Disaster In The Making
Fandom: South Park
Pairing: Stan/Kyle, if you want it to be.
Rating: PG
Summary: So wait, are those two a couple or not?
Notes: It's not Stan/Kyle. No, it's not. Really. Stop looking at everything with the slash-goggles on.
Disaster In The Making
I seriously don’t get those guys.
So what the fuck are they? Boyfriends? Friends? Brotherly friends? Friendly brothers? Simply fags?
This is so freaking confusing. I know I’m probably the best when it comes to social signals - how could I not know, when that’s the only interesting part that stupid therapist keeps saying during those boring sessions every week? - but this is beyond human knowledge. Kyle fucking Broflovski is caressing Stan’s cheek and looking at him with that “I’m-going-to-ravish-you”-look. And Stan mother-fucking Marsh is looking at him with that same look and encouraging him to continue! So what is this? Are they just joking? Or are they serious?
This is seriously weak.
And I’m telling you, I really wouldn’t mind if those two decided to tell the whole world for once and for all are they ramming one another’s asses or not. Growing up with my mother - who is a dirty slut, I know that very well - and under the influence of Kenneth McCormick has taught me some kind of tolerance. I may still hate hippies and ginger kids still creep me out and Kyle Broflovski makes my blood boil, as I’m reminded of my 9-year-old self’s faults every day, but I have nothing against homosexuals or whatever-they-decide-to-be-sexuals.
But this is seriously pissing me off. I demand to know for once and for all what the hell is going on between those two wannabe-fags!
“Hey there, sexy.” - “Hiya, handsome.”
Would someone please tell me do they freaking mean anything with those everyday greetings? Does it mean anything or are they just two friends having fun? If it’s an inside joke between them, I don’t care. If there’s more in it, I care, obviously.
It would be so much fun to tell them that I have been right all along. Tell to their faces that “na-na-na, I toldja guys! I did! I saw this coming nine years ago! Man I’m good!”.
I would so love to see Stan’s face glow in red and Kyle’s face twist with anger. It would do them both good to be reminded that there are at least some things I’m better at than them. Some day I’m going to prove Kyle that ‘social manipulating’ can be measured and taught in school. Just you wait, Kyle. Just you wait.
... but first I need to prove myself that I’m actually good at it. Think, Eric. Think. You know the basic information. They’ve been friends for all of their lives. They practically live next door to each other. They have roughly the same interests and dislikes and likes. They spend together every minute they have to spare. They seem to be flirting with each other, but then again, it could be just joking.
Fuck. This is just too confusing. And if I can’t solve this puzzle, who can?
I had to stoop down one level and ask Kenny. I was pretty sure that Kenny would know. If Kenny, who seems to notice before the persons themselves in question that they are made for each other, couldn’t answer me, this had to be pretty fucked up.
It was. Kenny didn’t know. He shrugged and said, “It’s pretty hard to know are they really fucking with us... or each other.”
Lame. Seriously lame.
I’ve really had enough. This is it. I’m going to stoop down to the lowest level and ask them. They have to answer! If there’s nothing between them, it’s easy to deny. If there is, I can see it from their expressions.
When Stan plops down next to Kyle on lunch break and gives him a half-hug, I decide to go on as planned. I give Kenny half of my French fries so that he stays quiet and watch as Kyle grins at Stan.
What a perfect smile. That fucker Stan really doesn’t deserve it, even if it’s not real.
“Guys, seriously, I’ve been meaning to ask you about... this... for a long time.”
“What, fat-a... umh, Cartman?”
I smirk. Kyle is way too conditioned to call me that to learn that I’ve actually lost twenty kilos since last year. I’m not fat anymore, but you’re still a dirty Jew, Kyle. Touché.
“So are you two going out or what?” I ask as casually as I can. No need to scare them right now. Stan and Kyle share a look. Kenny stops munching his fries and gives me a dirty look. Stop being such a saint, Kenny, you want to know this just as much as I do.
Then they grin at us, at exactly the same time.
“What does it look like, genius?”
God-damn-it.
I seriously don’t get those guys.
End.
Pairing: Stan/Kyle, if you want it to be.
Rating: PG
Summary: So wait, are those two a couple or not?
Notes: It's not Stan/Kyle. No, it's not. Really. Stop looking at everything with the slash-goggles on.
Disaster In The Making
I seriously don’t get those guys.
So what the fuck are they? Boyfriends? Friends? Brotherly friends? Friendly brothers? Simply fags?
This is so freaking confusing. I know I’m probably the best when it comes to social signals - how could I not know, when that’s the only interesting part that stupid therapist keeps saying during those boring sessions every week? - but this is beyond human knowledge. Kyle fucking Broflovski is caressing Stan’s cheek and looking at him with that “I’m-going-to-ravish-you”-look. And Stan mother-fucking Marsh is looking at him with that same look and encouraging him to continue! So what is this? Are they just joking? Or are they serious?
This is seriously weak.
And I’m telling you, I really wouldn’t mind if those two decided to tell the whole world for once and for all are they ramming one another’s asses or not. Growing up with my mother - who is a dirty slut, I know that very well - and under the influence of Kenneth McCormick has taught me some kind of tolerance. I may still hate hippies and ginger kids still creep me out and Kyle Broflovski makes my blood boil, as I’m reminded of my 9-year-old self’s faults every day, but I have nothing against homosexuals or whatever-they-decide-to-be-sexuals.
But this is seriously pissing me off. I demand to know for once and for all what the hell is going on between those two wannabe-fags!
“Hey there, sexy.” - “Hiya, handsome.”
Would someone please tell me do they freaking mean anything with those everyday greetings? Does it mean anything or are they just two friends having fun? If it’s an inside joke between them, I don’t care. If there’s more in it, I care, obviously.
It would be so much fun to tell them that I have been right all along. Tell to their faces that “na-na-na, I toldja guys! I did! I saw this coming nine years ago! Man I’m good!”.
I would so love to see Stan’s face glow in red and Kyle’s face twist with anger. It would do them both good to be reminded that there are at least some things I’m better at than them. Some day I’m going to prove Kyle that ‘social manipulating’ can be measured and taught in school. Just you wait, Kyle. Just you wait.
... but first I need to prove myself that I’m actually good at it. Think, Eric. Think. You know the basic information. They’ve been friends for all of their lives. They practically live next door to each other. They have roughly the same interests and dislikes and likes. They spend together every minute they have to spare. They seem to be flirting with each other, but then again, it could be just joking.
Fuck. This is just too confusing. And if I can’t solve this puzzle, who can?
I had to stoop down one level and ask Kenny. I was pretty sure that Kenny would know. If Kenny, who seems to notice before the persons themselves in question that they are made for each other, couldn’t answer me, this had to be pretty fucked up.
It was. Kenny didn’t know. He shrugged and said, “It’s pretty hard to know are they really fucking with us... or each other.”
Lame. Seriously lame.
I’ve really had enough. This is it. I’m going to stoop down to the lowest level and ask them. They have to answer! If there’s nothing between them, it’s easy to deny. If there is, I can see it from their expressions.
When Stan plops down next to Kyle on lunch break and gives him a half-hug, I decide to go on as planned. I give Kenny half of my French fries so that he stays quiet and watch as Kyle grins at Stan.
What a perfect smile. That fucker Stan really doesn’t deserve it, even if it’s not real.
“Guys, seriously, I’ve been meaning to ask you about... this... for a long time.”
“What, fat-a... umh, Cartman?”
I smirk. Kyle is way too conditioned to call me that to learn that I’ve actually lost twenty kilos since last year. I’m not fat anymore, but you’re still a dirty Jew, Kyle. Touché.
“So are you two going out or what?” I ask as casually as I can. No need to scare them right now. Stan and Kyle share a look. Kenny stops munching his fries and gives me a dirty look. Stop being such a saint, Kenny, you want to know this just as much as I do.
Then they grin at us, at exactly the same time.
“What does it look like, genius?”
God-damn-it.
I seriously don’t get those guys.
End.