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linklethehistorian · 2 years ago

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Of Skyfall, Sigma, Ian Fleming & James Bond

A personal theory add-on for Skelechuuchuu’s incredible Ian Fleming theory. Please read and give love and support to that original theory here if you have the time!

Hello everyone! At the time of posting this, I’m extremely sick and kinda sleep-deprived right now, so I will probably not be terribly active until I feel better. :’)

Nevertheless, after having a small chat (with a lot of breaks in between :’)) with some cool people in a BSD server, I still wanted to come and drop this little add-on to the recent (and extremely compelling) theory that dropped about Sigma being Ian Fleming (and James Bond-inspired).

As I tend to do best, I wanted to analyze and explain why Skyfall is not only a perfect and crucial choice for the episode name in S4 as OP describes above due to the inseverable tie to James Bond, but also how the lyrics to the tie-in Bond song by this name themselves relate perfectly to Sigma and the events of BSD involving him so far.

I’ll place it below the cut for both S4 spoilers and manga spoilers up to Chapter 106-107 or so! Proceed with caution if you’re worried about spoilers!

Now, without further ado, let’s get to lyric analyzing!

Before we get into the nitty-gritty of analyzing the song lyric by lyric, allow me to start with a more generalized observation:

The overarching theme of the song Skyfall, apart from being obviously intrinsically linked to Bond (given it was made for it), is about bravely facing down the end with those you love, come what may; this is a perfect fit for Sigma, whose whole character is wrapped up in the concept of needing to belong and protect those he loves. In the episode of the same name, he even fights, despite knowing he is “just an ordinary man”, with his whole life to protect his beloved people in the Casino, unafraid of dying because living without them would be meaningless.

(I would also like to note here that at first glance, it might seem to be written almost like a love song, but I feel it’s important to distinguish — especially in the context of this theory — that this is not necessarily the case, and there is one line that upon listening to it, especially seems to almost completely confirm otherwise to me; in the song, it sounds like Adele is saying “all your loving arms”, despite many lyric sites and such claiming otherwise (it is really not uncommon for artists to differ from the original written lyrics from time to time in certain recordings, so I find this rather plausible). Nevertheless, whether or not this is actually correct, the song is ambiguous enough that it can still be taken however one wishes, and I believe that if we apply it to Sigma, the song is not directed towards one person, but towards a group of them.)

I’ll get on to the more intricate stuff of analyzing lyric by lyric in a moment, but before I do I would just like to make one little key statement here before we start, and that is that despite how it seems, I don’t actually believe most of this song was meant to be applied to the casino or the people there; rather, I believe it largely reflects and is about his feelings towards Dazai, Atsushi, and the ADA as a whole. (Again, I’ll explain this more in a bit, but…there is one particular set of lyrics that truly sets this up for me: “Skyfall is where we start”; obviously, Sigma has had his casino and known the people in it for awhile, from his perspective, but do you know who he does meet in the episode Skyfall, and first starts to find some small measure of hope/consolation in? Atsushi. The ADA.)

Okay, with that in mind, now let’s on to the main bit!

This is the end Hold your breath and count to ten

In the most recent chapters, Dazai and Sigma are trapped underwater, and literally have to hold their breath to survive. As he runs out of air, Sigma is counting the moments until he can resurface, but fears it may not happen because Dazai seems determined to stop him (for good reason, it turns out)

Feel the Earth move and then Hear my heart burst again

Being with Dazai and having hope of joining the ADA has shifted Sigma’s world around him, changing his worldview and making his heart explode with genuine hope at all of the kind deeds they’ve performed for him — especially when he realizes Dazai is not trying to kill him by keeping him underwater but protect him.

For this is the end I've drowned and dreamt this moment

As they’re staying under the water and near out of air to share, Sigma almost fully accepts his fate, thinking to himself that he may die this way, but at least he was able to dream of a beautiful life for once in those few precious moments he shared with the ADA.

So overdue, I owe them

Sigma has waited a long time to have a place to permanently belong and feel loved and cared for, and he feels indebted to the Agency for all they’ve done for him — all their acts of kindness.

Swept away, I'm stolen

When Dazai was given a chance to pick something to take with him in Mersault, he stole Sigma from the DOA completely, and this action also sweeps Sigma away with surprise, hope, and gratitude inside.

Let the sky fall When it crumbles We will stand tall Face it all together

This one is probably pretty self-explanatory; Sigma isn’t afraid of death, as long as he stands with the ADA in hope of a good life, though this attitude also perfectly fits his attitude towards the Casino in the Skyfall ep and how he stood with his people against the Hunting Dogs, unafraid to die for them.

Skyfall is where we start

I already went over this one a bit, but Skyfall is the ep where he and Atsushi (and by extension the ADA) meet for the first time; it’s his start with knowing the ADA — the time when he first experiences true hope that doesn’t involve him being used and discarded in the end.

A thousand miles and poles apart

I think this part is kinda metaphorical to how he at first thinks he and the ADA are on opposite sides, and that they care nothing for him besides forcing him to use his ability; in his eyes, they are worlds apart and he could never even get close to their world of light.

Where worlds collide and days are dark

Yet, in that moment of Atsu trying to save him, Sigma begins to feel they’re not so far apart, after all.

Their worlds collided in that brief moment, on one of his darkest days, and he felt grateful for that, even though he still felt his fate was sealed and that he had to let go of Atsu’s hand to prevent him from tumbling to his death with him.

You may have my number, you can take my name But you'll never have my heart

I believe this would be directed at everyone else whom had used and abused him up until this point, and, from his perspective, took his memory from him; they can take everything from him, own him, rob him of his true identity, etc., but he will never be one of them. He’ll never truly be a terrorist. His heart belongs in the light — with the ADA; he realizes that now.

Where you go, I go What you see, I see

As a member of the server we were in, Cloudii, pointed out, I think this could be a reference to how similar Sigma sees himself to Atsushi and vice versa, but I think it could also be a reference to his willingness to follow the ADA (both literally and metaphorically) and with the last line, his ability to gain knowledge of someone else’s knowledge (and thereby in a limited way experiences) through touch.

I know I'd never be me Without the security [Of] All your loving arms Keeping me from harm Put your hand in my hand And we'll stand

The lines about “put your hand in my hand, and we’ll stand” in particular strongly remind me of the moment when Atsu tries to save Sigma by holding his hand when he dangled off the casino, and reflects both Atsu’s desire to have him keep holding on and pull him to solid ground, and Sigma’s desire to stand by the ADA and repay them for kindness by using his ability for them right before what he believes will be his death.

That being said, I also think this whole set of lyrics above matches Sigma’s attitude towards the ADA and his determination to stand by them now in general, even in the most dire of times.

He knows that he’ll never get to be who he wants to be and live the life he wants to live, having a place of belonging, an identity, people who love him genuinely, if he doesn’t learn to put his faith in them and trust that they are different from the rest of those who had him before. The ADA seems to love and protect him and so he’ll do his best, ordinary as he feels he is, to stand by them, too, until his last breath — using his ability and whatever else he may have as necessary, as they face down the end of the world as they know it and those who would bring it about together.

Anyway, yeah, that’s my analysis for today! Thank you for reading! Love y’all. 🥺💖

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armed-and-rwby · 2 years ago

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So, and I know this is kind of bad timing in June, but I can't deny any longer than Yang's character was seriously compromised after V5

This isn't really a scripted thing and I've not written analysis in a while, so forgive the loose formatting here, just something I needed to get out.

I think the overall issues can apply to more of the MCs than Yang, which I'll bring up later, but RWBY has an unfortunate tendency of resolving character arcs without much overlap with the plot, and Yang definitely gets it worse than most (and she's my favourite).

Back in V5, Yang was exploding with directions for her character and I think the writers worked hard to touch on all of them, from her recovery, to her growing mistrust of authority, to her issues with her mom, to her reconnecting with her team (and of course the deeper angst with Blake in that), but resolution for all of these largely fell short IMO. The last time she's even talked about the scheming of Oz was in V6 when she called him a bastard, Raven has never been mentioned or some up since V5, and I don't think she's even spoken to Weiss since their heart to heart in V5 outside of plot functional dialogue. The same can be said on her relationship with her sister, which, beyond her sacrifice in V8 and an unresolved conversation earlier in the volume about Salem and their mom, also haven't actually interacted with each other. The only thing really addressed was her lost arm, which was an extension of Bumblebey and closed off when they killed Adam in V6, a great fight with very little to do with the actual plot.

In V7 and 8, she's a complete third wheel, she talks with Robyn and fights the Ops in 7, and doesn't even get a fight in V8. Weiss certainly got it almost as bad, she was a bit more involved, but still not much given how this is her kingdom and her family that was so central to the plot. It's a condition of a bloated cast, which they've addressed a couple times, such as the start of V6 and all of V9 (though with their various guides, the girls don't make a lot of relevant decisions on the flow of that story either). It really did suck that we got to see Ruby's suicide through Yang's eyes, only for us to not see any of their reactions, and even when they see her it's all pretty surface level stuff (Yang even just repeats what Weiss tells her about Ruby).

My favourite scene in the whole show was her confronting her mom, I thought that was such a perfect direction for her character, tying together both her conviction to her family with her backstory of her mom to drive her arc forward in some unique ways, only to be sidelined in following chapters as her ship left port. And while this post isn't here to bash Bumblebey, I guess there's a bit of a warning that, since that was almost all of her drama and driving force for the last 4 volumes, with it canonized, I worry she'll only drift further away from the plot and her own unique character moments.

Wish I had some gifs or something to break up these paragraphs, but I'm just kind of vomiting out all these nagging issues that've been building up these last few years. Really does hurt to love a character like that and not see them utilized in the show

#rwby #mod argus #yang xiao long #rwby critique #rwby volume 9 #ruby rose #blake bellodona #weiss schnee #rwby volume 5 #rwby volume 6 #bumbleby

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alwayschasingrainbows · 1 year ago

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Tangled Web Readalong

Chapter 1.2.

Aunt Becky, in my opinion, is written in a mocking way, as a caricature of all those nosy relatives that each one of us has in our environment. She is a typical aunt who, when there is an awkward silence at the Christmas table, will immediately seize the opportunity to stab the person sitting next to her, asking countless questions and expecting detailed answers. We, the readers, laugh at Aunt Becky's sarcastic retorts, but let's face the truth: each one of us has probably felt insecure in the company of a similar person at one time or another.

Maud's writing genius is best demonstrated while describing family scenes; she had a unique sense of humor and a sense of observation. Aunt Becky's party doesn't seem very pleasant: everyone falls victim to the sarcastic remarks of the head of the family; but everyone shows up anyway, each time.

I think almost everyone was intrigued by Aunt Becky's personality; she is undoubtedly one of the most interesting older women characters that Maud has created. I really liked her jokes and recalling family stories. A huge plus for the scene of applying rouge on the cheeks:

"It's no more than decent at your age," protested Ambrosine.

"Decency's a dull dog," retorted Aunt Becky. "I parted company with it long ago."

Then, Aunt Becky's reaction to Nan's makeup:

"Go upstairs and wash that stuff off your lips and cheeks," she said. "I won't have any painted snips around here."

It's a bit like Aunt Becky saying, "I'm eighty-five, so I'm allowed." Of course, this is pure hypocrisy, but it must be admitted that it is very funny one.

Speaking of Nan, her way of dressing should have resembled Ilse Burnley's, but it doesn't, not in the slightest. I have a feeling that Nan dresses to impress others, while Ilse dresses only for herself.

Nan's mother reminds me so much of one od Valancy Stirling's relatives: "Aunt Alberta, enormously fat, with an amiable habit of always referring to her husband as “he,” as if he were the only male creature in the world, who could never forget that she had been a great beauty in her youth" (Blue Castle),

vs:

"She was an enormously fat woman, with a rather deplorable penchant for wearing bright colours and over-rich materials, who had been very slim and beautiful in a youth." (Tangled Web).

Characters that caught my attention (and the quotes, describing them) are

Peter Penhallow

We know from chapter 1.1. that "had it not been for the jug, Peter Penhallow might to-day have been photographing lions alone in African jungles" (how delightful and wild!!!!).

In chapter 1.2. we find out that Peter is a free spirit and a nature lover: "Peter is here," said his sister Nancy Dark eagerly. "He's out on the veranda. You know Peter hates to be cooped up in a room. He's so accustomed to--to--"

"The great open spaces of God's outdoors," murmured Aunt Becky ironically."

Maybe it is me overthinking, but I can easily spot some resemblance to Barney Snaith; both men prefer open space and life wildness, surrounded by beautiful, untamed nature. They both seem to abandon accepted conventions and norms. Both of them do not fit into the quiet society of a small town, but seek experiences that other people cannot understand.

Gay Penhallow

She has some of Rilla's innocence and romantism in her! Gay seems as such a radiant, cheerful girl, who brings beauty and laughter everywhere she goes (very similar to pre-war Rilla). She resembles young Nan Blythe, too: Blythe by name, Blythe by nature. If Google is right, their names somehow match, too:

The name "Blythe" is both a boy's name and a girl's name of English origin meaning "happy, carefree".

The name "Gay"'s meaning: cheerful, joyful, merry".

Margaret Penhallow:

She just seems so sweet and kind: "her thin, sensitive face flushing pitifully and her peculiarly large, soft, grey-blue eyes filling with tears, went blindly to the first vacant chair."

Her description: soft, big eyes filling with tears, sensitive face reminds me a little about Aunt Laura from Emily of New Moon: kind, sweet, good-natured, but also rather weak and easily-bossed.

"Perhaps Margaret still wrote poems. A little shell-covered box in her trunk might know something about that. But the public press knew them no more, much to the clan's thankfulness."

Penny Dark:

"What's the matter with you, Penny? You're not as good-looking as you generally believe you are."

"He was a fat, tubby little fellow, with a curly grey beard and none-too-plentiful curly hair. As usual, he was as well-groomed as a cat. He still considered himself a gay young wag, and felt that nothing but the jug could have lured him into a public appearance under the circumstances."

He is exactly how I imagine Emily's cousin - Andrew Murray, or Emily's almost fiancée - Aylmer Vincent might look and act like, 30 years post series.

Moon Man (described in a separate post).

Uncle Pippin:

"Uncle Pippin shifted his wad of gum to the other side of his mouth and manufactured a cheerful lie instantly for the credit of the clan."

Chef's kiss!

#lm montgomery #tangled web #tangled web book club #blue castle #emily of new moon

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valyrianfreehold · 1 year ago

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do you have any thoughts about the objectification of dragons, treating them as mere weapons when they’re still living breathing creatures etc

First and foremost I want to start this with the fact that dragons are not real and I don’t want to get into discourse about things like police dogs. (Police dogs are bad)

In this setting dragons were literally created for the purpose of combat but on the other hand I wouldn’t really call them domesticated you know? We see firsthand in Dany chapters that left to their own devices dragons will eat anything when not kept contained. In FB prior to the creation of the dragon pit dragons were largely left to their own devices and I highly doubt when they weren’t close to their rider they were off indulging in a strictly four legged diet. What is a peasant going to say or do when a family member gets picked off by royal property? The sad story of Hazzea and Drogon is definitely not a unique one.

Left to their own devices dragons will just as happily kill and eat each other as they would any human or sheep. We see that with Sunfyre and the Cannibal. And those two dragons and their actions are giant freaking allegories/metaphors for kingship and power. Like you simply cannot analyze dragons in any way without acknowledging this. Even Barth’s observation of dragons having mutable gender has more meaning than just biological fact.

Dragons ARE weapons. And while we have plenty of examples of riders who don’t use their dragons for combat we never are given any example of a dragon not totally gung-ho for a fight. I think it fits thematically as much as it does logically that dragons love combat because it was what they were created to do.

When it comes to normal wild animals, it’s simply not efficient to be always on the lookout for a chance to fight. When any animal does come to blows, there is a heavily weighted decision to do so from the instigator. Domesticated animals can be bred to be aggressive and get joy from aggression. War horses, for an easy relevant example weren’t made to be docile. But this all sort of circles back to the question of whether dragons are domesticated despite their origin. They can be tamed, sure, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous or unpredictable. Syrax still killed her rider’s son for trying to mount her. But it’s not like dragons don’t show restraint, they’re not off devouring every human they see the minute they’re hungry.

Idk it’s a difficult but interesting question to answer because you can only apply so much objective logic to a fantastical creature created by blood magic for the sole purpose of violence and written as an allegory or metaphor for power. It’s a question that Dany asks herself in some shape or form when pondering legacy and I’m very curious to see what conclusions she’ll draw especially after the killer cliffhanger we’ve been left with for over a decade.

I personally think that dragons in this setting are made to consume and destroy and riding them into battle in of itself was not cruel towards them. We do have examples of dragons that never saw human combat (Dreamfyre and Cannibal come to mind) and Silverwing’s story is an interesting one. She survived the Dance and like Cannibal just faded from history.

Tl;dr If they were suddenly struck by sentience I don’t think they’d raise much objection to being asked if they wanted to fight. Great. We are now entering the Paarthunax dilemma!!! Ifykyk.

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ldysmfrst · 8 months ago

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Breaking and Entering (1) - Lovren

Status: Ongoing Series

Chapter number: 1 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 3,269

Word count for Story: 3,269

Genre: Werewolf

There are no chapter titles, but each chapter will have a name listed that indicates which POV the chapter is from. Mindlinks are in italics. Conversations with their inner wolf are in bold italics.

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children. One of which is special needs, and on 3/28, they lost 75% of their vision. I started a Patreon if you feel the heart to donate towards helping with the medical costs of appointments, medication, and modifications to the house, which insurance doesn't cover.

Warnings: (I am not good at this, but I will try. Let me know if I missed anything!!) NOT BETA READ!! This story will have a bit of angst, fluff, smut, f/m, and m/m. This chapter does mention parent death and foster care.

Side note: This is the first story I have ever written. Since I am laid up on pain meds from almost breaking my ankle, I thought I would share something with you, my dearest readers. This will be posted on my Patreon as well. I hope you enjoy it!

BREAKING AND ENTERING MASTER LIST

LDYSMFRST MASTER LIST

High school was the last milestone for youth everywhere. Mine happens to be at Lunar Ridge High. Like most high schools, there are three main cliques at LRH: The Clackers, The Worms, and The Invisibles.

The Clackers are the popular students consisting of cheerleaders, prepsters, and jocks. I call them ‘The Clackers’ because the girls always wear high heels that clack on the school floor, announcing their presence wherever they go.

The jocks and male prepsters are also classified as Clackers because where a Clacker girl is, you will find a Clacker guy. They follow them, acting like a starving dog after a juicy steak. It is disgusting and barbaric, but hey, they are teenage boys. What else would you expect?

The Worms are all the nerdy students, such as spelling bee champs, straight-A students, and World Peace-type kids. They controlled all the science labs throughout the day. If they were not there, they took over the bleachers and discussed the newest technology or scientific discovery.

Oddly enough, though, LRH never really had a plethora of Worms in the Library, just hanging out and reading random stuff. Most were in and out as if staying longer would get them unwanted attention.

Last and most certainly least is The Invisibles. The name should explain itself. They tend to be more intelligent and politically inclined to be a Worm but are “sneaky” about it. They don’t qualify in looks, popularity, or athleticism to be considered a Clacker; therefore, they are Invisible to everyone. Imagine every Invisible to act like Violet from “The Impossibles,” just disappearing whenever they need to.

We won’t talk about the Outcasts because, technically, they belong to one of the three main groups but just rebel and refuse to fall into a clique. I always thought it was safer to fall into one but hide almost in plain sight. It kept people from asking questions, and well… I got left alone for the most part.

One of the main reasons it was easy for me to pick a clique at LRH was because the Clackers and the Worms looked like they belonged on the cover of Italian Vogue. It was like some kinda fashion week was happening year-round. I swear this town must have something in the water or really outstanding genetics.

This is strange because if they all pulled from the same genetic pool, then those crazy stories of deformed kids due to incest and such didn’t apply here, even though it was scientifically proven.

The LRH campus should belong in the middle of a metropolis, not some dinky mountain town.

A strange thing about LRH is the lack of fencing around the school. There is nothing to define the edge of the school grounds. It has a vast parking lot out front and a large field that leads to a beautiful forest mountain range in the back. They don’t seem to care about people (or wildlife) coming and going as they please.

It makes me curious about how the school deals with truancies.

LRH is also the cleanest school in the history of schools, even with its large campus, which includes five double-story buildings, a pool, and a soccer field.

The first buildings you see at LRH are the café and the gymnasium. Both are single-story buildings with very dynamic renderings of running wildlife—no, I take that back: running wolves. It is a beautiful mural, and with all the howling at night around this town, it makes perfect sense they chose wolves as the focus.

Between them sits the administration building, the tallest building on campus, and in Lunar Ridge. The admin building is the only part of the school that is open year-round at 6:00 a.m., closes at 6:00 p.m., and allows anyone in town to come in and check out books.

With its impressive size, the admin building is a gateway to the school. It is a significantly modernized building for a city this size. It has floor-to-ceiling windows, which creates a very open and welcoming feeling. It also has a 13 Ghosts-styled glasshouse creepiness to it.

The first floor holds the typical High School admin offices, and the second through fourth floors contain the town library with pristine glass walls. If you love books, it is a breathtaking view not only because of the view from the windows but also because of the stacks of books inside.

The top floor is restricted.

Only those with a special badge can open the elevators, and business people come and go like it’s the Town Hall. Unlike the other floors, the top level looked like it had a glassy material, but you couldn’t see into it like the other floors. If it is the Town Hall, it makes sense that privacy must be needed.

The cluster of buildings on the other side of the parking lot from the school would be considered the bustling town of Lunar Ridge. It is a simple town. There is a Main Street center, a few convenience and gas combo stores, two grocery stores, a twin drive-in movie theater, and a large city park with an aquatic center.

There wasn’t even a “Starbucks” or ��Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf” in sight, and the closest mall was in the next town over, wherever that is.

I live in Lunar Ridge with the Moores family: Rachel, Jonathan, and their daughter Selena.

Selena is about three months older than me. She is the LRH varsity cheerleading co-captain, and she has the classic Barbie doll look—platinum blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and perky body features—a carbon copy of Rachel.

Rachel was the Varsity Cheerleader Captain when she attended LRH and doesn’t seem to age… at all. If you compare the photos of her on the walls to how she looks now, you would think she was her own younger sister. She works part-time as a receptionist for LRH to “keep herself busy.”

On the other hand, Johnathan probably was a Worm, possibly a jock Clacker, back in the day and is the current Lunar Ridge Police Chef. Come to think of it, I never see him in a police uniform, just all-black bouncer-type clothes. He has pitch-black hair with some gray showing that looks more like silver strokes of lightning.

John has the brightest, friendliest brown eyes on the planet. He loves Rachel and Selena to the ends of the earth, and you can tell they love him back just as much. Jonathan welcomes me the most out of all the Moores family, making staying here a little more bearable.

Selena is dating the soccer team captain, Mitchell “Mitch” Gunner. Mitch is your typical soccer guy, standing about 6’ 2” with a runner’s body. You wouldn’t know that he is buff until you see him practice. Then, you can finally see the rippling muscles under his sun-kissed skin. His eyes are blue but more dark blue than Selena’s crystal blue. However, their hair color seems like they got the same dye job.

Mitch is also one of the only “kids” I know who has a badge for the private elevator at the library. Don’t ask me why.

Mitch and Selena were always the ones that had the most significant Clacker following. They both had suitors crushing on them regularly. They tried their best to gain a moment of their attention despite the lack of care from either Mitch or Selena. The followers acted as if their happiness depended on the presence of Selena or Mitch.

Strangely enough, neither one of them hung out together in or out of school. Sure, they acknowledged each other in the halls, but you would not have pegged them as friends.

That all changed at Selena’s 18th birthday party. Everyone and their brother seemed to be at the Moores’ home for the party. I stayed in my room for the party, especially since I wouldn’t stay long. I had only been with the Moores’ for about two months, and I didn’t want to deal with explaining who I was.

Apparently, I missed out on something huge.

Now, all of a sudden, Selena and Mitch go everywhere together. They are together at the park, at the house, and everywhere, and all their suitors suddenly stop pursuing them. It was as if there was a switch that intensified everything between them. It suited me just fine because that meant fewer people to avoid over the rest of the summer break.

Selena continued blabbering about how they were High School Royalty because they were the first senior couple. It has done wonders for their egos, and I am surprised they can still fit through a doorway.

No, I am not related to the Moores.

They are foster family number eleven, but then again, who’s counting? I can hardly remember anything about my parents besides what the incident report tells me. All it tells me is that they died on the scene of a car accident while on their way home.

I was only seven when it happened, and every time I try to get a copy of the report, it is always blacked out. The doctors say I can’t or won’t be able to remember much of my life before the accident because of something to do with the Post-Traumatic Stress of losing them. I do know they were my only family, so I got put into the foster system.

The Moores are considered family number eleven because I don’t belong as an add-on. I wouldn’t have lost my parents if the powers-that-be wanted me in a family.

The foster families never seemed to care about spending much time with me or treating me like family, so why stick around? I made life exciting for me; besides, something in me never felt quite settled with the families I was dumped into. This leads to the main reason why I have been with so many families: I guess it aggravates the foster families when the cops keep bringing you home. Then they don’t want you anymore as it is too much drama for them, even though I was just a paycheck.

Before you know it, you are off to the next family to help them pay for their rent or addiction.

Eleven families in ten years means I am with most families for less than a year. I don’t even count families I stay with for under three months. So far, I have lasted with the Mors for four months, officially making them family number eleven.

My name is Lovren, which means “dear secret” in Old English, but I tend to go by Ren. No, I don’t care to have a last name. The foster system decided my surname would be that of whatever family I was with at the time. I have been with one too many to remember.

So, technically, my last name is Moores.

I am seventeen and have fair skin with some freckles splattered about. I stand at 5’9” and weigh about 240 lbs, most of which is in my butt and my thighs. I guess I am what some people call “curvy” or fat; which one they use depends on if they are talking to me or talking about me.

I am proudly one of the few Invisible seniors at LRH.

I was placed in the middle of Nowheresville in late spring, and because my grades are always stellar, I didn’t need to attend LRH for the remainder of my junior year. Besides, it would have annoyed everyone if I left before my 3-month “trial period” ended.

When I moved in, the Moores gave me Selena’s old room, including her bedroom set, and, this time, I could bring most of my clothes. I only bring a little with me from house to house. It makes things easier for me. I want to save time and effort about little items getting lost.

The only thing necessary to me is the only picture I own, and it is one of my mother and father in their engagement photo with me in her baby bump.

Honestly, I swear the system put me with this family and this town because they didn’t think I could cause much trouble. Don’t they know idle hands are the devil’s work?

My favorite place in this whole teeny tiny town is the library. I like to sit on the fourth floor in the southeast corner. There is a desk with a Mac, a comfy loveseat, and a perfect town view. I discovered it when I first moved here. I love watching the dark shadows return to the mountains as the sun wakes the town.

In the few months I have been here, I have never seen anyone, aside from the random cop-looking guys, in this section of the library. They are all pleasant and leave me alone. I am not sure if it is because I am just sitting there “behaving” or if Jon told them who I was.

My go-to section is the Romance and Fantasy section. All the shifter, vampire, and magic-styled romance, erotica, and adventure stories that I could read were my secret obsession.

Sadly, with school starting today, I must be reasonable and focused on my studies. I had one of the highest GPAs in all my previous schools and want to keep that up. I don’t want anyone to know because I don’t want to be noticed by The Worms.

I also need to figure out a way for the school board not to want me to be valedictorian. However, I only have eight more months before the Moores inevitably find some reason to kick me out. This means I will not be graduating from LRH, so what’s the point of fitting in and finding friends?

I have my day already figured out.

Since I am a senior, they let me pick my class schedule. When not hiding in the library before and after school, I sit in the back corner of my classes nearest the exit. I prefer sitting there because I can get in and out of my classes without bumping into anyone. Like every new school, the teachers will keep trying to get me to participate.

Most students who “are like me” don’t care to pay attention, get into trouble, and fail their classes. They were wrong about one thing: I wouldn’t fail any of my classes. My teachers typically learn not to call on me because I don’t want to answer their questions. I wouldn’t put it past some of the student body to end up thinking I am mute and probably dumb.

I’m lucky to have a free period right before lunch, making it easy to get my food before anyone else even gets out of class. It will also allow me to go into the library to eat by myself without anyone noticing. I am pretty sure the librarian knows I have eaten inside over the summer break. Still, she’s never said anything to me. I hope now that school starts, she doesn’t decide to have a problem with it. I always ensure it looks like I was never there when I leave the area.

Then again, that is how I tend to live everywhere I visit, hence my being Invisible. Now that you are up to speed let’s move on.

My routine will be simple; I will do it on autopilot after the first week. I wake up at 5:30 a.m., shower, get dressed, maybe get something to eat, and go to school. Today is the first day of my last year of High School. My clothing choices are mostly the same in style and color.

Today, it consists of black ladies-styled boxer shorts with a matching black jersey knit sports bra. Black bootcut jeans, a black tank top tucked in with a deep purple crop top with sleeves made with black lacing that ends slightly past my fingertips. My outfit is complete with black Doc Martens and a pullover hoodie with an artist rendering of Harley Quinn in Joker colors, purple and green.

My favorite colors are black and purple, and yes, I always like to layer my clothes like a Russian Nesting Doll. Trust me, layering my clothes is beneficial in many ways.

My brown wavy hair isn’t long enough to put into a tie and have all of it stay, so I brush it out and pray it doesn’t frizz. I don’t wear any makeup. After all, I don’t want to be teased by everyone for trying to be like The Clackers because I sure as heck don’t have the body for it.

The absence of all makeup also allows me to draw less attention to my eyes, which is my favorite asset. I always thought my eyes were the one part of me that connected me to my parents.

Why avoid others noticing?

Because making eye contact with someone always turns the conversation from a pleasant one into a retelling of the story of my parent’s death. Ultimately, it always became a pity party that started because they wanted to know how I got to have two different colored eyes.

One eye is brown, like muddy water, and the other is green, like smashed peas. I have learned that avoiding eye contact is the best thing to do, although it seems to make me stand out here even more since most of the talking at Lunar Ridge involves either staring at each other or staring off into space.

Running downstairs, I grab my black leather backpack and a Monster Java Energy Drink. Don’t judge; Javas are my secret to being a morning dove, not a chronically exhausted pigeon since I have always been a night owl.

I am out the door at 6:15 a.m. before anyone else in the house wakes up. Successfully avoiding the morning chitchat.

“How did you sleep?”

“What are you doing today?”

“Do you remember blah blah blah?”

I hate forced conversations with Rachel and Selena. When I talk with Jonathan, they never seem forced. It’s like he cares and is interested in what I will say instead of just wanting me to sit and listen to him rant or boast about whatever is happening like the rest of this house.

My classes don’t start until 8 a.m. because getting a zero period would gain Worm awareness of my presence. So I have plenty of time to walk to school. Selena has a Mustang that is bright pink and white. Her “pony,�� as she calls it, is a typical Clacker car that I wouldn’t be caught dead in, don’t worry; the feeling is mutual.

Surprise, surprise, I don’t have a car, nor do I want to catch the bus. So yes, I walk by myself in the wee hours of the morning. Besides, I like the walk even though the Moores’ house is on the opposite side of the town. I enjoy seeing the quaint Main Street shops before the people start buzzing around.

I know I tend to rag on this town's being small, secluded, and plain lost, but in a way, it allows me to feel calm. Watching the shops prepare to open, smelling the fresh bread from the bakery, and feeling the fresh morning dew relaxes my soul as I walk every morning.

I have no doubt you have figured out that I like to keep to myself as much as possible. Walks like this allowed me to enjoy my last bit of alone time before facing the crowded school where I would be crammed into seven hours a day, five days a week.

((edited 9/14/24))

Permanent Taglist - OPEN

@bethanysnow @braveangel777 @danielle143 @elliegrace1999 @skyys-universe

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#breaking and entering #werewolf #werewolves #plus sized mc #foster care #parent death #high school #fated mates #moon mates #a/b/o dynamics #alpha beta omega #original character #chubby y/n #chubby reader #chubby #Ldysmfrst fic

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captain-astors · 2 years ago

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Hi, can you do 003 for Arima Kishou please?

I ABSOLUTELY CAN! Fun fact this is about the length of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Telltale Heart. God I was hoping someone would ask for him yet, despite my excitement I feel like I'm going to disappoint the Arima likers and dislikers twain, but no matter.

Mood for this entire thing: Screaming.

Behold the most horrendous thing I’ve ever written.

How I feel about this character: all caps warning for about a paragraph bellow the first sentence.

Places him in a shoebox with no notable amount of affection nor violence, simply acceptance that this is where he belongs.

THIS IS A MAN THAT SLEEPS WITH BLANK, WHITE SOCKS ON IN THE MOST NEUTRAL, BORING NIGHTCLOTHES YOU’VE EVER SEEN. AS A CHILD ANY POTENTIAL EXTRAVAGANT FASHION TASTES WERE FORCEFULLY SUCKED OUT AND ABSORBED BY SOUTA LIKE A BLACK HOLE OF REPRESSED HOMOSEXUALITY AND TOXIC MASCULINITY, AND THE SCRAPS OF ANYTHING BARELY NOTICEABLE LEFT BEHIND WERE TAKEN BY RIZE TO MAKE THAT LOVELY DRESS. HIS UNIQUE HAIR COLORS ARE A GIFT OF PITY FROM GOD BECAUSE OTHERWISE HE WOULD BE SO TERRIBLY NON-DESCRIPT THAT ABSOLUTELY NO ONE COULD RECOGNIZE HIM, EVEN IF THEY’D KNOWN HIM FOR YEARS. HIS FACE AND CLOTHING ARE TOO NEUTRAL TO BE IDENTIFIED BY THE MOST ADVANCED AI. GOODNIGHT. Okay. Now that I’ve cleared up the feral screaming, funny story. I don’t know if I’ve ever detailed my terrible facial blindness here (probably not, it’s not a crucial detail about myself) but that applies to fictional characters as well. Things like moles, hairstyles, clothing, and speaking mannerisms are lifesavers. I do genuinely believe him to be a very neutral looking character, but half the reason for my rant above was the fact that I kept wondering “Why is Kaneki fighting himself” for 2 pages of the end of the first manga, and did not recognize him as the same guy for a truly unfortunate number of chapters in the second despite moving on to :re very quickly after finishing the first tg. Then I thought he and tatara were the same person for a while. It was bad. And I don’t know why the glasses didn’t mark out SOMETHING for me, I think I’m just too used to seeing them on and off faces at different times that it just… didn’t register? But I really don’t have any good justification for it.

I don’t understand why some people hate him so violently but at the same time his adult version falls into the “a guy” category for me. Had his moments, but I definitely could’ve found more constructed sympathy for his plight had the story not been so afraid of allowing the reader to be bored by focusing on someone else that it wasn’t constantly bashing me over the head with “but don’t you care about how KANEKI is affected by this?!?” No actually I don’t, because I understand him well enough from the last hundred-something chapters that have revolved around this guy to have a good idea of what’s going on inside his head. Arima remains a mystery, his choice to put the responsibility of the fate of this all on Kaneki instead of someone else when he passes or trying to tough out his inevitable fate up to interpretation, and I think that’s a portion of the reason he’s passionately disliked by a large portion of the fandom. This is all speculations of a madman, but from my point of view his mistreatment of Haise/Kaneki/Whatever, while ultimately motivated by the desire to exploit, wasn’t the byproduct of explicit malevolence, but rather in that aching pattern of every garden child, say it with me folks, being afraid to/not knowing how to healthily love, or even care about a person in a genuine way that doesn’t end up hurting both people involved. He did care about Kaneki, but first and foremost he felt a responsibility to use him. Tangent to more general and less Arima-focused thoughts, this isn’t to say that writing a character in a way that leaves things up to imagination is a bad thing in writing. In fact, I really enjoy taking the broken pieces of a puzzle and attaching them together into an image of my own liking after being left with little to work with (Hi Shikorae), but the thing about Tokyo Ghoul is that this is the case for a lot of characters. It’s the inverse of the Arcane (the show not the game) problem, instead of every side character being so deeply fleshed out when they don’t always need to be, the vast majority of side characters are left to interpretation though some of them logically shouldn’t, we could’ve been given a little more to work with… maybe. I’ll never know if this is just my sadness over the lack of content for my own favorites when I speak like this but still, I feel like every character I’m attached to is left in this awkward “almost works perfectly but not quite” area as a byproduct of lack of attention, whereas Kaneki does the same but as a byproduct of too much (Juuzou lives in the middle ground good for him). I am filled with righteous fury that is only quelled by unending love for this story, somebody sedate me.

Not the worst option for “One-Eyed King” placeholder but I’m not even going to pretend I understand the why of it enough to criticize or praise. I don’t think it was necessary if the One-Eyed King was more of a symbolic concept of revolution than a person to begin with but honestly I could just be missing content. Such a cool name for something that seems ultimately underutilized, but I do like the note of Arima being unknown as the One-Eyed King when, similarly, unlike his brother’s, his revolution is a quiet, bitter and clever thing that takes years instead of equally clever but flashy, impossible to ignore. I could ramble for hours on the dichotomy of their plans to take down the circumstances and system of the origin, the merit of taking things down from the inside out and planning for the generation to come, vs. screaming the injustices of the world in everyone’s face, making a mockery of it all until you can’t look away because it’s always been everywhere but now you can see it too. How unfortunate the conclusion of their plans both ended up in the hands of Kaneki to execute, by design or otherwise.

Oh hey back to my issues with the lack of focus, those were almost completely gone with Jack! I love Jack-Arima and half of the reason for it is his dynamic with Fura. I live for the extremely controlled, calm, quiet, powerful and intelligent yet isolated Arima being temporarily pulled out of his almost machine-like world by the aimless yet fun-loving Taishi, who in turn learns what it means to be striving to protect something, and what it means to take a life. My qualm with it? I wish it was longer. It would’ve hurt even more to know he had to live the rest of his short life pressed back into a stifling role if he actually got to learn, even briefly, what it means to live normally. But, something something in order to know how to love you must be loved, the world didn’t raise him right and even that small period of time would have thrown a ripple in the chain of events that led to his choices and bad father figure role. Even so I like to imagine he looks back on those few weeks where he got to try to “live normally” (even if it trailed right back to ghoul extermination) with fondness.

Anyways to summarize Arima is another one of those characters I am choosing to be oh so normal about. I say choosing but I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. Just a guy, but in a way that makes me want to pelt him with beanbags affectionately. It’s funny how little and how much I care about him simultaneously. The disjunction of man, am I right?

Any/all the people I ship romantically with this character: And thus the disappointment of everyone commences. Congratulations on being the first person to pick a character I actually have opinions on. I see the arieto in your icon, you’re so right for that, but I flip between seeing eto as aro or shipping her with Itori, Rize, or both, and I want everyone to die alone unless it’s tragic, witnessed, unpreventable or caused by themselves, seeing their lover in their final moments is not a kindness to either but a cruelty. Hello, yes vashwood and lawlight did shape me fundamentally, and I am the world’s most spiteful creature, a russian nesting doll of mutually assured destruction. Anyways I especially want Arima to die alone, besides Kaneki, unloved with that as an exception and staring the one child who latched on to him and hoped for so much in the eyes with the guilt of knowing “I did this to him and because of me there’s a good chance he will get worse from here on out.” Arieto is a hilarious pairing conceptually and personality wise, and outside of a canon universe I can absolutely get on board, the hijinks would be legendary, but in-universe? Eto’s LEAGUES too good for you Arima. Love you, but you could stand to suffer some more.

Oh also I’m not quite sure if I ship them but Arima and Fura kind of have the energy of guys who kissed once in highschool and have adapted the mentality of “if I don’t talk about it, it didn’t happen.” But they do think about it. So maybe I ship them in the Jack era for 5 minutes of poor judgement, teenage-ness, and the intrinsic desire to make that rivalry homoerotic, and then I’m just here for the bisexual denial.

My favorite non-romantic relationship for this character: H a i s e that is his son and he does not know how to raise him and I can’t even say he’s really trying but he’s definitely there and just. Oh I wish he knew how to lead a normal life. Also Furuta, they never met in the parts of the story we’re shown, and they don’t particularly need to for me, but just conceptually they’re such fascinating foils. Living manifestations about everything I love and hate in the non-protagonists of Tokyo Ghoul, they should both burn. The most siblings to ever not sibling.

My unpopular opinion about this character: I don’t care what power scaling this universe gives us and how far up on it they place him. I could beat up this old man in a fight. I COULD. I WILL. I’M GOING TO KICK HIM DOWN A FLIGHT OF STAIRS, WITNESS AND REVEL IN MY SPECTACLE. Also he has no charisma. None. He’s strong and intelligent, that is all he has going for him. And some nice hips but you didn’t hear that from me.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon: The realization. Some kind of spinoff that further detailed the schemes and functions of his collaboration with Eto behind the scenes. Give me the forbidden one-eyed monarchs, not their narrative child.

Favorite friendship for this character: Oh… the potential of Kureo being a healthy mentor figure (if you don’t elaborate enough on what happened with him teaching arima about quinques, I will assume the best for today), Akira (take notes on how to parent, Arima), Fura (but particularly the potential of them growing more distant and formal over the years as Arima is absorbed by his work and quiet aspirations.)

My crossover ship: I don’t have one so I’ll just note that I listened to “The Way It Ends” from the Death Note musical for most of this and by god I have never felt so cringe.

Oh wait actually Elendira the Crimsonnail but just the Trimax version obviously. Trans queen.

#kishou arima #Dear god what have I created and what compelled me #I swear I don't hate Kaneki I just hate the writing. Kaneki is a very nice boy and though I do want him to die alone as well #he can be happy if he wants to.#tokyo ghoul #mediocre art #miscellaneous not-art things #technically it is art but it's not art centric alright.#zeph answers questions about media/characters/ships

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little-peril-stories · 1 year ago

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2024

It's the time of year where many of us think about the future and what's to come. I don't really do New Year's resolutions, and I've never done a real list of goals before. But as I'm thinking about what 2024 will bring, I'm feeling for the first time the desire to lay out my goals - or, at the very least, create a to-do list.

It might be interesting to see how much I overestimated my ability to get stuff done next year. 😅

No pressure to read this, it's largely for myself!

The Queen of Lies

Continue posting semi-regularly. Given the way the first half of the school year has gone, I figure that's probably the best I can do.

Rewrite Act 3. I'm actually so excited for this, and it's all planned out! But it's still not written, even if a lot of the juicy dialogue is sandwiched between bullet points of what happens.

Edit it...eventually. Perhaps in the latter half of the year. Or perhaps that's a 2025 job. Who knows?

angsty heist wip

Reveal the title. Coming sooner than you think.

Post the WIP intro early. TPOT's came when it was about half posted, and TQOL's came only a day before Chapter 1. I think I'll mix it up for angsty heist wip. Nobody peek on my drafts and see how long the wip intro has been chilling there. 😅

FINISH WRITING THIS DAMN BOOK. It's just got to happen. I've hit 2/4 POV character's midpoints, and the delicious confrontation/finale still needs to be written. It's all the good stuff!

Figure out posting plans. It's not coming until TQOL is done, so this is a very vague and fluid goal.

Book 1

Review beta feedback thoroughly.

Make a concrete plan for what I actually want to change and what I don't.

Apply feedback.

Reread and edit for typos/little things.

Do a second beta round.

Start preparing query materials in earnest.

Book 2

lol. start it again? postpone to 2025? who knows. low priority.

The Prince of Thieves -- the journey to self-publishing

Okay, real talk: the list below is long. I've never done any of this before, so I have NO clue of what's realistic and what's not. Is all of this possible in the year 2024? Maybe not. Is that okay? It's gonna have to be! The point of it isn't to marry myself to this list or else I've FAILED, but to have a clear idea of what commonly needs to be done in order to self-publish a novel. If some of the stuff doesn't happen, well, so be it! I’m also quite aware that the list below is not exhaustive. There are probably a million things I haven’t thought of!!

DONE - ISBN account made and approved

DONE - decide on pen name. Finally!

Beta stuff! Send it off, wait for feedback, review feedback, and then apply it. I'm almost there.

Attempt cover design. I am 73% confident in my ability to do it well. With an artist AND a graphic designer/marketer in my family, I think I've got a team who can help me with the technical/Photoshop stuff.

Hire cover designer if failure. (Definitely a possibility.)

Decide on book format/interior design elements. Pretty confident I can do this myself. 96% sure.

Make an author website. For realsies. (aaahhhhhhhhh)

Increase social media presence. Try not to cry about the existence of TikTok. Try not to get in my own head about this. The truth is the thought kind of makes my skin crawl but I also understand how it is is pretty much a necessity.

Learn marketing and create a marketing plan. I got this. probably. maybe. ennnhhhh.

Consider character/scene art commissions. I am uncertain about this one. Finances will determine whether this happens or not.

Cry a lot and be okay with that. I think I'm going to struggle a lot with this whole process. And you know what? That's all right. I will learn a lot. And even if it's scary...well, that will make it all the more rewarding in the end. 💕

#lps the prince of thieves #lps the queen of lies #wip: angsty heist project #2024 goals #2024 writing goals #lps the court of rogues

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dvudushnydiaries · 2 years ago

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Efficiently Reading, Researching, and Approaching Academia

❈ Making Academic Texts Less Daunting ❈

One of the largest issues regarding accessibility in academic spaces is the daunting nature of a lot of academic works, whether they're books, dissertations, or articles. This is usually caused by academic jargon, nightmarishly long run-on sentences, and sometimes the writing is just plain dense.

This first lesson will be some tips and tricks for making reading academic texts more digestible!

First and foremost, getting to the point matters, understanding the theme, argument, thesis, what-have-you will make everything else make sense. In order to do this, you will want to read three things, that are usually signposted or labelled within a text: the abstract, the introduction, and the conclusion. This is also a good trick to get the gist of a text if you have to read in a rush and don't need to use citations.

What Do These Components Tell You? ❈ The Abstract - An abstract is basically a summary of the entire paper or text, this will tell you the thesis, maybe some points of data, and the conclusion reached by the author ❈ The Introduction - The introduction will provide a more detailed thesis and will detail what theories or interpretations are being used in the paper. In some cases they may also provide historic or cultural contexts for an argument or point. ❈ The Conclusion - The conclusion will provide the finishing points of the text, it will touch on key points of information or debate, explain what this thesis or proven point means for the understanding of the event, item, site, etc. that is being written about.

All in all, these three points in a text will give you an overview of the purpose of the text, and typically these sections don't get too heavily muddled down in academic lingo, which makes them more accessible to a broader base of readers. You don't always need a detailed understanding, sometimes just getting the point is enough.

Taking Notes

Whether you're reading something for applying it to your own writings or just to consume information, annotate the shit out of it. It doesn't matter if you're writing on a digital copy of the text, writing as you read on a separate notepad, or if you print out an article and write your notes on that. Just! Take! Notes!

The purpose of this is to help you process your thoughts, make note of what interests or confuses you, and, in the case that you are writing something that needs citations, prevents plagiarism. Use whatever format (color coding, highlighting, etc.) that works for you, what matters is the act of taking notes will encourage you to be an active reader rather than eventually falling into passive reading (if you notice yourself falling into this, take a break! Your brain needs rest.)

Here are two examples of how I take notes, one is for a chapter I had to read for a discussion, the other is how I take notes for papers and publications: Discussion-focused notes in The Oxford Handbook for The Bronze Age Aegean

Information gathering notes for a paper on the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion, text used written in print at top

Finding Sources There are many ways to find sources on a topic no matter the level of obscurity: ❈ Wikipedia - you really don't want to cite Wikipedia as a source, scrolling down to the sources/bibliography section at the bottom can give you a jumping off point. Usually full citations are given and sometimes the text/article in question is linked

❈ Google Scholar - I generally don't consider this the strongest search engine because it's difficult to narrow down by topic, discipline, etc. but it works in a pinch!

❈ JSTOR - A step above Google Scholar and it does allow stuff with a free membership, but you can also get further access with a paid membership or institutional access

❈ EBSCO - definitely has a learning curve but it has a large pool of information to pull from. The biggest downside is you usually can't download content. It has a different site for free content and content available for purchase or via institutional access.

❈ WorldCat - while it usually doesn't have the source itself accessible on the site, WorldCat will tell you where you can find what you're looking for and sometimes offers the ability to contact whoever is nearest to you that has the text

❈ Public Libraries - while public libraries are generally focused on non-research-based use, librarians are trained in research assistance and public libraries generally have access to inter-library loans (ILL) and can likely get books for you without needing you to travel far to get them

❈ Research Libraries - the biggest downside to many academic libraries is that you need to pay to access, however, if you can access them, they are typically more research-oriented than a public library and will often have specialists in certain subjects available to assist. An exception to the "paid" rule are usually state or federal libraries, such as the Library of Congress.

❈ Reaching Out To The Author Directly - with most journal publications, authors don't see a dime. If you can't pay for access, you can usually find the email of the author on an institution website and you can reach out to them there! It never hurts to ask.

Organizing Your Sources

Whether you have a stack of physical books, a long list of downloads, or links to sources, you’re going to want a way to organize them. Here are some ideas: ❈ Zotero - Zotero is a free app and browser extension that can file, organize, and even provide details about the sources you use. I really recommend this if you’re in an academic environment or need to cite sources a lot because one of its functions is that it will automatically cite sources and create bibliography in any format you choose. It functions both in the cloud and on a desktop/hard drive. ❈Google Drive - straightforward and simple to set up, all you have to do is upload files, organize them into as many folders as you please and go. However there are two downsides to Google Drive: They have a limit to the amount of storage you can use before you have to pay & if your sources are from a questionable site or may violate copyright, Google has the ability to remove those files permanently. ❈ CollaNote - CollaNote is a great, free app for storing notes and PDFs that also allows you to write on/annotate said files. It’s biggest downside is that it is iOS only and it’s cloud feature is kind of finicky. ❈ Discord - if you’re a professional Giant Nerd like me, having a personal discord server to sort and upload your sources is great! However, similar to Google Drive, there are file upload limits and Discord has the ability to remove material that violates copyright. ❈ OneNote - similar to CollaNote, OneNote allows you to upload PDFs so you can take notes on them and it is supported across devices. However, Microsoft office can be expensive to pay for. ❈ Your Trusty Computer/Flashdrive - There’s always the old fashioned route of storing your sources in folders on your hard or flash drive. Downside is flash drives are expensive and if your computer goes kaput, you will likely lose work. Make sure to have a cloud backup if you use this method!

Source Vetting

Sometimes vetting sources can be easy, other times it can be a massive pain for a range of reasons.

A good, general test to abide by is the CRAAP test:

Currency Relevance Authority Accuracy Purpose

A more detailed set of prompts to apply with the CRAAP test is available here: https://researchguides.njit.edu/evaluate/CRAAP

What If The CRAAP Test Doesn’t Work or I Don’t Know Have Enough Context for It To Work?

❈ Use Common Sense - does the information sound plausible? Does it make sense?

❈ Triangulate your Sources look at other sources regarding the topic. Do they say something similar? Do they acknowledge the information presented by the source you’re using?

❈ Investigate Credentials just having “PhD” at the end of a name does not a good source make. See what the author(s) credentials are. Are their credentials openly listed? Did they receive them from an accredited institution? Consider what group published the source. Was it a blog site or was it an academic publisher? Is the source peer reviewed or sent out as is?

❈ Look For Citations does the author or creator cite their information? Do they describe a body of work that they either gathered themselves or did research into? Are they transparent about their sources? Are they able to admit to gaps in their knowledge or accessible data or do they just fill it in?

#paganism #witchcraft #academia #acessibility #divchato z lisa #archaeology #classics

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night-garden-fic · 1 year ago

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Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

(Read on AO3)

"But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?"

Chapter Two: The Pressed Leaf of the Past

Russell never really understood why having read every book in the Library should be seen as something so remarkable.

After all, he was a lifelong avid reader, and lived in the building besides. To him, having read everything was a simple inevitability. It was a large number of books, true. But the collection wasn't limitless, and his appetite for words was—or at least felt, to him—approximately so. All things considered, it didn't take him very long to burn through the entire backlog.

Indeed, "burning through" was an apt description for his reading habits in those lonely early days in Kardia.

Russell had arrived in town a stranger and a fugitive; war-battered and disgraced, with little respite for his mind outside the comforting familiarity of ink on paper. Dazed and half-shattered, he found himself falling into the pages harder than ever before, the agonized weeks and months passing by in a hectic, ink-scribbled blur.

It wasn't until he was finally somewhat ready to integrate into village life that Russell realized he really had read everything there was to read, sometimes twice over. And, knowing no other way to live, he kept up the habit even as his mind began to settle; reading every book that came his way, and returning to his old favorites for the third, forth, or fifth time over. It remained a precious escape from past and self when he found he still needed one, and served as the ultimate fulfillment of a dear old dream.

And of course, on a more practical level, it also helped him keep up with the slow, steady trickle of new material. Having at least a broad familiarity with all the books and their contents, Russell figured, was an essential part of the job. And, given his passing interest in nearly everything, it was probably the part of the job that he relished most of all.

But all people have their preferences, and he was no exception.

If one knew Russell well enough, it was probably less surprising to learn that he had read every book in the Library than it was to find out that there were some—indeed, many—that he hadn't particularly enjoyed. It was something of a source of guilt for him, but it was nonetheless true.

The most obvious examples were technical manuals concerning advanced, unfamiliar trades, which he generally found inscrutable, and often merely skimmed.

Then there were the romantic stories written for a juvenile—or perhaps excessively timid—audience; the kind that always conveniently ended before anyone got up to anything interesting, leaving Russell feeling cranky and unsatisfied as he wondered, for the hundredth time, if he should just start skipping these. Each one seemed identical to all the others, and no one but Tori ever seemed all that interested in checking them out.

But, if given a choice, Russell knew he would rather read a thousand carpentry texts and a million treacly chaste romances than a single tome of military history.

In his youth, he'd found it as dry and esoteric as the most complex of those vexing manuals, and could never quite create a picture in his mind of what was supposed to be happening. Surely, there was some coherent story to be found, behind all those far-away dates and names and landmarks. But, try as he might, he could never get it to emerge.

And, if it was bad then, it had somehow become even worse.

Back in those tumultuous early days of indiscriminately reading everything within arm's reach, Russell assumed having a bit of personal experience would help, but it never seemed to properly apply, leaving him more confused than ever. Though he now understood a bit of the jargon, he still found that these texts seemed to talk right past him; telling a story in which, even now, he seemed to have no real part.

It gave him the strange sensation of being flattened to nothing in those pages. Like a dry autumn leaf, carefully pressed and promptly forgotten, the blood-vibrant colors of his life slowly fading away

Still, Russell had read every book in the Library. And, inevitability or no, it had become something of a point of pride.

Just get through it, and you can read that nice big natural history encyclopedia you've been staring at.

A new shipment had arrived the previous week. And—confusing, unsettling, or otherwise—Russell couldn't just not read one of them. So, when he unearthed yet another ponderous volume on Norad's seemingly endless border conflicts, he figured he would just go ahead and read that one first, to get it over and done with.

Unfortunately, this was proving surprisingly difficult, mostly owing to the tome's recent publication.

For one thing, the spine was stiff, and Russell had to make an active effort just to keep it open in front of him. Of course, this got easier upon reaching the halfway point, but by then he was seeing descriptions of locations and practices that he actually recognized, which made his mind wander uncontrollably.

Why can't I put it all together?

(I remember everything.)

Just yesterday, he'd read the description of a certain ambush technique, and lost the better part of an hour staring into space, running through the procedure in his head; surviving, dying, surviving again, and only grudgingly allowing himself to move on once his mind finally stopped letting him live.

If you can't save yourself, have the sense to let it end.

There were several such incidents, and they all made Russell feel as though he'd never get through the damned thing. But still, as in most areas of life, he supposed he was making a stilted kind of progress. He only had a quarter of the book to go, and was back to having to pin it open; a welcome, immediate annoyance.

Having reached the end of another laborious page, Russell carefully flicked to the next, preparing himself for another dense and thorny, but mostly uneventful bramble of words he'd have to hack through.

Not five seconds later, he felt his hair standing on end with the realization that he'd found something else entirely.

This can't be history.

Russell's brain snapped in electric recognition; breath caught in lungs that still held a faint rattle, heart feeling like it could have beat its slick way out of his mouth.

At first, it was just an infantry number and a span of dates, somehow as strangely meaningless as any of the others. But the page also contained one of the volume's few illustrations.

It only took about a second to realize what, exactly, he was looking at.

(Tin cups. Mud puddles.)

(My grave.)

A scratchy woodcut reproduction of a photograph; one that he had never actually seen, though he could remember the day it was taken as though it were just last week. The kind of day that your mind holds onto not because it was particularly important, but more so because no other day had yet bothered to dethrone it.

Far right end of the second row from the bottom. It won't be hard to find. Just take a look.

Russell's eyes tracked across the page. And, sure enough, there he was, right where he'd left him: the vague image of his eighteen-year-old self. He stood at the very edge of the group, spaced slightly too far from the young man at his side and looking almost tacked on as an afterthought.

The expectation was that he would either feel either a deep crushing sorrow, or nothing at all. But, to his surprise, Russell actually found it slightly funny. The photograph had been a formal affair, with everyone standing at attention and holding the camera in a steely gaze. Meanwhile, that distant teenage Russell was, to all appearances, simply trying his best.

Gods, this poor kid.

He wore a round pair of glasses back then, and the glare on the thick lenses must have been such that the artist decided not to bother with his eyes at all, instead rendering the frames opaque. This gave him an unreadable, somewhat hollow look, which made him look even more out of place. And, upon closer inspection, his posture was slightly hunched, shoulders just a tad bit lopsided. That, he supposed, could have been the misery of his new life settling into his young, green bones.

Poor, poor kid.

(You wretched little killer.)

But no, Russell remembered that day well. He'd been assigned to help with digging a trench the day before, managed to tweak something in his back in the process, and simply couldn't handle standing up straight for as long as it took to get everyone in position and process the photograph.

Even now, over a dozen years later, he could feel it—if only vaguely—as he slumped at his desk. The weight of his tired spine worrying at that frayed cord, a reminder of everything else inside him that had been pulled to near-snapping over the years.

Despite it all, he had to laugh. It came out as an awkward, breathy bark, followed by a slight cough, but it was laughter all the same. Of course, the Library was nearly silent, and Russell had spent the last two hours sitting all but motionless, face set in a light scowl, so this drew the attention of the entire room.

Which, thankfully, was just Tori and Cecilia. And Lynette, he supposed, but she was stood against the far wall with a book propped in one hand—as was her way—and quickly decided that this didn't concern her.

(Doesn't it, though?)

His daughter and assistant, however, were a bit more curious. Tori looked up from the card catalog that she had been sorting through, nervously fiddling with the end of one long, yellow braid.

"...S-something funny?"

Russell laughed again, more quietly this time, and shook his head.

"Not really, I guess... Mostly just surprised. I'm... I'm in this book."

Tori tilted her head quizzically, and Cecilia craned her neck over the desk to get a better look. Russell beckoned Tori over, and moved the book aside so Ceclia could settle herself on his desk. He carefully held the pages open with one hand while gesturing at the image with the other.

"See the one on the end here? That's me."

Those two words, spoken aloud, turned to ash on Russell's tongue, drying his mouth and making his throat feel slightly constricted. He swallowed painfully, and watched as they took him in; the bad posture, the bad glasses, the daydreamy, serious face.

A face that, he began to realize, hadn't changed much in all these years.

It was starkly recognizable, even in this miniscule, ink-lined state. This was the face that still met him every day in the mirror; though by now it had grown into itself a bit, and there were a few faint lines coming in around the eyes, breaking up the general blankness.

Surprisingly, Tori was the first to speak up.

"You l-look smaller..."

Russell shrugged.

"Well, there's a lot of us in one picture, so I guess we all do. But I wasn't quite done growing until I was twenty, so you're probably right."

Cecilia placed her own small hand next to her father's, leaning in for a better look.

"What were you all doing?"

What, indeed?

"We... Well... I had to fight in a war for a while. It was before you were born. I guess they wanted a picture of everyone, in case someone wrote a book like this someday."

Russell supposed that was technically true enough, and hoped she wouldn't press much farther. Suddenly, it occurred to him—with some mild shock—that this was the first time they'd ever discussed his past. Somehow, it just hadn't come up.

And who made sure of that, hmm?

Cecilia studied the image for a moment more, then tilted her face towards him.

"Were you scared?"

Another hard, painful swallow. Russell had to clear his throat before he could continue.

"Sometimes I was. It could get scary."

Cecilia looked grave for a moment, then smiled.

"You were brave."

That had nothing to do with it.

Russell forced a smile of his own.

"I think I mostly felt tired... I like being here with you a lot more."

Somewhat awkwardly, with his one free arm, he pulled his daughter into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulder for a moment, then hoisted herself off the desk and scampered off to the remainder of her carefree afternoon.

Sweet girl. You're braver.

(You don't even know.)

"...Gods, those uniforms are like street clothes."

Lynette seemed to be curious after all, and had joined Tori in hovering over the desk, regarding the image inquisitively with a single crimson eye. Russell startled slightly when she spoke, gathering himself a bit before he could reply.

"Yeah... They weren't great. We had some other gear to layer on for active combat, but it probably wasn't much better."

He didn't know why he felt the need to explain this to Lynette, of all people, because she certainly already knew. Still, there was a slight disbelieving note in her voice.

"...I frankly don't know how any of you are still alive."

Well, for starters, a lot of us aren't.

Russell readjusted himself in his seat. His clothes were sitting funny across his chest, the friction causing faint pins and needles. Still, he let out another small laugh.

"I got lucky, I guess."

That I did.

By way of reply, his chest ached.

Did you? Really?

~*~

Russell always found it funny how, even when you considered the obvious, the easiest way to tell that Cecilia and himself weren't blood relations would be to watch both of them try to go to sleep.

Specifically, the way Cecilia never had to try.

That night, as was their routine, he'd read her one of her favorite picture books; this time the one about an old tree in an even older forest, and how it gave life to all the birds and insects living in its leaves, wood, and branches, and the worms in the soil at the roots. She kept herself awake just long enough for him to finish that familiar tale, then seemingly turned off her little body and mind like twin lamps as soon as he turned the last page.

"Goodnight, Ceci."

He kissed the crown of her head, then lay there in her small bed for a few moments, legs hanging awkwardly off the mattress, listening to her quiet breathing. In the dim light of the room, he took in all the chaotic flotsam of his daughter's messy, miniature life. The stones on the headboard, the feathers sticking out of an old jam jar on the nightstand, and the colorful crayon drawings that already papered the folding divider they'd installed in their shared room just a day before.

Perhaps Cecilia's restfulness was contagious. Maybe her body contained some naive wisdom that his tense, overgrown form could learn from.

But, of course, there was no such luck. Russell stumbled to bed, crawled under his own covers, and began the nightly waiting game.

On the good nights, an hour or two of reading would be enough to lull him into a shallow but reasonably refreshing sleep. A sleep that, by its very shallowness, would remain dreamless and blank.

Somehow, as soon as he'd extinguished the lamp, Russell knew that this would not be a good night.

I guess I should have figured.

The previous night hadn't been very good, either. And nor—at least when it came to sleep—had the night before that; lying awake and bruised in Lady Ann's soft bed, watching the falling snow through the window. And neither, come to think of it, had the night before that.

If he kept on looking back and back, Russell could follow this span of bad nights for weeks, spooling out beyond the horizon of recent memory.

And now he had a new addition to the torrent of images that flooded his mind the instant he closed his eyes: the younger self, rendered rather carelessly in stark, black ink.

It's not even the real picture.

Russell wondered why the artist—who surely could have taken liberties if they'd wished—had bothered to include his crooked posture. It was subtle enough to ignore, and surely, it would have been easier to just render everyone the same, as that had been the goal in the first place. But no, there it was, the time he injured himself while clumsily shoveling mud in a trench, forever immortalized in print.

Just as it was, he remembered again, in his own body. The subtle ache in the tendon was bothering him, and he shifted again, trying to get comfortable.

It's never going to be over, you know.

It already is. It's literally in a history book. I need to sleep.

Arguing with himself, Russell knew from experience, never got him anywhere good. But what else did he have to do, lying there alone in the dark?

You're okay. It's just been a rough year.

Russell blinked hard, and more pictures rose to the surface to replace that bespectacled boy, frozen in ink.

Cecilia, lost in the volcanic depths of a cave, terrified and alone. Himself, sitting in the dirt at the cave's mouth, mentally brutalizing himself for not being the one to go in and save her, for being such a poor caretaker that this even happened in the first place.

For scooping her up off that battlefield, just to walk her straight into other dangers.

No, she walked there herself.

(She's too brave for her own good, is all.)

Time had already ground a few sharp edges off the whole incident. But, deep down, Russell still blamed himself. Still woke from nightmares of a small girl's keening screams, of walking into pillars of fire.

You've been keeping a better eye on her lately. She'll be okay.

Will I be, though?

As usual, Russell couldn't give himself an honest answer. Especially not from where he was right then, cold and alone in the dead of night.

...Not if you don't sleep.

Then I guess I won't be. Who the hell can sleep like this?

Almost reflexively, He thought of Sabrina.

The warmth of her body next to his own, and the silly conversations she would distract him with when he was too wound up to sleep. Her hands, which never seemed to sense the contamination he could feel coming off himself in waves.

And how almost surreal it seemed when she and Neumann reconciled that spring, seemingly out of the blue.

Russell was happy for her, but had to admit it took the wind out of him.

In truth, he wasn't even sure why. They had only been exclusive for a few months, before which Sabrina and Lady Ann had been content to amicably pass him back and forth, with no hard feelings or jealousy that he could ascertain. Hell, for all he knew, they were messing around with each other in addition to him. But that was one of the many, many things that just seemed to never come up.

No hard feelings or jealousy from me now, either.

They remained close friends, as they had been since not long after Sabrina first arrived in Kardia. And she seemed genuinely happy, which was all Russell could reasonably ask for. But it had been an adjustment, and after the whole mess with Cecilia had taken so much out of him...

(I almost lost my mind.)

...Well, his capacity to adjust was a bit compromised, to say the least. Every empty bed seemed emptier, every lonely night seemed lonelier, and every unspoken fear threatened to physically corrode him from the inside.

And so, when the tanks rolled in with the summer, was it any wonder that Russell felt fully prepared to face them head-on himself?

~*~

It was an unseasonably hot, dusty-bright, uncanny afternoon, when the worst finally happened.

For months, there had been an escalating whisper of siege and invasion that kept Russell steely-spined and frightened; painfully alert by day and restlessly wakeful by night, nerves crackling and ready for danger. At first, it was only hearsay and rumor, which he couldn't fully believe.

Told himself, again and again, that he wouldn't believe.

But even so, whatever was left of the soldier within him still knew it was best to be prepared.

Having spent so long trying to silence that malignant sliver of self for the good of the whole, the only thing Russell had ever been entirely unprepared for was the day when the paranoid whisper in the back of his mind finally spoke the truth.

There were tanks lining up on the edge of town.

And, when he began to hear the distant, familiar grind of heavy treads on gravel, he knew exactly what he had to do.

With that brave young warrior-farmer down in the thick of things, there was no one left but Russell to defend the heart of the village. It was all on him, and he was more ready to die for the cause than he had ever been in his soldiering days. This wasn't some abstract fight for honor and country. This was for his home, his neighbors, his daughter's future.

What was his life, really, in the face of all that?

Once he had made up his mind, Russell moved quickly. He raided Leo's empty shop, borrowing a dull old sword, an ill-fitting iron chestplate, and a dented helmet with a creaky face guard. Having outfitted himself as best he could in other people's damaged gear, he ran down to Raguna's field and grabbed as many fist-sized stones as he could carry.

He knew well that it wasn't enough, but it was what he had. There was nothing left but to station himself under the first arch of the main road, and wait.

Sabrina tried to reason with him, tried to get him to abandon his self-appointed post and shelter in the sturdy stone cellar of the de Sainte-Coquille manor with her and all the others. She reminded him of Cecilia, and Edward, and herself, and all he had to live for. Cool and numb, as though he had just broken through the splintered surface of a frozen lake, Russell could only explain that he was thinking of Cecilia.

"What else do I have to fight for?"

Realizing that reason was getting her nowhere, Sabrina grabbed Russell by the wrist and started pulling; screaming at him that he was insane, that he would die, that there was nothing to prove here. She was surprisingly strong for her size, and definitely the more athletic of the two, but Russell had received a good deal of formal training in how to plant his feet and hold his ground. He wouldn't budge, and eventually Neumann took Sabrina's hand, shouting many of the same words that she had just been shouting at Russell.

And then they were gone; dragging a sobbing Cecilia with them, leaving Russell alone to meet thirty tons of steel with a tarnished sword and a pile of stones.

For a moment, he thought Camus might assist him. The sturdy young farmer ran down the lane with his builder's hammer in hand, clearly filled with adrenaline and ready to see some action. Russell couldn't understand his mindset, but was grateful to have some help.

That is, until Edward realized what was going on and burst out of the Clinic in a fury.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

"I'm not just gonna let them destroy us!"

"You can't fight a tank with a hammer, Camus! You need to go and shelter with the others!"

"You're staying behind!"

"There's a difference! I have to stay at the Clinic in case someone gets hurt! You don't have to fight some machine that can crush you in an instant!"

"Russell's gonna fight!"

"Russell is crazy!"

Not yet crazy enough to begin insisting that he wasn't, Russell simply watched their argument with half-hearted interest.

And then Edward—a strong man in his own right—grabbed his strapping son by the collar and began dragging him towards the manor. For a moment, he looked at Russell as though he wanted to grab and drag him, too. But he must have thought better of it, for he quickly turned and left, with a protesting Camus in tow.

Edward, after all, only had one free hand. Russell was armed, driven, and—yes, perhaps—crazy.

One would have better luck fighting a tank with a hammer.

Or with some stones and a rusty sword.

Alone.

Alone, boiling under the unforgiving summer sun, the borrowed armor hanging loose and crooked around his frame and digging heavily into his shoulders, Russell spent the better part of a day standing at attention in that first archway. With everyone else in hiding, Kardia was deathly still, and he found he could hear nothing but the far-away rumble of tanks and the ringing clatter of his own thoughts.

Mostly, he thought of Cecilia, and wished he had thought to bring a pen and paper, to write her a proper goodbye before he was ground to nothing where he stood. He wondered how it would feel to be broken under those heavy treads, almost grateful that the fate he'd run from had finally found him.

It was a chance to get it right.

Russell wouldn't run. Not this time.

He would stand tall. He would do his best.

And yes, he would be brave.

Then, hopefully, it would all be quick.

Though the plan was to hold his ground until the very last, for Cecilia and everyone else, Russell had—just as he had countless times before, during the fighting years—already accepted the likely outcome.

And, same as before, the end never actually came.

Raguna and Ivan, it turned out, had worked some strange Draconic miracle, and the tanks were stalled in place, held to the Earth with sturdy vines and roots. There would be no invasion. There would be no destruction. Kardia would hold strong, with or without Russell and his pile of stones.

Utterly exhausted, nerves fried from too many hours on the brink, he felt his legs give out beneath him and fell to his knees on the cobbles.

A minute or an hour later, Sabrina and Cecilia returned, embracing him right there in the street.

Russell knew they were speaking to him, a frenetic stream of teary gratitude, but he could hardly hear them over the empty roar of his white-noise mind. They held him tight, but he still felt himself drifting backward, staring at the horizon for so long that he too felt collapsed into a flat, distant line. Eventually, Edward emerged from the Clinic and helped him to his feet. Russell nodded a weak thank-you, then staggered numbly into the Library.

I guess it happened again.

Once more, Russell was left to face the sort of world he could never imagine.

A world where the horror had passed, but he somehow had to keep on living.

~*~

My eyes blink open to the loathsome summer sun, and I realize how ridiculous I'd been, in thinking it had all ended so neatly.

That was no miracle.

It was only a dream.

And I'm an awful soldier, falling asleep on my feet like that.

But then again, I was always an awful soldier, wasn't I?

(All those lives you cut down, and for what?)

I tell myself that I still have time to be better, if only by dying an honorable death. The tanks rumble in the distance. Terrable circles overhead. I wait; though whether it's for a miracle or a catastrophe, I can't be sure.

I wait only, perhaps, to be needed.

I wait, always, for it all to be over, whatever that may mean.

And then a munition whizzes up from behind the distant treetops, knocking the great Native Dragon from the sky. The ground shakes. Trees crack. The world is thrown off-balance.

(It really is on you now, isn't it?)

I adjust the armor to stop its painful digging into my hips, get a better grip on the sword, and take up a stone. I listen as the rumbling grows closer.

I wait.

The sun overheats my brain inside the helmet, and I suddenly remember that something isn't right here. I shouldn't be hot. I should be freezing. But maybe I'm just thinking of my years in the trenches; which, in my mind, seemed to take place in a perpetual winter.

(But surely, even then, it must have been summer at least some of the time?)

(I try not to remember.)

Luckily, I don't have time.

The tanks emerge from the treeline and crash through the farm. I plant my feet wide apart and square my shoulders. I hurl my stone, and my aim is true. It glances off the helmet of the unfortunate helmsman, but the impact still rung his bell pretty good, and I watch him slump forward in his seat, unconscious or dead.

Then the tank keeps on rolling, and I realize the horrible truth.

He was never in control.

Neither was I.

This machine was always going to crush me.

So I drop my sword and let it happen.

(It's only more waiting. You can do this.)

(I'm sorry, Cecilia. I never had a choice.)

Mercifully, I don't have to wait very long.

The steel behemoth barrels toward and over me, making its vile destructive way into the town beyond. I failed. I was always going to fail.

This was how it was supposed to end, and I was a fool for thinking I could ever escape.

(It's okay. Just as long as she can.)

At least the chestpiece isn't hanging on me anymore. The pressure of the treads crumpled it into my body, drove jagged dented metal into my collapsed ribs. I can't take a breath, and I guess that's fine. I don't have much use for air anymore.

(It's over. Finally.)

And that's all I can think: "finally."

Until, that is, I start wondering why I still have an intact head to think with at all.

~*~

Russell woke with a start, hands flying over his ribcage in a panic.

You're all right. It was just another stupid dream. Calm down.

His chest was certainly a site of some genuine distress—lungs heavy with congestion, rib muscles achey from the persistent nighttime cough that had bothered him since autumn, scarred nerves sizzling in the wake of his hasty exam—but it was a far cry from the wreck of twisted metal and pulverized bone his half-dreaming mind had lead him to expect.

Relieved, Russell sat up, coughed heavily, then collapsed back on the pillows. He wasn't ground to a pulp in the street. He was only right here; curled in a ball, blue moonlight, empty bed, daughter drifting peacefully on the other side of their divided room. The dream had exhausted him, but he was too afraid of a repeat performance to chance sleep again.

Not tonight, I guess. I give up.

Russell crawled out of bed and padded downstairs to the Library, where the thick book was still open face-down across his desk. He lit a candle, flipped it over, and stared into his own younger, obscured face. What, he wondered, would he tell him if he could?

First, he tried it Cecilia's way.

You're being so brave.

As before, it rang hollow. So he decided to try something else.

I know what you're going to do. Hell, I know what you've already done. You make me sick.

He tasted bile on the back of his tongue, felt his vision begin to shiver. For a moment, Russell felt as though he was about to pass out from sheer white-hot rage, and was indeed so exhausted that it would have been welcome.

Suddenly, a third thought; another message trying to propel itself across time, to leap into the illustration as through a magic portal.

I know you're tired.

Somewhere—perhaps buried in his own flesh, like a shard of jagged shrapnel—that lost boy must have heard, because Russell was overcome with something that felt too massive to name or express.

He lay his head down on the cool scarred wood of the desk, and silently wept until dawn.

#rune factory #rune factory 1 #rf1 russell

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alangdorf · 2 years ago

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Hi! This is a follow-up post to my kingdom hearts fic Ten Minutes Too Late that I’ve been meaning to make for several years at this point. Under the cut will be some rambling about why I stopped writing it (tl;dr: ADHD, predictably) and then I’ll explain what my future plans for the fic & its universe were and post what stuff I did have written up. I’m totally fine with it if anyone happens to want to use my ideas for their own work btw, I probably won’t be getting around to finishing it anytime soon if ever.

Oh also! BBS Tangled AU writeup is here; I won’t bother with the few snippets of writing I did cause they were all very short false starts.

(Note: I will probably not be making a similar post for my old Undertale au. It’s been too long for me to remember much and I don’t wanna go find my notes, also it’s just not that interesting. The main secret [the Frisk in the comic was from Jerky’s timeline] was guessed immediately anyways.)

The Writing Issue

Guh. So I’ve always been really bad at the act of writing. Results are usually decent, but trying to get myself to write anything that my brain isn’t just coming up with on its own is like pulling teeth. (Honestly it should’ve been a major indicator of my ADHD growing up, but I was the guinea pig oldest child and didn’t get diagnosed ‘til I got to college and the additional time management responsibilities - and writing assignments - pushed things into unmanageable territory.) I’m also an incorrigible perfectionist and rarely manage to force myself to push out first draft material I’m not happy with. Unfortunately this also applies to writing I do for fun, so I have to really really really be inspired to be able to write and even then it’s still often a struggle.

Since I have very little practice with writing, I also just have a large gap between my skill level and my taste, and overall I’m very conscious of issues in my past writing - jokes that are lame because I couldn’t think of anything funny, inconsistent characterizations, over-reliance on plot contrivances (I’m largely resistant to being bothered by contrivances but like it’s a LOT), too much angst and not enough other stuff to balance it out because the angst is all I can focus on, trying to tackle things I don’t have enough personal experience and/or knowledge of and/or tact to handle in a way I find satisfactory, etcetera. I always like my stuff quite a lot when I’m actually rereading it, but the bad bits are what stick in my mind, so it’s hard to even think about my writing without feeling really embarrassed (and meowing). Which makes it really hard to want to focus on writing more of TMTL. Though I also just haven’t been hyperfixating on KH in several years. Maybe I’ll finish my four blaseball wips someday but the odds aren’t looking good…

TMTL Plans

Anyway, hmm, where to start… well, chapter 16 was gonna be a flashback to what happened to Ven & Vani at the start of KH1, namely that they went to the play island while Ansem was there, Ven lost his heart in a Neoshadow attack, and then Vani’s coerced into being a henchman again since Ven’s basically a hostage. He does not have a fun time with that, but he does train Riku (and yes he was the mystery person they saw at Hollow Bastion). I wrote out that chapter but I was a little dissatisfied with it. I guess at the end of this I’ll post all my snippets.

I had a whole plan for all three kids’ paths through KH1 but it was probably wayyy too overambitious to try and write the whole thing given I was never that interested in the kids or in the Disney worlds. To skip to the important bits at the end (also I don’t entirely understand my notes for the rest), Kairi gets to Hollow Bastion before Sora does and Vani ends up removing her heart (it goes to Sora) in a last-ditch effort to stop Ansem’s plan and also keep her safe-ish; in retaliation Ansem sends him to the Realm of Darkness. To be honest this was mostly just to set up Naminé’s continued existence and to get Aqua out of the RoD early.

The end of KH1 goes about as normal except Kairi tags along (also Ven wakes up but doesn’t tag along). Aqua finds Vanitas and Vanitas finds Riku and Vani portals them all out cause I guess he can do that. Then things get a little interesting: since Ven was not involved in the events of Birth by Sleep, Aqua never turned the Land of Departure into Castle Oblivion, so the events of Chain of Memories just kinda don’t happen. Naminé still pops up in the LoD, but Aqua has just returned home and takes her in. For a while. The org comes for her eventually.

The replicas also happen, but under slightly different circumstances; the org occupies part of Hollow Bastion in secret before the Restoration Committee really gets everything under control and they use several stored heart scans: Riku’s (from during kh1) to make Repliku, and, just to see what would happen, they mashed up “Princess of Heart” Kairi’s (from pre-fall of Radiant Garden) and “What I am is darkness” Vanitas’ (from during kh1) to make Xion. (That’s why I draw her with pink eyes in this au, it’s purple + red. Also the average of 4 and 26 is 15, it’s perfect) I dunno what effect them being pure light + pure darkness would have, if any. They’d probably just be a mostly regular keyblade wielder but that’s still valuable to the org.

And with Chain of Memories not happening (also Roxas still exists like normal), Axel gets four kids! I didn’t have any other plans for kh2 and beyond. Eventually Xion gets adopted into Kairi & Vanitas’ family, Roxas into Sora & Ven’s, and Namine is Aqua’s daughter and/or little sister. Also Vanqua happens but I’m not posting most of the stuff I had written for that; it was weird cause I’m not good at writing romance.

I was also very interested in writing interstitials for chapter 3, more about Vanitas and Kairi’s time in Radiant Garden and involving more of the people living there (oh man I remember I had this whole big idea about Cloud and Sephiroth being a really weird heart experiment done by apprentice Nort half-remembering the whole Ven & Vani thing), and also slice of life stuff about everyone living on Destiny islands in the long timeskip between chapter 7(?) and the start of kh1. I’ll put that list of ideas in the snippets section.

The Leftovers

The Chart(TM)

Interstitial ideas list

Ienzo sometimes hangs out with Kairi because Kids; Vanitas does NOT trust him bcuz he is an apprentice and usually brings the wrath of Even with him

Yes Braig is blackmailing Vanitas for babysitting purposes, but he’s also actively protecting him from apprentice Nort?????

Untitled Unversed Game is still so good [Note: this was basically just Unversed wreaking minor havoc in town while Vani’s sick]

All the radiant garden peeps may have had more important stuff going on at the time but they do remember the local cryptid Untitled Goose Game-ing it up for nearly a year and while they may never have seen his face or talked to him, they recognize the Unversed and they’re just like???? The cryptid’s back? And he was just a weird homeless kid the whole time? And Cid’s like yeah duh, I’ve been telling you kids that for the past decade

ALSO I only just had this idea but considering Vanitas got badly enough injured by Aqua as to be put fairly solidly out of commission for a few months, he probably didn’t manage to get entirely off the street before passing out for a while; I dunno much about ffvii Cid, but I do get the vibe that he’d be the type to pick up strays and then gripe about it constantly while picking up some more, so? You know where I’m going with this. Although this is Vanitas fresh offa bbs and four years with Xehanort prior so he does not trust anyone further than he can throw them. Also he probably doesn’t know that Xehanort got amnesia yet, so there’s that too.

Kairi keyblade training??

Oh yeah by the way Kairi and Vanitas? You have three older sisters now who are absolutely thrilled to have surprise little siblings

If he fits he sits; iF HE FITS HE SITS

Kairi settles in nicely (by repressing her trauma) but hoo boy VANITAS is gonna be INTERESTING

DON’T FORGET THE UNVERSED BTW

Also Ven settling in with Hikari and Sora and becoming a real boy

Vanitas angst but that’s a given

Riku?? Riku???????

Ok did Vanitas actually talk through his trauma during therapy or did he just get assistance wrt dealing with trauma & emotions? Either way I think said therapist is extremely in over their head

Chapter 16 + most of the rest of what I had started for future chapters in that same document

[Not edited but a bit at the end was redacted cause I really didn’t like it. Pretty much all Vanitas angst. Very long but there’s pictures at the end. Asterisks are italics cause I use discord too much; empty brackets means there should be other stuff there]

Vanitas let his brother row the boat, since this excursion had been his dumb idea in the first place and Vanitas had never been particularly confident in his nautical navigation skills. He’d gotten off late from work, and Ventus had worked even later, so the sun was already setting. But they were adults. They could handle a little darkness.

There was a bundle of jitters crawling around in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn’t his own emotion he was feeling. He stared pointedly at Ventus, who was almost a little too focused on rowing. “You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question.

“Hm?” Ventus looked up in surprise. “Um, maybe.”

Vanitas sighed. “You’re the one who asked me to come, idiot. Why are *you* nervous?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, it’s just... we haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Well, I’m flattered you hate me that much.”

“No!” He pouted at Vanitas indignantly. “You didn’t let me finish! I was thinking we should do something together, so that’s why I suggested this. I’m just...” He frowned. “Having second thoughts. I don’t know why, but I really feel like we should go home.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that *before* we reached the play island,” Vanitas said dryly, pointing out the dock only five feet away.

“Oh...” Ventus sighed and hopped out. “Never mind, then.”

Vanitas waited until Ventus dragged the boat into the sand to disembark. There was no way he was getting these shoes wet. He untied the flannel from around his waist and put it on, still unbuttoned for now, over his binder. It was going to be an unseasonably chilly night.

He followed Ventus as he headed towards the other side of the island, chatting as he went. “I can’t believe it’s been so long since we first came to the islands, Vanitas! It feels like it’s only been a few days since you and Kairi showed up.” He linked his hands behind his head as he walked, his eyes widening. “Oh, man, Kairi’s *old* now... Those kids grow up so fast...”

Vanitas rolled his eyes. “*We’re* pushing *thirty*, Ventus.”

“Hey, your thirties are the best years of your life!”

“Not when you’re a hardware store manager and the town librarian. Did Hikari tell you that one?”

“... How’d you guess?”

“Because she’s forty and misses being younger.”

“Aww, no she doesn’t. Mom just wishes we could all be home more often.”

“She sure sees you often enough at work.”

Ventus stopped and shook his head. “Just because it’s a small hospital doesn’t mean we see each other all the time, you know. But we both like working there, so it’s all good.” He turned around and smirked at Vanitas. “Besides, you love your jobs, don’t try to lie to me. Taiyo’s practically your dad, and you’d *live* at the library if you could.”

Vanitas struggled to keep a genuine smile off his face. “Yeah, whatever.”

They emerged on the other beach just as the sun reached the horizon, throwing yellow light across the waves. Vanitas made sure to stand directly in its path, basking in the last warmth of the day. Ventus just squinted and made his way down the beach, waiting for Vanitas to follow, which he did, reluctantly. He asked something he’d been meaning to for a while. “Did you ever figure out how to summon your keyblade?”

“...I’ve never tried.” Ventus put his hands in his pockets, standing in the same place he’d found two displaced kids almost a decade ago. “I’d rather not get involved with... all that if I don’t have to. And if I never summon it, we can never fight and forge the χ - blade, right?”

Vanitas stood next to him, shivering in the chilly breeze. “I suppose so. But you know, Kairi finally managed to summon hers a few weeks ago. She could totally beat you up if she wanted to.” He felt he deserved his smug expression.

Ventus looked at him, shocked. “You taught Kairi how to summon her keyblade?”

“She’s older than we were when we first learned. I wanted her to be able to fight... just in case something happens.” He shivered again.

“You’re too pessimistic. Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

“Well, you never know. I still think you should learn.”

“And I think you should wear more clothes if you’re so cold!” Vanitas yelped as his brother poked his exposed belly button.

“Hey, you can’t hide perfection!”

“Ugh, you’ve been working out again, haven’t you?”

He struck a bit of a pose, showing off his abs. “You know it.” They both giggled uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of it all.

Ventus composed himself and crouched down. “I’m still in pretty good shape. I’ll race you to the secret place!”

Vanitas got ready as well. “Oh, you’re on!”

After counting down together, they took off and sprinted down the beach, Vanitas already trailing behind. There was no way he could win against Ventus without teleporting, so he just let the wind whip across his face and through his hair as he ran, not bothering to push himself. He lost sight of Ventus as he entered the passage to the other side of the island and slowed to a walk.

As Vanitas reached the other beach, he looked around for Ventus, but didn’t see him anywhere. He must have already made it to the secret place. He laughed at the fact that Ventus hadn’t even noticed he was no longer being followed and took a step forward.

His whole body was screaming. He went limp and collapsed, his legs folding underneath him and fingers scrambling desperately for purchase in the sand. His head felt like it was splitting open, fear freezing in his veins. His senses failed, and all he could feel was his heartbeat in his ears and hysterical breaths ripping through his chest. What was happening to him?

Suddenly, it all stopped. He clambered to his feet, breathing hard, as he immediately understood. Ventus. He’d been feeling Ventus. Vanitas had experienced his upset emotions before, but nothing like this. This was sheer and all-consuming terror. Something was extremely wrong.

He summoned his keyblade and bolted for the secret place without a second thought, trailing Unversed behind him. He hadn’t lost control over his Unversed in years, but he had more important things to worry about.

His boots made a regular thumping sound on the packed dirt floor of the passageway, echoing his rapid heartbeat. It was dark, but he’d never had problems seeing without light. One of the few perks of his situation. He chuckled breathlessly at the thought, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his building panic.

He skidded into the secret place, eyes immediately locking on to the body on the floor as his shattered heart leapt into his throat. His brother’s eyes were half open, and he lay in a pool of his own blood, motionless. Vanitas *screamed*.

“*Ventus!*”

“*He’s not dead, you know.*” Vanitas looked away in alarm, searching for the source of the deep voice. It was a hooded figure turned away from him and towards the wooden door at the far side of the room. Vanitas raised his keyblade with trembling hands and growled.

“What did you do to him?”

The figure just laughed and raised a covered arm. Shadows appeared all around Vanitas and peeled themselves away from the ground, growing in size until they towered over him. Long, spindly arms. Crooked and trailing antennae. Unblinking eyes glowing a sickly yellow in the darkness.

Neoshadows.

He froze in terror, holding his keyblade in a defensive position, but the Heartless ignored him and went after the Unversed already filling the room, ripping them apart, tearing them limb from limb and wringing their necks, slowly, purposefully. Their deaths came back to Vanitas in a torrent of searing agony, bringing him to his knees, gasping for air, without so much as a touch.

He dropped his keyblade and it shattered. Seeing him unarmed, the Neoshadows descended on him, wrenching his arms behind him, long, sharp fingers curling around his neck and slicing his skin. Claws ripping into him everywhere, twisting in his wounds and holding him down as his blood dripped to the floor. He tried not to scream again, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing he was suffering, but a distressed sob escaped his throat anyways.

This was torture. The Neoshadows were avoiding serious injuries, instead inflicting pain like he hadn’t felt in years. There was no way this was natural Heartless behavior. They were being controlled by the hooded figure. Vanitas stared at it, utterly petrified. He desperately wanted to fight back, but his body wasn’t responding. He couldn’t even struggle against the Neoshadows’ unrelenting grip. His pathetic fear of them had come back in full force, and he was willing to bet Ventus had the same reaction earlier.

A chill ran down his spine as he thought about it carefully. There was only one person who would know about *that* incident.

“... X-xehanort?”

The figure turned around, but Vanitas couldn’t see into its hood. “*My name is Ansem, but I was once called Xehanort.*” It chuckled, low and malicious. “*It has been such a long time, my dear apprentice.*”

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was real. He was safe here, he... he’d *been* safe, he’d been *free*. He’d had a normal life, a family; he’d been... happy. But it was all slipping through his fingers as he watched in misery.

“*Look at you, Vanitas. All grown up and mature...*” One of the Neoshadows ran its hand down his face, leaving a slit through his lip with its trailing claws as it caressed him. It made him feel sick. “*The years have been kind to you without me, have they not?*”

He tried not to hyperventilate. “How did you f-find me?”

“*It is but a simple matter to find one with the mark of the Recusant’s Sigil on their heart.*”

“Th-the recusant’s...?”

Oh.

*Oh no.*

Vanitas had a myriad of scars littered across his skin, both from battle and from cruel discipline, but by far the deepest were a pair of intersecting gashes that spanned the entirety of his back. They had been carefully and painfully carved into his flesh time and time again, and even after a decade they hadn’t faded. He had thought they’d been compelled by thoughtless sadism, but he realized now that they formed a recusant’s sigil, the intersection of which lay directly over his heart.

Xehanort never did anything thoughtlessly. He’d been branding Vanitas, marking him as his... *property*, making certain he’d never be able to slip from his clutches.

Vanitas’ heart sank. The past ten years had been for nothing.

He’d never escaped at all.

The hooded figure drew closer, observing him. Its cold voice permeated the air between them, twisting its way into his ears until he could hear nothing else. “*A being of pure darkness... how utterly fascinating. Surely, leaving you behind was one of the worst mistakes I ever made.*” He felt the Neoshadows tighten their grip on him possessively, and his breath hitched in his throat. ”*But it’s a mistake I intend to correct. It’s finally time to return to my side, Vanitas. Imagine all the great things we could accomplish together.*”

“N-no.”

The figure came to a halt. “*... What was that?*”

Vanitas bared his teeth, ignoring the sting of his split lip and glaring up into the dark hood. “I said *no*!”

The figure waved its arm and the Neoshadows roughly forced his head down until he was bowing, staring at a growing puddle of his own blood. Their claws sunk even deeper into his neck. He had to struggle to stay conscious through the pain and panic, trying to breathe but failing miserably.

The voice was absolutely venomous. “*You misunderstand the situation. I wasn’t giving you a choice, boy.*”

Vanitas felt bitter tears collect in the corners of his eyes. He’d thought he was better than this. He’d thought he had gotten stronger, able to put his past behind him, and yet here he was, practically a child again, forced to his knees in anguish in front of Xehanort and completely helpless. Nothing had changed. He couldn’t protect Ventus, who was still unconscious and bleeding on the floor next to him. He couldn’t even protect himself. There was nothing he could do anymore. Nothing at all.

Tears dropped to the floor, mingling with his blood, swirling in sickening patterns as he watched, his vision blurring. He squeezed his eyes shut, choking out a desperate plea. “P-please... just... d-don’t hurt Ventus anymore... I-I’ll... I’ll do whatever you want.”

“*Excellent. I’m looking forward to it. Your first task is to bring Ventus to the castle in Hollow Bastion and wait for me there. You’ll be supervised by the Neoshadows for now.*” He could hear the cruel smile in the voice as it whispered in his ear, the rest of the world melting away around him. “*Well? What do you say, Vanitas?*”

He felt numb.

“... Yes, Master.”

[]

Riku threw Soul Eater down in frustration. They clenched their hands into fists. “Fight *back!*”

Their knuckles impacted solidly on Vanitas’ cheek, but he just slackened and slid to the floor, hair falling around his face. He made no move to get up. “Riku...”

Riku felt tears pricking at the corners of their eyes and slammed them shut as they kicked Vanitas in the side. “I said fight back, you *idiot*!”

His voice was quiet and strained. “I don’t want to hurt you, Riku.”

“*Then why’d you hurt Kairi?!*” Riku tried to shout, but their voice cracked halfway through.

“I - I didn’t mean...” He swallowed hard and with some difficulty, looking at Riku imploringly. “They already have you and Ventus... I... I couldn’t let them have Kairi, too.”

Riku choked out a laugh. “Nobody ‘has’ me! I’m here because I want to be!”

Vanitas only seemed more distressed. “You’re being manipulated, Riku, we all are! The Master’s grooming you to be his new vessel!”

“*I DON’T CARE!*”

Vanitas was taken aback by the outburst, but Riku just kept yelling.

“I *don’t* care, I don’t!” They were really crying now, tears angrily streaming down their face. “I want to be *strong!* Strong enough to protect myself, and strong enough to protect Ventus and Sora and Kairi! Strong like *you*, Vanitas!”

Vanitas lowered his head. “I... I was never strong.”

“You’re right,” Riku croaked. “You’re *weak*, I see that now. I’m weak too, aren’t I?” They sank to their knees, laughing and weeping bitterly. “Sora and Kairi don’t need me anymore. And I’m not even worthy of my own keyblade. The darkness is all I have left. I’m just like you!”

[]

“They’re both important to me.”

“Remarkable, then, that you’ve managed to lose both of them through your foolish actions.”

Vanitas gave Ansem a hard glare. “I swear, I won’t let you or any of your dumb Heartless lay another finger on Ventus. But Kairi...” He looked at her lifeless body, still crumpled on the floor. His stomach turned. “She’s better off without me, anyways.”

Ansem coolly considered him for a moment, thinking. “Well, Vanitas, you may be a fascinating creature, but frankly, I’ve already got all the data I need. And if you’re refusing to follow orders...” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Then it seems you’ve outlived your usefulness. However...” He smirked. “I do have an idea for one last test.”

Vanitas scoffed, looking away. “I won’t do it.”

Ansem stepped closer, crushing a Thornbite under his boot and chuckling as he saw Vanitas flinch. There was clear amusement in his voice when he spoke. “Don’t worry, it’s a very simple observational study. It doesn’t even require your active participation.”

He retrieved Soul Eater, pressing the tip against Vanitas’ neck, just carefully enough to avoid drawing blood. Vanitas involuntarily went limp as the sword tilted his head upwards, the sharp blade threatening to dig into the exposed flesh below his chin while his dull yellow eyes met a pair of cold teal ones.

Looking at the unfamiliar expression on that familiar face, he realized he could never fight back, not against Riku’s body. Not against this child who was still precious to him. He was powerless. Just as he had always been.

A foreign, vicious grin spread across Riku’s - Ansem’s - face. “Let’s see how much it takes to *break you.*”

[]

“But you’re a creature of pure darkness. A monster.” She leveled her keyblade at him. “This is where you belong.”

He laughed, but to Aqua’s surprise, it didn’t sound at all the way she remembered it. When they had fought, his laugh had been a taunting sound, hysterical and malicious.

The way he sounded now was... heartbroken.

Instead of raising his keyblade, he dropped it, falling to his knees and slumping over, clutching at his chest. “You’re right, Aqua... Th-this *is* where I belong...”

Aqua let her keyblade lower slightly, confused. She hadn’t been expecting him to agree with her, much less with so much sadness in his voice. “What?”

He laughed again, shuddering violently, then without warning his head drooped and he fell sideways. He hit the sand and went completely still, his breathing slowing.

What in the name of Kingdom Hearts was going on? *Vanitas*, of all people, shows up in the Realm of Darkness, has the gall to act surprised to see *her*, then passes out? She was tempted to just leave him there and go on her merry way, but it had been so long since she’d seen another person (although applying the term ‘person’ to Vanitas was questionable) that she decided to have a look.

She carefully approached, wary that he might be faking it. That certainly seemed like something he would do, pretend to be unconscious until Aqua got close enough for him to execute a surprise attack. But there continued to be no indication that he was awake. She even had to kill a few Unversed that were poking around his body.

Aqua used the toe of her shoe to flip him onto his back. To her shock, the action left behind a horrifyingly large bloodstain in the sand. She took a sharp breath as she knelt down beside him, checking him for wounds as best she could through his thick bodysuit. From up close, the coppery stench of blood was nearly overwhelming.

He was bleeding profusely from a gash on his neck, running vertically from his chin all the way down to the middle of his chest. Aqua’s heart skipped a beat as she found a series of almost methodical cuts across his torso and arms. These weren’t made by the indiscriminately attacking Heartless. He’d been deliberately hurt by somebody, and badly. It was a wonder he was even still alive.

She cast a Curaga without a second thought. He may have been an evil brat, but she wasn’t about to leave him to die.

His breathing evened out and Aqua felt herself relax slightly. She settled back on her heels, wiping the blood off her hands. For a moment, she just sat there, contemplating her sleeping enemy. Although she had said he belonged here, in truth, she had no idea how he’d ended up in the Realm of Darkness, let alone with so many injuries. What had happened since the last time she defeated him?

Vanitas continued to lay quietly inert while Aqua’s curiosity grew. She cautiously placed a hand on his helmet, remembering when she had fought him in... what was the name of that city, again? She had nearly removed his mask before he’d yelled at her and run away. But if he was really out this time...

Taking a deep breath, she gingerly pulled the helmet off, exposing a cascade of messy black hair and, beyond that... a face, wet with tears and blood and marred by bruises and old scars. Aqua’s shoulders fell in surprise. He looked just like those boys she had met here not so long ago: Sora and Ventus, if she remembered their names correctly. Perhaps Vanitas had been telling the truth about being Ventus’ brother. She wondered if they’d ever found each other, and, if they had, whether Ventus had made it out of the encounter alive.

Aqua found herself brushing hair from Vanitas’ forehead in spite of her distaste for him. Aside from too-sharp teeth and a pair of pointy ears sticking out from his tangled hair, he could nearly pass for human. She sighed, her eyebrows furrowing. Had he really just been a child this whole time? A child who did horrible things, but.....

Well, he certainly wasn’t a child anymore. He was still pretty short, but he was unmistakably older than he used to be, probably even older than herself. And if his strange behavior was any indication... *maybe* he’d changed. It seemed unlikely, though, especially if he was still running around as Xehanort’s apprentice.

What had happened to Xehanort? To Terra? Aqua was desperate to find out, and Vanitas could be her only chance. If she could manage to wake him up without him trying to kill her, that is. She looked around for something to restrain him with, but, finding not much more than sand and coconuts, she resorted to using her sash to fasten his hands together behind him. It would most likely end up being useless, but it was better than nothing.

A barrage of freezing water against the bare skin of his face. Hands roughly pulling him upright as he coughed, attempting to clear his lungs. He tried to get away, protect himself, *something,* but he couldn’t move his arms and he panicked. His coughing soon turned to gagging, black bile forcing itself through his throat before he could even think.

The hands quickly drew back while a voice he didn’t recognize cursed loudly. The muck splattered on the ground, writhing in agony as beady red eyes formed within it. A keyblade was on it in an instant, sending a jolt of pain through his chest as the fledgling Unversed was destroyed. “*Light,* Vanitas, what is *wrong* with you?” He couldn’t answer, shaking and gasping as he struggled to calm down and remember what was going on.

The hand reached for him again, and though he tried to flinch away, it caught his shoulder and squeezed firmly. “Hey, relax. I’m not gonna hurt you unless you attack me.” It definitely wasn’t the Master, then.

“H-hurts when the... Unversed are k-killed, though...” The other voice said some more words he wouldn’t dare repeat in front of the kids.

Oh. The kids...

Water dripped down his face as his vision cleared, washing blood and black sludge away with it. He could tell that his hands were tied behind his back, although considering his history with the person he’d run into, who was now sitting in front of him looking perturbed, that seemed fair. “Aqua?”

“Yeah? What?” She narrowed her eyes as though he’d said her name as a challenge.

Vanitas could no longer feel the injuries left by Ansem in his last assault. “Did... did you heal me?”

She sighed, sweeping wet hair out of his face as he shivered. “Don’t take it personally. It’s so lonely down here that I didn’t feel like letting you die, that’s all.”

[]

“You mean...?”

Say it. Get it out in the open. It hurt less that way.

“... Yeah. Xehanort abused me.”

She looked horrified. “For *years?*”

He stared down at his shoes. “Yep...”

Aqua’s face cycled through several shades of upset before settling on disdain. “And is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” It was pretty obvious she *was* pitying him, but Vanitas didn’t call her out on it.

“I’m well aware it doesn’t excuse what I did to you.” He locked eyes with her earnestly. “I don’t know if you’ll care, but I’m sorry. *Really.* I was hurt and mislead, but that doesn’t make it right.” He looked down again, curling in on himself. “I can understand if you won’t forgive me.”

After a minute of awkward silence, she huffed and turned away. “Well, you’ve certainly become more mature. I wasn’t expecting to ever get an apology out of you. I... appreciate it, I guess.”

“... You’re welcome?”

They sat quietly for a few moments while Aqua contemplated something. Eventually, she faced him again in concern. “What I still don’t get, though, is what reason you’d have to go back to Xehanort *now.* You seem like you’ve become a semi-decent person, so I doubt you’re in it for the apocalyptic aspect, and he treats you terribly and nearly *killed* you when given the chance, so... why?”

He broke eye contact. “I... didn’t have a choice. He took Ventus, and I...” He took a shaky breath. “I *can’t get away* from him, Aqua. He’s constantly tracking me. He knew where I was this whole time, and he just... let me *think* I was free until he wanted his... f-favorite toy back...”

He could almost feel the weight of the sigil on his back curling around him like a vise.

Aqua’s hard expression finally broke. “Vanitas...” She took a deep breath as well. “For what it’s worth, I... I’m sorry, too. For being rude and calling you a... monster.”

He scoffed. “It’s not like it was unwarranted.”

She shook her head. “Maybe not, but I’m sure it didn’t help. I let my anger get the best of me and I didn’t see you were hurting. So... I’m sorry.”

He felt very small then. “... It’s fine.”

Ch 16 pics I never posted cause spoilers

A bit embarrassing though jfhsghd. I generally don’t post my gratuitously angsty/edgy stuff

Xion intro scene

[Notated for edits which I never made]

She chewed her lip nervously, twisting her hands in the hem of her dress. The lower levels of the castle always put her on edge. People in white coats stared at her expectantly as they all pretended not to hear the scary noises coming from deeper in. The silver-haired man who called himself Ansem but was *not* Ansem asked her about her new friend while the one-eyed guard smirked behind him. She didn’t tell the silver-haired man anything. He sighed.

//add

She sat down in the big chair and worried. The man who was not Ansem hadn’t asked to see her in a while, not since soon after the other Ansem had left and the silver-haired man had taken his name. The new Ansem wasn’t as nice as the old one. He’d sent the one-eyed guard to her house very early this morning, and she hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell her friend that she’d be busy today. He’d be upset. He didn’t like being alone. He was -

He was completely alone. He’d been used to being alone, a long time ago. But it felt so *different* this time. This time, he had known what it was like, to be happy, to actually be loved and wanted. And the stark absence of that almost hurt more than anything else.

Almost.

/*The dark claws ripped him apart slowly, almost reverently,*/ as if watching him suffer in their grip was the most fascinating thing in all the worlds. Maybe it was, to Ansem. The creature may have been calling itself his Master, but it seemed more inclined to research rather than actually teach, and the constant threat to the lives of the others caught in its clutches (and his own *pathetic* cowardice) left him a perfectly cooperative subject for its study. Though he couldn’t imagine what this sort of sadistic exercise was actually supposed to achieve, other than leaving him broken and empty.

Then again, maybe that *was* the point. What /*new and interesting thing*/ would Ansem find when it examined his heart? A battered shell, the already shattered remnants of another torn out and ground to dust until all that was left was a hollow, dark void? It wouldn’t surprise him, honestly. It already felt that way.

A sudden streak of agony shot through him as the claws sunk deeper, and he desperately tried not to scream, choking down his sobs as silently as he could. He’d promised himself that he’d be quiet, because otherwise *Riku* would hear, and then -

Who was Riku? She didn’t know a Riku.

She fidgeted, a bit confused. She could tell she was still laying in the chair, but it felt far smaller than it had previously. Or maybe... *she* had somehow grown much *bigger!* She giggled at the realization. If she showed up to the courtyard like this, she’d nearly be as tall as her friend -

He was a little too small. He almost laughed bitterly at that through the pain. He’d already been unfairly short; now he might even be able to properly share clothes with his closet-raiding (spunky, sassy, precious, perfect, *missing, in danger, better off without him*) sister -

*Vanitas!*

*Kairi...*

She beamed with happiness.

He wept in anguish.

His tears ran down her grinning face as he opened her eyes, and nothing had changed. She was still in that horrible room, in that horrible chair, with the silver-haired man that was and was not Ansem staring at him. She brought a hand up to his cheek, surprised to find it dry, with only the ghost of a smile and a faint memory of sorrow left.

He looked down at her unfamiliar hand, catching a glimpse of her hair out of the corner of his eye, shorter than his but a different color than hers. It... it wasn’t right. None of it was right. He trembled, carefully studying the rest of her. Everything was just a little bit wrong. She wasn’t quite him, but he wasn’t quite her, either. She could feel the panic and confusion bubbling up in his chest.

Who was she?

Who was he?

...Who were *they?*

//add

The awful man who was and was not Ansem smiled coldly at them, and gave them their name.

*...Xion.*

The one single Destiny Islands slice-of-life-ish drabble I started one time

Vanitas huffed into the pillow in his arms and pressed further into the corner where his bed met the wall, as he often did. [] He felt the pressure of several unmanifested Unversed threatening to tear themselves free, the incessant prickling of one escaped Thornbite’s vines curling around his ankle - or wait, maybe his foot was just falling asleep from putting pressure on it weird - and the unmistakable beginnings of a tension headache. Fantastic.

He opened one eye at the sound of his door creaking open (he did *not* tense up, he *didn’t*; he’d have to be an idiot to think there was any need to) and caught sight of a sliver of dim light from the hallway growing briefly and then shrinking back to nothing with a careful click of the door handle. He barely had enough time to process what that had been before there was a gentle tug at the one corner of his sheets that was still hanging off the far side of the bed, a wet sniffle, and a whisper.

“Vanitas?”

“What.” He replied flatly, trying not to be *too* annoyed that Kairi had showed up to interrupt his brooding.

“H-had a bad dream...” Kairi paused to take an unsteady breath, rubbing at her eyes with a blanket she’d dragged there with her. “C-can I..?”

He sighed and turned to face the wall. “Whatever. Not like I’m using that side of the bed anyways.”

Kairi stuttered out her thanks. Then with some effort, she hoisted herself up and onto the bed, pulling her blanket up after her, and situated herself in the empty space. Vanitas laid still, listening to her quiet sniveling as she tried to settle down and also blow her nose.

After a few ineffective minutes of this, he grumbled and pushed his irritation away as a small Flood. (Just to get rid of it. Obviously. Might even lessen his headache, if he got lucky for once.) It zipped straight to Kairi, nosing at her face and making her giggle just the tiniest bit. It flopped down beside her as she scratched the back of its neck and pet it gently, and it started warbling contentedly in a way that *aaaalmost* sounded like purring. Tch. Smug little bastard.

Vanitas was... still not quite used to receiving positive feedback through the link he shared with his Unversed, and the phantom sensation brushing up and down his own spine was bizarre, to say the least. It also felt *really* nice though, unfortunately, and he just barely managed to catch himself before the tension would’ve dropped from his shoulders entirely. Kairi hummed mildly behind him and tickled the underside of the Flood’s jaw, making him scowl even harder into his pillow. He heard a few quiet chuckles find their way through the sniffles. Ok yeah, she knew *exactly* what she was doing.

“So, any particular reason you decided to bother *me* instead of your parents?”

Kairi stilled at that, wrapping her arms around the Flood like it was a stuffed animal. “My dream... it was, um. Of home.” Vanitas peeked back towards her apprehensively, catching sight of her quivering lip and still-runny nose. “Of when we left.”

“Do you... remember it?“

Kairi shook her head. “I forgot after I woke up. It was... s-scary, though...” She squeezed the Flood a little tighter. “You got hurt real bad then, didn’t you?”

He hummed noncommittally in response.

“My grandma, the other kids, everyone...” Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. “Do you think anyone else made it out, or are they all... d-did they...?”

Vanitas looked away. “...I don’t know.” He very nearly caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth. He’d been utterly useless during the attack on Radiant Garden. *Worse* than useless; he’d barely escaped with his own life. And in the end, he hadn’t even really saved Kairi, had he? “...S-sorry...”

[]

“And what have I done to deserve it?”

[]

“Would *anything* be different if I’d just-“

*If I’d just died that day at the graveyard like I was* meant *to?*

“...I-if I’d never made it to the city?”

Interstitial of Sora talking to the folks at Traverse Town about Vani

“Why, if it ain’t Squall” - Leon grimaced but didn’t correct him - “an’ Yuffie. Heard you two beat up some kid earlier?” Cid raised an eyebrow.

Yuffie placed a hand over her heart in mock supplication. “For once, I am innocent.” Then she grinned as she elbowed Leon in the side. “This one was all Leon.”

“Sora here claims to know the...” Leon’s brow furrowed as he looked away. “Uh...”

“The cryptid!” Yuffie helpfully supplied.

This did not seem to help Leon. “...Right, that thing.”

Cid almost looked surprised for a moment, but quickly turned dour, squinting at Sora, who was casually standing with his hands behind his head, entirely lost as to what they were talking about. “Well that’d be one heckuva coincidence. Ya sure about that, kid?”

“Uh. Maybe?” Sora wasn’t sure where this was going, but Leon was looking between him and Cid expectantly, so he continued. “What do they look like?”

Cid chewed thoughtfully on his toothpick. “Black hair, yellow eyes, would be... oh, maybe ‘bout Squall’s age nowadays? An’ always had those weird li’l buggers with the red eyes - not Heartless, but kinda similar.”

“Oh!” Sora started in recognition. “Looked kinda like me?”

“Yeah, picked ‘em up off the street ‘bout ten years back. Real piece a’ work, that one. Darn near took my head off trynna get away after they finally woke up.”

[]

“Got the feelin’ he was expectin’ every hand to hurt instead a’ help. An’ looked to me like he learned that from experience, if y’know what I mean. Not too uncommon for kids ya find on the street, but he was worse off than most I seen.

Welp, that’s about it! Asks are always open but I can’t guarantee I’ll answer them. I also usually don’t respond to comments anymore just cause my fics are so old and hard to think about. Thanks for understanding!

#tmtl #writing #tangled au #unseentale #?#i guess #very very long under the cut #A few years ago my dismayed noise of embarrassment turned into meows #I’m nothing if not on-brand I guess

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letsdeconstructtogether · 3 months ago

Text

Lab Rat

Chapter 1

Shadow was made to be the Ultimate Lifeform, he knows that very well. Its a major source of pride for him, the foundation of his very soul. His greatness radiates out of him just like the sublime light of the Buddha. He knows it, and he knows others know it too. He doesn't mind reminding them either.

Being the Ultimate Lifeform, however, has its ups and downs. He wasn't made to be paraded around, garlanded by fair maidens while the whole world worshipped his very form.

No, there was a cost, a purpose.

He is the Ultimate Lifeform because he was made to heal, to heal Maria, and maybe in a strange esoteric sense, the world itself.

His earliest memories were IV tubes. They never bothered to warm the saline before its administration so he felt a constant, inward chill that one could not escape, even with the thickest of blankets. The constant beeps of his heartbeat monitor echoed in the sterile room, his eyes strained against the humming fluorescent lights above.

He felt incredibly alone laying on the gurney, a loneliness that had rotted his bones. So alone, in fact, that he has forgotten that he was alone.

His visitors were robots who would visit to draw his blood or check his vitals. They never spoke with him, they only gave directions. If he didn't comply, they would simply wait. Since they were robots, they never ran out of patience.

One day, Shadow did not listen to a robot who was sent to retrieve a blood sample. The robot simply waited, repeating every couple of minutes, "Please reach out your right arm." Shadow turned his back to the robot as a sign of defiance.

The day drew to night and the light above dimmed automatically.

The robot waited.

"Please reach out your right arm."

"Please-" He complied.

Occasionally, Dr. Gerald Robotnik would come in.

Shadow wasn't a son to him, nor a friend, not even an acquaintance. He was simply a large lab rat. One that would glower at him with an unblinking intensity.

His glare would send a chill over Robotnik's skin. He wasn't used to his subjects being... aware. It is the difference between an ant and a crow. The ant sees you, the crow looks back at you. He saw a storm behind Shadow's eyes, an anger, a strength, and a resilience.

Robotnik wasn't used to this kind of test subject. He was used to the smaller ones, the ones that would squeal and squirm, those that he could easier submit to his lab experiments.

This one though, this one was strong. He once socked Robotnik in the mouth as he tried to restrain Shadow for another bone marrow harvest.

So, maybe not a lab rat, more like a lab rodent. A lab rodent he could collect data on, submit reports, and then win prizes. All of that was nice, earthly pleasures and all. But, what he really wanted, was to keep Maria alive.

Shadow's blood contained the promised antidote to her illness. He used the blood to develop a serum that would strengthen her immune system. He had to administer it daily however, or she would collapse into another life threatening bout.

To fund Maria's medicine, he signed a military contract with GUN. He agreed to develop the Biolizard as a bioweapon for GUN in exchange of a lofty budget, some of which he skimmed off for his personal project.

He also applied for research funds through his studies of Shadow's blood. Now, in every research proposal, you have to be quite detailed in your findings. However, Gerald wanted to keep Shadow a secret. He didn't want GUN to take Maria's only medicine away. Plus, how would he explain to the scientific community that he made a deal with the devil? Thus, Shadow was simply written into his papers as a 'genetically altered hedgehog', a simple caged animal the size of your palm. He was anything but that.

Just seeing Maria smile kept Gerald going with his schemes. He would allow her to grow into adulthood, yes, and he would see her married to her love. Yes, she will live, she must live. If only that hedgehog would comply!

-----

One day, after his daily blood letting, Shadow was doing his usual, slumping on his gurney, staring at his hands. They were large, firm, and nimble. Strong enough to break a wall, but gentle enough to hold and to love.

The door opened. Shadow whipped his head around to survey. This wasn't a part of the schedule.

A girl peeked into the room, astonished at her discovery. She then met eyes with Shadow. She gasped as her eyes widened, she didn't know he was here!

Shadow gasped as well, who was she?

She closed the door.

Shadow, sitting on the side of his gurney, kept his eyes on the door. Who was she? She was his size. Friend sized? Or enemy sized? His fists clenched as anxiety took over.

-----

Time passed, Gerald came by to take notes on Shadow's recovery from a recent surgery, then promptly left.

More time passed. Time passed until time was no longer a concept. He simply, was.

Close to bed time, Shadow started to tuck himself in. Another day was out. The sheets could only give him so much warmth...

Maybe he should escape. But, he didn't know what was outside that door. All of his operations occurred in this room.

He eats here. He bathes here. He breathes here, sleeps here, cries here, screams here, punches here, lives here, is here, am here, we're here, where's there? Outside, out there, in the open, what is out there? He wonders, he ponders, he's asunder.

Restless and a mess.

The next day, Shadow spurred change to Gerald's mind during a visit.

Rather than his usual game of glaring, he spoke.

He subtly asked, "Can I go?"

Gerald's world broke in that moment.

He started to realize Shadow was more than a lab rodent. The hedgehog just spoke to him! But you know, then again, he did make a deal with the devil. So, like, nothing is beyond the realm of possibilities... But the hedgehog spoke!

Gerald explained to him that this was his home and that he was to stay. Shadow simply accepted this, he didn't know better. Feeling pity for the hedgehog, Gerald, along with introducing meatloaf to his palette.

This was at the detriment of his data. Lab rat kibble was heavily standardized, meatloaf with mashed potatoes introduced a whole plethora of variables.

However, Gerald couldn't bear to it, to look Shadow in his eyes while feeding him dog food. He knew Shadow deserved at least some dignity.

He also placed posters of landscapes on the plaster walls. To give Shadow something to look at other than blank walls.

That was a mistake. Because now, Shadow knew that there were places other than this room... Places with lush grass, sweeping sands, rivers, mountains, and valleys... And that girl confirmed it, she had to have come from somewhere.

Before, he imagined that Robotnik and the robots would enter and exit a nebulous void space that existed beyond the door. But with a little imagination, maybe, just maybe, beyond that door, they were going to Italian beaches, or the Costa Rican rainforests. And that girl, that girl lived amongst them.

He wants to go too. Maybe that girl will take him.

-----

Another day, Shadow stared at the field of grass on his wall, imagining himself in the image. Was the grass soft? Why was the ceiling blue, and the lamp looked weird. The door opened once more, again off-schedule.

His eyes darted to the door. The girl from before peeked again.

Shadow leapt from his bed, he couldn't let her go again. Not without a word.

"HEY!"

The girl shut the door out of fear.

"Let's talk!" He said as he dashed towards the door. He leaned his ear toward the door, looking for any signs of her presence. Did she go back to the beach?

The door opened once more. She leaned her head inside, then turned to Shadow, making eye contact. They looked back at each other for a bit. He studied her, she studied him as well. They had the same height, but also the same heart.

"H-Hi." She started.

"Hello." He replied, the robots always said hello to him.

She hesitated, eyes darting around the room, then back at him.

"Who are you?" She asked.

Who am I? He had no clue. He did not answer.

"What do you do with my grandfather? He's always in this section of the spaceship... Are you his friend?"

Shadow contemplated for a little. Spaceship? He lifted his arm then pointed toward his vein.

"He draws my blood and runs tests."

She winced.

"Oh I know how much that hurts."

"You do?!"

She nodded. "My grandfather also runs tests on me. Everyday! It's so much, but I have to. So, I see a lot of needles day to day."

She pulled her IV pole into the room.

"I understand, I really do understand." It was an understanding he felt deep in his bones.

She scanned the room once more.

"Well I'm Maria, it's very nice to meet you." She smiled.

Shadow stared back, soaking in the kindness that radiated from her. It felt unusual, and nice.

"Do you read?" She asked.

Shadow continued to stare back.

In her arm, she held a book. "I was just reading before I came by."

He looked at the book. The only books he saw were the ones Gerald wrote in.

"Can I see it?" He asked.

"Sure!" She handed it to him through the door.

He looked at the art on the front. It was of a man in uniform riding a horse to battle. Everything else... He had no clue about. Absolutely none.

Maria gestured for him to open the book. He flipped past the written portions toward the drawn illustrations. They showed cannons, flags, battle formations, and swords.

He was amazed, he admired the illustrations. He wanted to have a closer look.

"I love to look at them as well." She said.

Shadow looked at her, nodded, then looked back at the pictures.

"It's about the American Revolution. When America fought against Great Britain for independence." She continued.

Shadow looked her blankly. American Revolution? America? Great Britain?

"Independence?" He asked.

"Freedom." She replied.

"... Freedom?" He asked.

"Freedom means, to do as you wish, without constriction." She replied.

Another chain broke in his mind. He could be free, by fighting?

He continued to study its pages. The men had rifles, batons, drums... Where could he get those?

"I'll let you keep it." She said.

Shadow was very grateful for that.

"Thank you." He replied, the robots said that too.

"Well, I should head back. It was nice to meet you..." She pondered for a moment, "So, no name?"

Name?

"... Okay, well, we'll think of something. I'll see you again!" With that, she dragged her IV pole with her to the other side of the Space Ark.

Shadow poked his head out to catch a glimpse of outside. He saw a hallway lit with the same fluorescent lights as his room. Except for her, no one else was in the hallways.

"Okay, so, it's not a void." He thought

He felt it within, freedom. Like a light breeze, a light taste on his tongue of what was to come. He could peek outside as much as he wished. He hungered for more, for change, for love, and for freedom. Those men in the book, they understood what freedom meant, because they had to fight for it.

Shadow, well, was also ready to fight for it.

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction

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