jackalopes-pen

[jackalopes-pen]

Vroom Vroom.

TW: Description of violence, swearing, taking the lord’s name in vain, gay people

Summary: South Park Racing AU, but I focus way too much on one idiot.

Characters: Craig Tucker, Tweak Tweek, Tolkien Black, Clyde Donovan

Word Count: 988

A/N: Brain rot. Just brain rot. Let me write damn it, I have nothing to do.

Craig wouldn’t particularly call himself a ‘street racer’, although if you care about textbook definitions then he is. He just performs for rich idiots who like to bet on poor idiots on shitty motorcycles. Legally, they call that ‘street racing’ and Clyde likes to get on his nerves about it. Craig could almost bet that Clyde had a literal stick shoved so far up his ass that it’s causing his lactose intolerance. 

“Craig, you’re racing tonight, right?” Tolkien said from across the lunch tale, catching his attention. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s duos tonight so me and Tweak are racing.” Craig responded simply. This was his first time in the major circuit so he had to do the duo race to get registered for solo races. If it was his choice, he’d jump straight to a solo race but unfortunately this season is down to team races. 

“Cool, I’ll be watching… like always.” Tolkien smirked. He only supported Craig in this because it meant he got money. If it was a net loss, Tolkien would do anything to pull Craig out.

“You’re both so fucking stupid.” Clyde groaned, “I heard the major circuit is where people get hurt cause the modification rules are non-existent.”

“Yeah? I heard cheese tastes good, but you wouldn’t know, would you?” Craig snapped back.

“Jesus- alright.” Clyde held up his hands and kept eating his lunch.

Craig decided to just keep eating his shitty cafeteria food and give little more than a side glance at Clyde. After all, that idiot had no idea how much money Craig was making and how many Red Racer dvds he was accumulating. He almost had the full movie set, except for Red Racer Vs. Blue Racer: The Ultimate Race. It was a TV movie so it’s hard to find any copies. One day, though, he’ll have them all. All the Red Racer he could ask for. 

“CRAIG!” Tweak’s shaky voice broke through Craig’s fantasy.

“Yeah?” Craig said, annoyed.

“Dude- did you see the line-up? We’re so boned!” Tweak’s constantly shaking hands kept Craig from reading Tweak’s phone screen. It just looked like a jittering box of light.

“Honey- calm down. Lemme see.” Craig took the phone from Tweak’s hand and looked over the list. It wasn’t exactly names, because if any of them got ratted to the police it was over. Instead, what he saw was a list of persona names to hide identities. 

Among the list was “The Junker”, who had a decent reputation as a sure-shot, a clean 54 races won. Although his motorcycle is liable to explode. He also saw some edgelord named “Hook Horror” who currently had a 39 win streak, and a massive hook attached to his motorcycle to grab and destroy. The only other real problem he saw was some idiots named “toolshed” and “human kite”. No fucking way that Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski were racers. 

“We’re gonna explode, ribs ripped out, lost by miles!” Tweak was pacing back and forth and shaking. He clearly already thought the absolute worst possibility and was imagining painful deaths. 

“We’re fine. These guys are edgelords.” Craig rolled his eyes and handed Tweak his phone back. It doesn’t matter if they have exploding engines or weird weapons, they have speed. Who gives a fuck about the rest?

__ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___

The night of the race, Craig was making sure everything looked right on his motorcycle. He was that reckless, to not check his stuff and make sure he wouldn’t die tonight.

“Look honey, it’s fine. See, that guy is nervous.” Craig pointed to a different stall with a duo. One of them was freakishly tall and was quietly comforting the shorter one. They couldn’t tell what was being said, but they looked really gay. 

“uRG- WHAT IF IT’S AN ACT?!” Tweak seemed so utterly terrified. He seemed like he was certain he would die tonight.

“It’s probably not. Look over there, that fat fuck will probaby come dead last.’ Craig pointed out a box with one guy who looked like the most money he’d seen was five bucks and the other who looked like he treated eating as an olympic sport.

“It could be padding so he can get back up!” tweak said, still pacing.

“Fuck! I forgot my socket wrench. Gimme a minute.” Craig got up and looked around. He noticed that the gay fucks from earlier had one lying around. He casually got up and walked over to them to ask for it. He could vaguely hear what they were saying.

“You’re fine, love. We practiced a thousand times.” The tall one said.

“I- I dunno… why couldn’t Salem make it?” said the shorter one.

“Salem is betting tonight.”

“Oh yeah… forgot Salem is rich like that.”

“Making fun of racer names, are we Nevermore?”

“You got your name from the D&D Monster Manual, you can’t talk.”

“... touché.”

“Uh, excuse me?” Craig said, “Can I borrow your socket wrench?” He pointed to it on the black toolbox decorated in band stickers. 

“Hm? Sure- just give it back at some point.” The taller one said, nonchalant. “Who.. are you?” 

“Blue Racer.. Like the tv series Red Racer. Do you watch Red Racer?” Craig said, his autism showing a bit.

“Oh.. the newbie. Good luck.” The tall man handed over the wrench and kind of shrugged him off.

“Oh yeah, who are you?”

“The Hook Horror… this is Nevermore, my partner.” by the person’s tone it was hard to discern what variety of partner. Although, Craig could take a guess.

“Oh… cool. See you on the line.” Craig walked off to fix his bike and leave the gay idiots alone. Although their voices did sound kind of familiar. Maybe they went to the same High School or something.

Actually, now that he’s really looking around, all these idiots seem to be idiots from his high school. This just got so much easier.

[jackalopes-pen]

Dumb Brain Child

Gadies and lentlemen of the internet, when we got a Janus video did anyone except me to not make a post about my favorite side? I think most of most followers did. So, go watch the newest video, come back, and strap in.

(before anything, I'm aware I'm four days late. SHUT.)

So, the first thing that caught my eye was that, in theory, the GRWM is working from a c!Thomas disguise, which apparently he has, to his look. This could be good to know for the finale in case c!Thomas is acting off/ argumentative.

Janus appears to have some degree of pride about his appearance being replicated right (?). It could be an internal thing (ex: they don't pay enough attention to me ot get it right) or (look at me more, please). Either one, his ego is the size of Canada.

Next thing! Janus doesn't have both eyebrows. He has to cover C!Thomas' up with colour correction, glue, and foundation. So he definitely possesses only one eyebrow which is weird when you think too long about it. While doing this section, he mentions that he enjoys reality television because none of it is real and it's purely underhanded deception... which tracks. It also tells us that he does enjoy seeing other liars at work when it's done well and in a non-self-deprecating way. This probably part of the reason he calls out Patton & Roman for their lies. Their lies hurt themselves.

S/N: Remus eating Janus' glue sticks is so canon and I adore it.

The thing that made me make this whole post in the first place was when we got to the eye section. His smile dropped. You can see, as soon as he says "eye" his mouth muscles relax showing that he isn't happy anymore. Clearly, his eye is a sensitive subject and this is even when the fan questions are introduced as a distraction from the eye section.

Could this actually be a scar like Joan said? A scar that Janus is very insecure about. He doesn't talk at all about the actual makeup during this, he just answers fan questions and mentions colour mixing. He also says during this section that he has dark circles, perhaps implying that he isn't taking as much care of himself as he wants the rest to believe. Dark circles are a sign of loss of sleep and stress. After all, he states "The only opinion that matters in your own" but what if your own opinion is negative? It could also just be a case of Remus is a bad roommate.

We see during the mouth section, that Janus apparently has "snake telepathy" which may contribute to Ye Olde "Roman was not Roman during Moving On 1 & 2" theory. Janus could;ve been using telepathy to guide Roman's decisions.

Finally, we get to the scales which Janus is clearly very proud of. He adores his scales. He talks about how they're pretty, and highlights them with his hands. It is fun to see that something he gets a lot of insults for is something he really likes and won't take shit about.

Final Conclusion:

This was an in-character cosplay tutorial that I looked into way too much.

[jackalopes-pen]

Experimenting

Summary: Henrietta questions her sexuality and decides to figure it out the old fashioned way. In practice.

Characters: Henrietta Biggle | Michael (Tall Goth)

Word Count: 535

A/N: We're back, we have content. I really need to update other fics atm but take for now while I play catchup and try to transfer an entire fic to AO3

Henrietta had never really questioned her sexuality. She slowly came to this realisation as she read poetry in her room. She had never asked that question despite consistently being bullied and mocked for likely being a lesbian. Maybe she simply always figured she was straight because no one ever really peaked her interest. In fairness, she was never looking in the first place. After all, her standards leaned towards alternative people, not some conformist jock or cheerleader. She started to wonder if there was a way she could test this. 

An idea slowly popped into her head. The conformists often claimed she was dating Michael. It made sense in theory, since the two of them were the sort of leaders of their group. Well... leaders-ish. Power structure in a group dynamic is for conformist assholes who feel like they have no power over their life and take it on their loved ones. Whatever- that's a different tangent. She decided to text him and see if he’d be just willing enough to humour it.

“Hey, would you kiss me?” Henrietta texted Michael, nervous. Why did she phrase it like that? That's so awkward. He would probably think it as spam or her dumb little brother. She waited for a while before he finally responded.

“Ig.” Michael responded

It wasn’t promising, but it was consent. She texted him to come over to her house. They lived across the street from each other, so it wasn’t a hassle by any means. All that made it longer was his limp. She just sat in her room and waited for three knocks. Henrietta found it weird how calculated he is. It was always three knocks or always placing his pencil in the same way. Maybe it was just some kind of neurodivergence. 

Knock Knock Knock 

“Yeah?” Henrietta shouted at the door. 

“I’m here.” Michael deadpanned. He walked in, closing the door after him, and leaning against his usual spot on her bed frame.

“I know it sounds super conformist, but I just didn’t think about this kind of thing. Y’know it’s not super goth to think about love so I just didn’t.” Henrietta said, kind of rambling. She was kind of making an excuse for herself as to why she asked him to be here.  She knows he doesn't give a shit. However, in her mind, she needs justification for asking her best friend to kiss her.

“Okay. So why am I here? Just for you to experiment?” Michael said. 

“I was wondering if you would kiss me. Just- just to test and see if I’m straight or not. I don’t know what else to do.” Henrietta admitted, clearly a bit ashamed. Her cheeks turned a soft pink under her white foundation.

Michael moved forward and tipped her chin up. He seems almost bored at the idea but willing. “So… just kiss you?”

“Yeah.” Henrietta whispered out.

“Okay.” Michael hummed against her lips.

Michael closed the gap and kissed her lips. His lips were soft and warm, but it felt so gross. It felt like kissing her brother or maybe a stranger. but definitely someone she shouldn't be kissing. They both quickly pulled away. Henrietta grabbed a mint from her dresser and popped it in. 

“That was awful.” she said clearly, still reeling from it. She even gagged slightly from it.

“I’m never doing that again.” Michael said, trying to maintain his facade of apathy, but failing as his body compulsively gagged.

“Wait- you… hated it too?” Henrietta laughed slightly, amused.

“... yeah.” Michael said kinda sheepishly.

Their silence hung in the air like a tense balloon. The quiet realisation of their orientations setting in. Maybe in the back of their minds they quietly figured they were straight but any inclination of that was shattered.

“We will never speak of this again.” Henrietta stated firmly.

“Agreed.” Michael said quickly, offering his hand to seal the deal.

They shook, and from that day forward if anyone asked they said simply were gay and that was not up for debate.

[jackalopes-pen]

Allow me to explain.

Commedia Del’Arte is an Italian improvised theatre form made in the renaissance era. It was created with stock characters (basically outlines of stereotypes) and performed as a travelling cart. Each character has a distinctive costume and mannerisms.

Performers would roll into town in their cart, play an improvised show in a town square (typically interacting with the onlookers as anything from suggestions to players in the story) then when the guards came to arrest them they’d flee to the next town.

Above was the basics, this is the specifics.

There are two classes in Commedia, Masters and Servants.

Some of the masters include Pantalone (the Scrooge), il Dottore (the doctor), il Capitano (the captain) , the First Actor and Actress, the inamorati (the lovers) and Magnifico (the king)

The servants include more recognisable faces like Arlechinno (the jester), Columbina (the slutty maid), Brighela (the weathered taskmaster), Cruella (sadist), Pulcinella (the depressed), and more.

They each lead with a particular body part like the nose, stomach, hips, feet, or chin. They each had a step pattern (ex: tale two steps then flourish on the third). And most memorable they each had a unique mask and costume to tell them apart.

For sake of example, if you wanted to find Dottore then you would look for someone of a larger build, leading with their stomach, in a tan mask with a third eye, and likely boasting about his knowledge.

The fun part is the actual performances where rough outlines turn into real people and interact with each other and the audience.

I must not be boujie and seasoned enough, what the FUCK is Commedia Dell'arte?

[jackalopes-pen]

Dumb Brain Child, yes again

Well, well Sanders Sides. It's been a while hasn't it? I should hope I don't need to reintroduce myself. But anyway, we did actually learn somethings from the recent asides and I want to discuss.

In case it wasn't clear, spoilers for the new asides episode. Go watch it. come back, then deal with my bullshit.

So, one of the main things put on display that I found interesting was we got to see an upper boundary for Roman's ability. He had to manually wrap his gift, and even complained about having to do a quick switch. Could this mean that he can't wrap by his ability alone or is based on Thomas' ability? It could be that c!Thomas can't wrap a gift to save his life so Roman doesn't know how and can't expedite the process.

Another thing we saw, is that apparently the dark sides are far away from c!Thoams' living room. Logan states "They came all this way.." and he barely understands turn or phrase or sarcasm so naturally it can be hypothesized that Janus' and Remus' domains are far from the real world to some extent. Also, considering they arrived together it's not insane to say they share a space. Perhaps the subconscious?

Also, in my own excitement, Janus is 99% confirmed cold-blooded! He may be an actual biological snake which means, and this is exciting, he could have fangs or be able to unhinge his jaw. Maybe even passively smell with his tongue? The extent of biological accuracy is yet to be seen. He is also now a confirmed alcoholic.. so get excited.

There's a surprising amount learned so.. rapid fire!

Remus' shower drain is Joanne Fabrics. I'm terrified to see if he named anything after Specter's.. one section in mind.

Virgil is aware of Remus' nickname for his shower drain, and is ashamed to have the information

Mr. Fuzzy may be alive, meaning Remus may be able to make autonomous life.

Janus and Remus were actively goading Logan into a melt down, they seem of be aware of orange and want his presence

Patton knows little nothing abut Remus, and who Remus is.

Roman has the ability to put a hand in a box that can perform an action after a signal

Logan enjoys conspiracies and solving them

Virgil knows enough to make a real-life ARG of sorts

Thomas apparently asked Logan to orchestrate the gift exchange so he could get a good gift for Nico.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 8: Small Children

Summary: Michael finds a terrified Karen McCormick and slowly figures out that children can be more then just a problem

Charcaters: Michael (tall goth), Karen McCormick, Kenny McCormick

Word Count: 879

A/N: Don't mind this man calling a living human 'it' for most of the chapter.

Previous: [Pressure] | [Sleep]

Life in the East District is pretty damn depressing. The buildings are in disrepair or just out right rubble, and the street is littered with broken glass from bottles or windows. Sure, little communities try to make life better, by taking care of their own greenery, and repairing what they can. They’re easy to spot by looking for flags and well-kept areas. Michael did what was feasible with what he could scavenge, making himself and others mobility aids. He found a hobby of invention and creation, trying to make things that were better or lasted longer than what the city would provide.

He had to go adventuring again, today. He was out of scrap metal and wire. These sort of excursions were never without a cost, his knee was practically screaming. It’s difficult to make a brace that’s comfortable and functional when the most comfortable thing you have is mattress stuffing and an inability to sew. 

He was just going over to raid the mechanic’s dump ground when he heard a rustling nearby. Sure, it was probably a rat or maybe a dumb pigeon, but it was worth checking regardless. He walked over and gently moved the rubble out of the way to see… a little girl.

“P-please don’t hurt me!” The little girl said, covering her face.

“You’re not scrap.. are you, kid?” Michael said, slightly amused

It shook it’s head quickly, and looked as though it was about to cry. Michael really hoped it didn’t do that, that sort of thing was annoying to deal with.

“You should get home… why don’t I help you with that?” Michael said, extending a hand to help it up. The little girl accepted.

“M-my name is Karen.” it said, quickly holding on to Michael’s coat hem.

“Good to know. What street are you from?” Michael hoped it at least knew the street name, otherwise this was going to be near impossible.

“West Johnson but, I can’t find it from here.” Karen looked up at Michael, tears starting to brim in it’s eyes.

“I can get you home. Just follow along.” Michael offered out a hand and Karen quickly took it. 

The two started walking along, and Karen was still shaking. It was difficult to tell if it was from the temperature or if it’s nerves were still on high. Who knows how long it was behind there? It couldn’t be more than thirteen, maybe twelve. It’s difficult to comfort a child so small, sure Michael had Anastasia, but they were closer in age. 

“What’s your name, mister?” Karen asked, quietly. Her voice had some confidence, it seemed. She was getting more comfortable.

“Michael.” He said, relatively uninterested in conversation.

“Oh, like the archangel?” Karen seemed excited at the prospect. His name wasn’t originally drive from that, at least he didn’t choose the name from mythos. But sure, why not be her angel?

“Exactly.” Michael smiled warmly down at the child. It- no.. she. She needs comfort. 

“You’re so nice Mister Michael! Do you have wings like an angel?” The girl asked, looking excited.

“No, I don’t.” Michael replied. How is anyone supposed to respond to that? Children are so strange. This little child is certainly more friendly than most.

They walked along, with Karen asking the occasional question, and Michael trying his best not to frighten the little thing. He knew enough about children to know that they didn’t like the truth, because often it didn’t coincide with what they wanted to be true. Little children like this are so fragile, especially as they mature, though this one’s maturity seems to have stunted at some point. 

Finally they arrived on West Johnson street, and the little one reccognised her house almost immediately. It was a humble old tennant, with a broken truck in the driveway- or what’s left of the driveway. 

“Thank you, Mister Michael!” Karen said as she ran up and knocked on the door. An older boy answered it.

The person was definitely her older sibling, wearing a beaten up orange parka and a dirty blonde mullet.. emphasis on dirty. The person seemed absolutely relieved that their small annoyance was returned to them.

“Karen! Thank fuck you’re okay.” He hugged her tightly.

“Mister Michael helped me find home, Kenny!” Karen said, seeming excited. So.. that’s his name. Kenny.

“Thanks, man.” Kenny said, looking unsure what to make of Michael. It was the typical response he got, in all honesty.

“It’s nothing. Just.. keep an eye on” Michael was about to say ‘it’ but he had a feeling that would get him a couple bruises, “her. She’s… very trusting.” 

“Mhm. See you around, I guess.” Kenny shrugged. 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Michael gave them a loose salute and walked off. He was never that great at parting words.

Michael walked away, and now he had a moment without the small child tugging on his jacket. Karen was certainly not a wasted effort in this case. She probably would’ve gotten herself killed or taken if no one intervened. However, it doesn’t take genius to see the empty beer bottles in the house and cigarette burns on the table. Maybe an occasional check-in would be worth the effort. He’d probably have to do something more inconspicuous, but maybe it was worth it.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 7.5: Sleep

Summary: Stan's questions and concerns for what he hopes will be a better option then what amounts to psychological torment.

Characters: Stan Marsh | Timmy

Word Count: 739

A/N: Happy Holidays, Chapter 8 is out by now.. probably.

Previous: [Escalation] | [Pressure]

Stan waited anxiously for Professor Timmy to arrive. He still had his reservations about all this, for obvious reasons. It’s a level of trust that’s difficult to get to, let alone with someone who’s only recently not been their mortal enemy. Stan kicked his feet a bit, looking over at his crutches. It kinda sucked that he had to use them, that his legs were so damaged. 

“Stanley, I’m glad to see you took up on my offer.” he heard Timmy’s voice in his head, and the professor rolled into the room. It’s a strange sensation to have someone speak inside your head.

“Uh- you can just call me Stan. Basically no one uses my legal name.” He laughed nervously, trying to keep his mind off his subconscious fears. He had a million questions to ask but seemingly no words to ask them.

“Apologies, Stan. Though, I assume you have questions about being in suspension?” Timmy surmised. The guy was smart, he’ll give him that.

“Yeah, yeah. So.. what exactly is the process? Like, how would I go into it?” Stan asked his leg wanting to bounce. 

“Ah, a common question. Simply put, you would be first anaesthetised, so as not to cause any panic. Then, you’d be put into an empty container and equipped with a breathing apparatus. After that.. the tank would be filled and sealed.” Timmy said in a calm manner.

“So.. all I’d remember was just.. falling asleep?” Stan said, trying to make sure he was correct about the bits he cared about.

“Yes, you’d simply remember being put under anaesthesia.” Timmy affirmed.

“Cool, cool. So uh… what do you do while I’m out? Like, there’s no weird secret data collection, right?” Stan asked, a bit more nervous for this answer.

“Well, treatment would vary depending on how you fair. The only thing that would be monitored are vitals, making sure your body is still functioning. However, I can assure you that no harm will come to you beyond an initial IV placement.” Tiimmy always spoke so calmly, and factually, like a British documentary dude.

“Okay, okay.. And I’ll wake up in bed, right?” Stan said, nervously. The idea of waking up in the tube sounded like a whole ass-load of traumatising that he didn’t need.

“Yes. You’d be woken up in a bed, with a vital monitor still on you for safety. You’d wake up completely healed and likely by that point your friend Kyle will also be waking up. That is, if his stasis draws close at its current pace.” Timmy’s voice took what almost sounded like a reassuring tone.

“So… if I’m hearing right, I’d go to sleep and then wake up and get to see Kyle?” Stan asked hopefully. If that was the case, then he is more than ready to get this over with.

“Yes, by current data that’s correct though oversimplified.” Timmy explained. 

“Okay, okay I’m willing to do this. It’s, well, it’s kinda stressing me out not knowing how Kyle’s doing. Kenny said that probably isn’t helping anything.” Stan sighed as he finished looking a little ashamed.

“He’s not wrong, several studies have shown that stress has a statistically significant relation to slower healing. However, it’s not as if it’s a manageable factor. That is to say, it’s not unexpected.” Timmy said, his voice echoing in Stan’s head.

“So… how do we do this?” Stan asked. He takes in a deep breath, trying to quell his nerves as this draws close. In theory he has nothing to be afraid of, but he’s also failing science so theories don’t make much sense.

Eventually, a nurse robot that Timmy built comes over and sets everything up. Stan tries to keep his mind distracted as it happens. It wouldn’t be a good idea to think of this weird contraption that supposedly can be entirely remotely controlled. No, think of something else. 

It’s spring at the moment, usually the parks have some flowering trees that bloom like a rainbow around this time. Their petals make for great ‘soft snow’ as they used to call it. When they were little, Stan and Kyle would beg to go to the park so they could play with the fallen petals and chase the birds. They were always attached at the hip, so it seemed, just as close as it gets. The anaesthesia was starting to make his head heavy now and slowly, everything went quiet.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 7: Pressure

Summary: Kenny goes to visit Stan in the hospital and tries reassure him on what to do

Characters: Kenny McCormick, Stan Marsh

Word Count: 933

A/N: I'm telling you right now there's a .5 to this chapter, because I want to exposition a touch. It's not a pivotal chapter so it's probably gonna be much sooner then my typical schedule.

Previous: [Escalation] | [Perspective]

Kenny hated dealing with the press. Any media, really, was just trouble. They’d guess at his identity, shove mics and cameras in his face and ask intricately framed questions to make him seem like the worst person on earth. Now that The Omens blew up a whole building, the media were on his tail. Now every headline was about how the Coon and Friends couldn’t stop actual terrorists. They wanted answers, justice, they wanted the vigilantes heads on pikes. Mysterion was the only one not forced out of the public eye to heal.. So he had to deal with all of it alone.

However, no one gave two shits about Kenny McCormick. No one cared that two of his three dickhead friends were in horrible condition and Kyle was in complete stasis. It’s stressful, and awful and is making him slowly lose it. That damn thing, stasis, it’s a fucking nightmare.

How it works is that when someone born with their powers gets really hurt, their body shuts down to heal. However, what that actually means is Kyle is practically comatose and the only way they can tell he’s getting better is as his heartbeat slowly raises back to normal. His pulse is still so damn slow, and it’s agonising to just wait it out. From what he’s heard from Kyle, it’s even worse to live it… but he can’t talk to Kyle right now.

It’s not like Stan is in much better shape. His ribs looked more like crushed chips from the blast force. He’s stuck in the med bay, barely able to walk without help. Healers are so rare these days, and especially a trustworthy one that won’t just expose their identities. The specifics were less than important, because now he was going to visit Stan and try not to lose his shit, being relegated to the only person who doesn’t start shouting around Cartman.

“Hey, man. Still breathing?” Kenny said jokingly as he saw Stan laid out on the cot. He had a ton of wires connecting all over, and the scars looked rough to heal.

“Pretty much. Kinda wish I had your power sometimes… wouldn’t have to heal.” Stan laughed, but even that was weak. In fairness, his ribs were the main point affected but, it just hurt to hear.

“Anything you wanna know about? And- don’t you dare bring up the rat fucking thing.” Kenny smirked, trying to take his friend’s mind off of everything.

“Heh, that was hilarious. But- um… how’s Kyle? Is- is he beating any faster?” Stan sounded hopeful. 

“52 BPM. A little faster every day.” Kenny was doing his best to soften the blow, but it’s difficult to say that this person’s super best friend still isn’t even in the normal range. 

“Oh, okay. I’m just really worried about him, y’know?” Stan said, turning to look Kenny in the eyes. 

“You know Professor Timmy is doing everything he can to help the process. We kinda just have to wait.” Kenny put as much sympathy in his voice as possible. There’s really no silver lining.

“Yeah, I know… it’s weird to think he’s just.. suspended in liquid and trapped in his own head.” Stan sighs and looks out the window for a moment. “Then again, he wanted to put me in liquid too.”

“You could always say you reconsidered.” Kenny offered gently

“It just creeps me out, I mean, think about it. You’re just sleeping in like.. this weird green stuff for whoever knows how long and, I have no idea what they do to me. It just doesn’t sit right.” Stan said. He looked down, a little sad.

“As much as I want to help, I’m not the guy to ask about this.” Kenny laughed nervously as he finished speaking. In all fairness, he really wasn’t. He’s the one sent on the life-or-death missions, so he never really has to heal thanks to his curse. It’s pretty much a foreign process.

“I know, I know. But, if your best friend was out for who knows how long, and your options were to either wait it out as you slowly heal or sleep through it but it kinda pushed some buttons.. what would you do?” Stan looked at Kenny as he finished his words. He had an almost pleading tone.

Kenny paused and really thought about it. On the one hand, waiting sucks. It’s agonising to just sit and wait with minimal updates and no real idea what’s going on. On the other, by sleeping through it you have no idea what they’re doing or injecting. Sure, you can ask questions after that fact but that’s hardly a comfort. It’s either prolonged and minimal discomfort, or short but major discomfort. It’s like asking how you want to die. 

“I think… I think I’d trust Timmy on this. You know he’s not gonna do something that would actively hurt you. It’s not helping you that you’re stressing over this.” Kenny smiled gently, trying to be nice about it. 

“I guess you’re right.. I don’t really wanna leave you alone though. I know the press is like a locust swarm right now.” Stan said, sympathy in his voice

“Dude, it’s fine. I can handle myself. Don’t even worry about me.” As he finished talking, Kenny put a gentle hand on Stan’s shoulder. “I trust you, man.” 

“I trust you too, Kenny.” Stan takes a deep breath “I guess I’ll go tell Professor Timmy that I changed my mind.”

“Hey, dude? Try not to die.” Kenny said, in a joking manner. He waved his friend goodbye as Stan weakley laughed. 

It’s always nice to visit Stan, he's a good guy. As much as Kenny loved talking to him, and having someone who understands, sometimes you have to put other people first. The hard fact of it is that Stan isn’t getting better when he’s stressed and can barely rest. Sure, he’s not the quickest person to trust someone but he’s really quick to care. If he can’t stop stressing about Kyle, then maybe it’s best he just sleeps through it all.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 6: Escalation

Summary: The Omens are known for raids and minor construction impediment. This time, it was different.

Characters: Kenney McCormick | Mysterion, Kyle Broflovski | Human Kite, Stan Marsh | Tooldshed, Lady Hell, Asathoth, Crow, Shadow

Word Count: 933

Previous: [Debriefing] | [Perspective]

A/N: Okay, okay. I forgot to upload for a while. For context, I have up to chapter 8 written. I'll probably upload 7 tomorrow since it's just sitting at the minute. Or maybe not.

It all felt wrong. From the moment it was a clear Omens report, it felt wrong. Those almost never came in, except when someone was being a conspiracy nerd. Almost like they wanted to be discovered. Toolshed, Human Kite, and Mysterion all showed up to the scene to see what was happening. It was an office building for the Mortengrad Corporation, which was far from their usual targets of shipments and unfinished projects. They saw nothing, not a break in the fence, or a loose thread. It had to be them. It was coordinated, it was planned too well to be a simple raid on an office building. What did they want with an office?

“You guys search down below, I’ll fly to see if I can find anything.” Human Kite suggested. He took off, leaving Mysterion and Toodshed to check around.

“I’ll handle the front.” Tooldshed offered.

“Got it. Use the radio if you find anything.” Msyterion said, slinking off to the back of the office building.

The two split off, leaving Mysterion to check around the back of the building, and see if anything was amiss. He saw nothing, and sighed. This was obvious to them too, wasn’t it? How this had to be something more than a raid. They couldn’t gain much from a simple office raid, could they? No, it had to be something bigger but as to what that was, it was in the dark.

He was almost tempted to just smoke and wait for a signal from one of his fellow heroes. He leaned against the wall, and waited for a transmission, when an unfortunately familiar voice cut through, “Hello, hero.”

“Where are you, Lady Hell?! Show yourself!” Mysterion yelled into the darkness. He was met only with a haunting laughter that echoed in the night air. He swivelled his head, frantically looking for her. She used plenty of illusions and tricks to confuse, but this was strange. She had never interfered with radio waves before.

He kicked in the back door of the office building, trying to see if she was close. That damn witch, she could be anywhere. This had to take more power then just something simple. It’s not as if she got one of their intercoms- right?

“Care to go for a ride?” She taunted. Suddenly a whirl of fire encapsulated Mysterion. He saw nothing but the blase and almost thought he would die, but felt a kind of wind as he was moved somewhere else. Before he knew it, he was tied to a support beam in the office building. He was staring down all four Omens: Asathoth, Crow, Lady Hell, and Shadow. 

Mysterion attempted to struggle against the restraints to no avail. His arms were zip tied thrice over, and on top of that was a chain keeping him against the pole. He glared up at The Omens, looking as dark and menacing as he could manage. “What do you want with me?”

Lady Hell laughed, low and cruel. Her lacey mask barely hides the joy in her eyes, seeing him unable to fight back. She grabbed his chin, forcing him to see his fellow heroes unconscious and similarly bound the support beam. She enjoyed every word as she spoke, “Not just you..”

 Mysterion tried to keep panic from his voice, but seeing the circumstance… only one of them was immortal. He feared for their safety, but they couldn’t know that. “So.. what do you want with us?”

“Keep this safe for us. Hate it to get taken the wrong way.” Asathoth sneered and placed one of The Omens tokens in Mysterion’s belt. Of course, they’d want credit for tying up members of Coon And Friends.. It’s quite the achievement.

“What’s your plan, then? Tie up some heroes and call it a day?” Mysterion taunted. He almost hoped that was all they planned, just a bit of embarrassment and nothing more.

“You’ll see.” Lady Hell said, the veil over her mouth caught a slight breeze. She looked between her fellow Omens before nodding and creating a fiery portal. It seemed to lead to some dark room, The Omens walked through. “Good luck, immortal.”

She winked and pressed a red button as walked through, leaving Mysterion alone with the other heroes. He saw other red glows around, and he understood. The building was rigged to explode. He fought against the restraints, and barely untied them from himself from the zip ties. He wrestled under the chains to get free. The clock’s red numbers listed only thirty seconds. 

He looked down at Stan and Kyle, he broke the lock on the chains and looked frantically around for something to wake them up. There was nothing, nothing that could make this any easier and time was running out.

In a panic, he grabbed Stan and Kyle and broke through the window as the time went off. He now realised they were about five stories up. Mysterion felt the sting of flaming debris on his back, as they leapt out. The building was almost completely demolished, leaving little more than a hole and some pipes in its wake. He landed on the ground, barely able to keep standing.

‘Mysterion? Come in Mysterion, this is The Coon. What happened?” Mysterion was still in some degree of shock. He barely registered Cartman trying to talk to him.

“Coon… they escalated.” It was all Mysterion could manage before his legs began to falter, and unconsciousness took over his head. The last thing he heard was the coin clink against the ground as he fell into a deep sleep.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 5: Perspective

Summary: Pete is noticing that Stan has been inconsistent, and it’s starting to get him paranoid.

Characters: Stan Marsh, Pete Thelman, Michael (No last Name)

Word Count: 867

Previous [Laughter] | [Debriefing]

A/N: I genuinely think what little traction I had is gone. Just kind of a void account until I get noticed by someone bigger. Whatever though, I’m still doing this.

School fucking sucks. It’s not as if that’s some revolutionary take, but it was practically Pete’s mantra for the entirety of this. It felt like no one could just shut the fuck up about how ‘lucky’ he was to be a kid from the East District allowed to go the preparatory school. Some fucking deal to tolerate rich assholes and have his scholarship questioned every other day. It felt like everyone at home was up their own ass about ‘the four lucky kids’ who got some ‘great honour’, and everyone here says he doesn’t belong.

Sometimes, when he gets shoved in the halls and called every synonym for poor you can think of, he wishes he didn’t apply. That damn literary scholarship is the only reason he’s here and not with the people he knows. One stupid essay and a poem later, now this is his life. But if he didn’t then his closest friend would be alone with a bunch of preppy a-holes so it’s difficult to say he wouldn’t even if he knew what would happen. Poor guy was completely isolated and came back with bruises or marks every day. It was horrible to watch, especially as Pete saw a once confident and nonchalant man become closed-off and trapped in his own thoughts. All alone…

Speaking of, he’s been sitting alone at this library for the better part of five minutes and that tall bastard he did this for still hasn’t shown up. They have an idiot they’ve been forced to tutor, where the fuck is he?!

Michael suddenly came in, absolutely drenched in water, feathers, and glitter, He looked completely pissed off. “Not. A. Word.”

Pete can barely contain his laughter. Michael looks like a wet bird, still dripping on the ground. He lets himself laugh to get it out but quickly regains composure. Pete pats the seat next to him.

“So… why?” Stan asked tentatively.

“None of your business, conformist.” Michael sighs and shakes his head so it stops dripping.

“Oh sorry…” Stan sounds ashamed for asking. It’s probably sarcastic, anyway. People like him hold no sympathy for people like them. They’re different species, by his standards. They’re the assholes who do this kind of thing to people who are just trying to live.

“Why do you care? Let’s just get this over with.” Pete rolled his eyes.

After a painfully long session of teaching one idiot how to do the basics of poetry, Pete and Michael started on their way home. It's a long route, walking down to the subway, riding three stations, then walking about a mile until they get to their own section of the East District.

“I just don’t get it.” Pete said as they rode through the subway.

“Get what?” Michael said, glancing over. He was still trying to get the glitter off his clothes.

“That guy, Stan. First he’s all chatty and friendly, then he accuses you of being a vigilante, and then he pretends to be all concerned when shit happens. It’s just- confusing. I don’t get his deal.” Pete said, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “These damn privileged assholes, they’re just fucking weird.”

“I mean, yeah. But is that our problem?” Michael looked over at Pete then continued speaking “Why is it our business what some dickwad does?”

“If he’s trying to accuse us of being wanted criminals, then yeah. It is our business.” Pete hissed out.

“It’s like there’s an open case on it. He’s probably just like any other annoying prep, thinks the first poor person they see is a murderer.” Michael rolls his eyes. He’s probably right in all honesty, it’s just another classist.

They came to their stop on the subway, and shuffled out of the station. Walking out into a completely different area then they entered. Instead of nice, well kept buildings they’re old and dilapidated. Nothing is clean, nothing is safe. They try to avoid walking on broken glass, as they make their way to their homes.

It’s a little community of Slavic immigrants, with not enough from any one country to branch out. They just stick together and try to keep their languages and cultures alive in their children. It has too many damn names for anyone’s liking, Pete just decided to call it ‘The North’. He looked around at the various slavic flags hanging from windows and balconies, to find the polish flag. They all looked like the same poorly constructed tenant, it was the only distinct feature.

“See you around, man. Let me know if the glitter comes out.” Pete waved Michael off, who left without a sound apparently a while ago. “Oh… okay. Bye, dude.”

Pete walked up to the decaying apartment building, and climbed the steps to his apartment, with his Babcia Zuzanna. He waved her a quick hello and flopped down on the couch, eager to sleep.

After a day of bullshit, annoyance, and with a lot to do later that night he just needed a nap. He needed to be unconscious for a while and rest before he had to deal with any more fuckery. Pete sighed into the couch and closed eyes. He fell asleep almost immediately.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 4: Debriefing

Summary: Kyle was called by Stan to a coffee shop about an insane conspiracy that guy tutoring him is a wanted vigilante.

Word Count: 873

Characters: Stan Marsh | Toolshed, Kyle Broflovski | Human Kite, Henrietta Biggle, Michael (No Last Name Given.)

A/N: As I said, this fic is for my entertainment now. I think The Omens are pretty obvious at this point, but whatever. Not the point.

Previous: [Oddity] | [Laughter]

“C’mon, Kyle. I’m serious about this.” Stan said

“You think some goth twerp that’s forced to tutor you… is a wanted vigilante?” Kyle said, not believing a word.

Whenever Stan got one of his ‘hunches’ about something it was almost never right. Kyle was just used to being called over to the coffee shop, and talking it through his super best friend. Stan would talk about his ‘indisputable’ evidence which was in fact very disputable. Then he’d do something stupid, Kyle would call his bluff and it was over. Occasionally, Stan would overstep and then Kyle would do something bigger to shut it down. At some point, he thought this was just an excuse for Stan to take Kyle on coffee dates without seeming suspicious. Well, if Stan ever actually asked Kyle on a date it’s not like he’d say no.

“I have evidence, okay? They laugh the same.” Stan presented this like a revelation.

“Have you ever considered… that there’s only so many ways to laugh?” Kyle said, completely sarcastic.

“I’m serious, dude! He did the same thing to stop laughing.” Stan said. He demonstrated the motion, it looked like a pulling down from the head.

“A shit ton of people do that. Especially theatre nerds. Would it be that surprising if a guy who dresses like that is in theatre or around it?” Kyle said. He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee.

“Sure, sure. But, c’mon. You don’t think it’s worth investigating?” Stan was close to begging at this point.

“I really don’t. I’m starting to think you're just trying to find a way out of your tutoring sessions.” Kyle huffed a laugh.

“I’m not! Dude, just give it a moment to really think about it and you’ll see that-” Stan suddenly stopped talking and looked up.

“What?” Kyle looked over and saw two people enter the coffee shop, they looked like something straight out of breakfast club. 

Stan pulled Kyle closer and whispered to him. “There, that’s the guy that Pete had with him.” Stan pointed to the taller of the vampire-looking duo.

Kyle sighed and watched them. They looked to be a boy and a girl, one significantly taller than the other. They ordered black coffees and sat down at a booth. They were talking in low voices, and one of them pulled a notebook from their coat and from the looks of it was sketching.

“They just look like normal people to me. Kinda gay, but normal.” Kyle shrugged.

“Fuck, what was his name? I completely forgot..” Stan said. He leaned back trying to think.

“You can’t seriously think that even if this guy was a vigilante, he would tell someone,” Kyle sighed before continuing. “What, do you think they’re all part of The Omens cause they dress dark and don’t talk as much as you?”

“Whatever man. I know I’m right. They can’t be just goth weirdos, there has to be something off. I just know it man! I have a hunch!” Stan insisted.

“When have your hunches been right?” Kyle challenged.

“I- um… more than you’re giving me credit for!” Stan stammered out. He probably actually had no idea. 

“Okay. Well you have no concrete evidence that-” Kyle started but was immediately cut off by Stan.

“Oh, Michael! That was his name. Yeah, he barely talked during the session and that’s more then enough evidence to-” Stan started to argue but Kyle cut him off.

“Look, Stan. I’m getting kinda annoyed so, why don’t I go over and ask?” Kyle offered. He was mad, and just saying words but now he said it. Not like he was gonna back off now.

“What? Just… ask if they’re The Omens?” Stan laughed awkwardly at the idea.

“Yeah. How they react will tell if you’re just being insane.” Kyle emphasised his two words. He genuinely couldn’t see a world where those undead-looking teenagers were an actual threat. 

“You know what? Ask, go on. I know you wouldn’t” Stan said. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. 

It was a pet peeve when people tried to pull this shit with him. So, he promptly got up and walked over to the goth’s booth. They looked at him with some mix of confusion and disgust. ‘Michael’ as Stan remembered his name, shut his notebook hastily.

“Hey, so… you tutored my friend yesterday. He thinks you’re a vigilante now.” Kyle sighed and rolled his eyes. “So… are you?”

“Why would either of us say something if we were?” The girl raised an eyebrow and spoke in a deadpan sarcasm.

“More importantly, we aren’t.” Michael said and reopened his notebook to sketch. 

“Yeah, I figured. Thanks.” Kyle gave the two a half-hearted smile and walked back over to Stan. 

Stan at this point had his head down on the table. He didn’t expect Kyle to actually go through with it, so now he was just suling in his own hubris and trying to pretend he didn’t exist. He does this way too much. It’s always the same when his hunches are disproven. He gets embarrassed and hides himself away. It's just so predictable. Maybe it’s nice to be predictable in this case, even kind of… cute.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 3: Laughter

Summary: Stan needs tutoring and Pete is just the guy to get forced in to it. However, maybe Stan and Pete have met before under different circumstances.

Word Count: 959

Characters: Stan Marsh | Toolshed, Pete Thelman, XXXXXXX XXXXXXX | Asathoth

Previous: [Encounter] | [Oddity]

A/N: This is actually just for me now… I’m too invested to stop. With any luck this might get off the ground.

Stan groaned. One of the greatest heroes in the city, and he still has to take a bullshit language arts class. Sure he was barely passing, but c’mon. Who actually needs to know how to write and analyse poetry? He sighed and stared out the window at the city skyline. It was pretty, almost dreamlike how the clouds could seem to play between the buildings and the soft blues fought against industrial greys and whites. The few spots of green made a strange little world where industry and nature met and clashed. Industry tore down forests and robbed nature of everything, then nature would crack the sidewalks with roots and grow ivy over buildings. This constant fight to-

“Mr. Marsh! Would you care to tell the class your thoughts on the meaning of the second quatrain?” The teacher’s voice cut through Stan’s daydream.

“Uh..the hell is a quad-train?” Stan said, still a bit disoriented.

The teacher sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Mr. Marsh, if you can’t focus you will not prosper in my class.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Stan shrugged. He didn’t really know what to say, in this situation. He had a few choice words in mind but his mom would kill him for saying them.

The rest of the class seemed to drag on like molasses in an hour-glass. This damn sonnet was painfully boring and it was only worse that some disinterested high-schoolers had to give their thoughts on the deeper meaning. No one knew, no one cared. Eventually like a sweet mercy the bell finally rang and he could leave this child prison and just-

“Mr. Marsh, Mr. Thelman, please report to my desk.” The teacher tapped his pen on the desk as Stan and some goth weirdo walked up to his desk. “Mr. Marsh, your grade is falling in my class. I understand that poetry may not be your forte but you are required to pass to graduate. So, Mr.Marsh, meet your tutor.”

“Tutor?” Stan questioned

“What?! I have to deal with that jockey prep.. and get him to pass?!” The goth kid seemed utterly outraged at the prospect of dealing with a ‘prep’ as he called Stan.

“Mr. Thelman, control yourself. You wouldn't lose your scholarship, would you?” The teacher raised an eyebrow. Even for a shitty teacher, that’s just cruel.

“I- ugh. No.” The kid looked down, his face reading a lot of guilt.

“As I thought. Sessions will be Tuesdays and Thursdays in the library.” The teacher said with no room for argument “One hour, do try to focus, Mr.Marsh.”

“Okay, can I ask Michael to come?” The goth kid asked, slightly pleading.

“Oh, yes I recall him from last year, Mr. Acker. He would certainly be able to help, though he took the AP of my course.” The teacher huffed a short laugh “Yes, Mr. Acker can be of assistance.”

“It’s Tuesday today, do we have to go now?” Stan slightly groaned. He almost knew the response, but he didn’t want to hear it.

With that, the two boys were dismissed to their forcible tutoring session. Stan took the chance to actually size up this weird goth kid. The kid was extremely pale, a little shorter than Stan, and on the scrawny side, but not much. His hair was black and kinda greasy with bright red roots. He wore a frilly grey shirt, a bolo tie with a red gem, black jeans with a tentacle jeans chain, and some purple shoes. He certainly looked goth, that was no mistake, and.. was he wearing eyeliner? This guy has to be gay.

“So.. what’s your name.. Mr.Thelman?” Stan asked, wanting to break the silence a little.

“Why should I tell you?” The kid briefly glanced up from his phone, it seemed he was texting someone.

“Just.. curious. I’m Stan.” He shrugged a little and offered a small smile.

“... Pete.” Pete sighed and continued his texting. He seemed entirely disinterested.

“So, Pete, who are you texting?”

“A friend.”

“Which friend?”

“Michael.”

“Just trying to chat, that’s all. You’re really defensive.”

“I have my reasons.”

Stan proceeded through the tutoring. It was actually more interesting than he thought, cause they mostly taught him how to sound like knows what he’s doing without actually knowing shit. Though, in the back of his mind, he still wondered why Pete was so defensive and short with it. It was kinda eating at him in a weird way and-

As Stan tried to leave for the session he hit his face square into the metal door frame. He heard Pete laugh, which was actually kinda surprising that he was capable of laughter. His laugh was a good one though, it was hearty and kinda filled the room. When he turned back around he saw Michael cover his mouth with his hand and snicker.

“It’s not that funny.”

“Yes the fuck it is.” Pete bent over then, recomposed himself. “See you on Thursday, conformist.”

“You- you know my name!” Stan yelled after them.

It seemed like Stan was just off it today. He went to do patrol on an Omens call and saw Asathoth causing problems at a bank firm. He was doing fine, just fine, when he lost concentration for just a second and got hit in the face with a manual calculator. Asathoth seemed barely able to contain his laughter, as Toolshed struggled to get back up. That thing was the size of a typewriter. It hurts, damn it.

The asshole got away, but it left Stan to notice something, not just about the bullshit he had to live through. A voice changer could mask a lot, sure. However, the way that he kept his composure, the specific hand movements of it.. It was familiar.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 2: Oddity

Summary: Fastpass begrudgingly goes to handle a call, and finds himself asking a few strange questions.

Characters: Jimmy Valmer | Fastpass , XXXXXXX | The Crow

Word Count: 1059 words

Previous: [Encounter]

A/N: One note, thanks. Oh well, still gonna do this.

Night is when the fun really starts in the city. It’s when your job lets you get off to go drink, it’s when the bars are populace and bustling, it’s when you can breathe and really let yourself relax. On nights like these where the wind is tempting people inside and the drinks are at a more modest price, normally Fastpass would take up the opportunity for an open mic night. That would be what he was doing if some idiot didn’t decide to ruin his night and break into a construction site. It’s probably rats or some homeless guy but sure, ruin his night for a false alarm. It’s not like he has a life too.

Fastpass arrived at the construction site, a new building for Mortengrad Corporation to run operations in the city more directly. In seriousness, Fastpass never liked the company, but it didn’t matter what he thought about the company itself or its actions. Be a paragon, do the right thing, save the day. He looked around, there was no sign of entry or struggle over the tarp of the fence. Someone experienced then?

He sped around the site, and was genuinely confused to what he was supposed to be looking for. No footprints but his own, nothing disturbed, not even a missing beam of steel. Just as he was about to call it a night, he felt it. The wind was blowing east, yet a gust blew north. Something was definitely here, something that would take an annoyingly long time to handle. He slowly looked around before sighing and deciding to use the age old technique of ‘made you flinch’.

Fastpass banged his metal crutch into the foundation of the building, setting off a chain echo of noisy metal. The skittish little thing popped out, gotcha. Fastpass rushed over to where it was hiding, whatever it was and was immediately struck with a scythe. Fuck, not them again.

“W-well well. If it isn’t the biggest p-p-pain in my ass since c-c-Cosby.” Fastpass quipped. Standing on the third row of beams up in the sky was a tall winged figure, with a scythe in hand. 

“What a title.” The Crow’s face was completely masked by a caplet and half mask of a crow’s face. Even so, the sarcasm was palpable and the eyeroll may as well have been a whole broadcast. 

“W-well don’t just loom up there. Come at me b-bitch.” Fastpass spoke, with all the tenacity he could muster. Crow seemed eager to take him up on the request.

Crow swooped down from above and swung at Fastpass, aiming for his crutches. The two did this a lot, Crow keeping to the air with his massive black wings and Fastpass zooming around the ground. Fastpass never understood why Human Kite couldn’t take calls regarding him. They could actually fight in the air instead of running around like a mouse.’

“You know something, Crow? You n-never seem to talk to me when we do this. Do you hate me?” Fastpass said, striking up a conversation. This back and forth was always so damn boring, the least they could do was talk.

“Maybe I prefer to talk to someone who has more tact.” The Crow replied, with venom in his voice. He landed, and switched to a more hand-to-hand approach, probably seeing that his flight strategy wasn;t panning out.

“Tact? I’m a fucking s-s-stand-up c-comdiean. I have tact.” Fastpass argued. This idiotic bird clearly doesn’t ideate. He sped over to the vigilante with a rope but the bird launched himself up with his wings in the nic of time. He swooped down to remove the rope from Fastpass’ grip and tossed it aside.

“If you’re such a comic, make better comebacks.” The Crow huffed. He dropped down to kick at Fastpass’ legs but the hero is far too fast for that. He sped out and the two rescued a more hand-to-hand combat.

“Wow, what a great audience.” Fastpass huffed under his breath, as the two traded blows. This was starting to drag longer than he wanted.. Oh fuck it. He spoke up. “Say bug guy, w-why are you messing with this site anyway?”

“A-are you serious?” The Crow stopped dead in his tracks, seemingly very confused. 

“W-well yeah. W-what’s the big deal?” Fastpass also stopped. The two were just standing, facing each other with one much more confused than the other. 

“Uh.. well, the position of the building would mean it runs on East District power, and would likely cause regular black-outs and shortgages. So.. we don’t want it completed.” Crow is choosing his words carefully, that’s obvious. 

Fastpass thinks for a moment. The cause is decent, and even kinda noble to risk imprisonment to save the East District. It was almost too… human. These are villains, they shouldn;t have an actually decent cause for their wrongs but that’s valid. Especially if The Omens live in the East District, which is the poorest part of the city. Why they not defend their home?

“You w-what? I actually have something I want to do tonight, so go ahead. B-but if anyone asks, I did fight you.” Fastpass smirks, as The Crow seems even more baffled.

“Okay, yeah. You… definitely left a mark or two.” Crow is being hesitant, probably very on edge about the whole exchange.

“Cool, just d-don’t hurt anyone.” Fastpass shrugged and sped off before Crow could even respond. His work was done here, as far as he was concerned.

It was strange though, he’s more than willing to admit that. To see The Omens of all groups holding a noble cause to their chaos is.. weird. He didn’t have to worry much about that now though, the site would be largely destroyed and a token would be left at the scene. That’s what they do.

Tonight just became Jimmy’s night again, though, and that was absolutely wonderful. He sped down to Skeeter’s bar just as the back door was closing. He wooshed into the dressing room so he could get out of this costume and into some normal clothes that are actually comfortable. He looked in the mirror, as he smiled and took a breath to prepare for his act. He, of course, wrote it to utter perfection. 

“Jimmy? You ready to go on?” the stage manager asked.

“Oh h-h-he-hell yes.” Jimmy stutterd out.

[jackalopes-pen]

Chapter 1: Encounter

Summary: Human Kite gets a relatively normal call, that is anything but quick and easy.

Characters: Kyle Broflovski | Human Kite, XXXX XXXXXXX | Azathoth

Word Count: 926

A/N: So yeah, let's see if I can get notes on anything other Phone Calls. That would be great, huh? ;-;

The darkness of the night functions as a great cover for anyone. For heroes, it allows them a certain level of secrecy to maintain a normal life outside of crime fighting. For villains and vigilantes it allows them to cover their faces and bodies to an even further extent and prevent them from being arrested. It’s why most crime happens at night and why most heros are active at night. In a strange way, one couldn’t exist without the other yet both have ulterior reasons.

It’s on this particular night that Human Kite got a call about some suspicious activity around the shipping yard at the docks. Apparently, some people were around the area. It was probably just some idiot teens, doing something stupid and he would be in and out in a matter of minutes. Though, as he went to the sight some things weren’t adding up. For one thing, it looked much more planned and orchestrated, for another there were no bags or shoes at the gate. He sighed, this might be a longer call than he wanted.

Kite flew over the shipping yard, scanning around for any sign of a person at all. He saw nothing, no movement or any footprints. Then slowly, the sounds of metal banging, and things being shuffled. This was much more than some teens doing something stupid.

He landed, and decided to watch from afar at first, waiting to see the culprit in action. As he turned the corner, he saw tentacles that looked to be marbled black and some other colour, though the lighting was far too poor to see. They were taking things from the crate and shoving them into a bag. Kite narrowed his eyes, the tentacles were taking prescriptions, and he knew who those tentacles belonged to. Those bastards.

“Azathoth! I think it's time for the kite to fly in.” Human Kite boomed as he announced his presence. The tentacles kept going, but a short-ish looking man came around the corner.

“If it isn’t the biggest thorn in my side since my own team. Can you cut the quips for like.. one night?” Asathoth responded, in an annoying relaxed tone. He stood, his weight shifted from side to side. 

“I think that's a pretty sour attitude. I’d recommend laser therapy.” Human Kite quipped, this time mostly to annoy Azathoth and shot super-heated lasers from his eyes. Azathoth was quick, using a storage crate and one of his tentacles to jump up and evade the blast. 

“Seriously? You’re that annoying that you just have to be a fucking conformist and use those tired ass quips every line-” Human Kite shot another laser as Azathoth was ranting to cut him off. His quips aren’t that bad, right? “Whatever. Just hold still.”

Azathoth launched three tentacles to grab Kite’s ankles and wrists. It was a quick job of lasers to make them retreat though. One tentacle grabbed a shipping crate, and aided by the others it flung the crate at Kite. He quickly launched himself into the air to avoid the blow. From this vantage point, he could easily blast lasers down at the vigilante. 

“Why don’t you try dancing instead of crime?” He shot the lasers down and Azathoth seemed to evade him with relative ease. He was using the tentacles to his advantage, creating slimy shields for himself to block the lasers he couldn’t. 

As Kite was trying to aim he missed the tentacles curling up from below that pulled him back to the ground. They held him relatively still as a forklift was thrown at Kite. He barely dodged in time, and heard his back crack a little at the sudden bend. He pushed himself back up and struggled his way free from the grasp. 

“You’re really fucking annoying, but I assume you know that.” Azathoth sighed and sat on the edge of the storage crate he was sitting on. He was practically taunting Kite, but just sitting there and waiting.

“Well, at least I actually have morals, y’know? I fight for good and justice and against villains like you!” Kite yelled, letting his anger boil. He hated being trapped, forced into a conversation with someone like this.

“You fight for good?! You fight for the rich, and they’re the worst of them all.” Azathoth scoffed and made a dismissive hand wave. His voice changer made him sound much more ominous but couldn’t disguise the venom in his voice.

“Thanks for the headache, but you’re all out of time.” Azathoth flipped off Kite and jumped down behind the storage crate he was standing on. 

“Hey! Get back… here?” Human Kite raced to get around the crate but no sign of Azathoth was left. Only a small token, with ‘The Omens have struck’ engraved around a rune of some kind was sitting on the ground. It was almost more insulting than the middle fingers.

The Omens, as they called themselves, always left these tokens at the scenes of their crimes to claim them. The police station kept each token.. and they had roughly 134 tokens. Azathoth was one of four Omens, and probably their most active member. It was all too frustrating that they knew almost nothing about them despite the group being active for 3 months now. 

“Fuck!” Kite screamed and punched one of the crates. His fist left a slight indentation in the shipping container. This happened, it keeps happening. One of these days, they’ll be brought to justice, but for now.. They still roam free. They still taunt him, just by living.

[jackalopes-pen]

Yes, but the second image in also the third... someone help I'm shitty photo editing

[jackalopes-pen]

I was bored in Dramatic Writing, so I did this.

Do me a favour and click on the image cause Tumblr eats image quality for breakfast.

[jackalopes-pen]

I present: The Mecha-Dragion

I gave up on the eyes