shuuru

[shuuru]

Doing detective work on a ten year old novel comparing the translation to the original language.

A normal Wednesday.

[shuuru]

For you Bird? You can have all the gayass lines Vanitas Kingdomhearts says in this cursed novel.

It is a genuine shame that Vanitas' entire backstory is locked in a novel that took years to get an english translation because like, how many people know he was born without a face? How many people know that Xehanort used to only visit him in the Badlands once a week to kick the shit out of him? How many people know he started his life panicking and insisting he was Ventus? That when the Unversed die they return to him and he feels the pain of their deaths? How many people know the reason Ven was taken away was because Vanitas outright admitted if he was left alone with his comatose Light he was gonna kill him?

How many people know that Vanitas actively can feel Ven's emotions, to the extent where he threw up after Ven remembered their separation? Ven recalling that hurt so much, he threw up. An Unversed. He threw up an Unversed.

Vanitas is fucking neat is what I'm trying to say but also he's like, a boss within a boss. Tragic backstory locked, read a fucking book.

[shuuru]

Also, and this is very important, the novel has, in almost every Disney World, a little Vanitas POV where is it implied he just followed the gang around all the time.

Which is hilarious.

It is a genuine shame that Vanitas' entire backstory is locked in a novel that took years to get an english translation because like, how many people know he was born without a face? How many people know that Xehanort used to only visit him in the Badlands once a week to kick the shit out of him? How many people know he started his life panicking and insisting he was Ventus? That when the Unversed die they return to him and he feels the pain of their deaths? How many people know the reason Ven was taken away was because Vanitas outright admitted if he was left alone with his comatose Light he was gonna kill him?

How many people know that Vanitas actively can feel Ven's emotions, to the extent where he threw up after Ven remembered their separation? Ven recalling that hurt so much, he threw up. An Unversed. He threw up an Unversed.

Vanitas is fucking neat is what I'm trying to say but also he's like, a boss within a boss. Tragic backstory locked, read a fucking book.

[shuuru]

“is this character good or bad” “is this ship unproblematic or not” “is this arc deserving of redemption or not” girl…

[shuuru]

Ventus went pale. “Who are you, then?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon.” He pulled down his sunglasses and winked with golden eyes. “Time to wake up, Ven.”

And then everything went black.

"Roxas" from @thefairywithfandoms fic Know You're Not Alone (I took a liberty or two), everyone check it out

[shuuru]

a funny thing about having a Problematic Blorbo is that you'll periodically come across a post along the lines of "um let's not forget that [Blorbo] is a bad person..." listing their various crimes, and if you have a modicum of intellectual honesty you find yourself nodding along and saying yeah it's true... but it's the greyness of their character that makes them so compelling... At the same time though you have a little Saul Goodman in your ear going "your honor in their defense: who cares like omfgggg who caresssssss like come onnnnnn"

[shuuru]

I keep talking about this concept with @finitevoid and I'm obsessed with it. This doesn't even cover the full premise itself but I want to. Write this part.

Anyway the only part of this premise y'all need to know is: what if Vanitas was awake in the Heart Hotel, and Ventus wasn't?

==================================

The thought has struck before– once, twice. Many times. An echoing chorus that twines between five minutes and a thousand, a million– that all of this, all he has now, means he lost.

Vanitas lost, on the edge of Ventus’ blade. He lost, with the X-blade finally within his grasp, with a pathetic, last-ditch attempt to paw it out of the air. Last breaths evening out from a desperate gasping to slow exhales, relieved. It was over. He’d lost. 

He’d made assumptions about himself. About his Light. 

Light more powerful than the ultimate blade. More powerful than the Key to Kingdom Hearts itself. And to think, he’d almost given up Ventus as a lost cause. He’d looked at his Light and allowed himself to see weakness.

Maybe that wasn’t his fault. It’s not like Xehanort had gone out of his way to teach his pupil the difference between weakness and fragility. Ventus was, is, has always been, something fragile. But weak?

The only thing capable of breaking Ventus thus far had been Ventus himself.

No wonder, then. No wonder he lost. What should have awaited Vanitas from there was nothing more than oblivion. The sweet release of emptiness. Birthed into nothing but endless sleep; no thoughts, no feelings. No Darkness. No Light.

That isn’t what awaited him. If he’d paid the slightest amount of attention, Vanitas would have seen this coming. Except– he made assumptions. About himself. About his Light.

Ventus curls into the crook of his arm, eyes hidden beneath long lashes. He’s had the time to take note of them. Fine but plentiful, darker in shade to his eyebrows or his hair. He has a freckle, tiny, faint, just above his left brow. Eyes closed, expression lax. Not a single crease to his brow, not the slightest purse to his lips.

Sleeping, while his Heart slowly puts itself back together. Lax and content in the Dark.

How long has it been? 

Who cares?

Who cares if it’s been a minute, or an hour. A year, or five. Time ceased to matter the moment they ended, the moment this began. The instant there had been enough of his consciousness capable of permeating how close Ventus had been, clawing across the span of this tiny Heart to get to him. There was no fight in it, aside from the fight to reach him. No fight when he grasped his Light with both hands, waves of neutral repose cresting over their bond like a wave.

Ventus didn’t even seem to register he was there. His Light– didn’t seem to register anything at all.

He was simply there. There, like Vanitas was there. Alone and quiet. In the Dark.

Time blends into one continuous blur, and somewhere in that haze, his loss becomes a win. 

This was the goal. This was the goal, handed to him on a silver platter. No more universe, no more fights. No more Unversed, or pain. No more Terra Aqua Terra, no more joy to dance around his suffering while his broken body sprawled out on the graveyard dirt, choking on his blood.

Here, there is nothing. Ensconced in the Heart of a child, everything is–

Easy. So easy. There is Darkness. There is Light. There is Darkness to encircle that Light, to contain that pliant, unconscious form within itself, a cocoon within a cocoon. All he has to do is hold it. Hold his Light. Listen, to the distant sounds of childish laughter. Just a mild disturbance, something that ceased to matter before it even occurred.

Here, his Light doesn’t reject his presence. In an instant, in a matter of years, in a moment, what permeates the bond between them is repose– and contentment. Subconsciously registering his presence, subconsciously approving. There’s nothing necessary to achieve that. No effort required on his part.

Vanitas exists, chin resting on the top of Ventus’ head, utterly still. Idly registering the way his Light’s chest raises and lowers, simulating breaths neither need to take. Lashes fluttering, from time to time. Simulating gentle dreams that pull soft words for him to respond to. His name. Sora’s name. All that needs is a word. A hum. Easy platitudes that keep Ventus boneless, settling back into his unending repose. Hearts beating in steady tandem, while nothing hurts.

Absolutely nothing hurts.

This is not the endless void Vanitas expected, with his last, exhaled breath of relief.

Somehow, he’s been gifted– more. So much more. Just the Light. Just the Darkness. Just time, a minute, an hour, ten years. A seemingly unending moment, in which all that exists is the Light that belongs to him, and the Darkness he can use to hide it.

It’s a win he revels in, until one, fateful night.

[shuuru]

CONFUSED SORA

[shuuru]

I really wish fandom would distinguish more between found family and … y’know, having friends.

[shuuru]

Because I'm Influenced by bad parental Eraqus chatter that's on my dash:

Eraqus really went with the "conceal, don't feel" plan with Ven didn't he.

"I'm worried he's gonna end up being part of my ex's world ending plan but instead of letting this traumatized kid in on this to prepare him, I'm gonna keep him in the dark. But if he starts asking questions and/steps a toe out of line, I will put him down."

Like dude, maybe if you'd let him in on Xehanort being sketchy, Ven might not have been so easily manipulated. MAYBE if you hadn't invited your ex over, this wouldn't have happened at all.

But I think Vanitas and Ven would have found each other eventually anyway. Least Ven could of been better prepared.

Many thoughts to think.

[shuuru]

Never introduce your friends to Google Translate.

They'll just say all your trigger sentences in your native language and that will give you two million physic damage.

[shuuru]

okay but what you need to understand is you gotta know you gotta understand I am constantly looking at Vanitas and Ventus and applying scientific law to them because it makes them worse

making them a homeostatic process? Makes them worse. Making them mutually symbiotic? Makes them worse. And then there’s this and I think this might be one of those things I could apply to literally any time I write them for all eternity

Me, gleefully: it makes them worse.

[shuuru]

Shoutouts to Vanitas Kingdomhearts. He's anywhere between 1000 years old or 3 years old. He has reality altering powers that it physically hurts him to use. He was born without a face. He's potentially a personification of one of the oldest eldritch abominations in the universe. He's obsessed with "recompleting" with one of the main protagonists and violentally merging their souls together in a destructive amalgemation and bringing about the end of the world.

Based on that list of character traits, you'd assume he'd be some kind of narratively loadbearing antagonist. Instead, he's a whiny backflip obsessed teenager who is always instead just a hired goon for the Real Big Bad: An Old Man Going Through A Divorce.

[shuuru]

I am not the same person I was 24 hours ago.

Seal has become my trigger word, I will rant for hours if you say Eraqus tried to "seal" Ventus to me.

You guys should know that shuuru bird and I have been having like a multiple day meltdown about eraqus’ attempted murder of ven

[shuuru]

Just here... On a Friday night... Thinking...

[shuuru]

Words Fail.

Okay so this is just a snippet of a longer story I will eventually post (it hasn't decided if it's gonna be 15k or 30k yet lol) but after speaking with @dearlybelovedterra about certain things I figure I'm just gonna share this as a drabble here too.

=============================================

There’s a plan waiting for him after breakfast that Ventus had completely forgotten about.

He might’ve forgotten on purpose. Admittedly, he’s just…kind of tired, now. Now, when he has to actually be awake and do stuff. Most of his focus goes into staring down at his food, trying not to let himself fall face first into it.

Aqua and Terra take his silence differently. Usually, he’s the loud one during breakfast, pulling the table into conversation before anyone else has had a chance to even sip their tea. He supposes… it’s probably better that they mistake the reason for him being so quiet.

Ven isn’t trying to make sure he eats his food, instead of wearing it. He’s just being…solemn.

“I think it’s time.” Aqua says, and that jolts Ventus into the present quicksharp. Aqua is already collecting up their plates, blinking rapidly as she focuses on the task she’s set for herself. Terra’s– not here right now. Not really. There’s a shadow in his eyes as he stares at the window, seemingly unaware that he’s got a fork held in his fist. 

The fork is bent.

Right. Right, they’d promised– they’d said they would do this today. They’d said they were gonna, give themselves an evening to reorientate themselves, recover from the road, and then–

Ven swallows roughly, jumping up from his seat to help with the dishes. It’s not helping him delay a thing, but it does mean he can stop thinking, for a minute. Sort of. As it is, his mindset is– staticy. Overtired. He finds himself jumping from the dishes to what comes after the dishes to everything that came before and–

And then the dishes are done. He follows Aqua back into the dining room. Terra hasn’t moved an inch. One of them must make a noise– a scuff of a shoe on the marble floor, or, a cleared throat– because he suddenly looks to them both, expression falling into a mask of– something.

They walk out together, into the sunlight. By some sort of silent agreement, they let Aqua walk in the middle, head high. She looks–

They both look like they’re walking to their graves. Maybe that’s apt.

They are walking to a grave. It just isn’t there yet.

On the second night of their impromptu jet set around the universe, they’d settled around the campfire and spoken about… less nice things. Less nice things being their Master. Not– not that they’d talked about him like he was less nice, or anything! Less nice things, like– what were they supposed to do, when there wasn’t a body to bury? How could they remember him?

Terra wanted a place that overlooked the castle. It wasn’t like Eraqus could actually look out over the valley again, but it was the sentiment of it. That in some way, shape, or form, the memory of him would be able to linger in that tall, remote place, watching over them. 

Suggesting that one spot, where they used to watch the stars? Felt a bit like pulling teeth. But Terra had smiled so gratefully, Ventus couldn’t regret it. He still– he thinks he doesn’t regret it even now, staring not at the view, but the spot they’ve chosen. A little patch of dirt, right by the broken wall.

Almost exactly where he last remembers watching the meteor shower, both weeks and an entire decade ago.

Aqua wanted to use Master’s Defender as a marker. Now, as he watches her prepare to sink the teeth of it into the ground, Ventus wonders if that’s…wise. What’s she going to do if she needs it again? If she needs to defend this world? Would she have to pull it back out, or– has that protective magic been transferred to Rainfell, like it’s Master before it?

When she raises it over her head, he flinches. Terra doesn’t miss that, reaching out to grasp his shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. Ven wonders if he’s doing it because he thinks that Ventus is upset, seeing the Master’s Keyblade being slammed into the dirt like a common gardening utensil, or if he also remembers the last time Ven had seen that blade raised in the air.

It’s Ven’s idea to leave the flowers. Snow White had shown him how to weave the little stalks together, as thanks for helping guide her through the forest. He’s not great at it, but Aqua picks it up with the ease of someone used to spending a lot of time on crafts with tiny, finicky details. So he helps Terra gather them, from the ground and the bushes and the trees, until she tells them she has enough. 

They sit and watch her work, silently. When she’s done, they stand.

Terra puts a hand on his back, nudging him forwards. 

“I think Ven should do it.” He says– and. The flowers were his idea, so Ven supposes he should. Aqua offers him a thin smile, which is only thin because she’s sad, not because she begrudges seeing him handling the fruits of her labor. Almost robotically, he accepts the delicate wreath of pretty whites and purples, stepping closer to Master’s Defender as his friends watch on.

For a moment, just– it’s just a moment. He wants to pitch the flowers over the edge of the cliff. He wants to throw them away, turn on his heel, and run.

But that’s just a moment. Gingerly, he hooks the wreath on the edge of the weapon’s handle, as carefully as he can. Adjusting it until it sits properly, until he can let go. Take several hasty steps back, until he’s back in line with Terra.

Aqua kneels before she cries. Terra– doesn’t kneel, but his eyes are also wet. Staring steadfastly ahead as trails make their way down his cheeks unacknowledged.

Ven doesn’t cry. 

He doesn’t cry. He watches them cry, and wonders.

Why isn’t he crying?

“I still,” Aqua murmurs. Her voice is thick with tears, but he can hear the smile in her words. “Remember the first time Ven got on the roof. I thought you were going to pull your hair out.”

She sobs out a laugh, reaching up with both hands to rub at her face.

“You made so many orders that day! Stay right there, Aqua! No, go stand over there! Terra, watch him. Should he fall, shout. Be prepared to catch him should I not be fast enough.” Her shoulders shake. It’s hard to tell with what– more grief? Or laughter? “You played it so cool most of the time, but at the end of the day, I don’t think you were ever ready for the trouble we could get up to. And when we did get up to mischief, your first worry was always… if we’d hurt ourselves, somehow.”

She tips her head up, taking a breath. Eyes red-rimmed, smiling all the same.

“Thank you, for that. For caring.”

“I, um,” Terra falters, clearing his throat. He looks so stiff, holding himself in that tight, uncomfortable way he used to, whenever the Master called them to attention. Ven knows that’s how he stands when he’s uncomfortable. Trying to rein himself in. “I remember the first week I got here.”

Ventus glances up at him, when no words follow that up. There’s a twitch in Terra’s jaw, something altogether– uncontrolled, even though he’s trying his best to be. A few deep breaths later, he opens his mouth again.

“I got homesick pretty quickly. Departure was pretty different from what I was used to.” All at once, there’s a different twitch. A softening of tension that releases itself in a small, lopsided smile. “You brought me into the kitchen and showed me all the tea you’d bought in my village. Then we figured out how to make it together.”

A huff. It’s not really a laugh.

“Pretty sure we never actually made it right. But we tried.” He shifts, a little. Almost digging the toes of his shoes into the dirt. Looks down again. “Thank you, for always trying.”

It takes a few moments before Ven realizes– he should say something too. Except, when he opens his mouth–

Nothing comes out.

There’s plenty that should. He remembers Eraqus’ hands gently guiding his arms through his first kata, still using the wooden practice blade Terra had gifted him. A lot of lectures, whenever he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. The Master had always tried to be stern, but when Ven smiled up at him, entirely unrepentant– he’d seen those little moments where the amusement had shone through.

Plenty. There’s plenty. There’s the nights when Ven had woken up distressed over things he couldn’t even remember, where Eraqus had been the first to get to his room. Late night hot chocolates, consoling words. There was praise for his triumphs and encouragement when he failed. There were afternoons spent pouring over old star charts the Master dug up, just for him, pointing out all the corners of the universe and explaining to an overly fascinated fourteen year old just how these maps had come to be. 

Except.

There’s also questions.

Ven opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. It’s not because there’s nothing to say. It’s– because he finds himself on the verge of saying the entirely wrong thing. Not happy memories; not a little story that makes him laugh.

He wants to ask, just for the sake of asking. Did he really care about me? Did any of that mean anything? Did guidance and lectures, and– hot chocolates mean anything, at all? What was the point of showing him star charts, when his Master had never actually intended to let him chart his own?

Did he? Did he always try? 

Is– that what trying was supposed to look like? Was he trying, when he summoned his Keyblade? Was he trying, when he told Ventus that he couldn’t exist anymore? Was that trying? 

Was it caring, when he didn’t pause? Was it caring, when he didn’t cry?

He cried for Terra.

None of that is– Ventus can’t say that. He doesn’t want to say that. Eyes flicking from Aqua to Terra, he realizes he’s been quiet for too long. They’re both looking at him.

“I–” His voice is. Thin. “I don’t know what to say.”

Sorry. Not sorry. He doesn’t know what to say. Aqua stands, wincing as she goes. He thinks her legs might’ve been asleep. So Terra gets to him first, gently ruffling his hair before he’s pulled into Aqua’s arms, a tight hug that–

Oh. He doesn’t deserve this one, does he?

“It’s okay,” Terra tells him kindly. “Sometimes, words just don’t feel right.”

They really don’t.

[shuuru]

You ever think about how Aqua knowingly lied to Ventus about his origins, saying he's always been with her and Terra?

Aqua (and Terra, but Aqua more so) has always been protective of Ven, but this seems a bit too much for her to come up with on her own. Eraqus probably had something to do with this, most likely ordering them to say as much.

So not only was Ventus chained to his home physically, he was also mentally chained, fed a falsehood about his past. Maybe this is just because Ven had reacted so poorly to questions about his past, back when he first met Terra and Aqua. But it's awfully convenient, isn't it? You want to keep Ven at home no matter what, so why not lie to him and tell him he's always been here, just in case he might get curious about where he really came from and venture out?