Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6404410.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      South_Park
  Relationship:
      Michael/Pete, Kyle_Broflovski/Eric_Cartman, Kenny_McCormick/Butters
      Stotch, Craig_Tucker/Tweek_Tweak, Stan_Marsh/Wendy_Testaburger, Mike
      "Vampir"_Makowski/Pete_(unrequited)
  Character:
      Michael_(Goth_Kid), Pete_(Goth_Kid), Mike_"Vampir"_Makowski, Henrietta
      Biggle, Firkle_(South_Park), Stan_Marsh, Tweek_Tweak, Wendy_Testaburger,
      Kyle_Broflovski, Eric_Cartman, Kenny_McCormick, Craig_Tucker, Clyde
      Donovan, Bebe_Stevens, Mr._Garrison, Butters_Stotch
  Additional Tags:
      Depression, Slow_Burn, Eventual_Smut, Fluff, Angst, Self-Harm, Self-
      Esteem_Issues, Slow_recovery, Yaoi, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual_Confusion,
      Awkward_Tension, Slow_Build, Seme_Michael, Uke_Pete, Slow_To_Update
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-03-30 Updated: 2016-07-29 Chapters: 7/? Words: 9145
****** Addictions ******
by slipknoot
Summary
     The kids of South Park are now in high school, not much has changed,
     especially not the goth kids. They still have a raging hatred towards
     the vampire kids... as well as everything else. That's what goth kids
     are suppose to do, hate everything, right? Or maybe it's not so bad
     to enjoy a few things... every now and then.
***** We All Need A Smoke- Michaels POV *****
It was yet another uneventful shitty night, Firkle wasn't here to recite dark
poetry with us, Pete hadn't eaten decently again (he seriously thought he was
fooling me with that bullshit meal), and Henrietta was... well.. Henrietta. I
tried to deprive myself of boredom by sketching our pathetic group.
I am the oldest of us; 17 and still without a job. As I began to outline my own
image, I put in the annoying ass curls my black hair bounced into, which would
distract others away from my disapproving scowls. Henrietta was easier to
sketch, her having ample flesh to detail and intricate black lace dresses,
complimented with knee-high boots. Henrietta was also 17, yet she somehow
managed to fight enough kids to get held back last year, so she'll be
graduating with Pete. If she graduates.
Pete is 16, with flaunt-worthy features that never cease to make me wonder why
he could hate the world so much. He had naturally spiked/fluffed black hair,
with dyed-crimson streaks that were slowly fading. He wasn't too thin, but he
had a naturally fit framed that took me years to try to copy. But he wasn't
healthy, I couldn't pinpoint why. Nothing ever seemed to spark emotion into his
chocolate brown eyes. They were devoid for a long time, empty since grade
school. They still held a fondness, of course, more than my dead cobalt eyes,
and certainly more than Henrietta's mean hazel orbs.
And then there was Firkle. Firkle is the youngest goth, and I was also confused
on how he could strongly dislike everything by the time he entered
kindergarten. He was an intense flame, something only Henrietta could match
with her own intensity, probably explaining why she was like a mother to him.
Firkle has piercing green eyes that could cut glass. I was pulled out of my
enthrallment of sketching when Henrietta began whining.
"When the fuck is Firkle coming? I really need some fucking dark lyrics to mull
over.." She sighed, setting her phone down and replacing it with her long ass
cigarette thing. I perked up slightly, sending Pete a nervous glance. I had
completely forgotten to tell her Firkle had gotten into detention. The whole
situation was stupid- Firkle got mad and cussed out a few kids, causing him to
be punched in the face AND get in trouble for it. I hesitated before spilling.
"He's in detention.. Got hit by some douchey little kids and took the heat for
it." As soon as I said detention, Henrietta's hazel orbs narrowed and she grit
her teeth.
"Are you telling me he got beat up and didn't get revenge?" She looked up at
me, then at Pete- scanning to see if he knew about this. He was fixated on his
Edgar Allen Poe collections book, probably thanking the dark skies that he
didn't have to look at her. I nodded but before I could answer she cut me off.
"Those cock sucking assholes need to leave Firkle alone! God; why can't we
teach him to fight Michael??" Henrietta Biggle turned the end of her long,
black cigarette towards me. She let out a long string of smoke, unblinking as
she waited for an answer. Her layered black hair hung loose on her shoulders,
framing her in an unflattering way.
I shrugged, not simply caring whether or not our youngest goth member got into
fights. He wasn't my problem- he just hung out with us. Besides, who needs to
fight the poser bitches in middle school? Isn't that what high school is for?
"Doesn't seem necessary. If anything, he shouldn't be near those posers." I
didn't care enough to cap the bitterness in my tone, earning a glower from the
female goth staring me down. It took a half-assed pat on the shoulder from Pete
to melt the icy glare she was sending my way. She rolled her eyes at the
gesture the smaller goth made, flicking the peak of his forehead. He kept an
unchanging facial expression, his black and red-streaked hair casting a slight
shadow over his face.
"Maybe he's right Henrietta. He just doesn't want Firkle to get in trouble- get
held back- and wait longer until high school n' shit." Pete obviously made the
bullshit point on the spot; but it saved me from the wrath from Henrietta, so I
swung with it.
"He's already been in detention twice this week.. And it's Wednesday." I added
in, watching Henrietta tap the ash off the butt of her cigarette; narrowly
missing Petes foot. He took a deep sigh and flipped her off, not caring that
she didn't notice. Henrietta turned to face me and set her cigarette in the
over-sized ash tray. She lost herself in thought for a moment, and opened her
lipstick-rimmed mouth.
"...Alright. Whatever. If Firkle can't save his own ass then I will. Is that
good enough?" She asked, although we all knew she didn't care of our opinion. I
nodded, waving my hand towards the door as if to say; 'All yours'. She looked
back to Pete, and asked him: "What time do we need to pick up Firkle from
detention today?"
He shrugged and said he would probably be out by 5 pm. Henrietta grabbed a
black lace sweater and told us to meet her at my truck. Following her; Pete and
I took out matching Marlboro cigarettes. He pinched the bridge of his nose once
he realized he didn't have a lighter- so naturally I allowed him to use my
busted up one. Our drags were in synch, leaving with a tiny bitter morsel of
satisfaction.
I need another smoke.
-
"Michael I don't fucking know how to drive this shitty pickup." Henrietta
hopped into the backseat of the rickety vehicle; leaving Pete for the shotgun
and me to drive. Firkle's middle school wasn't too far from South Park
Elementary, since this shithole town didn't have half the budget needed to
actually build anything in a decent spot. I didn't bother putting on the stupid
seatbelt; this old piece of crap probably wouldn't go much faster than 65 mph.
I maneuvered around the main roads- and soon enough we arrived at the school.
It was 4:50, thankfully we were early enough for Henrietta to partially calm
down.
As soon as we got out of the truck, Pete and Henrietta floored themselves
towards the back entrance, making themselves comfortable on the hard as fuck
bench. I leaned against the outer wall across from them, fishing another
cigarette from my pocket.
I was only able to get a couple long intakes before the back door swung open,
revealing a short, pissed-off Firkle. His fists clenched up as he kicked a
pebble towards an unsuspecting squirrel.
"Fuck this school! I'm so fucking done! Those asswipes can go burn in the
stomach of Cthulhu for all I care!" He spat onto the ground, raising his chin
and glaring daggers in my direction.
"Gimme that shit-" He plucked the lighter out of my hand and flicked it infront
of a tree. Henrietta raised an eyebrow and held his shoulder.
"Common Firk- They wouldn't give a shit if you burned this down. I'll kick
their asses aight?" There was a less bitter tone in her words, and it seemed to
assure Firkle to put down the lighter. He stuffed it back into my palm and
rolled his eyes at us.
"Okay Okay.. God I'm fucking ready for some coffee. Let's ditch this place." He
began trudging ahead to my truck, with the three of us following. I was fixated
on how easy that was for Henrietta to calm him down. Mother Hen.
***** Douchey Vampire Kids- Pete's POV *****
Chapter Summary
     On the way back to Henrietta's house, the goth kids encounter the
     wannabe vampire brats, and Pete can't even go home. He's not amused,
     but Michael's there to help.
Chapter Notes
     I'll be writing back and forth between this fic and my Human!stuck
     fic- Hopefully I'll still have plenty of time to do this when spring
     break is over. ^^
I let my arm hang freely from the window of Michael's shitty truck, a cigarette
hanging loosely from two fingers. Henrietta was in the back seats with Firkle
telling him all about the different ways she could beat up his "bullies".
Michael was driving, him being the only one of us with a goddamn vehicle. I
flipped my bangs out of my face as we rounded some unknown corner into a new
neighborhood, peering at the alleys and sidewalks. It was hard to tell if
anyone was out; since the only streetlights that weren't broken were in front
of isolated trees or some shit. A small gas station came into view as Michael
pulled into the lot; getting out to fill up on the foul smelling oil.
"Go grab me a pack of cigarettes or something." He nodded his head at me, and
threw me a wad of five dollar bills. I shrugged, walking inside, followed by
Henrietta and Firkle. The station store was run down and obviously about to run
out of business. There were only a few packs of shitty Camels, and the cash
register lady didn't bother to ask for an I.D. Dumbass. I looked around to see
if there were any good drinks; and was surprised that there was no alcohol. I
decided to go for a few Monster energy drinks, and laid them on the counter
with the cigarettes. Firkle came to the counter with a fuck ton of snacks, and
Henrietta chose out a new lighter. The two looked at me as they laid their shit
down; expecting me to fucking pay for this.
"Dudes, this is Michaels fuckin' money." I handed the register lady a bunch of
wrinkled fives, while the others just blinked.
"Yeah, oh well." Firkle chipped in two dollars and plucked the receipt from the
banged-up register machine. Henrietta grabbed her lighter and went outside
while I grabbed the rest of my shit. Firkle swung the grocery bag full of candy
across his shoulder as he walked towards the door. Before he could lay his hand
on the handle, it swung open with an annoying ass bell chime. I took a step
back and furrowed my eyebrows as I witnessed a bunch of emo-looking shits
stroll into the gas station store. What caught me and Firkle off guard was the
guy in the middle of the over-dressed group.
Mike. Fucking. Makowski.
If I wasn't already annoyed by the bright multicolored hair; then it was their
vampire douche lord who pissed me off. He raised an eyebrow as he caught sight
of us, a smirk dancing across his arrogant features. Flipping his green-tipped
hair; the douschey vampire kid started striding over to the two of us.
"Fuck off Mike." I cut him off before he could say hi, causing him to chuckle
and think of a snarky remark.
"Didn't anyone tell you.. I am Lord Vampir. King of bloodsuckers, per say." He
looked around to see if anyone else was with Firkle and I. Once he realized we
were alone, he showed us his fake ass "vampire fangs", and hissed.
"Wow so fucking spooky. I am just shaking in my fucking boots." My voice was
soaked with sarcasm- even a dumbass like him wouldn't miss it. He seemed a bit
put-off by that, but kept a cocky facade.
"O' poor lost soul~ You think you can handle us without the rest of your..
flock?" He sneered, laying a finger to rest underneath my chin. I slapped it
away and wrinkled my nose, flipping him off.
"Don't touch me attention whore." I crossed my arms when he pretended to be
offended, earning hisses from his posse of lame fucks. One of them bared their
plastic fangs at Firkle, who didn't bother to even look at them.
"Ah, fiesty fiesty aren't we?" Mike put a hand on his hips and dramatically
sighed. "What a shame too. You would be such a delicious little meal~" He
winked; causing me to grimace even more than what I thought was possible.
"I'd rather have my balls cut off first." I spat, pushing past him to reach for
the door. Firkle let out a few cuss words as I pushed open the doors. The cold
wind slapped me in the face, causing me to stumble back slightly. Of fucking
course; Mike HAD to be there to "catch me." He gripped my shoulder firmly and I
ripped myself from his filthy touch.
"So have it that way Pete.. You can't avoid my charm for long!" He chuckled and
went back to entertaining his clique.
-
Once outside, I pulled out one of the Camels and held it under Henrietta's
lighter. She lit it for me, pausing before lighting her own.
"What was that in there? Were those fucking emo kids?" She patted down her
black skirt, not bothering to look up. I nodded and sighed.
"Yeah the fucking vampire shits. Mike thought it was a good fucking idea to be
an asshole and talk to us." I raised the cig to my lips and inhaled deeply,
holding out the second pack I got to an approaching Michael. He snagged the
pack of Camels and digged around his pockets for his lighter. As he was about
to inhale, I grinned and blew out a circle of smoke in his face, messing him
up. He spluttered slightly and flipped me off, causing my smirk to grow.
"Oops." I followed the group back to his truck, taking note of how dark the
atmosphere had grown- and it was only 6:00 pm.
-
Michael insisted on dropping off Henrietta, Firkle and I at our houses, and
surprisingly we all fucking agreed. Firkle was first, knowing his parents
wouldn't give a shit about his detention OR his junk food stash. Michael parked
the car a house away from Firkles house, still being fucking superstitious
about all the fucking rituals we did there. Henrietta offered to walk with him
to the front door, naturally. She glowered when he rejected the offer, and
waited in the truck as he walked to the back of his house.
When we approached Henrietta's house, we had to drive past all the lame
conformist neighborhoods. I wasn't surprised to see stupid shitty couples
walking together or doing lovey-fucking-shit as we drove by. Henrietta flipped
off a majority of those who were partaking in PDA, including a spazztic,
frightened-looking blonde and a familiar, pissed off guy with a blue knit hat.
"Thanks for the fucking joy ride." Michael stopped in front of Henrietta's
driveway, giving a curt wave as she was almost immediately greeted by her
bubbly conformist parents. Michael practically floored the truck before we
could be invited inside for some cookies or shit.
I pinched the bridge of my nose as we could hear the screaming coming from
inside my house. One of the windows on the second story was broken- I assumed
it was my parent's room. Michael gave a half-concerned glance and tossed the
butt of his worn-down cigarette out of the drivers window.
"Is it safe for you to go inside?" He asked, seeming like it was a nonchalant
question. I shrugged, hoping Michael was still the only one to know about my..
home troubles.
"Probably not. Oh fucking well." I opened the truck door, taking a deep breath
as a loud thud was heard from the main floor. I was really fucking hoping they
wouldn't be home, I thought maybe I could get some sleep or eat something
without being yelled at or beaten to shit.
"Stay over at my place then. My parents are never fucking home- and I have some
Poe stories if you get bored or shit." Michael faced me, expressionless. I
thought about it for a moment; we hadn't had a fucking "sleepover" in a while.
Sometimes we would pass out at Henriettas house but it's been possibly a year
since it was just us. He is my fucking best friend, so it's not weird to hang
out with just him, right? I threw out any logical thoughts and gave a half
assed smile.
"Sounds better than this shithole. Sure." He started the ignition again, and I
shut the truck door. Wonder what it's like to get a real nights sleep..
***** Old Poetry- Michaels POV *****
Chapter Summary
     Michael and Pete start bonding again!
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The drive to my house was tense, full of smoke and an awkward silence. Pete
kept fiddling with his fingers, leaning against the window. I felt bad for him,
even if it wasn't normal for me to show it. He didn't do anything to his folks
to deserve living in fear from them. Even with his melancholy facade, it was
easy to tell whenever Pete's parents had been bothering him, physically or
emotionally. It always showed in his soft fawn eyes, swirls of emotion would
deepen them. He had only ever confided in me, knowing full well Henrietta would
tell him to suck it up or fight back. Firkle would have given him the same
reaction, but he was too young and protected to understand what Pete was going
through. I felt a slight pang of guilt remembering when he told me. I had an
emotionless reaction, just offering him to hang out more to get away from his
house. It obviously hadn't helped his situation, but I was glad he wanted to
hang out still. He is my best friend, I could easily push aside the rude,
snarky attitude of mine to keep him somewhat happy.
As I parked along the sidewalk, Pete stared at my house. He grinned slightly,
and hopped out.
"Thanks for letting me stay.." He dropped his used cigarette, crushing it under
his black combat boots.
"Anytime, Pete." I gave a half smile and lead him inside. Of course, my parents
weren't home, so we were able to throw our shit wherever. I kicked my shoes off
near the front step, and walked into the kitchen with Pete in tow.
"I know your eating schedule is iffy.. So grab whatever shit you want." I
opened the fridge and raised an eyebrow at the shorter male. He ran a hand
through his hair and shook his head no.
"It's cool man.. I'm not really that fuckin' hungry." He lied through his
teeth, and I tsked.
"Bullshit. I'll make burgers or something alright? We're goth, not emo, so
let's eat." I smirked at the small smile creeping onto his face.
"Pfft- Alright alright." He sat on the couch in the living room and scrolled
through some shitty TV shows. I got out some ingredients from the fridge, and
turned on the stove. I was relieved to find that we had beef, usually nobody
went grocery shopping... Did that mean someone was here recently? I shrugged
away the thought, glad to be alone at least for tonight. As I threw the patties
onto the stove, I layered a tiny amount of herbs and shit to make it semi-
edible. The sizzling of the meat made my stomach growl, so I hurried it up and
laid out some condiments on the counter. I grabbed two plates and rummaged the
fridge for any beers. I frowned when I couldn't find any.
"Hey man come get your burger-" I waved a hand over to Pete, who looked up from
the TV and walked over. His eyes widened at the sight of his burger and he
quickly poured a shit ton of condiments all over the meal.
"Holy shit Michael this is pretty damn good..!" He had already eaten half of
his burger by the time I made my plate and sat down across from him. He grabbed
two Mean Bean Monster drinks and offered me one.
"Heh, ya think so?" I smirked slightly, taking the energy drink from his hand.
"Fuck yeah dude. I don't think I've had a decent meal like this in for-fucking-
ever." Pete cracked a small grin, finishing his burger and throwing away the
paper plate. He sat back down and tapped his fingers lightly against the table
as he waited for me to finish. I had a quarter of it left, which the younger
teen gladly finished off. After throwing away my plate, I turned to Pete and
leaned against the nearest wall.
"It's only 8:00... Wanna get some shit done-? Poetry? Sketching?" I offered,
pointing to the stairs. Pete flipped his bangs and nodded, his poker face
returning.
-
"You still have that complete works of short stories..?" He followed me
upstairs, and once we got in my room I pulled it out for him. He thanked me and
plopped onto my black, queen sized bed. I sat next to him, pulling out a small
notebook. I flipped through the pages, reading old poems. I couldn't help but
cringe at how cliche they sounded, they were so tacky. Pete raised an eyebrow
at my uncomfortable expressions.
"Holy shit.. this is all garbage." I ripped out several pages, and shook my
head in disbelief. Pete furrowed his eyebrows.
"Woah wait- you're the best writer out of all of us! It can't be that bad.
Lemme see." He reached for the nearest loose paper and un-crumpled it, reading
it over.
     Embrace fear, love your demise
     Plug in your ears, blindfold your eyes
     Hold onto pain and breathe in disease
     Lose sense of yourself, you're never free
"This is deep. I don't get why ya don't like it.." He mused over the pathetic
piece of paper. Pete looked at me confused, and I was taken aback that he
actually liked my writing. I kept ripping out other pages, impressed with how
much I have improved.
"You can keep it if you want..?" I motioned to it, both of us knowing I would
throw it away anyways.
"Fuck yeah." He stretched and neatly folded the paper. He stuffed it into his
sweatshirt pocket. I stretched, racking my brain for some spurt of creativity.
I inwardly groaned when I couldn't find any inspiration, and tossed my notebook
into some dark corner of the room. I picked up my phone and began scrolling,
having no new notifications as usual. Yawning, I went to go find something
comfortable to put on, grabbing a Black Sabbath t-shirt. I casually threw off
my charcoal jeans, along with my tie and black n' white shirt vest combo. I
hoped it wasn't awkward being in my boxers and some casual shirt, but Pete
didn't seem to care, so I climbed back into my side of the bed.
"Are those freaking skulls on your briefs-" Pete covered his mouth with his
hand to keep himself from laughing. I flipped him off and mumbled, "I bet
you're jealous. Go to sleep whenever- just don't bother me." I closed my eyes
and turned so my back was towards him, as to not be awkward. I felt him
prodding my back with his hand, and I looked back at him.
"It's only 10:00. You're already tired?" He smirked and I shooed his hand away
from my back.
"I'm old, once you're 17 you'll wish you would've slept more often..." I
replied sarcastically, burying my cheek into the pillow and continuing to face
away from him. I could hear him mumble something, but couldn't make it out
before I started to succumb to sleep.
Chapter End Notes
     *Cannot write poetry for shit*^^
***** Sleep- Pete's POV *****
Chapter Summary
     Pete does a bit of self reflecting, then pulls himself back to
     reality.
I rolled my eyes as Michael's breathing slowed, his sides rising and falling
slightly. I looked over to the black arabesque clock, snickering at how he
passed out so early. I continued skimming through his collections of Poe;
choosing one of my favorites: The Murders in the Rue Morgue. I sat up, staring
down at the pages and immersing myself in the story.

     "Dupin," said I, gravely,
     "this is beyond my comprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I am
     amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses.'
Allowing a smile to take over my usual blank expression, I ended up finishing
the story briskly. I shook my head. Edgar Allen Poe's works will never cease to
amaze.
The time read 11:00, so I decided to put down Michael's book; walking over to
the bathroom to get changed. I threw off my shirt, set down my ruby-red broach,
and started sliding out of my pants. Since Michael was just wearing his boxers
and a shirt, I decided it would be fine for me to do the same. I tugged the
waistband of my gray boxers down an inch or so, throwing on a Rammstein concert
shirt. I flipped my bangs out of my eyes, staring at my reflection. I tsked at
myself, ruffling through the red streaks in my hair that were starting to fade.
Shitty hair dye wont even last a month. I rubbed a wet tissue over my eyes,
cleaning off my eyeliner.
I blinked, glowering at the plain brown hues in my eyes. Everyone else had cool
fucking eye colors, and I was stuck with a literal shit color. Michael always
told me my eyes had a glimmering gold tint in the sunlight, but I'm pretty sure
that's bullshit. Henrietta pointed out that my eyes were a "warm color",
whether that's cool or lame I'm not sure. She had a sick hazel mix color, while
Firkle sports a dark, kelly green hue that could deliver a wicked death glare.
And then there's Michael; he has strong steel blue eyes with darker gray rims.
They were always calm, yet bold, giving him an expression that read: 'I hate
everything'. Pretty badass.
Climbing back into Michael's bed, I turned to face his back. I stared at his
shoulders and spine; wondering what it's like to be so goddamn tall. How tall
IS he? Like fuckin' 6'3.. something like that. I reached out and touched the
curve of his back, waiting to see if he would stir from the contact. Being the
heavy-ass sleeper he is; he didn't move an inch. I moved my finger down the
line of his back, pressing softly into the lean flesh. I rolled my eyes; of
course he would fucking work out. He's a painting of near perfection; even if
he doesn't think so. I stopped being a weirdo and pulled away my hand,
chuckling quietly.
Hell, I remembered the day I realized I had a crush on him. And fuck it is such
a conformist feeling...
I yawned, turning so our backs were barely brushed against each other. I'm
pretty fucking lucky he still bothers being my friend. My best friend at that,
too. Closing my eyes, I allowed my bangs to fall over my face this one time,
burying it into the pillow. I shallowed my breathing; listening to the white
noise emanating from the kitchen downstairs. I could've stayed awake; but my
mind nagged at me to get a decent night's slumber, so I allowed myself to drift
asleep.
-
A few thumps on the floor woke me up, surprising me into near-jump. I rubbed my
eyes and blinked up at the figure who was tapping the floor. Michael had his
back to me, seemingly unaware that his cane had woken me up. I took a glance at
it, admiring the engraved ebony features, adorned with an ivory tip. Classy
motherfucker. I cleared my throat, and he perked up slightly, turning to face
me.
"Thought you were fuckin' dead or something." He smirked, pointing to the
hanging clock on the wall. It read 12:04.
"Holy shit dude- you could've woken me or some shit" I sat up, patting my mess
of hair down. Michael had gotten dressed, and it seemed he had already taken a
shower. I rolled my eyes when he merely shrugged.
"Oh well- go get dressed. Henrietta and Firkle will be arriving shortly." He
motioned over to the hallway, where the bathroom was awaiting my presence. I
nodded and gathered fresh clothes, glad to have left some here from previous
stays. I trudged into the bathroom, closing the door and facing the mirror.
Grabbing the conveniently placed hairbrush, I slowly began to untangle the red
and black messes of hair. Making myself look semi-presentable; I pulled up my
gray jeans and threw on the Emmure t-shirt. I exited the bathroom, not
surprised to hear (presumably) Firkle and Henrietta downstairs. - I nodded a
curt greeting to the three goths, plopping down on the large living room sofa.
"Just wake up or somethin' Pete?" Henrietta eyed my lazily-put together outfit.
I shrugged, grabbing a cigarette from the open pack on the coffee table.
Michael tossed me the lighter, leaning against the wall opposite from us.
"I'm just glad he didn't keep me fuckin' awake." Michael gave a half-assed
smirk, and Henrietta snickered.
"You mean you fell asleep while fucking?" She teased, using his words against
him. My eyes widened at her innuendo, and Michael just shrugged nonchalantly.
"'Course not." He flipped her off, and turned to Firkle.
"Anymore trouble from those posers, kiddo?" He kept a stone face, placing a
cigarette to his lips. Firkle flashed a wolfish smile and reached for something
in his back pocket.
"Not since I showed 'em this-" He fished out a black, liner-lock knife; holding
it out proudly. Henrietta grinned widely, ruffling a tuft of his hair.
"-Even Ike Broflowski seemed put off by it." Firkle's grin grew, his eyes
glazed with amusement.
"I knew it would work." Henrietta took a drag from her long ass cigarette, and
blew a few puffs out in front of us.
"..Good." Michael nodded, and sighed: "What the fuck are we going to do with
the rest of the posers though?" He turned to Henrietta and I; knowing Firkle
would suggest to stab them or some shit.
I shrugged, "I don't care. As long as they all fuck off.." I flipped my bangs
out of my face as Henrietta hummed in agreement. I wonder if the posers really
will be a threat..? I internally sighed; guess it's back to reality for now. As
long as I had these three, I couldn't care less.
***** Poser Plans- Michael's POV *****
Chapter Summary
     How could the goths scare away wannabe vampires?
"Maybe we should spray paint their shitty poser cars black?" Henrietta exhaled
smoke, writing a list of some conformist pranks. The four of us had somehow
came up with a bullshit idea to silence the vampire kids. I tapped my cane
against the floor boredly, listening to the ideas the rest of the group blurted
out. Henrietta was suggesting we practically make everything they own black;
while Firkle just wanted to sacrifice them or some shit. I shook my head,
brutal fuckin' kid.. Henrietta lifted her cigarette and thought for a moment.
"-We could dye their hair black. Replace all the fucking piles of color." She
waited for our approval.
"Lame. That would make them like us." Pete flipped his hair out of his face and
sighed. "And we sure as fuck don't want to be associated with them."
"...Let's just fucking slit their throats already.." Firkle frowned, holding
out his fancy fucking knife. I raised an eyebrow at him; causing him to grumble
and put the dagger back in his pocket.
"Ugh. This is too much fucking work. I'm sure the conformists would have dozens
of shitty pranks all planned out." Pete tapped the butt of his cigarette into
the black ashtray, and rolled his eyes. I thought for a moment on those
words... perhaps the posers at school WOULD be better at dealing with the
vampire douches.
"Then let's have them take care of our pest problem." I stated; earning three
confused expressions.
"...What?" Pete focused on me, waiting for me to explain, as Firkle and
Henrietta exchanged glances that read; 'Did he really just say that?'
"Hear me out." I kept an unchanging posture, and continued to explain my
proposition: "I know it's always shitty talking to the posers... But the fat
one; Eric Cartman... is very.. thorough, in ruining lives. I'm sure he'll be
persuaded to do our bidding with a box of doughnuts or something." I flicked my
hand, trying to convene to them how easy this could be. Henrietta grumbled a
bit about having to deal with the "fatass", but she agreed.
"-As long as we make sure he hasn't killed Butters yet." She nodded, and I gave
her an bemused look, going to the kitchen to find something sweet to tempt our
"client" with. I grabbed a handful of cupcakes my poser parents kept in the
fridge, and stuffed them into a brown paper bag.
"Don't you Butters?" Pete and Firkle asked Henrietta in unison, who took
another long drag of smoke.
"I do not hate him. He is the only conformist who has been nice to me." She
replied plainly, keeping a stone cold expression.
"...Fine." Firkle muttered, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his
tone.
"Yeah, whatever I guess." Pete nodded towards me, and I gave him a half-assed
grin.
"Good then. This will be done and over with quickly." I stood up from my
position at the wall and stretched.
"Now...Does anyone know where one of them lives?" I stuffed my truck keys into
my pocket. Pete and Firkle shrugged, while Henrietta sighed.
"Let me drive." She extended her hand out, and I dropped the truck keys into
them, nodding. I followed the three outside.
-
It was easy to find the conformist neighborhoods; there was a huge group of
teenagers in the yards, playing football or some shit. Eric Cartman wasn't
outside; but his house was somewhere along this street. Henrietta parked along
the curb abruptly, huffing in annoyance.
"One of you go ask where the fuck Cartman lives." She unlocked the doors and
shooed at us.
"....not me." Firkle gave Pete and I a cold glance, and Pete crossed his arms.
"I don't want to talk to them!" He furrowed his eyebrows, and I smirked.
"It's okay if you're.. scared." I taunted him, earning a punch in the shoulder.
"I'm not scared! In fact.. I think you're scared." He grinned, and I opened the
truck door, getting a head start.
"Of course not. Hurry up freakazoid." I began walking toward the group of
teenagers, Pete's footsteps running up behind me. I allowed him to catch up,
and offered him my cane teasingly.
"Out of breath?" I gave another half grin, and Pete flipped me off. He managed
to catch his breath, and flipped his hair out of his face. The group of boys
stopped whatever they were doing and looked at us with puzzled expressions. I
noticed Stan Marsh was among them; I found it ironic at how he used to be a
decent goth. But of course; once a poser, always a poser.
"Hardly. Just need a smoke." He smirked up at me, before looking over to one of
the teenagers. He pointed to one of them, some ginger guy with wide green eyes.
"You! Where the fuck is Eric Cartman?" He stepped over to the fiery-haired boy,
who just shrugged.
"Fatass? He's probably just eating Cheesy Poofs or something... Check his
house." His cheeks tinged a light pink, and the rest of the guys resumed their
shitty football game. It seems this kid has a nerve with Cartman... This must
be Broflowski. I thought about the notorious brawls and arguments between
Cartman and some jewish kid... Is this him?
"What's your name?" I peered down at him, being the tall fucker I am, and
raised an eyebrow.
He gulped slightly but kept a calm and brash posture: "Kyle. Kyle Broflowski. I
believe you two go to the same high school as we do..." He tried to sound brave
and nonchalant, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"Yes." I looked away from him; it was apparent he was uncomfortable. I nodded
at Pete and he crossed his arms.
"Where the fuck does Cartman live?"
-
It took a bit of convincing the red head, but he finally caved in and told us
where to find Cartman. Upon arriving at the oddly-colored green house;
Henrietta sighed and swung open her door dramatically.
"I suppose I'll go talk to this loser. Michael. Come with me." She stepped out
of the truck and I followed suit, tapping my cane against the ground as we
walked forward. Henrietta took a long drag from her fancy cigarette, and
knocked hard onto the battered old door. It took a little while before a lady
opened up, giving us both the cheesiest as fuck smiles she could possibly
muster.
"Awe, hello. Are you some of Eric's friends coming to play?" Her voice was soft
and simple, making my stomach nauseous. Ugh how fake can she be?? I shook my
head no, leaning my weight against my cane.
"We just need a word with him." Henrietta replied boredly, interrupting her
before she could invite us inside. The woman nodded hastily, sensing our
unwillingness to be polite, and she went to (presumably) fetch Cartman.
Another long wait, and Cartman was bumbling downstairs. He grumbled about being
"too popular nowadays". I snorted and tilted my chin up when he approached us.
He raised an eyebrow, laying one large hand on the door frame and pinching the
bridge of his nose with the other.
"What the fuck do you emos want?" He rolled his eyes and peered behind
Henrietta and I, looking at my truck.
Henrietta seethed at him and blew a ring of smoke into his face, causing him to
splutter and cuss.
"We are NOT conformist emo bitches. We are fucking goth. It's not that hard to
understand." She glared at him, adding dramatic emphasize on the "not". He was
about the slam the door shut on us, but I held out the bag of probably-stale
cupcakes from my fridge.
"We have a preposition, Cartman." I let him take a peek of the sugary shit
inside the bag, and closed it up again. He whined and crossed his arms.
"What is it?" He kept a steady gaze with us now, his interest peaked.
"We want you to make the vampire douches miserable." Henrietta started to
explain, taking another deep inhale of black smoke.
"... Bahaha!! Why would I do that for YOU? They're not my problem!" Cartman
smirked, tapping his iron-toed boots against the doorframe.
"Because you're the only fatass who's any good at this fuckery! And because you
get these shitty pastries!" Henrietta snatched the bag from my hand and
thrusted it against Cartman's chest.
"Oh? You think my services are only worth a mere couple cupcakes? I feel so
insulted." He sneered, keeping the bag anyways. He rubbed his chin for a
moment: "Perhaps if you could throw in something else for me... Say...
compensation for a job well done?"
"What the fuck else do you want?" I looked at the scheming teenager, who seemed
to be negotiating a price in his head.
"Hmm.. Well since this is your first time hiring me... I think $100 is more
than fair." Cartman grinned, straightening up and adjusting his coat.
"No fucking way!" I turned around and began to walk back toward the truck, but
a hand on my shoulder stopped me. Henrietta was giving me a dead-serious look,
and she sighed.
"Wait here Michael. I still have some of my mother's fucking cash in my purse."
She nodded at me and went towards the truck to fish out the money.
-
"So. How did you find my house, goth?" Cartman raised an eyebrow at me, having
to look slightly upwards as he made eye contact. He was tall, but not as tall
as me.
"Some red head kid named Kyle, one of Stan's friends, snapped and told us. Had
to pry it out but oh fucking well." As soon as the sentence was out in the cold
air, Cartman's cocky expression marred.
"...did you say Kahl?" His face paled, and he began to twiddle around with his
thumbs. I snorted at his reaction.
"Is he your lover or something?" I chuckled, smirking at his odd behaviors. He
immediately shook his head and began refusing the idea, coming up with a shit
ton of excuses for him and Kyle not being together. A light bulb went off in my
head, and I figured this "thing" Cartman and Kyle had going on , is something
that is supposed to be a secret.
"You know.. Cartman. $100 is pretty steep.. Especially considering how we
already fished you some fucking food. Do us a favor, don't be a douche, and
ruin those vampire assholes?" I stood up straight, tapping my cane against the
ground as Cartman regained his composure and started laughing.
"Why would I do that??" He slapped my shoulder as if I were joking, to which I
quickly flicked his hand away.
"Because I think you and Kyle would prefer to stay a secret." I let a grin
creep up to my face, and his expression dropped again. He narrowed his eyes and
groaned loudly.
"Shit! Ughh..... Fiiineee... But next time you want something... don't come to
me anymore. Fuck." He facepalmed himself, leaning more against the doorframe.
Henrietta finally joined us again, her black leather purse in hand. She flicked
some of her cigarette ash on the front step and rolled her eyes.
"Here's your fucking one hundred bucks, asshole." She dug around for the cash,
but I placed my hand on her arm.
"Don't. Cartman and I have settled an agreement without the money." I gave her
a smirk, to which she huffed.
"Whatever, let's go spend the money on real shit then." We began walking to my
truck again, Henrietta complaining about how shitty this neighborhood was.
Pete and Firkle were fighting over which radio station should be put on; the
one playing Sepultura or the one playing Rammstein. Henrietta chose for them;
she put on a Nine Inch Nails station, and everyone quieted for the ride back.
***** School Part 1- Pete's POV *****
Chapter Summary
     The weekend is over! Time for the gang to get back to their school
     schedules...
Waking up was always a grueling task, but Monday's were the absolute worst. I
don't care if it was a poser thing to say, but holy shit I really hate Mondays.
I shuffled my feet out of the rock-hard bed, on across the pig stye of a room.
I lazily chose out an outfit, black jeans with a plain dark gray shirt. The
stupid top had way too long of sleeves, but I honestly couldn't give a fuck. As
long as it fits... I thought about what the rest of the crew might be wearing.
Henrietta would wear her usual low cut black dress, of course, and Firkle would
just wear anything that would hide his knife easily.
Now Michael, on the other hand, was somewhat of a classy dresser. Not in the
poser way, but in the dark... mysterious way. He always made the rest of us
look like amateurs, and somehow managed to always have eyeliner on him. His
long black jacket came down below his hips, giving his slender form a very...
authoritative look. He completed it with a neatly buttoned up shirt, and some
tight-fitting black jeans. Something that's always a treat to the eye...
I snapped myself back to reality and trudged into the bathroom, fishing the
hairbrush out of one of many cluttered drawers. My hair decided that today was
the perfect day to start misbehaving, sticking out in multiple directions and
mussing up in tangles. I could've easily spent a half hour just trying to tame
the mess, but I didn't care about my hair as much as Michael or Henrietta did;
so I left it when it looked semi-decent.
I was in the middle of pulling my black converses when a knock at the front
door surprised me. I ran past my pretentious parents room and downstairs,
swinging my worn down black bag over my shoulder. I opened the door slightly
out of breath, stepping aside so I could let the crew inside. Henrietta spoke
for her and Michael; and declined the offer.
"We don't have time to mess around Pete. We have to find out what Cartman did
to the vamp douches." She blew a long trail of smoke into the house, and
motioned for me to follow them outside. I nodded and closed the door, trudging
outside.
"Jesus fuck, what time is it?" I didn't bother keeping it down, the other
neighbors could wake up and die for all I cared. Michael raised an eyebrow at
me and stopped me in my tracks with his cane.
"It's 11:27. Almost time for lunch... Did you eat today?" He began rummaging
through his bag and I shook my head no. After a couple of groans from
Henrietta, he revealed a thermos of (presumably) black coffee. I took it and
mumbled a 'thank you', my cheeks dusting over with the slightest tinge of pink.
Gross Pete don't get soft...
"We had to leave Firkle at his school today." Henrietta hopped into the
driver's seat of her mom's van, her usual bitterness poisoning her words. I
nodded my head and hopped into one of the back seats.
"Sound's shitty." I took a drink from the thermos, watching Michael climb into
the passenger seat. He peeked at the rear view mirror, making casual eye
contact with me. I kept studying the dark circles that filled his ghostly-pale
face, but I noticed him smirk. I took a look at myself and quickly turned my
head towards the window. My cheeks were pink again, seriously, what the fuck??
I watched the trees and the shitty pavement as the rest of the car ride was
quiet as fuck. Every now and then Henrietta would mumble curses under her
breath to the other teen drivers, but we got there in one piece. I hurried to
our smoking corner, but turned back to see Henrietta and Michael exchanging
glances.
"Where the fuck are you going Pete?" Michael snickered and crossed his arms,
pointing in the opposite direction. "The wannabe vampire douches are over
there. We wanna see what the fatass did to em'." I huffed and followed the two.
This better be more entertaining than that one time we kidnapped Mike.
-
Cartman was standing in front of the douchebags, holding out a lighter to one
of their stupid "vampire cloaks", flicking it on and off. Mike looked extremely
distressed, and when I got a closer look at the scene I snickered. There was a
pile of charred clothes, melted plastic, and even their disgusting tomato juice
poured out onto the ground.
"What do you think you're doing mortal?!" Mike stomped up to Cartman, and
Henrietta snickered, blowing out a plume of smoke from her long cigarette
holder. I crossed my arms and watched, grinning like a fool. The fatass just
put his hands on his hips, and mocked Mike.
"-Respect mah authoritah!" I snorted as Mike rounded up his clique and stormed
away. Cartman didn't bother checking in with us, he just walked off towards the
cafeteria.
The three of us went to our corner, and Henrietta grabbed the shady spot. I
huffed and held a hand up to my forehead.
"It's too damn bright out here Hen. Lemme have the shady spot." She took a long
drag, and flicked some cigarette ash onto my shoes, to which I just kicked off.
"No way Pete. If you want shade go sit under Michael." She smirked, raising an
eyebrow for a reaction. I sighed and scooted over to where Michael was sitting.
He wasn't paying us any attention, he was too occupied in his Dark Lord Cthulu
book. I snorted when I looked at the illustrations inside of it. He directed
his gaze to me when I started snooping through it.
"Cheesy much?" I pointed to the picture of Cthulu flailing all sorts of bodys
around like they were some toy. He flicked away my hand and rolled his eyes.
"It's not like they could get any REAL pictures of Cthulu." I shrugged when he
pointed that out, agreeing. I checked the time on my phone, noting that
Henrietta was right, we got here during lunch.
-
"No way Kaaaahl you know I'm right!" Cartman and the fiesty red head were
arguing over something when I walked into the technology room for class. I dug
around my worn-down bag for a pair of earbuds, and grumbled when I found them,
in a mangled mess. It took a good couple minutes to untangle them, and I pulled
up Youtube on the computer. I searched for some playlists off of 'Beartooth',
and turned up the volume so the music would nearly blast my eardrums.
The teacher ranted about making some shitty power point on anyone we pleased. I
wanted to pick Edgar Allen Poe so bad, but some douchebag vampire kid in the
front row chose him, so I went for a different non-poser. I chose Leonardo
DaVinci.
***** School- Part 2 Michaels POV *****
Chapter Summary
     Michael and Pete share a satisfying conversation.
Chapter Notes
     Gonna start pumping out chapters more often!
The day was agonizingly slow, especially since the other goths didn't share
many classes as me. I rolled my eyes and thought about what Pete might be
doing, since he was in technology. Wonder if he's willing to ditch...
I made a lame excuse to the teacher that I didn't feel good, and she rolled her
eyes.
"You've been leaving class early quite often this quarter, your grades are
bound to drop." I shrugged and left, glaring daggers at the students who looked
up from their shitty class work. I took out my phone and began texting Pete:
M: Get your shit together and meet me at the outside tables. I'm skipping class
It only took half a minute for him to reply.
P: Okay, on my way.
I began walking towards the door, only to be stopped by a familiar voice.
"Hey dude wait up! My legs aren't as long as yours!" I smirked and turned
around to see Pete at the end of the hallway. I waited for him to catch up and
I held the door open for him.
"Ladies first." He rolled his eyes at me when I insisted he go outside, and
walked ahead of me. I followed and we found an old bench near a dying tree, and
sat down relatively close to each other. I rummaged my bag and pulled out a
slowly rusting lighter, flicking off some of the bronze flakes in disgust. Pete
gave a half-assed laugh.
"Does that piece of shit even light a flame?" I nodded and motioned for him to
fork over some cigarettes. He took his sweet time to find a half empty pack of
Camels, and I plucked one of them from the box.
"These are probably the shittiest cigarettes in the world." I complained,
preferring Marlboro's instead. Pete just flipped his hair and looked at me.
"At least I brought some fucking cigs to school."
-
"So what's up with ditching without Henrietta today?" Pete stared through my
blank expression, as if he would find out just by staring. I shrugged and lit
my third cigarette, crushing the previous one under my boot. I leaned further
against the wall, not having the right answer.
"Just didn't feel like inviting her." That can't be so bad right? Him and I
have just hung out before.
"Oh. Okay." He didn't seem to give a fuck, yet his gaze lingered over my
features. It aroused the slightest of shivers crawling up my spine.
"Can I ask you a question, Michael?" This was one of the rare few times Pete
has actually called me by my name. I looked over and caught his still-lingering
stare. I nodded, not sure what he could possibly say that required the
formality of my name.
"Do you ever feel alone?" When he asked the question I scoffed, and rolled my
eyes. He sighed and took a drag.
"We're fucking goth kids, we're always alone Pete." I answered plainly, but I
had to admit there was a spark of curiosity to why he would just ask that.
"I meant, do you ever feel fucking lonely? You know, that shitty feeling of
wanting company when there's nobody fucking around?" This caught me off guard,
and for once I didn't have a snarky comment or some clever insult. Pete kept
steady eye contact and I struggled to find the right response. He seemed to
notice my nonchalant composure was wavering, and offered a smirk.
"Well, do you?" He pushed for an answer, and I sighed shrugging.
"Fuck. Of course Pete. Who doesn't feel lonely though? In this shitty town,
with all these fucking posers. It's hard when there's only four of us and we
treat each other like shit. Let alone, allow ourselves to just be swallowed up
in this pathetic school with these pretentious assholes. So yes, I do feel
quite lonely, but I'm not the only one aren't I Pete?" I let my emotion spill
out without any warranty.
Pete took a moment to process what I just poured out to him, but he seemed less
tense now. He nodded in agreement and we returned to our silence.
It took a couple of minutes and crushed cigarettes later before Pete broke the
quiet atmosphere.
"I feel lonely too. It's hard when Firkle is too young and violent to talk to,
and Henrietta just doesn't give a fuck about anyone except the little fucker."
He blew out a cloud of smoke, staring intensely at a pebble on the ground. I
was going to ask if he could talk to me, but I suppose that's what we were
doing now. I wondered if he trusted me enough to ever vent, since we are best
friends and see each other constantly.
"But I know I can come to you. I just don't think you would appreciate me
burdening you with lame problems or complaints about shitty people." It was my
turn to look him dead in the eyes, staring. I raised an eyebrow and sighed,
shaking my head.
"You're not a burden, Pete." I wanted to say more, about how I genuinely
enjoyed his company and having him around, but it stayed put in my throat. I
assumed it was enough anyways, and earned a satisfied grunt from Pete.
"Huh. That's a first. Just don't let me wear you down or anything." He smirked
and I rolled my eyes.
"Course not. That's Henrietta's job." We both snickered and I took another
smoke, watching Pete crush his cigarette in between his fragile fingers.
My gaze trailed up his hand, following his arm and tracing his frail shoulder.
Of course, Pete was too oblivious to my stare. Before I could tear away my eyes
from the smaller, much cuter male, I stole a quick glance of the expression he
wore so casually underneath those gorgeous amber orbs. The dark circles
underneath his eyelids rested heavily against his cheeks, carrying large
amounts of fatigue. Seeing them brought a slight tug in my chest; I always felt
guilty that he could never sleep well, especially when the lack of sleep
brought him an even shittier mood. To match his darkened features, a scowl was
placed casually over his lips, an unchanging one that only lowered into his
signature frown or smirk. Even his frowns are fucking cute... how the fuck does
he make that work??
I wasn't quite sure when or why I was becoming more observant of my best
friend, but I did feel lucky enough to appreciate this.
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