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zuoschlect · 14 hours

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EYYYHYE YEW GUYS ART DUMP

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zuoschlect · 1 day

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Kyle and Eric practice sketches

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zuoschlect · 1 day

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Random South Park Post Covid Characters!

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zuoschlect · 1 day

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Aaaaand a little extra

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zuoschlect · 2 days

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Their best buds!

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zuoschlect · 2 days

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side effects may include: snippet

ypiac and werewolf bunny snippets here soon!!

His mom had bought him a fresh pack of multicolored rubber bands for his braces.

Craig took his time picking out the colors he wanted (green, because green always reminded him of Tweek, and the orange was a no-brainer) and carefully applied them exactly where the orthodontist had shown him. He’d only had the braces for a week or two, and his jaw still hurt a little bit, but the deep ache he’d felt when he first got them had mostly faded, thank goodness.

Dr. Shue — the orthodontist — had told him that some pain was to be expected, especially in the beginning and after every appointment to have them tightened. He could suck on ice cubes or popsicles or gargle warm salt water until he felt a little better, but above all, he needed to practice good oral hygiene, and Craig had been doing just that. Gargling salt water had struck him as a rather dubious method and was nowhere near as soothing as the popsicles, but, Craig had to admit, it’d worked. Dr. Shue was going to be so impressed with how well he had followed his directions. Dr. Shue was really nice, not at all like the “trumped-up quack” his dad had accused him of being. His mom had told him not to pay attention to his dad; “He’s just mad he had to spend a little fucking money. And on his own kid, at that. What else is new?”

Craig bared his teeth when he was done, nodded in satisfaction, stuck his hands under the faucet, and ran his damp fingers through his hair to smooth down the flyaways. He was meeting Tweek in the park today, and he wanted to look his best.

He dressed quickly: a pair of jeans with holes torn in the knees, his favorite Red Racer tee-shirt, a vintage-style bomber jacket with a NASA logo patch sewn on the back that his mom had picked up for 15 bucks at Goodwill. The bomber jacket was at least three sizes too big for him, and he got funny looks whenever he wore it around town, but his mom assured him that he’d grow into it. He had never loved his mother more than he did the moment she pulled that jacket out of the Goodwill bag. Craig started to reach for his chullo hat and thought better of it; spring had officially sprung in South Park. It was still cold enough to see your breath puffing in front of your face in the mornings, but the thick layer of snow that had blanketed the ground for the past three or four months had melted down to dirty slush, and there were hard, green buds on all the trees.

Craig turned to his desk and carefully studied the handful of semi-precious stones he had lined up there with all the aplomb of a sommelier preparing to sample wine. He had gotten a rock tumbler for Christmas and had been tumbling the rocks that had come with the kit for weeks now, polishing them until they were smooth and shiny. Craig picked them up one by one: a chunk of pink agate with milky eyelets, a thumb-sized piece of jasper so yellow it was like holding the sun in your hand, shards of quartz in a rainbow assortment of colors. He picked up the last stone almost reverently; it was a feldspar, ocean-blue, shot-through with swirls of white and green. Craig tucked the feldspar deep in the pocket of his jeans.

He rode his bike hard to the park, skidding through puddles and crunching over last winter’s dead leaves. Craig slowed when he got to the playground, looked around, and saw Tweek sitting on the swings by himself, slowly kicking his heels back and forth.

Craig paused. Tweek hadn’t noticed him yet, his gaze absently fixed on something in the distance. Craig gawked at the other boy, his heart slamming in his chest, breathless in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with his frantic bike ride over; he hardly ever got a chance to do this, because Tweek hated when he caught him staring, but gosh, he just couldn’t help himself sometimes. Tweek was so, so pretty — he’d thought so even before the Asian girls started shipping them together, desperate and helpless, filled with a shame that had been entirely his father’s doing. He wasn’t supposed to think other boys were pretty. If he did, he was a fag, and according to his dad, that was one of the worst things you could be. Thomas had come to accept their relationship — grudgingly — but sometimes, when his dad looked at him, Craig could feel him thinking it: fag.

Craig shook off those thoughts, admiring the wild strands of his boyfriend’s platinum blond hair, the way the early morning sunlight turned it to finely spun silver and gold; Tweek shivered like a Chihuahua in a high wind, kind of looked like one, too, with his large, deep-set eyes, but Craig really liked how big they were, how green they were, like chunks of uncut malachite, the way his dark circles only made them more vivid, the way Tweek was tall and thin and stoop-shouldered and angular everywhere, but had the most graceful hands. Tweek was full of contrasts, like holding a bit of unpolished rock in his hands, feeling all the interesting textures.

Craig took a breath, got off his bike, and rolled it over to Tweek’s spot on the swing. Tweek whipped his head around, wide-eyed with panic, saw him, and relaxed by turns, gradually unclenching his jaw and lowering his shoulders. Craig smiled. Tweek didn’t, but that wasn’t unusual.

“Hi, sweetie,” he said. Craig had a bunch of pet names for Tweek: sweetie, pookie, muffin, pumpkin (never baby or babe; he wasn’t sure why, it just didn’t feel as interesting). He liked the way the names felt in his mouth, the way they rolled off his tongue, filled with endearment: sweetie, sweetie, sweetie.

“Hi — hi, Craig,” Tweek murmured.

#i love this!!#i love the way you write #sp creek #craig tucker #tweek tweak

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zuoschlect · 2 days

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