Chapter Eleven
Stan finally began to notice the odd and unfamiliar feeling of warmth tightly wrapped around his body when his mind began to lift to the surface. It didn't take him long to realize that the warmth surrounding him was a blanket, and by the soft material below him, it was obvious that he was on a mattress. His back, which used to ache when he slept upon the cold ground in the bomb shelter, was now relaxed and pain-free. However, his limbs were a bit stiff, and sore... like he hadn't moved them in a while. When he began to open his eyes, the world surrounding him was a blur. There was a dim light to his right... but he couldn't quite tell what it was. He didn't even realize he was rubbing his eyes with his right hand until he felt the soreness there. When his blurred vision finally began to clear, he found his eyes lingering on his fingers... before gazing through them, toward a ceiling. A familiar football poster with his favorite football player was tacked up to the ceiling, and he'd remembered opening his eyes and looking up at it every morning. A sort of warm feeling rested in his chest when the memories began to spark. Slowly, he lowered his hand onto the blanket covering his chest, and slowly looked to his right.
The familiar decoration of his bedroom warmly greeted Stan's eyes. Everything was how it was when he'd left it. His furniture was still in place, his walls were the same color... and his closet door was still open, revealing some of the things he'd kept from his childhood adventures. Everything was still there. The light in his bedroom, however, had been off... so the source of the dim light (which had become a little brighter when Stan's vision cleared) belonged to the lamp on his desk beside his bed... And sitting in his desk-chair, with an elbow rested against the surface of the desk, hand holding a head, sat a very familiar young woman, with long brown hair, light skin, and pink braces along her teeth. Stan had to stare a moment before registering who the person was.
Shelly.
Her eyes were closed, and her chest was slowly heaving out and in, giving off the impression that she was asleep. Stan had no idea how long she'd been in his room... and he had no idea how he hadn't had bruises from getting the shit kicked out of him by his older sibling. They were in the same room together, and they weren't in one of those fights that left Stan bloody and wheezing for air. It was strange to see Shelly not awake and wanting to kick his ass. So... what was she doing here?
Suddenly, Stan found his own breath hitching with fear as Shelly's light blue eyes slowly fluttered open. This was it. He was going to get his ass kicked. He watched with wide eyes as his older sister began to awaken. It took her a little bit, but after a moment, her eyes had wandered over to her brother, and held his gaze. Stan didn't move. Or say a word. There was silence between the two... and an unfamiliar look in Shelly's gaze. Then, suddenly, Stan gasped as Shelly bolted forward, and grabbed Stan. He squeaked with fear and struggled at first, and his eyes widened even further as Shelly yanked him forward. He was expecting a punch to the face... but... no pain came. Stan's eyes had snapped shut as he waited for a fight, but it didn't happen. Instead, his chest had knocked against Shelly's, and she rested her head on his shoulder as she held Stan in a tight hug.
Stan couldn't move. Hell, he could hardly breathe, his sibling was holding him so tightly. He didn't know what to think of this situation. Was it a trick? It had to be. Shelly never showed affection for Stan. Never. It was a rule of hers that she always, always followed. His older sister had some sort of unexplained hatred for her younger brother. It always led to fights. Stan grew up with it. That was his and Shelly's relationship as a family. So... why the hell was she hugging him, and... holy shit... did her voice just crack?!
"Stan..." Shelly's voice finally invaded the awkward silence of the room, and still left Stan speechless. His sister's tone was soft, and happy, and... sort of sad at the same time. It was weird. Too weird. Out of character for Shelly. The female released a small sigh. Stan squeaked as Shelly's hug tightened. "I thought I'd never see you again..."
Then came the tears. From Shelly. What. The. Fuck. Shelly never cried. She NEVER cried. It was another unexplained rule. And if she did cry, Stan imagined that it was when no one was looking... when she was completely alone. Yet, here she was, face buried into his shoulder, crying away. Stan didn't know what to do except... maybe... maybe he could...
Stan's arms slowly, slowly wrapped around Shelly's back, and connected at her sides. His grip was gentle at first, since he still felt kind of awkward about the whole situation. But the more Shelly cried for him, and the more he realized how good it felt to be hugged by his sibling, he found himself sinking into the embrace and tightening his grip onto her. He wasn't sure how long they'd been holding each other. A few seconds? Five minutes? It didn't matter, though. Stan found himself enjoying every minute of his sister's affection. It was, for once, a happy feeling toward her that he almost never received.
When they both pulled away, Shelly had been wiping away her tears with the sleeve of her white sweater. Her blue eyes had brightened way more than when Stan had last seen them. She lightly smiled at him with some sort of happiness that Stan had never seen before. And it took him a couple moments as well, but he was finally able to smile back... it didn't last long, but it was there. Then, he looked away, and cast his gaze around his bedroom again. Not being surrounded by the walls of the bomb-shelter was new to him. He never thought he'd see his room again. He looked down to the blankets that still covered his lap, and held onto them with both of his hands. He realized then that the clothes he was wearing before were gone... and replaced with a black t-shirt, and a pair of plaid boxers.
He didn't look up at Shelly. Even though they'd just had that moment of happiness, he couldn't look her in the eye again. He never could. With Shelly, it had always been; Never look into her eyes, never look in her direction, and only speak when spoken to. And when he did speak... it was cautious, and full of respect. He'd pretty much do anything to get out of Shelly's beatings.
Suddenly, Stan's stomach rumbled, and for the first time, he noticed how damn hungry he was. His stomach hurt like it never had before from lack of food. All he could think about now was getting a sandwich or something from the kitchen. ...Apparently the growl in his stomach was loud, because Shelly had suddenly grabbed Stan's wrist and began to pull him to his feet. He looked in her direction, but not quite into her eyes. She still looked happy... and calm. She gently smiled.
"You're probably starving," She told him, her voice gentle. "Come on, let's go downstairs. Mom and Dad are at a friend's party, so it's just us tonight."
Tonight? Stan glanced toward the clock on his desk. The time read 10:35 PM. He didn't expect it to be so late. But a lot of things were becoming a surprise right now... so Stan didn't argue. Instead, he let Shelly lead him out of the room, through the hall, and down the stairs.
When they reached the kitchen of the house, Shelly sat Stan down at one of the chairs at the table, and then proceeded to get out sandwich material. Stan watched her carefully as she worked, a million thoughts going through his mind. Why was Shelly being so nice to him? How had he gotten home? And most importantly... will or will she not poison his sandwich? ...It was only sane to wonder.
Finally, when Shelly was finished, she cleaned everything up before bringing Stan's sandwich to him. She laid it upon the table in front of him, before plopping down in her chair. Stan eyed the sandwich curiously. He hadn't seen her put anything in it, but it was still a good idea to be careful. It'd been a while before he'd actually been sure enough to take a bite... and when he did, Shelly looked amused. It must have been funny watching Stan poke at his sandwich like it may kill him.
"You were out for two days." Shelly suddenly commented. Stan's eyes flew wide, and he nearly choked on his sandwich. He coughed and hit his chest with his fist, before being sure that he wasn't in any danger of choking. He cast his gaze in Shelly's direction and slowly lowered his sandwich back onto his plate. He gave her a look of curiosity, and concern.
He lightly cleared his throat. "Two days?" He repeated, his tone soft, having not used it very much. "How was I out for that long?"
Shelly hummed a moment as she watched him nearly choke, before listening to what her brother had to say. Stan watched Shelly rest her elbows on the table and relax a little. Her eyes looked her little brother up and down. "Well, apparently you and your friend Kyle hadn't run off to join the circus after all. You were kidnapped," She started. Stan nodded in agreement, and hummed for her to continue. So she did. "When you guys got out of there, your friend Eric brought you to his house, and... I guess drugged you or something. Your little blond friend, Butters, brought you home." She paused again, staring steadily at her little brother. "When you were gone... Mom and Dad lost it a little. They truly believed you ran off to join the circus. They and the Broflovskis went out of town to look for you... but you guys never showed up... They finally gave up after a while." She gently smiled. "You should have seen their faces when Butters brought you back."
Stan took Shelly's words into consideration, and found himself believing them. He'd seen Cartman a little after he'd exited the bomb-shelter. But instead of kicking his ass, he had to cover that little girl so she wasn't effected too much by the explosion. ...Who knows where she was now... He didn't quite see Butters, but being dragged home by the kid made sense. Butters always wanted to help people. And his parents... he felt terrible. He could imagine his mother's expression, and... he imagined that his dad wouldn't have been too happy, either. But he was back. ...So good! He was out of the bomb-shelter, Cartman's fault was exposed. All that was left now was... Stan's eyes widened again. How could he have forgotten?! He mentally scolded himself, and cleared his throat. His voice was barely above a whisper, his tone serious. This time, he looked Shelly straight in the eyes.
"Where's Kyle?"
It was late. The only thing the blonde teen wanted to do was go back to his shitty home, ignore his shitty parents, and go to bed. Then, he'd wake up, and face another challenge that South Park always seemed to bring. But for only a couple moments longer... the blue-eyed male remained in the lobby of the police-station. His arms were crossed, his back was rested against a wall beside the front doors of the building, and his foot continued to tap against the tiled floor below him. Police men and women were shuffling this way and that way as they went out their business. Some other, non-police people were in the lobby, but they were minding their own business... faces buried in magazines, or their smart-phones. The blonde teen stared at one of the smart-phones with longing. He was too poor to afford his own, unfortunately.
Familiar voices caught his attention, and the male found himself looking up, his eyes landing on two figures at they approached. One of the people was another blond-haired, blue-eyed teen, although he looked a little more innocent and cleaner than the first. He was staring up at the second man – a redhead adult with dark green eyes who was chattering away about something that didn't matter. The blonde looked interested in whatever the man said... but that was normal. He was interested in anything anyone ever had to say. It was just his personality.
When the two approached, the clean blonde took his place beside the dirtier blonde, and both looked up to the man (who was honestly only a little taller than them). The man shoved one hand into his pocket, and held onto his mug of coffee with the other. His stare was stern... but when was it not?
"Alright, boys. Visiting hours were over a long time ago. You're lucky I let Mr. Stotch in here visit Mr. Cartman." He reminded the two teens, taking a swig from his mug before looking back to them. "I'm afraid I have to ask you two to leave, now, if you don't need anything else."
"That's all we wanted," The dirtier teen replied, shoving his own hands into the pockets of his red shirt. "Thanks."
"No problem," The redhead mumbled. He then turned and trotted away, not saying another word to the two boys. The first blonde watched him go, glancing toward the door of the cells as he went. He knew Cartman was on the other side... doing time for what he'd done. The blonde wasn't quite sure on what the rules were for minors... but hopefully, Cartman would learn his lesson. ...He wouldn't. He never did.
"Kenny, you don't look too great, you know."
Kenny's head perked a little at the gentle voice to his left. He tilted his head to look to his friend. Blue eyes met another set of blue. Butters' blue sweater was tightly wrapped around him, ready to shield him from the cold that awaited outside. Kenny had nothing to protect him... but he'd been used to it. Hopefully, he'd find another sweater thing... like the parka he used to wear when he was little.
Kenny blinked at his friend. "What do you mean, Butters?"
Butters swallowed, looking nervous. "I mean, you and Cartman fought really hard... the bruise on your cheek still looks really bad, Ken."
Kenny hummed as he recalled the couple nights before, where he and the fatass had fought. He slowly rose his hand and traced it along his cheek. Pain swelled were the bruise was. The trophy had gone to his face at one point... toward the beginning of the fight, Kenny guessed. It didn't hurt too bad if he didn't think about it. He'd dealt with worse bruises from his father, unfortunately.
Kenny gave Butters a small, reassuring smile. "It's fine, Butters." He gently told him. "It'll heal up soon enough. Really, it doesn't hurt too bad. The doctor said it'll be fine."
Butters thought about this for a moment, before slowly nodding, satisfied with the answer. He reached up and pushed his glasses further up his nose, before turning and opening the doors to the police station. The two boys were instantly blasted with a cold breeze. Kenny lightly shivered and exited the building, following behind Butters. When they reached the outside, they began to make their way toward their houses. Butters' house was near the station, and it was on the way to Kenny's house. Kenny figured he'd just drop Butters off there, on his way.
The two walked together for about ten minutes, chatting about what was going on in school, or what Cartman had to say to Butters in the building. It was all stuff that Kenny had heard before or expected to hear... so it wasn't really an entertaining time for him. However, what did create something a little exciting was stopping as he saw a figure booking it down the street. At first, he thought whoever it was was being chased... but then he realized that there was nothing behind it. When the figure ran through a streetlight, Kenny instantly recognized the familiar shaggy black hair that was missing it's poof-ball hat, and the red mittens. A smile came to his face, but before he could say anything, Butters beat him to it.
"Hey! Stan! Wait up!"
When the figure stopped in the distance and looked over their shoulder, in the streetlight, Kenny confirmed that it definitely was Stan who'd been sprinting across the street. Butters took off running toward his friend, and Kenny followed, keeping close on Butters' tail as he ran.
When the two finally caught up with Stan, they slowed their running paces to a halt at the boy's side. Kenny found himself being slightly amused at Stan's appearance. He looked like he'd rushed his outfit. The buttons on his brown sweater were only part way done, his hat was practically falling off, he only had one of his gloves on, and his shoelaces were untied. The teen's breath was heaving out and in with deep breaths, showing that he'd been running really fast for a while. Kenny lightly cocked his head to the side and gave a confused smile.
"What's with the clothes, Stan? Was your Mom not there to help dress you tonight?"
Stan looked confused, and then looked down at his appearance. He flushed, and shook his head, giving a half-hearted glare in Kenny's direction. "Shut... up... Kenny..." He panted, tired from his run. He slowly shook his head and swallowed, trying to regain his breath. "I'm... heading toward the... hospital. I have... I have to find Kyle..."
Butters blinked. It was his turn to looked confused. The youngest of the three slowly shook his head at Stan, giving him a sympathetic look. "Stan, Kyle's not at the hospital anymore."
Stan's eyes widened. He continued to pant, but he was looking at Butters now. He swallowed again. "What?" He asked, his tone surprised. "But... Shelly told me that's where he was taken. ...Where is he, now?"
Butters' face brightened. "It's great, Stan! He's finally getting out of the house. He's been there for a couple days. He can't really move much with his legs the way they are... but he's out. I think he said he was going to the park? He needed a little fresh air."
Kenny watched Stan's reaction go from desperate to confused to horrified to worried all at the same time. All of these emotions just flooded onto the black-haired boy's face. His blue eyes darkened a little. "H-His legs? What's wrong with his legs?" He asked, stammering a little.
Kenny sighed, and crossed his arms, lightly frowning. "I went to pick him up from the bomb shelter after the explosion at Jimbo's old house," The blonde explained, clearing his throat. He shifted his weight onto one side. "A shelf had fallen on him. He broke both of his legs, but the doctor said that with time, he can walk again. His arm is broken too, but Kyle said that he'd accidentally broken it a few days befo-... Stan?"
Kenny didn't really have time to finish his sentence before he watched Stan turn and sprint off toward the direction of the park. The blonde honestly felt a little offended by this... but he understood. Stan and Kyle were best friends. Obviously, Stan wanted to make sure that the Jewish boy was okay. Slowly, he looked toward Butters, and mumbled...
"Should we follow him?"
Butters thought a moment, and then slowly shook his head. "Nah, let them go." He decided out loud. "Besides, if I don't get home soon, my parents will ground me."
Kenny gave an amused half-smirk. "Of 'course, Butters. Of 'course."
The night was cold... the snowflakes attacked the bare skin on his face... but that didn't stop Kyle from enjoying the outside world. It was around 11:00 at night... and he knew his mother wouldn't agree with him being out so late. But he'd been cooped up in the house since he'd gotten back from the hospital, and after being trapped inside a fucking bomb-shelter for a month and a half, Kyle was willing to break a couple rules to enjoy a little freedom.
The Jewish boy was at the park... upon a swing-set. There was a street-light hanging over the swing-set, lighting up the small area so that Kyle could see. He was sitting on the right swing... breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the quiet. His eyes were closed, and his head was rested against the right chain of the swing. If his legs hadn't been totally useless at that moment... he'd be gently swinging back and fourth. However, he remained still. The wheelchair that the hospital had provided for him was only a couple inches away, back resting against one of the bars of the swing-set. Since he only had one non-broken arm, he couldn't hold crutches, so he'd been sentenced to a wheelchair until he could either hold crutches or walk again. As much as Kyle hated it, he knew it'd be the only way he'd be able to get around. And luckily for him, it was late and hardly anyone was out tonight, so it saved him the embarrassment.
Kyle couldn't stop thinking about Stan. He'd been locked inside the bomb-shelter with Stan for a full-on month and a half. They'd exited the bomb-shelter skinny, pale-skinned, and dark-eyed from not having enough food, water, exercise, and sunlight. These last couple days, Kyle had been recovering, but it didn't stop him from thinking about his blue-eyed friend. Word got out that he'd been drugged by Cartman just before he'd been rescued by Butters, and would be unconscious for a couple days. It'd been two days since then, and Kyle was starting to worry. He had some sort of ridiculous fear that Stan would never wake up. Even though Kyle had been very close to Stan for so long... he felt like now was the time that he needed his friend the most. And not... not just as a friend. It may have sounded silly, but Kyle was finally able to admit to himself that he'd developed some sort of new feeling for Stan in the bomb-shelter. Something... romantic. He knew he couldn't tell Stan. It would have sounded crazy, and... creepy. They shared no romantic signs or anything in the bomb shelter... partly because Kyle didn't want to creep Stan out. It was obvious that Stan didn't like Kyle back. He showed no signs to prove it. Kyle knew he could never tell Stan, either. He just couldn't. Stan was Kyle's best friend, and it would ruin everything between them. Kyle would have to learn to let his feelings go, and... as crazy as it was, he didn't know if he could.
Kyle's eyes slowly fluttered open to reveal the dark world before him. He gave a soft, drawn-out sigh. He longed to at least hear Stan's voice.
"Kyle..."
...Wow, that was quick.
Kyle lifted his gaze to meet the blue eyes of his best friend. Stan was standing only a few feet away, arms limp at his sides. His outfit looked a bit rushed... and kept Kyle wondering exactly how quickly the boy had put everything on. The black-haired teen's eyes were wide as he stared down at Kyle's legs, and at his wheel-chair. When Kyle realized what Stan was staring at, he felt a sudden wave of insecurity, and looked away.
"One of the heavy metal shelves fell on me..." Kyle mumbled, looking toward the snow-covered ground. "During the explosion..."
Kyle's eyes lifted to meet Stan's figure again when he heard soft footsteps. Stan had made his way over to the wheel-chair, and lightly ran his fingers across one of the wheels. He lightly frowned, and then looked to Kyle's legs. His gaze shown irritation, but mostly worry.
"Did the doctor say how long you'd be in the chair for?" He asked, his voice gentle, and soft. Kyle watched as Stan took a step closer toward the swing. The redhead thought a moment, before shaking his head.
"I'm supposed to wait and see," He replied. "I actually shouldn't even be outside in the first place. Ma will get mad if she finds out I sneaked out here."
Stan slowly shrugged. Kyle watched as the raven-haired teen took his place upon the other swing, to Kyle's left. "She won't find out. We'll get you home before she notices you're gone." He paused... looking toward the chair once more. "I'll help you home when you're ready."
Kyle blinked a moment, taking in what Stan said. Then he frowned, and scoffed. He cast his gaze down toward his lap. "Thanks, but I don't need help." He muttered.
"I... s-sorry?" Stan offered, clearly shocked at Kyle's change of attitude. Kyle felt a pang of guilt in his chest, now. He lightly sighed and shook his head. He didn't look up from his lap.
"I-... No, I'm sorry, Stan..." He mumbled, his voice less aggressive. "I just don't want to feel helpless. I don't want people to pity me. It's just a couple broken bones. They'll heal. It's not like I'll be crippled and useless forever."
He finally looked up into Stan's direction, and flushed when he realized that Stan was looking right at him. Stan must have noticed that Kyle noticed him staring, because his face also flushed, and he quickly looked away, and cleared his throat in a hurry. "Yeah, I know what you mean." He replied. He paused. "But still, if you need any help, let me know."
Kyle lightly smiled at Stan's kind offer, and slowly nodded. "Will do..." He mumbled.
There was a couple minutes of silence between the two. They were alone, sitting together on the swing-set. The stars twinkled high in the sky and brightly shined. The cold breeze attacked their faces, along with the falling flakes of snow, but it didn't bother them too much. The peace and quiet wasn't new to them, but it was what they needed now. Both of the two boys, Stan and Kyle, looked about their surroundings as they took in their new sense of freedom. Kyle wanted to ask Stan all about what had happened after he'd left the bomb-shelter, but decided to go against it. Those questions would come later. For now, it was just the two of them, sitting side by side, realizing the fact that... now... they were free. They weren't trapped anymore.
"You know, out of all the shit we've been through, this isn't the worst thing that's happened to us..." Stan reminded, though it sounded like he was more reminding himself than his Jewish friend. Kyle slowly nodded in agreement.
"Yeah. Cartman has done worse stuff to us... this definitely hasn't been as bad as other times."
"Right." Stan nodded.
Kyle waited for more, but there was nothing else from Stan. The two stayed in more silence. A million thoughts and emotions were going through the redhead's mind, now. He wanted so much to just tell Stan how he was feeling... and hope that the feelings would be mutual. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't have the courage. Yet, there was that small part of his heart that was telling him... Do it. Tell Stan. It's going to work out.
Kyle refrained from shaking his head. How could he? Being stuck in the same place for a month and a half was definitely a stupid way to develop romantic feelings, and it was definitely a stupid excuse to use. What could he say? How would he go about saying it? And what if he was rejected? What if Stan didn't share the same feelings at all? Kyle then frowned at himself. No. He had to try. Stan was his best friend. Kyle should be able to tell him anything. ...Right? ...Right. He slowly sucked in a breath...
"Stan-"
"Kyle-"
Kyle was surprised to find Stan talking at the same time as he. Kyle quickly and awkwardly cleared his throat and stared down at his lap, finding the design in his pants suddenly very interesting. He tightly held onto the left chain of the swingset with his good arm and bit the inside of his cheek. Stan had a similar reaction, and the two were silent for a couple more moments, before Kyle finally mumbled,
"You go first."
He was expecting Stan to disagree and tell Kyle to go ahead and speak, but instead, Kyle found himself silent as Stan spoke. The teenager's tone sounded a bit... nervous... which Kyle hadn't been expecting at all. Stan tripped over his own words and fumbled with the sleeve of his sweater.
"Um... w-we were in that bomb-shelter for a long time, you know..." He mumbled. Kyle blinked. "A-and... you know... I think we've gotten a little closer during that time, and, um... we should... I think... I mean... How about we... I think I like... I... er..."
Stan was at a loss for words... this much was obvious. Kyle waited a moment, but all that came out of Stan's mouth further was incoherent words. Slowly, the redhead lifted his head and looked to Stan. The teenager was staring at his own lap, now. One hand was limp at his side, and the other was fumbling with the bottom of his shirt. He was lightly biting his bottom lip in a sort of nervous way... and for some reason... it caused Kyle to smile. Slowly, he reached his left hand out, leaned forward, and gently traced his fingers along the top of Stan's hand. Stan tensed and glanced at Kyle out of the corner of his eye. Gaining some courage, Kyle held his breath a moment as he gently slid his hand into Stan's, and locked their fingers. Kyle noticed Stan nervously swallow, before raising his eyes to meet Kyle's. When their gazes met, Kyle found himself smiling again. He released the breath he was holding, and softly, he whispered,
"How about we go see a movie sometime or something?"
A sudden look of relief washed over Stan's face, and it caused Kyle to lightly chuckle. Stan's own smile crept upon his lips, and he slowly nodded, his eyes lightening. He gave Kyle's hand a little squeeze.
"Yeah... sounds good."
Kyle smiled still, and the two looked away from each other, and toward the distance, at the darkened park. Silence had grown between them, and it wasn't at all uncomfortable. Kyle's heart raced in his chest at the warmth from Stan's hand, which still held onto Kyle's.
Finally, it was over. Kyle and Stan were free from the bomb-shelter, and Cartman was paying for what he'd done. And though it definitely wasn't a good situation to be in... Kyle wanted to admit that it wasn't all for nothing, either. Somehow, he found himself becoming thankful for the situation. Because even though it didn't start exactly what he wanted with Stan...
It started something.
Alright, guys... that's it. That's the end. I got a little sad when I realized that this story was over, but... every story's got to end at some point, right? Short, sweet, and had a happy ending.
Thank you all SO MUCH for your wonderful reviews and favorites! I'm pleased to know that you guys really liked this fan fiction. I'm going to be coming out with more South Park stuff...which I cannot wait to get started on. This was a great run for me, and hopefully for you guys. Thank you so, SO much for reading. You guys really gave me the confidence boost I needed to know that I shouldn't be too nervous about showing people my work.
If you guys have any ideas or South Park requests, let me know, and I'll probably write them. I'm very opened for MOST any ideas or requests (and by most I mean, I won't do anything disgusting. XD)