#drew these on my phone sorry if they look jank

[bees-art-n-stuff-archived]

Ref sheets for new object ocs I’ve had for like half a week

Also some extra art

[tjovalboy]

Marty and TJ rap battle

The FIghty FIght

Words: 2888 and I am so done

AO3 (please let me know what I need to improve)

Cyrus thumbed through the note document on TJ’s phone– his early preview given more because he begged for one than to give any critical input. “This is good, this is good,” he remarked. “I think you’re going to be fire out there. Absolute domination.”

“Okay, buddy. Easy there,” TJ chuckled, but he knew it was true.

TJ shoved his smartphone, in which he poured hours the past week perfecting his rhymed insults, into his back pocket. In an organized rap battle, the guy who doesn’t have his shit memorized is already ten times more lame than the other, no matter how good his lines are.

Cyrus punched his chest weakly, breaking him out of his thought. “I can’t wait to see the look on her face every time I’m gonna finish my baby taters this week, and hand her the check after I’ve finished every last crumb.”

He shook his head at him, then craned his neck over his shoulder to glimpse at their opponents. Marty Thupparty, a track star parallelling his finesse with the hoops, bobbed his head along to something Buffy Driscoll was explaining very firmly. It was probably something useless, anyway. It’s not like either of them had nearly as much experience as he did, which made this pairing an overkill.

The whole thing was Cyrus’s idea, really. He knew TJ rapped, and that Marty rapped, and that Marty was a little afraid of TJ at one point last year, so naturally, he thought a rap battle would be the sickest way to bring them together– a friendship ploy for Marty’s second initiation into the group since his absence from Buffy’s life.

The baby tater bet was to get Buffy involved for even teams. She only agreed to coach Marty if they bet that the losing rapper coach would have to buy baby taters at the Spoon for the winner the whole week afterward.

They were taking it a lot more seriously than he and Marty even were.

“We should get going,” TJ breathed after seeing their opponents start heading away.

The asphalt scorched the flat bottoms of his sneakers as he walked towards the court. It was like the entire world just decided to preheat on itself, he thought, as sweat began prickle his arms and the mass of excited chatter drew closer. He knew he didn’t make the decision to have an outdoor rap battle at three o’clock in the afternoon in June.

At Basketball Court Number Three, a large, but niche, clump of people had come to watch them rap. They had formed a space for both of them in the middle of the circle, in which Marty was already positioned.

“Alright, alright, settle down everyone! They’re both finally here,” announced Jonah Beck as some random little hands shoved TJ from the outskirts to the space across from Marty. There were whoops and shouts coming from directions he couldn’t pinpoint, and some were so close to his ear he didn’t know where to turn.

He eyed Cyrus and Buffy at most inner circle of the crowd and grinned as they playfully nudged each other, keeping fierce looks in their eyes. However, he couldn’t decipher what was going through his opponent’s head. He stood across from him with his hands shoved in his pockets as if he was watching a golf match, his face as flat as a brick as he alternated slight glances with the crowd, Buffy, and TJ.

“Most of you already know, but I’m Jonah Beck. I started walking home from school today, then I saw this crowd and stopped to say ‘hi’ to everyone, and now I guess I’m hosting this rap battle!”

The kids erupted in giggles, but TJ swore he was dead serious.

“On this side…” he stretched an arm out at TJ. “…captain of the Jefferson Basketball team, king of hair gel, and connoisseur of more redemption arcs than I can count– no really, I never learned how to count– my man, ‘True Jank Fruity!’”

TJ stuck his chin up a little higher and smirked. Jonah waited for the giddy chatter and whoops to fade before turning to Marty. “And over here– track star, lover of parties and, I think, country music; he saw me fall on my face once– ‘Eleven Point Yikes’!”

Marty ran his fingers through his dark hair, which was messier than usual. They stood so close that TJ could see his own frowning face in the reflection of his eyes. ”Ready to lose, Kippen?” he sneered.

“You wish,” he shot back.

Smartphones went vertical one after the other, waiting to catch every hard jab and mangled line between the two dogs, their fingers probably already on the ‘post’ button in hopes of garnering the most attention by sharing first.

“We’re doing two rounds, starting with TrueJank,” Jonah announced. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“You say you’re ‘Marty From The Party’ but you’ve never been invited

When I see the pics on Insta, your blurry head looked like I smudged it

You should take advice from pocket lint, maybe then, you’ll get some relevance

I asked who I was battling, they said, “Middle Schooler #100”

It’s 2018 and they really named you “Martin”

Popped you out the womb and remembered their fifty year old accountant

I think I scraped you off the wall last week, now that needed an extra napkin

Four classes with me and you were nameless? Bro, look around. The whole school had that experience.”

The “ohh’s!” loudened after his most powerful lines, preceding a much larger display of fist pumps and hoots (even from the ones he’d bullied) after the verse was over. However, Marty, surprisingly witted for a newbie, hushed the crowd before he could take in the music.

“Let’s get things straight, TrueJank, you sicken me.

You think shitty rhymes make them pity you for an apology?

You’re like the last day of October, all face with no sincerity.

At least the other ex-bullies use their heads, they differ “sorry” from stupidity.

Aw, but, I know you feel bad; got all this baggage weighing on you

You swing at the park because your mind’s got too many issues

But it’s time to skip the angst, skip the coldness and the frown

Your just plain scary, and JMS won’t let you live it down.”

The screams seemed about equal to his.

“So you didn’t make my team. What a surprise.

I know you were out, and you were trying, but you tripped over every painted line!

I’d say go right, like Mario Kart you’d run zig zags like there was squid ink in your eye.  

You got Buffy calling witness protection cause she so embarrassed she let you inside.

Two athletes in a fight, Wit to wit without the fouling.

I throw words, you shoot em back and think “I’ll end him with these similes.”

We running lines in the weight room, spitting verbs where we kick grovel.

From a rapper to a rapper, we playing for different leagues

You couldn’t diss me better than you wipe the dirt off your cleats”

It wasn’t until after spat his final lines that he could focus enough to hear his heart pound. There was nothing more he had to show, but the world seemed to slow as Marty returned with his own final verse.

“Your hoodies upon hoodies got style enough for Fashion Week.

The critics say “eclectic” cause it’s “he-don’t-leave-his-basement chic”.

Runway shots of your ‘do be like White Christmas with the gel that flakes.

Your name says it all, the only fashion show you running is the coach ordered jank from the sports teams.

Yeah, you’ve rapped longer but your rhymes ‘aint unique

Jock, bully, kinda dumb, and lives a trope like a bad movie

Put some shades, baggy shorts, fake chains, and you’ll almost be a rapper

I’m a newbie? Why am I hearing your MTV lines a decade after?

You’re unoriginal.

Your first date hears “Perfect” by Ed and shakes at all the horror.

He sees your cliche ass boombox blaring like you’re Dobler.”

It took a few moments for TJ to register that his mouth hung open. His classmates were breaking into hysterics and patting Marty on the back like he’d just single-handedly fought a war for them and emerged victorious. He could vaguely hear Jonah amongst the crowd declare Marty as the winner.

TJ tried to pick Cyrus out of the crowd, but he couldn’t amongst the blaring amount of chaos. Teeth gritted, he decided he would just wait by the gate.

-

TJ, feeling a little selfless, held his full tray out to Buffy and offered her some french fries.

“No, thanks,” she stopped sipping her milkshake to reply. “I have practice right after this and I’m already stuffed.”

He nodded, and offered the same next to him. “Cyrus?”

His friend shrugged. “Sure, why not?” He set the tray between them and they both dug in for a handful. The calm chatter and occasional sound of the bell atop the entrance door overtook them at The Spoon diner. After a few moments, he noticed Buffy grimacing at him.

“…and Marty?” she pressed impatiently.

Oh, right. He probably wanted to feel included, too. With his lips tightened, he gave the fries a slight push so they slid forward and stopped at the spiky haired boy’s milkshake glass where he’d accept the offer if he wanted. “Take some,” he said simply, and Marty rolled his eyes at him.

Buffy gave Cyrus a look, then turned back to him. “You’re seriously still mad you lost the rap battle?” she bursted, holding back a laugh. “That happened a whole week ago!”

“I’m not mad,” he muttered in reply, focusing very hard on the pedestrian activity outside the window beside them.

“You totally are,” she pressed. ‘You’ve been weird ever since it happened.”

Cyrus sighed dramatically and slumped down with his elbow on the table. “And I really thought my friendship-making plan would work! I guess I can’t fix everyone’s relationship problems.”

Buffy patted his hand lamely. “It’s okay, Cyrus. You’ll get ‘em next time around.”

He and Marty’s tension had been going on since the battle. He was just a little irked that “I’ve-been-rapping-for-a month-Marty” pulled rhymes out of his butt that shanked his bully boy reputation into little pieces. He may have ignored a few of Marty’s texts since it happened, which pushed Marty into ignoring him, and therefore, neither of them hanging out with the Good Hair Crew that week in fear of seeing each other. While their excuses were believable, it was more difficult to get out of plans Buffy and Cyrus made for all four of them after school.

He almost wanted to tell Cyrus that his friendship-plan wasn’t gonna work from the beginning.

“While you were both amazing,” started Cyrus. “Marty, your last line about TJ being so cliche he’d hold a boombox above his head on his first date was hilarious.”

Buffy snorted. “That’s the part people keep sending me videos of. Someone would have to slap me in the face twice if I actually saw you doing that, Kippen.”

TJ didn’t know how to respond and just shook his head playfully. His gaze flickered toward Marty, and while a corner of his mouth tugged up at the look, he broke away quickly and returned to his comfortable frown.

“Listen, TJ,” Marty had his elbows propped on the table and his eyes bordered on desperate. “If you wanna talk, then let’s talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about because I’m not mad.” He surveyed the contents on his table. “I’m gonna go grab some more ketchup,” he excused himself without looking anyone in the eye.

-

At the ketchup pump, he pushed the lever down with too much force and much of the red blob squirted onto the counter next to his paper container.

There was a snort from someone behind him. “Nice one.”

He almost chuckled, too, but bit it back when he recognized the voice. There’s no way he was staying here alone with him, so he began heading back without a turn.

“Wait, TJ, you can’t just pout and stomp away. You have to tell me what’s really up,” he pleaded sternly.

He glanced at Buffy and Cyrus who were both in some heated debate and didn’t even seem to notice their absence, and before he could process his thoughts, he was face to face with Marty again and had blurted, “The boombox line.”

Marty hesitated, like he wanted to know what he meant, but he couldn’t admit that he didn’t. “Um, what?”

Your first date hears “Perfect” by Ed and shakes at all the horror.

He sees your cliche ass boombox blaring like you’re Dobler.

“The boombox line,” he repeated with a breath. “I thought you said that was your favorite part of our first date– the way I ended it.”

“It was. I always tell you that,” he replied.

“Well, you didn’t have to make fun of it,” he argued. “Yeah, I know we both hated the song and the whole thing was part of an inside joke, but I did it for you to see. Not for the whole school to imagine.”

Marty’s face went red much like the way it did when he held TJ’s hand for the first time at the soccer game, and when he and TJ sprinted down the street filling the sky with their laughs when Buffy and Cyrus almost caught them together, and the Friday they agreed they would go on a date the next day and plan absolutely none of it; thus it finishing with TJ blasting “Perfect” in Marty’s driveway while he cracked up from the second story bedroom window.

They were already calling themselves boyfriends by the time Marty apologized to Buffy and she let him back into their group (which included TJ). They were clueless about the countless dates they had been on since that first.

“Well, sorry, okay,” Marty muttered. “Literally no one suspected it was you and me, though, so you don’t have to be mad. I would never really make fun of you like that.”

TJ’s stomach twisted. He knew he used to scare him before they really talked, but they were countless secret dates past that. “I know. It sounds ridiculous to me now that I’m saying it out loud.”

Marty exaggerated a shrug and put on a dopey grin, showing him that they were okay. “Apology accepted, Kippen. Glad my boyfriend is talking to me again.”

TJ stepped forward couldn’t ignore the smell of greasy foods frying from where they were standing at the back by the kitchen door. He didn’t mind, though, as they were used to meeting in odd locations to talk. “I had no idea you would win, though. I’ve been rapping for so long and you’ve literally been doing it for two seconds!” TJ said through a laugh.

Marty smirked, grabbing his hand and letting it dangle between them. “Maybe I was born with it.”

As his mind ran with ways to banter back, he remembered another one of his problems. “It sucks that Cyrus thinks we’re never gonna be friends,” he commented.

Five weeks was a long time to hide a relationship. In hindsight, they could’ve at least pretended they were friends, but the enemies trope seemed more safe.

Marty rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb. “It does. Even after you rapped about me being as irrelevant as a T.V. show extra and I called you out on your ugly clothes, we still hate each other in their eyes.”

“Their” meaning Cyrus and Buffy. Cyrus was TJ’s closest friend, and Buffy was getting to be Marty’s. After missing Marty all week, he began to wonder how long secret relationships were supposed to last. He caught Marty’s gze flickering over his shoulder at them. “I think we should tell them soon.”

“We should.”

“But how? When?” TJ furrowed his brows, and Marty stared at him like he just suggested that boombox thing from Say Anything was a good idea for a first date.

“Duh, we rap it to them!” he hissed.

Holy shit. His boyfriend’s brain!

“We both wrote awesome verses insulting each other in like a week. It’ll be great!” he continued.

“Four classes and you were nameless? Bro look around. That’s a universal experience.” did have a certain energy to it that would be perfect for a relationship reveal. He was proud when he thought of that while his mother dragged his with her to the bank. He already couldn’t wait or this collab. “I am so in, Eleven Point Yikes.”

“Just let me have some of your fries first, in like, not a passive aggressive way, and then we can start, True Jank Fruity.”

They unclasped their hands to whip their arms around for a painful high five, causing some people to turn their heads. They jogged back to their table, where Buffy and Cyrus already had their necks craned at them, and grabbed the rest of the fries out of TJ’s tray by hand and skipped out the door ignoring their questions. Cyrus probably assumed they made up, but he’d be even happier when they told him in a few days.

TJ would remember to thank Ed Sheeran, or the rap gods, later.