さよならロクサス
└ Goodbye, Roxas.
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Let's party in my Kookie Jar.
Psst, I've got a shhhhhhhecret!
~ Tuesday, May 14 ~
648 notes
~ Friday, April 19 ~
~ Tuesday, April 9 ~
![A drabble that started as a zombie survival before quickly morphing into an angsty je ne sais quoi under the cut :’D??
[[MORE]]
“Shit, Shit!” Roxas tore at the door handle, throwing his weight against the callous metal over and over. The dread bubbling in his belly grew unbearable as his desperate efforts made infinitesimal changes. Peering through the window insert, he made out the dark shapes of rubble pressing against the door.
“Roxas!” His partner’s strained voice sent a jolt down his spine, and he turned to find Axel now shuffling backwards on the floor, dragging his legs back with his bloodied hand. Before him, five of those shambling monsters had caught up and were prying and bumping past one another through the open doorway to get to their meal.
Roxas reacted on instinct, bolting from the door to Axel’s side. With shaking hands, he held up his handgun and fired in one hand as he embraced his companion with his opposite arm, only noticing then that he could barely feel his trigger finger as he fired one shot after another. The recoil shook Roxas, making him wince. The first two shots missed completely, the third sunk into an undead’s shoulders, sending the zombie staggering back with muck dripping from its gaping mouth.
“Don’t fucking waste ammo!” Axel barked, his own gun raised in a calculated trajectory at his target’s head.
Roxas felt his blood curdle in panic as his gun produced no blast after another pull of the trigger.
“No, no, c’mon, c’mon!” His heartbeat drummed menacingly in his ears as he dug into his pocket for a spare magazine, and Axel’s torso propped on his leg only made it harder to fish out. With the black cartridge in his clammy fingers, Roxas fumbled to reload his gun without obstructing Axel’s view of the undead.
“Anytime, now, Rox!” There were two zombies left—the others crumpled in a disgusting heap around the door, and Roxas was sure Axel was about to run low on ammunition with the heightened intensity of his voice. They were getting close; he could smell the putrid rot from their bodies.
The old magazine dropped to the floor, and with a snap Roxas slid the new box into place. He held up his arm, firing around into a woman’s collar, and another into her neck. Gore oozed from her fresh wounds, staining the front of her bedraggled shirt in dark, foreboding rivulets as she shuffled closer still. She moaned as she dragged her feet along. The flesh on her legs were already pocketed with open sores and decaying flesh.
There was the bang from another round, and a reverberating howl that bounced off the walls. Beside the woman at whom Roxas was taking aim, the undead male dropped to the floor with a sickening smack, a trail of blood gushing from his raw eye socket through which Axel’s last bullet pierced.
Please, goddammit please! The phrase repeated over and over in his mind as Roxas took aim at the undead staggering towards them. The grunting became loud, as if she were anxious and impatient, and the sound of it nearly paralysed him. Please…!
A shot rang out, and the woman’s dead body stumbled back, her head arched abnormally towards the ceiling. Roxas waited with bated breath as he watched her legs give way before she collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.
The silence that followed almost deafened the younger man, who was still catatonic with fear.
Are they dead? Truly dead?
Axel released his empty gun, and as the adrenaline began ebbing away the pain in his wounded leg slowly returned.
“Fuck all,” he swore, breaths sounding laboured as he held his bleeding thigh in a death grip.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Axel, I’m sorry,” Roxas murmured repeatedly with slurred words, putting down his gun to embrace Axel against him instead.
“The hell you apologising for,” Axel responded with a choked laugh, “you just hooked a head-shot.”
It made Roxas feel no better—he was an amateur with firearms, and everyone in their group had known. Still, it hadn’t stopped Roxas from being his stubborn self and insisting he was capable of scavenging with Axel. And now, their situation looked grim, all because he wanted to prove a point.
“I need you to look at my leg, Rox,” Axel said shakily.
Roxas bit his lip, but nodded as he gently laid Axel on his back. He crawled to his wound, and felt his stomach lurch from the red-stained denim. Axel’s fingers were coated with crimson and still locked in a tight grip on his leg. He swallowed, peeling his companion’s hand from the blood as he assessed the severity. A laceration three inches long was welled in blood, and Roxas prayed an artery wasn’t nicked. His stomach felt queasy—he never did get used to seeing blood, even so long of living this hell—but he sucked in a breath and began to strip his jacket. Realising it was much too small to be an effective bandage, he peeled off his t-shirt as well. Goosebumps immediately rose on his skin as the drafty air hit his bare chest. He quickly took a glance at the corpses scattered about the room, making sure they were still expired. With quivering hands, Roxas nudged the cloth beneath Axel’s leg, placing the wrung fabric against the wound before securing it.
“This might hurt,” Roxas muttered before tightly pulling the sleeves. On reaction Axel let out a withered groan, his hands fisted against his sides. A second pained noise followed suit when Roxas applied more pressure and made a knot against the cut.
“Thanks,” came a breathy reply.
Roxas was about to respond until he looked down at his hands. They were now smeared with Axel’s blood, a ghostly reminder of how fragile they all were regardless of their skill with a gun. Donning his jacket, Roxas returned to cradling Axel in his arms. They remained quiet for a long while as they caught their breath. The young survivor waded through his options. He could leave Axel here, and run back to the hideout for help. But what if Axel was attacked while he’s gone? He could attempt to hold up Axel’s weight against him and they could both head back, but the slowness in their step would make them sitting ducks. He could go back out and search for the satchel he had lost and attempt to patch Axel up himself. No, he wouldn’t be able to—he wouldn’t trust himself with the task—he needed to have Namine perform it.
“You know, I often thought about what it’d be like to have you hold me like this again.” Axel said, breaking Roxas from his trance. He nodded towards the heap of corpses, “though I’d imagined our reunion with less company.”
His chuckle filled the stagnant air, and the morbid joke fell on deaf ears. Roxas grit his teeth, fighting the temptation to walk away from Axel right now, out of spite.
“Why did you leave, Rox?” Axel asked insistently, craning his neck against the crook of Roxas’ elbow to stare up at him.
“We have to get back,” Roxas murmured, “we need Namine to clean you up before it gets infected.”
“Answer me, Roxas, I want to know,” Axel countered, “If I’m going to die here I can at least apologise properly and have some closure before I kick it.”
“You aren’t going to die here. I’m not going to let you die!” Roxas snapped his mouth shut after catching himself biting into Axel’s hook. “This isn’t the time.”
“When is the time, then? I don’t know if I’m ever going to get the chance to be alone with you again.” He turned his head, nuzzling his nose against the bare skin of the younger’s chest.
Roxas bit his lip. He thought he was over it, he thought his past with Axel would have disintegrated into ashes almost two years ago. But now, seeing Axel again and having him by his side made those emotions he thought he had suppressed come rising back to the surface. He was still angry about it all, angry with Axel, frustrated with himself—with everything. Back tracking and owning up to the flaws in his personality wasn’t ever easy. He was stubborn, irate, and overconfident, yet he only ever sought to pin the entirety of their fallout, and his own melancholy that came with it, on Axel. He had left him to start over, to find himself and prove his own worth. Instead, he felt even more lost than before, not even gathering the will to leave far from the city in which he grew up. Then the undead began to reap his hometown. Just when he’d resigned to dying when the infestation grew worse, having found out any friends he’d made at the youth shelter have been overtaken or massacred, it was Axel who fought past them and found him hiding in the bathroom, who brought him to safety with the others and vowed he’d protect him. It was Axel who told him to keep fighting.
“Roxas,” Axel said, touching the hand curled on his chest.
“I don’t know,” Roxas began. He parted his lips to say more, but shook the notion away. “I need you to move. We need to go.” He pulled away from Axel’s warmth and the cool air hit his skin like ice. Shivering, he pulled the zipper up to his neck, though it offered little comfort while his arms and midriff were still exposed. He retrieved his handgun, remembering to de-cock it before tucking it away in the holster Sora had given him. With some difficulty, he pulled Axel up to his feet. The older male’s taller, heavier stature almost knocked him off balance as he leaned against him.
“Can you walk?”
“I think so, but I like having you hold me,” Axel said with a grin as Roxas began carrying him along with small steps.
“I’m not in the mood for this, Axel.” He muttered. “I just want to get back to camp.”
“Wouldn’t it been better for you to leave me here to get help?” Axel asked. They limped past the threshold of the storage room and down the hall towards the desolate clinic office, making sure to avoid the dead bodies strewn around them. Roxas kept his eyes forward, trying his best to ignore the disfigured, mutilated faces of the monsters at his feet. “I’m not leaving you behind,” He said defiantly, regretting the irony that followed. He steeled himself, tacking on afterwards: “our stupid guns may have been a welcome beacon for others zombies to come.” To this, Axel laughed softly.
The hallway to the front entrance seemed longer than before as they hobbled down the carpeted floor. Roxas made certain to avoid the jagged metal pipe protruding from the collapsed wall. The sharp edge of it was still wet in Axel’s blood.
As the two stumbled their way through the dusty mess of the waiting room, the taller man pointed under a chair.
“Your man-purse, Rox.”
Ignoring the tease, Roxas rested Axel against the wall before rushing to gather up the lost bag under the pile of destroyed furniture. The strap had been torn, the fibers frayed from where the zombie had grabbed. He opened it up, sighing in relief when he saw the wraps, needles, and vials of anaesthetics still undamaged.
“Could really use some of that pain-killer right about now,” Axel said.
“Right, and lose all function in your leg when you already have trouble walking? I’m not piggybacking you so suck it up,” came the retort. Roxas tied the loose end to the pouch, making sure it was secure.
Axel laughed. “Now that’s the Roxas I remember.”
A nostalgic smile crept its way onto Roxas’ face without volition, and he tried to hide it as he went back to hold Axel up once again. They walked slowly out the door, relieved to find no more zombies other than the stray few roaming about in a distant lot. After a thought, he plucked the handgun from his hip and held it up to Axel.
“There’s seven rounds left in there I think,” Roxas explained, waiting for Axel to wipe off any excess blood from his right hand before handing over the weapon. “So make it count.”
“Good to know you still trust me enough,” the redhead said. Roxas gave no reply. The words were of distaste to him, and only served to dampen his temperament from their momentary relief just moments before.
Axel noticed the strain immediately and apologised. “Roxas, please, I want to talk to you.”
“We’ll talk when things no longer go to hell.” Roxas swallowed the lump in his throat and stamped down the opposing voices in his head. He wanted to talk to him, wanted to try to be how they were before, as partners. At the same time, he wanted nothing to do with Axel, and hated having to need to depend on him. Coming out here with him was a mistake. The two men limped along, taking their steps in tense silence back in the direction of the safe-house, with Roxas ruminating on just how long he could battle with himself until the thought of letting himself die out here would serve as a more tempting option.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/c13a52e50c0fd6ac311471774bb75554/tumblr_mkzd4u4eZL1qm6dm2o1_r1_500.jpg)
A drabble that started as a zombie survival before quickly morphing into an angsty je ne sais quoi under the cut :’D??
276 notes
~ Tuesday, March 26 ~
Even shorter hair 8D! and maybe a small change in clothes, but still comfortable for skateboarding around and smacking Seifer around with a bat.
194 notes
~ Wednesday, March 13 ~
“I asked you to fix the broken cart, not…oh, nevermind.”
376 notes
~ Monday, March 11 ~
~ Saturday, March 2 ~
~ Friday, February 22 ~
KH - Parley
“You come with us, and we’ll leave your spit of land to peace. Do we have an accord?”
581 notes
~ Friday, February 15 ~
2,125 notes
~ Monday, February 11 ~
I was in a gun kink mood. It’s been a while.
Xigbar/Roxas gulity pleasure? Better believe it.
468 notes
~ Monday, February 4 ~
Tags:
APWIEJGWPIEJFAG
YESGOOD
AXEL'S FACE THO
LOOOOOL
KINGDOM HEARTS
AXEL
ROXAS
XION
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~ Sunday, February 3 ~
Wip of pirate!Axel vs Knight!Roxas 8)
Best part of this is having an excuse to watch all the pirates of the caribbean to ogle captain jack sparrow get references.
References.
Yes.
223 notes
~ Monday, January 28 ~
I’LL BE HOLDING YOUR HANDS IN SPIRIT DURING THE EXAMINATION, DARLING <3
244 notes
~ Wednesday, January 16 ~
Posts that have made me click the 
button
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A bit of an odd, cute sort of request, but… I felt like drawing an odd, cute sort of picture!
Drawn during my livestream.
By the way, Ridge is actually quite ill right now (irl). Feel better soon,...
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“I give up, Simon. That’s it. I don’t want to win this challenge anymore.” (x)
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Pulp Ficsjin
