Rebel Yell

A/N: I just wanted to write something in second person, for some reason. Cue the vague Bunny with rebellious teen Butters.


You grew out of your shy, good-boy persona at age fourteen and now, three years later, you are the antithesis of what you once were in elementary and middle school.

It could be said that you've acquired your new tastes from one thoroughly devious (and unbearably handsome) Kenny McCormick, which wouldn't have been a lie, exactly. He always talked about drugs, tattoos, piercings, and sex back in middle school—back when you wouldn't dream of such things. Or, more accurately, you would've, had you not been so scared of your parents finding out. So, all-in-all, it was your decisions that got you here, not Kenny's. He merely inspired them.

Your name is Butters Stotch, and you think that you may just have the most damned piercings of anyone in town. More than Kenny (at least you think so, since you've never seen him without his boxers on and he could always have more down there), and more than Craig (which you know for a fact, because, unlike with Kenny, you've seen Craig without his boxers several times.)

The first piercings were in your earlobes, because that process was simple and painless. Your dad grounded you for a week, and you snuck out every night of it. After the third time you got a needle shoved into your skin for the sake of having jewelry, your parents gave up trying to punish you by confining you to your room. They assumed the "ungroundable" attitude had returned, perhaps for good this time, so you were shoved off to boarding school for your last year of high school. It didn't really matter to you.

Lobes and cartilage on your ears were first, you remember; your left eyebrow was next, followed by both hips, your tongue, two rings in your lip, a tiny stud in your nose, and then—well, the last one you don't talk about. Only Craig and Bebe have seen it, and you'll leave it at that. The tattoo sleeves came later, as did the Zayn Malik haircut with its red-frosted tips.

Your mother would be furious.

She would be even more furious if she could see you right now, while you were pinning Kenny's wrists to the wall and grinding your hips into his insistently. Though this was his idea, you still felt a little proud of yourself for managing to win over the affections of the boy you'd secretly had a crush on since fourth grade. You note, with a grin, that he was rather vocal once that damned parka was out of the picture. Mostly expletives.

And, yes, you realize with a smug sense of satisfaction later than evening, when Kenny's beneath you on your bed and both of you are stoned off your asses, you do have the most piercings of anyone in town. Now you know for sure.

It was a secretive life you lived, if only to your parents. You never regretted it for a second.