#i hope people notice the pigtails and big strand on top - it was a (kind of) risky choice (had no idea if it would look nice) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

okageshadowkingfannovel · 3 years

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Book 1. The Boy Meets the King

Chapter 1.

In a normal unsuspecting kitchen, a former adventurer stands before a stove, stirring the contents of a pot and humming to herself. In her early forties, she’s a warm, pleasant looking woman with pony-tailed reddish brown hair and soft brown eyes. She might have been the hero of this story about two decades ago, but her adventures are long since passed. The only adventures for her today are those of being a devoted wife and mother, and that means preparing dinner.

It’s just after lunch and suddenly, the younger of the woman’s two children bursts into the kitchen. She is a slender pretty girl with strawberry blond pigtails and vibrant green eyes. She is Annie, a teenager, but also, not the hero of this story. In fact, she has very little interest outside of keeping herself popular amongst the teenagers of Tenel village and finding a satisfactory boyfriend.

“Hey Mom, what’s for dinner?”

“Oh Annie,” Mom starts while casting a smile over her shoulder, “you just had lunch not too long ago and you’re already thinking about dinner?”

Annie twists a dainty finger into the strands of one pigtail. “I was just asking. It smells so good. Tell me, Mom. I wanna know.”

At this moment, the woman’s eldest child enters the kitchen, but it takes her and Annie a too long moment to notice him.

“Well, I’ll say that- Oh! Ari!”

“See? Ari’s come to find out too.”

The boy called Ari is 16 years old. He has a sapling like frame - slender, scrawny, almost seeming bendy. Shaggy red hair falls in long locks around his face and across his forehead, and his large eyes are emerald green. He’s wearing a blue striped sleeveless shirt, a black vest with gold clasps and a skull patch on the chest, and long khaki trousers. He doesn’t speak up much for himself and the whole town of Tenel agrees that his most notable quality is how unremarkable he is.

That being said, this quiet ordinary boy is the hero for this peculiar tale.

“Come on, Mom! What is it? It smells like stew … or steak?” Annie carries on.

“Well, what do you think it might be, Ari?”

Ari courteously sniffs the air, shrugs, and answers. “I don’t know.”

Mom looks slightly disappointed that her son gave no guess, but she smiles anyway and says, “well, tonight’s dinner is … a secret!”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Mom! That’s so unfair.”

“Oh! That reminds me, Ari. Your dad found a funny bottle on his way home last night. It’s right there on the table.”

She gestures towards the kitchen table where, seeming very out of place upon the normal white table cloth and next to the three branched candelabra, there indeed sits a strange looking bottle. It is a gaudy purple with an intricate green pattern necklacing the thinly tapering opening. Two handles spring out and curve down to the bottom to make for easy carrying. Four large, candy like turquoise gemstones are embedded into the bottle’s curves.

“We can’t get the cap off,” his mother admits, “don’t you think it’s strange?”

Observing more closely, Ari notices the cork very firmly shoved into the opening.

He reaches out a finger and pokes it.

A low muffled moan sounds from deep within the bottle.

Ari leans in and sniffs at the cork.

All he catches is an overwhelming waft of mold.

Finally, he firmly grasps the neck of the bottle and pulls at the cork.

But it won’t budge, not even a wiggle.

“See?” says his mother, abandoning the stove to draw closer to the bottle, “I wonder what’s in there.”

There’s a sparkle in her eyes, a far off wandering look, a hint of the curious adventurer she used to be.

“Mom!” Annie breaks her mother’s reverie, “it’s pointless to keep a bottle we can’t open. Throw it away.”

To strike her point, Annie flips a pigtail on the last word.

“Ah! Well, let’s see … What should we do?”

Their mother hesitates a moment in thought. And then, she lights up with realization.

“Oh! That reminds me! I forgot to pick up bread! But I can’t leave the stove. What should I do?”

Before Ari can make any sort of suggestion, his sister steps over him.

“Oh darn, I wish I could help you out, Mom, but I have a test tomorrow and I really need to study. My future is on the line!”

With that, Annie turns around and makes a dash out of the kitchen.

Unsurprisingly, Ari notices the sounds of her footsteps are heading out the front door instead of up the stairs to her room where her school books lay waiting.

“Well then, Ari,” says his mother, “go down to the bakery in the village and pick up a loaf of bread for me. They’ll just put it on our tab, so you can just run in and grab it. Thank you, dear.”

His mother turns back to her stove and her humming. Ari is about to leave the kitchen when she whips around again.

“Oh! While you’re out, why don’t you stop by Town Hall and see your father.” She turns back to her cooking, wistfully, “ah, my love, hard at work. If only I could see your father in action. Such rapture …” she trails off to herself.

Feeling repulsed and uncomfortable with his mother’s personal musings, as teenagers ordinarily do, Ari finally leaves the kitchen.

The family home is a mansion that lays like a sprawled out reptile just south-east of the village of Tenel. It sits fatly in a clearing of pine trees, just a stone’s throw from the village road. It wears jagged stones in various states of grey, reaches tall, dizzying pointed towers up to mingle with the tree tops, and caps itself with crooked blue shingles. It keeps itself company with a dried up fountain in the front courtyard, a tiny, but ancient ancestral graveyard, and a huge, thick, wooden gate at the entrance to keep all of it in.

Ari steps out into the courtyard, shielding his eyes from the sunlight already beginning to sharpen through the trees as afternoon slips into evening. He notices Annie waiting for him at the top of the stone steps that snake down to the front gate.

“So, did she tell you what’s for dinner?” she asks, blocking his path, “come on, tell me.”

“What happened to your homework?”

Annie starts to tease her pigtail with a wiggling finger.

“Well! I’m going out on a twilight date with Morris before dinner. To polish my feminine airs, I have to build up experience while I’m young. My book says so too …”

“What kind of book says that?”

“It’s one of Mom’s old books. What was the name again? … Oh! ‘Controlling Guys Made Easy.’”

Before Ari can protest, Annie spins around and skips on down the stairs.

“Anyway, enjoy your errand, Ari!” she calls before disappearing through the wooden gate.

Ari sighs, figuring there was little he could have said or done to make things play out differently.

With hands in pockets, he lazily makes his way over to the small graveyard by the pathway. He likes to say hello upon passing the three residents. The stones are so old that most of the lettering has been worn away, but Ari makes out what he can and makes up the rest:

‘RIP Nameless Hero - Well, we think he must have a name, but nobody asked him.’

‘Man who drank, gambled, and died from poisonous fish - just as he planned. RIP’

‘Person who touched the knowledge of the Library.’

After 16 years, Ari still knows nothing beyond these half-deciphered inscriptions, but he gives his regards all the same. When satisfied, he heads on through the big wooden gate that leads him to a meandering dirt path. It winds through the grass, between rotted logs and small rocky hills, untangling Ari from the clusters of trees until it finds the main road. A nearby sign helpfully points out to any casually passing tourist:

‘North: Tenel Village/Church

West: Tenel Field & Madril

East: Nameless Dwelling’

Ari wonders if his family will ever decide to name their house so the sign could be a bit more specific.

“Hmmm, Nancy? Or Connie?”

At the crossroads stand two boys about Ari’s age, Levi and Nathan. Dark haired Nathan is the pudgier fellow, while Levi is lanky and alight with flaming orange hair.

“Huh?”

“Whoa!” Nathan exclaims, his fat frame jumping, “Oh! It’s you. You scared me, Ari! When did you get here? I didn’t even notice.”

“Ari, you look real gloomy,” says Levi, “hey, you know what? The circus is coming to the field over there tomorrow night!” He gestures vaguely in the direction of Tenel Field.

“Really?” Ari replies noncommittally.

“I, I, I’m definitely gonna ask Julia out this time! I, I, I will do it! And me and Julia are gonna go out on a romantic date!”

“I wonder who I should ask out,” Nathan muses in the face of his friend’s determination, “Ari, why don’t you ask somebody out too? It’s the circus!”

Ari chuckles and shrugs his shoulders in what he hopes is a ‘cool, but not caring too much’ display. “Sure, I’ll just narrow down my list a bit and ask one out.”

It doesn’t come off as cool as he hoped.

“Ha!” Levi bursts, “I bet he doesn’t have the guts to ask a girl out! Ha ha ha! Chicken!”

The skinny boy goes the extra mile and begins flapping his arms and clucking.

“Anyway, I better get on over to the village,” says Ari before the soul crushing embarrassment can descend, “got an errand to run.”

“You’d better go quick then,” says Nathan, “they’re closing the town gates earlier and earlier. The ghosts and monsters from Tenel field have been wandering closer to town, I heard.”

The hauntings and prowlings of Tenel Field are nothing new to Ari’s ears. All his life, he’s heard the townspeople complaining about the beasts and deadly things that roam wild and how it’s getting worse every year. Ari hears most people, especially the older ones, blaming it on something evil going on out West in Madril that’s driving the wild things nutty. It’s gotten to the point where Tenel’s posted a sentry on the path between Tenel and the field to keep kids and the like in town and to warn everyone if something should wander in. Ari never gives the matter much thought, reasoning that interesting things like monster encounters only happen to interesting people. And it’s so rare to see ghosts come floating in out of the field.

But the sun does seem ever so slightly lower than it was when he first stepped out of the house.

“Right, I’ll be quick.”

With that, Ari leaves them to their great girl debate and heads toward the main gates of Tenel. For now, the entrance is wide open, yawning its welcome to any passerby bored enough to visit the little town. But later, as it gets darker, the gates will eventually be shut and locked, as Tenel residents cling to the illogical belief that doors and locks can keep out ghosts.

As he enters, he notices a pretty blond girl in a white dress standing by the inn and looking absentmindedly off into the distance. Further putting his errand on hold, Ari walks up to her.

“Hey Julia.”

She doesn’t respond.

Ari waits patiently.

It’s alright. I’m used to being ignored.

Julia looks on for another moment or two. Ari continues waiting.

Any day now …

“Huh? Oh, Ari!” she says, her gaze finally shifting onto him, “I was daydreaming. Sorry about that. Hey, did you know the circus is coming tomorrow night?”

Julia and Ari have been friends since childhood, and though time and puberty have pulled them in different directions, they still consider themselves at the very least good friends. Typically, Julia isn’t so spacey - it’s just an ‘Ari thing.’

“Yeah, Nathan and Levi mentioned it.”

“Isn’t it great? It’s the circus!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty great.”

She looks at him, blue eyes wide and expectant.

“I mean,” he continues, “really great. Very exciting.”

She still says nothing. He waves a hand in front of her eyes, wondering if she’s sunk into another daydream. He does have that effect on people sometimes.

“So, aren’t you gonna ask me to go to the circus with you?” she says suddenly.

“Oh! Well, yeah,” Ari stumbles, “um, I mean, I need to check in with my folks, but … would you … would you like to …”

Before Ari can finish his bare minimum of a question, Julia takes a step back and giggles.

“Sorry, Ari.”

Without even knowing the rest of the sentence, Ari can tell she doesn’t seem very sorry.

“Somebody else already asked me. If you’d have asked me earlier …”

Ari thinks about maybe saying something in protest or in his own defense, but decides it’s not worth it as she makes her way past him.

“Um,” she says, pausing before she walks away completely, “Some time soon, Ari, I … I need to tell you something important … so … see you.”

She takes off running, disappearing fast into the town - an impressive feat given its small size and even smaller populace. Ari isn’t sure what to make of Julia. Teenagerdom is difficult enough to navigate for himself without the complex enigma of teenage girls thrown into the mix. As with most problems, puzzles, and peculiarities, Ari shrugs and carries on with his business.

As he passes it, Ari notices the sign on the Parm Inn door:

‘CLOSED due to water shortage - not that we get any guests anyway. Ha! - Parm Inn Landlord.’

The posting has been there for several weeks. Similar notices decorate the doors of ‘Tinkers,’ the blacksmith and ‘Gulp,’ the bar:

‘Can’t do business without water. I’ll be sleeping. - Tinkers Owner’

‘Closed due to shortage! And for those who owe me money, PAY UP QUICK! - Gulp Hostess.’

Ari can only wonder how much longer before these places will have to close for good. Tenel is already pretty small. Any smaller and they’d have to start calling themselves ‘a small cluster of houses and shops’ instead of a town.

“Ah! Ari!” someone suddenly exclaims.

Ari turns to see the butcher standing outside his shop, just across from the inn. A man with an egg like figure and neatly parted brown hair, the butcher breathes out a heavy sigh as he clutches at his chest.

“You gave me a fright, Ari. I didn’t notice ya standing there at first.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kellogg.”

“Shame about the water shortage, isn’t it? Thankfully, we’ve got some stored up for emergencies like this, but we’re getting mighty low. Can’t say how much longer we’ll be able to stay open.”

“Yeah, I wonder what’s caus-”

“You like beef, Ari?”

He is a little startled by the question.

“Oh, well, I don’t dislike it, sir.”

“I’ve got a great deal on ground beef. One pound, 20 sukel. Figure you might not be able to get any tomorrow - if we can’t open, I mean.”

A few minutes later, Ari walks out of the butcher shop with a wrapped up pound of ground beef under his arm and his wallet 20 sukel lighter.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” calls Mr. Kellogg as he locks the door to his shop to leave for the day, “get home safe.”

Ari waves as the butcher turns to make his way home. He doubts he’ll have business there, but Ari hopes the butcher is open tomorrow. As he makes his way towards the bakery, he passes by two men deep in conversation and nervousness.

“Oh dear, this just won’t do. The water supply has stopped and almost all the stores are closed. It’s under investigation now … do you think it might be related to ghosts?”

“All I know is they’re saying there are tons of ghost problems in Madril. And they’re a big, machine town. Totally different class than Tenel. If they can’t handle the ghosts and monsters, we don’t stand a chance.”

The other man nods weakly, looking very pale. “We’ll be in big trouble.”

Ari remembers his mother’s suggestion couched in wifely affection and decides to go visit his father. He passes Gulp, Tinkers, the miscellaneous shop known as ‘The Other One’, and several homes. All the way in the back of town, atop a small hill, is the church and right beside it the Tenel Village Office. The church sits quietly and patiently, having been unused and unvisited for several weeks now. Ari thinks the cream color of the tall rounded church towers is starting to look like spoiled milk. Green stains are creeping up the sides and the forest surrounding Tenel is starting to reclaim it.

A sign before the tightly shut door reads:

‘Until further notice, please do not enter the church. - Tenel Village Office’

Feeling helpless in the face of such a polite, pathetic notice, Ari walks over to the Tenel Village Office.

Inside, the village office is busy and hectic. Immediately, Ari spots his father sitting behind his usual desk at the front, but all around him, people rush and run and flitter about like a swarm of frustrated, inconvenienced bees. Even their talk sounds like buzzing.

Ari carefully navigates his way towards that front desk. Ari’s father is a short, stringy sort of man. He parts his dark brown hair straight and neat down the middle, and he looks at the world through thick, soda bottle glasses. He has the look of a man who believes in aliens and psychic phenomenon. If one were to ask him about such things, he could easily go on for hours. Ari can attest to it. His father stares intently into a stack of pages in the middle of his desk. He stares as if staring hard enough will burst the pages into flames or cast them into an alternate dimension where he doesn’t have to look at them anymore. Ari is sorry to see these efforts aren’t working.

“Oh! Hello there, Ari. Here to see your cool father at work?”

Ari rolls his eyes, but still smiles.

“What d’ya think? Too cool for words, huh? I redefine ‘cool.’ Ha!”

Now the smile is starting to fade. Ari’s father has perfected the art of being too corny.

“Sorry, sorry,” his father chuckles, “as you can see, the office is in a bit of a panic over the water shortage. We’re doing everything we can to find the cause, but …”

As his father trails off, Ari sees his shoulders slump and behind the happy-go-luck dork that is his father, Ari can see the exhausted Assistant Manager.

“On top of that, the Classification Tables will be arriving soon from the Royal City. That always puts the office on edge.”

Ari knows vaguely about the Classification Tables. His father has cursed it multiple times throughout the year. Supposedly, the village office sends a character report of each Tenel resident to the Royal City and then the city sends back a huge packet of tables that identify and categorize each and every citizen. Ari frequently asks his father how he is ‘classified,’ but his father usually responds with some corny joke.

‘The Assistant Manager’s son.’ ‘The eldest child at the Nameless Dwelling.’ ‘Some Shady Guy.’

So, Ari doesn’t really ask about it anymore. He just accepts that the Classification Table causes his father a lot of headache and woe. Once, Ari tried asking one of his father’s coworkers what the purpose was of the Classification Tables. Her response was unsatisfactory.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there! You’re the assistant manager’s son, aren’t you? Well, the Classification Tables, they … well, they … they maintain order of course! They help the town run smoothly. Why else would the Royal City have us do all this? Now, please leave me alone. I’m quite busy.”

So, Ari understands the weight when, on top of the water shortage problem, his father says he also has to deal with the Royal City’s Classification Tables.

“Anyway, what’s for dinner?” his father asks suddenly, the joy lifting his shoulders back up from their slump, “Ah, I wanna go home. I miss your mom.”

Ari chuckles. “No idea. She wouldn’t tell me. Says it’s a surprise.”

“Ha, yeah, that sounds like your mother.”

“She asked me to pick up bread.”

“Oh! Well, you better get moving, son. It’s getting dark out. The town will be closing soon.”

“Great seeing you, Dad,” says Ari as he turns to leave, nearly crashing into a speeding intern.

Ari steps back outside and, just as his dad said, the dark is noticeably beginning to descend on the town. He rushes down the hill to the Bakery, hoping the owner hasn’t decided to close doors early due to the dark looming in. The bell above the door clangs to life as he rushes in. Despite that, the husband and wife who run the Bakery carry on with their personal business, not seeming to notice Ari standing in the doorway. He steps up to the main counter where the wife stands, her back to Ari as she sorts through the baked goods on the back shelf.

The smell of freshly baked bread is intoxicating, filling Ari with warmth until the harsh pang of hunger in his stomach drives it away.

“Excuse me,” he says.

The portly Mrs. Bakster is singing to herself as she counts and pokes at the remaining pastries. It’s not a very good song and Mrs. Bakster isn’t very good at singing it.

“Hello? Mrs. Bakster?”

“Huh?” Finally, she whips around. “Oh! It’s you, Ari! Don’t I always tell you? A boy should speak up!”

These types of reprimands are nothing new. Mrs. Bakster has many opinions and is very keen on sharing them.

“Now, now, don’t harangue the boy, dear,” calls Mr. Bakster from across the shop, “don’t mind her too much, Ari. She’s got a sharp tongue, but a soft heart really.”

Ari smiles good humoredly, simply wanting to get the bread and get home for dinner.

“You’ve come to pick up bread for your mother, right?” says Mrs. Bakster as she reaches over to a shelf and pulls off a fine, golden colored loaf. With speed and finesse, she neatly wraps the loaf in paper and then, gently hands it to Ari. “Here you are. Don’t squeeze it too much. Don’t want to crush it.”

“Yes, Mrs. Bakster, thank you.”

“By the way, Ari, before you go, I wanted to ask - anything bothering you?”

“Now, dear!” chides Mr. Bakster.

“Come on! Keep your chin up, boy!” Mrs. Bakster carries on, ignoring her husband, “girls like the assertive ones, you know? And I know you’ve got a lot of potential, Ari. You can be anything you want. You just got to assert yourself, and girls will be all over you.”

Ari smiles and nods, backing away slowly.

“Alright, alright. Get on home and get that to your mother. I’ve got a dinner to get ready and a husband to feed, you know.”

“Yes … thank you, Mrs. Bakster. You too, Mr. Bakster. Have a good evening.”

Ari turns and whips out the door before the baker can be inspired with another round of opinions. Once outside, Ari is surprised to find Annie waiting.

“Ari, you done with your errands? You’ve been gone forever.”

“Sorry, yeah. I’m done.”

“What’s the matter?” she asks, and then eyes the bakery, “oh, did she lecture you again?”

Yeah, sure, make me relive it, why don’t ya?

The thought translates into a shrug.

“Let me guess,” says Annie playfully, “Oh, Ari, you’ve got to speak up for yourself more. You practically blend into someone else’s shadow.”

Ari gives her a brotherly glare.

“Oh well, at least there are some people around here who see some good in you … Julie, for instance.” Annie giggles mercilessly. “You lucky guy.”

All the way home, Annie teases her brother about the baker woman’s “advice” and Julie’s “affections.” But Ari takes it all without a word, wondering to himself about lots of different topics from that busy afternoon. He thinks about the water shortage and about his classification from the Royal City and about Julie picking someone else over him and about what it actually means to ‘blend into someone else’s shadow.’

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5 • Chapter 6 • Chapter 7 • Chapter 8 • Chapter 9 • Chapter 10 • Chapter 11 • Chapter 12 • Chapter 13 • Chapter 14 • Chapter 15 • Chapter 16 - Finale

NOTE: Okage Shadow King is owned by Sony Computer Entertainment and Zener Works. This novelization is purely a fan-work and the writer claims no ownership over the characters, general plot line(s), etc.

#okage shadow king #osk #playstation 2 #video games #novelization #boku to maō

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bittys · 4 years

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sleepover games (aoinene)

read on AO3

Yashiro spent the day thinking about Aoi’s words,

“Do you want to have a sleepover tonight?”

She sat at her desk thinking about the sweetness in her voice and the soft, barely noticeable blush on her pale skin. She wrote down the answers to the English practice tests questions wondering if they’d play silly, childish games as they did in the movies. Something like Truth or Dare, or, Would you rather? She ate lunch thinking about what she could possibly bring to their sleepover without seeming overly excited (even though she was, in fact, overly excited) because she had responded with,

“Yes! Of course!”

She hadn’t even consulted with her parents yet, but at the time it didn’t seem to matter. As she walked the pavements, avoiding the cracks with every small hop, it still didn’t. She’d be willing to sneak out if she had to-- and that totally went against her morals-- because it was Aoi. Inviting her into her own home to do who-knows-what. Yashiro thought about some of the other games they might play; Never have I ever had been one she saw often, particularly on social media. Hide and seek-- No. They were far too old for that. What else?

Yashiro gasped, covering her mouth with her small fingers as a big, bold thought began to bounce around her mind like one of those floating television logos, except there were millions of those ‘logos’ all at once, hitting every weak spot in her brain. The Pocky Game. The Pocky Game. The Pocky Game. She stumbled onto one of the cracks in the pavement. Her dress bounced against the back of her thighs. Slowly, she steadied herself and drew her hands away from her mouth. It was a simple gesture, but she used the freeness to slap her own cheeks until they stung.

“No!” She said to herself and another person on the opposite sidewalk who caught watch of the entire display. “She would never want to do such a thing.”

Yashiro put her half eaten box of strawberry Pocky on top of the clothing in her bag, just in case.

Every item of clothing she picked out, she tried on first. There was the need for everything to be perfect that prodded at her chest. She tried to convince herself it was just because it was her first sleepover, but the thump, thump, thump of her heart when she looked at the strawberry Pocky or thought about what pajamas Aoi might wear contradicted her desperate convincing. She hoped her own pajamas-- a pair of pink shorts with milk carton prints and a plain white tee shirt that extended to her thighs-- and her clothes for tomorrow (that she picked after checking the weather)-- a light yellow shirt and a pink skirt-- didn’t expose her way of thinking.

She zipped up the bag and swung it over her shoulder. Black Canyon ran in his wheel as she filled his bowl with pellets and told him goodbye. He didn’t say it back, of course, just continued to run in the squeaky ball. She breathed out slowly and closed her bedroom door. The sweet scent of cookies in the oven wafted through her nostrils. She’d taken the time when she got home to prepare cookies. Well, she and her mother did. It was her mother's recipe and Yashiro’s doing, and it seemed as if her mother had taken them out of the oven and put them in a container wrapped with a plaid cloth as well.

“Thank you, momma!” Yashiro stood on her tiptoes to kiss her cheek. Carefully, she maneuvered her bag to rest against her back and wrapped her hands around the warm bottom of the container. There was a mix of cinnamon and warmth emitting from beneath the cloth. She couldn’t help but take another deep breath of it in. “They smell amazing!”

Her mother smiled down at her with a similar warmth and comfort as the smell of the cookies. “I hope you two have fun. Remember to be back tomorrow by lunch, okay?”

Yashiro puffed her cheeks with a growing smile and nodded. “Okay!”

She felt that same excitement Black Canyon expressed as he ran with the hope of some other destination that wasn’t his wiry cage (sorry, Black Canyon) It was the unrelentless urge to run and run until she came upon Aoi’s house-- a safe haven, almost, with a girl defined by every possible synonym of beautiful and smart and popular , and yummy cookies, of course. Perhaps Black Canyon was hoping for the same. Pretty girls and yummy cookies. She’d have to take him to Aoi’s sometime.

Instead of running and using up all her excitement before she even reached Aoi’s, she walked leisurely. More potentials racked through her brain as they did in school as they did while she made the cookies and as they did while she packed her clothes. . Telling secrets, doing makeup, having pillow fights. Aoi seemed like the type to do just those things and not stray away from it. In fact, her bedroom is probably set up as bedrooms were in the movies; with a bed canopy and a snack table and a television on the wall with selections upon selections of movies. Yashiro’s fingers tightened around the grip on her backpack. Hopefully she had her favorite movie in her collection-- maybe her favorite movie was also Aoi’s favorite movie. Wouldn’t that be perfect?

Perhaps, she thought, she should have packed her favorite movie with her, just in case (like the Pocky). But then she remembered that the DVD was scratched up from years of use and skipped more than it played. She shrugged the thought off.

More ideas, more scenarios, more of just about everything else crossed Yashiro’s mind until the sun began to dip into the horizon and Aoi’s apartment came into view. They weren’t so far from each other that it left Yashiro breathless and sweaty, but she double checked herself just in case before ringing the bell to the apartment. It buzzed. Once, twice, a third time, until a voice similarly kind to Aoi’s but stricken with age answered.

“Hello? Who is it?”

Yashiro cleared her throat. She straightened her back even though nobody was looking at her yet. “Uh, Yashiro. I’m Aoi’s friend.”

There was static behind the speaker. “Oh! Right! Come on up then.”

Yashiro hopped up each step to the apartment. It was far bigger and fancier than her own family's complex-- the stairs were actually cleaned and polished and didn’t squeak dangerously with each step.

She reached the entrance and slipped off her shoes to opt for a pair of light pink slippers conveniently in her size. The second entrance door was glass; she could see right into the house where Aoi’s parents stood in the kitchen looking over something probably not important to Yashiro. The living room was directly in the front, the kitchen farther back. The furnishing matched a theme of greys and the walls closed into the two rooms, making it appear thin and long. Not at all as wealthy looking as it was on the outside. Yashiro knocked and slid the door open as soon as they looked up toward her presence. “Sorry to intrude,” She said with a nervous smile. “Is Aoi around?”

Aoi’s mother looked just like her, with long strands of purple locks and kind eyes. “She is in her room. Right up there,” She pointed to a dimly lit hallway where a set of stairs lay ahead. “Please tell her that dinner is almost done.”

Yashiro nodded at her.

“Sure!” She said, and suddenly her slipper covered feet locked to the floor. What did Aoi’s room look like? Surely it wasn’t going to look exactly like the movies. In fact, their entire apartment was nothing like Yashiro expected. No grand dining rooms and marble floors and elevators. It was just… typical. What if they had nothing to do and it was just awkward silence throughout the entire night because of her ideas? What if she did have Yashiro’s favorite movie but actually hated it? It’s her least favorite movie ever. In the entire world. What if--

“Nene!” Aoi’s voice broke her from her thoughts. She came running from the hallway, slippers scuffing across the floor and a nightgown swinging around her knees. “I knew I heard your voice.” She swung her arms around Yashiro’s shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. Her stomach pressed the container of cookies into Yashiro’s own. She smelled like lavender and soap and something else Yashiro couldn’t quite place. It was most likely the scent of the cookies leaving the container as they were crushed. Yashiro chuckled nervously into Aoi’s ear.

“Ah,” Aoi backed away. “You’re still in your uniform? That just won’t do. Lets go get you in your pajamas and-- ooh, are those cookies?” She took them from Yashiro’s hands and started towards the kitchen. Yashiro watched. Her hair was let go of their usual pigtails and curled into ringlets that fell over her back and bounced with every step she took. If Yashiro had to choose, she’d prefer seeing that every day instead of the former-- but she liked her either way. Aoi placed the cookies down onto the counter and then turned on her heels to make way into the hallway, her nightgown twisting around her legs with the movement. Yashiro followed after her soundlessly.

Aoi’s room was not bed canopies and movie collections. It was a desk against one wall, cluttered with study materials and a laptop (she must always be studying considering the amount of stuff she has), a sofa pushed against the door to the balcony (she has a balcony!?), and a simple full sized bed decorated with lots of plushies and pillows. There was no television, but enough room for them to sit and make up the time they’d use watching the television with talking or games. Her walls were pink and plastered with various posters-- some obviously not taken down from since she was little.

“Your room is so cool!” Yashiro said with awe. It, again, was not what she expected, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t one to judge.

She felt odd placing her luggage down anywhere, though, because it was still far more than what she had. Aoi took it and put it onto the couch for her. She stood up straight afterwards and put her hands on her hips, smiling proudly. “It isn’t much. I’d like to think it’s a work in progress, but I don’t think there will be change any time soon. I’m happy you like it, though. People are disappointed when they come in because they think it’s something sooo exclusive and beautiful,” Yashiro’s cheeks heated. She didn’t point out that she thought the same. “It’s just mine. That’s what matters, right Nene?”

“R-Right,” Yashiro responded with a quick nod. “I think it’s very you.”

Seemingly pleased with her answer, Aoi thanked her. “You should get in your pajamas. Unless you want to bathe first?”

Yashiro’s heart ran its typical course and then tripped over the last obstacle. It had a mouthful of dirt now. Bathe? Of course it’s normal to bathe before getting comfortable in another place, but in Aoi’s bath? With her soaps and towels and-- Oh boy. Yashiro was really in for it now. Every plan in her mind had been lost amongst a wave of this new setting that contained numerous possibilities. She couldn’t possibly decline either, for that would just be rude. She swallowed down hard.

Take it easy, she tried to remind herself. It’s just Aoi.

Except ‘ just Aoi’ was very beautiful, popular, sincere Aoi who had the kindest eyes that made Yashiro feel something indescribable in her chest.

“S-sure,” Yashiro stumbled over her words.

Aoi scrunched her neat brows. “Are you nervous, Nene?” She asked, inching closer to her face. Yashiro’s breath hitched in her throat. “Don’t be! My house is your house, okay?” She reached out and patted her on the head with the palm of her hand. A gentle smile spread across her lips.

“Okay,” Yashiro eased, just a little.

Dinner went by far smoother than Yashiro expected. They sat around a high breakfast table and ate (Aoi’s mother was a marvelous cook), and managed to maintain a steady conversation about school (it was the only option besides home life since Aoi’s parents were present). After that, Yashiro’s fear of Aoi’s bathroom was faced and she learned the brand of soap she used to smell like lavender. In fact, most of everything in Aoi’s bathroom smelled like lavender, not including the toothpaste that Yashiro didn’t use just in case they played the Pocky game later.

She left the bathroom dressed comfortably in her pajamas and found herself cross legged on Aoi’s sofa a bit later, watching the girl do her homework instead of focusing on her own packet of work waiting on her lap.

“Are you stuck on a question, Nene?” Aoi asked without looking up from her work.

“Uhh--” She had to make up something quick. She spotted a random question that was possibly the easiest out of them all. “Number six is kind of… hard.”

Aoi read her own work. “Do you think so?”

“Not really.”

She giggled. “Then what? Are you bored?”

Yashiro wasn’t sure if she should answer that honestly. She just wasn’t expecting to do homework, of all things. Suddenly she felt embarrassed for bringing her strawberry snack with her. “Not at all!” She scrambled to say.

Aoi swirled in her chair to face her. She looked… sad, almost, but she covered it up with a small smile. “Sorry. This is all I usually do, even with someone over. I was really nervous to invite you, you know, because you’re so much fun to be around and I’m just--”

“Stop!” Yashiro shouted. She quickly covered her mouth in an apology and lowered her voice to speak again. “You are perfect the way you are! And- and-” A blush creeped from her ears to the tip of her nose. “And I really like you, so don’t say things like that! I’d sit in a room and study all day if it meant I was with you!”

The same, furious pink blush on Yashiro’s cheeks was contagious. It spread to Aoi’s. She looked down at the floor, allowing strands of hair to fall over her face and cover the color. Yashiro wished she could lift her chin with the tips of her fingers (like she’s seen in the movies) and see it again.

“Nene...” Aoi looked up. The color was gone. She sprang up from the chair and launched herself at Yashiro with her arms wide. They both toppled over and onto the ground with synced up oofs .

Yashiro opened her eyes to see that her face was only inches away from Aoi’s. Her lips were tugged into a wide grin, breath warm against Yashiro’s cheeks, and her eyes practically sparkled as they gazed into her own. Yashiro decided to never have any set expectations again. She could feel Aoi’s weight on her thighs. Every bit of her was on fire, and she couldn’t pinpoint an exact reason because there were many. All involving Aoi. “You’re so nice to me, I could cry!” She exclaimed. A lock of hair brushed over Yashiro’s cheeks.

“Ah, well…” Yashiro started, but she couldn’t find exact words to express herself in a situation like this. “You’ve always been there for me, too, so…”

Aoi began to stand. She grabbed Yashiro’s hands to help her up, too, and kept them clasped together as they straightened. It was like she was staring into her soul, really. She wouldn’t stop and Yashiro didn’t know where else to look. “Tell me, Nene. Do you really like me?”

Yashiro sputtered. “I-I- That’s not really what I meant-”

She tilted her head to the side. “No? That’s kind of a shame…”

Boom. Explosion. Every part of Yashiro was blown to pieces, basically.

She never took the time to pick apart her feelings for Aoi in fear of many things; sexuality, her friendship, what the school might think, what Akane might think. So she let it be. Not at any point did she think she’d have to confess, or worse, Aoi would confess. If that’s what this was, anyway. She was waiting on the ‘just kidding!’ to come, but it didn’t seem like it would. Aoi was holding her breath. Her body was still. Her hands were comfortably tight around Yashiro’s fingers.

No more expectations.

“Do you think so?” Yashiro asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Her legs were shaking. “Then uh… it is what I meant?”

Yashiro mentally slapped herself. She didn��t know how confessions went at all, specifically these kinds, where it was your best friend who also happened to be a girl. They never showed this in movies with pretty princes.

Despite that, Aoi looked considerably happier. “Do you want to kiss me? Is that why you brought the Pocky?” And as Yashiro just about choked on her own spit, she continued. “I looked in your bag while you showered. Sorry.”

Yashiro cleared her throat and tried to find that ounce of confidence she had only moments ago. It was hard when she felt stripped to the bone with embarrassment. “I-I think so.”

“Good. I think I would kiss you too. So let's kiss one day, okay? Save your pocky for then, but have this.” She let go of Yashiro’s hands and pecked her on the cheek before spinning on her heels and pulling her laptop from the desk. “Do you want to watch a movie? I was thinking we could watch my favorite. It’s a romance!” She sangong the ‘romance’ part and wiggled her fingers against the laptop. Yashiro stood still in shock, but managed out a nod.

When she gathered herself to the best of her ability, she joined Aoi on the bed and snuggled beneath the blankets. Nothing felt strange or unusual. In fact, she was the most comfortable she’d been since entering Aoi’s home. Her face was a little warm, but that seemed to be it until Aoi took her hand and the movie started.

It was her favorite.

#tbhk #jshk #toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #aoinene

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optimist-pine · 5 years

Text

Hair Care || Voltron Crew

Prompt: What would the team do with a reader who has no clue how to style their own hair?

Featuring: Shiro, Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, and Coran

a/n: I just want someone to play with my hair, can you tell?

- Shiro -

just gives him that much more of a reason to run his fingers through it

so soft

especially when it’s his metal hand

commits serious time to have Lance teach him how to take care of it

someone’s gotta

a couple of times a week you all gather near the couch

you sit on the floor and play video games with lose to Pidge

“(Y/n), sit still!”

there’s plenty of frustrated huffs coming from behind you

but Lance is patient, and really enjoys getting to teach Shiro something for once

he gets all flustered with the finished product because it’s “not good enough, there’s a loop sticking out here, and here...”

you reassure him that you’re going to bed soon so it’ll get all messed up anyways

but you can’t stop running your fingers across the braids

how’re you supposed to destroy such magnificent artwork?

eventually, once he gains more confidence, he’ll do it without Lance’s help

Lance all “look how fast they grow up” with tears in his eyes

he’ll even do it in the morning so that you can wear it throughout the entire day

“Can’t have it getting in the way during training”

“or during meals”

“or-”

“Shiro, you don’t have to have an excuse to play with my hair.”

*grumbles*

focusing on your hair becomes a big time de-stressor for him

bad day?

he’ll start undoing whatever braid is already in you hair, brushing it out slowly with his fingers

when he starts braiding it again you can feel him release a little bit of tension every time he adds a new strand

you don’t mind it much either

a free massage?

a piece of him to carry around with you all day?

not to mention if it weren’t for him your hair would be a hopeless case

but he does love it when you get out of the shower and it dries sort of poofy and funky all around

or when you haven’t done anything with it in the morning and it just sort of sticks. out. everywhere.

but it’s still so soft

nobody else asks to mess with your hair

they know it’s Shiro’s thing, and only Shiro’s thing

like doing so would be crossing a line of some sort

he has offered to do Keith’s hair

was rejected

- Keith -

not like he would’ve noticed

the boy’s got a mullet for golly’s sake

but he appreciates the fact that you aren’t too worried about it

not that it’s a bad thing to care about, but if you cared too much... eh

would never do it in public, but he finds comfort in twisting a strand around his finger when he’s tired, or stressed, or frustrated

so that happens a lot

you hum while he does so and it tends to put him (or both of you) to sleep

he’s tried braiding, but he’s gotta redo the same basic braid about five times to be okay with anyone else seeing it.

including you

even though Lance would never make fun of your hair, sometimes it’s implied that he considers the two of you to be compatible based on hair care alone

although he doesn’t believe he has a preference one way or another, during the few instances that Lance or Allura has done your hair, he has taken a few many extra glances

thinks wild hair during a fight is pretty gosh darn intimidatingly beautiful

he’s always stealing your hair ties

just so he can shoot them back at you later

like buddy, if you’re gonna take them, use them to contain your own flowing locks whydon’tcha

Maybe it’s because whenever the two of you go for ponytails, Shiro won’t stop being an annoying little brat and tugging on them whenever he gets the chance

- Lance -

at first he’s sort of offended on his own behalf

gets over that quickly once he realizes it’s just not your forte

it’s not like it’s unclean

you just can’t seem to keep it under control

then he realizes it’s pretty amazing that you don’t care one way or the other, and honestly don’t care what other people think either

like wow, he knows those things can be harder for girls, but darn, a confidant woman is his jammm

he sorta feels like he’s the insecure one in this relationship

until the one day your hair is just driving you crazy because yeah, you don’t really care what is looks like, but does it ALWAYS have to be getting in the way

but guess who can fix that

he doesn’t feel quite so upset now that he’s got a way he can help you

get ready for the full treatment

masks

oils

the fanciest styles you can imagine in the blink of an eye

you’re starting to rival Allura in the hair game

he’ll do your hair anywhere

regrouping during a battle?

“Your hair’s a mess!”

“It’s been shoved up in my helmet this whole time. Of course it’s a mess.”

mumbles while whipping your hair into a braid in like 3 seconds

diplomatic meeting?

leans in close to whisper sarcastic comments while creating rows upon rows of braids

but when the two of you are alone he’ll braid slowly and purposefully and murmur songs his mother would sing while braiding his sisters’ hair

afterwards he’ll hold onto you tightly, running his hands over the braids he put there

he wants to braid his niece’s hair again when you all return to Earth, so he’s gotta practice, right?

even so, he does find it melts his heart a little when he catches you with a messy bun

he knows you’re trying your best

- Hunk -

he gets so excited to do your hair

he may not be the best but he does try his hardest

his favorite thing to do is to braid things into it

feathers

beads

flowers

whenever you’re on a new planet, he’s searching for things that’ll look just perfect framing your face

Coran would definitely help him collect a wide assortment of items

flowers are his favorite

he’s in love with weaving them into braided crowns

and they smell so good

and they leave you looking like Rapunzel in Tangled when all the little girls braid her hair

yeah, okay, so maybe he does leave you feeling a little bit like a Disney princess

beads are cool too

on planets that have markets he does his best to find you the most beautiful ones

he’s gotten you some to match each lion and it’s paladin

especially yellow (duh)

so many yellow beads

there’s some in your hair at all times

he doesn’t realize that he’s doing it though

but you don’t mind

some of his favorites are each hand painted with alien symbols

once he found out that they could be translated into English he was ecstatic

instead of wearing his heart on his sleeve, he’ll braid his thoughts and feelings right into your hair

when a battle is coming up:

strength

justice

perseverance

courage

honor

helping a planet get back on it’s feet:

hope

peace

kindness

unity

assurance

finally getting some downtime

joy

family

humor

rest

love

when he’s had a rough day, or just wants you to know how much you mean to him:

comfort

warmth

trust

calm

safe

he also likes to tie in feathers to give you that warrior goddess vibe

he doesn’t do that too often because he can’t handle it for very long

blushy blushy

- Pidge -

hair care?

the two of you are literally the embodiment of ‘I woke up like this’

bed head is now ‘all day’ head

Lance and Allura team up to try and tame the locks of the both of you, but it only ends in ridiculous faces and bubbling laughter on all of your parts

what’s the point when Shiro’s just gonna come and ruffle it all up anyways?

or Pidge is gonna somehow singe the ends of it with whatever new tech she’s working on?

*after the both of you take your helmets off*

Lance: “look! it’s Thing 1 and Thing 2!”

pretty sure he got tazed for that

you gave her pigtails once, and she tried to return the favor but...

let’s just say there’s a reason she works with machines

Matt would definitely rub balloons on your heads then run away

- Allura -

hope you like gemstones

if she was on Earth during the bedazzling era

ooh booy

she loves to tell you tales about Altea while she makes your hair sparkly

the task at hand keeps the bad emotions from reaching her as strong

and it’s good to talk to someone other than Coran about her home

she’s got all these ancient Altean hair products, and you bet your bottom dollar that she’s gonna use every. single. one. on you

your favorite is the one that makes your hair all shimmery in the light

but she really loves to give you a tussled wavy/curly look

the opposite of her smooth and gently flowing locks

when your hair is in it’s natural state, the mice love to make a little nest on top of your head

she’ll sprinkle seeds over your head so that they have a snack

you would protest, but she’s having such a great time, why bother?

- Coran -

among the whole assortment of ridiculous hidden talents the man possesses lies hairdressing

sure he can cut or style your hair, but his favorite thing to do is color it

he’s got some great vibrant, but temporary dyes

every week is a new color

you even got him to let you dye his hair once

and for some reason the dyes smell like fruits and flowers, and nothing like the chemicals used on Earth

the two of you’ll prank dye the others’ hair occasionally

that time the Paladins of Voltron all had hot pink hair?

that may or may not have been your fault

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #voltron imagines #shiro x reader #keith x reader #lance x reader #hunk x reader #pidge x reader #allura x reader #coran x reader #voltron x reader #voltron headcannons #voltron reader insert #optimistic-pine

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kumkaniudaku · 6 years

Text

Chop, Chop!

A/N: This is for @alltheestars. Thank you for the request. I did a little CoCo and Chad throwback. I hope you like it!

Warnings: None. Just fluff.

Chadwick Boseman x Black! Female Reader (Chad & CoCo AU)

If there was one thing you took pride in, it was your hair.

In primary school, your mother would decorate your luscious pigtails with ribbons of every hue, being sure to match them to your school uniforms per your request. When other little girls would come home with unruly manes after a long day of playing, you returned with every strand neatly in place, almost identical to the way you had left the house.

By middle school, you had transitioned from the elementary hairstyles orchestrated by your mother to the beautiful press and curls from Ms. Gina, the family beautician. Your father would happily spend the $80 a week to make sure that you and your mother were well taken care of on Saturday mornings. Ms. Gina would take your virgin hair and wash it, grease it and press it to your specific instructions. Even when she’d bump the ends a little too much and leave you as a shoe in for a role asJames Brown, you marveled at how grown up you looked.

In high school, you took over the reigns and began crafting your own hairstyles. The ability to quickly transition from a flat press to a ponytail and back to a french roll gave you a liberating sense of freedom. When you were awarded ‘Best Hair’ as your senior superlative, you carried the title with pride.

College held more of the same. It was at Howard University that you were introduced to Aaliyah and her iconic swoop bang. There wasn’t a day that went by that your hair was not carefully parted on the left side with a thick bang covering your left eye. You figured that, if you couldn’t mimic her singing ability, you’d at least take her personal style for a spin.

Chadwick would often tease you by blasting her music whenever you’d visit his off campus house and beg you to do the dance moves in his living room. As much as you’d deny it, you loved being the center of his attention, even if he was picking on you.

With all of your previous hair triumphs, when your roommate Lynn needed a practice dummy to test her beauty skills, you were all for it. A simple color job inspired by Janet Jackson’s Velvet Rope era was the deal but, soon you found yourself with a snug processing cap over your head and the stinging of a box perm burning tears into your eyes.

“Lynn, this shit burns! Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Yeah! My cousin Monica perms and colors her hair all the time! What’s the matter? You never had a perm before?”

You hadn’t. You’d always beg for one but your mother made sure you knew that everything a perm could do, a hot comb or flat iron could do just as well.

Your lack of knowledge and eagerness to change up your look seemed to be harmless at first. The subtle scarlet color was the perfect complement to your brown skin and came with the just the right amount of sheen. The perm left your hair so silky and smooth that you didn’t even mind the slight loss of volume.

“Lynn, I could kiss you in the mouth!” You exclaimed while executing a small spin to see your hair move behind you.

“I’ll pass. Save that for your revolutionary little boyfriend. Now come here, your roots are still puffy at your crown.”

What you didn’t expect from your little experiment was the handful of hair that left your scalp and clung to the flat iron. One handful turned into three and those three turned into breakage all around your head.

“What did you do to my hair!”

“All I did was a little bleach and color with the perm.”

“BLEACH!”

It was too late. No matter how much you tried to fix it, the damage was done. In a matter of hours you’d managed to trade in your healthy hair for a broken, brittle mess. Distraught and hopeless, you knew what needed to be done.

The next morning, with tears in your eyes, you watched a local hairdresser trim your hair to the root, only leaving a curly skeleton of what you use to hold so dear. When she was done, she handed you a tiny list of product suggestions and a little advice before pushing you out of the doors into the DC streets.

Maneuvering around campus proved to be the most daunting task. You’d grown to be a bit of a socialite, forcing you to avoid the three c’s: conversations, club meetings and Chadwick.

Through careful planning, the first two were easy but, Chad was hard to shake. After three days of no communication, he left a note in your work study office practically threatening you to stop by his house at the end of the day.

“CoCo, don’t make me come find you. I’ll be home at 6. Come by.”

Reluctantly, you trudged down the hill carefully covering your head with the hood of your Howard basketball pullover and a hat for added protection. It was foolish to think that the ever inquisitive and observant Chadwick Boseman would not immediately notice your odd attire but, it was worth a try.

Stepping to the front door, you quietly prayed that Chad was caught up in class or too busy working on a script to answer so that you could say that you tried and scurry back home. Instead, the weathered door swung open to reveal your shirtless best friend with a guitar in his hand and a confused look on his face.

“It’s 75 degrees out. Why do you have on that sweatshirt?”

“Is that how you greet people now? No, ‘Hey, how are you?’, just questions? What if I did that to you?”

“Well...you kind of just did.”

Pushing him aside, you marched through the house and into his bedroom hoping that your petty argument would dead the inquiries. It wasn’t long before you were flopping across his bed and staring at the ceiling to fight back tears.

“So, you gon’ tell me what’s going on with the hood? You pledging Que and hiding a bald head under there?”

He was joking but your uneasy laugh and averted gaze alerted him to a larger problem. Hesitantly, you allowed him to lay in the space beside you to remove your hood and hat.

“This is...new.” Chadwick responded after carefully choosing his words. His fingers lightly caressed the top of your head, stopping briefly to fiddle with a ringlet at your crown. “Are you really pledging Que? Should I get balloons? I know you’re the tre because Tim and Eric are short as hell.”

“Ha ha, Chad. You’re so funny.” The tears you’d been trying to hold in slipped past your closed eyes and rolled down your cheeks.

“Woah woah, CoCo. Don’t cry. What’s wrong? How can I fix it?”

“You can’t fix it, Aaron!” You hadn’t intended to yell at him but the frustration of the last few days was starting to catch up to you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. This isn’t your fault.”

Enveloped in comfortable silence, Chadwick examined your face. Usually you’d tell him to take a picture so that it would last longer but now, with your eyes closed, he could take as much time as he wanted.

“If it helps, I think you look amazing.”

He watched you slowly open your eyes and scrunch your nose at his statement. “Yeah, right. I look like a dark-skinned DeBarge.”

“Yeah but, you can’t sing.” His boisterous laughter managed to pull a laugh from you until your stomach was hurting from the force. “But seriously, you look fine. It suits your face. I can finally see your eyes without that bang in the way.”

“You told me you thought it was fly!”

“It was! But, I like this one too. I like whatever to do with your hair and stuff. You make all of it look good.”

A familiar set of butterflies fluttered in your abdomen at his kind words and the feel of his hand returning to rub your head. How was he able to make you feel so beautiful with just a few words? He could’ve repeated that same line to every girl on campus but, in this moment, you felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

“So I don’t look like a low budget Missy Elliot?”

“Actually, that’s probably the best comparison.” He laughed. “Look at it this way though; we can go get haircuts together.”

“Haircuts? You been on this Basquiat journey for a while now. Would you really go get a haircut with me?”

Running his hands through his ‘fro, he gave the thought of a haircut serious consideration. He’d spent a lot of time growing his hair out to achieve the locs that were sprouting from his scalp. Not only did they fit his image but they’d received a lot of attention from the other women on campus. Was he really willing to get rid of them for you?

“Give me three weeks. If you still want to maintain the haircut by then, I’ll go with you.”

“Really!” You squealed, pressing your body into his bare chest. He never had the chance to keep you close before you hopped of the bed and danced around the small room.

Grabbing his guitar, he began strumming background music to your solo party.

“CoCo’s big ass head just got bigger…” He sang, a broad smile contrasting your straight-faced expression. “I’m messing with you!”

Rolling your eyes, you drug yourself back to the bed to sit beside him and lay your head against his shoulder. “Thanks, Chad. I needed this.”

“Anytime, CoCo. I got you no matter what.” His eyes found yours again in the tender moment, sharing a sweet smile with you.

“Your head is still big though. You look like Michael Jordan with hair. I mean gah damn!”

_____________________

FOREVER TAGS: @njadont @k-michaelis @wakandanmoonchild @idilly @texasbama @afraiddreamingandloving @inxan-ity @daytimeheroicsonly @thiccdaddy-mbaku @onyour-right @briannabreeze @sisterwifeudaku @ironsquad @killmongerdispussy @90sinspiredgirl @killmongersaidheyauntie @willowtree77785901 @maynardqueen101 @heyauntieeee @halfrican-heat @purple-apricots @lalapalooza718 @blue-ishx @profilia

#chadwick boseman #black panther fan fiction #chadwick boseman fan fiction #chadwick boseman imagine #chadwick x reader #chadwick boseman x you #black panther fics #black panther fanfiction #black panther

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mimiplaysgames · 6 years

Text

Strength to Protect the Things That Matter (Ch. 21)

Pairing: Terra/Aqua Rating: T Other characters: Garnet, Aqua, Hope, Rydia, Noctis, Riku, Kefka Word Count: 7,113

Summary: Terra has prayed for years. He wanted relief from having no one to talk to in the dark, except with the monster of a man who stole his life. One day, when two boys get a lead, he gets his chance - less than a week - to set things right before he loses everything again.

AO3 FF.net

A/N: I’m so damn excited to finally get to this! The flashback scene was inspired by @holyteapotofrussell ‘s absolutely adorable art that features Terra and Aqua as children. They also wrote an equally adorable fic that fits their headcanons for this art piece. Please check out their work and send love! Thank you so much for allowing me to use this piece as inspiration. It’s been MONTHS since I have asked you for this, and I have been so blessed to get to you know you since. <3

I have been asked by a Tumblr reader to include pictures/video of Final Fantasy characters that have never appeared on Kingdom Hearts before. I included those links at the end of this chapter.

Clowning

The windows on the second floor of the hotel have large enough window sills that Terra can sit on one and stare away at the clock tower. Hope has given him an herbal drink brewed with acacia for strength and alertness. Everyone who volunteers to fight Kefka will drink this ahead of the battle. For now, all he can do is wait for orders.

But it isn’t the fight with Kefka that occupies his mind. He holds his Wayfinder in his hand, stroking it as he daydreams about meeting her again.

Being that Aqua has been surviving in the Realm of Darkness for a little more than twelve years, Terra builds an image of her in his mind. She is about thirty years old now. The baby fat will subside, leaving hollower cheeks and stronger cheekbones. She will probably be curvier than before, in all the right places. If she smiles at all, the lines of her eyes will grace them. Her hair may have grown out, and it’s a wonder how long it is now. Maybe it already is showing sneaky strands of gray. Her eyes will be the same. Either way, she would still be pretty.

The sound of shaky wheels creep up behind him. Garnet is pushing a cart filled with bandages, multi-colored potions, and a large pitcher of water, approaching a door. He gets up and holds it open for her so she can slip through. The lights in the room are dimly lit in a warm glow, almost as if to be relaxing... but it’s a different story altogether. Inside are two rows of small beds, each with a person either sleeping, coughing, or dealing with pain. There are more people, as well - some with arm slings, others who do not have any visible injuries but are perhaps suffering nonetheless. Some of them approach her when she enters.

“Terra,” she calls as she is surrounded, “would you be a dear and fetch me those cups?”

She points to a number of cups that are placed high on a shelf - clearly too high for her unless she used a ladder. Terra states that he will help her, and follows her around as he pours each person in the room a cup of water. She speaks quietly to every single person in the room. He overhears her asking much of the same questions: if they have any pain, if they are thirsty, when was their last meal, if they are calm and comfortable.

For those in pain or who have open wounds, she uses her magic to heal them, holding her hands up close to the physical source, a bright light mesmerizing out of them as she works. It is not the same as the green healing aura that emits out of a Cure spell that all Keyblade wielders know (or from any other magic casters he’s seen). The color is nearly white instead.

And she does it effortlessly, almost like a thought, without having to pray for it or summon it vocally. Each time she does it, the dimness of the room brightens up just a little. It’s truly a special gift.

When she’s done, they head for the room directly next door: a small storage room with no windows, a row of cupboards, and a sink. Garnet drags a tall stool across to climb it, in order to store some things away.

Terra leans against the wall. “You are amazing with magic. It’s unique, where did you learn it from?”

Garnet stands straight as an arrow as she balances on the stool, almost as if she is aware that she may fall. She beckons Terra to hand her empty bottles.

“My professor.” She smiles as her eyes travel into memory. “I’ve spent all of my youth in his library, with not much to do except to indulge myself in his works. He gifted me the use of magic... Of course, he was also good on his promise that I was to be presentable as a lady.”

He holds his hand out to help her balance. She hops off the stool.

“I was also in a library practically my whole life,” he says. “My Master ran an academy for Keyblade wielders.”

“And what did your mother think of this?” She reaches for a clipboard and writes in it, checking off an inventory list.

“My Master adopted me.” Terra chuckles, his cheeks warm. It’s one of the best memories of his life. “What about you? Did you have a mother?”

“No, I sprouted off some hole in the ground,” she says dryly, continuing her list as though she isn’t fazed by the question.

A nervous crackle - he didn’t realize it was such a poorly worded question. “I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Garnet stops writing and dramatically turns to him with a grin on her face, touching the crystal that hangs off her neck. “This is my inheritance, from my mother.” She places the clipboard on the sink counter. “I do wonder about your own knowledge of magic. I know all Keyblade wielders can cast spells.”

“Yeah, and we’re each unique in how we mold it. But I’m not that good at traditional spells.”

“Yet you do know how to recognize skill with it. I beg to ask for the story behind that.”

He finds a chair and sits, rubbing his chin as a tight smile forms on his face.

“My best friend, Aqua.” It doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue like it used to. He wonders if she’s really a best friend anymore, in the case that he ruined everything about the two of them. He forces this thought out of his mind. For now, it’s better to pretend that nothing’s changed. “She’s really spectacular with it.”

The day was cloudy and breezy - but not the kind that left the sky dark. When the sun wasn’t beating down on the mountains so harshly, he could see the coloring of the trees and the rivers far away even better in weather like this. They were taking a walk on some short ledges, where the terrain was particularly rocky. As long as they promised not to go too far (and as long as Terra promised to hold her hand so they wouldn’t separate), they could venture much farther than the gardens within the castle perimeters.

Aqua had been with them for a year now, and had just turned nine. For her last birthday, Eraqus gave her a pointy hat adorned with stars and moons (much like an old friend of his, he said at the time). A wizard’s hat, because she had expressed so much interest in learning magic. She wasn’t wearing it now. It instead rested on top of a giant book of basic spells that she wanted to drag around with her.

Right now, she was practicing cartwheels and backflips. She was slow to start them as she braced herself before the execution, but she gracefully landed each one with perfection. Or at least she made it look that way. Her long pigtails flicked before landing on her shoulders again with each presentation of athletic ability.

But that was the thing with her. Perfection. Always trying to get Eraqus to notice it. Always trying to make sure she got it right each and every time. It made him look bad. It was annoying.

Terra was ten years old. Two digits, that was. He was supposed to be proud, and he was supposed to be better naturally because he was older. “I can do that, too,” he scoffed.

“I never saw you do it well,” she retorted with a smirk.

Eraqus had tried to get him to understand that he really was much better than her at most things - fighting, memorizing what was in the books, doing chores, being adept in the outdoors. He had tried to tell Terra to allow her to be proud of her flexibility and mastery of her own body.

But that still made him lesser. Worse still, she admired Eraqus for being a Master. And he wanted her to admire him as well, because he worked hard for it. “You’ll eat your words.”

His cartwheel, according to her, looked like a frog trying to hop with its stubby forelegs. What followed was an attempt at throwing himself even harder so his legs would straighten out. He could already do handstands - cartwheels were different.

What came next was a flop onto the ground, a tumble off a rock, down one of those tiny ledges, and a roll against rough terrain. His reward was several scrapes all over his arms, and a horrible throbbing sting on his knee.

“You ok?” she called to him, and he held his knee as he grimaced and squirmed a bit, shaking his head. She ran down to him, one hand holding the hat on her head and the other arm draped over the book, which was as large as her torso.

“Can you stand?” she asked as she sat beside him.

“No.” His voice was meek and he sniffed. The scrape on his knee was large and bloody, and tiny rocks wedged into it that made it hurt more. He told himself to keep it together. He had fallen way too many times to count that normally it wasn’t a big deal.

But when he got really hurt, the worst that came was the lecture the Master would give him.

“Let me help.” She said that too excitedly, and she brushed her pigtails and straightened the hat. She laid the book on the ground and flipped through it until she got to a page displaying calligraphy. The chapter was titled ‘Basic Healing Spells.’ She whispered what she was reading to herself, before facing him. “How does it feel?”

“It burns and it stings.” He slowly rubbed the dirt off the scrape.

She continued to read off the book, but waiting for her did not help the pain go away.

“Can you hurry it up?” He held his hands tightly on each side of the knee, hoping that the pressure would ease it.

She put her hands on her hips. “Shush!”

He leaned on his hands while she continued reading, sighing. From the corner of his eye, he could see that she held a finger to her chin. It looked as though, just for a second, she was ready to cast the spell because she started to face him... only to go back to sticking her nose into the book.

The stinging was coming in waves, and he leaned forward a little. “Before I die, Aqua?”

She gave him a quick, severe glare. She hated that word. ‘Die.’

“Sorry,” he said. He tried to breathe deeply while she continued to read.

Then she was ready. He held his knee while she waved her hand over it. She called out “Cure!” but what came was a horrendous burn instead. The kind of burn that would bite when touching something icy.

She had cast Blizzard by accident. He screamed as the ice dug itself into his knee. She yelled her apologies multiple times as he whimpered in pain, until she held her hands to her eyes and cried.

This sight made him uncomfortable, but he couldn’t understand why. “Don’t cry,” he said shakily. “I’m fine, really.” He grunted and breathed sharply. It hurt really badly, but the crying was what he will remember. It just made him sad.

“Can I try again? Please?” She wiped the tears flowing from her face, sniffling.

He hesitated first before agreeing, this time dealing with the sharpness of what felt like a knife rubbing itself while giving her all the time she needed.

She hesitated to cast again. She closed her eyes, telling herself audibly to just relax, and then called for a Cure spell again. It felt soothing, and it was like the pain was just lifted off the knee by some angelic force.

Relief. His arms went loose as he dropped onto his back, relaxing into the grass, gazing up at the clouds.

“I did it!” She laid on the ground next to him. She flashed a huge toothy smile, her face marked by dry tear streaks.

Garnet holds her hand to her mouth, almost in a way that gives him the impression that laughing as hard as she is would be considered unladylike. “She sounds brilliant,” she says.

“She is,” he says softly, his heart pumping as these words leave his mouth.

“Describe her to me.”

He gives her a wide-eyed stare, not knowing how to interpret such a request. “Um, well she has blue hair and blue eyes.”

Garnet, once sporting a smile, straightened her mouth into a line as she rolls her lips inward. “I was hoping for a more dramatized, romantic kind of description.” When he looks at her confused, she continues. “Much like what you would hear at a theater.”

He chuckles sharply. It isn’t exactly pleasant to have everyone around him read his feelings so easily, especially when he isn’t trying to be so blatant about them.

He considers a daydream of Aqua standing next to him. He would hold her close and kiss her in all the ways he was terrified to do before, because it kills him to wait longer. Because he should muster up the courage that he struggled with all these years, since she is still the one person who frightens him the most.

And yet, either way, he isn’t a romantic. “I don’t think I can do that.”

“You can start by comparing her to a symbol of your choice.” Garnet’s smile widens, her voice warm and encouraging. Hoping for entertainment.

At first he thinks about the unique way Aqua fights. It’s always mesmerizing to watch. “She dances when she fights. She... sometimes she’ll jump in the air and hit her enemies with a lot of...” What kind of person dances in the air? “It’s like looking at a ma-rio-nette.” The last word comes out rigid, as though he has tried to stop himself in the middle of it but he was too far into the word to be successful. Stupid.

Garnet’s brows furrow and her eyes narrow. “That was dreadful.”

“Can I try again?”

She holds up one finger, and he takes his time to think about it, going through several comparisons in his mind. His heart flutters, and finds himself wanting to get it right this time. He begins slowly, “Her eyes are like shallow ocean water, on a bright sunny day.”

Garnet claps her hands together. “That was so lovely.”

He laughs nervously as he runs his fingers through his hair. Not knowing what to say, he sits silently as she continues to gush about his words.

The clock strikes ten. Garnet’s laughter turns off, and she holds one hand to her heart, as if she’s monitoring how hard it’s beating.

When the clock is finished, a loud siren goes off. It blares loudly until it fades, only for it sway into a high-pitched scream again. Repeat. Garnet closes her eyes as it continues to weave back and forth into their consciousness, whispering to Terra that it’s a signal for a strict curfew - though most know to be in their homes by now.

When it’s over, she slowly opens her eyes, forcing a smile. “Come along, Terra. We mustn’t fear the reaper.”

The streets are completely empty except for the volunteers making their way into the third district, which is located several blocks from the hotel. It’s an incredibly modern area, where electric lights and fountains are fully utilized in its architecture. Riku tells Terra that this area has been recently quarantined. Normally, they choose territories farther away, but the more people go missing, the more Heartless will stick around in those previous battlegrounds. The numbers prove too much during an intense ten-minute fight. All the residents previously living in the third district have been evacuated.

In the corners of the block that will be the battle site, there are stacked cartridges, filled with ammunition for energy guns, offensive potions, first aid supplies, healing potions and smoke bombs. There are also small electric bombs placed high on a few of the buildings, and Terra is told to keep his distance from them.

Some people are even tasked with battering rams. Overall, it seems like the scientific team in Radiant Garden has spent a number of hours supplying the faction here with weapons. But what is most surprising of all is that there seems to be about forty people there, just to fight one Heartless.

They approach one of the hubs where some cartridges are stacked, where Hope is doing a final check-up.

“What are you doing here?” Terra asks him, surprised that they allow someone so young in such a dangerous arena.

“I’m a mage,” Hope says in a matter-of-fact way. He sounds nervous, but not enough to be intimated by the question. Almost as if he knows he has to be there. “I’m nowhere near as good as the others.” He gestures towards Noctis, Garnet, and Rydia, who are standing together in the middle of block, deep into a conversation that is impossible to eavesdrop from where they stand. Hope then turns quickly to Terra in an attempt to justify his words. “B-but I heal really well.”

Doesn’t this mean that he would be a target for Kefka? “Aren’t you scared?”

“Of course, we all are.” Hope scatters his sight on the clipboard in his hands. “This isn’t my first fight. I have survived the others, so I can survive this one.” He nods. These words are more for his own sake than for comforting Terra’s worry.

Hope then invites Terra to walk with him, and they approach Rydia, who is gazing into the electric lights as if she is studying them. She is holding her biceps like she is giving herself a hug, her long sleeves barely touching the ground. She gives them a tense smile, and reaches her arm out to embrace Hope.

“You ready for this?” she asks the boy.

“You ask me that every time.” He accepts the hug, and seems to relax when she places her hand on his head.

“And like every time, it won’t be an easy night.” She smiles widely at Terra. “But we have Terra for now. Maybe we’ll have it luckier.”

It’s such a warming thought that Terra feels his stomach swell. “That’s what I’m here for. We’ll both look out for you.” He ruffles through Hope’s hair, and it makes the boy smile.

Hope then hands Noctis his clipboard, which the latter places on top of several others. There are so many burning questions about what’s going on that Terra can’t help but speak out about them - against Garnet’s warning not to.

“I notice that the streets are empty. It seems like everyone else is hiding in their homes. Why face Kefka if you can just hide out?” Terra asks, trying his best to sound respectful, certain that they’ve all tried different scenarios in dealing with this situation.

Noctis’ jaw tenses before he speaks. “If no one’s outside to greet it, it will just destroy random buildings and crush everyone inside.” His tone is incredibly serious and raw. When he sees how shocked Terra is, he continues. “It’s a clown. It wants an audience.”

There is such contempt and anger in his tone that it’s undeniable. Regardless, Cid, who is passing by as this is said, loudly clears his throat and barked a “That’s highly inappropriate.” Noctis returns the statement with a glare so severe that if it had powers, it would have killed him.

Terra doesn’t know what to say in return, and a part of him wishes he never asked. How often did they experiment to learn something like that? Something on his face must have given his guilt away, because Noctis continues after a moment of silence.

“Those were some painful experiences. I remember being so scared every other night.” He flips a page on the clipboard. “The surprises always hit us the hardest, and when we lost the most.” He’s been at the same page for so long that it’s possible he stopped reading. “We’ve been fighting it for so long now that it seems like we know everything there is to know. And yet, sometimes, I still ask myself the same question: what if tonight is one where we will learn something new about it, and we aren’t prepared?”

Terra has been holding his fist, not realizing that he’s doing so. It’s not an easy subject to reply to. “I’m sure if you know everything about it, then tonight should go smoothly.” Is that an insensitive statement?

Noctis scoffs. “As smoothly as it could ever be.”

“Oy, we need to take the picture!” Garnet calls out to the two of them, and Noctis promptly agrees. He does it so quickly it’s as if the photograph is the most important event of the night.

Hope is setting up a camera that stands on a tripod, and Rydia makes a motion where she holds one open palm up and brushes it with her fingers. “This thing is amazing. It can create little paintings that have no brush strokes,” she says to Terra. The joy she is emanating is sincere, a rare source of light in such a tense night.

Rydia then calls out to other members that Terra has met, ordering him to stand in the middle since he’s the tallest. She tells Garnet and Hope specifically to stand in front of him (Hope replies that he’s still preparing the camera). Rydia stands to Terra’s right and rests her hand on his shoulder. Riku is beside her. Noctis stands to Terra’s left, with Cid by his side.

Noctis briefly pats Terra’s shoulder and says, “Welcome to the fam.”

Garnet turns, holding her fingers to her chin and pronouncing out a ‘Fam?’

Hope says that the camera is ready and rushes to his position while Garnet briskly faces the camera again and prepares her posture. Terra makes it a point to hold both of their shoulders, and gives a smile as the camera flashes.

As soon as it’s over, Hope scurries to pick up the tripod and runs to put it away. The group huddles around in a circle, waiting for him to come back. Garnet holds out her hand toward the center of the circle. Rydia places her hand on top, followed by Cid and Riku, and lastly by Hope. Noctis nods to Terra as if to invite him in, and he only rests his own when Terra complies.

“We’re here for another night,” Noctis says, his voice cracking. “And the only reason why I’m still whole, and why you’re all here, is because of all the friends we’ve lost. We’ll give them the remembrance they deserve. We’ll fight this thing, and tonight will be the one where we can finally breathe because it will be all over. I’m immensely proud to fight alongside all of you.” Even through a glove, Terra can feel the young leader’s hand tremble.

Hope hesitates to speak, but does so anyway. “Here’s to many more nights where we can be together.”

Noctis chuckles. “That’s something Sora would say.”

Riku nods in agreement. “We should call him our mascot next time he’s here.”

Hope laughs at the suggestion, his eyes beaming. In some ways, imitating Sora seems to bring out the best in him.

Noctis takes a breath. “Be safe, everyone.” And he lets go. Everyone else situates into some pre-determined position, and Riku leads Terra to stand out in the open, behind the leader of the group. Garnet stands staggered behind them.

“You, me, and Noct will be the heavy hitters,” Riku says. “The others will support us from behind. You should know that Kefka carries six swords on its back. They are all deadly poisonous.”

“Lovely.”

“It will also freeze at some point and blow out a toxic gas - also fatal.”

Terra breathes out quickly. “Anything else I should know?”

“When it eventually materializes, cover your ears. Once the clock’s done chiming, it’s showtime.”

Riku leaves his side to find a position with some distance between them, and summons his Keyblade. Garnet holds a shortstaff in both her hands, and brings up the orb that sits on the tip of it to her forehead while whispering a spell. It glows, and a spinning crystal covers every individual on that block before completely disappearing. If Terra focuses on the space in front of him, he can see tiny sparkling particles.

The protection spell.

Hope brings out a large boomerang and holds his stance directly behind Terra, standing the farthest behind. Rydia pulls out a whip and waits by a manhole that is releasing a misty cloud. Cid readies a spear, and holds his place by the volunteers, his job to order them during the fight. The rest of the volunteers are ready with their energy guns, and explosive potions. The battering rams are set. Noctis stands the farthest forward as the leader, not holding any weapon but looking up, as if he is expecting someone tall.

The clock strikes eleven. No words are uttered. Terra summons his Keyblade and holds it close. Everyone around him keeps a lookout.

Eleven.

The bubbling sound that signals the appearance of a Heartless is deep this time, and a large black mass immediately forms right after the last chime. A tall, colorful, humanoid stomps onto the ground, and the entire area shakes.

It laughs. A mechanical laugh that sounds like it’s coming from a speaker, but it is so high-pitched that it feels as though Terra’s head is being crushed inside a metal crusher. He holds his head and yells out loud, hearing everyone else yell out as well.

Then it starts. Kefka is nine feet tall at least. Its joints are bolted, its limbs thin. It wears a ridiculous clown costume, with the black and red insignia that signifies its existence as a Heartless large on its chest. The colors on the costume are a sickly combustion of yellows, purples, greens, and reds, with a bright white ruffle collar that is pointed at the ends. Its shoes are mismatched.

It’s especially ugly in the face - it dons a white mask with red painted lines that mark its mouth and eyes, screwed onto the face. The teeth that are drilled into a permanent smile are sharp. The skin right around its bright yellow eyes are charcoal black. It is topped off with a garish feather sticking out of its hair. There are six swords, three behind each shoulder, which are as thin as needles.

Noctis summons a broadsword the first moment he gets and throws it at Kefka. He disappears. The sword flies into the air, and right before Kefka can block it, Noctis re-appears in the air and reclaims his weapon. He warps from various spots in the air as he strikes Kefka’s arms, which are up in defense. He strikes, then warps. Repeat. This process keeps him the air and makes him a difficult target for Kefka to grab.

The other volunteers start to open fire, aiming at its face. At first glance, the battle doesn’t seem too bad. Kefka seems slow to react, casting its gaze around as if dazed by all the violence directed at it. Then it sweeps an arm - a movement so quick that it can’t be predicted considering how long it takes for the clown to think. A group of men are thrown back. An explosion. It then tries to blast Noctis, who throws his sword onto the roof of a faraway building and warps there.

Garnet juggles between following Noctis in order to stay close to him and casting her white healing spells toward the people just injured. Rydia holds her hands ahead of her, chanting as the mist from the manhole solidifies.

Out from the mist flies a silver dragon. Riku jumps onto it, taking a ride across the sky. Cid yells some orders and runs around the clown while Terra follows.

At this point, Kefka is skipping around the block, its hands behind its back. Any time a person throws an explosive or shoots at it, its retaliation is tremendous and widespread. It stops. It dances, waving its arms. Explosions appear at random. There are plenty of sporadic cries, and men barking more orders. Hope makes laps as he he tries to heal anyone caught in the foray.

The dragon spreads a thick fog to hide some of the straggling volunteers as they carry out the injured from the immediate battlefield. Riku takes the right moment to jump off of it, striking Kefka from the top. Terra runs in an attempt to strike its legs - this is the perfect opportunity to trip it, considering that it is striding so casually in one direction.

Kefka shudders a moment. It makes an about-face and runs the opposite way, and Terra misses it.

The Heartless drags Riku its in hand before slamming him into the ground. The six swords float outward and Kefka makes a sweeping motion to strike Riku in a rush. He uses his Keyblade to block each one. The Heartless then waves in the opposite direction, the swords following suit. Noctis warps behind the clown’s head and makes several strikes. Rydia casts bombardments of fireballs and icebergs to push it back and away from the teenage Keyblade wielder. Her dragon comes and picks Riku from the ground, taking him to Garnet for healing.

The Heartless freezes for a moment, slowly turning to face Noctis. There is a widening of its eyes, as if Noctis’ strike is the most offensive out of everything else that is happening.

It doesn’t like its face or its head being touched.

“Let’s get him at the ankles!” Terra calls out to Cid, with the latter aiming to throw his spear. Terra strikes the ground, shattering the concrete and tripping Kefka some before it could attack Noctis. It doesn’t come down to its knees, but it eyes Terra. It stares as him as he sends shockwaves of light to attack it, its smile plastered.

It grabs Terra, too quick for him to dodge. It squeezes, and purple strikes of electricity engulf him, making the protection crystal around him visible as he screams from the pain.

Then it throws him before sending a dark blast of its own against him, shooting out from its palm. He hears what sounds like glass shattering as he lands onto the ground.

Terra can’t hear anything. Any voices are muffled and indecipherable. His vision is blurred, and he feels dizzy enough that he can’t feel anything. No pain. No fear. He just needs to stand up. But what for? He forgets where he is, and just wants to move. Just to figure out where he is so he can decide what to do. Just move, dammit.

His vision clears a bit. His face feels wind on it, his hair blowing. Right in front of him, rocks are floating. Gently spinning in the air. He’s like a feather, levitating above the ground as well.

He should have been face down on the ground.

When he realizes this, he falls flat onto himself, the rocks falling alongside him. There is pain in every muscle, and he’s twitching.

There are glows of green, literally pulling some of the pain out of him, and leaving behind a comforting warmth.

“You ok?” Hope calls out. The healer runs up to Terra, and helps him up. He continues to heal the Keyblade Wielder by gesticulating wide circles, so that Terra can start to be fixed all over. He mumbles to Hope that he’s fine, although he’s still dizzy. He isn’t sure what he just saw.

Some of the buildings have been destroyed and are up in flames. More bodies, uncertain if dead or alive, are being carried out of the area. Kefka is jumping around and twirling, making it difficult for Noctis to land a hit. Some of the volunteers wait until their opportunity, and run the battering ram right into the clown. They push it against a building, and a bomb goes off, knocking it forward onto the ground.

Terra hears a voice: “Darkness!”

Riku, covered in a purple aura, charges ahead to pick a sword fight with the fallen clown. The power gives him an edge in speed. He attempts to strike it in the face - the one place Kefka is most protective of. Riku hits furiously, following each with another. Kefka bellows a tremendous screech, which sounds like gears rubbing against each other in super speed.

It’s loud and worse than a nail scratch. Everyone close to the clown, including Riku, run as fast as they can away from it. Hope grabs Terra by the wrist and tries to get him as far back as possible.

From its neck and its joints a purple gas blows out, which flies far out and floats into the sky. No one is near it when this happens, and all wait until it dissipates before approaching again, giving the clown plenty of time to pick itself up and skip around. Another dance, another set of random explosions.

Terra, breathing heavily, readies his stance for when Kefka passes by him - although it’s difficult to do so. The pain may have been healed, but he is still unable to lift his heavy Ends of the Earth with confidence. He curses at himself for being weak. Hope stands by him, bracing for whatever Terra is silently planning in his mind. Maybe to heal him again. I can do this. I’ll trip him when he comes...

Should I use darkness this time? What if I turn against the others?

A sword is thrown up against Kefka’s cheek. It doesn’t even scar or leave a mark, but Noctis appears anyway, aiming just for the face. Kefka laughs, and it hurts every ounce of Terra’s head. It’s the worst headache he’s ever had.

When he comes to, Noctis is struggling to stand up, collapsed against a wall. Kefka prepares an energy blast in its palm. Garnet rushes and slides onto her knees, putting herself between Noctis and Kefka. She holds her shortstaff, the orb glowing. An intense pillar of light shoots upward from the ground, making everything shake. It sends a loud swoop before it swallows itself, and the light is gone.

It is enough to send the clown backward.

With his arm around Garnet, Noctis throws his sword towards the entrance of the third district, where all the injured are gathered. He dissipates, and she is carried through the air before being dropped behind the cartridges. She holds her sides, as if tired and in pain, unable to stand straight without leaning on someone else.

Rydia throws more fireballs, each one larger than the previous one. She engulfs Riku’s Keyblade in flames, and he rides her dragon again in another attempt to hit Kefka where it hurts. It blocks his attempts, and it ravages the dragon with a dark forcewave, throwing it aside along with its rider. Kefka rules its swords as they twirl around it, aiming it to make sweeping motions against the female mage. A boomerang hits the clown on the back of the head.

The clown hits Hope directly with a dark blast from its palm. The crystal around the boy becomes visible and shatters. He slumps on the ground.

Kefka laughs and everyone screams. It skips away.

Terra scuffles to Hope, who is still breathing. He cradles him in his arms. “You’re going to be okay,” he says. “I know a little bit of healing magic.” (It is true, but he’s not in the position to heal such a terrible injury.)

Hope writhes in pain, his eyes darting in every direction. He grabs Terra by the arm, and nearly scratches him because the grip is so desperate. “Don’t let me go to sleep,” he begs, a tear falling.

His breathing is sporadic, but it slows to a restful state. His eyes close. A warm pink-orange glow shines from out of his chest.

Eraqus has always told them that touching a heart is forbidden, for it can cause irreversible harm. There is Hope’s heart, floating in the air. It looks bright, and Terra aims to grab it with both his hands but stops himself. It turns dark before disappearing, Hope’s body evaporating along with it. In his mind, it happens so slowly, cursing himself because he lost the chance to grab the heart and put it back. Even though it occurred over seconds.

“He’s too young,” he says softly. No one is close enough to hear him. He stares at his lap, where Hope was just laying.

Ahead of him is Rydia, who witnessed it. Her face contorts into fury. She casts lightning, with a power so forceful that it spreads all over the area. It chaotically flies in every direction, hitting the clown. Thunder strikes when her magic marks her target, clapping several times.

She continues to send lightning against the Heartless, making it shake. Kefka walks in resistance against her casting, taking its time with every step. It keeps getting close to her, its swords floating behind it, and she can’t hold it back anymore.

Terra, silent tears coming down his own face, grunts and summons his armor. Just let the dark heat take over. Let it bring life back into his muscles. Let it give him the strength to wield his giant Keyblade. Curse this Heartless. Curse Xehanort for making it possible for it to exist.

He sprints forward, striking an ankle so hard that the monster actually trips to its knees. Shatter the ground. Strike its swords directly, strong enough to hold back the pressure that the clown is pushing against him. Send shockwaves of black and purple to damage the Heartless.

Kefka blasts him directly. If it weren’t for the armor, he would have been suffering the same fate as Hope. He is thrown against a wall behind him. Even with the armor for protection, being thrown this hard against such metal makes him ache. He is on his knees, breathing deeply into his helmet. He needs to get up. He needs to defend himself from the next energy blast that the Heartless is preparing for him.

He hears the crack of a whip. Rydia strikes the clown in the face, although she doesn’t scar it. She whips it a second time. A third, a fourth. She mouths spells as she summons a large fireball. Kefka grabs one of its swords and prepares to brush it across her. She hits the Heartless first.

Kefka steps through her fire, and swipes the sword across her, breaking her protection.

Then stabs her with it.

She stumbles backward, holding her oblique. Unable to get up, she looks up to the clown, and relaxes. Not because she is passing out. Not because she is too weak. It is much like the exact moment where a lamb knows that it’s too late to strive for life. She closes her eyes and waits for whatever it will do next.

Terra hates the clown more. He sprints in front of her and calls for another shockwave, throwing Kefka backwards and onto its back. He stays by Rydia, but instead of waiting for the clown to retaliate, he prepares a mass of darkness. It swirls and flickers around him, and he feels his Keyblade throbbing with the power. This is the end. I will destroy you.

Kefka stands up and stares at Terra. A swirl of darkness surrounds it and it disappears.

Terra looks toward the clock tower. Ten minutes past eleven. Terra shakes hard enough that the armor makes noises. He yells, because the darkness makes his head hurt so damn much. He pulls his helmet off. It’s so hot, and he’s sweating, but the exposure to the outside air doesn’t cool his face. I have to stay in control. I need to let this darkness go.

The pain is so bad that he cries out in half-breaths. He can still see the traces of smoke emanating through the cracks of his armor. He loses all feeling in his limbs.

“Are you alright?”

He looks up to see Garnet rushing as fast she can while she stumbles. She kneels in front of him. “Where does it hurt?” she asks.

“H-headache.” It’s too difficult to talk. Am I losing control of my mouth?

She holds her hand out by his temple. A warm white light, a pure light, and the pain slowly fades away. He can lift his limbs, and he stops trembling. His breathing steadies.

Garnet gently squeezes his wrist. “I saw what happened,” she says solemnly. “I must tend to the wounded, but I’ll be sure to add him to the list.” She gets up and meets with other people, including Riku, who are down on the ground as well.

The list. A same type of list that Aerith and Tifa collect to count how many people turn into Heartless after the end of a swarm. A pile of former identities. As time passes by, it’s only faces that are lost in the throws of it. Hope’s face.

“This looks bad,” he hears Cid say behind him. Noctis cradles Rydia in his arms, who has her hands up. She’s quivering with such a force that Cid has to be the one to carry her.

“Can you get up?” Riku limps over to Terra. “We are going to have a long night. There are always Heartless that pop up everywhere when Kefka’s been around. Including the hotel.”

Terra leans on his Keyblade to stand up. Garnet will come back after taking care of more immediate injuries to heal the both of them more, so they can be in better shape for the upcoming hours.

Some people are being carried in stretchers. Others have their arms draped on those strong enough to help them walk. Some are left behind for now - the unlucky ones who haven’t escaped this specific slaughterhouse. It’s just one that exists among the thousands of stars out there, each of them marked by Xehanort as his personal experiment.

Lambs for his needs, and Keyblade wielders as his tools.

For those of you who would like some references as to who these FF characters are. I added photos first and then some videos that suits their personalities:

Noctis (x) (x) (yep I’m cheap) Garnet (x) (x) (skip ahead to 4:19 for the vid) Rydia (x) (x) (that was difficult - this game was re-made for the DS) Hope (x) (x) (hard to find one without context or melodrama) Kefka (x) (x) (had to include his classic laugh)

#terraqua #terqua #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #terra #aqua #riku #garnet til alexandros #noctis lucis caelum #rydia of mist #hope estheim #cid #kefka palazzo #oh my this is finally out #i can't believe i have written this chapter #i've been daydreaming about this for MONTHS #and it's finally existing #my fic

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