(BORRASCA SPOILERS)
i cant sleep and i have thoughts about borrasca (spoilers below)
so i havent listened to the podcast version with cole sprouse ive just listened to the original narrated by mrcreepypasta and i really really liked it but the whole kyle and kimber thing is weird in the original story but forgivable but apparently in the podcast they make it worse??
i think that after the events of the original story kimber and kyle wouldnt really be able to talk to each other because kyle is severely brain-damaged and even if they were i think they would reconcile the fact that they are siblings and just never be romantic again
since they cant really communicate i think kimber would have to process that they are siblings but accept it and not be gross about it
also sam and kimber are totally meant to be together. they slept in the same bed and theyre all each other have left and theyve been through so much together and i just really like the short fireball/tall and reserved trope and theyre cute AND NOT FUCKING RELATEDDD and i get why someone would see sam as more of a brother to her but compared to the whole kyle thing sam and kimber is not a weird pairing
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Kimber Destaro: A Borrasca Missing Scene
*TW: addiction, drugs, swearing, weapons, allusion to SA
Kimber crosses the motel lobby, grimacing as her leather boots squeal against the polished, linoleum floorboards. The concierge barely looks up at her, eyes fixed on his heavily-smudged computer screen as she strides past him in the direction of the elevator.
She tries not to let him see her hands tremble from the cold, or fumble slightly as she instinctively brandishes her keys like a small cluster of hidden knives, concealed under the sleeve of her hoodie. Although she doubts he cares, or has noticed her at all, she feels as though she can’t be too careful in a town like Drisking, Missouri.
Kimber presses the button for the lift, rocking back and forward apprehensively on her toes. She feels as though she’s been constantly on edge ever since returning to her hometown, and even more so since Sam’s withdrawals peaked around noon the previous afternoon,
As the elevator gives off a warning ding and the doors slide open in front of her, she catches sight of her reflection on the metal surface. Her unwashed hair is plastered back from her forehead by a (far outgrown) beanie, a few stray streaks of auburn coming undone from the messy updo and freezing against her skin. Kimber’s cheeks are rosy, and her eyes bright, but not in a merry way; she looks nothing but cold and scared.
Which is right, she whispers to her many reflections, as she grips the railing with both hands, cold, scared and useless.
The elevator shudders as it rises slowly, the frame creaking unstably as the first, two levels click by. Kimber’s brain taunts her as she eyes the floor, screaming at her to collect herself, prepare for what may await on the other side of those silver doors, or even worse, in her hotel room. She bites back tears- no room for weakness on a vigilante mission.
It’s not long before the lift stops moving, and she steps over the threshold, holding her breath as she makes a beeline towards the first door on the left. Against her better judgement, Kimber can’t help but linger a moment outside of the door, pressing her ear to the cheap, mahogany wood to gauge the situation inside.
A few moments pass without event, and she turns her key in the lock, shifting her grocery store bag to her other shoulder, stepping into the room.
As soon as she enters, she can’t help but wonder how that door is so fucking soundproof.
Her friend is exactly where she left him, squirming restlessly in bed with his eyes fixed on a spot in the corner of the room where the wallpaper is peeling away from the brick wall. Kimber can barely hear the muffled sound of a nondescript TV program through his cries, and the smell of vomit and sweat is becoming almost unbearable.
“Hey Sam, I brought you some soup,” she whispers, crouching down and reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder, only to recoil as he yelps, batting her hand away, “Shit, I’m sorry.”
He moans, slipping in and out of consciousness before her eyes.
“Don’t touch me, you bastard! And don’t fucking touch her- hey, get off you monster!”
Sam writhes on the bed, the combination of nightmares and pain he’s caught in evidently wreaking psychological havoc on his mind.
It’s all Kimber can do not to reach out and grab his hand, find some way to pull him out of his torment.
But she can’t. She knows that.
Suddenly, she hears an obnoxiously loud ringtone erupt from the charging station beside the bed, causing her to shoot backward, stumbling to her feet and leaning over to check the caller ID, before cursing under her breath.
She waits a beat, thinking. It’s a difficult decision, asking for help, one she knows Sam will probably hate her for. But still, she can’t just sit here anymore and watch her friend endure day after day of indefinite agony.
With her voice shaking, she presses the receiver to her ear and whispers, “Leah? Is that you? I-Its Kimber Destaro.”
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