Disclaimer: First off, the standard, done in the style of my heroes over at Team Four Star; the following is a non-profit fan-based parody. Kingdom Hearts is intellectual property of Tetsuya Nomura, copyright of Disney and developed by Square Enix. Please support the official release.
Secondly, a more specific disclaimer for my fellow fanfiction frequenters. Or fanfic freqs, as I like to call them. Heh, see what I did there? Anyways, I just want to declaratively state here and now, for posterity, that this isn't intended as 'wish fulfillment' or anything like that. This is me writing a self-insert fic so that I can troll some fictional characters because I'm bored right now. In point of fact, this is my first self-insert fic ever, something I swore I was never going to do. But, well…bored. Nothing prompts me to violate my own sacred oaths as easily as sheer bouncing-my-head-off-the-wall boredom. My hope is that my boredom might spawn something that someone else somewhere on the other side of the Interwebs might just find an amusing distraction from their own boredom. If you don't like what you read here, that's okay. Just find something else to read. I apologize in advance for wasting your time. If you plan on leaving a nasty, flame-ish review, let me preempt you right now by saying that I really don't care. This is not intended as a serious story; this is just some harmless escapism to stave off my oppressive suburban doldrums. If you'd actually like to leave some useful feedback and good-naturedly critique my writing style, I'm all ears. Bring it on, I'll eat that $#1% with chocolate syrup and a grin. So…yeah, let's strap in, shall we? Just remember, this is all in the name of good clean fun. And also dirty fun. Probably also some more fun of indeterminate hygienic quality.
And we're off!
Chapter One – A Stranger Walks Among Us.
Before we begin, dear reader, we must debunk a few commonly-held beliefs about those most strange and existentially perplexing creatures known as 'Nobodies'. A Nobody, as we well know, is the self-reanimated remains of one who has lost their heart. In other words, the soul, the body, and–typically–the memories. The most important part of that list, for the purposes of this conjecture, is the body. That presumably includes the squishy inner bits called organs that presumably require nourishment to function. Now, we need not assume that Nobodies need to eat, seeing as they are said to be living violations of the very Order of Nature, which is the very quality that grants them their reality-distorting powers. After all, how else could a collection of unrepentantly evil–or in some cases, merely amoral–and emotionless fictional characters earn the love and adoration of so many people here in the real world, unless they had some kind of power to destroy physics and probability with their mere presence, not unlike the supernatural ability of babies to reduce almost anyone, even hard-ass lumberjack types, to a gibbering mass of incoherent cooing?
Basically what I'm getting at is that while it's possible that the Nobodies of Organization XIII may no longer need to eat, as many believe, it is most certain that they still can, if they wish to. And given that they have memories of being human, and most humans are quite unabashedly obsessed with food, I like to think it's quite probable that most of the members of the Organization would continue to eat, if only as a matter of habit. After all, we know at least two or three Nobodies who very much enjoy ice cream, and seeing as ice cream is a diary product it is indeed 'food', regardless of what the health nuts say otherwise.
And so it is that we find our favorite Nobodies gathered around a long banquet table in the Dining Hall of Insert-Adjective-For-'Nothing'-Here, deep within the Bowels That Never Were of the Castle That Never Was, hovering over the Dark City That Was Actually Not That Dark What With All The Flashing Neon Signs, on the World That Never Was. More specifically, it was through the second door on the left down the Hallway That Didn't Go Anywhere from the Bathroom That Was Actually Somewhere Else. Xemnas, naturally, sat at the head of the table. On Xemnas's right sat Xigbar, then Vexen, then Zexion, then Axel, then Luxord, and finally Larxene. The Gambler of Fate lamented his ill fortune at being seated next to the Savage Nymph, but he did his lamenting silently, as he was not nearly as stupid as his obsession with games of chance might lead some to believe. On Xemnas's left sat Xaldin, then Lexaeus, then Saïx, then Demyx, then Marluxia, then Roxas. No one sat at the end opposite Xemnas, and Xion sat on a little three-legged stool next to Roxas, with a TV dinner tray in her lap. When she questioned this, Xemnas and Saïx shared a conspiratorial look before the Superior replied, "It's your 'special treatment', Number Fourteen."
Now, generally the members of the Organization didn't sit down to eat together like this. Usually they all had their own eating cycles, if they ate at all; some preferred not to, and some only ate whenever the mood struck them rather than adhere to a schedule. Tonight, however, was the exception; it was the anniversary of the Organization's inception. The tenth anniversary, to be specific. There was even a huge, thirteen-tier Devil's Food cake with silver icing and ten candles that, due to Demyx being put in charge of Candle Procurement, were shaped like miniature Tiki Torches. Xemnas privately thought the cake was unnecessary, but Xigbar had insisted, and he could be such a whiner when he didn't get his cake. Xaldin had mockingly suggested that they have Larxene pop out of the cake and sing "Happy Birthday, Mr. Superior." On a completely unrelated note, Xaldin was sitting on an ice-pack and had no intention of opening his damn fool mouth for the rest of the evening.
The Organization had powered their way through a scrumptious five-course meal prepared by a certain French chef Axel had abducted from Atlantica for the evening, and they were all enjoying (or rather not, since joy is an emotion, but you know what I meant) a slice of cake, when suddenly something occurred that would forever redefine the very fate of the Organization, and perhaps the entire Kingdom Hearts universe. Or at least the artificial iteration of the Kingdom Hearts universe created to house this particular fanfiction, but let's not get bogged down by semantics, shall we?
Without any warning, other than a distant sound of maniacal cackling so faint and indistinct that no one who heard it could be entirely certain that they had, in fact, heard anything, a stained glass window that hadn't been there the previous instant shattered dramatically, and a small round something sailed through the air before hitting the table. It bounced once, high enough to clear what was left of the cake, and then bounced a few more times before gently rolling to a stop right in front of Xemnas. It was a Golden Delicious apple. Lexaeus noticed this, and the elegantly inscribed writing on it, and immediately felt an immense feeling of unease seize his non-being. But only in the intellectual sense, of course.
"Oooooookay…where did that window come from?" asked Xigbar. "Guys, I'm not the only one who never noticed that window before now, right?"
"There definitely wasn't a window there just a second ago," agreed an equally befuddled Saïx.
"Is this some kind of prank, Number Six?" asked Vexen.
"Why, just because I'm the resident Illusionist it must be my fault whenever something inexplicable appears?" asked Zexion. "That's profiling and I resent it."
"It was a fair question, Zexion," said Lexaeus, who still had his eye on the apple as if it were a small piece of nuclear ordnance.
"No, it wasn't. Just because I have the ability to make people see things that aren't there does not mean I have any predilection for playing pranks on people. Personally I find pranking to be a complete waste of time," said Zexion.
"This is why no one likes you, Bangs," said Larxene, who was already bored with the marvel of the inexplicable broken window and was helping herself to a second slice of cake. She had also slipped a third and fourth slice into her coat pockets while everyone else was watching Xemnas pick up and examine the apple.
"Not so. No one likes me because the only people I spend any time with are incapable of liking anything," countered Zexion.
"And that's the other reason no one likes you," added Marluxia.
"If Zexion didn't do it," said Vexen in a tone that indicated he was expecting a headache to arrive any second now, "then I fear–figuratively speaking, of course–that this may have something to do with…quantum."
"Quantum?" asked Xaldin, who was too curious about the mysterious apple to remember his resolution to keep his mouth shut for the rest of the evening.
"Yes. Quantum. My old nemesis," growled Vexen, "It's the very worst affront to decently rational science. Quantum thinks it can just do whatever the hell it pleases without any regard for consistency or even causality. The only thing I metaphorically despise more than quantum itself are the foolish quantum physicists who insist on propagating the nonsense by using it as a justification for their half-baked crack-pot theories."
Somewhere in the multiverse and several decades in the past, Wilhelm Heisenberg (as in Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, not Breaking Bad) burst into terribly angsty tears for no apparent reason. He promptly blamed it on Quantum. He then wrote about it in a letter to his good friend and fellow quantum physicist Wolgang Pauli, Jr. who suggested he talk to his good friend, noted psychologist Carl Jung. Now that I've firmly established my Hopeless Nerd Cred, let's get back to the story, shall we?
Xemnas, having followed the spiraling line of text carved into the apple back to its beginning, cleared his throat to get his fellows' attention, put on a pair of reading glasses because the print was so tiny, and began to read it, "It says, 'To my esteemed colleagues in Organization XIII. I have, in the interest of alleviating my own boredom, written down a number of zany ideas and put them in a hat, and then pulled one out at random. To your immense, if questionable, fortune, I wound up drawing "Go and show Organization XIII a lovely time". I am sending this Apple of Chaos as a friendly forewarning of my impending arrival. It is my sincerest wish that we can all get along for the duration of my visit. Failing that, we could always go the traditional route and start out antagonistic of each other, growing progressively more hostile as time goes on and our personality quirks coupled with various unfortunate occurrences resulting from miscommunication and sheer dumb rotten luck cause us to become steadily more aggravated with each other, until everything comes to a head and we nearly kill each other only to be interrupted by a serious calamity that we band together to resolve, bringing us to realize that we have actually become dear friends, at which point I will have to leave and we have a tearful parting that will hopefully be accompanied by the sublime orchestrations of Danny Elfman, leaving everyone in the audience bawling their eyes out. Unfortunately, seeing as most of you have no hearts and are devoid of emotion, my chances of that happening are pretty shitty. Nevertheless, I will doggedly try any…' and then it just stops."
No sooner had the Superior said that then another apple, this one a Granny Smith that had been painted gold because I couldn't find another Golden Delicious in the pantry, came crashing through another hitherto non-existent cathedral-quality stained-glass window. Xemnas picked it up and read, "This one says, 'ways. I will arrive promptly and punctually, precisely three beats after you finish reading the second apple. Yours most sincerely, the Grand Disorganizer of the Disenfranchised Congregation of Daydreaming Strays, Uncle Skaz. No relation.'"
Three 'beats' of utterly confuzzled silence followed this, and just as Xigbar opened his mouth to ask, "What the f–", he was preemptively interrupted by the arrival of…me.
One of the walls in the dining hall, the fourth one to be specific, was abruptly shattered by a steam locomotive bursting through. The black locomotive was the kind you see in Old West movies, and the word "PLOT" was stamped on either side of it in big blocky white lettering, and it was quite literally off the rails. If that wasn't an apt metaphor for the rest of this literary buffoonery that was about to ensue, then I don't know what is. Fortunately, all fourteen members of Organization XIII were able to dash out of the way and avoid being struck by the locomotive. All except, ironically, Larxene, as she was severely weighed down by all the cake she had stuffed into her mouth and her coat pockets while everyone else had been diligently listening to their Superior's reading. As such, Larxene was sent flying into the far wall, which being opposite to the fourth wall was naturally the second wall. Fortunately, all of the cake stuffed into her coat provided a convenient cushion, so no serious harm was done…to the wall, that is.
The locomotive discharged a great cloud of steam with a high-pitched whistling sound, and then deafening silence ensued. Some other oxymorons too, perhaps, but none important enough to mention.
Another silence followed. At least two beats worth this time. Just as Xemnas was about to suggest destroying the damn thing, a fifteen-year-old girl wearing yellow coveralls and a railroad engineer's cap stuck her head out of the locomotive window and said, "CHOO! CHOO! We've pulled in to our station. All ashore that's going ashore, and thank you for riding the Plot Derailing Express. Selphie out!" She then stuck her head back in and began preparing the train for departure. A door opened, and rap music blasted out,
"What is a Juggalo? Let me think for a second,"
"Oh. He get's butt-naked,"
"And then he walks through the streets winking at the freaks,"
"With a two-liter stuck in his butt cheeks."
"What is a Juggalo? He just don't care,"
"He might try to put a weave in his nut hair,"
"Cuz he could give a fuck less what a bitch thinks,"
"He tell her that her butt stinks, an' all that."
"What is a Juggalo? He drinks like a fish,"
"Then he starts hugging people like a drunk bitch,"
"Next thing he's picking fights with his best friends,"
"Then he starts with the hugging again, fuck."
"What is a Juggalo?"
"A fucking lunatic,"
"Somebody with a rope tied to his dick,"
"Then he jumps out a ten-story window,"
"Ohhhhh…"
"What is a Juggalo?"
"A Juggalo. That's what it is, well fuck if I know."
"What is a Juggalo?"
"I don't know but I'm down with the clown and I'm down for life, yo."
"What the hell is that music!?" cried out Demyx, whose ears yearned for the sweet embrace of death. As the song had progressed, a thick blanket of fog had poured out of the train's open door and spread out across the floor. Then as "What is a Juggalo?" reached its chorus, out stepped a figure in an electric-blue version of the instantly recognizable Organization's Coat. Emblazoned on the back of the coat was a red silhouette of a man with wild hair running with a hatchet in one hand.
"Dear sweet Nothingness," swore Luxord in shock and dismay, "We're being invaded by Juggalos! Quickly, we must hide our virgins!" He quickly grabbed Roxas and Xion and shoved them under Lexaeus's coat.
"Everyone, weapons out!" ordered Xemnas, conjuring his own snazzy red lightsabers. Everyone except for the hidden Keyblade wielders armed themselves and struck appropriately dramatic poses, all of them ready to die fighting for their non-existences.
"Whoa, whoa! Hold on, guys!" shouted the stranger, his voice unmistakably male. It was deep, but not in a sexy way, unfortunately. More like a not-as-nasally Napoleon Dynamite kind of deep. "I'm not that kind of Juggalo, alright? I'm a pacifist…mostly. Within reason. I'm not here to fight, okay? I'm just here to chill." The stranger pulled back his hood, revealing his white, surprisingly not-painted face, his brown eyes and a curly mop of brown hair that was pulled back into a mid-length and very puffy ponytail. He had a thin moustache and some chin hair that was too thick to be called stubble but not quite thick enough to really be called a beard, either. Perched upon his nose were a pair of rectangle-framed eyeglasses that, after having gotten used to them, he had realized looked a bit dorkier than he had thought when he was picking them out at the optometrist's. Oh well, c'est la vie. "Sorry, guys. That wasn't even supposed to be my intro music. It was supposed to be "Cleveland Rocks" by The Presidents of the United States of America. Don't know how I got the CDs mixed up."
"You mean the theme song to the Drew Carrey Show?" asked Demyx.
"Yeppers."
""London Rocks" is way better," said Demyx.
"Number Nine, if I wanted any lip out of you I'd rattle my zipper," the stranger snapped.
"BURN!" shouted Axel, cackling gleefully.
"Shut up, Axel! You're not Kelso," said Larxene.
"And thank Nomura I'm not," said the redhead, "Because then I'd have to date a massive bitch like you."
"Why the hell are we making pop culture references to things that don't exist in our universe?" asked Xaldin.
"Oh God, we're in another fanfiction, aren't we?" groaned Larxene.
"Oh, yeah. My fault," said the stranger, raising his hand sheepishly. "I got suuuuuuuuper bored, so I decided to take this universe for a joyride."
"How?" demanded Xaldin.
"I'm one of the only beings with more reality-warping capability than even a Nobody possesses," the stranger replied smugly.
"You mean you're Haruhi Suzumiya?" asked Vexen.
"Uh…no, but you're close. I'm an Author. Name's Skaz. Wassup, homeslizzles?"
"Hold on!" said Axel, who had surreptitiously joined Zexion behind Lexaeus's hulking frame. "I've heard of these things. He's one of those weird people who like to screw around with our personalities and make us act out their yaoi fantasies!"
"You sick bastard!" snapped Xaldin.
"Shut up, Braids; you're one of the cheapest bosses in video game history," Skaz grumbled irritably. "And I'm not that kind of Author. I'm just here to hang out with some of my favorite bad guys, you know? Do some chillin' with some villains. Pretend I'm one of the cool kids for a while. Mostly, I'm just bored. I know you guys are all emotionless and shit but c'mon, even you can understand the sheer mind-numbing, soul-crushing existential horror that is Boredom in the 'Burbs, can't you? Before I started writing this I literally spent thirty-seven minutes staring at the wall thinking up anagrams for 'eggplant'. Couldn't think of any, by the way."
"Hmm…yeah, I don't trust this guy, dudes," said Xigbar, who had both Sharpshooters aimed at Skaz's eyes. "He's all kinds of shifty. And trust me, I know a thing or two about shifty."
"We need to get rid of him, before he turns us all into one-dimensional caricatures of ourselves," said Lexaeus, who dreaded that his own vocabulary would be the first casualty.
"Not that kind of Author!" Skaz snapped.
"Sorry, but self-inserts simply can't be trusted," said Saïx coldly.
"You always promise to coexist harmoniously," said Xemnas, "But it will only be a matter of time before you go full Gary Stu on us and make us all treat you like our best friend."
"Not. That. Kind. Of. Author," Skaz ground out. "Come on, you guys aren't even going to give me a chance to prove my benign intentions?"
Roxas poked his head out of Lexaeus's coat and said, "He's got a point. We don't even know him. Why don't we give him the benefit of the doubt?"
Xion also poked her head out and added, "It would be nice to have a guest, wouldn't it? Besides, if he writes us a good review we could get a lot of tourism through here."
"Why the hell would we want tourism here?" asked Xaldin.
"Well, some good PR might actually be a boon for us at this point," mused Marluxia, "Now that that Sora kid is running around righting wrongs and saving the day and fighting for truth, justice, and the Disney way, our days are pretty much numbered if we can't turn our rep around."
"Exact-a-mundo!" Skaz shouted, giving the Graceful Assassin an unironic thumb-up, "With my help, you guys can become respectable! The Kingdom Hearts fandom already adores you guys…well, most of you guys…so imagine how much your power and influence would grow if you could get your own universe on your side? You could be UNSTOPPABLE!"
"Wait, you want to help us?" asked Xemnas, "Why?"
"Uh…boredom?" said Skaz, "Have I not hammered that point home yet? I need something to do with my free time or I'll start bouncing my head off the walls."
"Can't get a girlfriend, huh?" asked Larxene with her nastiest smirk.
"I am, in fact, single by choice, thank you," said Skaz stiffly.
"Yeah, suuuuuuuure you are," said Larxene.
"And you're going to alleviate your boredom by joining forces with an organization of," Xemnas glanced at Roxas and Xion and put a hand next to his mouth so they wouldn't see him mouth the word 'evil-doers'.
"If the Apples of Chaos and my profession as Grand Disorganizer of the Disenfranchised Congregation of Daydreaming Strays, Uncle Skaz, no relation, wasn't a big enough tip…I'm a Discordian. In the face of crippling boredom, morality is a pretty flimsy reason to pass up a golden opportunity to make merry mischief," Skaz explained.
"What's a Discordian?" asked Roxas.
"It's a fake religion that some people invented to mock the concept of religion," explained Saïx.
"Ah…and religion is…?" Roxas asked next.
"Something people use as an excuse to kill each other," quipped Axel.
"Hey, let's not bash religion, okay?" suggested Skaz, "It's actually really important to some people. And, for the record, Discordianism isn't fake. Not to me, at least. Anyways, I don't want to piss off and scare away all the readers with the very first chapter."
"You made your intro with an ICP song," Demyx pointed out once more.
"Oh don't be a pussy, Dem," scoffed Larxene, "There's nothing wrong with getting a little wicked on."
"I think the fact that you're defending his taste in music says a lot more than Nine's questionable opinions ever could," snarked Marluxia.
"Yeah, please don't stick up for me, Buzzy-Bee," said Skaz. "That's worse than getting a political endorsement from Dubya."
Selphie's locomotive started blowing steam again and began to slowly reverse. "Quick!" shouted Xigbar, "Stuff him back onto his train before it leaves!"
"Wait, hold on!" Skaz protested, but it was no use. All fourteen members of Organization XIII mob-rushed him and threw him back into the train, slamming the door shut behind him. Roxas aimed his Keyblade at the train and sealed the door. Soon, the train sped backwards off-screen and out of the fic, taking the offensive self-insert with it. Or so they all thought.
"Alright, everyone out," the Superior of the In-Between ordered, "I'm going to send this entire room straight into the Void, and we will never again speak of what happened here today."
"Sounds good to me…shit," said Axel as he opened the door.
Skaz, having traded his coat for a Hawaiian-print shirt, a pair of cargo shorts, and a pair of loafers, was leaning in the doorway. He pulled a Golden Delicious apple out of his pocket, took a huge bite out of it with his beaver teeth, and quipped, "Eh, what's up, Doc?"
And the chorus refrained, "What is a Juggalo? I don't know but I'm down with the clown and I'm down for life, yo."
A/N: I…feel compelled to apologize, even though I already apologized in advance. Way back when I first started writing fanfics years ago, I swore I was never EVER going to dabble in that most controversial genre, the Self-Insert Fic. But here I am, breaking that oath, in the name of Parody. Let me emphasize here to the umpteenth degree: this is not a 'real' Self-Insert Fic, this is a Self-Insert Parody. And like a true parody, it is written in the name of honest funtimes. I don't really hate Self-Inserts or their writers. I do believe it can be done well, and in fact some of my friends have pointed me to some well-written Self-Inserts in the past. But as a whole, it's not a genre I generally enjoy, because I like to read fics about the characters I've grown to love, not about real people unsatisfied with their lot in life and escaping it by writing themselves into their favorite stories. But here again, I know it's not always like that and I'm not hating. You are all beautiful, God-blessed creatures and I love you without exception. You do you, baby. This here is just me having some fun to escape my boredom, and poke fun. At Kingdom Hearts, at Organization XIII, at pop culture, at politics, and of course at myself. Yes, my self-insert, 'Skaz' (a nickname of mine. Please don't ask) is going to give the Organization some serious hell for shits and giggles, because I'm bored. And I know damn well a few of you lovely sickos get your kicks from schadenfreude or however it's spelled. But I'll do my best to keep things even and make sure Skaz gets as good as he gives. It wouldn't be fun if it were all one-sided, after all. I wouldn't have fun writing it, and you wouldn't have fun reading it. Just, uh, don't expect them to get rid of me–I mean, him, any time soon. And also, if the ICP song offended you don't worry. I'm not going to do that again…or at least, not very often.
One last item and then I'm done. If you made it all the way to this bottom line without walking out, with or without flipping a table on the way, then let me say this once. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my black, withered heart. Seriously, everyone who made it this far, or even halfway through, deserves a million snickerdoodles or the cookie of your choice. The only reason I share this crap online is because I hope it'll make someone laugh. Be sure to give me lots of yummy feedback, because the more I know about what y'all like and what y'all don't, the more fun I can make this Parody Experiment for everyone involved. Useful critiques of my writing or suggestions for future chapters would be especially appreciated, but really just anything to let me know that someone saw this and maybe had a somewhat positive response to it will completely and totally make my day. Good night, I love y'all, stay beautiful, tip your waiter on your way out, drive safe, and don't pick up any hitchhikers unless they're really sexy looking…or if it's me. It's been a while since I put any gas in my moped.
Author Out, Yo.