#dxrkstorm

[twilitnobody]

@dxrk-storm​ says: ❝  i’m in here.  i’m inside this body.  there’s still a person in here and it’s mine.   it’s my body.  i’m tired of so many people acting like it isn’t.  ❞ (( it was either this or "fucking dumbasshole" so i flipped a coin ))

( magnolia castillo sentence starters )

♡ ――― “I’m in here. I’m inside this body,” Venitas says thickly, staring out to the ocean neither of them really know.

Roxas pushes his knees to his chest as he sits on the sand overlooking this world he only knows from dreams--all the little secrets and every stranger he knows their name, despite never meeting them in real life until now. It’s so weird to know about the Secret Place despite the way he avoids it. It’s so surreal the memories he has of every grain of sand here... it leaves him reeling to know everything about a place he’s never really been.

“There’s still a person in here and it’s mine. It’s my body,” he continues on beside Roxas, his voice crumbling ash and bittersweet recollections. 

Roxas used to say things like this, but somewhere along the way he stopped fighting against Sora and this life Roxas crams himself into because it’s easier than being alone. Easier to smile blandly and eat ice cream despite the way the hate festers inside his new heart. Roxas used to say things like this too, but when did he give up on his right to exist?

“I’m tired of so many people acting like it isn’t,” Venitas finishes with an angry clip. 

Roxas stares at that ocean lapping and churning forever in front of him. And all he can see is a little Sora splashing among those sweeping waves with Riku and Kairi, all smiles and giggles and glittering happiness Roxas can never hold...

“You can’t blame them,” Roxas replies with a bitter, breathless chuckle. “They knew Sora first.”

Roxas turns his head to burn his blue eyes Venitas’ way, his lips pressed before he spews out such a hateful truth.

A truth Roxas learned a long time ago.

“They’ll only see Sora when they look at you. When they want to say your name, his name comes out of their lips instead. On this world, all they know is him...”

Roxas sighs, shrugging a little helplessly.

“We’ll always be the secondhand copies of him here...” Roxas mutters. “But somewhere else, somewhere far away... maybe there’s a chance they never met Sora. Maybe there... we could be our own people. I’m so tired... I’m so tired of walking in Sora’s shadow. Every time they look at me... all they want to see is another perfect replica of their dull, ordinary friend they already know. Anything they don’t know... that could be dangerous.”

Roxas grips his knees then, shaking his head.

“One day I’m going to leave this world and I’ll make the universe realize the truth: my heart always belonged to me! No one else. I still believe that, even after everything...” 

And they watch the waves together among the bloody hues of a sinking sun, burning alive as they sit with the shadows of a world that will never know them completely... 

[forgottenwind-blog]

(( FUCK MOBILE ASK CHARACTER LIMITS OKAY ))

The little daimon’s frightened by the sounds outside. A storm, or something like it howls near, and he shouldn’t have wandered so far from that kind mortal’s forge but he still has to find a way home! Veni hunkers down in the little cave he’s found, shaking as his flame body illuminates the din all around him. Ashes litter the floor from where he’s consumed every bit of lichen, moss, and even the basket that mortal hand lent him just to try and hold it together. But even in this little crevice, the winds are unforgiving, and he trembles with a terrifying encroaching cold.

He can’t venture deeper–the cave doesn’t go any further. But he can’t leave or he’ll blow out in seconds. Desperately, Veni scratches at the walls, looking for something, anything to burn. But there isn’t even sulfur or saltpeter to ignite, just solid stone that can’t be burned. So, he does the only other thing he can think of: he shouts as much as his little voice can. “Stop it! Please, stop it! I don’t know why you’re angry but please stop–you’re hurting me!” Would the wind even listen? Could it even hear him? The ember tucks tighter in on himself, trying to conserve his energy as much as he can until the winds stop.

The wind hears all. Many cried out against the strong winds of his rage, all with their own complains and pleads for him to stop. Everyone wants a stop to the damaging winds, every little creature cries out for peace.

Does he give it? No. No he does not.

He couldn’t take it anymore, the screams. He just couldn’t take the high pitched screams of pain echoing in his head and throughout his being. It made him angry to be unable to figure out the source, and it was unhealthy to keep it all inside. as if his angry towards whatever plagued him could ever be contained.

Yet this voice yelling out at him was different. It wasn’t human and it wasn’t entirely divine. Certainly a small part of him was curious but his mood was still focused on his rage, so the response that yelled back from the winds mirrored it.

“WHY SHOULD I! THE WINDS ARE NOT COMMANDED BY SMALL VOICES. WHY SHOULD I HEED YOURS MORE THAN I SHOULD HEED THE COUNTLESS OTHERS?”

[twilitnobody]

@dxrk-storm​

♡ ――― Deep Jungle.

Hearts, Roxas hates this world.

Lush trees and thick foliage meant steamy, suffocating temperatures as he traverses the thick overgrowth on the jungle floor. He’s starting to hate this damn Organization cloak right about now too as the sun dapples through the trees and little, tiny bugs creep into the leather and bite him where he can’t swat them away. Even so, Roxas presses on, breathing hard under the pressing heat. 

It doesn’t take long to find the Keyhole.

Sora’s memories provide a perfect, clear map to where he needs to go. Whereas Sora saved these worlds so long ago, Roxas is merely retracing his steps to destroy them.

Funny, Roxas doesn’t think he’s breaking anything.

To Roxas, when he overlooks the pieces of the tale about the Keyblades, it just seems so wrong. Keyblades that have the power to rewrite fate, Keyblades that can shatter hearts? Why were these weapons even created? Why give so much power to mere children and hope that destiny guides them to the light and they don’t stray into the dark instead...?

It’s like this weapon is a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.

Then there’s the matter of the worlds preferring to be shrouded in shadow, disconnected from all the others. And this always struck Roxas as odd... wouldn’t the universe benefit from united worlds, a shared destiny they could all write together? But all Sora was told to do was lock the Keyholes and keep them apart, vowing to protect the worlds’ order. 

Roxas has this gut feeling that everything he and his friends have done up until now wasn’t right. 

It’s a lot to bet on just a gut feeling though.

Despite his reserves he still has Oblivion in hand, pointed at the green wall in the cozy hollow he resides inside now known as the nesting grounds to the gorilla inhabiting this world. A Keyhole glitters into sight, responding to the Keyblade poised so close to it.

Roxas unlocks it and the world’s fate is sealed with a click.

But when he turns away from the Keyhole, Roxas sees himself staring back with a puzzled, bemused expression--the same spikey blonde hair, the same wide eyes, it’s like looking in a mirror. Roxas steps back in surprise, blinking hard. 

The only difference are the amber eyes that gleam Roxas’ way.

“Ventus...?” Roxas asks breathlessly, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

Roxas didn’t know much about Ventus personally, though Sora’s memories provided a vague description for him. There was only one other person that looked like Roxas down to their toes and that was Ventus and because of their eerie similarities Roxas often avoided him, so unnerved by seeing another him around that wasn’t Sora it was simply easier to act like he didn’t exist.

Until, seemingly, Ventus found him instead and was ready to confront Roxas on a newly dying world.

“What are you doing here?” Roxas asks sharply.

But even as they talk a ripple sets off from the Keyhole, shaking the world as a whole, the ground rumbling beneath their feet. And shadowy pools begin to ooze up around them, a warning that the Heartless are fast approaching...

[empxrical-archive]

dxrk-storm replied to your post: quietly judges larxene from a safe (?) distance

// petition to fund scientific research into what qualifies as safe distance from larxene

[[ conclusion: nothing is 100% a “safe” distance, larxene is to be avoided at all costs ]]

[stonewill-blog1]

@dxrk-storm

He doesn’t know why he’s ended up here -- why he’d even want to be here. It hurts, it hurts far too much, but...here he is. Home. The Land of Departure, once Castle Oblivion and now unlocked, the boy hidden within gone. It’s empty of anything but dust, cobwebs, and old memories. Good memories. Memories that feel like knives to his chest.

He walks through the halls, trailing a hand along the walls he finds seem drained of all the color they once had. He knows each room, each hallway. The broken ornamentation on the wall he’d broken trying to do cartwheels like Aqua. The library they’d all spent countless hours in. The kitchen, where Aqua liked to cook and they’d watch her, where Master Eraqus had taught him how to make green tea the traditional way.

He ends up in one of the bigger rooms, finally, and he’s distracted until he nearly walks right into a mirror. Well, not really a mirror, it’s supposed to be a window, but with the sky the way it is and the disuse of the room, it reflects his face rather clearly.

But it’s not his face. He nearly chokes when he looks up and sees dark skin, silver hair -- and more than that, it’s the age. Ten years he missed, ten years his body experienced even if his head and heart didn’t. He’s taller, his shoulders are broader -- he had once been a tall, brawny young twenty-something, but now he was a man grown. His face, his stature, it’s that of someone ten years older, and he can’t-- he doesn’t-- worse, it’s the face of Xehanort, still. His eyes are blue, but they’re his eyes in someone else’s face. 

He can’t act alright. He can’t -- not forever. He’s been doing well with the others, been holding himself together, but...but alone like this, alone among memories, he cracks. He lets out a wordless cry, punching the glass where his face is reflected as hard as he can. It doesn’t shatter, but it cracks, and he can feel his knuckles bruise. But he doesn’t care.

He wishes suddenly Heartless would show up, because he needs to hit something, anything-- and he’s afraid he’d take it out on himself if he really let himself go.

But nothing shows up and he lets out another cry, punching the glass again and setting off a Quake spell so that it shatters with a satisfying sort of destruction. Master Eraqus wouldn’t have approved, but he’s not here, so-- no, he’s not just not here, he’s dead, because Terra himself had killed him. God, he’d fucked up so badly, and now here he was having to pick up the pieces of the decade-long disaster Xehanort had carried out in his body.

He kicks the window frame viciously, knocking loose a fragment of glass, and drops to his knees, running his hands through his hair and barely resisting the urge to yank at it -- it’s not the right color, it’s not his -- because shit. Shit. 

He hears someone, then, and looks up and around, blue eyes haunted, and sees -- a ghost? A memory? A hallucination? Can’t be.

“Ven...” He says quietly, sadly. This just hurts worse.