yikes

can i get uuuuuuuuhhhhhh boneless toddy                    

one

a.k.a. the samurai verse

born into a peasant family, terra was orphaned at a young age and adopted by eraqus, an established samurai

a skilled student and overachiever with a deeply-ingrained desire to please his adoptive father, he strove to be the best at everything but usually only succeeded in alienating himself from other boys his age--effectively leaving him with no friends

the only real “official” duty he has is escorting the traveling party of his lord to kyoto as a bodyguard of sorts; when he isn’t doing that (read: most of the time) he’s boring himself to death one way or another. if he isn’t ‘bettering himself’ with study or meditation/prayer, he’s wasting money on frivolous things or seeing to operations of the popular onsen owned by eraqus’s sister, all of which are meaningless and tedious to him

what he really wants to do is fight. after hundreds of years of relative peace, it’s terra’s opinion that the country is long overdue for another war--and another war hero. he wants to be immortalized, have ballads written about him and monuments dedicated to his memory. and, with trouble brewing in the countryside, it looks as if he may just get his wish

terra’s url is a portmanteau of the words “tellus” meaning ‘earth’ and “durus” meaning ‘hardy’

he comes in and the drawer is open.

and ven’s seated on the foot of his bed.

reading.

“what are you doing?” terra says tightly, and even though he’s not speaking loudly it’s still sudden enough to make ventus startle.

“woah!” his hand flies over his heart. and a weighty exhale. “whew. man. you scared me.”

“those are mine.” speedy stepping toward the bed. slips of paper littering the bedspread. open. he’s read most of them. “i didn’t say you could read these.” grave tone as he starts snatching the notes up by the handful.

“sorry,” ven says, hopping off the bed. makes to help terra gather them up but terra waves his hands away, irate. “i was curious. i wanted to know what i've been carrying.”

“this is a joke.” he throws his keyblade noisily to the ground. wipes the sweat off his brow.

sweat? why is he sweating? he’s doing magic, for heaven’s sake. that’s not sweaty work.

“this isn’t gonna work,” he says to aqua, scowling. maybe some would call that naysaying, but terra calls it realistic. it’s true that aqua’s the one who’s best at magic. it’s true that he’s ‘focused’ and ‘breathed’ like she said he should—‘found his balance’ or whatever and tried to shoot a spear of ice at the target like she’s already demonstrated a hundred times.

and it’s true that every time terra’s aimed at the bullseye and uttered the spellword, nothing has happened. only snowflakes.

if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was a set-up. the way sora had so casually herded him away from the eggnog at the same time that aqua was exiting the kitchen. how conveniently roxas had noticed the mistletoe dangling from the doorway. how it had mysteriously appeared out of nowhere because it certainly hadn’t been hanging there a few moments ago. and how everyone just so happened to have all their phone cameras at the ready.

“really?” he snorts, unimpressed by what was frankly a rather extra orchestration. turns to aqua and bows his head to briefly press his lips to hers, soft and chaste. shakes his head as he pulls away and turns back to face the audience of smirking, snickering teens. “you could have just asked me to do it, y’know,” he informs them, then goes moseying back over toward the snack table.

he flexes in answer:left, right, left, left, left. right, right. left, right, left. right, right, right, right, right. left.