Another day that may only be a dream, A KuramaXOC
By:~Pinkbun17~
Written: 6/23/24
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to YYH, but if I did, I would be very happy about it!
YusukexKeiko, KuwabaraxYukina pairings supported! ^^
Keep this in mind, readers!
Story Format as always:
****READERS PLEASE READ MEH!****
Youko's Thoughts: ^Perhaps you should consider a patent on your cactus bombs.^
Kurama speaking to Youko in his head/his own thoughts: *Oh? What has sparked this of you, fox?*
Inner thoughts of other characters: ' You probs could make some good money on your parrot grass too.'
Hiei's Inner thoughts/speech when he is talking to someone in their head: ~I doubt human authorities would ignore any plant-based weaponry.~
Anything said in Sinhalese: "It's worth a shot, right?''
A Few Inventions from the Spirit Lab! (Really my creations...-cue evil laugh-)
Articulation gum: The user gains the ability to speak any language temporally as long as it is carved into the gum itself and spelled properly. This gum requires a bit of spirit energy. Over time, it is possible to gain the ability semi-permanently. The downside is a horrible lingering bitter taste, and must be swallowed at exactly the right time, otherwise one will speak the language backward. (The same thing will happen if it is misspelled)
**TRIGGER WARNING: Domestic violence/child abuse
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Chapter 42: A Konfounded Keiko, Inconsistency & Daddy Issues
Day 5: 5:50 pm
Aisha's POV:
After a quick car ride back to Kurama's condo, Keiko and I take quick showers, the warm water washing away the remnants of sand that stubbornly clung to our skin from the beach. We hop out, feeling refreshed, donning fresh pairs of cozy, baggy sweats and oversized t-shirts courtesy of the fox boy.
As we settle down on the couch with Kurama, the aroma of freshly brewed green tea wafts through the air, mingling with the faint scent of the ocean still lingering in our hair.
Despite our efforts to rid ourselves of the sand, a few stubborn grains manage to find their way onto the cushions.
"I swear–the worst thing about coming back from the beach is how the sand haunts you!" I blurt, attempting to collect the grains.
Keiko giggles softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she observes my futile efforts, while Kurama utters, "Don't worry about it. It's merely a bit of sand. We can clean it up later."
The obnoxious nature of sand just reminds me of how pollen can be a nuisance, especially if it has you sneezing all day.
"I was just thinking," I begin, a mischievous grin playing on my lips, "does your calming pollen get everywhere when you use it, and can it make people's allergies flare up? I mean, you've been using it like you've got an unlimited supply. Dang, dude, you've had to use it on humans so much recently!"
I can't resist mocking the redhead; he clearly has an addiction!
A brief expression of surprise and mild irritation flits across his features. He scoffs lightly before responding, his calm voice exposing a subtle, less than chill attitude. Even Keiko raises an eyebrow at this slight reaction.
"While my calming pollen has the potential to spread, I've learned to control its dispersal to minimize any unintended effects,"
He maintains a courteous grin on his mug, but the subtle stiffness to his posture says otherwise.
'Well, well, looks like I struck a nerve! Guess I made it seem like he's incompetent with his pollen, oops!'
The red head continues, his intense gaze fixed squarely on me, his jaw slightly clenches, signaling me further of his simmering frustration.
"As you already know, using it can drain me rapidly of my spiritual energy, which requires the utmost caution. And as for allergies, like any natural substance, there's always a possibility of allergic reactions, though it's a rarity. Rest assured, I always prioritize the well-being of those around me."
"It's a shame you can't say the same about being consistent with some of your other words and actions."
'I'm livid that he thinks he's in the damn clear, especially with him claiming we're just "friends". Fucking playboy.'
The pressed smile on his face vanishes in an instant, soured by a look tinged with guilt and agitation.
Even as I glare at the redhead, I notice the anxious glances Keiko is casting between us.
With a slight quiver in her voice, she interjects, "Hey, how about we shift gears and talk about something else?"
Pausing for a moment, I notice a bead of sweat forming on her brow. "Kurama, didn't you mention something about articulation gum?" Keiko smoothly redirects the conversation, defusing the tension in the room.
×°× ` ·.¸.·´ ×°× ` ·.¸.·´ ×°×
After Kurama's show and tell with the articulation gum, moods are in a lighter place. Bitterness bombards my mouth, but if it means I can speak a little bit of Japanese like a fluent speaker, I'll put up with it! I'm careful not to misspell anything, otherwise I'll apparently end up speaking backwards.
As I gaze at the brown-haired girl, I find myself both admiring and involuntarily comparing her to how she's portrayed in the anime and the bits of manga I've read. Just in the last hour of chatting with her, it's obvious she's a knowledgeable badass.
"I know we've just met, Keiko," I begin, "But you've got this incredible aura about you. You're not just pretty, you're downright stunning. And it's not just your looks. You're so polite and smart. You're like the perfect blend of beauty and brains."
Keiko's cheeks flush with embarrassment at the unexpected compliments, and she fidgets nervously with her mug. "Oh, um, thank you, Aisha," she stammers, clearly taken aback by the praise.
As the conversation unfolds, Kurama remains relatively silent, observing the interaction between us girls with a thoughtful expression.
"It's freaky how closely the anime depicts you. Like it's almost as if I've met you before!" I gush with excitement as I lean forward in my seat.
Keiko's face drains of color, her eyes widening in alarm. "W-what do you mean by that?" she stammers, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.
Kurama's expression shifts to one of mild surprise, and he gently interjects, his tone even yet slightly concerned.
"I understand your enthusiasm, Aisha, but perhaps we should provide some context before delving into this topic." He also gestures with his hand, indicating for me to pause for a moment.
The red head clears his throat, choosing his words carefully as he addresses Keiko's bewildered expression. "It's... difficult to comprehend, but in this world we exist as characters in a manga and anime series called Yu Yu Hakusho.
If her eyes couldn't get any wider, they do. Disbelief plasters to her face and, with her mouth slightly agape, she exclaims, "Wait, what? That's... that's insane!"
Fox boy nods solemnly, "Keiko, I understand this may be overwhelming, but allow me to provide some visual context."
Reaching for his phone, Kurama taps a few times and pulls up images from a quick Joogle search.
"Take a look," he says softly, his expression serious yet sympathetic. Keiko leans in, her complexion paling further as she examines the images on his phone, a mixture of shock and disbelief evident on her face.
'God, I feel kinda bad about all this… I'm pretty sure I'd have a mental breakdown too if I found out my life is a fictional story in another world. The shit of some twisted dream.'
"I apologize Keiko. I'm going to see if I can get a hold of Botan. Although she accompanied me, she's been contending with portals all across the planet-perhaps she has updates on Yusuke's whereabouts as well." He utters in his level-headed fox boy way, but a slight frown creeps onto his face.
Keiko nods silently, her grip tightening around the cup, her knuckles turning white. The shock still etched on her face, she stares into the depths of her untouched tea, lost in thought.
Kurama begins pacing in and out of the living room and kitchen, his phone glued to his ear, as he engages in what seems like an urgent conversation. Meanwhile, I move closer to the poor brown haired beauty, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I'm not sure if there's anything I can do to ease your mind about all this, but you're totally valid to be freaked out about all this. If and when you do have questions, I'll try to answer them the best I can."
I muster a smile, but Keiko merely nods in response. She's stunned, and it's obvious as hell. Determined to lighten the mood, I hop up and retrieve the Life Lesson project Kurama had worked on for English.
In a quick, fluid motion, I open up my battered laptop and cue up some study lofi, hoping to create a more relaxed atmosphere.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
Day 5: 6:30 pm
As I put the final touches on our group project, I notice Keiko looking over my shoulder with a faint smile, her complexion still slightly pale from the earlier shock. Just as I'm explaining a particular part of the project to her, my phone buzzes and belts out the song; "Runaway" By Linkin Park.
"I wanna run away
Never say goodbye
I wanna know the truth
Instead of wondering why"
The knot in my gut drops a bit as I stare at the incoming call from…my father. Uh oh.
"Sorry, I-I'll be right back, gotta take this." I stammer, feeling the nervousness creeping in.
I hastily make my way to the second bedroom, my heart pounding as I answer the call, bracing myself for another tongue lashing.
"Hi daddy," I attempt to put up a cheerful front, but there's an underlying tension in my voice as I anticipate his reaction. If he so much as thinks I'm being disrespectful, he will lose his shit.
"Where are you? I come to pick you up." He states plainly. His thick Sri Lankan accent makes him sound curt.
'At least he doesn't sound pissed… I think?'
"Wait, what happened to mummy? Don't you have work today?"
"I went to the doctor today, so I no go to work. Are you at the blonde friend house?"
"Do you mean Aurora? No, I'm at another friend's house for a group project. It's not too far from the school."
'He never seems to remember any of my friends' names, let alone any of my siblings' ages.'
He scoffs impatiently, clearly annoyed. "Where is this friend's house? I'm near your school. I am parked near tennis court."
"I-I can come to you. It won't take long!" I hastily declare, darting around the room to gather my belongings, my hands shaking slightly with anxiety.
'The last person he needs to see is Kurama. God knows how he will react.'
My father is not one for politeness, nor does he have a shred of patience.
Last year we were all out on a family outing and my father and I went to a pizza chain to order a few pizzas and the workers there told us it would take 15 to 20 minutes to bake, and not even 2 minutes later my dad is hounding them for the pizzas like the boomer he is!
I ended up telling him off, half jokingly, half annoyed, and told him to go wait in the car. Fortunately, the pizza workers were cracking up, and even my father found my interjections funny.
'I'm worried he will spew more misogynist bullshit and pick a fight if he knows I'm hanging around the redhead's place.'
I can't pinpoint when exactly the sexist shift began, but growing up, my dad didn't mind that I had a bunch of male friends. I suppose it's true that many fathers resent their daughters as they start growing up.
To add more fuel to the fire, my first memory of my parents talking about me was my father complaining and wishing I was born a boy. It's always made me feel less than, even though I've proven myself to be useful as the oldest daughter.
Before I can confirm anything else, he hangs up on me. No goodbye, no see ya later, no love ya my daughter, nothing. A surge of anger rises within me, but I rush out into the second bedroom, barely grabbing my laptop and shoving my hot pink shoes on.
Paranoid, he'll rage at me if I take any longer. I decide to leave the rest of my things behind.
"Sorry guys, I gotta go. My dad's here to pick me up! It was nice meeting you, Keiko!"
"Wait! What about-" Kurama attempts to question me, but I rush out, practically tearing open his front door and sprint down the stairs, nearly tripping in the process.
Clutching my laptop like precious cargo and taking a deep huff of air, I dead sprint down the street towards the school, ignoring the burning of my lungs and the little shoots of pain that attack my body.
'God I hate running, it's just another reminder of my lack of athleticism, if only I could teleport run like Hiei.'
𖢌𖥤𖥠𖦏𖧞
5 minutes later…
I nearly body slam into my father's silver Loyota Kamry, scaring the shit out of him, which threw him into a loop of confusion. I have to admit, for someone as scary and angry as him, it's always hilarious how easy he scares.
He'll even walk into my room, and I'm in front of the birdcage playing with my feather babies, and he'll jump out of his skin for no reason. Bwahaha.
"Why you running like your butt on fire?" He remarks, somewhat laughing, as he pushes his thick glasses upwards on his face. "Was somebody chasing to you?"
'For someone with a big ass nose like you, you'd figure your dorky glasses would never slip off.' I think, rolling my eyes.
Besides needing a ton of grammar lessons, my jerk of a father doesn't possess an ounce of fashionable drip unless I play mental gymnastics with him to change something.
The only remotely cool item he owns is a pair of jeans with a skull on them—something I convinced him to buy. He just doesn't care about his clothing, but ironically, is such a motor head. He's so obsessed with making sure his car is shining as bright as a disco ball.
I cough, trying to compose my lungs as I set my laptop down to the side of the gray passenger seat. I stare blankly at him, responding curtly, "So I don't keep you waiting."
'The last thing I need is for you to start a fight with the former king of thieves with your bigoted fucking nonsense'
Quietly playing in the background is a CD of my parents' favorite Sri Lankan Artist, Nilton Nallawarachchi, which sounds like mellow feel-good '80's music.
Typically, I'd tune out, but I'm reminded of one of the few times I snagged positive attention from my parents as a little kid. They used to play their Sri Lankan oldies all the time in the car and one day I managed to mimic their music in perfect pitch, which seemed like such a joyful surprise to them. That was the start of my singing hobby at the ripe age of 4!
I smirk slightly to myself, and daddy notices. "Why you smiling?" he questions. I shrug it off, saying it's nothing. He tries to carry on a semblance of a conversation, but I only reply with brief responses, and he eventually gives up.
Before I forget, I quickly text Kurama,
Hey, sorry, I rushed out without saying a proper G'bye. My dad isn't exactly the patient type… For now, I'm gonna stay with my family, but I'll start bringing some of my stuff over soon. There are just a few things I need to do first.
G'night and see ya later
'God, I need to figure out what the hell to do with my family… and it's not like I can ask dear ol' daddy for help either.'
As I stare out at the night sky and the blinking traffic lights, I sense the frigid winter air creeping in through the car window. It has a slight bite to it.
Several palm trees sway softly, casting a few shadows as if they're dancing to their own beat. Some houses we pass by have lingering Christmas lights and they twinkle faintly.
'I swear, people love that holiday a little too much.'
The familiar landmarks of my town are now shrouded in the soft glow of streetlights. They trigger memories from my childhood that I'd rather forget.
:༅｡.｡༅*･ﾟﾟ･*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅
When I was small, I'd follow my father everywhere he went. I was a total daddy's girl, clinging to him like a mini parasite.
Part of the reason was that my mother would rage and hurt me whenever he left the house. Her favorite pastime was swinging my body around by my ears or by my hair. I wonder if it that has contributed to my higher pain tolerance?
I remember one time, when I was preschool-aged, I begged to come along with him for a car ride while he ran errands, and normally I was a welcomed passenger-but in front of a few apartment tenants he raised his voice to a vehement pitch.
His face contorted with anger, veins bulging on his neck as each word he spewed dripped with venom, his big hairy hands clenched into fists at his sides.
I stood there, frightened, my small body trembling as I fought back tears. Nearly tripping on the harsh, cold cement steps, I sprinted back upstairs to our apartment.
Although I don't remember exactly what he shrieked at me, the expressions on the onlookers' faces intensified my humiliation. Their looks of pity, shock, and fear were seared into my memory.
Perhaps 30 minutes later, he returned upstairs. I hid under my favorite orange and tan quilted blanket, clutching it hard through my sobs and desperate pleas. He simply threw a dismissive scoff and ignored me, adding another layer to my heartbreak.
'So much for a father's love, right?' I can't help but find his attempts to connect, riddled with hypocrisy.
As I have gotten older, our relationship has deteriorated. We would fight pretty much every day, but I do my best to avoid interacting with him now.
He used to beat me for any of the bullshit my mother would feed him, but the last time he did so was when I was in 4th grade. My right knee was so bruised it was like I painted it black, and I couldn't walk properly for a while. My mother even coached me to lie and say I fell, but no one ever questioned it. Even if anyone had noticed, I'm sure they didn't give a shit.
:༅｡.｡༅*･ﾟﾟ･*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅
Whenever he's raging at someone—be it my sisters or my mother—I'd waltz in, trying to prevent the situation from escalating into domestic violence. My heart races, but in those moments, I forget my own fear.
I'd step in, using my body as a shield, and use a good chunk of my audacity to stand between him and his target, speaking in a calm but firm voice.
Surprisingly, I always manage to get him to chill the hell down, and at least he isn't physically violent toward me now. Hell, when he's fighting with my mother, he'll come to me for advice and comfort! It's ridiculous if you ask me, considering my mother will do it as well, and I'm supposed to be the child in the household.
Despite everything, the need for his affection gnaws at me. It's a tangled mess of emotions—resentment for his brutality, yet a deep-seated desire for his approval and attention.
In the rare moments that daddy is nicer, it's only when he's drunk himself into a stupor. He even calls me affectionate pet names like sweetie or putha (son/child) in Sinhalese. Although my mother uses a mix of English and Sinhalese with us, my father only speaks in his native tongue when he's not sober.
Maybe if our relationship was a little more stable, I could ask for help or advice about this entire crazy-demon trying to destroy our worlds thing-but that's asking for the impossible.
Most of my memories with daddy are riddled with rage and anguish, and they tend to linger in my head. Even so, my heart pangs with the longing for the father I wished he could be, while simultaneously despising the man he chooses to be.
To be continued…
My Notes:
This chapter was not easy to write out for me. I spend a good month avoiding it! ●﹏● Happy summer to everyone! Already this heat has been getting on my nerves, but at least activities around this time of year are plentiful! This chapter has quite the focus on Aisha's father, and I was hoping to shine a light on her parental wounds, and how not having a sound foundation would jumble up anyone mentally. This chapter is 13 pages long! Be sure to hydrate or diedrate! ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)
Rock Out & Peace on!
~Pinkbun17