#i can go to classes now and focus on nicer things like antibiotics

[deanirae]

awright kids! i took the pills that make you stare at garbage and here’s what i saw aka 13.01 condensed bc boy i sure dont do meta anymore, so fuckle up for the short ride:

- general experience: it wasn’t rotating on a cactus terrible. it was more like throwing bars of soap on a road, watching cars flatten them to the ground for approximately 35 minutes, at the same time thinking well at least i didnt shove them up my ass so thats something ... [im sure the german language has a word just for that]

- expectation vs reality: i avoided every single tiny spoiler for the whole summer and i didnt even have to be on my dash last night (and i wasnt) to immediately guess the papa cas schtick is a-go. now were it anyone else i would say “try harder” but its dabb we’re talking about so i dont want to give him any ideas. 

...andrew dabb, if youre reading this, please, this is not a challenge. also, stop bootleging my ideas. im doing the better. i got this, andy. u can stop. please stop

- other things that are worth noting:

u dont get to call people crazy if u got uncle jessie hair in 2k17 dude

i loved the friessssssss angel so much, gonna miss her. i just love angels with some personality to them. too bad they all die lol

all the cas is fam talk and they ditched his body lmao. i mean duh i know they came back but like.... they had no guarantee nothing uh-oh would happen with the corpse so... ha ha? thats so sad

 i also  really liked the sherriff but i just love sherriff ladies thats what i doo

dean u shouldve prayed to amara she liked u better

dean:

*pulls sheet off, goes :/, pulls sheet back on*

me:

u know what? same

oh look now dean had a chair to sit by cas’s resting place what a morbidly nice touch

for all i care sam and jack can grab hands and straddle a passing asteroid together assuming it means leaving dean in peace

8.22 called, said nephilim arent immortal... that was ur episode dabb, the fuckseriously where the hell is loflin. bring him back he was doing damage control

why was... the shitty car.... so important...  in the prayers scene.... [meta writers dont interact, i honestly dont wanna hear it]

“even crowley” TRY PRYING THAT FROM MY CROOKED HANDS FUCKERS

“goodbye crowley” DEAN LOVED HIM TOO AND NOW U KNOW THIS

also i am sooo against this constant benny erasure so i assume everyone means him too yanno

- special award i honestly didnt expect to give but here we are: cheesebutt ...all these months i spent as a mcdonalds cook and it never  crossed my mind? i am full of regrets now

[invisibletoallbutfaeries]

Gaia Plague Crisis: The Beginning

Family Focus: The O'Malley’s

Word Count: 2,162

Page count: Just over 6 pages

Brief: Five years after landing on Gaia a plague breaks out over the village. It originated with Bran O’Malley, the youngest child in the village, and spread violently from him to his family and outward. This is the morning it began to spread.

    It had been five years since settling on Gaia, and despite their only being 25 people in total in the village, including the children, many things had been accomplished. No one understood it either, but no one seemed to have aged, though this was most apparent in the teenagers in the village and the O’Malley’s young children not aging a day than it was for the adults. They may had lost communication with Earth within the first year and could not report the phenomenon, though it did seem to have an advantage. Since everyone seemed the same age no one was too old to help with building or settling the village yet, the only downside was that since Bran and Branwen still appeared 8 and 11 respectively they could not help as much as the older children could. Bran had discovered an affinity for fire, but helping light fires for his mothers forge or in hearths to heat homes was as far as anyone allowed him to exercise this gift.

After they’d built the school, even outfitting it with technology intended to keep future students engaged with the class and lessen the chance of skipping, they’d managed to add additional rooms to each shack to turn them into homes for the residents. A blacksmithy had even been built for Brighid attached to the O’Malley homestead so she could make proper fences, door frames and hinges, and even frames and hinges for windows to provide nicer accommodations to the homes.

    The O’Malley home itself now had five homes, a kitchen where everyone entered initially, a room for each of their children and one for the parents, and then a room off to the side as a communal family room. It was just in time as well, since Bran had come down with some sort of sickness and was now being quarantined within his room.

Brighid had decided on this day to check on her little boy. According to Abraham, the young man who kept track of the days and holidays, it was now the middle of summer and fall was fast approaching. Bran had been sick for a week now, and Brighid was worried he would miss his favorite season to this sickness if they didn’t find a cure, though Dr. Singh had said there was nothing to be done except trying to care for him similar to how one would care for a flue. He did not know the sickness, and now one dared enter the forest after they found Bran had gotten it from eating some purplish- black berries he’s found deep within it.

When Brighid opened her son’s door he turned onto his side, the rag on his forehead dropping away from him as he buried his face into his pillow. He was still clammy, unusually pale, and feverish. For the past few days he’d been sweating terribly, and his red hair clung to his face even now. Black veins had started from his stomach on the first day and began reaching up his flesh each day to cover his whole body. Now they had reached his face, twining around it in stark contrast to the cold, round features. Even his freckles seemed to be fading behind the veins. They had tried to get rid of them, from having him drink only water that had been boiled clean before being chilled, antibiotics, and even trying to scrub him clean. Still they refused to leave.

Bran’s eyes were closed shut tight and his lips trembled from fever dreams, small whimpers escaping him every so often. Every so often whimpers turned into soft words, though Brighid couldn’t make out what they were. Setting his food on the nightstand she placed the back of her hand against his wee forehead, finding it felt like a hot iron. Worse than the rest of the week. She sighed and turned her attention to stirring his food, a bowl of hot oatmeal with plenty of cinnamon in it to try and boost his immune system.

    “You shouldn’t have eaten those berries without knowing what they are, and now you’re on your seventh day being sick as a dog” she chided the resting boy. His eyes were closed and he was clutching the blankets under his chin, but from his faces and mumbles he appeared to be awake. He was responding enough to her speaking.

“You shouldn’t have even been in that forest alone, we have only lived here less than a year. We don’t know the whole layout, and you’re only 8! You should have had an adult with you.” As she lectured Bran, whose eyes were just starting to open, she walked over to his window and pulled the blinds open. The room was stale, the smell of vomit from the first few days had been difficult to get rid of, even when it was chased by the smell of vodka. Medical alcohol was running low enough for Dr. Singh to recommend vodka to sterilize his vomit bowl with instead. A stronger smell seemed to permeate the room as well, the smell of sickeningly sweet and rotting berries. She was hoping the summer morning air would enter through his window and help clear out the stale air of the room in a way no candle seemed to so. While Brighid could finally breathe well, it didn’t seem to have much of an effect. Instead it simply highlighted the room, how dust had gathered upon the sparse furniture, how his sweat had stained his sheets and blankets, and how the floor desperately needed to be scrubbed clean again. ‘I will move Bran out into the communal room,’ she thought as she approached the lad. The room had plenty of light filtering in, mostly covering his nightstand and bed, but he was still wrapped up in his sheets. ‘He does not need to stay in this filth for so long, plus perhaps the hearth fire could do him good. I can clean his room while he sleeps so he can rest easier.’ She shook his shoulder, prompting him to move his blanket down and look at her.

    Hisssssssssssss!

Brighid jumped as a loud and unnatural sound came from the child’s bed as he barely gave Brighid a chance to see his face. Once light caught his eyes he’d flung himself back under the sheets, his breathing becoming heavier. ‘That is odd, he always loved the sun, especially since it usually meant he could go and play with the yale outside.’

    “Bran?” she asked as she cautiously shook what she guessed was his shoulder from under the mass of sheets. No response came aside from another yet lower angry hiss.

“Bran!” she repeated, sterner this time. “Out from under there, it is time for breakfast and you won’t recover if you do not eat.” Still there was only a hiss in response, though this seemed to be even more angry. Like a cat giving a warning before attacking its opponent. While Brighid could feel fear well up within her from her child’s odd behavior, fearing he may be experiencing more than he’d originally let on, she also felt annoyance take root as well. It was bad enough he rarely listened while he was healthy, she did not approve of him hissing at her while he was sick either. We was a grown boy, he could use his words! “Bran! A wee bit of sun won’t her ya, now out!”

Brighid stood and carefully grabbed one end of the pile of blankets before ripping it away from her son. What met her was not her son though.

He had the same red hair as her son, but it was flat and lifeless. He had the same freckles though they had faded under the thick black veins that seemed to root around his eyes and mouth. His lips had turned blue lips and black splotches made their way along his face as if he was a corpse, and a cold, clammy pallor had made his skin near translucent, robbing it of the warm, bright, happiness of his usual appearance. His green eyes had gone almost black, and his happy smiling face was now twisted into a snarling mass of teeth -hissing, and gurgling as foam slowly seeped from his mouth.

Brighid couldn’t move. Not while some demon encroached on her sweet little boy’s body. She couldn’t even speak. Not until the creature shrieked and jumped at her. The sound was similar to Bran’s wails when he got hurt, a sharp piercing sound that rang through the house.  As the snarling child’s foaming face came upon her, that sickly sweet berry smell became stronger and Brighid’s arms flew to cover her face and protect herself. Only for teeth to sink into her arm and pierce her flesh. She cried out as she fell back, the creature shrieking a horribly in-human sound as it was engulfed by the light from the window. It was almost too high pitched for her to really hear it, except for the ringing it had caused in her ears. That was her only saving grace, as the creature launched itself off of her, leaving her terrified and with a bloody, tooth-marked arm.

Branwen, her daughter, came running in as the creature huddled under the bed asking “what happened?” before she spotted Bran’s eyes looking back at her from under the bed.

    Brighid put a finger to her lips, telling her eldest to stay quiet as she tried to move herself into a crouching position. Her arm bled terribly and dull ache spread from her forearm up to her shoulder everytime she tried to put weight on it.

Branwen slowly backed up, staring at the slight shimmer of glassy, wet eyes staring at her from under Bran’s bed. She didn’t recognize the creature staring at her, and didn’t take her eyes off of it until she bumped into her father who had just run back in from handling the yale when he heard his wife scream. The tall teenager jumped in response, sparking a response from the creature that once was Bran as well.

The being jumped out from under the bed, leaping onto a shrieking Branwen and biting her shoulder. As it went to chew into her shoulder more, the preteen wailing and shrieked in pain, her father twisting the pair around so he could tear his youngest off of his eldest. As he pulled at the creature it turned and snarled at him before it released Branwen. The girl fell backward and began to shuffle away as she sniffled, Brighid immediately running to her daughter to comfort her. There was a flash of green in the creatures eyes as it seemed to recognize his father.

“Bran?” Hern inquired as he set the child down. The little boy shook his head, tears welling up before he shrieked again, his hands burrowing into his hair and gripping his head as if it would fall off. Hern reached out to his son, but before he could lift his face to examine him the boy’s eyes had turned back to black his pupils blew out so far. Foam began seeping from his mouth again and it leaped under Hern’s arm, grabbing his leg instead and biting into his calf. Hern hollered in both pain and surprise, trying to pry the small child from his leg in fear he’d hurt the boy within if he kicked at him. When it didn’t work he kicked at the creature, not really connecting as he couldn’t bring himself to potentially hurt his own child, but scaring it off at least a little. As the creature dislodged it's gnawing teeth and backed up the elder man launched into action, trying to grab at the creature that once was his child to lock it into a closet.

The whole house was filled with shrieks and screams, and high pitched sub-human cries that concerned any villager nearby. Within a week the smell of fermenting fruit emanated from it and no one entered or left. One night there was a crashing sound that woke half the village and four corpse-looking creatures that resembled the family burst from the small house, ignoring the herd of Yale that they once cared for. They instead attacked any villagers with the misfortune to be nearby or sleep through the noise. Weeks went by and more and more people came down with the sickness and fled into the forest after infecting more victims. One girl fled before she could become infected, and three boys hid themselves in the schoolhouse. All four barely managed to escape the plague for fifteen years before help was sent to discover the source of this outbreak. None knew that it was young Bran O'Malley that was the first victim, none but his family, who were infected before the outbreak was known as a threat. Only suspicion began to set in after a few years after the crisis began.