#well today i'm at an empty playground

[ungalobrando]

They should make playgrounds entirely for adults

[sphireath-wisp]

Hihi!!! I was just wondering if you could do just little cute scenarios with sae, yoichi, and rin (gn! reader + all individual)

im sorry if this isn't as detailed as you wish but I'm just really craving tooth rotting fluff+ take your time (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Sypnosis: In the busy hustle and bustle of life, it's sometimes hard to find time to spend together. When there's time, what are the hobbies/little things both of you do together?

Warning: My readers are always morally grey in some way because it's more realistic to me, not proofread

Author's note: Thank you so much for reaching out and giving me this ask! I'll try my best to weave my story together to match your request. I owe my friend a good favour, so I hope you don't mind me adding her BL favourite here. Thank you so much for your understanding ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

Featuring: Sae Itoshi, Yoichi Isagi, Rin Itoshi x GN! reader

SAE ITOSHI... finds himself most at ease during late-night drives with you in the passenger seat. The windows are down, you're sticking your head out of the car despite his multiple warnings, and he can't stop smiling. His free hand is reaching for you and tugging your shirt down, and his eyes drift to your pouting face in the rearview mirror.

Usually, his late-night drives together with you have no real destination. Acting purely on a whim, Sae always drives you wherever feels right. Sometimes, it's the port right by the beach. Other times, he's driving you to an empty parking lot. Today, he decides to let you have the privilege of choosing where to go.

And when you ultimately decide to go to a playground out of all places, he scoffs but does a U-turn without hesitation.

Is it currently 11 a.m. and does he have a schedule he almost-religiously follows? Yes, and he has a feeling that he won't have enough time to drink his salted kombucha tomorrow morning. Is he tired? Absolutely. Why would he do all of this when he knows damn well he has practice tomorrow?

Hell, he's asking himself that as he opens the car door for you and helps you out.

With a cheeky peck on Sae's cheek, you wash away his thoughts and he returns the favour with a kiss on your forehead. "Let's go get a new car, yeah?" Sae shuts the car door behind you. You're bewildered, to say the least, "I'll let you pick a design this time."

"Look! It's here, it's here!" Your boyfriend, YOICHI ISAGI, geeks out in the manga section of your local bookstore. "Oh yeah, didn't they release figures already? Season 2 is being released soon, right?"

His smile only grows wider when you nod. He's crouching down beside you as you tower over him, leaning down slightly to watch him stare at the various covers. Standing back up on his feet with two in hand, Isagi seems to have reached a slight dilemma.

"Ah... should I get the latest chapter? Or should I..." Oh, isn't that the romance manga you recommended to him? The main couple was cheesy, but it reminded you a lot of how your relationship with Isagi is. Turning your head away, you find yourself stifling a giggle - how cute.

After a moment of deep thought, Isagi sulks. His shoulders slump and he kneels back down, placing both the mangas back on their shelves. Like a defeated puppy, he crouches there for a moment in silence.

"What's up?"

"I can't decide, so it's better if I don't get one or else I'll spend the rest of the day regretting it," He's solemn, your heart clenches when he forces an awkward smile. It's not a big deal, but... "You can borrow my copy y'know, don't be shy."

He perks up. It's a simple gesture, but the simplest things in life have always pleased Isagi the most. With a bashful laugh, he picks out the manga he wanted - he can indulge a little, he decides. "Right, I'm sorry. You didn't need to see how let down I was over something so small." Honestly, Isagi's a little shy. It's only been a few months into the relationship. He wants to respect you and your boundaries.

"I'll get you something in return, thank you."

RIN ITOSHI yelps when he stumbles out of your bedroom to the dimly lit living room of your apartment, sucking back a hiss from the base of his throat when something jabs at his foot. His disappointment only grows when he lifts his foot to see the imprint of a Lego brick on the sole. "What do you think you're doing? At 1 in the morning?" The once groggy Rin Itoshi is now wide awake, meeting your avoidant gaze. As you continue to piece together your Lego set, you mumble, "...couldn't sleep. I usually don't have trouble, but I don't know what's up with me today."

Despite his reluctance, he walks over to you and plops onto the carpet beside you. "Aren't you a little too old for this?" Rin begins while mindlessly piecing bricks together. His back is against your shoulder, partially leaning his weight onto you.

You scoff once he grabs the manual. "You're one to talk," you retort as you pull apart Lego pieces, "In case you haven't realized it, you happen to be playing with my Lego set."

"In case you haven't realized it, I'm helping you, idiot," There's no real malice in his voice. He crosses his legs and straightens his spine, turning to gather the pieces in a pile and redo everything from scratch. You clearly seem to be struggling. He'll never admit it, but he doesn't like the aching gap in his chest when you're not in bed with him.

It's a good excuse in his head. He's simply helping you out so you'll return to his embrace as soon as possible. It's just that. He's totally not enjoying playing with Legos with you - he convinces himself mentally with starry eyes when you both finish the overwhelming set at 2:30 a.m.

"Phew! Now to take it apart!"

"Hell no."

Taglist: @mikmwehehe, @saexy (while you did archive your old account, you are technically still on my list!! Please tell me if you want to get removed and I'll do it asap)

[toomuchracket]

haunted house (dad!george x reader fluff)

more promptober! just a fun fic about you and the kids making plans for when george gets home. enjoy! <3

the bell for the end of the day rings just as you make it through the school gates, wet autumn leaves on the ground and the wriggly three-year-old in your arms doing nothing but hindering an already-running-late you. panting slightly, you carefully set cara down and try to catch your breath, ruffling her hair as she clings to your leg.

you're not really sure why you rushed, to be honest; connor's the most laid-back five-year-old you've ever heard of, with a habit of swanning out of school a few minutes after most of his classmates have bolted out of the playground, and you know you would have been there waiting for him in plenty of time had you walked from the car instead of running. still, you don't want to chance it, you'd rather wait for your son than have it be the other way around.

and you do wait - seven minutes (and three games of hopscotch with your daughter) after the school day ends, connor finally deigns to leave the building, chatting away to dylan as they wander over to you. at the sight of her brother and for-all-intents-and-purposes cousin, cara speeds over to them to say hello; when the three of them walk closer to you, you can see the smug little grin on her face at getting to hang out with the “big kids”, even though there's barely two years between her and them.

you grin back at them, amused at the (classic daniel/healy) height difference between the two five-year-olds. “hi, munchkins. y'alright? took you a while to leave school today.”

“dyl couldn't find her water bottle, mum,” connor throws himself into a cuddle, which you reciprocate eagerly. “but i helped her.”

your goddaughter corroborates this, giving you a hug of her own in greeting. “yeah cos we have the same one and no-one else has it because they're from our dads’ work. but mine has an sticker that's pink,” she almost whacks you with said water bottle in her haste to show you the barbie sticker half-stuck over the 75 logo. “it was at the sink and not my seat.”

“oh, well, that's good you got it,” you pat her head. “did your dad tell you this morning that it would be me picking you up because mummy's not feeling well?”

“yeah. he said baby's making her tummy sore, so i'm going home in the car with you.”

“that's right,” you take cara's hand, heading out towards the almost-empty car park. “let's go to the car now, babies.”

“mum!” connor looks aghast. “we're not babies. i'm five.”

“i'm nearly six,” dylan says proudly. “when baby gets here i'll be six. and lena will be four. and you too, cara.”

your youngest looks at you, brow furrowed; you have to stop yourself giggling at how much she looks like george. “i'll be four?”

“yes, angel. you and lena won't be the tiny babies any more, will you? we'll all have an actual baby to look after.”

cara hums, too preoccupied to be excited about the thought of a new friend. “will i get a party when i'm four?”

“oh, i think so,” you unlock the car, scooping her up with a kiss to her cheek before settling her into her carseat. “you know what dad and matty are like. any excuse to celebrate! right, dyl, you get in there, darling, watch your step,” fastening her seatbelt, you shout across the girls to your son. “you alright, con?”

“mhmm!”

you check anyway - he's fine - before getting in yourself. “alright, munchkins, home time.”

what should only be a ten-minute drive to the healy house actually ends up being twenty-five because of traffic, but it's pleasant enough - the kids are good as gold, patiently playing i spy, softly giggling the whole time and warming your heart. you knew all along that your babies would be best friends with your best friends’, but seeing dylan - tiny for her age, shockingly tentative from birth - yap and laugh along with your two like this is a heartwarming (and only slightly terrifying) indication that the kids will genuinely end up being as close (read: codependent) as their fathers are.

their fathers, who are still at the studio working diligently, you learn when your friend waddles (there's no other word for it) out to the car to get dylan despite you yelling “stay there! i'll bring her up!” repeatedly when you reach her house. she rolls her eyes as she tells you, absentmindedly rubbing her baby bump, an air of vague exhaustion hanging around her. “according to matthew, they're working on until half 6 tonight, so they can take the weekend off and do final tweaks on monday, and that's them done,” she scoffs. “can you believe that?”

“of course not. george has been promising to be home at half 4 for the past three weeks,” you snort. “and as for final tweaks…”

“oh, another month, at least.”

“literally. that baby girl of yours might arrive before they send that final mix off.”

“don't, i'm actually nervous about that,” she giggles, cradling her stomach before pulling you into a hug. “i'd better go before elena tries to cut her own hair again. d'you want to do dinner next friday, us and the kids - and the boys, if they ever unchain themselves from that mixing desk?”

“i'll bring starters and dessert,” you kiss her cheek. “take it easy, alright?”

“yeah. hope you get to see your husband this weekend, babe!”

“you too!”

you really, really hope you do; after an hour in tesco, you and the kids get home well after george's originally-planned home time, and your heart sinks when you unlock the door to the lights still off and no sign of him, other than the half-drunk coffee he left this morning and a couple of cigarette butts in the kitchen ashtray. moments like these are sometimes harder than when he's actually away touring, you think - it's less upsetting missing george when there are oceans between you than it is when you're ships in the night in the same house.

still, you've got the kids to keep you distracted from being melancholy; it's impossible to be anything other than overjoyed when your sweet babies insist on group cuddles on the sofa while you watch another episode of balamory, or when the two of them run to get their stepstools so they can watch you make fajitas for dinner with genuine interest (well, connor more than cara), or during dinner itself, when connor collapses into contagious giggles at the sight of his little sister’s face covered in guacamole. but they miss their dad, too, despite all the happiness, as admitted by cara while she's clinging onto you in piggyback while you do the dishes. “when's daddy home?”

you sigh, doing your best to keep the sadness out of it. “m'not sure yet, angel. he'll phone when he's leaving his work, though.”

“‘kay,” she digs her little chin into your shoulder, only slightly uncomfortably for you. “will he read me a story?”

“i bet he will,” you put away the last plate, wiping your hands before swinging her round to hold her in front of you; once her laughter subsides, you speak again. “daddy loves reading stories to you and connor.”

cara nods. “and he hasn't done it in ages.”

well, four days, but to a three-year-old… that probably feels like an eternity. the thought brings a lump to your throat. “he will, though, soon, munchkin. daddy will be home soon, and he'll read you a bedtime story,” biting back a sniffle, you spot a parenting advantage. “that is, if you brush your teeth extra well once you put your pyjamas on. yeah?”

“yeah!”

ironically, coincidentally, whatever you want to call it, the omw home text from george flashes up on your watch during cara's bathtime, the last step in what her dad likes to call “the ‘pre-bedtime routine’ routine”. she squeals when you tell her, kicking her little legs with such enthusiasm that half the bathwater ends up over you, and her brother rushes into the room in a panic. “what's going on? why is cara screaming? is she ok?”

wriggling even as you lift her into a cosy towel, cara answers. “yeah! daddy's coming to read us a story!”

“oh!” your son's face lights up. “really, mummy?”

“yes, darling, he just sent a message,” you confirm. “d'you want to go and choose a book while i get cara into her pyjamas? and then we can wait for him together?”

“mhmm” connor moves to leave, but turns back in the doorway to look at the two of you. there's a familiar smile on his face, and you're not sure whether to be worried about whatever sneaky thing he's about to suggest or pissed off that both of your kids look nothing like you. “or…”

you brace yourself. “or what, con?”

“we don't wait and we hide and then jump out and surprise him.”

the laugh escapes your lips before you even realise. fuck it. “alright. let's do it…”

the cheers you get in response are deafening.

“... but,” you raise your eyebrows pointedly. “only if you pick a book for your bedtime story now, connor,” matching his nods, you turn to your youngest in her towel cocoon. “and you brush your teeth properly, like we agreed earlier.”

cara nods so excitedly that the towel falls off her head. connor laughs, and you can't help chuckling either. “okay, babies - don't get stroppy, con, you're gonna be my babies forever, alright? anyway,” you ruffle his hair. “we'll hide in the wardrobe in your room. d'you want to wait there for me and cara, munchkin?”

“yeah!” he darts off, and seconds later you hear him rifling through the little bookshelf in his bedroom. “i picked a book!”

“good boy!” you call, before turning back to your still-beaming girl. “will you be good, madam?”

she nods sweetly. and she really is - there isn't a peep of a complaint at all. not while you're drying and dressing her, not during teeth-brushing, not even when you've got her sat on the bathroom counter as you brush and braid her hair, which is usually something she prefers george doing “cos it's not sore when daddy does it”. 

whatever. at least you still have hair.

hyper-aware of the fact that time is of the essence, you comb through cara's fringe once more, before scooping her up into your arms and kissing her little cheek. “what do we think, munchkin - d'you think you look good?”

“hmmm,” cara squints at her reflection, then grins. “yeah!”

“i think so too. shall we go and get connor and wait for daddy?”

a nod against your shoulder, and off you go on the short jaunt to your son's room. connor's already sitting in the massive built-in wardrobe, book in hand and an eager smile on his face. you smile in return, settling down beside him and pulling the cupboard door almost fully-closed; you're careful to leave a crack in front of you, so you'll be able to see your husband when he arrives. which, actually, should be imminently, so you'd better come up with a game plan. you tug your kids close to you. “so, when daddy gets here-”

“mum, why are you being quiet?” the confusion is evident on connor's sweet little face even in the minimal light. “dad isn't here yet.”

he's got a point. you blink. “true. anyway, like i was saying, when he does get here… wait for me to open the door, and then you can jump on daddy, yeah?”

“can we shout too?”

“i don't see why not. but no bad words, you - just because you've heard matty say them doesn't mean you can,” you point at connor, before turning to cara. “and no screaming from you, you hear me?”

“yes, mummy.”

“good,” your eyes widen at the sound of the front door opening, closely followed by george shouting a greeting as he dumps his bag, and your voice shifts to a whisper. “quiet, now, alright? let's see how long it takes daddy to find us.”

there's a whispered chorus of agreements, and then - miraculously - your kids go silent, aside from the quick little huffs of air signifying silent giggling; these get more frequent when you all hear george wandering around downstairs, calling your names in turn and humming to himself in bewilderment. when his footsteps become audible on the stairs, cara practically wraps herself around your arm, all but shaking with kinetic energy and clutching her brother's hand as they hear their father reach the landing. 

you, too, are laughing to yourself as you listen to george opening and closing doors in search, monologuing as he goes. “nowhere to be seen and they've left every bloody light in the building on. s'like blackpool illuminations,” comes the gravel grumbling so characteristic to the love of your life, as he wanders into what you know is the bathroom; he sniffs loudly, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from cackling. “strawberry shampoo… cara's bedtime routine. maybe everyone's in,” another door opens. “here! oh. empty. must be in connor's room, then.”

three strides across the landing, and there he is - george, his tiredness obvious even through the tiny crack between wardrobe doors. he turns slowly, taking in the emptiness of the room (and making your heart glow when you catch a glimpse of his pretty face), and - as if by magic - stops with his back to the wardrobe, muttering “where are they?” to himself.

partially out of slight guilt for putting him through this, but mostly because you think connor and cara might explode if you make them wait any longer to surprise their dad, you push the wardrobe doors open. the kids fly out, little voices shouting “hi dad!” and “we're here!” as little bodies land on george's massive one; he gasps in shock, and you're extremely thankful for the victorian high ceilings in your house, because your husband's head (and the rest of him, probably) would absolutely have hit anything lower when he jumped in abject terror. he sinks to the floor, head in his hands. “jesus christ,” he sighs, before standing and tucking a kid under each arm, swinging them around and filling the room with laughter. “you meanies, surprising me like that. i thought you'd all run away and left me!”

“we would never,” you step forward, taking cara into your own arms and pecking george on the lips. “we like playing tricks on you too much.”

“yes, that one's obvious,” george rolls his eyes; his face breaks into a big smile, and he kisses your nose. “hi, by the way, angel. thanks for the interesting welcome home.”

“i wish i could take credit.”

“oh? it wasn't mummy?” george dramatically looks from kid to kid. “who's the evil genius among us, then?”

cara giggles, nuzzling her head into your neck. “connor.”

“reeeeeeeeally?” george cocks his head to look at his boy, who's grinning from ear to ear. “s'that right, munchkin? it was your idea?”

connor giggles. “yeah.”

“in that case, then,” george tickles your son through his t-shirt, smiling at the raucous giggles that follow - from cara, too, actually. “say sorry, and i'll stop.”

“sorry! sorrysorrysorry!” connor's laughs fade to little hums, and he snuggles into his dad while they both catch their breath. “mummy planned it though. tickle her!”

george winks at you. “oh, i will, later. but first,” he flicks your son on the nose. “bathtime? and then a bedtime story for the little ones?”

cara nods. “and then mummy and daddy bedtime?”

“once i've redone your hair, munchkin? i think so,” your husband smiles at you, eyes twinkling. “of sorts, at least. you up for that, sweetheart?”

“oh, absolutely.”

[ruershrimo]

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 1: nostalgia

ao3 link for additional author's notes | playlist | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

'“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye.'--- ' It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I'm thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name]

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)'

word count: ~5k; tws: none for now

2-4-2015

Dear Fushiguro Tsumiki, 

How are you today? I’m so sorry that we haven’t talked in so long. 

Forgive me for asking so many questions in this letter— I know too little about writing them; my mother is the one who asked me to write this saying that it would help me keep in touch with my friends or write better (either of the two, I can’t quite remember). 

Between an urban area or a rural area, which would you prefer? I’ve had to go all around the place because of my mother and I’m still all the way in Tanegashima now. If you were to go from Tokyo to where I am, you’d have to either go for a drive lasting more than 20 hours or book a three hour flight. 

I’ve only stayed in the city once— that was when we were still in the same school, and we could all fit in my aunt’s apartment since my father was outstationed for the whole year. But I digress. Personally I prefer the city. It all feels so modern, and so much less empty than how it’s like here on this little island. I mean, we have the space centre, so I can always visit that, but after the third or fourth time you’d probably get a little bored of it too. 

I wish I could go to Tokyo again one day, though. I’d definitely take the time to visit you, too. I read on a pamphlet once of how pretty everything gets in Tokyo during winter time, especially during Christmas. We don’t really celebrate Christmas here but the pamphlet reminded me of that one December when we spent it at my aunt’s, we ate lots of KFC and had a little party while my aunt sang songs and drank enough alcohol to prove she had a liver of steel a million times over. 

It’s nice to reminisce on these things, and it’s nice to reminisce on when we were still there too. I know I never told you this enough, but I was so happy when you walked up to me on the playground that day and asked if you wanted to be friends. I really, really liked your hair and wanted to ask you the same. I was just too shy to do it, and thought that if I would I’d end up messing things up and mortifying myself. I miss that and you and I miss 2010 and I miss Tokyo, and walking back from school with you and Megumi (you were like my cool older sister), and I really, really miss doing each other’s hair. It was the most joyful I’d ever been in my then 8 years of life and every day was a new fragment of happiness to keep in my heart like a picture in a locket. 

Now I really want to go there again, and maybe go to the Shinjuku-Gyoen, or see the lights at night. I wish I could stay for a whole year and see how the trees can change from being highlighted cherry blossom pinks, to lush greens with summer dew on them, to golden ginkgo leaves. I’d keep them with me, too. I hope you can take me there one day and we can see everything together again. My apologies if I’m asking too much of you. 

Also, how is Megumi? I miss him too. Is he the way he was, still? Is everything okay between you and him, still? Unlike elementary school, the boys in junior high are all taller than the girls, so since we’re the same age do you think he’d be taller than me too? Is he taller than you, or are you still one of the tallest girls in junior high like how you were in elementary school? 

It’s very late and I still have so much I want to talk about with you, but I’m really sleepy now. My eyes are barely open and my face is about to fall on the paper, I think. Just know that I’m thinking of the two of you all the time. XX

Love, [Name] 

(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?) 

28-2-2011 

The train to the airport is arriving in a minute, and you’re sure your mother won’t let you just wait for the next one, so you’re stuck clutching your little luggage bag as you look at Tsumiki and Megumi, that inseparable pair, and their snowy-haired “benefactor” (whatever that means. You think he’s more like their father sometimes, though). 

Even if you knew it was inevitable and that this day would eventually come, especially with your leaving Tokyo being pulled even earlier than you thought it would, a part of you pretended that you’d still get to stay with them for a little while longer. In Tokyo you’d solidified your place and built your roots— you had friends, were doing alright in school and had even begun to be less anxious about everything. Now you’d be uprooted again, you thought as your fists trembled, Now you’d be back to square one. 

2011 had started as a busy year— your father had begun preparations to move somewhere else where you and your mother could follow him and the three of you would be together again. It was busy for Tsumiki, too, who had more school matters to tend to due to her being one of the best, most well-rounded students in her year (you didn’t know much of the details). 

…it had also begun with you seeing a dog when you were alone with Megumi once. It had these unique markings on its head, with alabaster fur and jaundice-hued eyes. And Megumi then had a panicked look in his eye, asked how and why you could see them as well as whether you’d seen them before, which you suppose caused him to be busier after that, too. Tsumiki and Megumi’s benefactor visited you and your mother the night after, asking to speak with your mother and your mother alone. He paused before you, almost shocked, you supposed, but you couldn’t see through his pitch black sunglasses (he was one weird guy, seriously— pitch black sunglasses? Really?). To which she frowned, as the man uttered that you could be a “window”, but that you could still be able to use “cursed energy”, or something. You’d heard of neither of those, and weren’t able to eavesdrop or discern anything else they’d said. 

Then nobody else mentioned the dog anymore. 

If you questioned any of them, you’d only be told that the dog was a stray, and that those markings must have been a particularly special birthmark. Yet you knew it was all a lie, but after multiple tries you gave up on wondering. 

When you’d first learned you’d be moving yet again, you cried and screamed for your mother to let you stay, and for what felt like hours. After relaying this to Tsumiki, she just put her hand on yours before hugging you— always wise, always kind, always smiling, you can’t say this enough about her. Megumi patted your back before she pulled him in as well, and for once he didn’t shove her hand away. You couldn’t even bother to be confused at that— you just continued to weep as Tsumiki comforted you, whispering, “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to talk to you, but I’ll try my best to keep in touch when I can. And even if we don’t, we’ll always be friends, okay? So we’ll meet again someday, don’t forget that, okay, [Name]?” 

A day after that Megumi told you to stay safe. Nearly ordered you to swear you’d stay safe and protected, always. He said that the world was dangerous since it was full of dangerous creatures and people who could kill you at any moment, but as long as you were on an island like the one you were moving to, you’d be fine. You furrowed your brow at that as he held your hand and felt him squeeze it— subconsciously, most likely. 

“Well,” Tsumiki starts, a tinge of sadness in her tone, her eyes slightly swollen. Megumi’s expression is unreadable but his fists are balling the fabric of his shirt and his leg is shaking. It makes you want to sob and cling to both of them and you know if you did they wouldn’t ever let go, “I guess this is goodbye, [Name]…” 

Before you realise it, tears start pooling in your eyes and soon they’re trickling down your face uncontrollably, just like the day when you’d first met her. “We’ll still be friends, right?” You won’t leave me, right? 

“Mhm!” Tsumiki smiles— she was always smiling, always, even when she was about to cry along with you. Her lip was trembling and for a second you swore you could detect that in the ever-stoic Megumi, too. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry. We’ll be friends forever, so we’ll surely see each other soon enough,” Tsumiki assures you, close to sniffling, “We made a promise to always be friends, right? So you’ll see the two of us again in just a few years’ time no matter what.” 

“Okay,” you sniff, “I’ll see the two of you when we’re all grown up, and… and I’ll be taller, too! I promise I’ll visit Tokyo next time!” 

“...that’s good,” Megumi says, his leg still shaking discreetly, joining you and Tsumiki’s conversations in a way he’d rarely done. 

Tsumiki nods, “Yeah. That sounds really, really good, [Name]. Wait—! Let me give you something. You can call it a gift!” 

She takes it off, and her hair unfurls like flowers from bouquets after they’re untied, placing the red-ribbon hair tie securely in your palm. 

“Your hair tie?” you ask, “No, it’s okay—!” 

“Please, just… just keep it, okay? It’s a gift from Megumi and I to you, [Name]!”

Then you’re in her embrace again as you clutch the hair tie, while after a little hesitation Megumi joins in and you swear you can see their benefactor smiling— not just the smile he had when you first saw him, this one in particular seemed proud, fatherly, the same way your father did when you told him about how you were able to read through a whole book with beginners’ kanji in it. 

“You’re my best friends forever,” you whisper to them. It’s the truth and it’s a promise. 

The train halts with that chuffing sound all trains produce, and your mother holds the luggage as well as your other hand as you wave to them goodbye. 

15-3-2011

The phone continues to vibrate in your hands as you anxiously tap your foot on the ground. You’re sure it’s going to end up sore. Frantically, you press it almost forcefully to your ear when it stops ringing. “Tsumiki, Megumi!” 

“[Name]!” 

“Are you alright? I saw the footage of the earthquake on the news, are you safe? Were you and Megumi evacuated, are you all safe? Please tell me whether you’re safe—!” 

“Megumi, it’s [Name]!— Don’t worry, we’re safe now.” 

Relieved, you sigh, “That’s good, that’s good,” you say, “It must’ve been really scary…” 

“Mhm— everything started shaking as if we were on some boat in the middle of the sea and the waves started getting wilder, and it was like the ground was rumbling.” 

You shiver. “That sounds so scary…— I’m glad you’re safe, though. I don’t know why stuff like that has to happen so quickly sometimes, and so suddenly, too. And it takes so many people along with it. I thought I could’ve lost the two of you.” 

“Well, we made a promise,” she tells you, “So don’t worry. —Oh! Megumi wants to talk to you. Here, Megumi.” 

“Are you alright?” he inquires, “Have you seen anything scary in the countryside?” 

“Huh? Oh, no, I haven’t seen anything. Why?” 

“Nothing. Just wanted to know.” Now that sounds like a bold-faced lie. 

“Uh-huh, okay.” 

-20-5-2011-

“Hello? Is this Tsumiki? I need to ask if she’s alright—” 

“Oh, little [Name]?” a man says over the phone— the benefactor, you remember, “So sorry, she’s pretty busy right now… call next time, okay?”

-21-5-2011-

“Hello? This is the Fushiguro house contact, right?” 

“Sorry, Tsumiki’s busy at the moment. Me too, actually.” 

“Megumi!” you smile, bringing the phone closer to your cheek in excitement, “How is everything?” 

“Good, to say the least,” he replies, “We’re just a bit busy. Sorry, but I’ve to hang up soon.” 

“Oh, oh-okay! Bye bye, Megumi!” 

“Bye.” 

-13-7-2011-

“Hi, [Name] speaking. I called twice last month and a few days ago. Are you still busy?” 

“A little— well, Tsumiki is,” the voice on the other side says. You know it’s not Tsumiki, not yet at least. “She’s really sorry, [Name].” 

“No, no, it’s okay! I don’t want to bother any of you either, so thank you for telling me!” 

“Well, if you want I can try to get Tsumiki right now,” the voice offers. 

“Really? Thank you so much!”

The pause that ensues after is followed by the fifteen happiest minutes of your life since February this year. 

“[Name]? Is that you?” 

“Yeah! Hi, Tsumiki!” 

She gasps slightly in the way that children do when in awe or when someone finds out they’ll be eating their favourites for lunch. “Hello!” 

“How are you?” you ask.

“I’m good! Really busy, though, so I’m really sorry if I can’t call you as often… but everything’s been alright. You?” 

“Mm,” you hum, nodding your head even if she can’t see it, “I’m good, too!” 

-18-8-2011- 

You don’t know when you started heading to the phone and keying in the number, doing everything but ringing it. You’re busy, too— you’ve less time now to ring them up, and the last time you did, Tsumiki still apologised but sounded a little distant, just that one bit too busy to be able to tend to you. One step farther away from you. And Megumi was seldom ever the one by the phone. Still, you could understand why. You supposed they always had something going on that you never understood or never asked about. That would explain the incident with the unusually marked dog. No, they weren’t sketchy, but there was definitely something they must have known about the world that you didn’t. 

Now you don’t know if you can even muster the courage to talk to you or write to you. The distance between you has widened exponentially and you hesitate just a bit more every time you hold the phone and press its buttons. 

Then the phone rings, and after you hesitate once more, you put it down. 

9-2-2016

If there’s one thing you remember from about half of your life ago, it’s that your first crush was probably Fushiguro Megumi. 

You’re honestly surprised it wasn’t actually his sister. That over Tsumiki and her abundant compassion and beautiful soul, you’d feel your heart leaping and overflowing with warmth because of him instead. Constantly angry, never for once not irascible, always serious and aloof. You’re sure that if you’d met him now instead of back then you’d find him some asshole who you just wouldn’t be able to understand— why’d he always have to seem so angry? 

Yet it was a struggle, trying to understand him. It really was. Maybe you didn’t really have to understand anyone, much less Megumi. He never ceased being so serious and easily angered but you could tell from his eyes that he must have not intended to hurt anyone; half of the time you understood him: like when you could see that glint in your eyes that replaced what would have been a ghost of a smile on his lips, the other half of the time you didn’t: like whenever he shoved Tsumiki’s hand off his shoulder, and Tsumiki just continued to smile. Now, that really confused you. You’d thought about that for days before coming to the conclusion that you���d probably never find an answer. 

Conversely, Tsumiki was kind and patient. If you’d met her now you’d have fallen in love with her immediately and she probably wouldn’t even notice in that terribly goodhearted, unknowingly innocent way of hers. 

In retrospect it should have been more obvious: he scowled at you and if it were anyone else who did so to you back then you would have merely cried and closed in on yourself, yet you never did when it came to him. You just continued to stick to him like those kind of glue residuals left behind after you take a sticker off a table or a price tag from the back cover of a book. You were probably annoying like that. And to some degree you suppose he’d given you his own form of special treatment by letting you do so anyway. 

If you’d known what you were feeling back then you probably wouldn’t have admitted anything, anyway. Probably you would’ve kept it all within you, quiet and unnoticed, trying to drown yourself into life’s backdrop like an insect engulfed in resin. 

But you’re older now, more mature and slightly more outspoken; you’re going to try to be confident and meet someone, this one person alone who you can only meet now without his sister there just because you used to have a crush on him and— 

You don’t think you’d be able to admit anything either. Yet to yourself he’s the first. He always will be, and you’re not sure whether that sounds pathetic, miserable or disgustingly, hopelessly delusional, considering you don’t even want to pursue anything yourself. 

It’s going to be Valentine's Day soon and you’re quite sure that most of your school friends are making Valentine’s chocolates for their boyfriends or their crushes. In all truthfulness, you might as well not feel blue about it— you’re 14, that’s still pretty young, you don’t have to rush things like relationships or confessions through and you’ve been told to focus on your studies instead— but the thought that you’re going to be alone is still kind of depressing. 

10-4-2015

Dear [Name], 

Don’t apologise— it’s partially my fault. I ended up being really busy that year due to something we had to deal with. 

But anyway, it’s been so long! I miss you every day as well! 

Megumi and I’ve been great, and I hope you’ve been too. It’s been a long four years since we last talked (it’s already 2015, how time flies!), but you still sound the same. It’s like you’ve got better handwriting now, though! 

Aside from the fact that I’ve been swarmed with stuff to do (I joined the student council, yay!), junior high has been okay, to say the least— and hey, I’m still pretty tall, you know? Plus, a lot of the teachers say I’m surprisingly tall for my age, heheh. Things are going the same as always. I’ve got accustomed to the loads of homework we have now too. But it’s like Megumi’s been having a problem lately— he’s getting into fights, beating people up, things like that. I wouldn’t call him a delinquent, though: moreso someone who beats the delinquents up instead. I know what he wants to do and why he does it, but I don’t want him to fight other people and get himself or others hurt. 

I’ve tried to tell him this before, to be honest. I’ve tried it many times but each time I must sound more annoying to him than the last— I don’t want to force him to do anything, though, and I understand that part of why he does this is because of his own ideals. I just want him to not raise his hand against others. So I have to resort to this. 

Sorry for spilling it all on paper like this… I just wanted someone to talk about this to, and I thought you would listen to me, I suppose. Sometimes it’s hard— sometimes I really do feel like his parent instead of his sister and it makes me feel so lonely, really. 

Oh dear, what do I do to make him hear me, seriously… 

Anyway, I totally get what you mean— I’ve stayed in Tokyo all my life, but I’m sure that if I was uprooted and had to live somewhere else I’d have lots of trouble. Tokyo to me is my home, and my whole life is here. Moving somewhere else would probably shatter it completely, I think. 

And please visit when you can! Maybe if your mother allows it, we can come to us instead, one day! And it’s not like we can’t visit you either. Our door’s always open. Once this school year ends, perhaps we could stay with you for a night or two! (If you would have us, of course). 

Besides that, I don’t really have much to say. I did have a good day today, though. I went out with some of my friends from school after our classes ended and we ate some donuts. They were so tasty!!! Honestly, whenever you have the time, I really recommend going there with some of your friends after school!! 

Regardless, I think this is all I have to say in this letter. I promise I’ll try my utmost best to always set aside time to write to you!!! Get some good rest whenever you can, okay? Miss you always! 

Sincerely, 

Tsumiki 

(P.S.: Do you have an email or a phone number of your own yet? If so, please shoot me an email or give me a call! I can reply more there since I have those now and can use those instead of always relying on our house contact.  You can keep the hair tie, too, by the way! It can be like a memoir (*^▽^*). And it’s for you, after all!) 

13-3-2015 

You remember seeing a little dog one time back in your hometown when you were around six or seven years old. 

It was a tiny little thing, with the fluffiest black fur you’d ever stroked, and though every second it was barking louder than your mother could ever handle, it was adorable and seldom threatened to bite anyone. And it liked you— it never barked at you and let you shower it with pets despite how much it had frightened you initially. 

He was irritable but calm, someone who frowned and scolded but never raised his hand against anyone— not even that “benefactor” of his who you’d never heard him talk about without mentioning how much he’d like to punch him someday. You genuinely don’t think he’s ever done so, either. He doesn’t seem like the type: from what you remember, if he were to think he’d hurt someone he knew or evidently cared about— as much as he’d like to deny this, however— he would blame everything on himself, you think. He’d feel the guilt rake through his body and lacerate his skin, piercing through his ribs. Yet he’d keep living, and he wouldn’t tell anyone about it; he’d be so quietly miserable. 

That’s what he was like: quietly miserable. There’s a certain sorrow in the way he does things; you could tell this from the start despite how young and inept at articulating yourself you were at that age. But you’d always known and sensed that there was a sadness running through him, coursing through his veins, one that you could feel like heat from the warm blood beneath one’s skin. 

Today you wonder if he’s the same, if he still seems like the saddest person you’ve ever met, if he still seems like he would have been the saddest and most doleful had he not always tried to act as if otherwise, living defiantly against it. If he hadn’t always been able to keep living while suffering quietly like a child with nothing but muffled sobs in the desolate corner of an empty classroom. 

But at eight you thought maybe you could liken Megumi to a puppy. Or something like that. He certainly reminded you of that all-bark-no-bite puppy from the past. You wondered how it was now, whether it was still being fed and taken care of. 

Tsumiki was vastly different, though— the kindest girl you ever knew, with neat, soft hair and the type of handwriting all the girls in her class wanted to have. She was always smiling, always kind— you thought she was immensely wise for a girl around your age; you always wanted to be as amazing of a person as she was: always hardworking, always clever, always kind and forgiving, no matter what. 

…you don’t even know why you’re thinking about some kids you met once who you’ll probably never see again. Just two kids who you never kept in touch with. Or at least never tried to. You had their contact— you tried talking to Tsumiki a few times, but for some reason she could only ever reply once or twice (she apologised profusely for not being available any time she picked up as well), and as time passed the way the distance between the two of you grew, by the summer of 2011 you’d begun holding a telephone close to your ear without keying any number in it, as if clinging onto it would provide you with any sort of closure. 

You miss them, though: smiley Tsumiki and frowny Megumi. 

Leaning back into the mattress, you trace your fingers over the hair tie on your wrist, fingers rubbing against each thread of fabric in its red ribbon. 

Could you even talk to them or face them anymore after ceasing contact with them for years, though? Heck, you don’t even know whether they’re alive or not. Would they be angry at you? Disappointed? Feeling as if they’d been wronged or left behind? 

Still, you miss them. You really do. 

Your mother’s calls bring you downstairs, and you eat until your stomach is full before washing your plate. The only other step in your routine now is to head up and retreat to your room again. 

“Come down, [Name], could you?” your mother says, interrupting your trip back up, “I just want to talk to you for a second.” 

Now, that… that was a bit strange. Your mother rarely ever asked you to talk to her. You spent enough time with each other as is, doing almost everything else besides being in school or at work in the same house, even if it never meant asking about each others’ day. It just was never part of the conversations you had with each other. You’d ask where she wanted you to throw things or how you could cook something, but she’d never go out of her own way to learn about your own day since you were about nine or ten, and it wasn’t like you ever did either. Perhaps she was trying to make the effort to? 

“What is it?” 

“You like writing, honey?” 

“I mean, I guess so?” you reply hesitantly, “As long as it’s not for school or my grades don’t rely that heavily on a task, writing can be pretty fun.” 

“Good, good,” she remarks, nodding her head, “Actually, I recently found something you may be interested in online. You still have your friend and her brother’s house contact, right?” she questioned. Instantly you know which friend she’s referring to and say yes— how could you not, after all? “Ever heard of pen pals, darling?” 

Which brings you to where you are now: your mother leaning by the door frame of your room as you’re hunched over the table writing the letter. Surprisingly, she really seemed to care about this, even preparing the prettiest paper you’d ever seen, with pastel pink patterns printed on the paper’s edges, and though you struggled with what to say it first the words have begun spilling out of you despite how late it’s started to get. 

You wonder whether she’ll reply. She probably will, though, but a fragile part of yourself surmises that she may not, and although you’d like to talk to her again you fear that because of the time that’s passed things may just not be the same anymore. You wonder if the years have made the three of you infinitely different than your eight and nine year old selves. 

But that was growth, right? So you had to grow and learn how to talk to her, learn how to face her without thinking that she’d be angered or frustrated, or anything like that. And even if she did, even if it would hurt you, you’d be able to live. The world would keep spinning and all that would be lost were two friends who you lived without for about four years, ceteris paribus. Who could claim that the seventy or so years after those four would be any different? 

That’s why you took the pen and paper and started to write, telling yourself you’d face it and finish the letter no matter what. Even if it was short. Even if it wouldn’t be enough to express four years’ worth of unspoken words, from funny things that had happened in school, or what you thought of whatever was on the news, or how your parents had gotten you a new phone. 

As your eyelids gradually grow heavier, you watch how you fill two whole pages in the handwriting you have— you wish it could have been at least a tad bit more similar to Tsumiki’s, who never needed any boxes or lines to write completely straight and uniform for each character as if copying excerpts from finely printed books to the letter. 

Soon, you’re reaching the end of the letter, determined to keep the handwriting legible even if you feel like plopping your head on the table and falling asleep— to some degree you still need it to look presentable, after all. 

“(P.S.: I still have your hair tie. Do you know if I’ll ever be able to give it back?)” 

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[freaky-wasatch-range]

hey, tumblrstake! I've seen several posts on here about how we wished mormons had more cultural traditions/holidays, so I want to share with y'all my family's memorial day tradition.

every year, about 300+ of my extended family gather in the podunk town of oak city, utah to take over the town hall for the weekend and then serve free breakfast to the town on monday morning. it's called the "edward partridge memorial day breakfast" or 'MDB" for short.

edward partridge immigrated to the U.S. from great britain and was the first ordained bishop of the church. he is my great-great-great-great-great grandfather. edward partridge's grandson, aesel lyman, started the breakfast, declaring that the tradition would continue until edward partridge came and got breakfast himself. today marked the 52nd annual MDB, and this year, we fed 1069 people.

the customary breakfast is: sourdough pancakes (they're really freaking good and the batter is hand-stirred by an army of little kids), fried eggs, fried ham, oak city milk, and an orange juice called Tang. that same army of little kids get the honor of "running" food from the griddles in the town hall's back courtyard to the gym where we serve the breakfast, and of course most of the adults are given a job to do as well (cooking, serving, hospitality, utensil rolling, the most recent newlyweds get to rinse the empty batter buckets with a hose... you get the gist). members of the fam bring their plates straight to the griddles when we want to eat. we all wear special aprons. the atmosphere is always kind of electric :)

the night before, we have a thing called "the program" where we watch the same grandparent-originated skits and sing the same favorites-of-our-grandparents songs that we've been performing for decades.

some other traditions that have endured at the mdb: games of P-I-G (kind of like H-O-R-S-E), a couple hundred people playing bunco at the same time, blasting louis armstrong during the breakfast, a baseball game for the kids, red velvet cake, older kids teaching younger kids to throw mountains of playground-gravel down the slides (I was little when that started and it's been going on for over a decade now lol), and, of course, visiting the oak city cemetery and telling stories about our grandparents.

I'm really blessed that on memorial day I get to spiritually honor my five generations of grandparents buried in oak city instead of just making vague allusions of thanks to the military industrial complex. most white americans have been completely isolated from any kind of ancestral culture/specific traditions (because that's what racist assimilationism demands), so I find our weird and sometimes difficult annual reunion to be really special. whatever this is is mormon culture to me.

so, idk, hopefully this was inspiring and gave you a new way to think about memorial day. I hope that wherever I am in the world, I can continue this tradition with the friends and family I have around, serve a community with free food, and do it in honor of some modern pioneers and martyrs.

here's some photos of my dinosaur, jared, wearing my keffiyeh and hanging out in oak city over the weekend:

[bellysoupset]

"Figured where do I know your face from," Vince said, sitting in front of Max in the teacher's lounge. Mr. Daniels was pushing the food around on his plate.

"Yeah?" he asked, uninterested, "where's that?"

"You broke my arm when I was 10," Vince glared at the other man, who let out a little snort, still staring at his plate. When Vince didn't chuckle too, he frowned and looked up.

"Wait, you're serious?"

"Yeah," Vince sat before him, eyebrows raised, "you're the big kid in the playground who bullied me when I moved here."

Max let out a groan, letting his fork fall back down on the plate, "aw man, I'm sorry. Middle schooler me was a shithead," he grimaced, "I don't remember breaking anyone's arm, though, I'm really really sorry."

Vince rolled his eyes, unimpressed, "well, but you did..." he frowned then, noticing Max waxy pallor, "what's wrong with you?"

"Generally? Right now?" the other man shrugged, quirking an eyebrow and causing Vince to let out an annoyed sigh.

"We've established you're a shithead generally, so I meant specifically at this moment," he clarified and Max let out a chuckle at that, scratching at his cheek.

"I think it's just a hangover," he shrugged.

Vince raised his eyebrows, on a Tuesday? Damn whoever said teachers didn't have fun.

"Shithead indeed," he sighed, getting up once more, "don't hold my kids back today."

"Sure, sure, I never do," Mr. Daniels waved him off and Vince wrinkled his nose with annoyance, before walking out of the teacher's lounge.

Most teachers ate in the lounge, but it wasn't a requirement, so Vince went to the parking lot and found a nice bench in the shadow, unwrapping his lunch and scrolling through his social media. It was a nice break after a morning packed with kids, to be reminded the adult world still existed out there.

Luke had already flooded his DMs with memes and there were two texts from Wendy, one being an outfit check of her in gym clothes that had his heart skipping a beat.

Vince typed a cheeky response to her texts, smiling at his phone, only to hear a snort.

"Well, hello, Mr. Monacelli," he would recognize his sister's voice anywhere. Sophia's hair was up in a ponytail and she sat next to him on the bench, "why are you smiling at your phone?"

"None of your business, now, is it?" Vince scoffed, "where's the rest of your mean girls pack?"

"Hurling up their lunches in the bathroom," Sophia said, jokingly putting her finger inside her mouth and Vince wrinkled his nose in distaste. He really couldn't understand how his middle sister had such an acid sense of humor, nothing like the rest of the family.

"That's horrible to say, Soph-"

"Yeah, yeah," she rolled her eyes, criss-crossing her legs, "you can't embarrass me in class."

Vince snorted, "embarrass you?"

"Yeah," Sophia glared at him, "none of your i'm-a-cool-teacher jokes, nu-uh. Don't even mention you're my brother, you're gonna ruin my reputation."

"I'll make sure to fail you, just so they know there's no special treatment," Vince turned back to his sandwich, "or maaaybe I'm gonna bring up your super embarrassing crush on my best friend."

"Are you never gonna let that go?" Sophia jumped up, glaring at him, her cheeks turning red, "I was a kid!"

"It was literally six months ago," Vince grinned, "get out of my sight, kid."

"You're so mean," she pouted, "I'm gonna leave you a terrible teacher review."

Vince rolled his eyes, chuckling as the girl stomped away. He loved her dearly and it was really nice to be back in her life, but Sophia was also the most annoying person he knew.

She was also a senior, which wasn't a good thing, because Vin was already struggling to make the older kids respect him and he knew it wouldn't be any easier if his influential little sister decided to make his life a living hell in the classroom.

Hopefully Sophia was just bark and no bite.

It was to no one's surprise when his last class rolled on and yet he met an empty classroom. Vince sighed, glancing at his watch. Fucking Daniels, again.

He was going to strangle that man.

Vince was already ready to stomp out of the room and forcefully retrieve his kids, when suddenly the door opened. He straightened up, ready to face the swarm of frustrated teenagers, as they always were after chemistry class, but instead it was just Sophia.

Alone, which was all the more worrying, her blue eyes were huge on her face.

"What's wrong?" Vince asked, talking over her as his sister said:

"Mr. Daniel's is really sick and we don't know what to do... Can you help?"

Oh great, Vince thought, stepping out of the classroom, "what happened exactly?"

"He was off all class, but we said nothing- And then like, just now he suddenly stopped talking and barfed everywhere and-" her voice dipped, switched to Italian as Sophia groaned, "it's so gross, Vin."

Vince sighed as he followed her down the hallways to the chemistry room, "why didn't you call up a nurse?"

"We didn't want to get him in trouble..." Sophia frowned, planting her hands on her hips, "you're not gonna get him in trouble, right? He's cool."

And hungover, Vince thought bitterly, but despite his feelings he nodded, "I'm not," he promised, "stay out here, I know vomit makes you sick."

She let out a grateful sigh, slumping against the hallway wall as Vince entered the room.

It was truly a sight to be seen, fucking spectacular. Vince had no idea how he was supposed to not report the fact that Mr. Daniels had somehow managed to puke on his own boots and in a large puddle in the middle of the room.

He was folded in half, bracing against one of the tables and most of the teenagers were pushed to the opposite side of the room, looking completely horrified.

"Alright everyone show's over," Vince said, gesturing to the kids, "you have history class now, go get some water and then to the classroom, shoo."

Despite his somewhat harsh words, most of them looked visibly relieved there was an adult in the room. Vince cringed as he saw some kids that were almost green with sympathy nausea, he just hoped he wouldn't have to deal with that as well.

Once the classroom cleared out, Vince approached the other teacher, who was still mute, save for a couple hiccups and little sniffles.

"Okay... So hangover, uh?" Vince couldn't help but say, touching the man's back and Max let out a loud groan.

"No," he rasped, "no way this is a hangover. I'd never- Not in front of them..." his voice trailed off and he shuddered violently, "my head is killing me."

That didn't really help his i'm-not-hungover case, Vince thought, forcing the shorter guy to straighten up. He immediately grimaced, realizing why Max had stayed in that position. There was vomit down his band t-shirt and clinging to his auburn beard.

Without thinking Vince touched his cheek, then forehead and let out a sigh. The guy was burning up.

"I have good news and bad news," Vince said, side stepping the beige mess on the floor and pulling Max to a clearer patch, before pushing him to sit down in one of the chairs.

The blonde fell like a ragdoll, spreading his legs and wrapping an arm around his stomach, "good news is that I didn't shit my pants?"

Vince scowled, "good news is that you're sick, so this means we can tell the nurse and you're not gonna get penalized for hurling in front of the kids."

Max let out a little huff at that, "terrible good news-" then he hiccupped and groaned, "get me the bin..."

Vince couldn't believe there was anything in the guy, after seeing such copious amount of vomit. He also couldn't help a wave of sympathy as he thought of how much Mr. Daniel's reputation was fucked after getting sick in front of the seniors.

He planted the bin in front of the guy and then crouched next to him, carefully pulling Max' curtain of blonde hair and tying it on the back of his neck, "you're gonna be fine for a minute? I'm gonna go get a janitor."

Max let out a sickly burp inside the bin, raising a thumb up.

Once Vince got back in the room, now followed by the janitor - Maurice, who was also a relic from his school years - Max had folded on himself all over again, both arms wrapped around his stomach, head resting on the school desk.

"Man, c'mon," Vince sighed, frustrated, "try and help yourself, the principal is gonna have your head..."

"Uhm," Max groaned, "I don't- I don't feel well..."

Maurice let out a snort, "you'd think he's feeling fine after throwing up everything he ever ate," the man teased and Vince couldn't help but chuckle at that, grabbing Max' arm.

"You'd think," he agreed, pulling the blonde up, "c'mon, nurse's office. You have someone who can pick you up?"

"What...?" Max's gaze was all dazed. At least he had managed to clear the vomit from his beard, probably with his hand and wiped on his jeans. Vince grimaced at the mental image.

"Someone to come get you?" Vince repeated, pulling the guy down the hallway, "you're out of it."

There were curious faces on the hallways, kids out for a bathroom break stopping to watch them and Vince sped up, causing Max to stumble and collapse against his side.

"I'm gonna hurl again," the man mumbled and Vince shook his head.

"C'mon, we're almost there-" he wrapped an arm around the other teacher's waist and pulled Max against him, making them walk even faster.

The minute they got inside the nurse's office, Max turned to the big flower pot and heaved, his whole back arching as he let out a deafening retch and brought up a mouthful of bile.

"Goodness heaven's, Mr. Daniels!?" the nurse exclaimed. Mrs. Doyle was elderly and never used to do anything back when Vince was a student but tell the kids to go back to class. At least now she couldn't tell them that.

"He's got a really high fever," Vince said, keeping a hand planted on Daniels' back, as the man braced against the wall and continued to heave, not a thought given to Mrs. Doyle's sad palm tree, "and he's been sick," a lot, Vin mentally completed.

"Uhm- Well, he can lie down in my office... I'll get him so gatorade, until he feels-"

"Just let me go home, for fuck's sake," Max groaned, his voice all raspy and Mrs. Doyle frowned at the swear word.

"I don't think I can release you when you're this sick, I need-"

"I'm not a fucking kid," Max turned to glare at her and Vince stepped between them, glaring at the man.

"Then don't behave like one. You can't drive like this, either let Mrs. Doyle call someone or sit in the office and wait until classes are over and I'll drive you," he said strongly, causing Max to raise his dazed eyes at him and scowl.

"There's no one to pick me up," he groaned and Vince sighed, dropping his shoulders.

"Then go lie down, I'm just gonna finish my class and I can drive you," he turned to Mrs. Doyle, who was stunned into silence, "he can stay, right?"

"Of course..." She frowned, "you're the Monacelli's kid? Little Vince?" she suddenly held her hand down to her hip and Vince blushed, while Max let out a raspy chortle.

Vince nodded, his whole face aflame, "I'm gonna go, I have a bunch of teenagers to calm down. Hopefully you're not contagious, otherwise our lives will be hell for the next weeks."

Max groaned, stumbling forward towards the nurse's office, "yeah, don't count on it."

[awordsmith]

Secrets and Liars

Chapter Three

----

One Year Ago

"Hey, mind if I use your laptop?" Ali hopped on my bed.

"For what?" I walk around the room, picking up leftover clothes from our earlier fashion show.

"I just have a burning question, and I need to know this answer." She grinned and tilted her head, that little twinkle of mischief she always had in her eyes ever present.

I shrug, "Sure whatever, hey I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick, can we pick this up when I get back?"

"Yeah," she nods, watching me head out the door, "of course."

I came back a few minutes later to her spinning in my desk chair, "You know what's funny?" She sighed, a content smile floating on her face and she tilted it back to look up at me.

"What?" I had raised an eyebrow as I moved to sit criss-cross on the edge of my bed, in front of her.

"Even when you delete things, they're never completely gone."

My heart dropped in that moment. She couldn't know. There's no way she could have known. But she did know, and she had already sent the proof to herself.

"You know, I didn't think you had it in you," she hummed, "Kitty Kat."

I narrowed my eyes at the nickname. Jason called me it endearingly, but coming from Alison's lips, it always sounded like a mockery, something made to knock me down a peg.

"What are you talking–"

"Oh, don't act dumb," she half scoffed, half-laughed, "honestly, I'm kind of proud. To think, all this time I thought you were the most innocent out of the girls," She made a face and shrugged, "Well, you were competing with Hannah, eh."

"Please don't tell anyone," I pleaded, eyes watering.

She stood up then, walked over to me, and wiped my tears, "Oh, don't cry sweety," she'd pouted, "I'm not going to say anything. We're friends, we share secrets; we keep secrets." She'd said something similar to that the night of her disappearance. I remember because my heart had dropped. I'd thought she was going to tell the other girls what I'd done.

"You're really not going to say anything?"

She had scoffed again, "Why should I?" Was her only response, "Now let's clean these clothes up before your mom has a cow..." she'd winced, "too soon?"

Present Time

"Hey," Spencer calls, "you going home?"

"Sorry, I'm not."

"That's fine," she nods, "but...do you think I could come with you. I don't really feel like being home right now either."

I let out a breath, "Fine, but only if you promise to be quiet."

"Promise," she salutes, jumping in the car, "so where are we going?"

I glance at her and she nods, tight-lipped, "Right shutting up now."

I almost laugh, Alison would have, she would also have a snarky quip leaving her mouth the second it popped into her brain. We burn rubber with the windows down until we hit Brookhaven.

"Have you ever been here?"

Spencer shakes her head, pressing her lips together again, "can't say I have."

I nod, "Me neither." But Ali did, and I don't know why I don't say that part out loud, but I choose to keep it to myself. I don't know what I'm doing here, don't know why I even let Spencer come along, but we're here so, "wanna walk around?"

"Why not?" I park near a playground, and kids run back and forth between us, we watch them for a while, then take to walking on the sidewalk.

"It's warm today," she hums, kicking a rock in front of her.

"Yep," I reply, blocking my head from the son, "let's go in here," I turn into a bookstore.

"It's cozy," she smiles.

"It's empty," I frown, running a hand along a shelf of books, "where's the owner?"

"Maybe they're not open?"

"Maybe they should have locked their doors." I slide behind the desk, running my hand over the computer's keyboard. A light flicks on, asking for a password.

"Katherine!" Spencer shrieks, "What are you doing?" She turns her head, making sure we're really alone."

"Nothing," I frown, what would an old librarian keep as a password? Ugh, whatever, I give up.

I turn and bounce behind the desk again, next to Spencer, "what were you doing?"

I stare at her, "I told you, nothing."

"That didn't look like nothing."

"I was bored," I shrug, "what were you looking at?"

She eyes me for a little longer, then shakes her head, finally dropping the topic, "Nothing, just the log."

I run a hand down it, finding nothing of use. "Come on, it's getting late we should head back."

"Yeah, it's almost 7:00," she says, checking her watch.

"You got a new watch," I tilt my head, eyeing it.

"Yep," she pops the p, "it was a gift."

"Right," I say, "Happy late birthday... Sorry..."

"It's fine," she throws me a small smile, "Happy late birthday to you too.."

We head back to the car, making minimal small talk. I think I know now why I let Spencer come along.

When we get in the car, I start it but leave it in the park for a little. "Katherine?" She frowns, "what's wrong? Why aren't we moving?"

I sigh, resting my head on the steering wheel, "Spencer, I need to tell you something." I pull out the note from my pocket, but I don't hand it to her. No one can know–can even suspect it was me who posted those pictures.

But I don't need to, she knows, of course she does. She's Spencer. "You got a message too?"

"From A?" I ask, a slight smile digging its way onto my face.

"Do you think it's her?" She leans forward, all serious.

I snort, "honestly?" I turn my head, forward again, "there isn't anyone else I can think of. She mentioned something only she would know."

Spencer seems to take this into consideration. "So–what? She's messing with us?"

I shake my head, "I don't know, it's Ali we're talking about. All she ever did was mess around. Remember that Halloween?" Since she disappeared, everything that year seems to be referred to as "that" thing. Even if they weren't there, everyone seems to still know what I'm talking about. It doesn't even feel weird anymore.

--

I make a right, turning down mine and Spencer's street. The flashing blue and red lights startled us, we had music blasting and the windows up so we couldn't hear anything.

Now though, the music is lowered completely. We look at each other in silence. I pull into my driveway and we both step out. "Hey look," Spencer says, "there's Aria, we should go ask her what's going on."

"You go," I nod, wrapping my arms around myself as a shiver goes down my spine. There are cops and reporters and on-lookers/bystanders, nosy neighbors. I hate it.

It feels like that night.

Reluctantly, I walk toward Spencer and Aria. I don't have to say anything, my face says it all, "she doesn't know," Spencer shakes her head, "Emily's over there in the front."

"I heard they took Hannah into the station today," Aria offers.

Spencer's eyes widen, worry overcomes her, "you don't think she'd ever talk about–"

"–The Jenna Thing?" Hannah spawns beside me, keeping her eyes on the scene in front of us, "We made a promise."

"That's what keeps us close," I repeat her words. Then shiver again, it's almost like she's still here...

----

Chapter Five

Hello again, thank you for reading, I promise Jason is coming! It's just a matter of time!

[legofanguy]

Zelink: The full moon fever

This story is a entry for @zelinktines24 event Zelinktines day 6 Moon. I made a Werewolf Link the main star because today is National Werewolf Day.

Link feel nervous for his date with his girlfriend Zelda tonight as it is a full moon tonight and Link have a dark secret as he is a werewolf and Zelda suggest they have this date on this night. Link check the weather on his phone which shows that it is cloudy tonight, which means Link got a moment for this date. Link take a deep breathe and get his stuff before he head out.

As he pick her up from her home, Zelda tell Link, "My dad said I have to be back before ten." and Link think to himself as they get on his car, 'I hope the clouds are still covering the moon by then.' as he drive them to the movie theater.

At the movies, the pair watch a funny movie which made both of them laugh. Once the movie was over, the pair left the movie theater and Zelda look up at the night sky to noticed something, "Oh, the moon is showing tonight!" and shocked Link look up for a moment to see the clouds part ways to reveal the full moon and he quickly make a run for it as he feels his transformation starting, trying to get away from Zelda as he could. First, Link run on his two legs and then he start running on all fours as he become a humanoid wolf.

The transformed Link arrived at a empty playground, looking for food, until it smell something and hear something flying toward his way, which made the feral Link ready to fight back. The flying creature is a big humanoid whose land on the fence of the playground, causing it to be weighted down, and Link jump to attack it, which its strike by swung its tail at Link, setting him back flying to a slide. The creature was shocked over what it just did and put its claw on Link's head, saying to him as its claws glow, "I know I'm not post to do this, but I need to heal you."

Link start to open his eyes, which has his blue eyes despite he is still in his werewolf form, and he groans, "Ouch, what the heck..." and he saw a white and teal humanoid dragon with a blond mane kneeing before him, which cry out, "Holy f-" but stop as he realized that he is in his werewolf form, but in control, and he look at his claws as he ask himself, "How... How am I'm in control?" and the dragon reply in a female voice, "Well, I awake your Hylian mind from your wolf mind while I was healing you. It's a ability that weredragons like me posses but I promise to my parents to not use it as well to get home before 10 as that is when the clouds part to reveal the full moon. Of course, I went to the movies with my boyfriend whose kinda run off all of a sudden as I lost track of time and I was looking for him since he didn't know that I was changing when the moon light.." and a stunned Link said upon hearing that and realized the blue hooded the dragon is wearing, "Zelda?" which the weredragon pause to ask, "H-How did you know my name?" The weredragon look in his blue eyes and recognize them, "Link?!?" as the two are stunned at the reveal of each other secret.

Sitting down in the playground as Zelda still treat the wounds at Link's cheeks, the weredragon said to break the silence, "So... I'm guesing you run off so I don't see you transform." and Link reply, "Yeah. I was a big idiot thinking that it was going to be cloudy all night. I wanted to make this date perfect for you." Zelda reply to her boyfriend, "You don't have to be sorry. I did talk you into having our date on this night because I thought things would work out. I guess we didn't expect this night to go this way. Still our date was night." and Link look up as Zelda said, "You got to admit the movie was good." and the pair sit together, with Zelda putting her head on Link's shoulder, as they look up at the full moon that once give them fear.

[grim40]

{Next Gen}~ Monster?- Part 2

Pinkie packed the last of the cupcake order for the day, laying a sticker and writing the name of who was supposed to pick it up. Pinkie swiped her brow with her hoof, it had been a long morning and afternoon, happy that business was bustling.

She looked at the clock and took her apron off. Time to pick up the kids at school.

"Going for the kids so soon?" Mrs. Cake asked Pinkie, coming out of the kitchen with an order.

"Yup! It's early release day. Sorry to leave so soon, but I'll be back in no time I promise." Pinkie happily replied.

"No worries dear. Tempest can cover for you right?" Mrs. Cake said while Tempest carried some empty plates.

"Sure, it's been pretty easy today for me so I'll cover for you while you're back." Tempest smiled at Pinkie.

"Thank you! I'll see you guys later!" Mrs. Cake and Tempest waved at Pinkie hoping out the door and turning back to work.

~

Pinkie waited outside for her kids in the playground, and the bell signaling the end of school rang. Fillies, foals and other kids scrambled out the door of the building. She looked around and found it odd, Discord wasn't here to pick up Ben. Also looking out into the crowd, she didn't see him either. It was the end of the week, so all classes were supposed to be here.

"Mooom!" Snapping out of her la la land, she spotted her two balls of fluff coming her way.

"Haha hey kiddos! How was school today?" Pinkie giggled at her children, Sugary bouncing up and down around her and Bitter standing in front of her holding his back pack and lightly padding his hoofs in a cute pattern.

"It was awesome! Missus Cheerilee bought some treats for us and we colored some rainbows and the seasons!" Sugary went on and on while Bitter took out his drawing to show.

"Haha sounds like you guys had fun! Where is Benny though? Did he come to school yet?" Pinkie asked with worry in her voice.

Bitter shook his head and Sugary stopped bouncing and seemingly turned sad.

"No, we haven't seen him. You know since that feather brain mean griffon."

"Huh. That's odd, for a whole week?"

Bitter looked sad, his ears were down and he slumped down. Ben and Bitter had been friends for a while, even though Ben was a year older. So him not coming to school made Bitter feel lonely while at school. Sure there was his sister to hang out with and her friends, he didn't mind. But of course who would play Sun and Moon card games with him, or Star Swirl's memory game?

"You know what? Why don't we go look for him? I bet he would like for us to visit!"

Bitter's ears perked up and he nodded, Sugary as well with a beaming smile nodding her head too.

"Well let's get goin'! Duck formation, now! Haha!" Pinkie giggled, starting to walk towards Flutter Shy's cabin, her children trailing right behind her.

~

"Alright Benny, food is almost done-" A knock came at the door, stopping Flutter's speaking.

"Coming!" Flutter called out.

Opening the door, Flutter was surprised but happy.

"Pinkie! It's good to see you." Flutter said in her soothing voice.

"Hi Mrs. Shy!" Sugary popped out from behind Pinkie and Bitter poked his head out.

"Oh my. How are you sweet angels? Come in. Would you guys like some tea? I'm preparing a meal."

"Some apple juice would be fine, thank you! We came by to see you and Ben, the kids were a bit sad he has not been to school in a while."

Flutter brought their drinks and said in a whisper, looking a bit weary.

"Oh, yeah. Benny, my poor angel. He has not been feeling well going to school lately. Ever since what happened with that griffon pup and the other kids, he feels, out of place. So I started home schooling him."

"WHAT?!" Pinkie shouted, having a same reaction out of Sugary and Bitter stared silently.

"I asked Twilight on some tips for home schooling, and I started teaching him where Missus Cheerilee left off at. He seems to like it, though I still see him being a bit gloomy. I'm not a good teacher but I do try. He is in the living room if you guys would like to see him."

Bitter started trotting to the living room followed by Pinkie, Sugary and Flutter.

"Benny sweety, your friends came to see you."

Flutter sat down behind Ben, but he only hid under her mother's wings.

"Oh, Benny don't be like that. It's your friend Bitter and Sugary. Say hello."

Ben only hid his face further into her feathers. Bitter sat down before him.

"Benny what's wrong? We're your friends, remember?" Sugary exclaimed.

"Yes Benny. Don't need to hide." Pinkie chimed in.

For a moment, he stayed silent.

"I-I'm a m-monster..." Ben croaked out, his voice breaking and tears welling up in his eyes.

Sugary and Pinkie looked shocked, Flutter only looked at him sadly, her heart breaking again.

"What do you mean? No you're not!" Sugary hopped, her tiny but feisty attitude coming out.

"The only monster is that bird butt, you don't have to listen to her. Remember what Princess Twilight said? Everypony might look different on the outside." Sugary hopped around everyone, finally landing on top of her mother.

"But we all are the same, on the inside! You don't have to worry about anypony else says, we are still you're friends!"

"And we are here to prove it kiddo!" Pinkie joined in with her daughter.

"And we are never leaving you alone my little angel. No matter what." Flutter rubbed her wings on her cub's head.

Ben turned his head from his mother's feathers, looking at Bitter who was holding out a chocolate bar out to him. It was Dark Chocolate, his favorite. Bitter knew he liked it, so to make him feel better he carried one to school, but didn't have a chance to give it to him while he was absent.

Ben sniffled, and took the chocolate bar while giving Bitter a hug. Sugary jumped down and joined in on the group. Flutter and Pinkie looked at the children with soft smiles, Flutter wiping a tear from her eye.

"IIIII'M hoooome~ Gosh the lines for pear jam was awful today- Uh, did I miss something?" Discord walked out of the portal behind him only to stare at the scene before him.

Pinkie and Flutter looked at each other while the kids looked back and forth, and the all burst into giggles and laughs, leaving Discord confused with grocery bags in his paws.

-

Part 1 here~

https://www.tumblr.com/grim40/751038687766282241/ben-sighed-as-he-sat-down-in-his-seat-it-was?source=share

Part 2 of my Next Gen story ^^ still working on part 3, but will come out soon.

Thanks for reading <3

[fountainpenguin]

“'I'm doing this all for me!?' ... Dare say that about our love, and mister, I'll have to do away with you...” (x)

---

... 7 years ago, I put this chapter preview image in my queue and it's been there ever since. It's this plot point that the entire 130 Prompts project was built around.

We've made it.

---

New 130 Reasons Why I'm Fairy Trash update today!

Fairly OddParents || One-Shot - “Grudge”

Read on FFN || Read on AO3

Find more Purple Train story arc HERE

End Arc 2

---

Happy Peppy Gary (the teenage boy who used to rule the world) and Denzel Crocker (the school teacher who's spent years fighting to do the same) finally meet for a business proposition. It is raining.

... Where is the portal to Fairy World?

(First 1000 words under the cut)

---

21. Grudge

Saturday July 13th, 2002

Year of Leaves; Summer of the Last Berry

---

5 minutes after signing the Learnatorium off to Ed Leadly…

Passing by Dimmsdale Elementary leaves him feeling… giddy. Gary clutches his backpack by the shoulder straps, taking in the sight of empty swings squeaking in the wind. They stand like giraffes drinking from the savannah watering hole near the lonely see-saws and jungle gym. It's empty here. Dreary and chilly in the wind, even for a summer evening. And, like… There is something wild, beautiful, and free in witnessing this little slip between horror and peace. It's like peeling back a corner of yellow wallpaper to reveal life and color on the other side..

These days, Gary rarely has a reason to walk by the school. His apartment's in the other direction, closer to the downtown area (Right next to Alden Bitterroot's well). But there was once a time he walked to school five days a week, and five days back the other direction (unless Mr. Sanderson in a rare show of mercy pinged them safely home).

Years ago, back when he was only ten, he used to play on this same old equipment. The school has upgraded to a new slide (with a playful rock wall), but everything still feels so familiar. He could probably run across the playground with his eyes squeezed shut and still manage to run up every step and dive down every slide. And, you know… he'd probably scrape himself up on the woodchips if he did that, but for just two or three fleeting seconds, it might be fun.

Mmm… No. He's having second thoughts about the woodchips. He'd rather have squishy rubber underfoot (or even just grass). Woodchips can pierce skin. They aren't safe. And they're not all that wheelchair-friendly either, which no one in this town seems to think about as much as he and Betty do. There's a reason he applied for a part-time job at the Learnatorium instead of volunteering at the school.

Well. A few reasons. But the illusion of choice lifts his spirits on some of his worse days.

Gary lingers at the edge of a crosswalk. It's gray, gray, gray this afternoon. Not rainy, but threateningly close. The clouds leer downward, erasing shadows from the sidewalk. Gary rocks from heels to toes and back again, waiting for the red hand firm and staring back from him to turn into a welcoming white Cross signal. Does the little glowing figure who lives inside the signal box ever feel like he's drifting through a void? Marching endlessly, stopping often, and never advancing where he'd like to go?

It's Saturday. 7 pm. There aren't many cars out on the weekend, especially since not a lot of people have a reason to stray near the elementary school in the summer. Including him, which is why he walked right past it. Sentimental he may be, but the man he's searching for only works at the school… He won't be there today.

Cars roll past, their tires slick and firm against the street. Gary presses the signal button twice (in case the first push doesn't take) and stares at his reflection in the mounted mirror on the crossing post. It's a big, round mirror, likely put there to help drivers see around the corners, so it's probably unsafe of him to stand directly in front of it, but… in that moment, Gary realizes he doesn't know how long it's been since he last looked himself over in a mirror. Properly, anyway. He doesn't need to very often. The short spikes in his hair don't require much attention (especially because he usually wears a hat). Thanks to his mild genie powers (probably? Maybe? Unclear), he's never had to deal with acne. Every now and then he adds a little eyeliner to his look, but it really depends on the day.

It's… it's been a few months since the last time he did. That stuff runs when you cry. It would give his thoughts away.

Still, Gary grimaces at the face staring back at him now. How long has he looked like a zombie in the mirror? Heavy circles cling beneath his eyes. Is that how Ed Leadly saw him when he came in today? No one he'd believe had authority; no one to take too seriously? (Actually, this adds up. Gary spent last night sleeping on the Learnatorium couch.)

The white walking figure on the crossroad sign blinks on.

I've really grown up. Did I really use to cross this busy street without adult supervision when I was a kid?

Thunder sneers overhead, though the lightning's yet to show its face. Gary keeps his thumbs in the backpack straps. He didn't need to check the address in a phone book. Everyone knows where to find 4158 Woodnick Lane. It's outlived just about everyone in Dimmsdale. It maybe always will.

Gary's halfway there when raindrops start plinking down. They sizzle on his hands. He glances up. Then, yanking the backpack over his head, he breaks into a run. Burn the witch, he thinks snidely, and immediately feels a swell of guilt. Betty, before she lost her memories, always was good at brushing off his self-deprecating thoughts. He brings up the old mantras, playing them through his head as his shoes smack the sidewalk and cars chug, their windshield wipers flinging droplets his direction.

"If you wouldn't say it to a sad child's face, don't say it to yourself."

The rain leaves bubbly welts across his hands. Gary huffs, sprinting for all he's worth, and leaps on a big cement planter just to avoid the gutter spray splash from a car rolling by. His skin throbs, hands thrusting their weird mix of human and genie cells into repairing what damage the water did. Over and over, again and again… one scalding patch of skin at a time. And it looks good as new, until it touches water again.

[Cnt’d - FFN and AO3 links at top]

[bokutokiya]

EXTRA: mysterion

(TW: blood, fighting, and swearing)

Takes place in Middle school (15- Kenny/y-n, Karen 12)

You shake your boots off as you move to adjust your beanie, South Park was in one of its colder days as the season shifted from spring snow to snow snow. Letting out a breath and watching it spiral as you cross over the railroad tracks you missed the small brunette blurr that body slams you back into a snow pile, letting out a loud ‘oof’ sound you allowed the giggling child to sit on your stomach for a moment as you smile. The small brunette one Karen McCormick let her little dimples show as you heft her into your arms and get up. “Hello Kare bear! How are you today?!” You ask as you gently squeeze your self proclaimed sister, your parents passed away a year ago and the McCormicks keep an eye on you as another one of their kids. You shift Karen to your back as you continue walking, she takes up playing with your hair. “I’m doing good, Kenny says you’ve been sad.” She says as she tries to peek into your face, her pigtails tickling your cheeks causing you to laugh softly. “I’m okay, better that I get to spend the day with you.” You smile at the little girl before knocking on the mcCormicks door. The door is opened by an unnaturally red headed lady with a kind smile, “Y/n! Thank you for coming tonight. Kenny is staying with the boys for a school project and unfortunately Stewart and I have a meeting to attend, so we’ll be home late. Feel free to help yourself in the kitchen and if we aren't back by 10 feel free to sleep in Kenny’s room, you know where everything is sweetheart” Carol says before letting you step in and set Karen on the floor. Stewart came past and ruffled your hair before walking out the front door with Carol, turning to Karen you smile and place a hand on her head, “what should we do squirt?” You ask playfully as she bats your hand away. “Let’s go to the park then maybe Stark's pond” she says before racing into her room and coming back with a small backpack you hadn’t seen before, “who got you the pretty backpack?” You ask with an eyebrow raised. Karen smiled brightly and held it up “bubba butters gave me it for my birthday! Oh! And thank you for the hoodie y/n! I’m saving it for a special occasion!” She cheers before putting the backpack on, you slide your wallet and an extra jacket into the bag for you before grabbing her hand and leaving the house. The park was empty when you arrived, you took the backpack for her as she raced off to the play set, for a young teen she loved playgrounds. You scrolled through your phone sending a small update text to Kenny to let him know you guys were ok.

After updating your social you look up only to not see Karen. You panic for a moment and look around wilding for her only to see her pop out of the bathroom and jog her way over. You quickly pull her into a hug, her face smashed into your chest, “please let me know when you wander off next time Kar, scared the shit out of me baby.” you say, calming your heart beat. Karen quickly grabbed your arm and hung on it “I’m sorry y/n! I’ll be more careful!” She claims before you two start walking towards tweak Bros coffee, you open the door, the bell jingling your arrival. “ACK, y/n! How are you tonight!” Tweek calls from behind the counter as you bounce over and pull yourself up to sit on it. “I'm a great tweekers, where’s Craig?” You notice a lack of middle fingers being thrown your way, tweek shakes his head “he’s home, had detention so he didn’t come by to help out” he replies easily calming in your presence, handing you a hot cocoa for Karen, which she happily takes. “Well we just came by to say hey, kens staying over at Cartmans so I’m dragging Karen around.” You say. He nods and waves you guys out as you leave into the darkening day. Rounding the corner from the theater a hand shoots out and yanks you and Karen back into the alleyway, Karen lets out a startled scream before her mouth is covered. “hello Y/n.” A familiar voice calls out from behind the scared girl, your face goes from anger to terror in 3 seconds as you discreetly slip the tracker/alarm from the strap of the backpack pressing it. “Hello Kalma. It’s been a while, come back to finish me off?” You ask, shaking lightly, Kalma lets out a hard biting laugh before throwing Karen off to the side and stalking closer to you “I wish I could finish you off! But you have a use for the plan. Doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you a little” she laughs bitterly before leaping towards Karen, the younger girl crying in terror. You make a split second decision and place your body in front of Karen’s, a sharp stinging pain hits your side as you start to feel a warm spot on your hoodie. “Damn, Kenny’s gonna be pissed I got blood on another of his hoodies” you try to joke out, looking down at Karen. The younger girl can’t tear her eyes away from the injury on your side so you cover her eyes and whisper “run back to tweak bros, tweek can call our angel.” She gives a nod and takes off, allowing you a moment to turn to Kalma. “You just don’t go down huh?” She asks bitterly “just like your parents, maybe you’ll be more challenging then them after all.” you see red at her statement before tackling her onto the ground and swinging your fist into her face landing a couple of blows before she twists the object in your side flipping you onto the wet and dirty pavement. She opens her mouth to say something else when a shout comes from above “I’d step away from the girl if I were you!” Mysterion’s voice is hard to miss and brings a small painful smile to your face as Kalma scoffs. “Whatever I’m done with her.. for now” she laughs before vanishing down the end of the alleyway. Rapid footsteps make their way down the alley as Karen crash’s into you as you grunt. “Let’s get home” you say to her softly, looking into the worried eyes of mysterion.

After getting Karen home and settling into bed, you heave yourself into Kenny’s room and start digging for his first aid kit when the window slides open. You look up and meet the eyes of mysterion, you let out a small painful laugh as you plop on the floor. “Hey Kenny. Guess I lied about nothing happening” you say roughly, Kenny takes his hood and mask off before rushing over and kneeling next to you, “shit y/n how did this happen?” He asks, sliding back into his smooth tone. You yank the hoodie over your head letting him see the injury better “took the knife to keep Karen safe, Kalma went for her first.” You hiss out as he gently pokes around the wound. Kenny shakes his head before pulling out the first aid kit from his closet along with another one of his hoodies, “of course you did, thank you for that but I’m still and you're hurt” he says in a gentle yet stern tone causing you to laugh. Kenny quickly cleans and wraps your side before helping you struggle on his hoodie and pulls you into a light hug, his face burrowed into your hair as he shakes trying to suppress sobs, “when Karen called I thought the worst, I’m so glad you're ok.” He says, before pulling back and looking over your face. You give him a smile and press a light kiss to his cheek, “remember ken, who is responsible for your missing tooth? I think I can handle myself.” You tease him lightly before he helps you to settle into his bed. He threads his fingers lightly through your hair as you start to feel tired from pain and all the energy you used, “y/n, I love you, your family and I will ALWAYS be there to protect you. Please be safe and sleep well bubba” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead and covering you with the blankets before sliding back out of the window to let you rest.

[duck-in-a-thrift-store]

Finally shared a snack break with my pals at the park this evening

I had peanut butter crackers and they had frozen peas

The one with the speckled beak was literally shaking idk if it was cold or if it was like, scared of me, but it did eat out of my hand a few times so I wouldn't think that was the case

Edit: I looked it up and apparently ducks shake when they're really happy or excited?? bc their brains don't really have any other way to process/express emotions like that?? and like omg that's so fucking cute?? <3 <3 <3

(Plz don't tell me if this is false unless it's smthn I actually need to be aware of like for the ducks' safety or smthn bc otherwise you will break my heart and I will not forgive you)

Also I'm just gonna go on a tangent about my outing today bc it was nice

There was the eclipse today but it was too cloudy where I live to see it, I was lowkey kinda sad abt it but then it started raining so automatically the day got better

I decided to take a walk since it's usually too hot nowadays and walking in the rain is glorious and peaceful, but I turned around to go back and get the peas out of my freezer so I could go to the park and feed the ducks, grabbed some snacks for myself as well and went on my way

So I get to the park, worried bc the rain has kinda stopped, but it started back up again after I got there (the rain loves me so much I asked her to come back for me and she did)

I sat myself down at the end of the little dock/peninsula thing and the ducks came over to me and I told them I'd brought snacks this time like I said I would and started feeding them the peas

After a while I was like ok guys it's my turn to have a snack and I broke out the crackers and put on an episode of gravity falls (it was escape from reality from season 2, I got a little emotional tbh the pines really are the siblings of all time) and the rain really picked up then so we were getting pelted but we just kept hanging out, I'd toss them a handful of peas every so often until I ran out of everything

So then I got up and dusted myself off (and wiped the rainwater off my phone lol), bid my buddies goodbye and promised to come back at some point, and went over to the playground, which was empty since it was so rainy

Idk if you'll know what I'm talking about when I describe this thing that's over there, but it's like a rope jungle gym? Like a web of ropes suspended by metal poles? Anyway, I climbed up into that thing, got settled and put on my rainy day playlist and just chilled for a while

(The funky structure in question)

After hanging around in my makeshift nest for a bit, I eventually left the park, went the long-ass way home, and stopped for coffee on the trip back but I had finished it by the time I got to my building lol

Anyway I did a lot of fucking walking today for someone who was almost too exhausted to get out of bed and who's been having trouble with their legs being weirdly weak lately, but it was a pleasant way to spend the afternoon tbh

[strawhatsoraya]

a brief note: this is purely self indulgent. kaia and i talk about luffy (and ace and sabo honestly) being islanders and in particular we have a headcanon of luffy being a country hick from puerto rico and she's been asking me for drabbles since 5ever and i haven't delivered so she gets one today because it's the least she deserves. this will be a very sporadic series. and i have so many different variations of this in my head who knows what i'll write next so. that being said lmao keep it scrolling if you're not interested. i just wanted an excuse to make a banner on canva.

featuring: (as per banner above it's luffy &&) island girl y/n. rating: rated G for g-spot--i'm kidding, it's PG. it's all good. don't be scared. word count: idk around 500. warning content: none, unless you're allergic to Spanish or culture in general.

001. Luffy

Country boy Luffy who grew up in the mountainous side of the island. He didn't have a mother or father to sing him to sleep. Instead, brown little tree frogs performed their iconic lullaby outside his window; coquí, coquí, coquí. It's a harmony so deeply ingrained in his mind that he didn't even perceive it until Garp's voice would break through the den den mushi asking him: “What's all that noise?”

As if he didn't know.

As if he had forgotten all his memories on the island.

Luffy. A Boricua, through and through. He is his most comfortable surrounded by the heat of the sun. His skin, sun kissed and tawny brown, was always covered in bug bites and scratches. He knew better than to challenge the mosquitos' hunger during their peak hunting hours but his pride was on the line. Luffy would turn it into a compliment instead. 'I'm just that sweet,' he'd tell anyone who challenged him to wear insect repellent. 'They just can't keep off of me.' At the mention of his scratches and bruises he'd shrug with a secret grin clinging to his lips. 'Tu sabe',' he'd start, dragging his syllables, his tongue heavy on his tongue as he barely pronounced his consonants. 'I was just messin' around. No big deal.'

The forest was his playground. He knew every tree, and every creek. He knew where to find the best earthworms for fishing, and where the river was the most shallow to cross. He knew that the nearest dairy farm was in the way of his shortest route to the swimming hole, and knew he'd be chased if he trespassed but did it anyway. He knew each bull that chased him, and knew every stray dog in the neighborhood.

He knew the neighborhood drunkard, and the lady who sold frozen cups of fruit juice out of her home for a few coins a cup. He knew the best way to eat them too—flipped upside down in the cup, while sitting on a hammock, not a care in the world.

There was so much he knew then, and so much he was unsure of as well.

He knew how Doña Edith's stewed kidney beans tasted but he couldn't picture the world past the view of the horizon; a melting sun sinking into a watercolor ocean. He knew what his abuelo wanted him to be, and yet all Luffy knew was that he wanted to be free.

A vague longing propelled him from the island he called home. He had no regrets. The friends he had made on the way filled even the empty spots he wasn't aware existed. Luffy finally felt like he was alive. He no longer had to seek out truths under mossy rocks, or atop mango trees—although he did miss the mangos.

The truths he sought were right there on the smiles of his nakama staring back at him. He couldn't ask for more, and yet you joined their ranks. He was happy to have met you, hearing your story and knowing you came from the same island as him. There was so much he wanted to talk to you about, that he would speak at you quickly, his hands in the air at all times, gesturing and helping him articulate.

You matched his energy, and it excited him.

There was still so much he didn't know, but he knew by the twinkle in your eyes that new fun adventures were bound to come.

He could barely wait.

[broodingnightgoddess]

I had lost my concience before I knew I was being taken away. It felt like a wonderful sleep. I usually considered myself to be resilient to the extremes; almost a requirement in my harsh life. But today, for the second time this month, I had been put to sleep, and offered no resistance. When I woke up, I lacked the strength to even open my eyelids.

Beyond my closed eyes, I could sense a lamp being put against my face, and my reflex, I turned my head away, I managed to speak two words, which were replied by a tender but somewhat sinister laughter.

- "Please...stop..."

Soon, the voice, belonging to a woman, spoke in a playful tone. Knowing that she was the one who kidnapped me made feel at ease. Cassandra would never try to hurt me.

- "Ohh, so, you are awake already, doll" - Cassandra put a hand in my cheek, rising my head to meet her vision, forcing me to open my eyes - "well, that's just wonderful. I hope I didn't catch you while busy, Dear Luna"

I glanced at her while realizing where I was placed in. A bed, tucked away like a child, without the strength to fight back, even if I wanted to. Her long black her was tied in a long ponytail, reaching her back. Bangs framed her face, with golden eyes staring at me. She was dressed in what seemed like a laboratory robe.

- "Sadly, our time together will be interrupted once again soon, but please Luna, don't forget me. I do this for your own sake - she said, while gently touching my head -"I'll return for you again, I promise"

She then grabbed my hand without resistance, as I remained out of energy, and reenacted that pinky promise we had done so many years ago.

My eyes were dull, but had began to fill wit tears. Cassandra covered me with another blanket while she grabbed a pistol, and, with a determined look on her face, walked out of the room. I could only whisper a few words before my eyelids fell in front of my eyes.

- "Don't go..."

They say that you dream something related to what you were thinking about before you went to bed. I could certainly prove it now, but I was not aware if I was experiencing a reminiscence or a dream. I only knew I was on the streets once again, where I had spent a large part of my life until that moment.

There was a girl, she always came to talk with me. We had been friends ever since before I ended up without a place to go. She bought me some things I needed in exchange for a hug. I always craved her warmth.

Suddenly, I could feel how I was being pulled back again. I panicked, and tightened my hug with her so that we would not be separated. I had begun to cry, afraid of losing her.

I cried and cried, but her hand, now one of a child, cleaned my face of tears and dirt, before grabbing my hand.

- "Luna" - we had become children again, and we were alone in the playground before my life became hell - "I promise, when I grow and become strong and smart, I'll protect you. I don't care what's between us!"

She was a fool. But a child nonetheless. One with a heart of gold, forced into antagonistic behavior by her own upbringing. Maybe she was insane, but I had never despised her. I would never and could never. Even if she kidnapped me every time. Maybe I'm insane too.

After a while, I opened my eyes breathing heavily, and rose up with difficulty. The cold air of the room hit my warm skin, but I couldn't care less. I needed her more than ever, but my voice had failed me, and I was forced into silence. My throat refused to speak. However, almost like a psychic connection, she came, and I clutched the bed, almost afraid of something. She began to laugh warmly.

- "Hahahah...oh, doll. You still have cute reactions. Don't worry, no one is here aside from us"

...there was no one? Where was the hero that had rescued me so many times? It seemed like...he didn't bother to come. Part of me felt empty and abandoned, like I always had for so many years. Soon, my body fell on the bed once again, and Cassandra hugged me from outside the blankets, surrounding me in them like a sushi roll.

Perhaps I was not alone anymore. I was forgotten. Cassandra wouldn't say my name anymore, and just called me how I was to her. A doll. Soon, I would forget myself. But at least, she kept hugging me.

You are kidnapped by the villain regularly, but you’re starting to look forward to it. You know they won’t hurt you, and are simply being dramatic. It also doesn’t help that you are the only person they ever kidnap. This time, the hero doesn’t bother trying to save you.

[cr34tvr3]

This is a horror story I wrote based off two prompts I found on Pinterest. I can't think of a title 😭.

Note that in the story she's supposed to be really good at drawing so imagine it realistic.

I wake up and the sun is shining. it's a perfect day, but I still have to go to school. I get up, dress, eat breakfast, leave the house. then I remember I had to do something before I get to school. I might be a bit late, but never mind, it's important. Just a loose end in my life I have to tie up again, and I can do it in a fun way.

When I arrive at school, I'm 3 minutes late to my first lesson, but it doesn't matter, I did what I needed to. I apologise to the teacher and sit down, the two boys sitting in front of me are whispering about something, glancing at an empty seat beside them, looking concerned. Their friend who hasn't come to school today, oh well, that doesn't cause me any problems.

Later, I sit alone in the corner of the playground, drawing something, one of the boys who was in front of me earlier comes up to me, looking pissed, he grabs my notebook off me, looks at the drawing and lets out a half scoff half laugh, then looks at me.

"I know what you did, freak, I also know what you did to half the people in our year," he jabs my drawing with one finger, "This supposed to be you and him? You absolute sicko, I might not have proof yet, but I will make sure everyone knows what you've done one day, you psychopath." He drops it on the ground and walks away to his friends, stealing glances back at me as I pick my book up and dust the dirt off it.

He's too sensitive and paranoid. He's a problem.

Later again, I walk home satisfied with myself. My life should be better now that I've got rid of some of my problems. My father is sitting in the kitchen, on his phone, looking tired and worried. He looks up at me,

"Another two teenagers have been murdered, they still don't know who did it." I clap my hands over my mouth, hiding my expression.

"My classmates again?"

"Yes, I'm sorry, I really think we should move out of this godforsaken town."

I go upstairs to my room, and flop down onto my bed, they still haven't caught the killer, or found any evidence.

When I wake up, the sun is shining, it's a perfect day. it's the weekend so I'll have plenty of time to bury those remains later, this sun sure will help rot the bodies faster.

Before you call me a psycho, remember, they were just loose ends, or problems in my life I had to get rid of. People who annoyed me, or witnesses.

I pick up my notebook and a pencil and start adding a little more shading around the empty, dead eyes of the corpse of the boy in my class.

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: Dean gets a second chance to right a wrong from his past when they get a mysterious tip from his father about a case they'd worked years ago.

Warnings: Cannon violence

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred

Word Count: 9,145

Something Wicked

(Master list, Prev. Ch, Next Ch, Outfit Board)

The boys bicker back and forth rapidly. “Yeah. You probably missed something, that’s what,” Dean argues. Nothing truly brings out an argument like their Dad and his directions. “Dude, I ran LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers, and I couldn’t find a single red flag. Are you sure you got the coordinates right?” Sam spits back. 

“Yeah, I double-checked. It's Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Dad wouldn't have sent us coordinates if it wasn't important Sammy.” “Well, I'm telling you I looked and all I could find was a big steamy pile of nothing. If Dad's sending us  hunting for something I don't know what.” “Well maybe he's going to meet us there,” Dean suggests. However, I thought it was pretty clear their Dad didn’t want to interact with them again until it was all over, safety and such. “Yeah. Cause he's been so easy to find up to this point.” “You're a real smart ass you know that?.... Don't worry I'm sure there's something in Fitchburg worth killing.” “Yeah? What makes you so sure?” “Cause I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right,” Dean smirks.

“Dude, no it doesn’t,” I chime in, “That holds no merit.”

“It totally does,” he retorts, “And I’d know, I’m the oldest.”

“Yeah, by two years,” I point out, catching his eye in the mirror, “So don’t get ahead of yourself there, cowboy.” But he just shrugs, that smug smile on his lips, “Those years make all the difference. ‘Cause guess what….” he pauses, “I’m still older.”

A slight breeze rustles through the trees. It’s chillier today than it had been the last couple of days. Gloomier too. The clouds seem to swallow the sky with a gray hue. The town is bare and quiet as if the clouds had drawn them away. Even the playground is empty.

A warm drink is nudged into my hands, pulling me from my thoughts as my chilled fingers find their way around the to-go cup that Dean settles there. He leans his head down, his eyes catch mine before he releases the cup into my possession. His green eyes are serious, eyebrows pinched together just slightly, a silent question. A small smile breaks on my lips as I give a gentle nod, confirming I’m okay. I’m unsure why he decided to check up on me but God is he lovely regardless of how simple the action was. “Well…the waitress thinks the local Freemasons are up to something sneaky but other than that no one’s heard about anything freaky going on,” Dean informs, joining our leaning against the Impala. 

I hum in recognition, taking a careful sip of the hot liquid encased in my cup, “Today’s not a holiday, is it?” I ask. 

“No,” Dean answers, “Why?”

“Look at the time,” Sam points out, seemingly picking up on my point too. The older Winchester lifts his wrist up, looking at his watch, “Ten after four….” his eyes follow to where Sam directs. A lone girl in a pink sweater and pigtails climbs on a bare playground. No other children around, hell, no other adults around except for the woman who must be the young girl's guardian sitting on a bench. “…School’s out isn’t it?” Dean asks, connecting the dots. 

“Mhm,” I hum, “But where are the kids?” 

“This place should be crawling with them,” Sam adds. 

Dean takes that as his sign to step forward. He places a hand on my upper arm, nodding his head in the direction of the barren park, silently beckoning me to join him. I comply, moving with him across the dead street to the park. Carefully, we approach the woman who sits on a park bench, her magazine coming into view. “Sure is quiet out here,” Dean announces, gaining the woman’s attention. She looks up from her reading, “Yeah, it’s a shame.”

“What happened?” I ask softly, knowing it has to be something serious for it to be like this. “You know, kids getting sick, it’s a terrible thing,” she says, a frown pulling on the corner of her mouth. Yet, the way her eyes become locked on her child, the way something like worry flashes in her eyes hints this is more than the common cold or flu. “How many?” Dean asks, his voice rather solemn. 

“Just five or six but serious, hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it’s catching,” she explains. And there it is, the likely reason why we’re here. 

The Hospital reeks of, well, hospital. The clean yet almost sickly smell and the bright fluorescent lights wouldn’t suggest any foul play, or that a horrible sickness was hospitalizing kids. I’m not sure if I want this to be our sort of case or not, on one hand, if it is then we can solve it and maybe fix this mess but if it isn’t then it’s on the doctors to think of something to help, except if they can’t; then we’re all helpless. “Dude,” Sam hits his brother's shoulder, “Dude, I am not using this ID,” he complains even though we’re already here, already clad in professional clothes. “Why not?” Dean counters.

“‘Cause it says bikini inspector on it!” Sam grumbles, eyes fluttering every which way to make sure no one heard him. He holds up the ID in question, his little photo next to a normal name, and an insane job position. I haven’t a clue where Dean even produced this from. “Do you want me to use mine?” I ask, ready to save him the trouble and embarrassment. 

“Please,” he answers, shoulders deflating. 

“No, no,” Dean pauses us, “He’s a big boy he can do it himself. She won’t look that close, alright?” he grins, “Hell, she won’t even ask to see it. It’s all about confidence Sammy.” He takes his brother's shoulders, spins him around, and lightly pushes him towards the receptionist's desk. I give Dean a pointed look, “That was just cruel,” I say. But, he just smiles that stupid shit-eating grin. Far more amused than he ought to be. 

It’s hardly ten seconds since Sam is at the reception desk when he holds up his ID for the lady. His brother snickers beside me and doesn’t let up even when Sam throws him a dirty look over his shoulder. If anything it worsens his laughing fit, having to drag a hand down his mouth. Soon after Sam is walking towards us with his classic bitchface and a slight pink hue on his cheeks, “See. I told you it would work,” Dean grins wildly. 

Sam huffs, shaking his head as he glares daggers at his brother, “Follow me. It’s upstairs.”

                               ****

An older man with black hair and tired eyes, the doctor, leads us down a corridor, “Well, thanks for seeing us, Dr. Hydecker,” Dean says. And I have to admit the doctor’s name reminds me so much of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, even if there isn’t any correlation. “Well, I’m glad you guys are here. I was just about to call the CDC myself,” the Doctor informs, “How’d you find out anyways?”

“Oh some GP, I forget his name, he called Atlanta and, uh, he must’ve beat you to the punch,” Dean lies seamlessly. Maybe it is all about confidence, or maybe he just has too much practice. 

“So, you say you got six cases so far?” Sam asks, getting right to the heart of it.

“Yeah, five weeks. At first, we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia,” he informs, all doctor words for typical or common pneumonia, “Not that newsworthy. But now…” 

“Yeah?” I ask.

“The kids aren’t responding to antibiotics. Their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren’t doing their job. It’s like their bodies are….” his voice grows softer, “wearing out.”

“Have you started exploring other ideas?,” I point out, crossing my arms across my chest. Unfortunately, he doesn’t get a chance to answer as a petite brunette nurse approaches with some paperwork, “Excuse me, Dr. Hyecker,” she says, handing him the forms. 

“To answer your question,” he says, peering up from the forms, “We are trying to explore other possibilities but I’ve never seen something this severe before.”

“And the way it spreads…” the nurse adds, sighing, “that’s a new one for me.”

“How so?” I ask.

“It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another,” she explains and it only affirms that this must be our sort of case. As far as I’m aware no sickness works like that, nor should. Sickness doesn’t target certain age groups, which is not to say that certain age groups can’t be more susceptible to illness. But, with six cases which is likely more than two families the statistical chance of the parents not being affected lowers. And the fact that it almost strategically moves from sibling to sibling…It has to be our case. “‘You mind if we interview a few of the kids?” Dean asks. 

“They’re not conscious,” the nurse answers. 

“None of them?” Sam asks, eyebrows raised in shock.

“No,” she says simply, a frown pulling on her lips. It only makes this all the more concerning. 

“Can we, uh, can we talk to the parents?” Dean tries instead. 

“Well, if you think it’ll help,” Dr. Hydecker responds a little strangely. Why wouldn’t it help? 

“Yeah. Who was your most recent admission?” Dean asks.

                          ****

The man in front of us slouches in his chair, his eyes tired and filled with so much sorrow and fear. He holds his jacket between his legs, his hands fidgeting, and that expression seems to burn itself into my mind. The kind of look reserved for parents who worry for their kids, sick or not. “I should get back to my girls,” he insists, his voice thick with emotion.

“We’re really sorry about this all, and having to put you through this questioning. We’ll make it quick I promise,” I say softly, offering sympathy that would not fix the situation he’s going through. “Now, you say Mary is the oldest?” Sam asks, matching the solemn mood of the hospital. 

“Thirteen,” he confirms. 

“Okay. And she came down with it first, right?” Sam asks, “And then…” 

“Bethany, the next night.”

“Within 24 hours?” Sam pushes. 

“I guess,” he shrugs and it’s apparent he’s going through too much to truly focus on this conversation, “Look, I, uh, I already went through all this with the doctor.”

“Just a few more questions if you don’t mind,” Dean urges, “How do you think they caught pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?” 

“No. We think it was an open window,” he answers. Yet, I do not attempt to suggest that it isn’t just pneumonia at play let alone that it’s unlikely that an open window by itself could cause something like this. But I’m not a doctor. “Both times?” Dean questions.

“The first time, I— I don’t really remember but the second time for sure. And I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed,” he replies. 

“So you think she opened it?” Sam asks.

“It’s a second-story window with a ledge. No one else could’ve,” he puts it plainly, a sharp edge to his voice. 

                                    ****

Back down the corridor, we go, leaving the father to worry over his kids. God, this situation was so messed up. “You know this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia,” Sam points out.

Immediately I’m shaking my head, “I don’t know for sure if this is supernatural but it certainly isn’t just pneumonia. Speaking of which, I don’t like the doctor.”

“Why?” Dean asks.

“Well, he’s either a sucky doctor or just not well-equipped for this case. I don’t know why he’s not already exploring new options or calling in experts when the conditions are worsening and they aren’t reacting to antibiotics. Let alone why he’s not doing more testing. I get not wanting to do anything intrusive to kids this young and with how low their white blood cells are, but, God, we’ve been here less than 30 minutes and I get the feeling that nothing is really being done to help these poor kids.”

“Someone’s passionate,” Dean remarks. I hit his arm, “Of course I am. Is this not all…I don’t know…strange?”

“I don’t know, but Dad sent us down here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree,” Dean answers. 

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Sam says.

“What?”

“That guy we just talked to? I’m betting it’ll be a while before he goes home,” he elaborates.

Bethany’s room is everything you’d expect a young girl's room to be, from clothes peeking out of drawers to the various stuffed animals on her bed to the doll house in the corner. To think this girl was now lying in a bleak hospital, completely drained of all the color and life that’s presented here. I’m still not sure if I want this to be our sort of case, even if by now I’m mostly convinced it is. If it is just some sickness then maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to help. All I’d need is some time with the patients to heal them periodically. Admittedly it’d take longer than the average hunt did but at least it would feel more productive or helpful. In the meantime though I guess it was nice to be in normal clothes again. “You got anything over there?” Sam asks from one corner of the room. I get up from the floor, fixing the carpet back in place after checking beneath the rug and bed–the sort of things you just sort of have to double-check when your job is in fact about hunting the things that go bump in the night, “No, nothing here.”

“Nah, nothing,” Dean says too, waving around his EMF.

“Yeah, me neither,” Sam sighs. I move to the closet next, sparkly dresses and some costumes exploding off the hangers, but as I check the insides of the doors and the ground there's no sign of anything there. “Hey, guys?” Sam suddenly says. I look over my shoulder, shutting the closet some as I watch Sam by the open window. “Yeah,” Dean answers.

Sam stares at the windowsill, quiet for a moment before speaking, “It’s not pneumonia,” he declares. My eyebrows furrow as I step towards the window and the mysterious clue, Dean swiftly at my side. The younger Winchester scoots aside to give us room to look out the window to see a dark handprint with long skinny fingers engraved into the wood, like it was burnt or something. “It’s rotted,” Sam says, correcting my thinking process, “What the hell leaves a handprint like that?”

“I’d say something pretty darn evil,” I mumble, looking up at Dean to gauge his reaction. But his face drops. His eyes are far away like he’s in a distant land or like the world is tipping on its axis, his face is almost sickly pale, lips parted just slightly, and I’ve seen this look before. This far-away look. The look he gets when he’s reliving an unpleasant memory, stuck in the confines of his mind. I place a hand on his upper arm, trying to offer something. Maybe later, if he allows me the chance to know which memory, I can comfort him better. I cannot erase the memory or fix that sick feeling on his face but maybe I can give him comfort and security. “I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job,” he declares. 

It’s dark out by the time we pull up to a motel. “So what the hell is a Shtriga? I’ve never heard of it and it’s not in Dad’s journal” Sam asks as we exit the car, a name that Dean had labeled as what we’re hunting.

“They’re a type of witch from Albanian mythology and folklore,” I answer, old information from spending years researching types of witches coming back, “They feed off of the life force of children while they sleep, well, if we’re getting specific then they feed off of spiritus vitae,” the Latin slips off of my tongue with ease, a perk of having it as a second language.

“Spiri-what?” Dean attempts.

“Vitae. Spiritus vitae, it’s Latin and translates to, um, ‘spirit of life’ but I think it’s sometimes confused as ‘breath of life,’” I inform, “You know, there was this composer around 1914 who had a song with the name and I—“ I’m cut off by the clearing of his throat, an intentional move. “Right,” I exhale, feeling my face grow just a little warmer.

“Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about 16, 17 years ago,” Dean adds his information which would help explain his previous reaction, “You were there,” he directs at his brother, “You don’t remember?”

“No,” Sam answers simply.

“I guess he caught wind of the things in Fitzburg now and kicked us the coordinates,” the older Winchester elaborates.

“So wait, this…”

“Shtriga,” I fill in for Sam.

“Right. ‘You think it’s the same one Dad hunted before?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean nods, slowly heading in the direction of the motel's office.

“But if Dad went after it why is it still breathing air?” Sam asks, following after him.

“Cause it got away,” Dean says simply, almost with a lack of emotion or conviction.

“Got away?” Sam echoes.

“Yeah, Sammy, it happens,” he snaps.

“Not very often,” Sam pushes despite the clear frustration on his brother's face.

“Well I don’t know what to tell ya, maybe Dad didn’t have his Wheaties that morning,” he remarks.

“What else do you remember?” he continues to push.

“Nothin’. I was a kid alright?” he spits, opening the door to the reception area a little too harshly. For whatever reason he doesn’t want to talk about that memory, likely the same reason he looked so sick before. He may deny its existence, but his defensive response is too defensive to be the truth. We both know that. He walks straight up to the desk, hitting the little silver bell. The idle noise of a distant television continues as a young boy no older than 12 with blonde hair walks up to the counter, “A king or two queens?” he asks. The soft noise of the TV becomes accompanied by small laughter from a seemingly younger boy.

“Two rooms, two queens and one queen,” Dean answers as he has done countless times before. A brunette woman enters then, her eyes tired but her smile warm as she approaches behind the kid, “Hi,” she greets.

“Hi,” Dean answers plainly with hardly a hint of his usual flirtation. If I weren’t worried about him already I certainly would be now. “Checking in?” she asks, still wearing that bright smile. “Yeah,” he exhales.

The woman turns her attention toward the boy first, “Ahh, do me a favor, go get your brother some dinner,” she directs.

“I’m helping a guest!” his voice goes just a little higher as he defends himself. Expectantly, she gives him a pointed look and quickly he gives in, grimacing as he turns to go. “Will that be cash or credit?” the woman asks, back in business mode.

“‘You take MasterCard?” he asks and she nods, “Perfect. Here you go.” He hands over the fake card and immediately his eyes go to the boys in the back room, the older boy pouring a glass of milk for his younger brother. And once more he gets that look on his face—that far-away look.

****

“You were right, Y/N,” Sam says looking up from his laptop, “Wasn’t easy to find but you were right.”

“Naturally,” I smile, letting myself be a little cocky. He scuffs, shaking his head with a hint of that bitch face he has. “Anyways,” he starts, “I was thinking what if when she takes your vitality maybe your immunity goes to hell, and pneumonia takes hold. Shtriga’s can feed off anyone but they prefer–”

“Children,” I conclude, “That’s an interesting theory, and children, of course, have developing immune systems making them, typically, weaker than one of an adult which could be why they’re favored. That or they have more life force….Probably the latter….Definitely the latter.”

“And get this, Shtriga’s are invulnerable to all weapons devised by God and man,” he informs, a detail I was unaware of or forgotten.

“No, that’s not right,” Dean corrects, “She’s vulnerable when she feeds.”

“What?” Sam asks, leaning back from his laptop.

“If you catch her when she’s eating you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron,” he explains, “Uhhh, buckshots or rounds I think.”

“Ooh, look at you Mr. Knowledge,” I say smiling rather proudly at such a small thing. And maybe him demonstrating his knowledge was a little hot in a weird way but that stays between me and myself.

“How do you know that?” Sam asks, focused on the “important” things.

“Dad told me. I remember,” he puts it simply.

“Oh, huh,” Sam hums, “So, uh, anything else Dad might have mentioned?”

“Nope, that’s it,” he answers and we know it’s a lie. He’s clearly remembering a lot from that time period, or enough to make him act weird or uncomfortable twice now. I wish he’d just talk and share more. I know it’s not a “he doesn’t trust you enough” kind of thing but rather afraid to be vulnerable because he feels he’s not allowed to be. It’s moments like these where I particularly hate their father. “What?” Dean exclaims, looking between his brother and me—we must’ve been staring. “Nothing,” Sam exhales, “Okay. So, assuming we can kill it when it eats, we still gotta find the thing first, which ain’t gonna be a cakewalk. Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they’re not hunting.”

“What kinda human disguise?” Dean asks.

“Historically, something innocuous. Could be anything, but it’s usually a feeble old woman, which might be how the witches as old crones legend got started,” Sam explains.

“Worst misconception ever,” I shake my head.

“Hang on,” Dean says, crossing the room.

“Hanging on,” I say. He pulls out a map from his bag, unfolding it and lying it down on the bed forcing us to get up and crowd around him. “Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far,” his finger travels over the paper, moving to each mark, “And dead center?”

“The hospital,” I answer, eyes jumping to the center of the marks, “Man, triangulation is good.”

“The hospital,” he confirms, “Now when we were there I saw a patient, an old woman.”

“An old person huh? In a hospital? Phew,” Sam snickers, shaking his head, “Better call the Coast Guard.”

“Well listen, smart-ass, she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall.”

*****

We move past the empty reception desk, the lateness of the night giving us the perk of a bare hospital. But, apparently, it is not bare enough for Dr Hydecker to be gone. Quickly we slide down a side hallway, sticking to the wall as he walks backwards, a coat hanging in the crook of his arm, “See you tomorrow Betty,” he says to a nurse down the hall receiving a “Try to get some sleep,” in turn. He spins the right way around, walking past us as he continues down the hallway.

Taking our opportunity we continue on to the old woman’s room. Dean creeps the door open, and like on autopilot we draw our guns as we enter the room. It feels incredibly horrible to be pointing a gun at an old person, especially when she seems to be peacefully sleeping in her wheelchair facing the corner of the room. Yet, we move to the other side of the room, surrounding her. And ever so slowly Dean moves closer until he’s right beside her, and even slower he moves closer and closer to her face until— “Who the hell are you?!” she screams, turning her head towards the man in question. Dean leaps up, quite literally taking air before his back hits a wall cabinet. “Who’s there? ‘You trying to steal my stuff?” she grumbles, “They’re always stealing around here.”

I nudge Sam to hit the lights, quickly concealing my gun behind my back before they flicker on. With light soaking us we can see the old lady clearly now, her eyes clouded with a greyish fog otherwise known as cataracts. “We’re so sorry ma’am, we didn’t mean to startle you,” I say.

“We’re maintenance,” Sam cleverly adds, “We’re sorry. We thought you were sleeping.”

“Ahhh, nonsense. I was sleeping with my peepers open,” she laughs at her own joke, then gestures at the wall, “And fix that crucifix, would ya? I’ve asked four damn times already!”

*****

It’s early morning when we pull into the motel parking lot and all I want is a nice shower and either a nap or a lot of caffeine. It would’ve been worth the lack of sleep if Dean’s theory was more fruitful than it was. In fact, Sam’s still laughing about the whole ordeal, “‘I was sleeping with my peepers open’?” he quotes, laughing like a crazy person as we exit the car.

“I almost smoked that old woman, I swear. It’s not funny!” Dean replies.

“Oh man, you shoulda seen your face,” Sam snickers, whipping away a lone tear.

“No, you should’ve seen how far you jumped,” I laugh nearly bellying over, “Dude, you took flight.”

“Yeah, laugh it off,” Dean grumbles, “Now we’re back to square one.” And it’s that that sobers me up. While the ordeal was funny, the kids in the hospital aren’t. We have no more leads. We might as well be back to square negative one. Suddenly Dean holds a hand up, “Hang on,” he says halting us as he walks over to the boy from last night. The blonde boy sits on a green bench with a worried almost pained look on his face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks the boy softly. The boy looks up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “My brother’s sick,” he croaks.

“The little guy?” Dean asks, crouching down to see him better.

The boy nods, “Pnemunioa. He’s in the hospital. It’s my fault.” My heart might as well break. God, this was so messed up. How much life force did this damn thing need? “Ah c’mon, how?” Dean asks.

“I shoulda made sure the window was latched. He wouldn’t’ve got pneumonia if the window was latched,” he explains, rationalizing the best he can. Dean looks away for a moment, eyes meeting the ground before moving back to the boy, “Listen to me, I can promise you that this is not your fault. Okay?”

“It’s my job to look after him,” he defends, shaking his head.

“Michael!” the woman from last night suddenly calls, grabbing all of our attention. She hurries out of the motel to a black car with all sorts of bags on her shoulders and a giant blanket rolled beneath her arm, “I want you to turn on the no vacancy sign while I’m gone. I’ve got Denise covering room service so don’t bother with any of the rooms,” she orders.

“I’m going with you,” Michael declares, rising from the bench.

“Not now, Michael,” she responds, placing each item in the back seat of the car.

“But I gotta see Asher!” he argues.

“Hey, Michael. Hey,” Dean steps up, “I know how you feel–I’m a big brother too, but you gotta go easy on your Mom right now, okay?” Michael seems to take this advice, no longer arguing, even if it’s clear he doesn’t want to. “Dammit!” she suddenly curses at the drop of her purse, she buries her head in her hands. “I got it,” Sam announces, picking the small bag up and handing it to the stressed woman. “Thank you,” she responds.

“Listen, you’re in no condition to drive,” Dean starts, “Why don’t you let me give you a lift to the hospital?”

“Wait,” I say suddenly, moving closer to them or rather to him, “let me do it,” I insist. His green eyes bore into mine, asking a silent ‘you sure?’ I nod, “Yeah, I got it.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly…” she butts in, shaking her head.

“No, it’s okay, really, I wanna help,” I respond. What's another day wearing the same clothes from yesterday? It’s her turn to study me now, maybe to decide if this really will burden me or to determine if I’m trustworthy, maybe both. Either way, she hands over her keys. “Thanks,” she says, trying to manage a small smile. She turns to her son then, “Be good,” she tells him. He nods, frowning, as I help her into the passenger seat. Closing the door behind her, I turn to the boys, “I’m gonna see if I can…do something,” I explain quietly. They nod, picking up on what I meant, “Be safe,” Dean warns, eyebrows pinched in worry.

“I will,” I answer, smiling softly.

“We’re gonna kill this thing,” he adds, face dropping its worry as it’s replaced by determination, “I want it dead, you hear me?”

“Copy,” I exhale even if it was directed at both Sam and me. Then, I round the car and hop into the driver’s seat.

The second you step into this hall of the hospital you could practically feel the walls lamenting, like they too grieve for the children. It’s all parents holding on to each other as nurses bustle around, or a parent sitting over their kid's bed with their hands clasped and their head down as if in prayer. It’s horrible. I wish I could fix it all with the snap of a finger, I wish it could be as easy as that. If I were to get a moment alone with them and heal them I’m not sure if it would even work or be effective, though the ‘maybe’ isn’t going to stop me from trying.

I see the father from before, he sits between his two kids, a hand holding onto each of theirs as if holding their hands alone would be enough to keep them on this plane. Meanwhile, the very woman I drove here, Joanna, is walking away with a nurse asking question after question. And with her gone, even just a couple of feet away, I can try. I can be helpful.

I take the seat close to the bed that his mother had been occupying. He looks so small in the bed, an already small child being swallowed whole, and he is so pale like not only life but color was sucked from him.

I want this thing gone just as much as Dean does.

The monitor he’s hooked up to beats steadily as I carefully pick up his small hand from his side, it’s cold as I cup my hands around it. I take a deep breath, letting my eyes shut on the exhale, and my shoulders relax a little as I clear my mind the best I can.

I don’t care about the morals of this, of the gray area, or anything. If I can help every kid here I would, but I don’t even know if I can help this one person. Healing Dean all those months ago increased how long I can hold on for— my tolerance, but again this was a serious scale. The most I could do or try was to help the white blood cells out, to give them a break or replenish what was lost. But that’s just about the same scale of difficulty as fixing a heart affected by a heart attack, and even then one healing session only helped so much or rather so little. There would be no way for me to do multiple healings to each kid if it were to work, so maybe this would all prove to be futile— and yet trying wouldn’t kill me, while not trying might kill them.

So, I let the magic flow, using my mind's eye to envision what I want to do—what it would be like to restore the cells and strengthen them. My eyes roll close as the magic seeps further into his body through the layers of skin and flesh. It flows from my veins, the world becoming deafeningly silent as if it was all vacuumed away into a black hole. Everything falls away, and nothing else exists here. My ears buzz with the absence of sound, yet I feel the steady thrum of my heart, pulsing like a mantra in the quiet. The energy hums between us. I can sense his body’s weakness, feel the sickness clinging to him, and I push against it, hoping that my magic can reinforce what his body cannot. The warmth from my hands spreads slowly, but whether it’s healing or just comforting I do not know. It feels like a fool's bargain. Another witch has already eaten at his life force, and now, as his body sinks deeper into sickness, I’m trying to use my powers to piece it back together—something that may not even be possible. Strengthening him might not matter if he’s already bound to die because of that thing. All I might be able to offer is comfort.

The clearing of someone's throat behind me pulls me back to reality with a sharp tug. My eyesight feels slightly lopsided, the faint buzz in my ear lingers, and something warm runs down my lip. But I do not have time to dwell as I shoot up from my seat, powers flicking off with a blink as I view the interrupter. A nurse about my height smiles with a clipboard pressed to her chest, “Sorry, I have to check on him,” she explains. I nod, moving out into the hallway as I use the back of my hand to wipe away the warmth that seeps from my nose. I pull my hand away, staring at the blood that sticks out from the rest of my (s/c) skin. But, I can ignore a bloody nose when it's likely not even half of what the kids feel like. And yet I have no idea if it did anything—some witch I am.

The faint buzzing of my phone clashes with the noise in my ears. I flip my phone open and hit answer, knowing who it is without having to look, “Hey,” I exhale.

“Hey,” Sam greets, “How’s the kid?” I look back at the room, the nurse writing things down on that clipboard of hers, “Um….” It didn't seem like there was any change, “...Not good.” There's shuffling on his end, grumbling, and a distant “No dude, give me room,” followed by another shuffle before a different voice speaks, “Hi, sweetheart,” a familiar voice greets.

“Hi,” I say again, “What happened there?”

“Ah, nothing—” I can practically hear that sideways grin on his lips even as there’s more shuffling—“You sound tired, ‘you okay?”

A smile pulls on my lips at his question, at that faint concern in his voice and it’s like I can see that furrow in his brow. “Mhm,” I hum, “Tell me you guys have something, please.” The line goes quiet for a moment before there’s shuffling again, “Oh, thank you for my phone,” Sam grumbles sarcastically, he huffs before he speaks again, “Anyways, we’re at the library. I’ve been trying to find out as much as I can about this Shtriga.”

“And now you’re gonna share the great and happy news, right?” I answer hopefully.

“Well…” he drags out, “Bad news…I started with Fort Douglas around the time Dean said our Dad was there and it was the same deal. Before that, there was, uh, Ogdenville, and before that North Haverbrook, and Brockway. Every 15 to 20 years it hits a new town. This thing is just getting started in Fitzburg. In all these other places it goes on for months. Dozens of kids before the Shtriga finally moves on. The kids just…languish in comas and then they die.”

Silence hangs on the line. There is nothing to be said. There is nothing but realization to fall upon you. It has happened before. It will happen again. The kids will die. “How far back ‘this thing go?” I hear Dean ask.

“Uh, I don’t know. The earliest mention I could find is this place called “Black River Falls” back in the 1890s,” Sam answers, “Talk about a horror show….” he mumbles before cutting back in with a “Whoa.”

“What happened?” I ask quickly.

“Hold on…” the line fills with distant clicks, “I’m looking at a photograph right now of a bunch of doctors standing around a kid’s bed,” he explains, “One of the Doctors is Hydecker.”

“No,” I say almost in disbelief, my mind connecting the dots. “God, I’m so stupid.” You would think I of all people would connect these dots far sooner, but instead, my only hunch wasn’t an actual hunch and was more so just thinking that his name sounded like a book that happens to have a complex yet wicked doctor. “You’re not, none of us knew,” Sam

“What are you guys on about?” Dean asks, his voice suddenly louder, I presume he got closer to the phone.

“Look at the date,” Sam directs and the line falling silent is enough to gauge his reaction. “This picture was taken in 1893,” Sam adds.

I shake my head, this is a lot. Not only is the Shtriga someone we’ve met but it’s a doctor who has direct access to the children and the vulnerable parents. These people trust him. Talk about right under our noses. “You know this means this guy has been doing this for centuries, right?” I ask though it’s more of a rhetorical question than anything. “I’ll um….” I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling, “I’ll meet you guys back at the motel.”

How I wish he wasn’t only vulnerable when he was feeding, otherwise, when I finish with the phone I’d take care of him. “I’ll pick you up,” Dean declares, his words a little rushed and his voice far closer to the phone than before. That smile pulls on my lips again, “Okay, thank you.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid till I get there,” he adds as if he knew what I was thinking. Although, he was likely thinking the same thing. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I answer.

“I’m serious, Y/N,” he says more firmly.

“Okay,” I give in, “I won’t be an idiot.”

“Good. Be safe,” he says, cut off by some mumbling between the two boys before the line goes dead as he hangs up.

I shove my phone back into my pocket as I lean off the wall, moving towards the kids' room. He’s still lying in that bed. His heart monitor beats the same rhythmic beat, he’s still pale, still unmoving, still—-

“Does The CDC have anything so far?”

His voice makes me jump, my heart leaping in my chest. I spin towards him, a new smile already plastered on my face, “We’re still working on a couple of theories.”

What I wouldn’t give to do something now. Patience is not an easy virtue. “It’s nice to see you care as much as I do, coming on your time off and all,” his eyes briefed over my frame. I’m not in professional clothes like yesterday, although it’s not clear if he means to point it out as a way to show his suspicion. “Nothing more important than helping kids, right?” I respond with instead.

“That’s what I always say,” he adds. And I’d really like nothing more than to punch him in the face… among other things. Violent things. “Well, let me know if I can help,” he offers.

He can help by not existing anymore. “Of course, thank you,” I nod.

*****

Dean leans against the Impala, arms across his chest and daggers in his eyes. He doesn’t need to be around the doctor to be angry. I wonder if my expression resembles his—a mutual hatred for the same person. “It didn’t work,” he says, referring to my healing. He takes a few steps towards me, closing the short distance between us.

“No,” I exhale, frowning, “I don’t think at all.” Then, his arm is around my shoulder, pulling me into his side before he walks me to the passenger side of the car. I move away from his hold to be in front of him, my back to the door, “I don’t like this hunt,” I admit.

His eyes drop to the frown on my lips, his eyebrows furrowing, “Me neither.”

“Did you guys think of a plan yet?” I ask. His eyes sweep over the car, no longer willing to make eye contact or look at me at all. “Yeah, but—”

“But you don’t like it,” I finish for him. He looks at me again, his shoulders deflate, a tired expression washing over his face—it’s seeing him without his facade on. This is about more than their plan. I place a hand on his arm, “Do you want to talk about it?” But, his eyes avert again and he shakes his head like I knew he would and I nod because I will not push him. He’ll tell me when he’s ready. When he wants to. Then, he stands straight, the walls back up as he meets my eyes and I can still see the remnants of a plead. He reaches his hand up, slipping it easily onto my face to cup my cheek. And, slowly his head leans down, inching forward till he’s but a breath away. He leans his forehead against mine, his breath on my skin. I could push up and our lips would touch…

His arms wrap around me then, bringing me to his chest, keeping me close. The familiar scent of him fills my senses, this is safe even outside a hospital with an evil doctor. His head moves to my neck, those shoulders decompressing again. Maybe the walls weren’t all that up. “I messed up,” he mumbles into my skin, yet I can still hear the catch in his voice like a croak. My hand instinctively goes to the back of his head, “What do you mean?” I ask softly.

“It’s my fault all these kids are dying,” he elaborates, his tensing jaw flexing against my neck.

“How is it your fault, Dean?”

He pulls his face away, his jaw set. “Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. We were in a crap motel room for three days and I was climbing the walls. I needed to get out. When Sammy fell asleep I went to the reception area to play a game they had there. I was only gone for—gone for—” he swallows, “The Shtriga was there, feeding off of him. If my Dad hadn’t shown up when he did he would’ve—”

“Hey. Hey,” I say softly, and it’s my turn to cup his cheek now, “You made a mistake in a situation you couldn’t have possibly predicted. You were a kid. Okay? You were a kid. These kids aren't your fault.” But, he shakes his head. He won’t or can’t accept it and I know it was John who convinced him of this. “You were a kid,” I repeat.

“Sam said the same thing,” he answers instead, confirming that he had told his brother this.

“Of course he did. No one could blame you for what happened, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t make the same mistake twice,” his hands slip from me and I retract too, “It’s going to come for Michael next. We’re gonna take advantage of that.”

My eyebrows furrow. “I know you don't like it,” he quickly says, “But it will work. I'm going to kill it.”

*****

Asking a kid to be bait went just as well as one would expect. Horrible. “Well that went crappy,” Dean mumbles, “Now what?”

“He’s a kid, you can’t ask that of him,” I answer, “Maybe it’s for the better anyways.” I don’t like this plan. I don’t like the idea of putting a kid in danger, let alone exposing them to the very same world they were forced into. It’s not fair. “You can’t ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid,” Sam adds.

Then, there’s a knock at the door. Dean gives us a questioning look before he opens it, the young boy standing there. “If you kill it, will Asher get better?” he asks quickly.

“Honestly? We don’t know,” Dean answers truthfully.

“You said you were a big brother,” Michael says. Dean nods, “Yeah.”

“You’d take care of your little brother? You’d do anything for him,” Michael asks. The man in question looks back at his brother, a look shared between them. “Yeah, I would,” Dean replies, looking back at the boy.

“Me too. I’ll help,” he says.

Dean hooks up a security camera in the corner of the room, moving it into place while Sam ensures it’s working from the next room over, watching the feed. I study every inch of the room to commit to memory. I wasn’t leaving this up to chance, I don’t care how quick we can get here because it won’t be quick enough. But, I can be here quickly, in a single second. “This camera has night vision on it so we’ll be able to see clear as day,” Dean tells Michael before calling out to his brother, “Are we good?”

“A hair to the right,” he directs, and Dean adjusts it, “There, there.”

“What do I do?” Michael asks from his bed, tucked in and sat up. This was a horrible idea. Dean moves towards him, sitting on the edge of his bed, “Just stay under the covers.”

“And if it shows up?” he asks, his voice hard with determination but his face giving away his fear.

“We’ll be right in the next room. We’re gonna come in with guns. So, as soon as we do, you roll off this bed and you crawl under it,” Dean directs.

“And if they’re too slow I’ll be here in seconds,” I add, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“How?” he asks. And although it’s an obvious question I still fumble for a good answer, “I have a trick up my sleeve,” I muse, hoping that a kid will let me leave it at that.

“What if you shoot me?” he asks now.

“We won’t shoot you. We’re good shots. We’re not going to fire until you’re clear, okay?” Dean answers, Michael nods tentatively, “Have you heard a gunshot before?”

“Like in the movies?”

“It’s gonna be a lot louder than in the movies,” he answers, and he’s so careful with this kid even though we’re putting him in a horrible position, “So, I want you to stay under the bed, cover your ears, do not come out until we say so. You understand?”

Michael nods slowly, but the fear in his eyes is prominent, his bottom lip quivering. “Michael, ‘you sure you wanna do this?” Dean asks. Silence fills the room, he isn’t sure—he shouldn’t be. This poor kid.

“You don’t have to, it’s okay, I won’t be mad,” he says softly. He’s giving this boy a choice, more than he ever got and that thought alone makes me want to cry. “No, I’m okay. Just don’t shoot me,” Michael answers.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

*****

The night drones on. The feed remains relatively the same except for when Michael shifts in his bed. He’s safe and I wish it could remain that way all of tonight and forevermore. I almost don't want the Shtriga to come if it means keeping him safe and away from the world I know. But, that’s not an option or a choice and the gun weighs heavy in my lap. “What time is it?” Dean asks. Sam checks his watch, “Three. You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?”

“Consecrated iron rounds, and yeah it’s what Dad used last time,” Dean answers.

“Hey, Dean, I’m sorry,” Sam suddenly says.

“For what?”

“You know, I’ve really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad’s orders,” he elaborates, “But I know why you do it.”

“Oh, god, kill me now,” Dean grumbles, never one for vulnerable moments. Sam laughs softly, knowing to stop there. The room falls back into silence, eyes staring intensely at the screen.

Something moves outside the window, a mass of darkness, “Look,” I point out. The window slides open, the Shtriga slides inside, “Not yet,” Dean orders, placing a hand on my thigh to stop me from getting up. I throw him a sideways glance, logically I know we have to wait but everything else screams we shouldn’t.

The being in a hooded cloak creeps closer to the bed. It leans closer, and closer. I shoot up from my chair. It opens its mouth. I envision Michael’s room in my head and I’m there. “Get down!” I order, finger ready on the trigger. The side door bursts open. He rolls off the bed and I don’t waste time in shooting the thing. Over and over. Their guns accompany mine. It gets hit from two different angles. It crumbles to the ground. The guns stop. “Mike, you alright?” Dean asks.

“Yeah,” he answers from beneath the bed.

“Just sit tight,” Dean directs. He approaches the Shtriga carefully, his gun at the ready. He stands over it, waiting for movement. But, there isn’t any. He relaxes slightly, he glances at us. Suddenly, the Shtriga jumps up and grabs him by the throat, moving at an inhuman speed. It lifts Dean and throws him against the wall, something shattering behind him.

It moves quicker than my eyes can follow. Suddenly, it’s on me, its long fingers wrap around my neck, lifting me up before sending me back into the far wall. My gun knocks out of my hand as I hit the floor, skidding across the wood. Then, it has Sam. It throws him into the wall and the moment he hits the ground it’s on him.

I extend my hand out, an invisible force grabbing hold of my gun. The Shtriga forces his mouth open. I drag my gun towards me as I pick myself up on my knees, the pain spreading in my back protests such action. It opens its mouth widely, a great white energy begins to extrude from Sam’s mouth. Finally, I grasp my gun, quickly I lift it and—“Hey!” Dean shouts. The shtriga looks up and he shoots it right between its eyes. It falls backwards, leaving Sam to gasp for breath. “You okay little brother?” Dean asks.

Luckily, he nods and holds up two shaky thumbs-up. I force myself to my legs, moving over to Sam to help him stand. The corpse of the Shtriga lies there with its mouth agape, white energy spews from its mouth like a puff of air in the cold. Still, Dean raises his gun and shoots it three more times. More energy escapes from it until it disintegrates, the black cloak falling in on itself. I didn’t expect it to do all that but at least it’ll be gone for good. It won’t be able to hurt any more kids or their families.

The morning seemed chipper than the previous day, like the earth knew to be happy. Or, maybe I’m just projecting because we got rid of something that caused a lot of harm.

Dean takes my duffle bag from me, packing our things away in the trunk. Joanna comes out of the reception office looking around. “Hi! How’s Asher doing?” I ask as she approaches us. I hadn’t seen him since yesterday, since before we killed the Shtriga. “Have you seen Michael?” she answers instead, worry on her face. And as if on que Michael comes running up, yelling, “Mom! Mom!”

He jumps into her arms and she holds him closely, “Hey!” she smiles, her boy safe in her arms. “How’s Ash?” he asks.

“Got some good news. Your brothers gonna be fine,” she says.

“Really?” Michael beams.

“Yeah. Really. No one can explain it—it’s a miracle,” she glances up at us, answering us at the same time, “They’re going to keep him overnight for observation and then he’s coming home.”

“That’s great,” Dean answers.

“How are all the other kids doing?” Sam asks.

“Good. Really good. A bunch of them should be checking out in a few days. Dr. Travis says the ward is going to be like a ghost town,” she answers.

“Dr. Travis? What about Dr. Hydecker?” Sam asks, faking confusion.

“Oh he wasn’t in today. Must have been sick or something.”

“Yeah, you know it’s common to get sick in hospitals with all the exposure to the germs brought in and the drug-resistant bacteria,” I reply, realizing only after how the explanation is probably not the most reassuring thing ever. But, she doesn’t seem to dwell on it as she looks at her son and asks, “So, did anything happen while I was gone?”

Michael glances at Dean, “Nah, same old stuff.”

“Okay,” she smiles, “You can go see Ash.”

“Now?” he beams, his smile wide. He looks to Dean again who nods slightly. God, he’s so good with kids. “Only if you want to,” Joanna answers. Michael doesn’t answer, instead he runs to the car. She laughs, “I, uh, I’d better get going before he hot wires the car and drives himself.”

This was the true rewarding part about hunting. To see their smiles, to fix what was wrong, to save people. It makes all the trauma worth it. “It’s too bad,” Sam says.

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Dean brushes off.

“That’s not what I meant. I meant Michael. He’ll always know there are things out there in the dark—he’ll never be the same, you know?” There’s a long pause as the weight of it sets in. I had already thought of this, but there’s nothing we can do now but hope he doesn’t have to be exposed to anything else that goes bump in the night. “Sometimes I wish that…”

“What..?”

“I wish I could have that kinda innocence,” Sam admits.

“If it means anything…sometimes I wish you could too.”

I wish they both could be ignorant to this aspect of life. I was doomed to know of it even if I didn’t decide to hunt it because I am a part of the things that go bump in the night. But, they didn’t have to be doomed. Even though I love them, if never knowing them meant saving them from this world, then I’d make that deal.