south park x reader. gender neutral reader.
crackfic. lowercase intended.
a 17-year-old punk degenerate in their senior year makes friends with a bunch of dirty-mouthed boys. together, they form a band, cause mayhem, and ruin their love lives.
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CHAPTER THREE: i fell in love with you before the second show your guitar it sounds so sweet and clear
🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ your neighbor breaks your window while you're rocking out and you suspect schizophrenia is on the rise.
the last track on your CD player ended, that's when you opened your eyes and let out a sigh. nothing better than an extreme amount of reverb on a guitar and lyrics you can't comprehend. you stare back at your ceiling, its rough texture that you've begun to memorize. your eyes wander from poster to poster in your room, most you've collected from the times you've gone to DIY shows outside of this small town. some are from your father's collection, although most of the posters are from bands that faded into obscurity.
you had two lamps, in opposite corners, enlightening your room in orange and green hues; colors you felt described the fall time. they made the two guitars you had hung up on your wall glow.
you let out another sigh, although you love your room, there's been an issue with it lately. no matter how messy, clean, or cool it looks, you feel a lack of inspiration when it comes to your art. your room was a muse to you, a reminder of your style and ethics, now it's a desert for any creative flow. a room hung dry as you could say.
it was like a spit in your face, seeing the guitars still on the wall, not being played. you reached for the acoustic, paused, and decided on the electric. you crouched down and flipped on your dad's old amp, you smiled as you plugged in your guitar.
you settled on standard tuning, a trusty device for when you have no goddamn idea what to do. your fingers fumbled to pick the strings.
you take a deep breath and take a big strum.
the one thing that never made you give up on playing guitar was how it could clear your mind of any worries. as soon as you start playing, your mind takes the backseat and you're on a trip with the melody. although you would mess up sometimes when sliding down the bars, it's therapeutic to make art you can hear.
you kept thumping your foot, it was out of the ordinary for you to play such an indie sleazy chord progression but you liked it anyway.
and, just as you were about to prove yourself that you should be a lead guitarist instead of a rhythm one, a brick flies through your window and lands on your bed.
