rin

but this year, you weren’t able to feel that recurring joy. this year, you and your family were invited over to the marsh household to celebrate thanksgiving as a town. it took quite a bit of convincing from randy and sharon, but eventually your mother gave in on the promise that she wouldn’t have to slave away in the kitchen.

so your distant family resorted to staying in new jersey to celebrate while you and your family headed over to the marsh house with some other friendly families. your parents were pretty close to sharon and randy marsh, having known them for the many years you guys had lived there, so you were pretty well acquainted with the two marsh children; stan and shelley.

moreso stan because of his tight-knit friendship with your little brother kyle. shelley was right in her awkward stage and hated social interaction more than she hated stan, so she was holed up in her bedroom after stacking up a little plate for herself and nipping at anybody who dared to try to greet her.

the horror began when you filed into the kitchen when dinner was announced as ready only to find that randy was going through one of his chef phases again. granted, none of it looked terrible because they were all attempted copies of recipies passed down from the greats, but it was only when you started eating did you realize that randy mainly cared about presentation.

sharon glanced at her guests’ faces as they began to choke down their food, her eyes screaming apologies until they settled defeatedly into her lap. they had absolutely no hail mary: everybody was personally instructed by randy not to bring a dish so that he could really show off his skills. he was the only one who didn’t seem to find any faults in his process, wolfing down his food with several cans of bud light.

you exchanged glances with your parents, begging with wide eyes to be excused. you had told her about katie mccormick, kyle’s friend kenny’s older sister who was your age, and her plan to have a little friendsgiving, but your mother shot you down with a brief but stern glare. so you looked over to kyle and ike, who looked like they would commit the worst of the worst crimes for even a whiff of your mom’s garlic mashed potatoes.

the night went on pretty smoothly regardless, after everybody managed to scoot the food around their plates and pretend they had gotten full off of a few bites; you lingered around at the table for a while after dinner to talk with the adults about school and your job, sharing and relating horror stories and gossip until you saw stan and kyle slip away from the table and sneak upstairs. right before kyle vanished in a little blur, he had motioned for you to follow them.

it relieved you, and it was times like this that made you thankful for your close relationship with your little brother. and that was how, after a well-played excuse of needing the restroom, you wound up in stan’s bedroom with the two, slumped on the boy’s bed beside kyle while they played some cookie-cutter first person shooter video game. the two exchanged curses and exclamations with each round when your phone buzzed in your lap.

katie mcwhoremick <3: hey, you coming?

you sighed, head slumping against stan’s neatly made comforter. kyle gave you a strange side glance as you furiously typed away.

me: no, and i’m fucking starving dude.

me: gordon randy cooked this year.

katie responded after a while, her text bubble hovering.

katie mcwhoremick: oh fuck no 😭

katie mcwhoremick: i’ll save you and your brothers a plate? :/ i’ll have kenny bring them to you later or something?

me: my hero <3

me: nah, don’t sweat it, mrs. tucker brought some bread pudding thank god

katie only responded with a heart and you set your phone down to find both stan and kyle staring at you with mischief and devious plots behind their squinted eyes. “oh, god, what are you fuckers cooking up in there?” you groaned, the gravity of it setting in when you saw they had actually set their controllers down to think.

they refused to share their little ideas, both of them assuming the other was on the same page. so they resorted to silence, but it wasn’t kept for very long when an idea suddenly wormed itself into your brain and you shot up with a gasp.

“hey, do we still have that pizza in the freezer?” you nudged kyle, who easily bit the hook you had dangled in front of him. interest filled his green eyes and he looked over at his best friend to see if he was also considering the proposition.

he thought for a moment. “yeah, but how are we gonna get past mom and dad? and are we bringing ike, too?”

“yeah, i’d feel like an asshole if i didn’t invite craig. he’s suffering, too.” stan chimed in, to which you responded with a scoff.

“dude, one pizza isn’t gonna feed the current population. it’s us three or nothing. i don’t even think ike likes pizza.” you lied, knowing your baby brother liked to nibble on the soft dough and did very much enjoy pepperoni. but you were starving and you knew the two boys were, too. they were getting to that age where the kitchen didn’t stand a chance against them.

kyle’s eyes narrowed. ike likes pizza, his expression said. but eventually it faded into one of defeat and he shrugged. “yeah dude, i’m hungry. no offense to your dad, stan.”

“full offense, that food was shit.” stan mumbled as he shut down his computer.

you led the little group downstairs and prayed you could make it to the door without anybody noticing you, but it seemed your mother was waiting for your descent. “oh, bubbie, where are you kids headed to?” sheila asked, making all three of you spin on your heels.

you could see kyle and stan actively avoiding the curious gaze of their friend who was still at the table. a gaze that shifted to you while you recanted your rehearsed excuse of, “well, we need to take a few laps around the block and work off all of that food. kyle’s blood sugar might be a little off.” you lied, slapping the ginger’s shoulder when he shot you a ‘what the fuck’ look.

blame the diabetic, why don’t you? you heard his words echo in your head despite him never uttering them.

“oh, god,” sheila dove for her purse. “do you need his glucometer?” worry made her voice waver a bit, and you were quick to calm her down.

“don’t worry ma, he’s fine!” you started to usher the two outside. “just need to reconnect with nature, you know how it is.”

“you know, sheila,” mr. stotch spoke up from the other end of the table. “i don’t know how you do it. you never hear kids say things like that anymore. see, if butters was more like your kiddos, maybe he’d be here instead of grounded in his room at home.”

you winced at the idea of the sweet little boy locked up in his bedroom on thanksgiving, his parents enjoying — that being an overstatement — dinner without him.

while your mother graciously accepted the flattery, with a little concern, you slipped outside and ran down the driveway with the boys before anybody could question you guys further.

“are we seriously walking? your house is like a few blocks away.” stan grumbled.

“complain again, you’re going back upstairs, asswipe.” you shot back as you revealed the car keys that you had swiped from your dad’s coat on the rack by the staircase. the boys hurried into the car and in just a few seconds, you were barreling down the road, a frozen pizza on your mind.

you adjusted the radio to some van halen while the boys chatted excitedly among themselves, kyle hanging over the back of his seat to face stan. you wanted to poke him and tell him to put his seatbelt on, but he rarely ever had adventures like these.

“hey,” kyle started as he plopped his butt back into his seat. “thanks, dude.”

you spared him a quick glance, smiling. “yeah, yeah.” you patted the top of his green hat, smushing it down onto his ginger curls.

“yeah, thanks,” stan spoke from over your shoulder as you pulled into your driveway. “i wish i had a sister like you, man.”

“hey,” you said playfully, “you do have a sister and she loves you.” you pointed a loosely lecturing finger in his direction, flattered at the compliment but silently feeling a little bad for the way stan spoke about shelley behind her back.

you could never imagine yourself and kyle or ike having such a strained relationship. from the day kyle was born and ike came home from the adoption center, sheila and gerald drilled the importance of family into all of your heads. you cared for those boys like they were your own children, if that’s what having children felt like. sure, they pissed you off and worked your last nerve like they were getting $50 a minute for it, but they were your flesh and blood.

still, stan gave no response, only a thin-lipped stare that definitely told you otherwise. you rolled your eyes and gestured for stan to get out of the car.

the two dove onto the couch while you preheated the oven and fished the delectable boxed pizza out of the freezer to thaw for a minute. it didn’t take long for it to cook and the three of you had grubby plates and empty bags of chips scattered around the sofa while you watched the screen. you had no idea how fortnite worked so you opted to cheer and boo when you thought appropriate.

“dude that was so much better than my dad’s cooking.” stan sighed after the pair’s nth victory. the boys were beginning to get visibly sleepy and you knew you had about twenty minutes before you had to pull a blanket out of the closet for them.

you shot a quick text to your mom explaining why your car was no longer at the marsh’s house and to call you when they were ready to head home — which would surely be soon. mrs. tucker’s bread pudding definitely wouldn’t last long with them.

your attention was broken when you felt a gentle weight on your shoulder and glanced down to see kyle curling up against your bicep. you wrapped your arm around him, squeezing him in a hug.

“best thanksgiving ever,” he mumbled as they geared up for, very likely, their last fortnite round.

but he quickly realized that he was in over his head — or, hair. he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, the porcelain countertop covered in hairbrushes, combs, bottles, and puddles of water. and yet his hair was still a blazing tumbleweed.

it wasn’t that he resented his hair. stan always told him it was the color of his favorite crayon, and his family said it brought out the color of his eyes and suited his face shape. he just hated how much work it was. if only he knew what that work even was.

so he resorted to calling for backup.

that was how he landed in the doorway of his older sister’s bedroom, a hesitant hand hovering over your open door. you were hunched over her desk, scribbling into a notebook while scanning a sizable textbook. your own long ginger curls were pulled into a loose loop at the nape of your neck, and kyle noted how shiny and soft they looked.

kyle knocked, words suddenly catching in his throat when you turned towards him. “hey dude, what’s up?” you asked cautiously, setting your pencil down.

you watched your little brother shift around awkwardly, muttering to himself. in one hand, he had his iconic green hat halfway tucked behind his back, and you quickly got a slight idea about his dilemma.

you waited for him to speak first, the words taking some time for him to find. “can you, um, can you help me with my hair?” he asked quietly, almost begrudgingly, before tacking on an even smaller, “please.”

you hummed aloud as you stood up, pretending to contemplate your options before gesturing for kyle to head into the bathroom. you followed close behind, gawking at the mess your brother made while he hopped up onto the stool he used to reach the sink.

“what, you need help brushing it out?” you asked, trying to find the spray bottle and detangling brush amidst the catastrophe.

“well, sorta,” kyle began, plucking the two items off of the counter and hauling them over his shoulders for you. “can you show me how you do yours?”

you cocked your head at first, beginning to separate his thick curls into manageable sections. “like, how i style it?” you asked, curious. your curl styling routine was fairly intensive, involving your diffuser and tons of mousse.

“no, like… you know, the lotions and shit you put in it to make it all soft.” he waved his hands around, hoping you would understand. you did, promptly nodding and peering into the shower curtain to grab your leave-in conditioners and a special coconut oil mask.

he read the labels on them, trying to memorize the brand or at least the name of the product. he watched in the mirror as you started to squeeze some of the coconut stuff into your palm and rub it through his damp hair. he didn’t dare admit it felt good, his shoulders relaxing like he was at a spa.

“i thought you knew how to do your hair, dude. didn’t mom ever show you?” you piped up, meeting kyle’s eyes in the mirror. kyle gently shook his head and hummed a soft ‘mm-mm.’ “wait, then what do you do to it?”

“nothing.” kyle answered. “i just brush it after i shower.”

you squinted at your brother. he showered pretty regularly for a boy his age, so you weren’t worried about that, but you wondered if he washed his curls every day. so you began a long, rambled lecture about how he needed to change his hair routine if he wanted to keep his hair healthy.

eventually you worked a mask and some leave-in conditioner into all of his hair and started brushing it through, making sure you weren’t pulling on it too hard and hurting him. “dude you’ve got hella knots back here, it’s because of that damn hat.” kyle rolled his eyes at the lecture before it melted into a wince as you retaliated by yanking on one of those knots.

“alright, alright.” kyle grumbled.

silence overtook the makeshift hair salon, you intently focused on your client’s hair and kyle intently focused on the care you were putting into brushing his thick curls out. it wasn’t rare that you put so much effort into him, but kyle hated that he never did anything like that for you.

he couldn’t buy you any great gifts for your birthday because your parents only gave him five bucks a month for doing chores, nor could he do you any long distance favors because he was only ten and couldn’t legally operate the station wagon gerald let you borrow sometimes. he couldn’t brush your curls out because he wouldn’t fucking know how to. that’s what you were here for.

kyle unintentionally let out a deflated sigh, and it pierced the silence. you looked up over the top of his shrub of hair, thinking you hurt him, but instead caught a glimpse of his glassy eyes locked on the sink and his frowning mouth.

“what’s up?” you asked softly, momentarily letting his hair go to lean against the counter. kyle tried to brush off his expression and act like he had no idea what you were talking about, but he could never fool you. maybe ike, maybe your parents, but never you. “am i hurting you?”

“no, it’s just..” kyle trailed off with another defeated sigh, “you’re always helping me and ike out, aren’t you tired of it? i should know how to do this myself by now—”

“oh, come on, what are you on about, man?” you stopped him before he could go on and on and eventually make himself cry. “no, i’m never tired of it, dude. i’m your older sister, i’m supposed to help you guys. sure, mom should’ve shown you how to do this, but i don’t mind.”

kyle’s lips formed a little pout while you spoke, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden sentiment. that made his face flush red and he sent you a colorful little hand signal in the mirror. still, you recognized the fondness that fueled it. “yeah yeah, whatever dude.”

“trust me, i hated my curls when i was your age.” you admitted with a sigh.

it was true. when you were around kyle’s age, you were beginning to accustom yourself to the torment from asshole boys in your classes — the same torment you often see in one of kyle’s little friends, eric cartman — and started to familiarize yourself with a hair straightener rather than curl cream.

sheila hardly protested, figuring it was less time she would spend teaching you how to properly care for your curls. you had to navigate the world of curls and coils on your own, begging sheila to buy the products you saw on the television and in the newspaper ads until you were able to buy them yourself with allowance money. you would never want kyle to go through that, too.

and it wasn’t that you resented sheila or anything; she was a fantastic mother. she had a head of beautiful, healthy curls when she was younger, though those times were now stuck in photographs from before you were born. but since she gained a life chock full of responsibilities, she dropped her intensive routine and settled for sacrificing her curl pattern for comfort.

you were sure you would end up just like that someday. with a husband and children with your bright red, kinky hair and no knowledge left to spare them on how to make them shine.

“dude?” kyle’s voice, suddenly emerging from the edge of the long distance you withdrew to, snapped you back to the present. you caught your little brother’s eye, which were filled with worry and unease. “where’d you go?”

you straightened up and resumed the detangling behind him. “sorry,” you replied, “but as i was saying, i hated my curls, dude. peopled used to rip on me for them and mom didn’t really want to style it naturally, so i had to learn myself.”

kyle only listened. he could hear the genuine hurt in your voice and couldn’t counter it with any light jokes or words of reassurance. so he let you work it out in your head, wincing a few times when you took it out on his hair for a second.

“i lost my curl pattern when i was your age. i always straightened it or had it slicked back.”

“really? i don’t remember that.”

“it’s in a few pictures i stole outta the scrapbooks last year, so you’ve probably never seen ‘em.”

“dude!” kyle suddenly interjected, his brows coming together. “dad thought that was me because i went through that phase where i didn’t want them taking pictures of me!” he glared at you through the mirror, to which you replied with an awkward grin.

“my bad, dude. why didn’t you just rat me out?”

“i tried to!” his little outburst made your eyes narrow with frustration. “but he didn’t believe me.”

you scrambled to keep that affectionate atmosphere alive and searched for a topic to shift to. “okay, so now you leave this in for about half an hour and then rinse it out.” kyle obnoxiously rolled his eyes at your inability to be subtle, but he listened nonetheless. “and you brush it out while it’s still wet and scrunch some mousse into it to keep the curls. and let it dry — without that hat.”

“mousse? dude, weak.” kyle grumbled.

you lightly smacked him on the back of the head, hard enough to make his neck tilt but soft enough so that he wouldn’t immediately try to get you back. “you asked how i take care of my hair, dude.” he scoffed when he realized you had him in a metaphorical corner.

“okay, how often do i do this?”

you hummed, running your fingers through his hair to draw up an answer. “once or twice a week. probably less. i wouldn’t worry too much, dude. you got strong curls.”

he seemed to like this news, his mouth curving upwards into a little smile. he found your gaze in the reflection and his grin widened. “thanks.”

you tried to hide your own satisfied smile and started cleaning the mess that he had created, tucking brushes and detangling sprays back underneath the sink cabinet. “you’re welcome matchstick.” you giggled when his expression suddenly dropped and his eyes narrowed to that level where he started to contemplate whether getting yelled at was worth getting a good quick punch in.

he followed you back to your bedroom to wait for the half an hour he was supposed to let the mask marinate and hopped up onto your bed while you worked on your homework. he poked and prodded at your assignment, asking what class it was for and what you were learning.

you told him, not because you were intentionally trying to flex your knowledge on him but because you knew he would understand what you were talking about. kyle was a bright kid, that was something you two shared and certainly got from gerald.

the two of you bounced school conversation and gossip in kyle’s little friend group back and forth until the half an hour had long passed and he decided he wanted to rinse his hair. even then, the conversation still flowed while you aimed kyle’s head underneath the shower head and helped him get all of the products out.

“yeah, cartman ended up getting in deep shit when the butt-face family realized kenny wasn’t really their son and it was a prank.” his words were slightly muffled, but you followed along.

“holy crap, so there were really people with asses for faces? and they thought kenny was their long lost son because he decided to put his ass in his parka for his class picture?” you recapped the story, gawking when kyle confirmed it. “dude, your friends are fucking weird.”

“yeah… even stan?”

mention of the marsh boy’s name made your eyebrow quirk upward. he wasn’t deeply involved in the tale kyle just told, so his question had come out of left field. he knew your opinion on stanley marsh; he was a nice boy who treated kyle and your family with respect.

your family was quite close with the marshes and you practically grew up with the kids. you weren’t particularly close to them, you being significantly older than both of them, but you enjoyed their presence when they came over for dinner or when stan came over to play with kyle. the boy was fond of you, you knew that. he wasn’t very subtle about it, either.

“especially stan.” you responded with pure sarcasm in your voicr. “you need to tell that kid that i’m too old for him. i thought he was with wendy testaburger?”

kyle swayed back and forth over the edge of the bathtub. “they hit a rough patch. but trust me, i keep telling him. you think i like hearing about my best friend’s crush on my sister?”

“fair.” you sighed. “alright, all clean.” you sat back on your heels and helped him stand upright, catching his dripping curls into a soft towel.

kyle finished wrapping the towel around his head, you watching with a slight smile. he wanted to glare at you, figuring you were laughing at him.

“well, that’s my routine.” you rose to your feet and gave him a rough pat on the top of his secured towel. “just brush it out and you’re solid.”

꩜ stan marsh

꩜ kyle broflovski

𖦹 curse of the curls — ☁️

꩜ kenny mccormick

꩜ eric cartman

꩜ butters scotch