Curses

It was often Mr. Garrison's fault when something odd happened to the adults of South Park. When it wasn't, it was some sort of uncanny natural disaster, or his nephew Stan and his friends either almost saving the world or almost destroying it. Or, it was a talking piece of shit that apparently came for the sake of Christmas, commenting on the smells of everyone else in his overly enthusiastic holiday spirit. Regardless, on this particular occasion, it was Mr. Garrison who was to blame for Jimbo's predicament. Not directly, but the older homosexual male was most certainly the catalyst. On top of that, once the issue had began, he had fed the flame.

It had started off as a regular night out with the guys at the local bar. Other than the special airing on HBC where they were going to say "shit" multiple times on public television, nothing was too out of the ordinary. Which meant that something was going to be, very very soon. That was merely the way South Park worked. Not that Jimbo was opposed; he enjoyed the liveliness of the town. It only bothered him when he, in particular, was the one to face the heat.

Garrison had been blabbing about how only homosexuals could say "fag" without being bleeped. The gang around him all tried, and as the teacher had so claimed, they were censored. Jimbo wasn't a man for deep contemplation of consequences. He was the type of guy who took action before it was too late. Of course, this sort of mentality was exactly the thing that got him into trouble so many times in the past. Whether it meant being thrown into jail for saying he had explosives in his car to American border patrol, or in this case, saying "fag" without being censored and therefore revealing something he hadn't been planning to. Ever.

"Hell, that's not fair!" He had declared. "I should be able to say fag."

And that was it.

Everyone turned to him, having realized that yes – he was able to say "fag".

Randy was the first to verbally note this. "...Hey. You didn't get beeped."

"Uh-oh." Jimbo muttered, eyes widening at this unwanted confession.

"Well, well, well!" Garrison exclaimed loudly. "I guess we learned something new about you, Jimbo, you freakin' fag! You wanna make out or something?" Sarcasm dripped from his Southern accent, and Jimbo wrinkled his nose.

The show flashed to men in silver armor and took the attention of the guys around him, but even as Jimbo stared up at the television, his focus faltered. That was it? That was the extent of their reactions? Hell, that was the extent of his own reaction?

Sexuality was a fickle topic. It was something Jimbo rarely, if ever, mulled over. Sure, breasts were nice, and perhaps the male anatomy had something to offer too, but he always stopped that train of thought at the root. What he loved most in life was hunting, anyway. He could do without sex. All that mattered to Jimbo was a good kill. And, perhaps, his best friend, Ned.

Jimbo's lips pursed and he glanced over to his pal. They shared a house. They walked around in their underwear without a second thought. They used the bathroom at the same time. They had been closer than brothers for years, having seen each other in most every light, and yet never once had they spoken about sexuality. It was always just assumed that the other was... Well, something. Jimbo didn't think much about it. Ever. That was just how he worked.

He let out a shaky sigh and allowed his eyes to drift to the ground, before turning on his heel and starting to march towards the door. An electronic monotone voice stopped him, however.

"Nnn- aren't you gonna have another beer?" Ned asked. His voice was normal volume, and although the others would've heard it, they didn't seem to care for what he had to say, being too focused on HBC. This was more than all right with Jimbo; he'd wanted to depart unnoticed.

"Nah." He frowned. "I think I'm gonna head back now. You comin'?"

Ned shrugged. "Nnnnyeah, I guess."

Jimbo's lips drooped further. The last thing he wanted was alone time with Ned... After that. He shuddered but began to walk forwards regardless, not waiting for his friend. Ned seemed to catch up quickly. They were always together. In fact, it was almost ridiculous for Jimbo to even think of having alone time; he could rarely even recall of times when they were a part... And it had been like that for as long as he could remember, too. In fact, Ned was probably the person to first make him confused in terms of what he wanted to touch, whether it be breasts or pecs. When they'd met in Vietnam, and Jimbo saw Ned's sharp features, full brown hair, soft mustache, and heard his melodious voice...

No.

Jimbo tensed under his own rejection, reminding himself that Ned was right behind him. Ned, his best friend. With his robotic, yet alluring voice that always invited him to listen, even if he discouraged speech on his friend's part. With his disproportionate yet attractive body, which surprised Jimbo that women didn't consider Ned to be a catch... Not that he wasn't displeased with such a detail. And, when they'd gotten on that horse together-

Stop. You're a hunter. You're a man. You're not one of those pansy homos.

He grit his teeth at his own reminder, and his feet fell with less grace as they thrumped through the snow. He was a man, sure. Probably one of the manliest men in South Park. He drank beer daily. He shot wild animals without a care in the world. He smoked. He exploded things. He had spied on Jack Tenorman's wife – when she was still alive – and admired her breasts.

...And had gotten upset with Ned for having been so aroused.

Why was it that the homosexual stereotype involved being feminine? He found himself to be quite masculine, despite enjoying the sight of other males without clothing. Particularly Ned. But... God, it was so wrong. His lifelong friend was just that – a friend. They were platonic and nothing more could ever come of that. On top of that detail, they were really getting up there in age; Jimbo had wasted any potential for sexual experience over the years, so he saw. There wasn't much time left for him to fornicate. If he wanted to, he had to start soon. It wasn't as though he was a virgin, in all honesty; but he most certainly had not been with another man.

And I don't want to be. I'm not like that. I'm not a fag.

There it was again. The word that had started this long due inner debate in the first place. Jimbo sniffed and dug his hands deeper into his pockets, watching a street light flicker in the distance as snow twirled from the sky in a downward fashion. The night was dark, but still young, and the snow most certainly had no agenda to halt any time soon. Jimbo released a soundless sigh, watching as a puff of ivory flowed from his lips. He didn't want this. He didn't want the confusion. He didn't want the denial. He just wanted a definite decision or understanding on his part, rather than the repressed and inconclusive thought process.

Fag.

It was an ugly slur, but he felt all right with it. He wouldn't have wanted to be deemed a fag in a negative manner, but he supposed he didn't particularly mind considering himself a fag... And yet, the other side of the argument rose up against this ideology. It was a derogatory term and he shouldn't have been associated with it to begin with. But then, there he was, apparently able to say it whilst straight men weren't.

Jimbo sighed for the third time in the last hour, eyes admiring the delicate way that the snowflakes adorned the ground, and enjoying the crunch of it beneath his boots. Ned was still behind him, eerily silent throughout the entire trip, and suddenly Jimbo felt a pang of guilt for not having started up a conversation, probably having made the entire situation more awkward than what was truly necessary.

"Hey-" he began, turning to face his counterpart, only to be silenced by a chapped warmth that flitted across his lips for what seemed like the longest time in history, and yet not long enough.

Ned pulled back, expression indifferent as usual, as Jimbo gawked at his friend, eyes no doubt the size of the world itself. They stayed like that, unmoving and silent as the snow continued to find it's way to the ground around them and stick to Ned's hair. Jimbo suddenly took a step forward and wiped a notably large flake from his friend's bangs, melting it as he did so. Ned's lips twitched upwards into the faintest of grins as his shoulders rustled upwards beneath his clothes and back down to create a shrug.

"Nnn- you fag." He muttered simply.

That was all it took. That one word, undistorted and clear for all to hear to conclude that Ned was just like him. That was all that Jimbo needed for self acceptance; the knowledge that he was going to be accepted by his best friend and only desire. Jimbo cracked a toothy smile and leaned in for another kiss. It was returned.

Hope you all liked my little story. Jimbo/Ned (Nimbo?) is a pairing with a lot of canonical background that I feel is ignored by fans because they're more focused on the younger cast. Which is fine, because the younger cast is excellent, but I think that these two need some more attention. Anyway, have a great day and thanks for reading!