OATH / KEPT. *

𝟎𝟏.ㅤyou can call me balu (he/she, 21+)! history major, contracted government researcher, freelance translator, volunteer worker, aspiring artist and cursed kingdom hearts fan full time. i go be he/she pronouns, and i was born in 1999, so i'm 21+ years old. thank you for checking my guidelines page! most of these are pretty common rpc guidelines, with a few twists here and there. the most important information will be bolded.

𝟎𝟐.ㅤfor my own mental health's sake, this is a private and selective blog. i'll only follow blogs i can see myself interacting with, ic or ooc. i'll prioritise writers and fandoms that i know, ocs i'm interested in, etc. i'll also not interact with anyone under 21 years old, under no circumstances.

𝟎𝟑.ㅤmy activity is very messy. i'm not always up to rp, and i consider this a hobby, not a jobby. my replies will be very sporadic; my irl obligations, relationships and pleasure comes first and foremost. if you're expecting a fast and/or consistent partner, i'm not your guy. and yes, i have a preference for my friends and regular writing partners or ship partners. i'm biased and human.

𝟎𝟒.ㅤimportant canon divergent notes about my portrayal: 1) as per my old headcanons on other blogs, my sora is 5 yo in kh bbs, 15 yo in kh1, 16 yo in kh re:com, 18 yo in kh2 and 19 yo in ddd~kh3, and finally he's 21 yo post kh3. 2) sora is extremely depressed and an insomniac. 3) he's currently dead, but fragments of him can be found "glitching" around other worlds. future posts will be made about these and other canon divergencies. please bear in mind that you will find a lot of those; i've been writing sora since 2015. you can find more about my headcanons and portrayal of sora by checking this specific headcanon tag. i will always incorporate my headcanons and personal interpretation of kh events into our threads unless explicitly discussed otherwise.

𝟎𝟓.ㅤenglish is NOT my first language. grammar and spelling mistakes will occur, especially since i'm self-taught. i'll edit things accordingly. please let me know if my writing is ever confusing to you, though.

𝟎𝟔.ㅤi don't post starter calls, only plotting or inbox calls. i prefer talking with people beforehand to get a feel of what we're going for. if you'd rather wing it and write me something though, by all means, i'm in for it!

𝟎𝟕.ㅤfor the other sexy sora blogs out there: fuck yeah, you have amazing taste in brunet self-sacrificial heroes, dude. i hope you have fun writing him! sadly, i have dupes anxiety due to past experiences in other fandoms, so i probably won't be following you back unless i know you from another blog, if you're a friend, or if you're a multi-muse blog. i don't mind if you take bits of my portrayal, edits, headcanons, aesthetics or whatever, either. just credit me somewhere.

𝟎𝟖.ㅤships will be very selective, but i'm very open to them if we mesh well ic and ooc! let's plot and work things out first; ships always become more enjoyable that way. also, my sora is a demiromantic.

𝟎𝟗.ㅤi don't practise full character exclusivity, only mains (1~3 mains/character). though if prompted, i'm more than comfortable practising ship exclusivity with my roleplay partners. i'll never assume we're ship-exclusive unless we've explicitly talked about it, however. i trust you to communicate with me if you ever feel uncomfortable about our current arrangements as well (i.e: if you'd like to break mains, if you'd like to stop being ship exclusive, if you'd like to rethink our muses' relationship, etc). we're all sexy and responsible adults here. no repetition, no jealousy, no stress, just chill. 𝟎𝟗 §b.ㅤmy sora and my general understanding of kingdom hearts are heavily tied to celestea and her roxas (@13nth). my ship exclusivity to her and her roxas is unbreakable. we've been writing interactions between the two for almost a decade by now. as a result, i'll be very selective with other roxas interpretations.

𝟏𝟎.ㅤyou will find upsetting topics on this blog, such as but not limited to: discussions of trauma, death, amnesia, violence, eldritch/cosmic/body horrors, anxiety issues, depression and other disturbing topics. none of them will be graphic, but you will find discussions of them in some of my posts. i'll tag all possibly disturbing materials as "tw /"(e.g: death /). if you're in any way at all disturbed by any of these, block me for your comfort; curate your own safe space.

𝟏𝟏.ㅤif you want to break mutuals and softblock me for whatever reason it is, i ask that you hardblock me instead, or i may end up re-following you accidently. i'll do the same!

𝟏𝟐.ㅤplease do not interact if you're friends and/or support the actions of these individuals: lv, lupin (previously known as asra, mana, styx), elsy and/or jane. i want absolutely nothing to do with them or their cycle and they've hurt me and good friends of mine. leave me be.

𝟏𝟑.ㅤsenseless westernised and xenophobic discourses will be blocked. holier than thou attitudes will be blocked. petty drama and vaguing will be blocked. i will not be participating in those. serious callouts will be reblogged if i think they're well-sustained, tagging them accordingly.

𝟏𝟒. ㅤother common etiquette practices apply: please have guidelines and an about page easy to find on your blog, tag common triggers (i use the "tw /" format), cut your posts, tag and @ me on things you want me to reply to. i'm spiritually a grandpa, so these things really help me. i'll always try to do the same, too!

ㅤㅤif he counted the moons correctly, it must have been a month since they defeated ansem, the seeker of darkness. it had been a month since the king and riku were in hell. it had been a month since kairi and the others returned to the destiny islands, trying to rebuild their lives after shadowy catastrophes. it had been a month since they followed what seemed like an endless road, without knowing what to look for. it had been a month since sora’s heart hurt like it was on the verge of exploding.

ㅤㅤnow and then, his companions would hear him complain about these constant aches. at first, they asked if it wasn’t his body getting used to the “life of a hero”. to grow muscles, you need to get in shape, after all. or maybe he was just sad. of course. that seemed about right, so he bid their comfort for as much as possible. but the pains persisted, and they grew, and sometimes sora could swear he was bleeding from his heart, but there were no smudges on his shirt. no matter his prayers and wishes to the stars, it wasn’t getting easier. but he never told anyone about his constant achings anymore. heroes didn’t do that. to do so would be to admit defeat, wouldn’t it? right. so he kept dragging his feet, he kept waving his heavy sword through pained shoulders and arms, he held his breath when there was no air left, and he battled through silent fevers. this was just a small price to pay. there were people to rescue, worlds to save and light to shine. he had to keep up. 

ㅤㅤsora gave his best to avoid looking at the night sky too often in the meantime—knowing his home was out there, somewhere, did more bad than good most of the time and he didn’t want to wake the others with his sniffing. homesickness was a luxury he could not dwell on. all war children knew that; there was only forward. it was the only way.

ㅤㅤthat’s when he saw… it.

ㅤㅤon their first night in a hotel, sora rushed in to be at the top of the shower priority list. it had been so long since he had a proper bath. rain and river showers did most certainly not count, especially when the party’s wizard kept hurrying them to not stall. he had a room all to himself after all this time, too. how relieved he was! a moment of reprieve, a sense of normalcy. he was going to have a nice, hot, long-awaited hot bath. 

ㅤㅤyes. even little soldiers deserve such indulgent moments. so he started to take off his old shoes, then his jacket and shirt, tucking everything neatly on the countertop. he washed his hands from the stained blood and broken nails, then his face… and… and… oh, he wanted to throw up.

ㅤㅤit was like he had been cut in two and held together by strings of flesh. perhaps because it looked exactly like that. from his chest to his belly button, an open wound revealed his beating heart: tendons and veins exposed, forcefully meshed together. pale whites and vivid reds contrasted against his sun-kissed skin. if he extended his arms… would he be torn apart? raising both of his hands, he tried out of morbid curiosity. he instantly regretted it. he could see his heart. he could see his damned heart staring back at him, blinking through its beats. it hurt. oh gods, the noises his very own flesh made. the sensation on his fingertips on open skin and burnt ribs. agonising. everywhere hurts, everywhere hurts, everywhere hurts. it looks awful. an unfinished autopsy.

ㅤㅤpotions were taken out of his pocket and sprawled across the sink. one by one, thirsty lips emptied them. flasks were pushed to the side, sometimes shattering against the bathroom floor and cutting his feet. red, red, red everywhere. the only red he didn’t want to see was on his chest. he was going to be split into two. no, no, no, no, no. please. ethers, elixirs, boosts… he drank them all, panting, sweating, waiting for something to heal him. nothing worked. cure, cura, curaga. fire, fira, firaga. nothing would put him back together. his heart kept beating, and he could touch it.

ㅤㅤthere was a sewing kit in the wardrobe. he took it. he tried to sew himself back together, biting his bottom lip, muffling sobs as he tried to remain steady with his arms. it didn’t work. he let everything fall on the floor, not caring for the commotion outside his room, asking if something was wrong or if he needed help. panting, he kept pulling his hair, caressing his cheeks, shaky eyes following his reflection. looking for something—anything—to let him know this was a nightmare. a despicable, sickening nightmare. a joke. a test. he had been so good. he had done everything right. right? right? right?

ㅤㅤbut you weren’t strong enough. you weren’t fast enough. you aren’t good enough.

ㅤㅤat every word, he could swear his flesh was moving, trying to patch itself together, only to expand again—a scream. ordinary, dull boy! ordinary, dull boy! ordinary, dull boy! did you think you’d be special? different? you’re a soldier fighting a losing battle and you’re meant to fail so others can succeed. that’s the hand you were dealt. all you need to do is play it.

ㅤㅤsweat and tears fell on his shaky bloody fists. a heartless didn’t cause this. darkness had nothing to do with it. no. this was his price to pay, for the rest of his life. this was from when he pierced a blade into his chest to bring her back, wasn’t it? this was from when he defied the entire universe. despite his shakiness, he stared back at the mirror. the opened cut seemed to stare him back like a black hole, trying to suck the rest of his flesh or bust it open. and for a moment, although impossible, he could’ve sworn that he saw the hooded figure from the islands standing behind him. this is the price for being a hero, this is your mark. remember this every time you decide to challenge fate. a blink of eyes was all it took for him to only see his panicked self again. the bathroom’s glass busted in a loud bang, and it took a few seconds for sora to realise he had punched it himself, shards piercing jittery knuckles.

ㅤㅤ“shut up.” through a shaky voice, brunet strands were glued to his forehead thanks to the cold sweat, and the buzzing of his ears made him dizzy. he clenched his fists even harder, watching as his blood mixed with the sink water and the blues of magic potions broken on his front. and wasn’t that a nice metaphor? “a reminder. this is just a reminder.” a reminder that heroes bleed, that he cheated the rules given by fate, that he’s special? of course not. don’t be ridiculous.

ㅤㅤhe finally eased his breath. sora smiled through the broken glass, an eerie grin like no other, yet he’d never know. how heavy the bags under his eyes, how many scars his feet and fists would have. he forced his smile to grow on his reflection. this was a reminder that despite everything, he was still standing. he didn’t surrender. and he wasn’t going to. so what he was almost split in two? so what he was wearing his heart in his sleeve? so what that he could die at any second?

ㅤㅤwhat’s a little pain?

ㅤㅤthey said they needed him, after all. to become a hero, to want to become one, means to hurt, right? this was nothing. sora took a warm, nice bath, put on his shirt, got his sword and kept going. it still hurt, but he was just an ordinary, dull boy, and he really didn’t know when to stop.

ㅤㅤsmile. he was always smiling. had to.

although sora and ventus’ first interaction was during kingdom hearts: birth by sleep, when sora was around five years old or so and offered to shelter ventus’ heart while he recovered, sora doesn’t remember anything about their interactions before dream drop distance. his time in castle oblivion messed up some of his fundamental memories, and sora’s memories about ventus became close to a figment of imagination. so imagine his surprise when his childhood imaginary friend came to save him when nightmares were almost consuming his heart. he doesn’t know how or why ventus did that, but he’s high up on the list of people sora wants to thank for everything.

while sora was in his induced coma in re: chain of memories, he always had very nice dreams in a shion-flowered field. strangely enough, the air smelled like fresh ice cream, and when he lay down, the flowers covered him like a blanket of petals. it reminded him of… somewhere he’s never visited. he doesn’t remember much beyond that, but he does know that someone used to be there with him in those dreams, and they’d talk nonstop while he slept. it didn’t feel lonely. perhaps it’s why waking up from his coma didn’t feel as jarring as it should. however, when sora finally woke up, he couldn’t remember her name. it started with an ‘x’, right? something tells him that there are beautiful fields of purple flowers somewhere in twilight town. but how could he know that?

sora’s and roxas’ hearts are deeply connected not because they share the same heart or essence (they’ll always be two entirely different beings, no matter what others try to say), but because of their bond as somebody/nobody. despite that being an undeniable fact, sora doesn’t like people referring to roxas as his nobody, since he sees that term and how people use it to deny roxas’ own heart and his identity. i.e: “you deserve as much as i do to be your own person”. some more information about their special bond! they can feel each other’s pain, be it physical or emotional (as shown in ddd, when roxas allows sora to feel his suffering by holding his hands), memories (such as shown in kh2 and ddd, it goes both ways) and every single intense feeling the other might go through. as so, they know when the other is in trouble or in pain, when they’re sad or happy, etc., when they’re at least close to one another. their bond also works like a compass: finding each other in a crowd comes naturally.

sora isn’t as good as roxas in skateboarding, he constantly falls when trying to make new, more complicated tricks and whatnot, but he loves the idea of skateboarding together/skateboard racing with roxas, even if he is only able to do the basics with the skate. but hey, that only gives him more reason to try skateboarding with him, he can always learn. or try to, no matter how many times he will fall. it’s a secret, but after the events in dream drop distance, sora bought two skateboards for when he brings roxas back. a blue one for himself, and a white one for roxas. he thought it’d be cool if they could skateboard together one day. he made donald and goofy promise that they’d keep it a secret—but after sora’s disappearance post-kingdom hearts iii, the promise slipped from donald’s lips. he can only hope that the skateboards don’t go unused.

ㅤㅤmother,  there  are  so  many  stars  i  wish  i  could  have shown  you.  constellations  are  like  a  circle  of  friends  waiting  to  meet  you,  you  see,  and  they  have  so  many  things  to  share,  weights  to  take  off  their  chests  and  place  them  upon  my  shoulders.  i  could  have shown  you  the  prettiest  ones.  beautiful,  yes,  they  very  much  are,  but  they  fall  on  the  floor  when  no  one’s  looking  and  they  twinkle  in  despair,  looking  for  someone,  anyone,  to  hear  them,  lest  their  glow  is  completely  snuffed  out.  each  one  has  a  story  to  unfold,  a  dream  they’d  like  to  fulfil,  one  last  hope  for  tomorrow.  i’m  trying  to  answer  their  every  call,  to  make  them  ascend  where  shadows  cannot  touch  so  they  can’t  be  wounded  by  those  real  monsters  under  our  beds.  it’s  hard,  so  hard;  i  give  them  my  every  breath,  but  my  oxygen  is  running  out.  they  float  and  float,  and  i  only seem  to  sink  deeper.  it  hurts,  mother,  but  i  wish  i  could’ve  shown  you  everything:  the  fairy  tales  you read  to me when i was a kid  are  fantasy  no  more.  i’ve  seen  it  all,  lived  it  all,  suffered  it  all.  how  i  wish  i  could’ve  brought  you  home  some flowers.

ㅤㅤdearest  mother,  mother,  mother,  forgive  me.  i  won’t  be  coming  home  for  dinner,  breakfast  or  supper.  i  lied  to  you,  just  like  you  lied  to  me.

ㅤㅤdo  you  remember?  your  pained  expression,  the  shout  you  swallowed  alongside  your  tears  in  a  matter  of  seconds,  just  to  offer  me  the  fakest  and  sweetest  smile  your  trembling  lips  could  muster  when  i  told  you  what  fate  had  in  store  for  me.  all  the  while  you  hugged  me,  not  wanting  to  let  go,  forcing  a  burst  of  laughter  out  of  your  withering  lungs,  you  said:  my  boy  is  a  hero,  how  grand!  i'm  so  proud  of  you!  but  you  didn’t  find  that  grand,  you  thought  it  was  tragic.  i  could  hear  your  heart  breaking  against  mine,  and  i  squeezed  back  trying  to  glue  the  pieces  back  together,  yours  and  mine.  “yes, and  isn’t  that  amazing?”,  i  tried  to  convince  you,  but  you  couldn’t  hear  me.  perhaps  you  no  longer  recognised  my  voice  then,  so  many  years  i’ve  spent  away  from  you.

ㅤㅤoh  mother,  you  died  that  day,  but  i  felt  a  little  bit  alive,  how  unfair  the  scales  are.  no  one  has  ever  called  me  a  hero  before  save  for  you,  and  that  meant  the  world  to  me.  and  i  know  now  you  didn’t  want  me  to  be  one.  i  could  feel  how  you  clawed  my  shoulders,  silently  begging  me  to  stay  put;  to  no  longer  grow  old  where  you  couldn’t  see,  to  stop  getting  taller  than  you,  to  shrink  my  heart  a  tad  or  a  bit  more,  just  so  you  could  have  a  little  more  space  in  it  instead  of  competing  with  the  universe  that  was  promised  for  me  to  shelter.  mother,  i  know  you  were  lying,  and  it  hurt  you  when  i  didn’t  force  you  to  tell  the  truth.  perhaps  i  didn’t  want  to  hear  it.  so  i  pushed  your  embrace  away,  offered  a  smile  and  a  promise  i  knew  maybe  it  would  be  my  first  to  break.  that  i’d  return  to  you  when  it  was  all  over  and  we  could  pick  up  where  we  left  off  when  i  was  still  your  little  boy.  i’m  sorry;  you  never  taught  me  how  to  lie  but  this  is  my  first  and  last  time. they need me to fight their wars and win. they won, but now i am lost.

ㅤㅤperhaps  when  i  fall  deep  enough  into  the  darkness,  you’ll  forget  and  forgive  me.

ㅤㅤthere  are  so  many  things  that  i  haven’t  told  you,  so  many  secrets  i  haven’t  shown  you,  and  so  many  heartfelt  moments  i  haven’t  shared  with  you.  we’ve  lost  so  many  years.  but  these  years  will  visit  you  in  the  shape  of  people,  and  they  will  bring  you  flowers,  and  offer  hugs,  and  tell  you  some  of  my  stories.