲𝓭, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓪 𝓼𝓮𝔁𝔂 𝓶𝓪𝓷”

As much as you tried to keep him out of your head, Kyle Broflovski always found a way to flood your thoughts

Tw: Injury, mentions of ED (implied), not fully proofread.

Masterlist

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Perfection. That was basically your whole brand now. You weren’t sure when it started, maybe somewhere between finally getting your braces off and discovering what a flat iron could do, but suddenly, you were THE girl. The one people looked at in the hallways. The one people whispered about. The one everyone either wanted or wanted to be, and you thrived in it.

South Park High didn’t hand out crowns, but if they did, yours would be bedazzled and worn with heels.

What people didn’t know, what you tried to forget, was that before all this, before the hair, the confidence, the cheer captain title and volleyball MVP, you used to be awkward. Really awkward. The kind of awkwardness that involved neon leggings, crooked bangs, and a total obsession with those squishy pencil toppers.

And Kyle Broflovski.

Unfortunately.

You and Kyle were like two peas in a pod, bodies together always, souls connected and feelings mutual. Growing up together was one of the best and most memorable parts of your childhood that you couldn’t let go of. No today, you're here, you’ve changed over the years, now dressing like the Regina George of South Park High.

The feelings you shared for each other, sneaking away together at shared vacations and family dinners to make out. Along with the popularity, you and Kyle just simmered apart, and the love you shared was replaced with something sharp and bitter; hatred. Besides your close knit family, and the obvious unbreakable bond they had, you and Kyle just couldn't be in the same room without the urge to tear each other apart.

Your families were friends. Like, “Thanksgiving dinner together” friends. And yeah, okay, there were a lot of old photos in his house that Sheila had printed and framed, that featured the two of you holding hands, playing in sprinklers, smiling with missing teeth. Gross. You could barely remember any of it, and honestly, you didn’t want to.

What you had with Kyle had been real. Unshakably real. The kind of real that settled into your bones and lingered long after it should’ve faded. It had been raw, too; messy and wide-eyed and full of promises you had no business making at that age. The kind of love you swore was forever, even though neither of you had the slightest clue what “forever” actually meant. But it was also young. Too young. Naive, idealistic, fragile in all the wrong places. And as you grew up, grew sharper, stronger, prettier; whatever thread had held the two of you together started to snap.

And somewhere in all of that, you let it happen. You let the world pull you toward something shinier. Something that looked better on paper. Somewhere deep down, underneath all the makeup and accolades and carefully curated perfection, you knew it had been your fault. That you let him drift. That you picked popularity over permanence. That you chose an image over the boy who knew you before you ever figured out how to straighten your hair.

You’d never say that out loud. Not to anyone. Not even to yourself on a quiet night.

Because owning that would mean acknowledging you lost something that mattered. That maybe, just maybe, you regretted it. And you didn't do regret. It wasn't your thing.

The memories now? They were blurry around the edges, now just flashes of sticky summer days and hand-holding under tables, of giggles whispered in forts made out of couch cushions and the secret kisses shared when no one was looking. But the hatred? That was crystal clear. Solid. Sharp.

You couldn’t stand Kyle. Couldn’t stand his smug attitude, or the way he always had something to say, like he was better than everyone else. Couldn’t stand his self-righteous, condescending tone, like he was still the same know-it-all kid with scraped knees and a moral compass that never bent. Couldn’t stand how he looked at you now like he saw right through the gloss and glam and got it. Got you.

And the worst part, Puberty did him favors. Big ones. Somewhere between sophomore year and now, the freckly, awkward kid you used to share juice boxes with had turned into someone tall and broad-shouldered with that annoying jawline and those unfairly good arms and eyes that still saw too much.

You hated that. Hated him.

But no matter how many times you told yourself you were over it, over him, he still found ways to get in your head. Uninvited. Unwelcome. Like some stubborn, smug, ginger virus that refused to die.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

After-school practice was hands down the worst part of your day. Not because you hated volleyball, you actually loved volleyball, but because Coach Carter seemed to think screaming was an Olympic sport and had the girls’ team running drills like we were being prepped for war.

“Let’s go, ladies! You’re not gonna win with weak-ass footwork and your little TikTok dance moves!”

You groaned, dragging your legs across the court. This was your fifth lap. Not because you messed up, of course, God forbid, but because someone else flubbed a serve and Coach believed in “team accountability,” which apparently meant everyone suffered equally.

Nichole finally stumbled up beside you, gasping, and on the verge of collapsing. “I can’t feel my balls,” she wheezed dramatically. “Tell my mom I died doing what I hated.”

You let out a breathless laugh, hands on your knees, praying for oxygen. Sweat dripped down your back, hair clinging to your neck leaving an uncomfortable, itchy feeling that you gave up trying to fix. Your water bottle was still in the car. By the time you got to it, it’d be bathwater and there was no way Coach would let any of you leave until he was sure you would win your next game.

Last game, you had tripped and missed the ball causing the other team to win. It also left a nasty bruise on your arms from how competitive you were without even realizing until the adrenaline wore off and all you could feel was your muscles screaming at you, which led you to your current position. To be fair, you understood Coach Carter in a sense, but God, you wanted to kill that man right now. 

Red jogged over next, barely trying, hoodie sleeves flapping, looking like she just came back from brunch.

“That was like a walk in the park, you slow bitches,” she grinned, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. A red streak stained the fabric, probably her new hair dye. She looked like a delinquent cherry popsicle.

“Says the one who’s literally high,” you shot back, already heading toward the net for the next round of drills.

Nichole blinked at her. “Wait, you’re high?”

Red nodded, slow as hell. “Yeah. And also, I think my soul left my body halfway through lap three.”

“How the fuck are you still standing?” Nichole croaked.

“I’m not,” Red said calmly. “I’m levitating. Can you see my aura, it’s like all around me” She said, looking around her. 

You cracked your neck, shaking out your arms. “You’re not levitating, you’re hallucinating. If Coach finds out, he’s gonna combust on the spot.”

Nichole snorted. “Please. Like he’d notice. He’s too busy giving that whistle a blowjob.”

Right on cue, Coach Carter blew the whistle again which echoed throughout the court. 

“Line up!” he barked. “Focus up! That means you too, Red-Eyes.”

Red gave a peace sign. “Sir, yes, sir.”

“Red, I swear to God,” Coach muttered under his breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We are not losing next week,” he barked. “Y’all are hot and fast. Make it count!”

“Should be the school slogan,” Red muttered, cracking her neck. “South Park High: Hot and Fast.”

Nichole coughed out a laugh and nearly dropped the ball.

Coach groaned and took a deep breath in

“Listen, last game we lost,” you rolled your eyes before he continued, knowing it was your fault and he would make sure you didn't forget, “but this time we are going up against a school that has some of the best players, and we are fighting for number 1 in our district. So get yourselves together and focus,” he turned to you, causing you to straighten up your posture and bite the inside of your cheek, “That means you, you're our team captain and you need to set an example for everyone else.” 

You nodded and turned your head away as he continued to talk about new drills and line up plans. You couldn't focus on anything he was saying at this point, a sharp sting in your mouth, led by a very obvious iron taste you knew all too well, but none of that phased you as your memories overflowed with the reminder of the last game and the look on everyone's face as you messed up, how the other team cheered, as you has to pull yourself up from the ground and went back to your disappointed team and how you forced yourself to push harder, out of guilt, and shame, and the need to prove you weren't letting yourself falter. 

From the corner of your eye, you caught a blur of movement across the grass, Kyle, mid-sprint, long strides eating up distance as he practiced with the soccer team. Shirt slightly lifted, patch visible on his side, jaw clenched in that overly focused way that screamed try-hard.

You didn’t even realize you were staring until Bebe nudged you.

“Hey,” she said under her breath. “Eyes front, King.”

“I wasn’t- ” you started.

“Mhm. Sure.”

You whipped your head back to the net. “He’s not even cute.”

“Girl. yes he is,” Bebe raised an eyebrow. “And if he isn't, then why are you staring at him like that?”

You ignored her and stepped back into position.

“Stretch better stay outta my line of sight,” you muttered.

Stretch. The name you had given Kyle in 7th grade when the awkward teen phase started kicking in, and his body was growing more than he could keep up with. He ended up just looking like this tall, lanky kid with a mop of curls on his head, and that's where the name was born. Although someone took that name and decided it was because he was long enough to stretch and suck his own dick. Not sure which genius came up with that, and why it stuck around for as long as it did but you made sure to torment him with it.

Bebe smirked. “He probably hopes you trip.”

“Same.”

Bebe just smirked and strolled back to the other side of the net, twirling the ball lazily before settling into her serving stance. But your eyes had already wandered, pulled like a magnet across the field.

Kyle was near the soccer benches now, sweat-slick curls clinging to his forehead, jersey damp and sticking to his back. He tilted his head back to take a long drink from his water bottle, Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp, a vein flexing along his neck. After a second, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then rolled his shoulders back, breathing deep.

Tolkien walked up behind him, saying something that made Kyle huff out a laugh. He lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe his face, just briefly, but it was enough to flash his stomach, a narrow trail of skin stretching from his hipbone up toward his ribs. You didn’t mean to stare, but you did. You watched the way his muscles tensed, the subtle clench of his jaw as he nodded at whatever Tolkien said, then gave him a half-hearted shoulder check, like he was pretending not to enjoy the praise.

And then, just like that, Kyle turned his head. His gaze flicked up and locked right onto yours.

Then, the volleyball came rocketing over the net, a direct hit, clean, brutal, and perfectly timed. You didn't have time to react before it hit the center of your face. It smashed into your nose with a sickening crack, and the sound was somehow louder in your head than out loud.

Your head snapped back, and your hands flew to your face as an explosion of pain bloomed behind your eyes.

“Shit!” you gasped, staggering back a few steps, vision blinking in and out.

You felt something warm and wet trailing from your nose. You spun around before anyone could get a good look. It dripped over your lip, slid down your chin, already splattering your jersey in thick red drops. Your hands went up to catch it, but it just kept coming, warm and fast, like your body was punishing you for getting distracted. The pain throbbed, not sharp, but blunt and pulsing and tears pricked the corners of your eyes automatically, not from crying, but from the sheer force of the hit.

“Oh my God-” someone gasped behind you. “Is she….did it break her nose?”

“Fuck,” you hissed, voice muffled, and bolted off the court, ignoring the chaos and Coach Carter shouting something about ice.

You didn’t stop until you got to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you and locking it with a trembling hand. The fluorescent lights were buzzing overhead, way too bright. You leaned over the sink, breathing hard, watching the blood smear across your palms, your knuckles, the white porcelain. 

There was something about being seen like this, out of control, bloodied, imperfect that made your entire body want to crawl out of itself. Like something primal had been triggered, some silent rule written into your bones. 

You moved to the mirror, peeling your hands away slowly. Blood streaked your upper lip, smeared along your chin, already drying sticky on your skin. Your nose wasn’t crooked, thank God, but it was swollen, flushed red, and still leaking slow rivulets down to your mouth. No bruising yet, no fracture, just a mess. You grabbed a handful of paper towels and pressed them hard against your face, trying to clean up the blood as fast as possible, heart pounding like you were hiding a crime scene

There was something about you that just couldn’t handle being seen like this. Out of place. Out of control. You didn’t do messy. You didn’t do imperfections. Somewhere along the way, it got wired into your brain that looking anything less than flawless was a failure. That if you weren’t perfect, people would stop looking.

God, please. Please let nobody have seen you run out like that. Please let everyone be too distracted by Coach Carter’s voice cracking mid-yell to notice your dramatic, blood-soaked exit. You were moving fast, maybe it looked mysterious and nonchalant. Maybe it looked cool. Maybe someone thought you were having a nosebleed on purpose. That was a thing, right? Maybe in Canada?

You shook your head and sighed, tilting your face toward the ceiling.

The stall behind you opened slowly, and a girl stepped out. Some freshman. Wide eyes, hair in two crooked braids, and the unmistakable expression of someone who had just witnessed everything. You turned to look at her, towel still pressed against your nose.

The girl froze.

You both just stood there in a weird bathroom standoff, her with her backpack half slung on, you with blood on your shirt and exhausted rage.

“I- I didn’t see anything,” she stammered, clutching her books like she was about to be arrested. “I didn’t even pee. That wasn’t even me. I- um. Sorry.”

She practically ran out, her shoes squeaking on the tiles, and you just stared at the door behind her for a second.

“…Okay, bye then,” you muttered, snorting slightly. A mistake. Pain flared through your nose again. “Ow, fuck.”

Just then, the bathroom door swung open again, and Bebe walked in holding a ziplock bag of ice, a water bottle, and a look that was a perfect blend of guilt and ‘I told you so.’

“There you are, Jesus,” she said, hurrying over. “Your nose still on straight?”

“Barely.”

“Oh my God,” she winced. “Your face.”

You held the towel up higher. “Don’t sugarcoat it, B.” you replied sarcastically. You thought you were bad at hiding your emotions, often laughing when people tripped, and couldn't keep a straight face in serious conversations, but Bebe was worse, she didn't even try.

She handed over the ice. “Sorry. My serve wasn’t even that good.”

You took it and pressed it to your face with a wince. “Shut up, it was amazing, you just almost broke my nose.”

“I didn’t know you’d be out here daydreaming about Kyle mid-play.”

You didn’t respond. She didn’t push. Instead, she leaned back against the sink beside you, cracking open the water bottle and holding it out. You took it. And just like that, the moment settled. No teasing. No judgment. Just you and your best friend in a high school bathroom, casually pretending the blood drying on your collar wasn’t the highlight of the week.

“I think I saw God.”

“Yeah , you looked like you got lobotomized, baby..”

You both burst out laughing, even as you carefully pressed the bag of ice to your nose and hissed from the cold. Bebe reached over and helped fix the crumpled collar of your shirt.

“You good?” she asked, quieter now. There was something calming about Bebe’s energy, she was your best friend, your ride or die, the only person who understood the you and all the problems you tried to hide from the rest of the world. She saw you, the real you.

You nodded slowly. “I mean, emotionally? No. But physically? Debatable. Worst yet, Stretch saw me looking at his fucking ginger ass”

She snorted “Well he does have a great ass,” and nudged your arm. “Come on, Bloody Mary. Let’s get you to the nurses office.”

“Only if we agree this never leaves the bathroom.”

“Girl, everyone saw it.”

“…Shut up.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The walk to your car felt dreadful, your ankles were on fire and your arms had a couple new bruises on them, shirt clinging to your skin with shorter pieces of hair sticking to your forehead. Every muscle in your body was screaming at you, and in your head, you were screaming at your coach. The blood had refused to stop earlier, resulting in you sticking some tissue up your nose.

Breathing in and out. Something you found harder to do now with the injury but it was the only way you could calm yourself. It was better than tugging at your hair until pieces were tangles between your fingers, leaving an achy red spot on your scalp, and hitting your leg repeatedly until a bruise formed so big that you had to wear leggings in the summer.

You knew deep down in your mind you would beat yourself up over getting distracted again when you had another competition coming up so soon, and had to recover from the ultimate shame after convincing yourself that everyone would taunt you for your last lost.

Some obviously did but it was easy to shut them out. They meant nothing to you, you still had your status and popularity, and this temporary high was enough to get you through the rest of your year at South Park High before going off to college.

Scary isn't is huh?

A nice bubble bathe with those calming salts your mom recently bought you when she went shopping would do. Your favorite playlist blasting through your headphones to drown out the sound of the twins fighting that you were sure was going to happen and maybe rewatching every Shrek movie, cuddled up on bed with your dog.

Recently the big white husky has chosen to sleep in bed with you every night, the twins were too loud and your parents were barely ever home so you basically had to run the house. If you thought the exhaustion from school would end once you got home, it was actually worse.

As if the universe was plotting against you, there was Stretch, and his little ginger bitch ass parked right next to you, he was leaned against his car scrolling on his phone, stopping at one point, clearly opening up the camera on his phone to check himself out, turning his face to the side and back.

Gosh. Could his ego get any bigger than his head?

You rolled your eyes and tried to avoid him, quickly pulling the tissue out of your nose and trying to use your bag to hide the dried up stains of blood; also not in the mood after being shot by a ball straight to the face after being distracted by fucking Stretch of all people. Maybe your standards had really gone down. Must be a seasonal allergy.

You clutched your bag to your side, and kept your head down. There was still the splotches of now dried blood on your shirt, and the faint crust of dried blood still clinging to your nostril. No one was around anyways, the parking lot was empty, except for Kyle, who looked like he was waiting for someone.

He glanced up, immediately clocking you; the nose, the blood-stained shirt, the look of your very tired and drained but still flushed face, from both embarrassment and the heat that still simmered in the air.

You shot him a disgusted scowl. "The fuck are you looking at Stretch?"

"You're leaking FYI." He ignored the jab and nodded at your shirt.

"Wow thanks Ed Sheeran, real observant of you." You started digging onehandedly in your very messy bag to try and retrieve your keys.

He grinned around the mouth of his Gatorade bottle. "You're in a mood."

"Gosh, just fuck off Kyle."

You dug your hand into your bag, fingers tangling in the chaos of crumpled receipts, stray pens, and about three different lip balms you didn’t even remember buying. Of course, the keys were nowhere to be found, and you could practically feel Stretch’s eyes flick up every now and then from his phone.

“Lost something?” His voice had that annoying, fake-casual tone, like he wasn’t just waiting for you to beg him for help so he could hold it over your head until the end of time.

“Yeah, my will to live,” you muttered, shoving aside a granola bar that was probably there since the beginning of time, “Thanks for asking.”

Kyle snorted under his breath, clearly amused. “Could start by cleaning that disaster you call a bag. I think I saw a raccoon move in there.”

You shot him a glare over the top of your bag. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my belongings had to meet the Stretch Broflovski minimalistic standards.”

“It’s not minimalism, it’s just called being organized.” He said it without even looking up, thumbs still scrolling. “Not that you’d know what that means.”

“Right, because you’re the poster child for togetherness,” you snapped, finally catching the faint jingle of your keys somewhere deep in the abyss. “God forbid you go five seconds without checking your hair in your phone camera.”

He glanced up with an incredulous look. “Sorry for making sure I don’t look like I just got hit in the face with a volleyball, oh wait, you did.”

“Oh, low blow,” you deadpanned, shoving your hand deeper into the bag until your knuckles scraped something metallic. “I’ll have you know I took that like a champ.”

“Yeah, a champ with blood all over her shirt,” he shot back.

You whipped your head toward him, squinting. “Why are you even here? Don’t you have people to annoy somewhere else?”

He smirked slightly, eyes going back to his phone. “Waiting.”

“For what, your forehead to shrink ?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of quick footsteps pattered across the pavement. You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see her, a girl with the most effortlessly perfect hair that caught the last bit of sunlight, cheeks flushed from running, clutching a pastel tote bag.

“Kyyyyle!” Her voice had that bubbly, sweet edge. She jogged right up to him, and without hesitation, threw her arms around his neck. He smiled at her, not a wide one, but a soft subtle one that showed he cared so much. One you had only see him give his parents, friends, and maybe even you a lifetime ago.

Suddenly, she kissed him like you weren’t standing ten feet away watching this whole scene unfold. Not a shy, chaste kiss either, she leaned up on her toes and went for it like she had every right to, like you weren’t standing ten feet away with blood still crusted on your shirt. Like you were invisible.

What the fuck?

Kyle kissed her back without missing a beat, his phone slipping into his pocket and arms slipping around her waist. You were trying not to stare but you saw the way his face relaxed and he eased into it like it was so familiar to him. His fingers spread against the small of her back, holding her steady deepening the kiss even more.

Where the fuck were your keys?

When they finally pulled away, she was grinning up at him, cheeks flushed and eyes shining as she said something too quiet for you to hear. His lips quirked into that same rare, almost shy smile. You’d known it all too well, you were in her shoes once after all.

You found your keys at last, fucking finally, curling your fingers tightly around them until the teeth of the house key pressed into your palm along with a lily flower charm Bebe had given you when she came back from her trip to her aunts and your car keys next to it .

You turned the keys over in your palm, trying as best as you could to get out of here as fast as possible before anyone else had to see how horrid you looked, yeah you knew you were hot but right now you just looked like Carrie. But before you could leave, the girl, still tucked under Kyle’s arm; glanced over and actually noticed you.

Her smile didn’t fade, but it shifted. Softer now, curious.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, stepping slightly out from under Kyle’s arm. “What happened to your face?”

Her tone was genuine. Concerned, even. Gosh, you hated when people look like they wanted to pity you. It made you feel small, like the image you spent years building suddenly didn’t matter when you looked like a mess, something imperfect, almost human even. Why would she care? She was practically sucking Kyle’s face a few seconds ago and now both of them were watching you like they saw right through this facade.

Kyle immediately looked down at you, brows furrowing like he was already bracing for impact. He knew you all too well to know that whatever was going to come out of your mouth was nothing short of sarcastic and mean, hidden under a sweet voice and smile.

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “Got into a brutal street fight with some girl scouts,” you said, perfectly straight-faced. “It was me or them. You should see the other guy.”

The girl blinked, her head tilting in almost perfect unison with Kyle’s, though for very different reasons. She was clearly trying to decide if you were joking, and failing to land on an answer.

Kyle’s jaw worked, that muscle ticking in his cheek. “Really?” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” you asked, all faux-innocence. “She asked.”

Kyle’s girlfriend let out the smallest, most polite laugh you’d ever heard, like she was trying to humor you but wasn’t sure if she was being included in the joke or being used as the punchline. “Oh… okay,” she said softly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

You smiled sweetly at her, the kind of smile that wasn’t really sweet at all. “Don’t worry, though. I’m a survivor.” and winked at her before turning to your car letting out a slight laugh before continuing on with the bit. “maybe next time I’ll get those thin mints.”

Kyle sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for half a second before sliding his arm back around her. “Let’s go,” he said shortly, already steering her toward his car.

She gave you one last uncertain glance over her shoulder, like she might say something else, but Kyle was already opening the passenger door for her.

You stayed put, keys dangling from your fingers, watching them go with an amused little smirk tugging at your mouth. If that was awkward for you, you couldn’t imagine how much more awkward it had been for them. You opened the car and sat before groaning, shoving the tissue back back into your nose and pressing you hands against your face. The weight of the entire day felt heavier, and that interaction with Kyle had just made everything worse. You threw your bag into the backseat and stopped to take a good look at yourself in the mirror.

What did she have that you didn't?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

"Woah did you get your period from your face?" was the first thing you heard as your younger brother entered the passenger side of the car. He looked at you half concerned and half amused putting his finger out to touch the blood before you slapped his hand away.

Sometimes you wondered who raised Asher, he was nothing like Alex at all who opened the door to the back seat and shot you a concerned look that you saw through the rare view mirror but then his face turned almost deadpanned after hearing what Asher said, rolling his eyes and putting his headphones in. The twins were opposites in every way besides their shared face but they both had decided that they would all of a sudden come to you with all their problems and stupid little fights.

The only way you really got a break was when they went to the Broflovski's house to play video games with Ike and basically became a chaos trio. You sort of felt bad for passing on the responsibility of watching them to Sheila but she had insisted over and over that she loved watching them, which is where you were headed now.

You were never really close to your parents, not that they were even around for most of your childhood, they were more materialistic than emotionally available which is why you basically grew up at the Broflovski's house. They were around when they didn't have another business trip to go on but other than that you were looked after by Sheila until you couldn't stand to go to their house again. It wasn't the same but you loved the Broflovski's, well, most of them. You actually hated that little ginger bitch.

Pulling up to their driveway, you could see that Kyle's car was missing, the twins gathered their things ready to run out like if they actually lived there.

Alex pulled his headphones down and leaned over to talk to you. “Are you coming too? Sheila’s been asking about you more now”

In another life, you would have loved to walk into her house again like you once did as a child, feeling the warmth of the atmosphere, having people who loved and cared about you surrounding you, and having a home cooked meal. But you didn’t care about that anymore and eating was something that often fell at the back of your mind.

“Uh no i’m probably gonna head over to Bebe’s”

Your brothers paid little to no attention to what you said before exiting the car, running past Sheila into the house, who looked at you with longing and gave a small wave from where she stood before closing the door.

A notification came from your phone and you immediately picked it up hoping it was your parents or friends, or maybe your latest post was getting a lot more likes. It turned out to just be the Life 360 app you still had on your phone, that both your parents and the Broflovski’s had made you all download a while back when some kid from a country a million miles away from here got lost. They insisted that they needed to know where you were at all times, despite South Park being a small town, and your parents being miles away from you and hardly ever checked up. The money you got from them was great but it wasn’t love.

Your eyebrows scrunched with confusion, it showed Kyle’s icon close by, not anywhere that you knew of but he was definitely at someone’s house. You lived at the so called ‘richer side of town,’ which you discovered at a young age was a big deal, but you didn’t care, it meant that you left being closer to your friends, to the other side of town.

Fuck it, that wasn’t your usual motto but it would be now.

You backed out of the driveway and followed the location on your phone.

Here you were, sitting in your car, blood stained shirt, bloody nose and messy hair. Nothing like the life you presented in school or online but there was no one around, all your earlier plans had disappeared and you now had one goal in mind now.

Taglist: @wishesofficial . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

(lmk if you wanna join the taglist for any posted fic or upcoming ones)

ahh first chapter done (yes i changed the chapter name) 🫶💋

i’ve been editing this damn thing since may

guys mb ik i said tmr like weeks ago but i woke up really sick that morning and i was in America.

im back home now feeling better and also i just started the twisted series . but also skl started back and i’m slumped in work but your girl got selected as a Prefect ayeeeeee.

(Imma do this for Moxxi since she’s heading atm)