South Park Fanart Novels & Stories

Ancient markings are etched into the towering iron, and at least fifty warriors stand guard at the entrance, their postures rigid and alert. As the car rolls forward, the warriors bow their heads in unison. I swallow hard, my fingers curling against my lap. This place… it’s intimidating. As we drive deeper, my eyes widen. The buildings here are even taller than the ones in the city, their architecture a mix of old-world elegance and modern design. But what really catches my attention are the two massive statues standing proudly in the heart of the pack grounds. The first one resembles—of all things—Santa Claus, complete with a sack of gifts and a decorated base.

Letting the paint come together the way it wants. I spin around and throw my hands up. I paint the face that's emerging on the canvas. My paint forms a face that's the subject of my secret infatuation. Bastian in a blue dress shirt with two buttons undone. I rock and wiggle to the music. When the song ends, I hear clapping behind me. I yelp and spin around. Pressing pause on my phone. Bastian is smiling, sitting on the arm of one of my armchairs. "That was good."

“Hop along, asshole.” Theo’s already cracking the safe, manic energy radiating like a nuclear reactor. I join him, stuffing cash and bricks into duffel bags, painting bunny prints in red on the walls with a can of spray paint I found in the corner. Theo’s humming Pop Goes the Weasel again, off-key, bouncing on his toes. “This is art,” he says, spraying a giant bunny head on the ceiling. “Art.” I laugh, can’t help it. “You’re a fucking menace.”