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hunzzzzz · 4 months ago

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Save me (Bsf!Rafe x Thornton OFC): Part 1

Summary: Whiskey fumes and cigarette smoke, the bitter taste of oblivion on her tongue – this was Samantha Thornton's new reality.

How do you save someone from themselves? And how do you fix a friendship, a love, that got absolutely wrecked by one haunting Bonfire night, left to bleed out alone? Her best friend, her everything– Rafe simply abandoned her, leaving her to pick up the pieces alone.

All this hate between them now? It used to be love.

But can you ever really move on from a perfect past when the present is just… covered in blood and lies, and the one person you shielded chose to leave you in the dark?

Some wounds, like trust and forgiveness, run too deep to heal.

In a world irrevocably changed by death and trauma, with nothing left to fight for, no one to save her; will Sam survive?

TW: mentions of sexual assault, drug use, cocaine, guns, blood, violence, non consensual drugging, dark themes, suicidal thoughts.

A/N: Just watched outer banks for the first time and I am unwell. So I decided to cope how I always do with my imaginary crushes by writing.

Ao3 link Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

To live was to survive? Or was it to live to suffer? Rafe didn’t know anymore. He was surviving from line to line, from bump to bump. Was he even still breathing? The hum of the engine vibrated through Rafe’s bones, a frantic counterpoint to the chaos clawing at his insides.

He wasn’t driving, he was hurtling, the world a blurred rush of headlights and indistinct shapes. Each breath was a ragged gasp, his body screaming for the oblivion only a fix could provide. He needed it. Now. Desperation wasn’t even the right word; it was a gnawing, visceral hunger.

He slammed on the brakes outside Barry’s trailer, the bike skidding to a halt. His movements were jerky, uncontrolled as he practically ripped the door open and stumbled inside.

“I need some,” he rasped, his voice thick and uneven. His eyes, bloodshot and dilated, darted around the cluttered space. “Now.”

Barry leaned back in his chair, a smirk twisting his lips. “Woah, calm down, country club.”

Rafe lunged forward, the veneer of control he usually wore completely shattered. “Come on, Barry. I know you have some man.”

“Out, man. All gone. People stocking up for the storm or some shit.” Barry shrugged.

“Bullshit.” Rafe’s denial was a guttural sound. He started yanking open drawers, scattering their contents across the floor. The tremor in his hands made the task even more frustrating. “It has to be here.”

He burst into Barry’s bedroom, the air thick with the cloying sweetness of stale smoke. He began tearing through the closet, throwing clothes and boxes aside.

“You rich kids burst in here begging for drugs, man. I told you. I’m out, bitch.” Barry sneered, following him into the room. He shoved Rafe back, hard, onto a pile of blankets on the bed. A muffled groan came from beneath them.

Rafe froze, his breath catching in his throat. He ripped the blankets back. Curled into a fetal position, her skin slick with sweat, was Sam Thornton. His bestfriend, or ex-bestfriend, Topper’s sister. Sammy. He hadn’t seen her in months. Not since her dad’s funeral.

He looked at Barry, a raw, furious accusation burning in his eyes. “What the fuck, man?”

"Hey, hey. Calm down," Barry said, holding his hands up defensively.

But Rafe wasn't listening. The blood pounded in his ears. He shoved Barry back, hard, stumbling out of the bedroom and into the cramped living area.

The sight of Sam, vulnerable and unconscious, had ignited a rage within him, a protectiveness he had always harboured for her. And in that moment it didn’t matter if it was his ex-bestfriend, who he wasn’t on speaking terms with. It was Sammy. His Sammy.

"She's barely seventeen, you sick fuck," Rafe snarled, his voice thick with fury. He grabbed Barry's shirt, twisting the fabric in his fist. The flimsy material ripped slightly. He hauled Barry forward, his face inches from his. "What the fuck did you do to her?" The question wasn't a question; it was a growl, a promise of violence.

“Bro, she showed up here 10 minutes before you. Looking for the same shit.” Barry retorted, his voice laced with contempt. He shoved Rafe back, straightening his stained tank top. “You fucking rich kids man. Get the fuck outta here and take that bitch with you.”

“Barry, you better fucking hope to God she has the same story,” Rafe’s fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. “You so much as touched her…” He couldn’t even finish the thought. “I’ll be back here to ram your fucking head in.” He exhaled, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the image burned in his mind.

“Yeah, I know you’ll be back here when I get my stash,” Barry drawled, flashing his silver tooth in a mocking grin. “Don’t you worry about that.”

“What the fuck… since fucking when is she—what the fuck?” Rafe paced the cramped space, running his hands over his face in disbelief. “How long have you been selling to her? She’s a fucking minor, bro.”

“Do I give a fuck about that? Am I meant to ID every kook that walks in here? Nah,” Barry scoffed, glancing back at Sam’s still form on the bed. “I just take my cut and send them off.”

“What did she take?” Rafe walked back into the bedroom, his eyes scanning the scene, trying to piece together what had happened. Sam’s clothes were still on, a small, almost insignificant relief. Maybe Barry was telling the truth. “What did you give her?”

“Fucking nothing. She busted in here looking for some. I told her the same shit I told you. I’m fucking out. Nothing. Nada. She flipped her fucking shit, and crashed out.”

“Why was she under the blankets? Why were you hiding her?” Rafe’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced.

“Listen, I don’t gotta explain shit to your bitch ass, man. Just take her and get the fuck outta here. I don’t got time for this,” Barry snapped. But as Rafe stepped closer, his face a mask of barely suppressed fury, Barry added, “She was shivering. I gave her a fucking blanket. What you gonna do? Get me locked up for that?”

“How did she even get here?” Rafe leaned down over Sam, his heart clenching at her pale, still face.

He checked for a pulse, a faint but steady beat. Rafe’s stomach churned. He looked at Sam again, his expression a mix of worry and disgust. He had to get her out of here. He had to get her away from Barry, away from this. And then he had to explain this to Topper. How was he going to explain this to Topper?

“How the fuck am I meant to know that, country club? You think I keep a fucking logbook?” Barry scoffed, going outside to his lawn chair. He popped open another beer. “She’s just been showing up here all summer.”

“Sammy,” he said firmly, shaking her lightly. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

How was this possible? Sammy? Here? At Barry’s? He’d known her his entire life. She wasn’t like this. Top of her class, destined for the Ivy League, she barely even drank. He remembered all the times he’d tried to get her to take a shot with him, and she’d just roll her eyes and walk away.

This was the same Sammy he’d taught to ride a bike when she was six. She’d cried the whole time, until finally, she was laughing, wind whipping through her blonde hair as she pedaled freely down Tannyhill. The same girl whose scraped knee he’d bandaged when she fell of her bike.

The same girl whose pigtails he’d defended, beating up her bully for pulling them. The same girl he’d comforted when her pet dog got sent to the farm, holding her as she cried, telling her stories until she fell asleep.

Now, she lay on this grimy mattress, barely breathing, barely moving. He thought about calling Topper, but the last thing he needed was Topper involved with Barry, or worse, knowing that Rafe was mixed up in this mess.

“Okay, okay. Fucking think,” he muttered to himself, grabbing a bottle of water and splashing it on her face. Her eyelids fluttered open.

“Sammy, look at me,” he said, his voice calmer than he felt. “Can you sit up? Can you do that?”

Sam’s vision swam. She was disoriented, her body heavy, her mind… strangely light, detached. She was freezing, yet a burning fire raged inside her. She needed something. Anything.

“Rafe?” she whispered, her throat raw. “What’s going on?” Nothing made sense. The withdrawal was terrifying, like an out-of-body experience. Was she really seeing Rafe right now, or was this just another twisted hallucination.

“Fuck sake,” Rafe muttered under his breath. He needed to get control of this, and fast. “Okay, get up.” He put his arms behind her back, trying to sit her up, but she was dead weight, her head lolling. “Can you stand? Can you walk?”

“What’s going on, Rafe? What are you doing here?” she mumbled, her eyes unfocused, her mind a blank.

“For fuck sake, Sammy,” Rafe’s patience snapped. He scooped her up into his arms, one arm around her waist, the other under her legs. He wanted to yell at her, demand answers, but she was barely there. Her eyes were empty.

He carried her out of the trailer toward his bike. This was going to be harder than he thought. He tried to set her on her feet, but she was unsteady. He gripped her waist, trying to keep her from falling.

“Sammy, listen to me,” Rafe said, his voice tight with urgency as he shook her gently. “You need to get on the bike and hold on. Okay? I need to get you home in one piece.” He crouched down, his face etched with concern.

She looked at him, but her eyes were unfocused, as if she couldn’t quite grasp his words. “No,” she mumbled, stumbling back, pulling away from his grasp. The fog in her mind cleared instantly at the mention of home. “No, no, no.”

“What? What?” Rafe steadied her, his hands gripping her trembling shoulders. “Look, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you to get on now,” he hissed, trying to inject some sense into her. “Unless you wanna spend the night here at Barry’s?” Which he would never do, but he still made the threat.

“No!” Sam shook her head violently. “I’m not going home. I can’t. I won’t. I won’t.”

“Get on the fucking bike, Sammy!” Rafe shoved her towards it, his patience fraying. He half-lifted her onto the seat, but she kicked and screamed until he dropped her back onto the ground.

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, Amy Winehouse, but you’re not staying here. I’m not leaving without you!” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, fighting back his own rising panic.

“I’m not going back home!” Sam screamed, scrambling away from him, her eyes wide with terror. “And I’m certainly not going anywhere with you.” She spat.

“Listen I don’t give a fuck right now. Whatever happened with us, just forget about it for a minute. I’m—I’m trying here—I’m really fucking trying to help you,” Rafe said, his voice strained. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to control his temper. “Do you want me to call Topper? Haul his ass out here to come get you instead? Is that what you want?”

Her bottom lip trembled. She bit down on it, her resistance crumbling. “No,” she whispered, the word barely audible. Rafe never used to threaten her like this before, but that was back when they were friends. Now he was just a stranger, helping his bestfriends sister. Topper was his best friend, not her. Not anymore.

The thought of facing her family, the lies, the secrets, the manipulation… it was too much. Going home was unthinkable.

“Okay, so please. Get on the fucking bike. Now.” Rafe hauled her to her feet, his grip bordering on aggressive. She was too weak, too disoriented to fight him. She had no choice but to comply.

Rafe put on his helmet, his movements jerky. He straddled the bike, revving the engine a couple of times. “Hold on,” he demanded, before the bike lurched forward.

Sam’s body jerked back with the sudden acceleration. She grabbed onto his shirt, clinging to him as the wind whipped around her, burying her face in the taut muscles of his back. Before, she would have wrapped her arms around him, rested her head on his shoulder. But things had changed. The damage had been done a long time ago, and nothing could be fixed.

Nausea churned in Sam’s stomach. Everything was too fast, too loud, her mind a chaotic whirlwind. This was why she craved the oblivion of drugs. Numbness was preferable to the gnawing grief, the white-hot anger, the gut-wrenching betrayal. The bonfire… that night… it all crashed down on her, the memories like shards of glass. And Barry’s pills, or whatever the hell they were, were the only thing that could dull the pain.

Her head lolled up after what felt like an eternity. They were in town, the bike moving at a snail’s pace. Rafe might be reckless in every other way, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk a speeding ticket.

“Rafe, pull over here,” she said weakly.

“What? Why?” He glanced back at her, his expression impatient. “You good?” He pulled over to the side of the road, balancing the bike with his feet.

She hopped off, giving him a perfunctory pat on the back. “Thanks for the ride,” she mumbled, and then she ran.

“Hey!” Rafe yelled, driving the motorcycle alongside her. “What exactly is your fucking plan here? Huh?”

His patience had reached its breaking point. He didn’t really give a damn what happened to her. She wasn’t his responsibility. But he knew how this would look. If something happened to her, Barry could place Rafe with her.

And Topper… Topper was practically his brother. Their families were intertwined, their fathers’ friendship going back years. It wasn’t just about being childhood friends; they were practically family. He was doing this for Topper, Rafe told himself. Not for Sammy. He didn’t care about her anymore.

“Gonna crash at a friend’s!” Sam panted, her run more of a slow jog.

“Get on the bike, Sammy!” he yelled. “If I have to get off and come get you, I promise you’ll regret it!”

She ignored him. He groaned, setting the bike on its stand. He caught up to her in two quick strides. “You little brat! I should fucking leave you here to rot!” he growled in her ear, grabbing her and hauling her back to the bike. This time, he plonked her down in front of him.

“So just leave me here then!” she spat, her voice laced with venom. “I’m not your responsibility, you're not my friend. You don’t care about me. So stop pretending to care!”

Rafe settled behind her, his body pressed against her back. He reached around her, his hands gripping the handlebars.

“Would be so much better if I could just leave your ass here, but I can’t,” he grumbled, restarting the engine. “I can’t do that to Topper.” He was lying, and he knew it.

“Rafe, please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “Please, I don’t want to go home. Just drop me at my friend’s, please.”

“Listen, whatever unresolved daddy issues you have going on, fucking deal with them,” he yelled over the engine, each word a barb. “Whatever this shit is—going to Barry, hanging out with filthy Pogues—that shit is humiliating for all of us. You’re humiliating us. See a therapist or something. Don’t dump your shit on me.”

He felt her shoulders slump. A flicker of guilt pricked at him, but he shoved it down. She didn’t deserve his guilt. She didn’t deserve an apology. He deserved an apology from her. She’d broken their friendship. She had ruined it. And the worst part was, she hadn’t even acknowledged that night. The bonfire night.

How could he forgive her when she hadn’t even asked for forgiveness? When she hadn’t reached out, hadn’t tried to fix things? The anger simmered inside him, a bitter, familiar taste.

“Fuck you!” she screamed, grabbing the handlebars and trying to swerve the bike. She was furious. How dare he bring up her father? Her father was dead. It was a cheap shot, a low blow. He was so obviously trying to hurt her.

“HEY!” Rafe roared, his own anger flaring. “NO! Don’t fucking do that again!” His chest heaved against her back. “You could have killed us both! Do you have a fucking death wish? Jesus!”

“Fuck you, Rafe! Fuck you!” she screamed hysterically, attracting the attention of the quiet residential street.

“Sammy, do you want to wake up your entire estate right now?” Rafe balanced the bike with one hand and clapped his other hand over her mouth. She promptly bit him.

“You fucking bitch,” he grumbled, shaking his hand. Luckily, they had just pulled into her driveway.

He dragged her to the front steps, his grip on her arm unyielding. He pulled out his phone and quickly texted Topper: Get your sister. Front door.

Topper emerged from the house, looking rumpled, as if he’d just been woken up.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Topper scolded, his voice laced with worry and frustration. He glanced at Rafe, a silent question passing between them. Rafe shoved her forward, toward her brother. “We’ve been calling you all night! Do you have any idea how worried Mom’s been?”

Sam crossed her arms, her expression defiant. “Mom has bigger problems to worry about right now.”

“Where was she?” Topper asked, turning to Rafe, his eyes searching.

Sam’s gaze flickered to Rafe, a silent plea in their depths. She knew they weren’t on good terms. But she also knew that once… once upon a time, he’d always had her back. She used to go to Rafe with her problems, confiding in him more than she did her own brother. She’d trusted him. Trusted that he wouldn’t betray her confidence.

“Found her wandering around the marina,” Rafe said, surprising both Sam and himself. He’d actually covered for her.

Sam’s eyes snapped open, a mixture of shock and relief in their depths. She stared at him, her mouth slightly agape.

“Get inside. I’ll talk to you in a minute,” Topper said, his voice firm. He ushered her inside.

“Thanks, man,” Topper patted Rafe on the back graciously. “I don’t know what to do about her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I don’t know how to help her. She’s just so stubborn about everything. She can’t see how much she’s hurting Mom and me. We’re trying, we’re really trying to be there for her.”

“I hear you, man. It’s not an easy time for your family,” Rafe replied, his voice carefully neutral.

“Yeah, it’s not. And Sam… she’s just fucking selfish. It’s always about her. Yeah, she lost her dad, but so did I. My mom lost her husband. But she just chooses to be reckless, stays out late, disappears for days… as if my mom doesn’t have enough to deal with.” Topper vented, his voice rising with each word.

It had been like this all summer. Ever since their dad died, Sammy had changed. She was worse. It was almost as if she was deliberately trying to cause her family pain. Her grief had taken a self-destructive turn.

“Have you been able to get through to her? All she does is push me away. And I’m pretty sure she’s completely shut Sarah out too. Any luck with you?”

Rafe shook his head no, but the truth was a jagged shard lodged in his throat. He was the one who’d shut Sam out. He was the one holding the grudge.

“It’s okay man. Thanks for trying. And thanks again for bringing her home.” He sighed.

“Come on, man. We’re family. Don’t even mention it,” Rafe said, offering a half-smile. “Just keep her on a leash, yeah?”

Topper raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, if that’s even possible.”

“And a muzzle,” Rafe added, showing Topper the bite marks on his palm.

“She did that?” Topper’s eyes widened as he examined the deep indentations. Rafe nodded.

“Jesus, man. Sorry,” Topper shook his head, exasperated. “I gotta go talk to her. Thanks again.”

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

They were at the beach for a volleyball tournament. Twelve-year-old Sam had been given strict instructions by her parents: no playing. Focus on her studies, they’d said. But when a particularly high ball came sailing over the net, a ball her short legs could barely reach, she jumped. She hit it, scoring a point. For a fleeting moment, as she hung in the air, she was ecstatic.

Until she came crashing down. A sharp crack echoed as she landed awkwardly on her arm. Rafe, who’d been watching from the sidelines, rushed over.

“Sammy!” He crouched beside her as the medical aid hurried over. Sam quickly scrambled to her feet, assuring them she was fine, even as she winced, bending her arm painfully.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, forcing a laugh through her tears.

Sarah continued playing, taking Sam’s spot on the court. Rafe led Sam away from the game, and as soon as they were out of sight, she collapsed onto the sand, tears streaming down her face.

“Sammy, you’re not okay,” Rafe said gently, wiping the tears from her cheeks. “I think your arm’s broken.”

“It can’t be,” she sobbed. “My parents will kill me. They said I wasn’t allowed to play.”

fourteen-year-old Rafe made a split-second decision. He took the blame. He told their parents he’d pushed her off her bike, and that’s how she’d broken her arm. He was grounded for two weeks.

But Sam visited him every day. She’d tell her parents she was going to see Sarah, then sneak into Rafe’s room.

She’d creep in, jumping onto his bed where he lay, bored out of his mind. He wasn’t allowed his Nintendo, his Wii, even TV was off-limits. His world was confined to swimming in the pool or walks in the garden.

“I brought something for you!” Sam said, pulling a box of Ferro Rochers from her bag. His favorite.

“Woah, where’d you get these?” He sat up, excited, tearing open the box and unwrapping three chocolates, shoving them into his mouth.

“I stole them from my mom’s gift cupboard!” Sam giggled, watching Rafe try to chew all three at once. “Close your mouth, you pig!”

“This doesn’t make up for me being locked up in here,” Rafe mumbled, his mouth full.

“How can I make it up to you?” Sam looked at him with pleading eyes, pouting. “Please, Rafe! You’re my best friend! I don’t want you to be mad at me anymore. Please! Please! Pretty please!”

“Okay! Fine!” Rafe grumbled. “You have to bring me sweets every day!”

“Your teeth will rot,” Sam pointed out.

“I don’t care. Those are my terms.”

“Okay! Deal.” Sam stuck out her cast-covered arm for him to shake.

“Ugh. What a lame color. Girls don’t wear blue,” he teased, running his fingers over her cast.

“I know that,” she rolled her eyes. “I got blue because it’s your favorite color.” She blushed.

“Yeah, well, my favorite color is navy blue,” he teased. “Not baby blue.”

“Whatever. I don’t care.”

They spent hours on his bed, playing Mario Kart on Sam’s Nintendo, which she’d snuck in.

“Wario cheats!” Rafe groaned, throwing the console back at her, clearly done with losing.

“You’re such a sore loser,” she laughed. “Hey, wanna sign my cast?”

“There’s no space left,” he pointed out, a little hurt. Until she turned her arm, showing him the other side, where she’d left a blank square just for him.

He rummaged for a Sharpie and told her to look away while he scribbled on her cast. When she finally looked, she saw a heart. Inside, he’d written: Rafe.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

Sam kicked through the piles of clothes strewn across her floor, stepping over a discarded beer can as she made her way to the edge of her bed. This evening had spiraled into a nightmare. She was sober, truly sober, for the first time in a month. And she was home.

Not that it felt like home anymore. It was a mausoleum, a shrine to every agonizing moment of the summer. Her mother’s betrayal. Her father’s death. That bonfire night.

Someone had trimmed the backyard while she wasn’t looking. Someone had plucked all the dandelions she’d forgotten to make wishes on. She’d forgotten to swallow the sun until it shone through her fingertips. She’d never timed how long she could hold her breath underwater. She’d never followed that trail to the end.

And the cruelest twist of all: the sun still rose every morning, even though she desperately wished it wouldn’t.

She’d spent the whole summer waiting to feel like herself again—but a piece of her was missing, ripped away. The Bonfire night. And if you listened closely in the dead of night, you could still hear her screaming for it back. Screaming until her voice was raw, until her throat bled, until her vocal cords ached. She was still screaming. She hadn’t stopped. She never would.

Her mother had buried herself in the family business after Dad died, treating it like a hostile takeover. Topper, meanwhile, acted like everything was normal, which only fueled Sam’s rage. How could he? How could he be so put together when she was falling apart? Did their father mean so little to them?

A knock on her door. A moment later, Topper’s head peeked through the crack. “Sammy.” He wore that look on his face again—that same face when he told her about their dad’s terminal cancer.

That was the worst part about life: how endings came so abruptly, without warning, without making any sense.

Sam leaned back against the headboard, bracing herself for the inevitable lecture.

Topper walked further into the room, tripping over a stray shoe. “This place is a pigsty, Sammy. You need to let the cleaner come in and fix this up.”

“Okay, will clean my room. Got it,” she sighed, staring at the ceiling. “Is that all?” She desperately hoped it was.

“Sammy,” he sighed, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “We talked about this. You can’t keep doing this. You had Mom worried sick.”

“I’m sure she survived,” she said with a dry laugh, rolling her eyes.

“Samantha. Okay that’s enough. Whatever vendetta you have with Mom, it needs to end.” He said, his voice rising for the first time, making Sam’s eyes sting with tears. He immediately softened his tone. “I’m sorry, sorry for yelling.”

“You don’t get it, Top. You just don’t get it,” she whispered, wiping at her eyes. There was so much she knew about their mother, secrets she couldn’t share with anyone, especially not Topper. It would break him.

“Then tell me,” he pleaded, placing a hand on her knee and she flinched away from his touch. “Sammy, tell me. I’ll help you. Whatever it is, just talk to me, please. Something’s been different since the funeral, Sammy. Everyone can see it.”

The night before the funeral. The bonfire. There was too much, a tangled mess of events, and it wasn’t just their father’s death after his sudden cancer diagnosis. That was only part of it. So much more had happened, things she’d buried deep inside, things she desperately wanted to numb.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, fat tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry that I’m such a burden on you guys. I—I really am. But I just can’t deal with all this. Dad’s gone—he’s gone, Topper. And everyone just—just expects me to get over it! I can’t be like you, okay? I can’t just…” She sobbed, finally sharing her feelings with Topper for the first time. His expression softened.

“I’m not over it either, Sammy. I’m not. If that’s what you think. I’m not okay either,” he said, shaking his head. “But I know that—that I have to stay strong. I have to support you, and Mom. I don’t get to just shut down, like you. I don’t have that option.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. This was the first time they’d really talked about it. About their dad. Maybe Sammy was finally opening up because she was sober, truly sober, for the first time since the funeral. For the first time, she was feeling everything, and it was all pouring out of her, like a dam had burst.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “It’s just… it’s a lot. A lot has happened. And sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe, like I’m drowning. And—and after the bonfire… I just shut down.”

“The bonfire? When John B tried to scrap with me? That night?” Topper frowned, trying to piece it together. “I thought you didn’t go? You said you were tired.”

“Topper, I’m just not ready to talk about everything right now,” Sammy sniffled. “I just need some time.”

The bonfire. The drinks. Too many drinks. Her fight with Rafe. The drugs. Unconscious in the backseat of a car. It was too much to relive. She couldn’t. Not yet.

“Okay,” Topper nodded, relieved that she was at least talking, even a little. It was progress. It was something.

Ever since their dad died, the same day as the bonfire, she barely spoke, barely ate. She was consumed by a whirlwind of partying, alcohol, and (unbeknownst to Topper) drugs. She rarely left her room, even when she was home, which was a rare occurrence in itself. And it wasn’t just normal grief, the kind of heavy depression that follows losing someone. Something was gnawing at her from the inside, eating her alive, slowly killing her.

“Okay, Sammy,” Topper said, pursing his lips and treading carefully. “Maybe… and I know you already said no, but Mom—well, Mom and I—we think you should talk to someone. Someone who can help you.”

“Mom put you up to this?” she scoffed.

“Yes, I mean, no. I just think speaking to a professional…it could help you, Sammy. We want what’s best for you. We really do.”

“Don’t trust a word that comes out of Mom’s mouth, Top. Seriously,” she said, her voice laced with bitterness.

“Okay, okay,” Topper nodded, still confused about the rift between his sister and mother. He didn’t want to push her too far. “Just promise me you’ll think about it.”

“I will.”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Night.”

“Hey, and no sneaking out. Okay?” he said firmly, giving her a pointed look as he reached for the doorknob.

“Yes, officer,” she replied sarcastically.

“You know Rafe says I need to keep you on a tighter leash,” Topper chuckled. “And he’s not wrong.”

“What the fuck? Like I’m some kind of dog? Fuck off,” Sam rolled her eyes.

“You did bite him.”

“He deserved it.”

“I’m sure he did,” Topper said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

The moment she heard Topper’s light click off in his room, Sam climbed out her window. Talking to her brother hadn’t helped. It had only amplified everything, made the pain sharper. All her usual dealers were dry; apparently, everyone had stocked up for the impending storm. So, she snuck out to some friends she knew wouldn’t be empty-handed.

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cr4yolaas · 9 months ago

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the night shift — slow down

day 5 | masterlist | day 7

now playing: heart to heart by mac demarco

"you're late," she hums, with a lilt of tease and jest. she doesn't look up at him. the jingle of the doors opening cues her into fixing her posture, her spine fitting into the shape of her chair. he watches the action but can't quite process it, too overwhelmed with all the sweat and clothes and hair sticking to his skin.

an apology falls from chapped lips instinctively. he slips into the space behind the counter and discards his jacket from his figure, haphazardly throwing it into the break room before taking his usual seat beside her. "practice ran overtime," he heaves out as soon as he settles into his spot. like routine.

it's a slow day. the night shift is busy, for the most part, but there are the rare handful of days where the store is stagnant. they're silent, save for the hums of the heater and the refrigerators and the wind outside the window, and compared to the last shift they'd worked together, it's not so tense. it's light, almost, the burden of unspoken words and misdirected emotions no longer weighing heavily on their shoulders. he basks in it, just for a moment, before she gets up from her chair to busy herself with something, anything to escape the stasis. he follows suit.

restocks are her favorite task, he's noticed. it's her go-to to pass time, when her hands don't know what to do with themselves and her mind runs rampant. the boxes sit beside the snack shelves, the tape sliced open and the flaps lifted, ready to be emptied and organized. his shoulder brushes against hers briefly as he situates himself next to her, leaning into the depths of the first shipment and handing each product to her one by one. they fall into a slow, steady system. he passes. she places.

"remind me why you didn't go pro?" she questions almost a bit too loudly, failing to consider whether or not she's breaching a checkpoint that she isn't meant to pass yet. she notices the stutter in his movements, the flicker of a hitched breath, the avoidant stare. the perspiration still sticks to his forehead from before, evidence of the effort he had been putting into practice moments before clocking in.

kageyama stands, his shoulders rolling back and the bones popping slightly. an inhale through his nose, an exhale through his mouth, and he droops, as if physically bearing the mental baggage of what she presumed to be his passion. "i burned out, i think," he starts. it's barely there, barely audible. "i think i was also just scared. i was becoming someone i didn't recognize, so," he pauses. "i dropped it."

i think, i think, i think, as if he was still unsure in a decision he made years ago. she leans against the shelf with one shoulder, her eyes fixed on his while he fidgets with a bag of candy. "do you regret it?"

"sometimes," he whispers, almost sheepishly. "i do want to seek help for it. yachi recommended therapy, but," he pauses again, placing the candy in his palms into hers. he wills his mind into ignoring the way her hand ghosts over his, but his body can't seem to follow suit, with the ticklish feeling running through his palm and the dusting of pink on the corners of his ears (it's only visible if you look hard enough). the bag is set up neatly on the shelf, in line with all the others of its kind. "id want someone i know to listen to me. someone who actually knows me, not someone who's forced to."

she doesn't ask any more -- she knows not to. her shoes squeak against the tile as she makes her way to the next row, kageyama following behind her with the cart of boxes. they fall back into routine. he passes. she places. again, and again, and again, until it's muscle memory, so much so that they just barely miss the chime of the doors opening.

the pair from across the street -- none other than her two favorite new grounds employees (and his, though he'd never admit that) -- waltz into the building, steaming hot coffees cusped between their gloved hands and thick, wooly scarves (matching, of course) wrapped around their necks. "we thought we'd visit," yamaguchi explains first, taking his and yachi's drinks and placing them on the counter as if the place were their own. "it's slow tonight, and i think i'd rather kill myself than make small talk with our boss."

the two rid themselves of their garments -- the scarves, the coats, the gloves -- and just like the coffee, it all finds itself splayed across the counter.

a warmth spreads through her chest at the sight. it comes again when they all sit behind the register, two spare plastic chairs pulled out for the newfound company. and it rises once more when they all laugh in unison, the sound reverberating in both the store and her heart. it trickles up from the bottom of her ribcage to the top of her head, and with each pass it makes, she feels even lighter.

she wonders where it all was before. the white-hot glow of everything around her washes over the burden of being once riddled in her bones, and she questions the bigger picture that had consumed her life before: the false yearning for what once was, the reminiscence, the overbearing memory of someone that isn't quite her. a soft breath falls from her tongue, and another, and another, and another.

ᡣ𐭩 sooo cheesy LOL. but i loved when i first thought of this chapter bc the vibes were so cute and warm and i needed it to be in this series

ᡣ𐭩 updates r obvs going much slower be of school..... i need to be shot before APs kill me (AP phys and AP calc bc i will always hate you)

ᡣ𐭩 kageyama very often comes in sweaty from practice. do with that what u will

ᡣ𐭩 it's not very common for yachi n yams to come into the store at all. to kind of clarify the relationship btwn yachi yams and yn, it's like online they're oomfs and irl theyre just moots. do u catch my drift. in all srs yn is the one to visit them more often (bc it's new grounds, duh) which is kind of what sparked the household connection (outside of kenhina)

ᡣ𐭩 it's ALSO not very common for kageyama to be asked about the decision that sort of haunts his entire life. his roommates know it's a sore topic, and they were also there when the decision was made, and hinata brings it up way too much already, and it's just such an awkward conversation that they try not to pry too far. which is both great and horrible for kags, bc while he doesn't necessarily want to talk about it all the time (again, the theme of running away from his problems), he knows that bottling it up doesn't help at all

ᡣ𐭩 am i projecting? i guess we'll never know!

ᡣ𐭩 as i'm typing this i'm realizing that i need to finish mezzo forte (might discontinue it to be honest but ARGHHGHGHSD its so close to ending)

ᡣ𐭩 the fall of mezzo forte is like my fall of the roman empire. but this isn't about mezzo forte this is about the night shift

taglist: @causenessus @strawberryurii @iiwaijime @savemebrazilhinata @tiramizuloz @conrad4life13 @wyrcan @zazathezaer @nperoconelcositoarriba @cupidsblonde @thechaosoflonging @diorzs @aozui @fefesooli

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uh-ohspaghettio · 1 year ago

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in honor of graduating here's an actual essay I wrote for class

An Identity Shaped Around Grief: An Exploration of the Character Dynamics in Supernatural and Frankenstein

The scene pans to a man as he stares in horror as someone he loves burns in the flames before him. He cannot save them, nor would that person let them as they sacrificed themselves to protect their child. In grief, the man chooses to shut out those around him in anger in response to the haunting trauma. This is played out in the first episode of Supernatural and with a haunting twist of irony this fate is doomed to repeat itself.

Supernatural (2005-2020) is a longstanding show centered around two brothers named Sam and Dean Winchester as they travel across the United States fighting monsters. They are forced into a life of hunting when at a young their mother is killed by a creature and their father, unable to cope with the loss of his wife, spirals into a man obsessed and hellbent on revenge despite the clear detriment and neglect of his two sons. Along the way, angels and demons are introduced— including the biblical apocalypse, and Sam and Dean can convince an angel, Castiel, to fall from grace and go against their family’s intent on an armageddon.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley follows the story of a man Victor Frankenstein, who after the loss of his mother throws himself into his scientific studies, ignoring his grief, and creates another human from the body parts of multiple dead people.

At the forefront of the plot of Frankenstein and Supernatural is grief. In Supernatural the main character’s father John Winchester is unable to cope with the grief of losing his wife in such a traumatic way, John’s life becomes physically surrounded by monsters as he seeks to find the creature that took away his wife that is not only puts himself in harm's way but his sons, too, who are left unable to properly cope the loss of their mother. John chases after the monsters in hopes of finding closure for his lost love but all he does is isolate himself and his family from their emotions and set them on a path of physical and mental destruction.

The show is steeped with death and tragedy, which is not unlike the real world, however, with the show’s inclusion of monsters, the creators give us physical manifestations of the damage of grief not properly dealt with and how in shapes those close to us not unlike how the dynamic between Victor and his creature evolves in Frankenstein and expands upon it generationally.

In the “Strangers, Gods and Monsters” class lecture on the novel Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, the creature created by Victor Frankenstein is described as a ‘grief monster.’ Victor loses his mother, someone very dear to him, and instead of giving himself the time and space to grieve properly with his family, he flings himself into school. From this, he creates his famed creature. Victor cannot cope with death so he creates a creature that can only be born in the death of many. This creature causes havoc in Victor’s world and harms those around him.

Just as the creature is born out of the result of crazed grief, the never-ending grief of his father fundamentally shapes Dean Winchester and his own identity. All he knows of his father is a man who cannot move on from his wife’s passing and because of that Dean is not allowed to move on either and his identity is shaped around being a tool for his father’s revenge. In Season 3 Episode 10, titled “Dream a Little Dream of Me,” Dean is forced to confront his worst nightmare—which is ultimately revealed to be himself. He is forced to confront the side of himself that acknowledges the abuse from his father and how that manifests in the way he views himself as “daddy’s blunt instrument,” and sees himself become a demon because all he is, is the path his father set out for him. Dean sees himself as a monster because all he was made to be by his father was an instrument of revenge. Dean is conscious that his father is an “obsessed bastard,” however, the way his grief manifests despite their mother being gone for nearly thirty years still clings. The creature in Frankenstein is fundamentally shaped by how Victor sees him. "Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust?" (170 Shelley). The creature sees himself as hideous and disgusting because that’s how Victor sees him and although he resents Victor for creating him to be the way he is he cannot escape it. Dean’s admission to his father being cruel and his ‘other self’ showing him to be a monster is reflective of how much John’s upbringing of Dean focused on revenge shaped his identity.

Dean learns through the seasons of the show to be someone separate from his father, as someone separate from a soldier, however, his father’s method of coping with great loss lingers. It is most apparent when in a later season the angel Castiel promises to protect a nephil, the half-human and half-angel offspring of Lucifer, Castiel believes that if raised under the right conditions the child could bring peace to the world and not death and destruction like everyone assumes. Castiel is killed in his mission to protect but the child is born, Jack, and as the mother dies in childbirth Sam and Dean are left to take care of him. Dean is unable to cope with the grief and takes it out on Jack.

Dean is going through immense grief and is unable to cope with it, which leads him to engage in destructive behaviors. However, his grief is most prominently reflected in the way he treats Jack; blaming Jack for Castiel’s death and making it very clear to Jack in Season 13 Episode 2 “The Rising Son” that he believes Jack is a monster and inherently evil, ergo if Jack should ever ‘turn’ to that side, Dean will be the one to kill him. This exchange leaves a deep impact on Jack, making him unsure if he is truly good or evil and doubtful that he can even be good.

Dean deals with his grief just like John, only dealing with his emotions of losing someone he loves as directing it towards blame and revenge. The blame is on Jack, despite the irrationality of it. John’s anger shaped how Dean viewed his place in the world. The father-son dynamics of John and Dean, Dean and Jack, and Victor and the Creature, all reflect the pattern of the fathers’ undealt with trauma and emotions surrounding loss bleeding in the identity of the son.

The creature Victor Frankenstein makes is one of the direct products of his grief as he throws himself into his work instead of surrounding himself with healthy ways of coping. The grief is manifested in the creature he creates, it's his child born of death and he only nurtures the child in rage which reflects in how the creature understands its place in the world.

In both Frankenstein and Supernatural the immense grief of their ‘fathers’ serves to be detrimental to their sense of self. Dean’s sense of identity is fundamentally changed because of his father’s inability to grieve properly over his wife and he is made to believe he can only be an instrument of revenge. Jack’s sense of identity is fundamentally changed because of Dean’s inability to grieve properly over Castiel, and he is made to believe he can only be an instrument of evil and destruction.

The show begins with the destructive flames, symbolic in how its consequential grief leads down a destructive path of anger, that not only eats away at your sanity but is only fated to pass through the bloodline as it grows to burn those around you. however metaphorical that bloodline is. Dean, Jack, and the creature are raised in grief and the writers paint how detrimental that is to their development as individuals and see themselves as monsters. All of their fathers created monsters whether literal or not and it's not something that just disappears until the damage is already done.

#i dont expect anyone to read this but Id like to document it somewhere #the class was about monsters in philosphy #spn #supernatural #castiel #dean winchester #jack kline #supernatural analysis #long text #spn essay #i got an A btw

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bokettochild · 6 months ago

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Christmas of Closure - Day 5

I forgot who asked for this one, but thank you for reminding me that this exists! I've missed this story!

Anyways, here's some Twilight with the princesses!

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 (you are here!) | Day 6 (eventually)

Update under the cut!

Much of the day passes with little interaction between the heroes.

Four does not return to the room the others linger in, and though Twilight and Sky do, it’s only for so long before apparently Hilda determines it fit to give them space of their own, but properly this time. This time they are given rooms. All in the same hall as their brother, even including the one they’d sort of picked out for themselves.

It doesn’t slip past Twilight though that they are arranged throughout the hall. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed, except Sky is given the room directly beside that of the vet, and Hyrule the one across. The rest, he can’t exactly name a reason why, but he knows those two were intentional.

It’s nice though, having space. Much as he loves his brothers, they’re a lot to deal with on the best of days, and those recently are anything but that. It’s been a long time since he’d had any space to claim for himself, never mind one he could shut others out of. It is odd to him though, especially after Ravio’s outburst yesterday, that his is the one across from Sky’s and beside Hyrule’s rooms; the third closest. Maybe it’s because he’d helped, or at least shown he could. After all, the rancher muses, wincing, it’s not as though there is anyone close to the ornery teen, so perhaps it only made sense to the princess to place someone who could be helpful nearby, rather than the rest of the heroes.

Whatever the reason, given all that’s happened, he’s mostly content to stay in his room once he’s shown it. The only real reason he’d have to leave was if he was needed, and as there’s no knock save that of some servant dropping off food, the rest of the day is spent is silence.

It’s unnerving.

Lying in the bed offered, he’s struck with the fact that he actually hasn’t been properly alone since meeting the rest of the heroes, and while it’s a welcome thing, it’s also hollow. He’s still pissed with the rest, knows full well that if one of them was around they’d break into a fight, but it’s also so strange to be alone again. Again though, he doesn’t want to be near the rest!

Settling in, pulling the blankets over his head, he huffs.

Now he understands why Hyrule had chosen to haunt the door.

He’s not asleep too long before there’s a tap on his door.

Blankets fly free and away, but he doesn’t, instead staring out into the blackness of the room. His ears must be tricking him, no? Why would-? Yet there it is again, a tapping, hesitant but there.

The rancher sits up.

Is it one of his brothers? A servant? He hasn��t a clock on hand (or Time, who they would usually just ask) but shouldn’t people be…asleep?

But if they’re not asleep, then they have to be awake for some reason or another, and he might as well get up and just ask instead of sitting there all night long wondering and waiting for them to go away.

The floor is cold as he crosses it, and he half regrets not grabbing for his fur. He’d forgotten what it was like to stay in any sort of castle like building, and he could be wrong, but he swears Lorule is just a bit colder than Hyrule was. Definitely more so than in Ordon, where sleepwear as a concept is near laughable for how warm most nights are. As is, he very much wishes he’d grabbed something even a bit more concealing, his shirt maybe, to throw on, especially when he opens the door and finds not one, but two princesses looking up at him.

He thought it was one of the heroes. He never would have guessed it would be the two girls.

“Yer majesties,” he lacks cap or the room to bow, so a quick touch to the forehead seems appropriate. The last few times he’d forgotten, mostly because worry or tension filled the air, and while they’re not exactly absent now, it’s the least he can do as a show of respect considering…everything else.

“Hero of Twilight,” Hilda responds, gaze flat but ears twitching slightly. “May we have a word?”

“Of course.” He opens the door, because, well, it wouldn’t do to have the stand in the hall would it? Still, it feels odd, letting to girls in, and he’s careful to leave the door open, just in case. These are ladies after all and he wouldn’t want people talking at all, especially their idiot captain. More for their sake than his own, but Ulli didn’t raise no rake.

It’s a decent sized room, at least as far as he’s concerned, although on the smaller side for a castle. He’s gotten the impression they’re in an out of the way hall, and not one of the sort usually used for guests. Not that he minds at all, but it does feel rather… odd, especially with having only the bed to offer as seating. Which he doesn’t do, because that would feel wrong, and odd, so he just sort of… stands there.

The two princesses do the same, hands folded primly before themselves until they almost look like actual reflections of each other, save the little things like hair and colors and all that. The only real major difference, at least in his eyes, is the expressions on their faces. Zelda’s is more pinched, Hilda’s more authoritative, although less then the times before.

“It’s about Link,” Zelda starts.

He nods. He probably could have guessed. They wouldn’t have any other reason to talk to him anyways, although the words, and their tone, do make worry stir up all over again. “Is he alright?” Only respect has him not turning and immediately looking to the vet’s room, “did something happen again? If so-”

A gloved hand raises, the darker haired of the two girls answering before he can finish. “He is sleeping. Poorly, but that is to be expected.”

The urge to ask if he can check, all the same, rises, but he bites it down. He hasn’t the right after all. The only reason he’s been to see Legend was because he’d had knowledge they needed, not because the vet had wanted him there or anyone had thought it the best thing to do. Ravio had made that clear; he was their last resort, only there because they needed someone, anyone, who could help the injured hero.

Trust isn’t easily earned, and with the vet he feels that trust lost may be lost forever. As was, he’d barely been offered any before, Ordonia only knows what it will look like now, once Legend’s himself again.

If he’s ever himself again, a dark voice in his head whispers.

Aloud though, a softer voice speaks. “You mentioned knowledge,” the darker princess’s eyes are intense as they meet his, searching, head ever so slightly on one side as she watches him, something unreadable in the pinch of her brows and purse of her lips. “That you’d studied darker magic.”

“Never for any ill intent, I assure you, ma’am.” He’s quick to clarify.

“Why then?”

It’s…. It’s not something he’d wanted to talk about. Sky had asked, in a way, but, despite everything, the other had accepted rather easily when he’d said he didn’t want to talk about it. He still doesn’t, but he’s not sure exactly how accepting of that the two princesses will be, especially with Legend’s well-being on the line and he being part of the cause of that.

The rancher winces, hand trailing for his neck, gaze wanting to flick away but knowing- Minda’s voice sharp in his head, how that might be taken. “There was an outbreak in my home-town when I was a young thing. It- it weren’t purty, an’ I’d hoped to maybe learn why it happened, or maybe how to fix it.”

“Did you?” The expression in the lighter princess’s face is more easily readable then her counterpart; worry, concern, maybe even pity.

“No ma’am.” He tries for a hint of a smile all the same. “It was fixed though, jist, not by me.”

Red eyes trail over him, slowly, “understandable. You are no mage after all.”

“No, ma’am.”

“But you know about magic.”

“Yes, ma’am. Some.” He’s confused, although he tries not to show it. They’ll tell him what they want, when they want. That’s how royals are. After all, he’s had a dark and light princess of his own to teach him as much, and he knows where asking questions leads to, and that’s usually being ignored while they talk to each other instead.

Similarly, both girls turn to each other, exchanging some series of expressions and likely underlying thoughts, but he’s blind to what most of it means, instead standing there awkwardly and wondering what his chances are of crossing the room to his discarded shirt and tunic without getting stared at are. Probably not high, but he daren’t interrupt, and considering they’re here, he knows they’ll be saying something to him sooner rather than later.

He’s right too, for its only another moment or so before Hilda is turning to him again, and once more, he sees that flicker he’s seen twice before, that glimpse of brief uncertainty as crimson eyes level him. “You know how to shift back from a beast form, and into one, yes?”

“Yes,” he nods, finally settling on crossing his arms in order to best do something with his hands, and preserve some sort of warmth. Loosely though, so as to not look threatening. He’s well aware how it could be taken if he’s not careful, which he usually doesn’t mind, but wouldn’t bode well at all around here.

Ravio had threatened to have him put out like a dog if he misbehaved, and while he’s not entirely sure that wasn’t just emotion taking over and speaking, he’d rather not risk it. He’s never been to Lorule after all, and he’s not keen on learning the country at the moment. Even just the castle seems quite enough, if not too much, at this time.

“Could you teach Link?” Zelda asks, face pinching up in impatience and unsurprisingly, concern. Because of course she would be concerned, this is her brother they’re talking about, but also-

“Pardon?”

“Can you teach him?”

Twilight blinks, startled. He’s not sure what he had expected them to have to say to him, this whole night-time visit coming as a surprise, but…. “Me?”

Hilda nods, sharply. “You are the only one who has displayed any sort of understanding as to his situation, any sort of familiarity.” One gloved hand fists in her heavy skirt. “Prince Link requires help as he adjusts to all that has happened, and while Princess Zelda and myself are fully willing to offer our assistance, our own knowledge is quite limited in these respects; there are some things we simply do not know. But you do.”

It’s got to be a royals thing, the way that heavy eyes bore into those they fix on. Blue and crimson both hold his own, watching, intent, focused, and more terrifyingly; the slightest bit of hope touches those two tired faces, like he’s some answer to a prayer they hadn’t dared to breathe. The expectation is heavy, and strong as even he is, he’s not sure he can carry it without faltering.

But it’s also a promise. A chance. It’s a way to help, to atone for what he’d done. It’s a chance to see the vet for himself, to make sure he’s okay.

Yes, he’s got a protege already, yes, he barely has a handle on teaching Wild anything. But this is different; this is helping someone learn to live again with something that is beyond their control, but within his to help. It’s heavy, yes. He’s not that strong, yes. But Legend needs someone, and Twilight will be darned if he turns his back this time.

His silence though must be read otherwise, because Zelda sighs and Hilda’s eyes slip away, downwards, voice softer this time, slower, less clipped. “You’re the only light being who’s handled dark magic without corruption before. I understand what we ask may seem-”

“I’ll help.”

Blue and red rise to meet midnight.

“This is our fault,” he sounds again, echoing the words that have been on the tongues and minds of all of them since it all began. “We did this, an’ we ought to be the ones bearin’ the consequences.”

“Link isn’t-”

“Link-” and Ordonia help him, it’s still hard to use that name on another, “-is my team-mate- my friend if he’s still willin’ to call me that. He doesn’t deserve to face all this, but he has to, he’s stuck with it, fer better or worse, so I might as well pull my own and do what I can to make that easier for him.” And there’s no smiling on this, no assurance he can give, just the plain bare truth as he meets those heavy eyes. “I can’t promise I won’t mess up again, or that I’ll do everything I ought, or even that I can keep my temper with him all the time-” and despite expectations, Zelda cracks a tiny smile towards the floor at that, although Hilda looks none too impressed as she stares at him, “-but I want to try. It’s the least I can do.”

Dark painted lips purse with a small nod. “Excellent.”

Zelda, in contrast, just stares at him, doesn’t speak, doesn’t answer, doesn’t really make any expression either. It’s uncanny, and all the more so for her similarity to her brother.

“It will be some time before he is recovered fully, but should it be required, we might send for you if he needs help.”

“I’ll be here,” because where else would he be? “Jist….” and it’s been bothering, so while he’s not sure if he has a right to ask, if he really wants to know, he still speaks, “are you sure it’s alright? Yer- Ravio didn’t seem fond of my bein’ near him.”

This time it’s red turning to blue for answer and the light princess sighing, wincing really, like the very question pains her. “My beloved brother has-” a huff, a twitch of long ears, “Link is afraid of dogs.”

“Which is not to be shared nor mocked,” Hilda affirms quickly, gaze darting, but easing at the nod he gives immediately.

Both girls relax some when he says nothing of it.

“You’ve seen it, how small that form is,” the lighter speaks again. “Even hylian though, he’s been hunted. He hides it best he can, but-”

But he’d still known Legend was hesitant near Wolfie, near avoidant at times. The first he’d made to have contact was back the same day as both their secrets had been spilled to the other. He hadn't thought much of it then, but it makes sense, he supposes, even if it does sting a small part of himself, be it out of further guilt or more sympathy. “I see.”

“We would not have asked,” Hilda murmurs, now much softer, gaze the same, “except for how you handled everything before, this morning.”

“I jist-”

“He calmed,” where one softens the other firms, Zelda’s voice stronger now against the stone of the room, almost ringing back but for lack of volume, although not force. “Say what Ravio might, but Link doesn’t do that with anyone he doesn’t trust. He calmed in your presence, and let you keep him close when he was vulnerable, confused, and no doubt scared. Regardless of your actions, and that of your companions, he doesn’t remember any of it enough to see you as a threat or enemy.” She has Sky’s eyes, he finds himself thinking, turned on him with that same strained, searching pain he’d seen from the skyloftian earlier in the day, standing in the hall outside of their vet’s door. “That may change, or perhaps not, but for now, for his sake, we’re willing to offer you the same if you help him.”

It’s not as though there’s any real choice, or real deliberation. There’s doubt- concern, yes, but regardless of who, or how, or where, or when, this is a fellow hero, a brother if anyone still would think to call them that, and Twilight will and has ridden through fire for his little brothers. Doing it for another- doing far less- is only natural.

“Just give a call if you want me, or if he does. I’m here.”

“Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he almost feels he ought to bow to the hylian princess, “it’s the right thing, plain and simple. I’m just glad you’re willing to give me the chance.”

That face, so like their vet’s, yet softer, sweeter, twists up, tension in proud shoulders and tightly clasped fingers. “We’re not, but Link is, and somehow, between the four of us,” another glance between the two royals, “he’s always been the wisest on these matters.”

#a royally awful prank #Ketto writes #christmas of closure #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu twilight #lu hilda #lu fable

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cyb-by-lang · 7 months ago

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Cascade (part 9)

Wherein the tables are turned about ninety degrees and Kei experiences a new form of an old foe.

(It's trauma.)

Tenya coughed on smoke and the stench of blood. Even with his ears ringing and while blinking stars out of his eyes, he managed to get his hands under his shoulders and shove himself into a crouch. Knee pads slid on dry asphalt as Tenya wheezed, “Is everyone okay—?”

Splat!

Tenya looked toward the source of the sound as though there was a fishhook threaded through his soul yanking him around.

It was the sort of snapshot that Izuku would never burn away.

Four bulging eyes stared blankly back. The Nōmu’s metal mask split across the ground, revealing a lolling tongue and human teeth. Huge leathery wings were lying limp over the rest of the body, so close Izuku could reach out and touch the yellowy skin. Its talons were still embedded in the crater it made by showing up. Dying sparks followed its last rattling breaths. But worst of all was its brain: each side was pierced between the misplaced pairs of eyes, sending blood flowing down over the alley floor.

Tenya did not throw up or scream. He’d never been so close to death, and yet the last five minutes had shifted his standards much further than expected. The Nōmu stopped twitching even as Tenya counted his breaths.

“I’m all right,” Midoriya said, and glanced back toward Todoroki, who nodded and helped Native confirm he’d also made it through without trouble.

“Where’s Gekkō?” Todoroki asked, lighting a flame in his left hand.

Then: “Agh!”

Tenya lurched to his feet with Midoriya’s help. Once there, he felt time slow again.

There hadn’t been any water on the ground near any of Stain’s intended victims, but it had all moved the other way. Just in time to save everyone behind Gekkō from what had to be an electrification Quirk. The effects lasted even after the Nōmu died.

And now Gekkō was lying on her back with Stain’s boot on her shoulder. By the light provided by Todoroki’s flames, they could all see the bloodstain on her arm. And the knife pinning her long obi ribbon to the ground.

Then—then Gekkō must have managed to move the conductive water out of the way, stab the flying Nōmu in the head, and still keep everyone clear of the electric shock. Even Stain. Just not far enough to safely recover from the attack with a serial killer at her back. With her costume failure slowing her down, she didn’t have enough space to dodge.

Tenya’s guilt threatened to choke him. If not for him, none of them would be here. Gekkō must have come looking for him solely because he’d left Manual and her behind earlier, and Midoriya clearly followed the same logic. Todoroki then chased Midoriya. Aside from Native and the Hero Killer himself, every extra person here threw themselves into the fire, and for what?

For Tenya’s revenge?

“You shouldn’t have tried to save everyone, little hero. Should’ve just let me fry,” Stain told her. He shifted his foot to the center of her chest and pressed down until she couldn’t breathe. With the point of his sword unwavering above her throat, he almost seemed to smile. “Calculate better next time.”

Gekkō didn’t talk. The moment she’d succumbed to the unknown Quirk, all that was left was hyperventilation and a wheezing, faltering hostility. They all heard her cough as Stain pulled his weight back.

“I admit I was expecting more from someone the League hates so much.” Stain lifted his head to glare at all of them. “Last chance to get out of the way, brats. Run, or die.”

Tenya’s role during the USJ invasion was to run. To find help. He’d stayed at the school after delivering his frantic message to All Might and then the other teachers in turn, almost frozen by tearful relief that someone was going to save his classmates. He hadn’t heard what happened until after school resumed and his classmates reunited. About the League of Villains and the anti-All Might creature thrown carelessly among his fellow students as though shedding blood was the entire point.

And then Gekkō had been forced to kill it.

This one, too.

It felt like the USJ all over again. Desperation and split-second decisions amid deadly foes on all sides. And now the League was targeting their class. Not just All Might. Individual students. The flying monster with an electricity Quirk was perfectly suited to bringing down someone like Gekkō, who relied so heavily on water-based attacks.

Tenya wouldn’t run. This was his fault. They’d never have been caught so far out of position if not—if not for this man, and for what he did to Tensei. The least Tenya could do was make sure they all made it back alive.

“Hold your breath!” And then Todoroki set the alleyway from knee-height upward completely aflame.

#cascade #shell game #catch your breath fanfic #keisuke gekko #crossover #midoriya izuku #iida tenya #todoroki shoto #my hero academia

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stillness-in-green · 1 month ago

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I don't really agree with all your changes like with Iida because if you keep the Todofam plot the same then Shouto wouldnt be able to get to his family in time..

(Regarding this post about things I’d do differently in the endgame, particularly the notes about MLA!Iida.)

I know I didn’t talk much about the Todofam plot in that post, anon, but believe me, it would not stay the same. If absolutely nothing else, Shouto wouldn’t need someone to race him across the country to save his family because his family would likely have been with him from the beginning. I’ve said on numerous occasions that it frustrates me to no end that the family promises to deal with Touya together only to passively allow themselves to get split up by the battle plan "Kill ‘Em All" Hawks devises and then only be able to come together in the end as a result of the actions of Villains like Spinner, Kurogiri, and Skeptic.

Maybe Horikoshi’s intention was that they meant “deal with him in the aftermath, once Dabi had been defeated and imprisoned,” but if that’s all they meant, then frankly I don’t think they deserved that big battlefield reunion, and I wouldn’t have given it to them.

Also too, putting Iida on the same battlefield as Shouto and Dabi is kind of ridiculous to begin with, the kind of thing that only got done because Horikoshi knew he was going to need Iida there for later developments, not because it should have seemed a good use of Iida’s skillset to the in-story battle planners. Iida’s engines are specifically vulnerable to overheating, and you put throw him up against Dabi? I mean, maybe the idea was to just win with a sucker punch, like Gran Torino at the bar way back in Kamino, but that surely doesn’t happen with Shouto taking the lead on the attack and wanting to have a whole dialogue with his long-lost brother! And sure, maybe Iida can help keep the perimeter clear or assist with lesser threats, but he could do that anywhere, so what’s the in-universe justification for making him do it on a battlefield that will actively make it harder?

In any case, just because I have Iida in mind as an MLA character, that doesn’t mean he could never help his classmates! It only means they’d need to reconcile with him first, the same way they’d have to with Shiketsu!Momo, Still-the-traitor!Aoyama, or any other student that left them over the course of the year. The whole point of my MLA AUs is to push the MLA[1] into a position that forces the main characters to acknowledge and grapple with their existence, rather than just letting a hundred thousand people get mass-arrested and memory-holed with a sum total of three UA students having to interact with them at all, and two of them being 1-B kids![2] Instead, the 1-A Class President, a dear friend of several key cast members, turning out to be MLA puts that conflict right up close and personal. Because the thing is, Iida still cares about them, too – of course he does! He’s Iida! Earnest and forthright and with a strong sense of justice and loyalty and duty!

The trouble is that all of those virtues were aligned to the cause of quirk liberation first, his family second, and his friends at UA only third. So if that friendship is to be salvaged, it will require his friends not just writing him off as a lost cause, but earnestly trying to understand his point of view, what he values, why he believes in the cause of Liberation. They’ll have to ask if he really thinks those values are served by Shigaraki Tomura and then honestly listen to that answer, too! Remember, the Fix-It Fic(s) are a “save all the Villains” scenario. In the same way that in the actual canon Shigaraki attacks AFO in concert with Deku and Toga saves Ochaco’s life, a saved Villain may well be willing to help a Hero, if they’ve been allowed the space to have that change of heart.

I just, you know, don’t want them to have to die immediately afterward and then have the story pretend they were saved anyway.

So, Iida might well still have a chance to help Shouto with his family on some level, empathizing as one younger brother wrestling with a family legacy to another. Or he might not! Maybe his path will take him somewhere radically different in the end! But either way, Shouto’s family is not going to die just because Iida has an arc and personal stakes of his own beyond playing taxicab for a friend.

Thank you for reading the original post, and for the ask!

1: That is, the version of the MLA we got in My Villain Academia, before they got swept under the rug and their few survivors flanderized into rhetorically unchallenging strawmen.

2: By my count, Kaminari, Honenuki and Kinoko. I don’t count Tokoyami because he doesn’t actually have to come up against Re-Destro face-to-face – god forbid he have to look into the eyes of all the men he has Dark Shadow drop a staircase on top of, amirite? This count also excludes second war interactions like Shouji and Mina have, because I’m only talking about the mass arrest in the first war.

#bnha #the fix-it fic au(s)#iida the younger #stillness answers #also just as a polite reminder #me brainstorming au fanfiction is not taking the canon away from anybody #you don't have to like it or agree with my choices #but #appealing to an unabashed and vociferous mla stan (me) on the basis of prioritizing the todorokis' happy(?) ending #is not likely to get you a great deal of traction I fear

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nullifi-blr · 3 months ago

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thinking about my dnd characters and what naddpod characters they'd be most like / get along with / i wanna put them in situations with.

easiest is onyx and onyx. two grey rock sorcerers with holy or demonic blood in them getting their warlock patron from technology? they'd be silly. punk rock and pastel goth. i just want them in a room.

next is morllyn and calder. i think calder would hate it. morrllyn's 7'9, half elf half frost giant, and a follower of the raven queen. they're extremely stern. i want them in a room for one minute and then im separating them for their own health like two hamsters.

hiraeth and zirk would probably lead to the end of the world. hiraeth's a hexblood arcane archer who uses a magic gun. so rather than zirk fusing magic into tech, hiraeth fused tech into magic. hiraeth was also raised by a witch. i think they'd honestly thrive in eldermourne.

kinnos and henry would also be silly, while we're here on the eldermourne topic. kinnos is a tempest cleric of the ocean, worked as a sailor before their ship was destroyed. i think they'd be drinking buddies (after hank grapples with a koi fish tiefling being A Thing.)

yvelle and jens would be the toxic wlw and mlm besties that sit in the bar and say "hey we saw you from across the bar and we think your vibes are rancid. lol." two awful people telling each other "exactlyyyyyyyy."

i think there'd be some commiserating between callie and alcor. two elves who had a nasty break up and accidentally roped their coworkers into their mess. but also paladin buddies! stars! fancy times!

fia and hemlock, while at first i thought wouldn't be fun, would be so good. two weird girls who are just haunted in life generally, but try and keep a light atmosphere. hemlock would do great in eldermourne (mostly cause her setting is very eldermourne inspired), and would loveeeee all the smith and blade stuff. two girls reading books and learning magic.

syreyl and beverly. equal parts paladins dedicating their lives to save those who cant help themselves, and equal parts in suhchhhhhhhhhh tensee family situations. bev's dad Doing All That, syreyl's whole family being in a blood debt to mammon, idk man. i think it's fun, and i think bev would remind syreyl of his younger siblings back home.

olio and sol. a changeling who is defined by the script their god gives them and one of many clones of one frog man. i think there'd be some bonding over not knowing what makes you You, about not knowing at all times if you're really being your own independent person or just walking in the footsteps that someone else already made. but outside of that, olio could shapechange into a bullywug. they could just be two frogs on a lillypad talking about self defined personhood.

anyways. thanks for coming to my tedtalk. if you're curious what everyone looks like, i'll throw their designs under the cut

Onyx, ghost-in-the-machine warlock. his patron is stuck inside a tamagotchi. calls his patron Lucky (cause its technically an eldritch entity that doesn't really speak words)

Morllyn, blood cleric of the raven queen. they're sooooo weird <3

Hiraeth, hexblood tiefling arcane archer (flavored to use gun). two gun slingin' magic cowboys in the wrong wrong west.

Kinnos, tiefling cleric of the ocean. literally just a fish.

Yvelle, trickery cleric of an unnamed spider-themed deity. originally part of a duo of characters. the other was a warlock, and their patron was the same deity yvelle follows.

Alcor, conquest paladin of space????? idk i never settled on a deity for them. they're an astral pirate who got dumped off in the feywild. still keeps singing sea shanties (with an aussie accent.)

Hemlock, scribes wizard and grave cleric multiclass. she owns an inn with her brother, and frequents cemeteries. locals have nicknamed them "the wight of dauhrun".

Syreyl, hexblade warlock and devotion paladin. family came to the material plane ages ago by making a deal with their plane's archdevil mammon. now the only way mammon lets their family stay on the material plan is by making one of their kids into a warlock with acidic blood.

Olio, whispers bard and changeling from the feywild. has "taken on the role" of Tyr (the tiefling), Mirri (a tabaxi), and Celadon (an eladrin). was raised to follow a script to fulfill the stories of adventurers as any character needed. recently received an empty script saying "hey man. its your god. i physically cannot reach out to you in barovia. improv time."

#naddposting #<- gonna try to use that for my crazy non maintag naddpod rambles #its also oc posting but eh #youre getting late night dnd character rambles #i love all my dnd characters dearly #im playing olio in a longterm curse of strahd campaign rn #and alcor is for a small feywild oneshot #honorable mention to lethe whalen. guy who is soooooo #honestly i think he'd just go play blackjack with the fantasmos. that seems up his alley #also OOOOOO you wanna ask me about my dnd characters so badddddd

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disinfernus · 1 year ago

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Star light, Star bright

TIMING: early november. LOCATION: wormwoods, between wormrow and downtown. PARTIES: @ariadnewhitlock & @disinfernus SUMMARY: dis steals from a corpse (i'm not dead yet!) and araidne stumbles upon them. she's rightfully concerned! CONTENT: none!

Dīs was never quite sure of what they might come across during an evening walk. It was always quite the mystery, but that made the usually quiet leisurely exercise exciting. There was the prospect of walking away with a treasure, after all, and that thought alone was enough to keep the night strolls to an almost daily schedule.

That night had been a little different. The pendant that came to be in their possession came from a corpse that was not quite dead yet. A surprise, considering how still they lay amidst the clovers. The clearing sat fairly close to public view and up along the forest edge. The grass was trodden; people definitely used this trail. How did the body get here? What caused this? And why were they still alive? Ah well, it made no difference to them. The body was a waste but their golden valuable held tenderly against breastbone would have to do.

The blood was — the blood was a lot. Whatever did it likely couldn’t be too far, so Dīs started to turn on heel, to leave the dying man and clean up their new treasure — and their clothes. The human’s red was hidden within the darkness of their top, but there was plenty on their hands to make them look guilty.

She should have been in bed with Wynne, but Ariadne also knew that she had to probably let them have some kind of space. It was only reasonable for the both of them. Wasn’t it?

Shaking any doubts from her mind, she made her way around the edge of the forest, breathing in the cool night air, trying to ground herself. Or something. What she hadn’t expected was to look up and see with her (unfortunately) perfect vision. Which did mean, though, that she saw someone with red on their hands.

For a moment, Ariadne wondered if red gloves were suddenly in fashion (she wasn’t sure who she was supposed to ask to confirm this), except that the red seemed far too scattered and far too wet for it to be gloves. Which meant it was blood, wasn’t it? She recoiled for a moment, but she couldn’t just run away, could she? Cass was a hero, and so maybe she could help save somebody, somehow.

“Uh, hey.” She tried to make herself taller, fighting the urge to shrink into herself. “What are you up to out here, so late, uh, yeah?”

They saw the young woman before they heard her speak. Their hands busied themselves within the folds of their coat, hoping to rid themself of the evidence. It was dark out — very dark out, except for the light of the moon. Silhouettes dared to disappear completely within pockets of shadow.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dīs returned casually and tried to keep their voice light without any hint of defensiveness. They weren’t sure of how successful they were; the question itself raised a red flag, of course. Who else but the guilty turned the question back like that?

A brief silence fell after their query, but they hurried to fill it quickly with a secondary answer, one to hopefully placate any potential suspicions. Not that she should be suspicious, of course — the man was already dying when they got there. “I’m on a walk… I don’t sleep very well. I’m assuming that is why you’re out here as well?”

“That’s true – you could ask me that! You probably should!” Because she was a monster, but at the same time, Ariadne very much did not want this man to ask her what she was doing or what she was, as a matter of fact, at all. “I – please – um, don’t?” Which probably wasn’t the best thing to say, if she wanted to throw off suspicion.

“Yes. That is why!” She wasn’t sure if she’d ever come off this enthusiastic in her talking, but maybe, right now, she had to. Had to do something to show that she wasn’t actually some terrifying freakish monster. Or that it made sense for someone who still looked like a teenager (and, Ariadne supposed, technically was – being nineteen-almost-twenty when she died and all) to be wandering around at night. “Awful bout of chronic insomnia.” She shrugged. “But I – your hands? Are you okay?”

Dīs furrowed their brows down. Now it was their turn to feel suspicion. Could they turn this around and get out without much issue? Doubtful. There would have to be some tricky word play and the right beats to hit for them to avoid lingering in her memories. The shadows could take them easily, but there was something else there beneath the catching light of the moon that gave them pause. Flashes of red, vivid like rubies, broke through the inky black darkness.

Curious. “Insomnia seems to be a popular blight in Wicked’s Rest.” Not for them, of course — being nocturnal had its perks. “It’s a bit.. Late, though, don’t you think? To be out by yourself. Most wouldn’t dare it.” Most were humans too fearful of the terrors that hid behind the treeline and in the caves. The ones that did dare tended to be those same terrors. Dīs curled their hands in, fingers having rubbed against each other with discomfort. They kept their arms to their sides now, bathed in shadow. She already caught sight of the blood, but maybe if they kept them out of the limelight, they’d fade away into obscurity.

“I’m.. I’m going home now, to wash this off. I don’t have a cloth with me.” Keep it obscure, keep it vague. “I’ll be alright, though.” Their shadow, a beautiful thing, stretched itself eagerly and slipped, blanket-like over the now lifeless corpse. The dark would hide it well if she didn’t look hard enough, but those eyes — if she was what they assumed, the darkness would be pointless.

“Yes, I’m not some sort of scientist or doctor or anything but there does seem to be a lot of that here.” Ariadne wondered if she could be considered an insomniac, now, given that she didn’t physically have to sleep. It seemed as though it was something that deserved a category of its own.

It was late, and Ariadne faked a yawn, hoping maybe they hadn’t seen her eyes. “It is late, you’re right, but it’s also beautiful, so I suppose I just got caught up in that?” At least she was trying to find a new perspective on the beauty of the night, because it wasn’t exactly something that came so easily, now. It used to be easy to adore everything the night had to offer, and she still loved the stars and the way the air felt, but being so much a part of the night wasn’t something that sat too easily with her.

“You can borrow uh, a handkerchief.” If she had one. Which she hoped she did. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Ariadne looked up at him with wide eyes, forgoing the hope that they hadn’t seen her eyes. If they hadn't commented yet, then maybe it was alright?

Insomnia didn’t come to those that were dead, at least that was what they assumed the young woman was — dead. Or rather, undead. They weren’t well versed in what species hid in the cornucopia that was Wicked’s Rest, but they knew of one other who’s eyes behaved the same. Assumptions, though, could be disastrous — and at worst, deadly. She didn’t seem the type to kill, though again, a downed guard could spell tragedy for the nymph.

“Perhaps that’s the reason for so many who lack sleep: they can’t bear to look away?” They questioned, rhetorical in nature, but it did have its merit — the city was a strange one, filled with magic and decay. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch if it lured people in that way, with its inescapable beauty. “You should go home, though. The night is as beautiful as it is dangerous.” It wasn’t just what lurked within the shadows that could cause harm — it was the shadows themselves.

The offer was kind, but would it help to get them out of there sooner rather than later? A gamble. That’s all this interaction was. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to mess anything of yours up. Yes, yes… I’ll be fine.” Their questioning on whether or not the girl was dead or not should have been geared towards the body that lay behind them, hidden in the dark, but not quite dead yet. A pained, but low sounding, moan escaped the confines of the shadow, giving attention to something that wasn’t supposed to be there.

“That’s – very possible, yes, I agree.” Ariadne pulled her arms around her body. “The night is beautiful, and I always used to go stargazing with my parents, so…” Their question hadn’t needed any sort of answer, but she’d answered anyway, in part because she was worried about seeming rude. Yes, even to a stranger that she’d run into in the middle of the woods. Which might’ve not been the best idea, but said stranger was being relatively accepting of her strange behavior, so she’d happily take that energy and run with it. She liked making people feel safe, and had a distinct lack of ability to do that as often now as she’d used to.

“You should go too. I don’t want you to get into danger, either.” They seemed nice, even if there was the whole unexplained blood on their hands. Also yes – it’s fine, I can always wash it, or find something else to do with it.” Ariadne did her best to not hop around too anxiously. Then there was a moaning from somewhere, and her immediate response was, “I didn’t do that!” Because of course she was a monster, and she was capable of horrible things, but this hadn’t been her. “I – did you hear that, I mean?”

Dīs couldn’t help the feeling that she was deliberately following close behind, conversationally speaking, but she didn’t seem to pose as much of a threat - if at all - so they didn’t really mind. She seemed more nervous than they did, truthfully. “Do you still stargaze on your own?” They heard themself ask as they started to close the gap between them, their intent to lead them away from the death that lingered.

“Then come, no sense in persisting here any longer.” No, Dīs didn’t want to leave yet, not with the body still exposed. Once they were a certain distance away, the shadows would recede, making their crime visible to all that passed by. They’d have to circle back after she was gone to take care of the corpse, but they weren’t sure how long that would be. Would the body still be there afterward? The lampade gave pause in their efforts in cleaning the blood off their hands once she was certain it was alright for them to do so.

Dīs pursed their lips. They had already stepped ahead of the young woman, maybe a step or two. The idea of her being in closer proximity to the body made them feel uneasy. “Hear what?” It wasn’t a “no”, so the hurt was avoided for now, but it meant further investigation on either her part or theirs. “What do you mean, you didn’t do it?” They asked instead, hoping the change in topic would pull her attention away.

“Sometimes I do, yeah!” Maybe the added nod was a bit too enthusiastic, but it was genuine, and Ariadne figured that that was what mattered, right? She told herself the answer to that was yes, if only to further comfort herself. “It’s nice to be reminded of what makes the night so beautiful.” She needed more reminders now that she was part of the night, and a very bad part of the night at that.

She nodded to their remark. “Coming, yeah.” Ariadne began to walk alongside them, though they were tall (even compared to her – not that she was tall tall, just tall-ish tall), and she thought that she had to make a certain effort to keep up with them, but that wasn’t so bad at all. It was almost nice, even if she did feel a certain sense of nerves, all bundled up and confusing. Her perfect night-vision cut through the dark of the forest, though she was far more interested in the person next to her than whatever else was going on.

It was a certain thrill, to not be absolutely terrified. Not that Ariadne wasn’t scared at all, but to, at least in this one (possibly brief) moment, be able to look around a dark forest in awe was pretty incredible. “I – nothing. I don’t know, I thought I heard something.” She straightened up, fully intent on playing the part of not scared at all, even if that brief moment had been just that – brief. Far too ephemeral. “I didn’t make the noise is what I mean. There’s nothing else for me to not have done. I don’t think. Right?” She looked up at them.

Ever since they’d been ejected from the safety of their catacombs, they found the distant twinkling of the white and gold stars to be comforting. They liked the way they looked to be permanently pressed into the velvet sky. Some would shoot across, of course, but the constant ones were nice to look at. They were grounding, in a way.

“No,” Dīs returned, almost a little too defensively at first, “you can not see the stars during the day, can you? Not without one of those… telescopes.” The lampade gave a sweeping glance across the dark, navy black curtain that hung over the earth. “The stars don’t make the night beautiful. The night makes them beautiful.” They softened their tone, but they weren’t about to let space rocks and gas take the credit for their own splendor.

She thought she heard something; that wasn’t exactly comforting, but the forest was also full of creatures and flora that could have potentially made that sound. They couldn’t risk her wanting to head back, in case her curiosity overwrote her fear, unless she was actually really cool with murder. “No, you’re fine,” Dīs placated, or at least tried to. “The woods are alive, it would be foolish to think we are alone.” Other than the very real human body that rested some feet from them, there were plenty else to keep them company.

“Do you live far from here?”

“You can’t.” She responded immediately, not even having to think about any of it for a moment. Because she’d used to beg her parents to let her see stars at all times, and they’d explained how even though they existed during the day, the sun was the only one you could properly see at that time. Which had disappointed Ariadne, but only given her more of an appreciation for what she could see at night.

Now, though, the stars were not nearly as comforting as they’d been in her childhood, no matter how much Ariadne did still have an immense fondness for them. She’d made every active effort she could to ensure that she did still find comfort in them. She was part of the night now, and it made sense in some sort of desperately confusing way, that she’d be even more connected to the stars now than she ever was before. “Ah, well, I guess that kind of makes sense.” She shrugged. “I think the two of them magnify each one’s beauty, maybe? But like obviously to each their own, I’m not disagreeing with you at all though!! Just so we’re like, super duper clear.” She didn’t want to make them annoyed or frustrated or anything even remotely close to any of that.

“Ha! So true.” Ariadne winced at how fake her own voice sounded, but there was no use in backtracking now. “I suppose that’s both alarming and a comfort, to know you can go into the woods and never really be alone. There’s some musical song about that.” She shook her head. “That’s not important. I – yeah, well ish. I live in an apartment Downtown with my cousin.” She paused. “How about you?”

They knew that, but stating so would be like beating a dead horse and they wanted to get her away from the murderous evidence as quickly as possible. They figured keeping their mouth shut was the best way to do that. Her need to placate wasn’t lost on Dīs, but they couldn’t be sure if it was because of the situation or if that was just her. They would store that information for later, just in case.

A hum escaped them in response to her; of course they didn't agree with her, but they did have their own fixed sockets in their head that emitted the most radiant light. It would be hypocritical of them not to acknowledge their own light source. Two stars lost in a pool of black ink. They had to wonder if their light was stronger than that of celestial bodies.

“It’s an opinion.. You’re allowed to have it. Even if I don’t share it.”

Dīs offered her a nod. “It is the way it has been and the way it always will be.” Cryptic, but one would be hard pressed not to find a pair of eyes fixed on you in the woods. There were all manner of beasts that called it home, some more deadly than the others. “Wormrow,” the truth, but not the entirety of it. “So, I suppose that means we are on opposite sides of this wood. It’s fine.” They waved off as they continued onward. “I will walk you there, if you’d like. Or to the street - or to any sign of civilization. I know the Whye River has a better view of the stars than these trees do.”

At least they seemed receptive to her back-and-forth behavior – whatever it could really be called. The two of them were talking about stars and Ariadne was, on top of all that, doing her absolute best to think about all the good things about nighttime, rather than the very many scary and otherwise alarming things. Which she was part of. But she wasn’t going to feed on the other person right by her, she wasn’t even hungry (though the growl of her stomach said otherwise), and soon they’d both be on their ways.

Whatever sound she’d heard must have not been anything important, or even anything at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to share it! That’s fine! Everyone sees things differently and thinks about things differently and I wouldn’t wanna make somebody feel like they had to think the same way that I do.” Which was likely far too much to say, but Ariadne had already said it, and so that was that.

She knew Wormrow from Wynne, and she hoped that this person was also staying safe, because she also knew Wormrow from growing up in town and how it wasn’t always so safe. “I think I’d like that.” Especially because they didn’t seemed bothered by the red glow of her eyes, and they probably-maybe knew this forest better than she did, at least at the moment. “Lead the way.”

“I didn’t think that was your intention,” they returned with assurance. They didn’t think she had any, really, other than to enjoy the evening out when it was them that she ran into. She wasn’t the one with blood on her hands. They did think she was wrong, though. “It’s… Nice to know, though.” Not everyone they knew subscribed to her way of thinking; they’d endured them for too long. Dīs was glad their walking partner was better than that.

The lampade nodded, grateful she was keen to leave the woods instead of linger. Not many people would be that trusting with someone they had just met, especially where there were more feral things than conscious beings. Her eyes told them she could probably hold her own, though, that she was more than the fragile nature of humans. “Just this way, then,” Dīs directed. They carried themself slowly to keep with the young woman, happy to point out and talk about the stars that littered the clear, dark sky.

Even though they needed to head in the other direction, they figured the forest could have the body left there. A thanks, in a way, for letting them out with nothing but chit chat and cool air.

#thread #thread; star light star bright #tr; ariadne w

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bamfkeeper · 11 months ago

Note

This is the first of my X-Men characters. She's a little overdeveloped, so we're just gonna talk about the minimal head canon debauchery :)

If it seems like there's a hole in the timeline or whatever, I promise it's complete in my head. But I can't share that here without explaining the entire multiversal shift I created for the sake of ✨lore :)). I have the power here :)))

---

Malieyah Maximoff; pronounced muh-leev-uh

Nickname: Mava; pronounced like Lava... but with an M...

Mava is the sibling of the Maximoff twins by full blood, and half-sister to Lorna Dane.

Mava's mutation manifested the summer before she turned fourteen. Wanda and Pietro had already manifested their spectacular abilities with no explanation. Mava expected it to be an effect of their twinhood (as if that made sense).

But after a bout of intense pneumonia, Mava realized she could feel the tug of magnetic fields around her. Every magnetic metal in their home pulled to her, luring her into their attractions. Over the following months, Mava discovered she could feel magnetic fields around her, as well as she discovered she could touch them. Play with them. Bend them to her will. Shortly later, her eyes developed a greener tint to them. What irises used to be a perfect heterochromatic hazel-blue now glistened an unnatural shade of green. To hide the color, she began wearing shades in public, no matter how rude one considered her to be.

Mava paid not much attention to her abilities for years. One thing she refuses to do is play with a technological device at the risk of manipulating the magnetic field so much to completely destroy the device. Eventually, she was able to save money for colored contacts that returned her irises to a more swallowable shade of dull hazel. She was able to blend in, able to meld with the outside population better than her siblings. Moving countries after an accident via Wanda helped to restart Mava's reputation. It's what she craved.

The man's face, who the siblings had good reason to believe was their father, was on national television every other month, sparking outcries for mutant revolution and defense against their persecution. The word "mutant" did not resonate with Mava for years more to come. She was not raised a "mutant". They could not be "mutants". They were special. Nothing wrong about that.

Then she met Lorna Dane. And with her, the Maximoff siblings unlocked the truth of their lineage.

Pushes for mutant registration and other marginalizing laws across the globe convinced Mava that her condition was something to be ashamed of. Something to fear and to hate. As a last ditch effort to flea the persecution of the human population surrounding her, she gained passage and moved to Genosha at the age of 18. Wanda and Pietro did not follow. They had made a life for themselves that could not so easily be uprooted.

The X-Men were stationed on the island nation at the time (for reasons). Mava had no intention of associating with the X-Men. She found them pretentious and were not going good things to give mutantkind a good reputation. She just craved a space to be Someone apart from the eyes and allure to polar charges.

Well well. Someone ruled Genosha who had been keeping a watchful eye on the four of them since the day they were born. He was not going to let her breeze by without notice. (does this mean he will come out and claim her? No that's crazy talk. We're gonna throw her in the Danger Room and hope something good comes out)

Fast forward two years, Mava is training in the X-Men compound to curate her powers, as well as schooling for biochemical engineering (pharmaceuticals, the technology behind the power dampening collars, the validity of the mutant cure, etc). Mava ditched the contacts, embracing her natural eyes sincerely. She has made good friends with one Nightcrawler and one Morph, both of whom are working to give her a reason to stay. Then comes along Mr. LeBeau.

Six years her senior and a fresh addition to the official team, Gambit represents everything Mava wishes she could see in herself. After weeks of pining and stolen glances at late parties, the two have a one night stand. Which turns into two nights. Three nights. Four nights. The attraction turns into something Mava never before had the chance to experience, which turns into meetings on the rooftop.

The couple continue on like this for a month until Magneto subtly threatens Gambit, and Mava realizes she kind of likes having him around to tick off the man who still refused to claim her as his kin.

(this, of course, is not their only motivation to be together. But it is a contributing factor)

Mava never gave herself a mutant alias. She never cared enough (and Lorna had already taken the cool one.) To this day, Mava has still refused to join the X-Men, short of using their training tech and the dedicated relationship to one of their best. The X-Men was never what she envisioned for herself. She just meant to fit. To find her people.

She's still looking. But until the X-Men move back to Charles Xavier's mansion, Genosha will have to do.

---

sorry this is so long. It could be longer

I have no shame :))))

SOOO your oc is incredible?? So thought out and the story is believable to be a legit mutant in the universe !

I love how much detail you put into it, connecting Mava with so many storylines and other characters. I love her. I love how complicated her story is with herself, the ups and downs of her past and lineage. I also really like how she is somewhat on her own, how she doesn't want to 'join' a team.

And that Gambit romance?? Yesss~

Also don't have any shame. I love hearing people gush about their ocs.

#💌asks

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countessdaydream · 2 years ago

Text

Change My Life

genre. angst. romance. action. mature themes. slow burn. historical. transmigrated!Reader.

Warning: chapter has death and murder in it. slight sexual theme

Prologue- The history of Olvia Krul written translated from historical scripts.

It is late spring.

The Sun beams brightly in the sky, its heat casts on her hands comfortably. The rest of her body, save her face, is covered by a cloak. The pentagon area in which she is a few feet away from is semi-crowded, hoping to go unnoticed. The surrounding audience, like Olvia is standing before the newly wedded couple. The cheers around her resound loudly as she gazes upon the couple.

“Congratulation Your Majesty!” one of the townspeople next to her yells, followed by more heartfelt words from others.

“You look lovely Princess Aurora!”

“We wish nothing but happiness and prosperity in your marriage!”

Oh, how Olvia wishes those words were directed towards her.

Olvia clenches her fist tightly. Her temper rose with each second. Olvia can feel the tears threatening to fall. If someone were to tell her two months ago that the man, she shared passionate nights and fond memories with is going to marry another woman in front of her then she would have ridiculed them. They loved one another. She was supposed to be his wife, his love, his Queen. But alas not everything turned out the way she thought it would.

“Soon, my beloved, we will spend many nights like this together.” Satoru caresses your cheek. Olvia leans into his touch, one of her hands touch the one that is caressing her cheek. “I cannot wait for that time to come, waking up every day to your beautiful face, spending hours with you inside and outside of the bedroom. I cannot wait for the day when I can love you freely as my wife.” His gaze full of nothing but love and adoration for her makes her heart flutter.

Olvia turns on her heel, going down the alleyway. In the distance, she hears the bell ring, signifying the end of the ceremony and a new beginning for the newlywedded couple. Her stomach churns uncomfortably as her body quickly dissipates as if she were never there.

She instantly appears in her room. Thankfully, she is the only one present in her space.

“Argh!” she grabs the need table to launch it across the room, breaking upon impact. Olvia grabs a vase followed by other items, breaking, and damaging them beyond repair.

“How dare he?’ How dare any of them do this to me?’ a scream rips from her throat as she continues to throw furniture around the room. Soon her screams of rage slowly transitioned into maniacal laughter. Heaving, she looks down at her mirror broken on the floor. The shards scattered around her reflect the wild look in her red eyes. Her makeup ruined by her tear-stained face and her hair disheveled from her rampage.

“No.” she whispers, Olvia as she wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of her gown, rubbing away the smeared makeup as best as she could. A malevolent grin slowly overtakes her beautiful face. “These people will not get away with what they did to me.”

****

“Ah!” A piercing scream rips through the air alarming the guards of the imperial palace.

“I heard the scream from this direction,” One of them yells, running down the fiery hallway. The violent flames fan the guards’ skin as they go further down the hall. Portraits, broken glass, and debris litter the once refined hallway. Pushing the grandiose doors, the guards brace themselves for battle.

“Your majesty-“ The first guard stops midsentence as he looks at the scene before him in shock.

A few feet away from the guards is the maid. Her body trembling as she stares towards the center of the room. In the middle of the room, lying on the white marble floor is the King, bright orange flames consuming his lifeless body. Standing over him is none other than Olvia Krul, the deranged countess.

****

It is late summer when Olvia attempted to brutally murder the Crown Prince of Muttsu. Although she nearly succeeded, the Imperial Family’s physician miraculously saved him. Unfortunately, many people died during Olvia’s attack against the imperial family. As punishment for her heinous crime, Olivia Krul, will be sentenced to death in front of the entire capital. Her family and their servants were banished from the kingdom for their affiliation with the deranged woman, forced to live on the outskirts in the harsher weather.

It is early autumn. The day for the execution of Olvia Krul here.

“Olvia Krul.” The soldier from earlier steps forward, standing in front of her bound body. “For the attempted murder of the Crown Prince, you will be burned to death per the law of the kingdom. Do you have any last words?”

Olvia looks up at the crown prince, uninterested. Her dull eyes were as if she were devoid of emotion. “Tell me,” She pauses, a smirk slowly spreads on her face. “How did it feel to be burned alive?”

Olvia Krul!” The prince yells, standing abruptly at full height, nearly knocking over the chair he had been sitting in. He stares down at her with enraged eyes.

Olvia cackles, her laughter resonated throughout the area. Her laughter sends chills down everyone, minus the King and the soldier’s spine. Some visibly shivered, much to the woman’s glee.

“You will suffer just as I did when you burned me, wench!” The king signals for the guard to begin the execution. His wife places her hand upon him to soothe his ire.

A pang of hurt hits Olvia’s chest, though she doesn’t show it.

“I love you Y/n. There is no other woman in the world that I want to be with other than you.” Satoru kisses the palm of her hand before trailing higher. Words of affection continue to fall from his mouth causing her heart to warm.

Oh, how things have changed.

Her smirk unwavering even as the flames begin to slowly grow around her feet. She decides to chastise him.

“Do you think because you escaped death this time that you will live unscathed for your treachery? Someday, you and everyone else will pay for betraying me. I will exalt my revenge, even if I must burn in hell for five hundred years to be reborn once more. You all will bow before me and repent for your sins Gojo Satoru!” The fire consumes her body. Her voice and laughter echoes until there are nothing left.

It is over. The story of deranged woman, Olvia Krul has come to a close. Now the King and Queen can live happily ever after.

Or so we think.

#gojo x reader #gojo saturo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader

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