Author's Note: Oh jeez, here we go. All right, I'll admit I'm nervous for this fic. This is my epic project that I've been working on for the past few months. This will be a 13 part series (lol that sounds HUGE). I'll post an order for them sometime in the future on my profile. Anyways, this is going to be one big conglomerate South Park fic-series. It's 12 different songfics all from the album Favourite Worst Nightmare by the Arctic Monkeys, making the whole thing an Albumfic. This will be the first installment of the 'Style' portion of the series. There is a Style portion, a Creek portion, and a Kenny-going-around-doing-his-bidness portion. Now, songics don't really appeal to a lot of people but I'm just going to say that mine are a bit different. I hate the cheesy immersing the lyrics into your fic or even worse, having your characters SING them… I just don't really find that intriguing. So I took this album, and I took the themes from the songs, or the feelings that I had when I listened to them and put them into the fic. So the chapters won't usually go along that perfectly with the lyrics. That's a good thing, they're not supposed to. It's all based on the theme of the song. So I'll end this ridiculously long Author's Note now and let you guys get to the story.
I do NOT own Brianstorm or Favourite Worst Nightmare, however much I want to. The lyrics are not mine. And I suggest you all listen to the songs because they're awesome. ;3
Top marks for not tryin'
So kind of you to bless us
With your effortlessness
We're grateful and so strangely comforted
~Brianstorm, Arctic Monkeys
"Dammit," I grit my teeth and glowered at Stan's television.
"Looks like I win again," he said placidly. I could feel his grin on the back of my head. I had been leaning forward in my intense concentration on Call of Duty and I hadn't relaxed my position yet. I threw his controller angrily on the ground. "Hey!" cried Stan, standing up and snatching up his abused controller. "No need to take your pissiness out on my property," he pouted, sending me a look. I rolled my eyes.
"It's not your property. Your parents bought you that X-Box. It's their property," I said snidely, stretching out my legs before standing shakily up. I'd been sitting too long and my knees hurt like a bitch. I collapsed onto Stan's bed, my arms spread out, head buried into his comforter. I closed my eyes. We were going to be seniors soon. After this we were truly going to be adults. All going our separate ways. It seemed like only a little while ago we were all ten years old. None of us had really changed. It was all just the same. South Park had that kind of effect on you. That ageless feeling. The only thing that had changed was that we'd all gotten older. But nothing else. Everything else was exactly the same. I felt the bed depress next to me and I lifted my head. Stan was leaning back on his elbows, looking up at the ceiling. He was still the same Stan that I knew seven years ago. But he did look different. He still had the same straight black hair but it was longer now. At this moment it was falling into his indigo eyes. His eyes certainly hadn't changed. That unique dark blue shade was always present in his irises. They were half-mast as he looked pensively up at the ceiling. Stan usually didn't look pensive. I wasn't sure what he was thinking. He tilted his head back, revealing his chiseled chin and adam's apple. He'd certainly grown into his face. Stan actually looked older than me; even though I was older than him. Heck, he was the youngest of most of us. However, he didn't look sixteen while the rest of us were all seventeen. Heck, Craig was already eighteen. Stan had grown a lot. He'd always been the tallest of us when we were younger, well, except for Craig, but now he was just ridiculous. I'd stopped growing when I was fucking fourteen. He's still growing. He's six one already. He doesn't need to be any taller.
"You're glaring at me," he said stonily. I blinked, my eyes adjusting and looked at Stan strangely. He was looking down at me, his head still tilted up. He must have been too lazy to even move his head. "Still sore that I beat you, again?" he smirked at me, his eyes lowering playfully and mockingly. I pouted at him.
"Don't you dare hold that to me. I'll beat you one day," I threatened, looking away from him and closing my eyes.
"Fine, darling," he sighed, waving his hand flamboyantly in the air. I don't remember where he got that particular movement from. But he did it whenever he was fucking with me. It looked seriously gay. Maybe he got it from Big Gay Al or someone. Whatever it was, it stuck with him and he did it a lot more than I would really like him to.
"Dude, gay," I laughed, sitting up and shoving him over for mocking me.
"You're the gay one my little shmoopsikins," he fluttered his eyelashes at me and clutched his hands to his chest. Honestly, where did he get these nicknames? I shook my head and chuckled, pushing him again. Stan righted himself and gave me a leering look. "You think you're the only one that can push people around, Kyle?" he laughed, pushing me back. Stan was stronger than me. He should have known that when he pushed me. But he didn't, and I nearly cracked my head on his wall. I tackled him back, pinning him to the bed and grinning at him.
"That's for nearly killing your best friend!" I said, my hands on his shoulders. Stan put his hands on the inside of my arms and looked at me, a devious little look in his eye. His back tensed up and one of his legs shifted under me. I gave him a wary look. "What are you do-" At that point he rolled us over.
And off the bed.
I honestly couldn't breathe. I was taking in giant gulps of air, looking like a fish out of water, my eyes wide and shocked. "Y-you," my breathy voice came out sharp hand hollow. "Ass...hole!" I pushed him off of me and he started laughing hysterically. He didn't even care that he'd just knocked the breath out of me. I clutched my chest as I began to regain my breath, leaning back against the side of his bed. Meanwhile, Stan continued to laugh his head off. "It's not that funny!" I wheezed, giving him a pained look. "That actually hurt a lot, you bastard." Stan shrugged his shoulders and looked like he was still holding in laughs. He scooted over next to me and looked at the television screen at his little 'You Win!' banner. He was smiling. A genuine kind of smile I didn't usually see on him. Honestly, I never really saw a genuine smile on anyone in South Park. Stan's hat had fallen off and was discarded somewhere in the room. I'd taken mine off a while ago. Stan's room was like a sauna. He kept his thermostat amazingly high and he still wore sweatshirts in his room. I wiped sweat off of my forehead after our little episode and took off my jacket, throwing it unceremoniously across his room and glaring at him. Daring him to tell me I couldn't do that. Stan obviously didn't care. He was still smiling. It was now kind of freaking me out. He wasn't really looking at anything anymore. And his smile didn't look... happy. It looked somber. Like a poor excuse at a smile when you were forced to do so. "Stan...?" I mumbled. Stan turned his head to me, his eyes a bit glazed over and he rubbed the back of his head, grinning sheepishly, his eyes closed.
"Sort of spaced out," he mumbled. I kept my gaze locked on him until he opened his eyes. When he did, his smile halted completely and he looked a little guilty. "We're going to be seniors," he muttered, looking down at the floor. He seemed to find his old Hot Wheels extremely fascinating for he picked it up and started to fiddle with the wheels. "Doesn't it seem so... weird? We're going to be seniors. And after that... then what? Is everyone just going to up and leave?" he gave me a look. A half-dreading, half-pleading look. "I don't know what I'm going to be doing after all of this, Kyle. I've never really considered it. It's just... everything's going to change," he looked forlornly down at his Hot Wheels and began to run it over his knees, watching it intently. I grimaced at him. I didn't think he really cared. He was more of a go-with-the-flow kind of guy. Stan would deal with things when they came up. "How do you have all this shit figured out, Kyle? How do you know if it's not a bad decision?" he looked at me pleadingly and I honestly couldn't give him an answer. I looked away from him and shrugged.
"I... I just do, man," I sighed. "I mean, it just kind of happened. I mean, I want to get out of this damn town as much of the next guy. I know that I need to do something about that though. I know it won't just happen. I have to work towards getting where I want to go," I explained. I didn't like how the entire air in the room had visibly darkened. How there was now this heavy weight over both of us. That there was this unspoken topic that we needed to talk about. A topic that neither of us knew what it was. It was just there, this overhanging weight.
"Is everything going to change, Kyle? It just feels like everything is going to fall apart," he fell into my shoulder, his eyes fixed forward. I'd seen this part of Stan a few times. When his parents divorced the first time when he was ten. When Sparky died. When Wendy broke up with him. Again.
"I hope not," I sighed deeply, looking towards Stan's window. It was nearly dusk.
"Kyle," Stan's voice had gone gruff. His head was beginning to get heavy but I was pretty sure he didn't plan on moving it. I hummed an acknowledgement, not keen on speaking at the moment. "Let's promise each other that whatever happens, it doesn't change what we have?" he proposed it like a question. I would have been fine with just a statement. But this required me to answer.
"Yeah," I answered, closing my eyes and smiling the tiniest bit.
"Super best friends forever, right?" I felt his body move in a chuckle and he was smiling again. Still not quite as happy as a smile should be.
"Yeah," I found my gaze gravitating towards the television screen and its 'You Win!' banner.