#muse; kenny: woohoo !!

[howdyneighborr]

’ Suffering? You haven’t seen anything yet. ’ - butters to kenny, as professor chaos perhaps? c:

@dustified; saw sentence starters -> [ x ]

His fist curled tightly; the worn material of his glove squeaked. Night air brushed chilly fingers over Mysterion’s scraped and glistening knee; exposed to the elements through the tear in the thin material of his gray bodysuit. He spat a hocking, red and slimy glob of spittle onto the wet, dark asphalt in front of him. A thin, pink trail dried to his chin. The sight and taste of his own blood had stopped bothering the hero a long time ago.  ❝ Big talk from a little guy — You don’t know shit about what I’ve seen, Chaos. ❞

[howdyneighborr]

The short-ranged blow to his face forced a terse, pained grunt from Kenny. Instinctively, he brushed the back of his hand against the underside of his nose, which meant he also had to release his grip on one of Tweek’s wrists. No blood. ‘That’s a first,’ he thought to himself. The distance between the shorter man’s head and his own face must have not been enough for the inertia of the hit to rearrange bone and cartilage. Oh well, no immediately incurred injuries only racked up the odds that the next accident would have a greater consequence. With his luck, he would take a step back from Tweek, slip on nothing, and end up Million Dollar Baby-ing himself. Or a fixture would come loose from the ceiling and split his skull. He wouldn’t even be shocked if the cackling cops just around the corner out of their line of sight started popping their pistols off at their desks for the hell of it and he managed to catch a stray bullet in the neck. His life (and death) operated on Looney Tunes rules; the funnier the misfortune, the bigger the pay off. But that didn’t mean he always knew when the sword over his head would drop.

He loosely cupped his recently-unoccupied hand over the other blonde man’s mouth, muffling him but not silencing him or actively impeding the movement of his jaw. He didn’t want to incite more panic. Anger over being manhandled, he could deal with that. His other arm dropped and hooked around Tweek’s tiny waist. A joke regarding their twig-like frames and starting a fire died on his lips. Considering the last one went over so well. 

He began speaking again, working towards an apology. However, he wanted to address Tweek’s question and concerns, “I don’t know how long we’ve been here. I ain’t gonna lie to you.” The slip of his accent accentuated his missing, left-of-center tooth. He did know that their time in lock-up hadn’t exceeded the typical two-day span yet. Neither of them had been brought before a judge either. Unfortunately, that meant they had anywhere from one to forty-seven hours on the clock still. Kenny figured that wouldn’t exactly be the most comforting information to relay.

“I’m sorry. I was just teasing you. You don’t get to plead insanity for drug charges anyway. C’mon, you know that. Let’s walk it back, though. One thing, good news,” Kenny started, shifting his arms again. He pulled the rattled rail of a man back from the uncaring metal bars and cruel laughter echoing their direction and continued, “You won’t get locked up in the hospital, okay?” Kenny wanted to expedite the conversation and take Tweek by the shoulders to make him sit on the only seat in the room, but any tidbit of remaining agency became highly valuable after being sequestered from polite society. “Will you sit for me– So I can talk to you?” He didn’t care what Tweek did with his body or position in reality, but he hoped the question would redirect the other’s attention for a moment, if nothing else.

“Gah!—fuck!—I am—” Tweek snapped his mouth shut, suddenly remembering that the last thing he wanted was to admit to being a tweaker, as it could be held against him.  People could look at him and tell what he was, and there was no chance of him convincing a jury that he wasn’t, but for peace of mind, he told himself it helped not to say it.

He wanted to resent Kenny for calling him ‘crazy’—only he was allowed to consistently refer to himself as such, and everyone else was beholden to his moods—but then Kenny jabbed his nails into Tweek’s pale skin.  Tweek had done that for years to stave off panic attacks, the biting sting often shocking some more rationality into him.

He had also been here a number of times for various minor offenses—it was inevitable if you were a homeless psycho—but that didn’t mean it got much easier.  His father threatened him with an institution for years, correcting undesirable behavior with the reminder that he might get taken away and locked up in ‘that place’ with all the deranged, screaming people.  In hindsight, his parents never would have sent him to live in a hospital full-time, but it was too late; the fear of confinement had already been deeply instilled in him.  Prison cell or mental hospital, it didn’t matter.

“I don’t wanna make an ins-s—insanity defense,” he breathed.  “They still—egh—lock you up for that, too.”  Instinctively, Tweek told himself he would rather take his chances in prison than in the hospital, just because he had already experienced a small glimpse of the latter and had no desire to get a more thorough one.  But almost as soon as it cropped up, the thought dissipated as the horrors of spending life in prison occurred to him.

His grip on the bars loosened a little, held in place more from Kenny’s efforts than his own at this point.  “How long’ve we been here?” he murmured, looking out into the room beyond.  He could see the thin gray profile of a wall clock, angled carefully and mockingly away from the prisoners.  If he listened closely, he was convinced he could hear the chatter and laughter of officers, undoubtedly giggling about the two bums they’d picked up.

“It’s not going to be fine.”  He tensed back up, and his sighs turned into sharp hisses.  “I feel like we’ve been here f-forever.”  He pulled his head back to beat it against the bars again but bumped into Kenny’s nose instead.  “I’ve—nh—gotta get outta… outta here…”

@howdyneighborr

[howdyneighborr]

🤗 (mahoushoujotennyo to kenny)

@throughtheglasswalls 🤗 Our muses share a blanket -> holiday season prompts -> x; ask box open !!

Snow patted and piled silently against the cracked glass and faded window panes of the dilapidated house on the wrong side of the tracks. Despite how small their hometown was, Kenny couldn’t help but feel the distance from his friends and the rest of the townies. The loneliness never really bothered him however; until the time of the year when the sun settled behind the clouds ever earlier as the days passed and when the wind picked up and seeped into the splintered frame of the McCormick residence.

The melancholy carved a deep recess into his tiny chest, but the sleepy sigh heaved by his baby sister’s even smaller frame brought him out of his trance before the sadness rendered him a complete zombie. Karen shifted, leaving a small wet spot of drool behind on the older kid’s worn t-shirt. Kenny smiled down at the sleeping girl. He wrapped his arms and threadbare blanket tighter around her, hoping to shield her from the wintery draft’s icy tendrils that wormed their way through their living room. The soft glow of their battered, old pre-lit Christmas tree illuminated the siblings as they sat on the couch in the otherwise dark living room. He turned his attention back to the quiet blizzard outside and whispered,

-–— ❝Santa’s going to bring you something good this year, Kare-Bear. I promise.❞

[howdyneighborr]

Tweek: ’ How many next times are there gonna be? ’ (for kenny and/or clyde >:) )

@troublcmakcrs

The two men—the intended targets of the singular question—stood and sat, respectively; juxtaposed in their expression of guilt. Or, lack thereof.

Clyde posed coolly against the framed entrance of their tiny kitchen. He put all his effort into concentrating on the small bubbles under the white paint haphazardly slathered over the cheap wood across from him. Directly in his eye-line, the tiny imperfections diverted and distracted his attention. If his arms hadn't been folded across his chest, shielding himself as Tweek began to tear into Kenny's hide, he might have absently picked and peeled the decrepit Landlord's Special paint job. After all, he didn't really have to be here. Kenny needed the intervention. Clyde only contributed to his share of rent. And was banging them both. But other than that, he felt no responsibility for the opening of Pandora's box. He avoided eye contact with his seated partner, and he could feel Kenny doing the same. Clyde half-expected, if he were to steal a glance at Kenny, to see cartoonish lines of tension drawn over his hanging head. The standing brunette refused to believe he had any part in this other than being an observer. He would deny all allegations as an enabler—as he always had, anyway. He kept his mouth shut and stayed a safe distance as the squabble roiled to a head.

Kenny leaned forward over his knees, feeling small and sick. He sat curled around himself until he could bear to raise his chin. When the wave of guilt-induced nausea ebbed, the skinny blonde rested the point of his jaw in his hands and stared up from the couch at Tweek. He wanted to chuck a pillow, stuffed with blame and accusation, across the room at the good-for-nothing bartender. Even still, when the thought formed in his head, he regretted feeling that way towards the other man. Ken knew the responsibility lay mostly on his own shoulders. Not throwing Clyde under the bus or even turning to face him for backup took every bit of Kenny's resolve. He knew the other man would male a slick remark and weasel his way out of the room  Kenny was surprised he hadn't made an escape already. He knew Clyde would slough off the accountability regardless. He also knew the time for making excuses had passed and he should start fixing his mistakes. Clyde could do whatever the fuck he wanted. Treat Tweek, treat him, the way he wanted. He would only have himself to blame when he had to sleep on the couch. Or with whoever would take him in. Clyde could make his own bed, but Kenny– He was tired of coming home, or waking up, or getting a text from a disappointed Tweek. 

That amalgam of factors ultimately stopped him from casting his sad, blue plea for help in Clyde's direction; Kenny knew he would find no comfort. And that was okay. He was an adult, not a giant man-child like Clyde. Okay, now that thought felt good. Albeit a bit internally vindicated, Kenny couldn’t shake feeling like a piece of shit, but weren't they both? Wasn't that what else had caused this? No one owning up to their own bullshit, history dooming itself to be repeated? With a whump and a sigh, his back hit the sofa cushions and his legs extended in Tweek's direction; an invitation and the very picture of man-spread. Wallowing wouldn’t un-fuck or un-drink anything. With a puckish grin, the lounging blonde was the first to respond.

“Can you be a little more clear about which specific fuck-up you're pissed about right now? I’ve kind of done a lot of shit lately…”

[howdyneighborr]

’ So unless you’ve got something else to say… back the fuck off. ’ (stan @ kenny)

@multiparked; saw sentence starters -> [ x ]

Fingers poking through the ends of unraveled gloves instinctively wrapped around the loose drawstrings of his weathered coat. He ripped the cords downward with full-force frustration, zipping all but his eyes safely into the warm refuge of his tightly-sealed hood. He raised his chin just a moment later so the top half of his face disappeared inside the orange fabric and his mouth popped free. He bared his teeth in exasperation. Yeah, the joke had been shitty, but like– it was just a joke. At least as far as his friend had to be concerned.

"Stan– I didn't actually fuck your dad. I'm sorry. Can I please buy weed from him now?"

[howdyneighborr]

Craig: "It's easier to pretend you don't have feelings when you do than to pretend you have feelings when you don't." (for kenny or clyde :3)

-> @troublcmakcrs ; ask box open [ x ]

Fight or flight hit him like a school bus at forty miles-per-hour. Splat. Ooouuuch, man. Nervous laughter quietly bubbled from him like a pot of boiling water left alone– forgotten–on the back burner, waiting for the moment to burn out dry. Eheh, heh, heh…

Cool Kenny McCormick, the enigmatic playboy dumpster fire of a person, could obviously confront Craig’s brutally honest approach to the subtlety of catching feelings without spiraling. Everything always rolled off his shoulders anyway, right? Supposed to, at least.

The frayed ends of Kenny’s sleeve shrouded the nervous wiggling of his bony fingers. He instinctively hid as much of himself as he possibly could by tugging the dirty, tattered fabric down further over his hands. Shaggy blonde bangs tumbled over his forehead. His thoughts squirreled around, away from the current situation, as the fine hairs tickled his cheeks. Time for a haircut. Shielding his reaction against the fear of being known and sting of rejection, his face fell further to the blown-out shoes on his feet. 

Kenny always found humor in the way people tended to describe emotional hurt with words evocative of physical pain– Because, he had enough experience with both to know, they were rarely too far off from the truth. His covered eyes focused on his pigeon-toed, unlaced sneakers. Another distraction; his mind scrambled again. He had the money to splurge on a new pair, but his search always ended up disrupted by some unforeseen event. Being accustomed to–and even comforted by–the feeling of threadbare clothing already perfectly molded to his form and curated around his daily routine, Kenny often just fucking forgot that he could refurbish his wardrobe. His feet shifted. Avoid the feeling. Make a joke. Say something nasty. Say anything. Lighten the mood. Dude, just don’t —– make it weird.

But I am weird— His shoulders rolled backward and his face lifted with the action. His lids half-covered his eyes and he stared up, along the bridge of his nose, at the taller man. Revealing the empty hole of his favorite missing tooth, an audacious grin opened wide across his face.  Fuck.  ❝Ha-ha-ha... Whaaat the hell are you even saying to me right now, dude?❞

[howdyneighborr]

Fully sated, Kenny ditched the last scraps of food in the soggy box and rolled over onto his back to let the carbs freely settle in his stomach. He had noticed, for the first time, a little discomfort caused by lying on his chest. His swollen belly, bulging with predigested cargo, needed the extra room until it deflated. Contentment consumed him, dragging him near the soporific brink. He raised his phone over his face to continue his digital wandering just before he managed to succumb. Craig’s soft invitation further perked his ears and caused Kenny’s eyes to dart quickly toward the couch, keeping him fully in the waking world then. He gave his host a meek smile.

“Oh, yeah– I know. I can see that, haha.” He turned his attention back to his screen. Scroll, scroll, scroll. Flick. Swipe. Like. Laugh-cry emoji. Kenny peeked from behind stringy, blonde bangs, looking at the other man on the couch again. One foot raised and the other followed in slow succession. The long limbs waved back and forth, accentuating Kenny’s remark, “I like to stretch out. It’s fine, dude.” 

Then, the heavy rush of air from Craig held Kenny’s attention. The legs stopped their childish air-waddling and relaxed, bending at the knee to settle close to his chest. The action reapplied the pressure he had just relieved from his gut. Slowly, his legs settled back down to the floor. He made some assumptions based on Craig’s body language. He had unintentionally hit a nerve. Or rather—he had pinched the subject a little too hard to be friendly. Kenny wondered if he owed the other boy an apology right away or if he needed to test the waters to see how badly he had fucked up. He watched the innocent piece of sausage disappear into the couch-sitter’s angry maw, masticated and champed upon until the poor morsel slipped down Craig’s gullet. 

Kenny laughed at Craig’s quip, masking the tension he felt. He would give the other some credit for attempting to breeze over the farcical comment, but the dirty blonde knew—he could sense the underlying pensiveness—Craig didn’t like what he had said. On second thought… maybe he would move to sit on the sofa. He rolled onto his side and then his knees, pushing himself up from the floor like an old dog. Kennyreached towards the low ceiling and his torso stretched as long as humanly possible, hitching the hem of his too-short shirt up again. With the gratified groan, his body shifted back into its normal shape and his arms flopped to his hips. Socked feet padded gently to Craig’s side and Kenny threw himself down on the cushions with a whuff. He kicked his legs up over Craig’s lap.

“Your mom’s hot, man.” Kenny tucked his stubbled chin into the collar of his hoodie and cheesed a grin at the other man. He would use that to gauge the current level of Craig’s bullshit tolerance.

Craig ought to sweep the floor.  He kept up with the cleaning better than some guys his age, but occasionally, chores fell to the wayside.  He always remembered better when he had less going on, and since he had been trying to maintain more of a social life, the state of the floor sneaked up on him.  Watching Kenny writhe and push dust around reminded him that he needed to get on that.  However, he wasn’t going to do it in the middle of a get-together, and by the time his company left, he might forget about it.  It would get swept eventually, but for the time being, he was left with the itch of something to do and no opportunity to do it.

Kenny was welcome to join Craig on the couch if he wanted, if the floor was so uncomfortable for him, but the guy was a little weird.  He always maintained the paradoxical air of being unperturbed, even when it was clear from his body language that he was bothered.  “There’s room up here,” Craig reminded him somewhat halfheartedly because a large part of him expected Kenny to reject it and claim that he preferred the floor.  Never mind—at least, Craig had fulfilled his obligations as a host by offering.

When Kenny turned the phone around to show him the incredibly topical meme, Craig heaved a huge sigh.  “Dammit, Mom…” he grumbled.  He had committed social media suicide years prior, vanishing from nearly every platform without a trace.  The only thing he kept was a YouTube account sot hat he could subscribe to people and keep track of what he wanted to watch.  He had done it because he was sick of people thinking it was okay to get in his or his family’s business, and he did not want to fuel them further.

However, he could not make his mom delete her account or stop posting, and because he had no Facebook of his own anymore, he could not keep an eye on what she was saying.  A sense of dread flooded his stomach, dowsing whatever appetite he might have had.  People probably knew all about his father before he was ready to tell them.  He pulled a sausage from the pizza and shoved it between his molars to stop his jaw from clenching too hard at the cold fact that he had no control over what information got out about his household and when, despite all his efforts to lead a relatively private life.

Kenny, contradiction of a man that he was, stared at Craig in a way that was both knowing and vacant.  Whether he knew something and was politely pretending that he didn’t or had no idea about anything and was putting on that he did was frustratingly difficult to parse.  Whatever the case, he had paid a penny and was waiting patiently for Craig’s thoughts.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about why the fuck you follow my mom on Facebook,” he answered at last, a bad joke to put off revealing the truth.  He could not remember who he was friends with on his Facebook back when he had it, but he was certain he kept his interactions with people’s parents to a minimum.  He had accepted the Tweaks’ requests out of obligation since he had resigned himself to the idea of them becoming family in the future.  Just another reason to celebrate that whole debacle falling apart.

“Nah, but I was really thinking about what compels people to fuck around like that.”  Craig kept his eyes off of Kenny, on the blank television screen across the room, which shrouded both of their reflections in fog and shadow.  “It’s way simpler to just… not do that, right?  I couldn’t imagine expending all that extra energy to get a whole second or third or fourth person to like me that well.  And then, to keep it a secret?  It’s so much work; just thinking about it is fucking exhausting.  To each their own, I guess.”  He waved a hand, then collected the slice he had picked the sausage off of.  Kenny wouldn’t mind if Craig touched it, but he might as well finish it, anyway.

“Different people have different priorities, but like… come on.”

@howdyneighborr

[howdyneighborr]

The gooey mess of hot melted cheese and sauce and gluten dripped a thin, red trail of grease down the side of his hand and started to dribble closer to his wrist. The tip of a pointed pink tongue studded by a small metal ball darted out to clean up the slop slithering towards his sleeve. God, he could hear his toilet (and his asshole) pleading for mercy already. Oh yeah, the way the fats and carbs were going to tear through his intestines later… Worth it, though. Pizza could be a cheap, easy meal, but dining out was always a gamble for his bowels. They were treating themselves tonight, so he was going to enjoy it, regardless. His cracked and gaping teeth tore away the biggest bite he could fit in his mouth.

While he chewed, Kenny dropped a grin into his lap. He couldn’t force the eye contact either. He laughed silently to himself and sighed. He swallowed, then moved to dangle the slice over his head once again. His hood slipped off and furled around his collarbones and shoulders. Each bite bought him more time to find the right words. With the rind of bread held between his fingers like a pencil, his other hand reached out to pluck a single piece of the sweet and tart yellow fruit sprinkled over the pie from a fresh, previously-untouched wedge of pizza.

“Yeah, I guess. Kinda figured you knew that already, though.” The cobalt blue spheres in the middle of his face twitched to the left, down, and then finally back up with the courage to hold Tweek’s gaze if he caught it. He popped the chunk of pineapple past his lips and his words retreated back down his throat with it.

▸   @howdyneighborr   ⟶   ❛  (( @ tweek )): “Love is cheesy, like pizza..”  ❜   ╱   (  about pizza , accepting .  )

Tweek poorly stifled a laugh behind his hand and said, “That was cheesy.”  Then, he realized that was exactly what Kenny meant and rolled his eyes, although he couldn’t fight the smile that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on his countenance.  He leaned over and wound a string of cheese that was dangling off of Kenny’s slice around his finger and pulled until it snapped off, then he popped it in his mouth.  “You’re silly.”

The ‘L’ word wasn’t lost on him, though, and when he sat back and thought about it for a bit, he didn’t think either of them had said it yet… unless they had, and he had been too far gone, either from drugs or his other issues to realize.  It might have been nothing, though—maybe Kenny didn’t mean it that way and was just messing around.  But Tweek’s cheeks felt warm with the possibilities, and he occupied himself with pulling another slice out of the box that sat on the floor between them so he didn’t have to look at the other.

“Is that your way of s-saying you love m-me, or what?”