Shell Shocked AU [reference sheet]

- Basic run down for those who don’t know the AU! The 2012 and Rise universes are fused together; Raphael and Y’Gythgba ‘Mona Lisa’ end up raising the Rise kids when Raph brings them home one night after a patrol. Being surrounded by countless uncles and aunts is a lot but it’s a wonderful time and plenty of shenanigans ensue because of it!

Y’Phhorion (16yrs) 4’9”ft

Pyromaniac

Tags w/ Dad often

Doesn’t speak often/more quiet

Mediation w/ uncle Leo

UNYIELDING RAGE

Y’Thcorrin (16yrs) 5’8”ft

Temp. Sensative

Hates shell scrubs/cleaning

Gamer (BOTW/TOTK/JOURNEY/ECT)

Theater kid

Y’Ntherancino (16yrs) 5’6”ft

Comic collector

Gamer (GOW/GOW:RAG./HOLLOW KNIGHT/ECT)

ADHD

Extra training w/ uncle Leo

Y’Throvva (16yrs) 6”ft

Romance lover

Seeks hugs

Will eat ANYTHING

Unbridled rage

Controlled rage thanks to help from Dad, Slash, and Leatherhead

Extras with shell designs and no gear looks!

Bonus bonus: Corrins battle shell!

Hey so i gotta plant this seed: Xavier actually lives and Y/N dies. Kinda like a trevor situation whwre he dosnt one abiut ghosts but comes back years later and is like "oh shit my girlfriend is still here". Fluffy, sad you decide. Just gotta give lots of love for a character I thought we'd see a lot more of x

Quick warning for mentions of suicide, as well as somebody dying and blood (y’know, the usual).

He has to do this.

Everybody, from his family to his friends (these people aren’t actually your friends, a voice in Xavier’s head reminds himself, your real friends are all dead), reminds him that this is not something he has to do. Xavier wants to argue with them, telling them about the “healing power of revisiting the site of trauma,” or whatever other accurate bullshit his shrink says, but he chooses instead to say that he wants to do this. And he does.

Xavier wants to do this, he needs to do it, but he’s fucking terrified nonetheless.

The closer that he gets to Camp Redwood, the more Xavier’s hands shake on the steering wheel. It’s two years to the day since the second massacre on those grounds, yet he still misses his trusty Vanta-C, which had been trashed that fateful night upon a failed escape attempt that was thwarted by one of the three serial killers roaming the grounds. He starts to think that he should have taken up one of the numerous offers to join him on his journey, but there’s no going back now.

He has to do this.

Refusing to acknowledge what had happened two years ago had done Xavier no good. He was irreversibly altered from what he had seen and experienced that summer evening, and ignoring what he had gone through only made the nightmares and flashbacks worse. Attending Brooke’s trial had been the first step towards healing, he had realized as he walked out of the courthouse feeling like a small weight was lifted off of his shoulders. He knew what needed to be done in order to achieve true closure, and so, Xavier Plympton vowed that he would return on the anniversary of the day that he was nearly murdered.

The day that you were murdered.

Xavier drums his fingers against the dashboard, staring at the carved ‘Camp Redwood’ sign that hangs above the entrance to the camp. His chest tightens with panic, and he nearly puts the car into reverse before reminding himself that he’s safe. Ramirez and Brooke were on Death Row, and Mr. Jingles was dead. There was nothing to harm him except for his own memories. 

Two years. 730 days. 17,520 hours. He’s kept track of the hours and days, although he hasn’t wanted to. No matter how the time is counted, Xavier steps into Camp Redwood for the first time in 729 days, 14 hours, 54 minutes, and 12 seconds.

The eerie quiet of the campground reminds Xavier of a cemetery, before he comes to the sobering realization that it basically is a cemetery. Although the bodies of his friends (of his love) may not be buried here, their last moments were spent here. The fear that they felt must linger on some level. Xavier’s not sure what he believes in, but emotions that powerful must leave a mark on physical places.

Xavier’s heart jumps into his throat when he sees certain landmarks that stand out in his short residence at the summer camp. The campfire, long-since put out, where he entranced his fellow counselors with the ghost tale of Mr. Jingles, all of them blissfully unaware that he truly was lurking in the nearby woods. The boys’ cabin, where he had shared a joint with you while listening to Chet complain about the Olympic games. The pit where Chet had been impaled. The clearing near the lake where Xavier held you as you took your last breaths.

The air forcibly leaves his lungs upon seeing the place you were last alive, the force of his emotion forcing him to his knees in the dirt. His mind begins to show him your final moments, and he squeezes his eyes shut while muttering that it was just a memory in the hopes that he wouldn’t fall into a flashback. The pull is too strong, and soon, he feels the chill of that night once more.

Xavier jumps out from the tree that he and Chet are hidden behind, Trevor staring triumphantly into the spiked pit where he had just pushed Mr. Jingles to his death.

“Holy shit dude, that was awesome!” Xavier exclaims, slapping Trevor’s outstretched hand. Trevor’s grin begins to slip, but before Xavier can question him, an ear-piercing scream sends his heart plunging into his stomach.

“(Y/N)!” He’s running as fast as his weary legs allow, following the heart-wrenching sound of your terror as he dodges tree branches and jumps over roots. He shouldn’t have left your side in the first place, but you had encouraged him to go when you heard Chet calling for help, assuring him with a smile that you would stay put and hidden. He had left you there, by the shores of the supposedly bottomless lake, and now he could only hope that you weren’t in danger.

When he reaches the clearing where he had last seen you, Xavier’s shoulders sag in relief. There’s no serial killers around, and he’s hopeful that you managed to scare them off and are still hiding. Those hopes are dashed when he hears a weak cough and sees you slumped against a tree.

“(Y/N).” Xavier can’t feel his legs as he falls beside you, your half-lidded eyes struggling to stay focused as you look at him. “No, no, no!” Blood shines on your hand in the moonlight, and he gingerly lifts your arm away from your abdomen to reveal a deep stab wound.

“Xav,” you rasp, bloody hand reaching up to stroke his cheek, “you came back.”

“Shh,” he soothes, ripping off his jacket and placing pressure on your wound. “You don’t need to talk, babe. Save your energy, okay? I’m going to get you out of here.”

Your glassy eyes stare widely at him. “It’s too late.”

“No, what are you talking about? I’m here, it’s not too late.” When you cough again, blood dribbling past your lips, Xavier realizes that you’re right.

“I’m cold,” you whimper, tears streaking down your face, “and I’m scared. I--I don’t want to die.”

He wants to reassure you that you’re not going to die, but he can already see the light in your eyes dimming. The only thing he can do now is comfort you, so he gathers you in his arms as if he’s going to carry you and holds you to him. “Here sweetheart, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“You need to get out of here, okay? Tell everyone what happened here tonight.”

“I will.” Your eyelashes flutter as water hits them, Xavier realizing that he’s crying.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t have more time, I--” more coughing cuts you off, a gurgling sound emanating from your chest.

“I know.” His eyes flicker up, and he laughs softly. “Look at the stars, (Y/N). Remember how you always complained about not being able to see the stars in the city, and that you would show me the constellations when we got here?”

You nod as your breathing becomes more shallow, yet you somehow manage to clutch Xavier closer to you.

“I did research on constellations, because I love you and I wanted to impress you.” He points up at a cluster of stars. “That one’s Orion. I only know that because you told me about his belt--”

You shudder against him, and Xavier looks down in horror as you take one last breath before the light fully leaves your eyes. The hand that was touching his cheek falls, landing in your lap. “(Y/N),” Xavier says hoarsely, shaking your body. “(Y/N)!”

“It’s not fair,” Xavier mutters, remembering your death in vivid detail. You were supposed to have so much time together. You’re the first relationship that’s ever made him consider settling down, and he was going to give it all up, the drugs and the partying and the casual sex, for you. Now, he has nothing. “It’s not fair!” Xavier yells up at the sky, pounding his fists against the ground.

“Stop, Xav. You’re going to hurt yourself.” The crooning of a soft voice that he hasn’t heard for two years stops him cold.

“You’re not real, this is just a figment of my imagination.”

A hand, warm and real, gently lifts his chin up, until Xavier’s staring into your eyes that are once again full of life. “That would probably be better than what this really is.”

“(Y/N),” he gasps, looking you over as if you’re going to disappear in front of him. Really, you don’t blame him. You look exactly the same as you did that horrible night, minus the stab wound and the blood. 

You laugh in delight as Xavier lunges forward, standing up with you wrapped tightly in his arms while he spins you around. After a year of wandering aimlessly and another year of deep, unending anger, this is a welcome change. 

“I’ve missed you,” Xavier cries into your hair, hands roaming up and down your body to confirm that you’re real. 

“I’ve missed you too, baby.” Although he looks a little different, more worn-down, he still smells the exact same. Irish Spring Soap, cinnamon gum, and a hint of marijuana. 

Xavier pulls away to look at you once more, still keeping a tight grip on you. “How are you--I saw you die! How are you alive?”

“Baby,” you smile sadly, “I’m not.”

“But you’re here.”

“We’re ghosts. Everybody who died here is trapped here. I don’t know why, or how, but we’re still here.”

“If you’re a ghost, why didn’t you come find me?”

You start crying now, and Xavier holds you to his chest once more. “I tried, Xav, I promise. I spent a month trying to figure a way out of this fucking place, but we can’t leave. We’re physically tied to these grounds.”

“It’s okay, I don’t blame you.” As Xavier sits there, finally feeling complete once more, he realizes what must be done. He hasn’t felt this happy for two years, and he’ll never feel whole if he’s missing half of his heart. 

He has to do this.

“I want to stay here, with you,” Xavier says.

“You can’t. I won’t let you stay, this place has a way of affecting the living.” Xavier remains silent, instead pulling a knife out of his backpack to show you what he means. “Xavier, no!”

“(Y/N), I can’t live without you. These past two years have left me a shell of a man. I finally have you back, and I won’t be able to go on if I know you’re here.”

“I won’t let you k--” you cut yourself off with a sob, slapping your hand over your mouth. “I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

“Don’t you want to be together?”

“Of course I do! But you have a life to live.”

Xavier shakes his head. “Life’s not worth living if you’re not in it.”

Closing your eyes, you remain silent for a minute before finally nodding. “I can’t stop you from what you want to do. If this is what you want...”

“I have to do this.” Your eyes glisten with tears, and you kiss his forehead. “Does...does dying hurt?”

“Only for a moment. Then, you’re just cold. There’s nothing, and suddenly, there’s something. It’s like falling to sleep.”

He nods, turning the knife around so the blade is facing his abdomen. As he looks down, he realizes that his hands have stopped shaking for the first time since the massacre. 

“I’ll see you on the other side, (Y/N).” Xavier’s lips meet yours as he pushes the knife into his stomach, ending his life while simultaneously starting an eternity together with you.

I kinda burned myself out with how hard I focused on these two months ago that it took this long to pick up again. I had an impulse to see them stargaze and then of course it turned into making myself cry ahaha

Once again they’re on the road because I couldn’t think of a better setting but that’s not important; its about the feelings

Trish inspected her nails with the eye of a professional. Night sky or no, nothing, nothing, interrupted her beauty checks. The moon had risen to its peak; the light confirmed her suspicion. She sighed. Her colored polish had degraded from smooth to a ragged patchwork. Oh well, there were worse things to worry about. She looked toward the road behind her. Empty. For some reason her stomach sank. All at once her body tensed to hold itself for danger that took its time. That was the worst kind. Your mind split from your control at the worry the enemy instilled on their own pace. They didn't need to always attack, wait long enough and she'd do it to herself. Trish swallowed hard and breathed out. The night insects kept singing. A few paces ahead Mista lost himself in stretches as he should; his insistence to 'Get off his ass a bit' had dragged them out to Nowheresville, population pending. Buccellati and the rest had gathered around their car. Abbaccio crouched studying Coco Jumbo; which meant poking and prodding and holding the turtle while its legs flailed. She sighed. At least this time she was outside the poor thing. Trish squinted at them through the darkness. Narancia was missing. Of course he was. If you stopped a road trip for so much as a yawn, he'd disappear no doubt slacking off till he wandered back. It was a rule; it was as natural as the wind. Trish wondered how the boy hadn't been born a cat. He had the fickleness down already; time to find him anyway. That was another of nature's laws. He got lost sure, but no matter how she grumbled there she went guiding him back. The grass reached her knees and clung like dozens of pushing hands. Not a tree stood for kilometers; at this distance the moon grew overwhelming. Narancia lay on the grass that'd molded around his body as if it were his bed. His head rested on his crossed arms; Trish would never understand how he did it. How could one person embody freedom? How did he do it when his heart roared in a storm he'd bound emotions to years ago? She should know by now unraveling all of him was no better than holding the breeze. Trish knew he heard her coming. It was the walk he liked to say. Easy as breathing her feet fell into a rich girl's stride. Confident, precise, expectant- Trish wished those were still things she knew instead of their shells. She took a deep breath. No time for that now. Narancia turned his head as she sat. The feel of his eyes made her heart pound for something not worrisome. God, he still didn't know whenever he did that. It was annoying at how easy, it was grounding in a world where up was down and down up. He had her smiling, smiling! And it felt liberating. "There's a bunch of 'em out tonight. You got a favorite?" She looked up and awe drowned the remainders of her gloom. Stars beyond counting dotted the sky; each speck burned to outdo the others. On a clear night they went on and on stretched beyond the horizon. Her eyes snapped to one set with ease. "Orion." "Huh?" "The constellation. Haven't you heard of it?" "Uh, well not really...wasn't around class long enough for that." His eyes flit anywhere but her face; his voice had trailed into something meek. Trish held back a 'Damnnit of course not.' to put her chin on her knees. You didn't ask stuff like that to people who never got past third grade. "Well it's ok Narancia, I'll just teach you a little. That alright?" He sat up to give her his full attention. A grin on his face told her everything was fine. God at this point Trish could do just about anything to him and he'd accommodate; follow and roll over like some dog for her. The realization of power made her queasy not for the first time. That was part of knowing him, being with him. At least for now. She smiled back. "Ok then go on and look at the sky. It always looks like a bunch of stuff smashed together at first. That's where the fun starts. The harder you look eventually you'll find what feels like it's going against the flow; like its part of something all its own." "Hmm...I guess. Geez people must have some killer eyes and nothin' to do all day- y'know, to do this right!" He added the last bit before her frown had settled. With an awkward laugh he mussed his hair. "Alright alright, so I look for the ones that stand out. That's easy. Aerosmith!-" "No Stands. By yourself sure but not with me ok?" "Huh? Why's that- oh..." Trish scooted closer to wrap her arms around his. She rested her head on his shoulder and grinned when he swallowed in awe. A blush colored his face. "Keep going." "Okay. So let's see uhh...there! That one is like a tiny sun. And there's smaller ones that look like they're followin' it an'...a triangle, I think." "That's Sirius, one half of the dog constellations. It's super bright I'm not surprised you found it first." Trish said with a chuckle. "Hey a minute ago I didn't know any of 'em. It ain't bad for a first try." "Liar I did mention Orion." "Oh yeah. Well s'not like I actually saw it. What makes you like that one? Is it cool?" She stared at him in way of open affection no words could capture. It was honesty; it was pure to at last be under a gaze that wouldn't vanish. He could hear her sure, but goddamn if his mind wasn't half lost in savoring what it felt to mean something. To be someone. He tucked a loose hair behind her ear; Trish kept right on though now she smiled again. "A lot of people like Orion since most think its in the shape of a hunter. Y'know, strong and reliable and protective. Things a lot of people want to be; at least to me anyway. I'm not all that different." She again gazed at the sky yet now in the moonlight her profile took on a serene determination. He knew then that he'd be one of the handful in a lifetime to see it. Narancia couldn't help his stillness; the urge that came from somewhere he didn't know to feel humbled. She continued as though she noticed nothing. There was passion in her voice no matter how casual her words. "When I find it at night or even in pictures, mom comes back. Just for a moment, just long enough for me to start crying. I see her in my head and I remember and it's like...like I'm watching my past while I hold my breath then- then it's gone before I can really understand it. The one thing to stay is feeling for a second as if none of this ever happened. As if I'm still back home and she's cooking before calling for me to help. It's...it's so safe." Tears had fallen as she uttered the final words; her tone drifted far, far away and he knew she'd stopped talking to him. Silently Narancia hugged her and welcomed his own, gentler cry. A minute passed where only the wind spoke as it brushed the grass. He could swear her heart raced and skirted danger. When he breathed deep however, it could've well been him. As with many things Trish took the lead and broke the quiet. "I wish I could be Orion. I wish my mom would give it a rest already." Her voice still hadn't recovered its confidence. She leaned into him in search of grasping it once more. "Trish...you are. That time on the plane to Sardegna, you were by yourself and you still got us outta there. I don't wanna think about getting thrown into that meat thing's mouth. A-and I don't have to thanks to you!" Their eyes met this time with an intensity neither could name. Trish shook her head while she rubbed his hand; the roughness that marked his body hadn't pierced who he really was, that kindness he breathed readier than air. Not for the gang alone did he slip into it. For them it was short sighs between the snarls when attitudes clashed. It was like he feared to release it always, to embrace it. But not for her, for her he never hesitated. That was the boy she loved most. He kept chatting and slurred his words as they fought to arrange themselves. She realized how much he noticed in ways she'd been too occupied to see. All the same she interrupted him with a finger on his lips. Trish brushed aside his bangs and spoke again of those things he alone had permission for. "Every time I think I'm getting closer to who I can be, I slide a few steps back. That's all." He wouldn't understand in a way he could yet articulate. She'd long come to accept that. The energy to his eyes took the place of fancy descriptions. He knew it too; it sat as the deepest pain beneath everything. People were participants on life's slippery slope until one day you died. She guessed, in the end, what mattered was which step you'd left on. Forward, or backward? Maybe her mother had stopped on backwards. Maybe she too would. Maybe instead as she studied his face and felt his life beside hers, maybe she wouldn't. And just maybe she could keep him from falling too. "Narancia, kiss me." He did softly and filled with unspoken things. In the now he was here and so was she. She was being silly; this moment was all that mattered. The echoes of shouting in the distance broke them apart. The calls of their names from the others pulled her back to reality. They were on a mission; their lives were fleeting and perishable. It churned her stomach and she reached to embrace Narancia one more time. He was warm despite the night chill. Her fingers dug into his hair as she whispered. "You're safe too." "I...same here Trish." He squeezed her afraid to let go but soon did so anyway. They helped each other stand and refused to let their hands separate. Together they ran towards their friends and answered their calls. They moved forward, ever forward.