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albino-whumpee · 3 years ago

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Do I even have an excuse for this? No. Do I plan on continuing it? ...Man, you have been here for almost two years and you still expect consistency from me? Wild, Appreciating that undying trust.

Anyways, I made this with you on mind, @brutal-nemesis hope you like it if you read it lol

CW// manhandling, cages, muzzles, nonhuman whumpee, implied death and eye whump.

The cage rattled as it’s new inhabitant was thrown into it. Locks inside and out, the cinches of the belts around its torso and long inhuman legs well secured. A muzzle kept their growling contained and lastly, just a few inches of slack for the chain connecting to a heavy metal collar. The poachers had been well paid to get one of them alive, they wouldn’t take any chances.

The team congratulated each other as they covered the cage with a blanket despite the creature’s panicked cries. It could slam itself against the cage however much it wanted, but it wouldn’t free it, and with no way to at least take in its surroundings, going back home was quickly becoming an impossible feat.

At the last second before his sight narrowed to pitch darkness, it saw the remnants of its home reduced to ash. It’s family splayed around empaled by the poacher’s traps. It squeezed itself against the cage’s bars and let out a series of bird like keens, muffled by the muzzle, they came out as tiny sobs. A pitiful attempt to call for anyone that might still be alive among the sea of bodies. For much desperately needed help.

Its cries were quickly drowned by the sound of the truck’s engine starting, taking the creature away from anything that might be familiar, safe. As the hours drawn out long without so much as a kick to its cage to shut its keening, the creature curled up in the ground of its cage, it’s tail curling around its body, finally, in silence. Not because it gave up in calling for help, even if it knew it should be too far from anyone that would hear it by now, but because the belts fastened around its torso were left so tight, it struggled to breathe. The sound of each inhale it took, more and more alike to a wheeze.

White spots began to spray its vision as his inhaling became more and more ragged.

Was he going to die there? Would it be better than get wherever these humans were taking him?

Tears began to prick its eyes as a knot formed on its throat, further depriving it from precious air.

No…no! He had to go back home. He couldn’t be sure they were all dead until he saw it with his own two eyes. Besides…

It made itself relax, taking in smaller breathes despite the burn in its lungs.

Humans had left them alone for the most part since his great great grandfather’s generation took off to settle in the deeps of the forest, or so he have been told. The only humans he had ever saw were the one in funny green furs that had offered him nuts, long ago when it was but a chick still too adventurous for their own sake and now, when the humans hands had no offerings, but sticks that shot fire and lighting, he hadn´t been fast enough to throw the alarm on time.

They had caught him last when he was about to fly for help, twisting in a trap made of metal as he fell into the ground and then he was freed only to be restrained further before being thrown into a cage.

Oblivious to its future at the hands of its captors, careless enough to not notice right away the reason to the sudden stop of its cries, the young creature closed its eyes before falling into unconsciousness.

Far from there, someone laid out her tools, excitedly preparing for the arrival of the main subject to her investigation.

Her eyes shined with a brightness she had lost with her last subject, now only a stain of blood leading to the back of her laboratory the only and a pair of eyes being carefully put into a shelf. Satisified with the new addition to her collection she walked to the case where she kept her tools. One by one, at the rhythm of a cheerful tune, she began laying out the scalpels, the tweezers, the heavy bone saws, hooks, scissors, forceps and the myriad of scalpels and needles of different sizes for specific uses . She never knew how feisty or how hard its bones and flesh could be, so she ought to be prepared for everything.

After every instrument was laid in the table perfectly, she moved to check on the oxygen masks and tanks. Passing through her fingers the tubes to check for holes and satisfactorily, finding none.

She was reading her past notes with a hot tea cup by her side when the bell finally rang.

Her chest filled with excitement at seeing the van, heart drumming so loud on her ears she didn´t even hear the men as they worked to pull down the covered cage.

“Here we go, Miss. It was no easy catch, lemme tell you that. They threw some of my men down the cliff and even then, we could only catch one.”

“You will be properly compensated” she said lowering herself to remove the cloth over the cage. Bitterness filled her mouth when the poacher tugged on it and she was forced to look at him again.

“You told us they would be tame like the last ones” the man all but growled. The woman refrained herself from curling her mouth in disgust.

“You should know not to understimate a cornered beast, mister. How´s your mistake my problem?” The man´s jaw clenched before she moved to tug the cloth away and was once again stopped when the man stepped on her way.

She let out a groan before standing up, a full head taller than the man.

“If you´re trying to sell me a sob story about comraderie, I´m telling you now it won´t work. What do you want? Money?” She asked pulling out her pocket a blank check and a pen “Tell me how much and I will-”

“Don´t call us again” Her pen stops mid drawing a triple zero. “That´s all I´m asking. I can´t keep losing men over whatever the heck you´re doing with those damn pests. Get yourself another team. We´re out”

The woman is stunned. It takes her a few seconds to talk again.

“So not even for double the pay?”

“No” The man terminates with eyes glowing in held ire. He´s absolutely serious.

She smiles.

“Well, then. Thanks for your service. Can you carry the cage inside before you leave, though? I gotta confirm you didn´t bring me another dead one”

With a heavy sigh, the man whistles for the others to move. Quickly pulling it inside the lab to where other cages reeking of mold and blood are.

She takes a deep breath to calm her excitement before pulling the cloth away finally.

In a whole second, her lips go as wide as they can in a marveled grin, then they twist and fall as they focus on the muzzled creature, tightly secured and collared as it should be handled, but its body is so limp and pale, her face hardens.

She smacks its head lightly, but it falls back with a metallic thud.

“Ah, fuck. Not again” the poucher sighs already twisting his head away towards his workers to scold them.

She is not someone who gives out to her emotions easily, but it´s when incompetence what will bring every sour and rotten feeling she has kept under her apparent calm over the surface.

It´s one second where she´s about to throw her hands over the poucher´s neck when she hears the soft whimper the creature struggles to exhale.

She puts her hand up towards the poucher and a key lands on her hand, not a second going by before she´s already opened the barred door and crawled half her body inside to unfasten the belts around the creature´s torax.

A cough followed by a purr of contentment escapes its lips as it relaxes back down on the cage. Its chest now fully extending and deflating, quickly, settling into a constant rhythm after a few seconds.

She sighs out loud before kicking the men out of her lab.

At the electric door, the man extends his hand to get his check but when the woman passes it to him switching it open, he snorts baffled.

“This is not even half of what we agreed on!” he screams, shaking the bill on her face.

“You almost killed it. I´m over compensating your halfed assed work. If I were you I would take it before I changed my mind”

The man grabbed at his hair before clicking his tongue at her “But it came alive!”

“I can also cancel it if you want” she says simply before the man just throws the bill at her.

“Fucking bitch” the man spats.

She looks at him and steps aside when after a moment, he steps outside the truck and picks up the paper before finally leaving.

She sighs as she closes the door, a smile appearing when she remembers by the sudden thrashing coming from her lab that she finally has another subject. Jumping like a kid, she makes her way to the door, where she lets her body swing inside while holding the frame.

From there, she can see the creature trying to break free from its bonds, chains rattling when it pushes back and forward looking for a way out of the collar and the cuffs around its tallons.

“Hello there, beautiful” she says growing closer to the keening creature, curling on itself in a corner of the cage. She can see now its one of the youngest she had seen of its type. Did that mean it was more resilient? Harder to tame?

Perfect. She loves a challenge.

“I know you´re scared, as you should, but there´s nothing to worry about” she says lowering herself so she can be on the same level as those yellow eyes.

Oh, they have an orange and blue fringe around them. Interesting. She didn´t have any of that color yet.

She pulls her hand closer to the creature, only making it jump and hiss at it, bristling the few feathers on its head.

She shushes it to no avail as she lands her hand on the chain connected to its collar. The powerful tug she gives it forcing the creature closer, its muzzled mouth letting out yet another whimper when its face meets the metal bars harshly.

It keens again in horror before another tug chokes the air out of its lungs.

“I have never had one of you, you know? I´m so looking forward to become acquainted with you” The creature´s eyes shift uneasy from her to her hands to the table behind her before closing and trying to push away, only to be pulled closer again. Its tallons scrape the cage´s door as it tries to separate itself from the bars. The woman chuckles when she twists the chain around her wrist and the creature cries as its forced forward.

“I told you, there´s nothing to worry, you don´t even have to talk! You body will be enough to tell me everything about you” It can´t even react as she reaches to her pocket and takes out a syringe and stabs its neck, masterfully extracting some blood before she finally lets go and the creature its allowed to cower in the corner again.

She stares at the purple fluid filling the syringe as a smile forms on her lips. She hums carrying the syringe to the other side of the lab, passing by the cage and laughing to herself when the creature gasps and rushed to crawl to the other side. Keening softly before it becomes a powerful drilling cry.

The woman can´t care less as she inspects the blood poured into a slide and under the microscope. Fascinated by what she´s seeing, she can´t spare a look towards her captive, letting out a sound close to a sob looking at the door she had popped out from, some trees visible from where the creature lays.

It sadly confuses them from ones similar to its home, clawing to the idea it shouldn´t be far from there, that help wasn´t so far and impossible to reach anymore and that it had simply being taken to this human´s dangerous territory.

It couldn´t know it would be proven how wrong that was until it saw the human walk back to the cage, excitement written all over their face as she opened the door to its cage.

#whump #writing #no name drabbles go #tw manhandling #this is not good but what do i care #cages #nonhuman whumpee #tw implied death #eye whump #if you saw that meme reference i love you #lab whump #idk how to tag this

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itsclydebitches · 3 years ago

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I kinda wonder, what could bakugou do (hori write bakugou to do) to make him less popular with the "anti" crowd. Like He was a horrid child no doubt and people who try to put blame on Deku or lessen the terrible shit bakugou did aren't great. But as we don't rly see it, we have to assume bakugous behaviour wasn't stopped, we only ever saw his mum "punishing" him when he was being rude after getting kiddnapped. Nothing will excuse what bakugou did, but he has stopped? He's overall a harsh person but he's not harrassing and bullying people anymore, specifically not deku, he's trying to attone for what he did to deku and has now apologised for it. His behaviour was never viewed as justified or good in the series, he's a scary figure in middle school, we're not meant to like his behaviour, so the series itself hasn't justified his actions.

As someone who relate to both bakugou and deku more than I'd like to admit (never told someone to jump tho, that's fucked lol) so I can 100% understand not liking or even hating bakugou but as someone who's not 15 anymore, looking back I also made a lot of really shitty decisions and like bakugou have tried to make up for it, and like deku I was 'friends' with people who hurt me.

Is there anything he can do for the "antis" to just dislike him rather that be "anti"?

(I'm very sorry if you've talked about this somewhere, you can just tell me to look for it if you have, I'll continue to look for your posts on the subject)

Hey there, anon! I think I’ve spoken about this only tangentially and/or in my main Bakugo meta, which is too big for anyone sane to read. So yeah, let’s chat here!

For me personally—and that’s all I can ever do: speak personally. I think it’s important to keep in mind that there is no single solution to please the “anti” crowd. Each fan will be looking for something slightly different in Bakugo’s character, much of which might contradict what a “stan” is currently enjoying. Given how charged a character he is, I'm not sure it's possible to get the entire fandom to like him—what I’m looking for hinges on having a different reading of the story than you seem to. Meaning, I think the series does justify his behavior. Not in any overt, super obvious way like having all the characters go, “Wow, Bakugo! I sure do love how you threaten people all the time. That’s super cool and heroic!” Things are rarely that straightforward. Rather, it’s in a more subtle, but consistent manner that paints a rather conclusive picture across hundreds of chapters.

Simply put, Bakugo is continually rewarded for his actions. Or, if not outright rewarded, his actions are ignored in a way that implies silent acceptance. Characters may not always like what he does... but they're willing to let it slide because Bakugo's heroism was always treated as a given, not something he had to earn and prove.

With the ever necessary disclaimer that I’m not fully caught up yet, here’s a list of some of the things that stood out to me in the first half of the series:

Bakugo’s bullying made him the most popular kid in school.

Bakugo’s bullying was ignored by/outright supported by the teachers.

Bakugo’s bullying did not hinder him from getting into U.A., one of the most prestigious hero schools around.

Despite acting horribly throughout his time at U.A. too, this behavior was continually ignored by the teachers and other authority figures around him.

Bakugo’s struggle to realize that other people aren’t “trash” doesn’t hurt his achievements in any way. He still gets top scores, still wins the tournament, etc.

Bakugo’s behavior gets him special attention from All Might, the greatest hero and Bakugo’s personal idol.

His behavior doesn’t make others dislike him in any manner that’s taken seriously. Everybody is still willing to not just put up with Bakugo, but—in time—start treating his behavior as a quirk (no pun intended lol) that they’re secretly fond of, rather than something he should legitimately be striving to change. Kirishima is the most overt example of this.

This is compounded by his behavior constantly being framed as humorous. Much like with Mineta’s perverted actions, characters might superficially go, “No, that’s bad!” but the story never demands any significant development because then we’d lose the “joke” of Bakugo screaming in rage at the slightest inconvenience, threatening to murder someone over nothing, constantly belittling everyone around him in a “funny” manner, etc. When fans talk about development of a manga character as archetypal and extreme as Bakugo, most don’t really want to see significant change to his base personality. Because then that would result in someone who doesn’t look like the “real” Bakugo: someone nicer, more even-tempered, more mature, etc. But for those of us who were never drawn to that personality in the first place, the continued acceptance of his rude, egotistical, and violent behavior is discomforting. The easiest comparison I can draw is between this and Bakugo’s mother slapping him. That slap is meant to be another “joke”—we see it constantly in shonen anime, something "humorous" you shouldn’t take too seriously because haha, it's just an overprotective mother—but many fans do take it seriously, using it as the basis for a whole “Bakugo was abused and this explains his behavior” reading. Well, I take the “joke” of Bakugo’s threats and insults seriously, especially in a story that starts with something like telling Izuku to jump off the roof. In the same way that many fans want others to treat Bakugo’s mother as a serious topic that has had a negative influence on his development, I want the series to take Bakugo’s everyday actions seriously as a negative influence on… well, everyone around him. But it doesn’t. His base personality is grudgingly adored.

The above two points are seen most overtly in Izuku, who never wavers in his respect for Bakugo despite how Bakugo treats him. Not just prior to U.A., but during their training too. Izuku, as the protagonist, is the emotional heart of this tale, so when he talks about how inspiring Bakugo is, it encourages the reader to see his behavior as inspiring too. Rather than, as said, something that needs to change. Izuku's continued friendship with Bakugo, his adoration of him, and his acceptance of the way he's treated has severely warped how the entire story sees Bakugo's actions. After all, if #pure Izuku can see the good in Bakugo, why can't everyone else? He must not be that bad after all.

I could get into detailed analyses of all the above—like how Bakugo was the one comforted after attacking Izuku outside the dorms at night and how the messed up relationship he has with Izuku is upheld as something to nurture; how the remedial courses he had to take were made to be rather silly, thereby undermining their supposed importance to his development; how Bakugo’s kidnapping had nothing to do with his flaws, but much of the fandom uses it as a way to dismiss any appropriate consequences because, “Hasn’t he suffered enough?” etc.—but in the interest of keeping this within a readable length, I’ll leave it at that. The point is that Bakugo has always been privileged when it comes to his behavior, resulting in others either outright praising it, ignoring it, or demanding that he change a miniscule bit, which always keeps him far below the standards of both his peers and the expectations of a hero. Everyone in 1-A must learn to be even better than the good people they already are... Bakugo needs to learn that other people aren't dirt at the bottom of his shoes. It's never been a particularly impressive development when pit against the rest of the class. All of which can make something like an apology feel pretty hollow. Yes, he’s apologized and I say with all seriousness that that’s great! But how does that apology stack up against 300+ chapters of content? As Bakugo’s words highlight, he's been a really awful person up "until now": he was consumed by Izuku being “miles ahead of [him],” he “looked down on [him]” because he didn’t have a quirk, he “didn’t want to recognize that,” he “hated that,” “grew distant,” “tried to beat you down,” “opposed you and tried to show my superiority over you,” and ends it all with, “it probably doesn’t mean anything telling you all this” before finally getting to the “I’m sorry.” This is basically a laundry list of how horrible a person Bakugo has been for the entire series, with an acknowledgement that this apology is coming really, really late. This is the moment where I could START to like Bakugo, depending on how he acts form here on out, but that pivotal moment arrived after six years of content and in the final arc of the story. It’s too late. Bakugo needed this kind of self-reflection and positive action 250+ chapters ago so he could (hopefully) grow into a better person across the story, not at the story's end. What we got instead is 322 chapters of him being a really horrible person, but the story going out of its way to excuse or even praise that behavior the majority of the time.

As a quick comparison to end on, I think what Bakugo needed was what Soo Jin got in True Beauty. You don’t need to have seen the drama to follow along. The tl;dr is that she has a lot of the core qualities of Bakugo: an all-consuming drive to win that was created due to abusive parents with high expectations, resulting in her bullying a peer to a pretty horrific extent. The difference between them is how the story frames their actions. When Soo Jin becomes the bully she loses everything. Rather than succeeding academically, her grades plummet, making it clear that this anxiety and self-doubt (things the fandom keeps insisting Bakugo is struggling with, but that rarely ever show up in the text) is actually impacting her day-to-day life. Her best friend drops her because she’s not going to support her choices. The boy she likes rejects her. She’s eventually forced to start over somewhere new - which importantly separates her from the girl she was bullying - and get some distance from her parents, resulting in the growth needed to become a healthier, happier, good person again. So when Soo Jin apologizes to the girl she hurt, it feels earned. The story continually recognized how horrific her actions were and put her into a place where she either had to change, or continue losing at everything else that was important to her. Bakugo? Bakugo doesn’t lose. Oh, he claims he does because he’s comparing himself to Izuku constantly, but that’s just him thinking in extremes. He still wins academically. Still wins many battles. Still wins at having friends. Still wins by maintaining the prestige of being a U.A. student. Still wins by getting All Might’s attention. Still wins by receiving Izuku’s respect and an agreement to maintain this rivalry that Bakugo is so obsessed with. Bakugo comes out well 99% of the time, he just thinks he's "lost" because he can't stand not being the absolute best.

For me, the story needed to have Bakugo face consequences for his behavior, not receive rewards and/or have others ignore it, and that revelation/apology needed to come way, way sooner. For me the issue is not a specific action that Horikoshi can have Bakugo do in the next chapter and them bam, I like him now. The problem is Bakugo’s entire concept, how he’s received by the entire cast, and his run across this entire series. "Entire" is the key word there. Which is why the “But he’s apologized. What more do you antis want?” reactions don’t sit well. What we wanted is a better written redemption arc across those 300+ chapters, not a single scene that’s meant to have us forget all the other problems inherent in the story. At this point it’s a far more complicated situation than, “Bakugo just needs to do X, Y, and Z and then we’re golden.” At the end of the day, Horikoshi failed to make me like him as a person and I’m pretty sure he isn’t going to change Bakugo enough to make him likable to me. Bakugo was never the sort of character I’d be inclined towards without a serious, nuanced redemption arc, but sadly, a core, crucial part of that redemption arc took six years to arrive. At this point there’s no way to change the problems in Bakugo’s writing for that huge chunk of the series and not enough time left in the series, it seems, to do the work we should have seen across the entire run. Honestly, idk if the Bakugo we'll get going forward is someone I can just dislike as opposed to being really uncomfortable with, but my money is on there being too little story left and too much investment in upholding Bakugo's base personality for that to happen. I could absolutely be proven wrong! But I think the problems are structural and needed to be better dealt with from page one, not hastily patched over in the final hour.

#BNHA #My Hero Academia #anti bakugo

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onebizarrekai · 4 years ago

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v3′s art is comically terrible for a professionally distributed game in a series: a compilation

in this not-essay I will list all of the mistakes and problems I have spotted in v3′s art. don’t worry, it’s entirely for fun and I’m doing this on a whim, so please feel free to not take this seriously but also it’s hilarious and embarrassing how ridiculous this is like what happened did they speedrun the whole production or what

see, there are some things you can take as meta like “they made it bad on purpose to allude to the downfall of tv shows that have been on air for much too long” but I have a very strong feeling this is not the case due to the nature of some of these errors

disclaimer, the more I study this art, the more I fear that the artists were underpaid and underslept, so if this is in fact the case, I am so sorry to all of them but also I’m going to make fun of the art anyway

anyway let’s get started!

if you study this image for longer than 5 seconds, you will see that kaede is the only one fully shaded and keebo is literally just his normal sprite pasted into the image. every other character is just an ordinary ref, hence most of them facing the exact same direction with neutral expressions on their faces. it looks like a bad edit, and is probably one of the worst pieces of art in the game. it kind of gets better from here on, but my roasting will not.

with that out of the way, here’s the problem that officially bothers me the most and clarifies my viewpoint of “this is not meta and an actual lack of company communication”

this freaking cg, which seems normal at a glance, but some wiseass was like “oh, kaede is a girl, so obviously she’s going to be shorter than the Male Protagonist™” ah, that’s funny. because if you look at the character bios, kaede is, in fact, one inch taller than shuichi and not like 6 inches shorter as she is shown here.

also shuichi’s shoulder is disproportionate and horrendous and he looks vaguely like a jojo character, but I wasn’t even thinking about that until right now.

thanks guys, 50% of the fandom who has never bothered to check these bios thinks that kaede is like 5′3 (did the developers really put so little thought into her to the point where drawing her correctly in the game didn’t even matter??)

also I would like to point out that, even though this isn’t related to the art itself, yes, a character kaede’s size being only 117 lbs is unfeasible, but this applies to literally every character in danganronpa ever and it’s not new news that it’s unrealistic

update: someone in the tags informed me that in versions of the game that use centimeters, like the japanese version, kaede is actually shorter than shuichi, which just adds another thing to the list of weird decisions the localization team made for no reason. that said, after confirming this, kaede is 167 cm in the original, while shuichi is 171 cm, which are approximately 5′6 and 5′7 respectively, but one inch is still nowhere near as drastic as it is depicted above. (in spite of this, I would rather depict kaede as slightly taller, so I’m probably going to keep doing that.)

the journey continues!

bro if you want kaede to have shoulder length hair then stick to it to begin with

you can pretend this is at an angle all you want but they definitely committed the shorter kaede sin a second time

wait a goddamn second.

DO YOU SEE THIS

no………… it wasn’t kaede who shrank. it was shuichi who got taller

speaking of which, can we talk about how shady the perspective is in this elevator pic? look at shuichi and kokichi in comparison to kaede. kokichi, who is canonically 7 inches (edit: or 5, if you’re loyal to the original) shorter than kaede, looks taller than kaede. he’s growing too. what steroids are these gays taking

running into the room, electric boogaloo: I don’t think tsumugi is supposed to be the same height as kokichi

gonta… gonta you’re lookin a bit like a jojo character there

I love how kaito’s head looks kind of like it was pasted onto his body. why is he the same size as shuichi? shouldn’t he be high school bully size or something? his torso is teensy

ah yes, white angie.

I love this cg but why is shuichi’s right hand so much bigger than his left hand

I also love how this cg looks like they literally took pictures of trees and pasted them into the background, especially on the left. the shadows are so weird, especially closer to the ceiling, it’s difficult for me to believe they didn’t do exactly that.

return of Enlarged shuichi

puberty update: kokichi is now taller than shuichi in spite of shuichi never missing leg day. what crimes will he commit

I have to mention it, guys. this has to be one of the worst danganronpa cgs. kokichi’s facial proportions look atrocious. look at the way his face sticks out like his jaw is in the wrong place. his scarf is a pasted texture. that’s it. this moment was so iconic but the cg just looks so… so… off. like something is terribly wrong, but you can’t put your finger on it.

you know what? let’s get into that ‘pasted texture’ thing.

let’s imagine you’re an artist working on a professional game. you’re assigned to draw cgs of kokichi ouma, who has a checkered scarf from hell. sure, it will be terrible to draw, but you only have to draw it once at a time! plus, perspective is pretty important, right? can you be bothered? nah, actually. let’s just copy paste a checkered pattern into the cg, because I’m sure nobody will notice. it’ll blend right in with the other cgs that someone actually put effort into drawing his scarf in, right?

no. the answer is no and I very much noticed. this genuinely looks terrible and I would understand taking a shortcut like that in fanart or even an indie game but this is a full price pc and console distributed game

(an addition: look at kokichi’s TINY HANDS in that last one)

meanwhile, they straight up forgot to color in kokichi’s scarf in this cg.

dude. I forgot about whatever the hell this cg was. anyway look at keebo please just look at him

lovin kaito’s baby arms

real talk, maybe you could argue that he’s missing muscle because he’s deathly sick, but most of his cgs don’t line up with this, and his arms just look disproportionate to his torso size (granted this is a consistent problem across all danganronpa games and a lot of characters have this weird problem, like hajime, but also kaito is bigger than hajime so I kind of have higher expectations of him) maybe it’s his stupid goatee and the way he reminds me of yasuhiro?? it creates this illusion that he’s older than he is and so I keep expecting him to look more like an adult

oh, also rantaro is missing some of his accessories in that video he made–you know the one–but I don’t wanna go back and screenshot it

also you may have noticed that I’m skipping all of the monokub cgs because I literally do not care about them and I’m not even bothering to check and see if they have artistic mistakes in them

JIMMY NEUTRON???

hey um uh kaito you seem to be missing your neck

hey guys do you like my pregame fanart

so, that done, the sprites are also pretty terrible at times. they’re not as interesting to go through, however, and downloading the full sprite sets for every character and studying every single one of them will drive me insane, so I’ll just sum some of the ones I noticed up. I made things for kaede and shuichi before deciding I wasn’t going to get into it, so here are these.

that said, other mistakes include kokichi missing his purple highlights in all of the sprites encompassing a specific pose, stray pixels all over the place on everyone, and everyone also has heavily inconsistent shading, but literally all I think about is how pregame shuichi is unshaded and two of kaede’s pregame sprites have glaring outfit change mistakes in them

anyway, thank you for taking the time to read my ridiculous ramble. in all seriousness, there’s this looming presence of some lack of communication in the development team, like with all the art and design inconsistencies, pieces and sprites that look rushed, stray pixels, and missing basic proportional stuff. these are the kinds of things that you supposedly have to pretty much have in the bag in order to get jobs in professional businesses, so it’s really weird to me that this game suffers from so many of these problems. it’s like they tried to make the art so much more crisp than the other games, but it fell on its face as they realized it was going to take longer to draw everything and they started to rush. it’s weird, because the coloring itself looks normal–it’s just sloppily drawn, and the proportions are a mess once put into the context of perspective. many of the cgs look like they were drawn by different people, and I’m still not over the fact that half of kokichi’s cgs have his scarf pasted in as a texture.

the moral of the story is that if you’re selling a game at full price that also happens to be in a series that has had 3 very good games in it already the stakes should probably be higher than this. v3 has been out for more than 3 years and it’s still $40 (did it cost more than that before? I sure hope not), and the overarching quality of the game is just not as high as the other games. I’m not saying that the other games don’t have any problems with their art at all, they’re just not as glaringly obvious and every artistic choice in those games feels intentional.

regardless, I had a blast roasting the art at 2am, so maybe you got a kick out of all this chaos.

#god I keep telling myself I'm gonna stop rambling about v3 #v3 spoilers #drv3 spoilers #ndrv3 #random stuff #but making this… it sounded so fun #danganronpa

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kitkatopinions · 3 years ago

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It's hilarious how half the Rwby simps will say 'No, you don't understand! Ironwood's a classic example of how a good man can become evil!' and the other half will say 'No, you don't understand! Ironwood's a classic example of how an evil person can hide in plain sight for years!' Even the simps and bootlickers can't agree on the moral of his story

Honestly, I and other RWDE posters have consistently got contradictory 'explanations' for tons of stuff. And obviously, part of the reason for that is that RWBY fans - and even RWBY simps - do have different opinions and think different things and come to different conclusions just like RWDE posters do.

Of course, there are some big differences between RWDE posters and RWBY simps. Most IW fans aren't demanding that everyone else love him, whereas anti-IW people try to bully others into hating him. Most RWDE posters aren't demanding that everyone hate RWBY, or stop posting about liking it (although there are a couple exceptions,) but a lot of RWBY simps frequently demand that everyone like RWBY or at the very least stop posting about why they have problems with it. But that's not quite the point.

RWBY simps have lots of different ideas, but it is funny to post or to see other people post criticism of RWBY, and then to see multiple people in the comments tell us "this is the obvious solution to that so it isn't a flaw" while all of them are presenting different solutions. For instance, the Penny problem! Many people were complaining that Penny getting a flesh body didn't make sense, and had both people saying that obviously Penny's soul had just conjured up her own flesh body by using its aura, and people saying that obviously Ambrosius had made her a body because he was preventing himself from killing. In both cases, the RWDE posters complaining about the problem were mocked and treated like they were stupid or lying for not believing the 'obvious' conclusion that others had drawn.

For another example, Yang not being shown telling anyone about Raven being the Spring Maiden. People were complaining that Yang being furious at Ozpin for keeping information secret while she herself had yet to tell anyone about Raven was hypocritical, and they had both people telling them that obviously Yang had already told everyone about Raven off screen, and people saying that obviously Yang would tell them later when it comes up again, and also people saying that obviously the Raven information didn't really matter anymore because it'd never come up again so it was unfair to say Yang had done something when said thing would never matter to the plot now.

And then obviously, with Ironwood, we got loads of completely contradictory 'explanations.'

"Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because he was impatient and had it removed unnecessarily," "Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because Ironwood was internally ableist and saw having prosthetics as a bad thing," "Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because Ironwood didn't care about losing his arm, proving that he's heartless," "Ironwood losing his arm was a sign of his lost humanity not because of the arm itself, but because it represented Ironwood embracing/relying on mechanics and robotics." (Side note, I'll never get over the ableism in some of the replies there that I and others have got, and the constant attempts to justify the ableist comment the writers made.)

Of course, none of the people demanding that RWDE posters believe their headcanons ever demand that other Anti-IW people with different headcanons believe them, or call them stupid for not having come to that same conclusion. Because it's not actually even about people agreeing with them on how, it's just that they want everyone to believe the narrative of the show. So it doesn't matter to them if someone comes to the conclusion "Ironwood was always a villain and he was only ever lying when he did anything good in order to manipulate people into following them," or "Ironwood's fall makes sense because of the emotional and physical exhaustion he was going through," even if they're yelling at and berating others for not believing "Ironwood's fall to villainy was about him becoming power hungry over time and turning into a dictator even though he started the show as a good person." Any theory is fine, so long as it's Anti-IW, because if it isn't, then you're clearly saying the show isn't perfect and are therefore point blank wrong (even if their only 'explanations' are based in headcanons.)

But what's even funnier are the people who either change their 'explanations' mid debate, or contradict themselves mid-sentence!

"Ruby is different from Oz because she only lied to James because she didn't know if she could trust him, and once he proved himself and she was on board with him, she let him in. Ruby knew from the start that there was something shifty going on and never really agreed with him, she was only working with him out of necessity and didn't want to write him off right away, she was showing she trusted him by working with him, but he wasn't trusting her back."

"Ironwood was over-emotional and over reacted, so how were Ruby and the others supposed to trust that he'd do the right thing? Ironwood relied way too much on his mind and was blocking out his emotions, which you can see contrasted in characters like Ruby, Nora, and Robyn. And he's clearly way too compromised to be in charge in the first place, I mean, he's so affected by his fear that he's letting it control him, that's why Ruby needed to take charge."

"I think it was actually really heroic of Ruby to denounce Ironwood because she had seen he was already acting like a dictator, I mean did you miss that he had soldiers in Mantle, and was clearly trying to enforce things like a curfew? I don't know how anyone can believe Ironwood was good in volume seven, what with how he wasn't doing enough to protect the people of Mantle and keep them safe from the Grimm. And on top of that, he wasn't getting global communications restored fast enough, which proves he doesn't care about uniting the world like Ruby does."

Like, guys... It's actually really funny. Ironwood can't do anything right for RWBY simps, they'll try their very darnedest to convince people that everything he did was the wrong thing and that everything that Ruby and her team did was the right thing, even if they're literally contradicting themselves. And tbh, these conversations can end one of two ways. The nicer conversations will end with a 'well, agree to disagree' or a 'well, I can't see your point and you probably can't see mine.' I've both gotten and given these statements, and I'm actually fairly happy with them, because it's at least peaceful (this is most common with people who are just fans, rather than simps.) The meaner RWBY simps will leave with 'well, you're just stupid,' or 'well, you're just stubborn,' or 'well, you're just too busy simping for Ironwood to listen to reason.' And the meanest ones will send hate anons! I've only gotten a few, but others experience literal harassments, like regularly receiving anons from people who are attacking them for criticizing RWBY or liking Ironwood. RWBY simps, just like Ruby herself, will consider anyone the enemy if they don't agree with her and don't want her to be able to do what she wants with no arguments.

They rarely ever admit they're wrong about anything, even when their contradictions are pointed out to them. Luckily, I haven't gotten many comments from RWBY simps lately. I think I've blocked most of them that are regular posters these days, but I still see them on other people's posts sometimes, and it's always fun to see the comment sections of other RWDE posters, and see them responding to someone that I can't see lol. I'm always like "Oh, I must've blocked that one! Sounds like they're saying some trippy stuff."

#rwde #anti rwby #rwby hate #rwby bashing #pro ironwood #pro general ironwood #pro IW #anti fndm #dadmiral ironwood #general dadmiral

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narrans · 3 years ago

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Everyone needs a little Hero | Rings and Memories

The apartment complex wasn’t the newest and had few features that could be identified as the “latest and greatest.” Sometimes there were problems with the water and sometimes the lights flickered at odd times of the day and night. Every so often, things would go missing or just get misplaced.

One thing this apartment complex did have, however, were stories. Each of its dozen floors held people from different places and backgrounds. Some people were thriving, others trying to make their way. Some were going through hardships and a few just need a friend – someone to talk to.

One other thing this place had among its labyrinth of walls and wires was a whole other world – a smaller world consisting of dozens of families. Some of them big, some of them small, but all of them little – these were the Borrowers.

The four-inch folk live in quiet solitude, surviving by taking what they need in pieces, parts, fragments, and segments. Rarely did something of significance go missing and, even then, it was the humans’ fault for being so clumsy.

There were rules for keeping themselves undiscovered by the humans and, for the most part, these rules were upheld. There were times where humans spread rumors or asked if there were mice and such in the building. Thankfully, the Borrowers had managed to steer clear of the exterminators and their traps.

It was one of their biggest fears – to be seen and caught by a human.

Hero grew up with two older brothers, an older sister, and a younger sister. He also had his parents, grandparents, and even a great-grandfather. His family had never immigrated, a rarity among their kind, and had always been careful. Subtly, the young Borrower with sandy brown hair and bright green eyes had always feared the humans, but also found them fascinating.

Humans were dangerous, yes, but were also ingenuitive and forward thinking. They had creativity and passion as well as the means to do so. Hero knew they had the ability to do horrendous things, but they also had the power to do good.

Every once in a while, he would venture through the walls and listen to the humans watching that big flat thing called a T.V. or a screen. They watched scary things, but the thing Hero was fascinated with was the show about villains and, like his name, heroes.

These heroes had powers and would fight against injustice, whatever that was, and the bad people hurting other people. Some could shoot lasers while others could fly. Some were strong. Some could use their hair. One thing that hero noticed about all of these people was that it didn’t matter who they were or what they looked like – they were all heroes.

Some of them, he noticed, didn’t even have powers. There was one boy who was drawn with green hair and cried a lot that talked about what it meant to be a hero – and somehow the young Borrower found this inspiring. He knew from that moment on he had to live up to his name.

Now, how he was going to go about this he wasn’t sure. He had only just had his thirteenth birthday and was three or so inches on a good day. Needless to say, height was going to be a slight issue, but it wouldn’t stop him. According to some people on a thing called the “inner-net,” you didn’t need to save lives or stop buildings from falling down to make a difference in someone’s life.

This is the notion that Hero clung to one night as he debated for the hundredth time with himself. He didn’t need to be big to make a difference. In fact, some guy by the name of “Gamdalf” said that it was the ordinary actions of small folk that made a difference.

It was settled – and Hero knew who he wanted to help first.

On the third floor, there was an elderly couple who loved each other very much. Hero liked going down and listening to them talk. They were hilarious, mostly because they were forgetful from time to time and would move things without telling the other.

“Where are my glasses?” asked the woman. “Well, I don’t know dear. They were on your head. Did you check there?” the man would respond, all the while wearing them on his head because he thought those were his glasses.

Hero could watch them for hours and be amused. There were a few times, accidentally, where he was laughing so hard that they stopped and looked up at the trim near the ceiling. “Those neighbor kids must think something’s pretty funny.” A handful of those comments made Hero well aware he needed to be careful even when they had a hard time remembering.

The final straw in his debate on helping them first in fact came from the saddest of events. The elderly man, on night, had fallen and went to some place for him to get better called a “hospital,” but that didn’t happen.

The woman came back so very sad and Hero wanted nothing more than to cheer her up. He had to come up with something, and he had to do it quickly as he began to hear rumors that she was immigrating and could see boxes being loaded up.

It was just after dinner and his siblings were out borrowing except for his younger sister Winnie, who was far too young to go borrowing being only six. Hero stood in his room with all of his necessary supplies laid on his bed.

He had a fishing hook, a safety pin, one band-aid, a pin, battery lamp with a new borrowed bulb, a piece of razor, and a strong line which he had checked a dozen times. There were a few moments where he paused to breathe, staring at his muddled reflection in a piece of tin foil he kept in his room.

“Heroes usually have some kind of outfit or a cape. Do I need a cape? I don’t know. Capes get in the way. What about a mask? Naw, that won’t work. It might get in my eyes. This is fine for now.” Hero puffed out his chest, grabbed his backpack of supplies, and headed out through the halls.

He made sure to wave to his grandparents as he ran past their hallway. His little legs carried him at a steady pace past the pipes to the wires he had to lay on to cross from one wall joist to the next. The drop was at least a floor and would certainly be a problem if he were to slip, but the wires were coated with rubber and were nice and thick. Hero had also learned the pro-tip from his oldest brother, Atlas, of hooking the safety pin from his backpack onto the line. Since it was strapped to him, it added an extra safety measure.

Hero slowed his jog to a brisk walk as everything began setting in for him. Was he ready for something like this? He was only 13 after all. He had been borrowing on his own, but this would be different in that now he was going to purposefully move something for the human to notice and become curious about.

Hero cupped his palms and smacked his face lightly to snap himself out of it. It wasn’t like he was going to be seen or anything. Plus, the elderly woman was forgetful. Even if he were seen, she would most likely forget. Right?

The labyrinth of walls passed by quicker than expected. Before the young Borrower knew it, he was standing above one of the ceiling fan tiles that they used to observe. He could already hear the daughter and the older lady talking.

“Mom, what are you looking for?” asked the daughter.

“I… well… I’m sure I saw it in here somewhere,” the older woman replied.

“Dad’s ring?” prompted the daughter. “Mom, you looked in there already. It’s been lost for years.”

“Pish posh I remember seeing it just the other day,” the mother responded as she continued to rummage through the next box. She started taring the tape off of another when the daughter intervened.

“Here, mom, why don��t you check this box,” she suggested, but the mother shook her head.

“No, I distinctly remember seeing it by the couch. These boxes must be on top of it.”

Hero listened for a few more minutes, saddened by the encounter, now knew what he had to do – he was going to find that ring. He pulled himself from the ceiling tile, ensuring it was secure, before heading for the nearest wall that could take him to the ground, which was not a far walk. The path to and from this apartment was well used and so had a permanent line anchored to it.

The sheer drop down was enough to makes his knees weaken and his head spin with vertigo. Heights weren’t always an issue, but that little bit of nervousness was something Hero took as a good sign. If he weren’t nervous, he might miss checking something before climbing the line. There was darkness below where there was usually light. Must be a bad bulb. He wrapped his hands around the line, checked his footing, and descended the line knot after knot.

It took some time, but he finally reached the ground by the floorboards. The walls absorbed the light on his hip lamp. Small dust particles drifted around in the air, lingering as the footsteps above knocked them loose. The Christmas lights which usually illuminated most of the main hallways they traversed were still hanging on the walls on top of the thumbtacks.

Something about the air didn’t set right with Hero. There was an eerie stillness under the floorboards of the older woman’s apartment. Hero felt himself freezing. There was a nervousness in his chest. His heart was beating so incredibly fast now. When did that happen?

The determined boy couldn’t let these things bother him now. He puffed out his chest with a deep inhale and stepped further into the darkness. The joists towered above him at a whole seven inches and effectively had him surrounded on his left and right. Hero began walking up and down the floor joists, starting where he was at the entrance and working his way to the sitting area.

Hero knew where the old woman’s couch was in the apartment; and he also knew there were several wide floorboards and some holes the other Borrowers had left in case they needed to make a hasty exit. Maybe it was unlikely, but Hero suspected that if something had been knocked into the floor, it could have fallen through one of their hiding holes.

He passed by a few more unilluminated lights and noticed a few of the wires were exposed – chewed through. Suddenly, his keen ears picked up something. If he hadn’t been on edge, he might’ve missed it. The light on the hip lamp only illuminated a foot or so in every direction, but sound didn’t need the light to be heard.

A skittering sound of clawed feet scraped just on the other side of one of the joists. It stopped. Then it started again. Immediately, his heart leapt into his throat and the Borrower boy stopped dead in his tracks. Hero instinctively pulled his pin from his side and held his hip light in his right hand.

He peered around the corner and could see with his bright green eyes the small tail of a mouse skittering away from the little bit of light from Hero’s lamp. He exhaled shakily. Maybe he wouldn’t need to fight it today. He glanced down the passage and decided to follow behind carefully.

Cautious step after cautious step, Hero eventually heard the mouse head back down through the walls as he turned down the next corridor. Sadly, there were only three left for him to check.

As he walked down the next hall feeling discouraged, he realized that there was a slight glint up ahead. Still brandishing the pin, Hero stepped forward with the light extended until he recognized the shape of a circle – a ring. He had found it!

The tarnishing silver ring was thick and heavy with writing Hero didn’t recognize. Reading was something his parents insisted that he learn, but even that didn’t help him with these words. There was also some kind of glittery rock in the middle. Now all that needed to be done was get it to the humans without getting caught. This was going to be interesting.

First and foremost – move it. It took some time, but the ring was eventually wrestled into the borrowing bag. The weight was significant and made normal borrowings feel light as a feather. Still, this would not stop the mission.

Hero now had to determine where to put it. Both of the humans were still at home and, from the sound of it, things were being moved around. Hero was usually very dexterous and quick, but he was incumbered by the weight. So, going up right then and there was out of the question.

While he walked back through the halls, he made his decision. He would wait until nighttime and put it in the woman’s bedroom where he knew she could find it – her bedside table. The thought of being so terribly close to a human made his insides flip anxiously. Still, he knew he had to persevere.

The trek to the elderly woman’s room was a long one and one that was taken with caution. That mouse was still roaming around and the last thing that Hero needed was a confrontation when he was debating how to get on top of the table with the ring in tow.

While he walked, he thought of scenario after scenario. I could climb it, obviously, but the weight on my back may make me tired before I reach the top. I could try to pull it up once I climbed to the top, but that leaves me on top of the table for a bit longer than I would want. I could try and tie one end to the ring and one end to me, jump, and have it slingshot up to the top.

Before he knew it, he was under the floor of the bedroom. Hero let his pack slump off of his shoulders and onto the ground, rubbing the aching muscles and tendons in his shoulders. Up above, he could hear the sounds of feet shuffling against the ground. She must be getting ready for bed. Earlier than normal.

The teen waited until the shuffling stopped to make his move, which he finally figured out. He was going to pull the ring up onto the desk. Climbing would be too tiresome and he weighed more than the ring, even if his shoulders argued otherwise, and couldn’t control the descent.

The pack was back on his shoulders again and he was on his way. Up through the opening in the baseboard under the bed, Hero tread lightly up to the immense bedside table, extinguishing his light before arriving. His keen ears picked up on the light sound of breathing just above him. Perfect. Completely quiet.

He tied the line onto his bag tightly before removing his hook. Pause for a breath. Aim. Swing. Swing. Hero let the hook fly from his hands and heard the hook sink in with a firm knock. Perfect. He shimmied up the rope in no time, glancing over to see the sleeping woman barely two feet from him. A shiver ran down his spine. It was completely involuntary and it was only then that Hero realized this was the closest he had ever been to a human before.

Everything about them was so much bigger than him. Their faces. Those eyes. It made his head and insides flip and swirl at the very notion of their hands. Don’t think about that now. You need to get the ring back on the table. He began pulling his bag up with the line. It tapped the table a few times on its ascent, which made him freeze and watch. Not a single stir.

It wasn’t until Hero had pulled up the bag and began pulling out the ring that he heard the older woman stir, shifting under the sheets that could easily smother him. His heartrate spiked, forcing him to swallow dryly as he finished pulling the ring free from the satchel.

The ring was right there in view next to the clock and the lamp. It wouldn’t be hard to find. Hero had almost reached his line when he heard something.

“What the… what is…” the voice of the elderly woman, still saturated with a groggy tiredness. Hero’s breath hitched in his throat. Every impulse shrieked. He almost threw himself off of the table when he saw a hand beginning to emerge from beneath the quilts and covers. Instead, he threw his bag over one shoulder and grabbed the line.

The rope burned his fingers and palms and he landed on the ground with a definite thud just as the light came on. There was no time. He back peddled as fast as he could from the line, regretting using his best hook. He was halfway to the hidden entrance when he heard her speak again.

“Oh… my… Stuart’s ring…” Hero stopped in his tracks. Stuart? Was that his name? The older man? “Oh… thank you little sprite.” Hero’s breath stopped completely. Was she able to see anything? Would she look?

All he knew was he heard the clattering of his hook on the ground, a sniffly sob, and then the lights turned out again. It was a risk, but Hero needed his hook. He quickly darted back and retrieved the hook; however, just before he left, he uttered the smallest “you’re welcome” before darting back into the cover of the walls.

Mission – success! Maybe he was seen. Maybe the old woman believed in such things. He didn’t know. What was certain was he had made someone’s day a little better; and that’s all that really mattered to him.

~Thanks for reading. Have any humans Hero needs to help? Suggestions and prompts welcome down below. Stay awesome!

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mimik-u · 4 years ago

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Flower Child, Chapter 17: Fall

AO3 Link

In defiance of every atom, of every primordial instinct that told her to run, Priyanka Maheswaran found herself in the slaughterhouse as the steel analog clock on the wall dragged her into the next minute.

5:55 PM.

But the hands of time were relentless. They kept moving, kept circling across the swath of smooth white. Seconds and seconds and seconds. Unthinking. Disinterested. Inexorable.

Seconds and seconds and seconds.

They piled upon the altar like dry kindling. One spark, and they would smoke; they would simply burn, and the reek of charnel would suffocate her where she languished and sat in the slaughterhouse, where all dreams crumbled—embers becoming charcoaled dust.

5:56.

In approximately two hundred and forty seconds, in four minutes more, Steven Universe’s guardians would file in through the door directly across from the nephrologist. She would implore them to sit with a terse nod of her head. She would not tell them that the medical staff who worked on the Truman Ward colloquially called the conference room directly across the nurse’s station—this very room—the slaughterhouse, where doctors brought the family members of patients in and didn’t leave them unchanged when they finally came out.

I’m sorry, they would say to someone’s mother, father, sibling, lover, friend, daughter, son.

We did all that we could, but the damage was too extensive.

We’ve tried everything, but your loved one is dead.

Your loved one is going to die.

I’m sorry, she would say.

She would adopt her best patient voice, which had only ever managed to be adequate. It wouldn’t be enough; her throat would strain against the sound, the crease between her eyes betraying that she was afraid.

They would see right through her.

I’m sorry, she would say anyway. She would plead. It would be the last defense against complete dissolution that she had.

She’d bring the cleaver down upon the smiles she’d wrought on their careworn faces only just that morning.

It would be quick and brutal.

Barbaric even.

I’m sorry.

She had not intended to come here—not for any patient if she could help it.

Not for Steven Universe most of all.

But life was perverse, and it was so damn unkind; it knew nothing of intentions and hopes, dreams and childish wishes. It cared little for found families and fourteen-year old boys who needed kidneys.

5:57.

Priyanka sat at the head of the long table, her hands clasped in a rigid temple upon its smooth, gray surface, knuckles white from the simple exertion of clenching them. And then, as the seconds ticked by, as they smoked, as they gathered, as they burned, the room dissolved beneath her, stolen into nothingness by the snatch of a memory, an echo from a ghost who died nearly fifteen years ago…

She had possessed a beatific smile.

Her hair fell across her gowned shoulders in flowing, pink ringlets.

Rose Quartz went into labor two weeks before her due date.

It was a starless August night.

Balmy.

The world outside slept, lulled by the susurrant hush of the wind.

Though her contractions were coming steadily, Dr. Howard’s parenthetically lined mouth grew thinner each time his hawklike eyes slid towards the monitor which registered the twenty-six year old’s increasing blood pressure. She’d been admitted the week prior for severe headaches, a symptom consistent with her kidney disease, sure, but her blood tests indicated that she was hypertensive, too.

They started her on corticosteroids to help the baby’s still-developing lungs.

Dr. Howard took Priyanka off of all her other cases.

Made it her priority to stick to Room 11078 and to page him immediately if Rose’s blood pressure spiked to 140/90 mm/Hg.

“Because we’ll have to deliver the baby right then and there,” he stressed gravely,“if we want any chance of saving them both.”

He was talking obliquely about preeclampsia, a birth condition which began with high blood pressure and often ended with damage to the livers or kidneys.

And Rose Quartz’s kidneys were already shit, so there was that, and here was yet another sordid item to add to the ever growing list of what was wrong with the poor woman’s body.

Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl had all gone back to the hotel room for the night—against their wills, protesting—but Rose had made them, had told them to go on ahead, to get some sleep. She would see them in the morning. She loved them.

Goodnight.

And Greg was in the hallway, making a call to an insurance provider, which left Priyanka alone with Rose, who was propped up against two pillows on her hospital bed, palming her stomach protectively as she idly watched whatever was playing on TV—some offbeat sitcom or another. Frankly, Priyanka neither knew nor care. Scrunched up in one of the hardback chairs off to the left of Rose’s bed, she scratched harsh notes on her chart for the want of something to do.

To combat the growing feeling clambering up the rungs of her constricted throat.

To drown out the laugh track.

Those nameless people, that detached crowd, they laughed and laughed and laughed.

She couldn’t see what was so fucking funny, and she intimated as much without ever realizing it, scoffing just as her pen decided to run out of ink.

(It wasn’t really about the pen.)

“You seem exhausted, Priyanka,” Rose Quartz said softly, and it was with a jolt that the resident realized that she had been caught out.

Discovered.

Seen.

She flushed as she felt rather than saw that familiar, dark eyed gaze settle upon her gently—like a blanket, warm and encompassing. She stared obstinately at her clipboard, trying to will her own scribbles to make sense in a world that had currently lost its ever loving mind.

“I’ve been working overtime all week,” she said shortly, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. The wooden armrest pressed stiffly against her back, an unwelcome hand upon her spine. “Of course I’m exhausted.”

“Then you should go home. Get some rest.”

“Dr. Howard assigned me to your case again.

“Excuses, excuses,” Rose clucked, teasing, fond, amused. “He can’t make you work overtime.”

Priyanka was simply furious with herself.

With a final click of her useless pen, she replaced it in the lapel of her scrubs and finally met her patient’s gaze with a steeliness that she hoped would wound, cut, eviscerate.

But nothing, not even the possibility of her imminent death, seemed to faze the woman, who stared at her evenly, with all the air of someone waiting patiently to explain the turn of the seasons to a child who wondered where the leaves had all gone.

Change was inevitable.

Winter became spring became summer became fall.

I want to leave them with roots, Priyanka, she’d explained in that tiny examination room, so many months ago. She’d taken the resident’s hand and intertwined it with her own. A faint floral scent wreathed her hair. Strawberries, maybe. Wild and sweet. I want them to have the chance to grow…

“It isn’t looking too good, is it?” Rose asked, her voice so casual that they could have merely been discussing a chapter from a really sad book.

And the princess didn’t get to live happily ever after. And the evil forces prevailed in the end. And Rose Quartz’s body was rapidly shutting down. And there was nothing they could do about it, or more accurately still, they were doing everything.

And nothing was entirely working.

Priyanka’s dark eyes flitted to the number she had just recently scrawled on her chart in stuttering ink.

132/90 mm/Hg.

“No,” she said flatly. She felt no need to sugarcoat a bush that was already burning. Her fingers were cold where they gripped the flat of her clipboard. Her entire chest ached. “Your blood pressure is too high. The antihypertensives aren’t working.”

“Oh, well… I figured,” Rose sighed softly, still rubbing her swollen belly. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, curly tendrils of pink hair clinging softly, like gossamer, to her pale temples. “That explains the headaches, doesn’t it?”

Priyanka stared at Rose Quartz incredulously.

Gaped at her wildly.

Like she’d never properly seen before.

(She’d seen her so many times in the past couple of months, flitting in and out of the hospital, Dr. Howard’s office, and then the hospital all over again; she’d done what she swore she would never do with a patient; she became attached; she cared; it would be her own undoing.)

“Of course it does,” she snapped. She didn’t care that she was breaking a hell of a lot of rules, all the studied lines of decorum. She slammed her clipboard onto her lap and couldn't bring herself to bring a shit that it produced such a violent sound. She wanted to shake this woman, wanted to break the calm in her face, wanted her to register the simple fact that she could very well die. “If you’re still suffering from headaches, then, of course , it means the medicines aren’t working. It’s common sense, Rose. Mere logic.”

Her shoulders heaved as though she had only just ran a marathon.

And Rose’s smile—that beatific, perfect, clandestine smile—slid, like melting ice, from her mouth.

Finally, Priyanka thought savagely, and she hated herself for it.

Guilt assaulted her, a new lump in her constricted throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said abruptly, dull color bruising her sharply drawn cheeks. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… I’m—”

“No, Priyanka.” Rose brought one of her hands from the top of her belly, raising it firmly against the resident’s stammered apologies. If she was injured—if she was hurting—she didn’t very well show it, her expression as impenetrably smooth as the silver face of the moon. “Please don’t say sorry… not if you don’t mean it. You only said what you’ve been thinking, what all my loved ones have been thinking, really… what an entire fool I am.”

Her soft, brown eyes briefly flicked to the multiple IVs stemming from her lifted hand. The tubes swirled all around her arm, spiraling towards a multitude of brightly flickering machines.

“Crazy,” she laughed humorlessly, the sound without familiar melody. “Throwing my life away…”

A little less than nine months had elapsed since she had first announced her pregnancy, and now there was a grayness to her once milk white skin.

A lethargy behind that calm face.

The passion, the vivaciousness, the youth all gone.

Priyanka was scarcely two years older than her.

“Priyanka,” she whispered, the name somber in the movement of that once perpetually smiling mouth, “would you believe me if I said that this ”—she gestured feebly at the hospital bed, at the medical apparatus all around her—“isn’t living? Would you understand if I told you that this isn’t who I am on the inside—all these needles and lines and medicines and awful machines?”

Without waiting for an answer, not seemingly needing one, Rose gently replaced her hand on her stomach, her palm tenderly cupping its curve.

“I know what living is, sweet Priyanka,” she continued, closing her dark eyes against some invisible memory, “and this isn’t it… this isn’t all those days I’ve stood in endless protest for a cause that I so desperately believe in. This isn’t being able to play volleyball on the beach with my loved ones, watching Amethyst and Garnet and Pearl and Greg laugh in the sand. This isn’t the fish fries we’ve hosted, nor the long nights spent planning demonstrations on the deck. This isn’t the thrill of falling in love with so many people. Meeting Pearl. Coming to understand the strange cosmos of Greg Universe. Choosing to have this child with him. Choosing this path which may very well end in my own destruction… because this , Priyanka Maheswaran, from the moment I was first diagnosed at sixteen years old, was already my destruction. And I simply have been borrowing moments of living in the full acknowledgment of that terrible truth.”

Rose did not falter.

So strong, even to the last, she did not break.

But maybe, just maybe, she cracked… just a little, just enough so that Priyanka could see.

A single tear escaped the confines of her closed eyes, slowly slipping down her cheek and into the slightly rumpled collar of her paisley-studded gown.

“So would you believe me, Priyanka?” She asked again.

She begged.

She pleaded.

“Please?”

She was asking a lot of the twenty-eight year old, to whom belief had never come easily. Priyanka was constantly interrogating her own values, checking and double checking them against rationality to ensure that they fit the meticulous schema she had constructed of the empirically observable world.

But just as there was no rationality in a twenty-six year old dying, there was no logicality in belief.

There was only a leap of faith, fingers crossed that she wouldn’t fall into the abyss.

Landing was not a guarantee.

And that was what so unfathomable to her, so cruel and so disgusting.

But what more could Priyanka say? What facts and statistics could she throw in this dying woman’s face to make her see reason that wasn’t exactly there.

The answer was nothing.

Perhaps it had always been nothing.

This student of science had no more protestations.

And in the absence of protestation, all that was left was a single choice: to jump or not to jump.

It was simple, really.

It was so damn hard.

Rose Quartz finally opened her eyes then. They were bright with her tears, and yet, simultaneously, the sheer darkness of them gripped Priyanka like the hands of a drowning sailor. The screen on the wall which measured her blood pressure had incrementally risen since they had started talking.

134/90 mm/Hg.

There was no time to waste anymore.

To pretend like they had ever possessed.

“What…” Priyanka began, her own voice hoarse, tight, strained, on the very verge of the precipice it hesitated to leap.“… what do you need me to do? Name it, and I’ll… I can’t promise anything… but I’ll try. ”

The word felt paltry, insufficient.

Trying was not an assurance, just as landing was not a guarantee.

“I’ll do what I can.”

Rose’s face simply collapsed, tears falling down both sides of her cheeks in gentle lines.

“Thank you, Priyanka,” she whispered, relief in every word, redolent in all the syllables of her spoken name.

But Priyanka did not want gratitude; she wanted an answer, something solid to latch onto, a promise she could keep.

“What you need, Rose?” She asked again, shifting her gaze her away. Her voice was abrupt—it was always abrupt—but somehow, it was not entirely unkind. “Tell me.”

The woman’s answer was immediate, unflinching; she had been obviously been thinking about it for a very long time.

It was the answer she probably would have proffered to anyone who asked.

Who took the time to wonder what exactly it was that Rose Quartz wanted.

What she needed.

What she had kept so carefully concealed behind that calm veneer of a facade.

“Take care of my baby for me, please,” she whispered. “Be their advocate when Dr. Howard and Greg will be mine… I’ll have so many people in the delivery room. I’ll have so many people rooting for me outside of it, too… but, my baby, Priyanka… I need someone in their corner, too… to root for them… to be their voice… please..."

All things considered, it was a pretty damn unreasonable request.

If Rose had to have a c-section, then Dr. Howard would need Priyanka’s steady hands to hold a clamp or provide suction; in the battlefield of surgery, her only allegiance was to the brusque orders that the old man barked to her behind his mask. The obstetrician would handle the delivery. Their own resident would whisk the baby away to the NICU.

And she and Dr. Howard would try to save Rose’s life.

That was Priyanka’s calling.

Her solemn oath.

Her duty.

But...

.... Unreasonable though it was—and it most certainly was so—Priyanka reasoned that it was likely not unkeepable.

She could help keep an eye on the baby’s heart monitor.

She could even lend a hand in the delivery procedure if Dr. Howard didn’t need her.

She could try, dammit.

She could at least promise that.

“You have my word,” she returned tersely, dark eyes still averted. She played a little with her hands on top of her clipboard, twining and untwining them, as Rose seemingly sank back against her pillows, sighing softly.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Don’t thank me until it’s over—I haven’t done anything yet.”

“You heard me out,” Rose replied evenly. “That’s something.”

“No,” the resident heard herself say aloud. “It isn’t.”

The hands on the clock veered into 6:00 with all the bluntness of a collision and none of its explosiveness.

The door opened.

That was mundane enough.

And Amethyst and Pearl came in first, laughing about something that Garnet had apparently said.

And Greg followed, chuckling, lightly scratching his stomach.

And Garnet made up the rear, grinning, pleased with herself.

Oblivious.

They were all so happy, this extraordinary group of ordinary people—they had no idea where they were or what it all meant or what was about to happen to the smiles on their tired faces.

And Priyanka did not have time to recover her own face, to arrange it into some manner of professional acceptability, her mouth half-open, hands rigid upon the table.

And Amethyst caught her out first.

Because she was smart like that, perceptive.

And the mirth drained from her brown eyes as she perceived the nephrologist’s expression in the semidarkness of the room.

And the two women stared each other across its length.

They called this place the slaughterhouse.

“No,” she simply said. She croaked it. Panic violated the smooth youthfulness of her face, tearing it all asunder. “No, Doc.”

“I’m sorry,” Priyanka Maheswaran whispered.

It wasn’t enough.

It had never been enough.

Garnet only stared at her, disbelieving.

Her mouth hadn’t quite untwisted itself out of the ghost of its last smile.

“I am so, so sorry.”

She said it again anyway, though, like it counted for something, like it meant anything, as tears began to flow down Pearl’s cheeks.

Greg Universe made a sound that was half-horror, half-agony, bracing his hands against the back of a metal chair to steady himself against the blow.

ii.

A doctor, a washed up rockstar, and three Crystal Gems walked out of a conference room.

And the joke, the cruel punchline, was that the boy they all loved wasn’t going to get the kidneys he so desperately needed; he was going to go back on the list, which had always been more of a desperate gamble than a guarantee; he was going to degrade in that hospital bed for however many days, weeks, and months he had more.

Dr. Maheswaran didn’t think he had a year.

She was blunt about it.

Professional.

But her eyes gave her away, the lines beneath them, the consumptive shadows.

(Mere hours ago, her face had been transformed by the simple action of a smile.)

There were no comforting words, nor bracing gestures between the coterie of broken people who limped their way back to Room 11037—injured, defeated, the wounds glistening across their bruised eyes, their shivering mouths. Greg took the lead, the rubber of his sandals snapping harshly against the tiled floor with each step, every guttural, convulsive movement.

They silently decided that he should be the one to actually commit the words aloud, knew that it was for the best. He could be soft where Dr. Maheswaran was brutal. Comprehensive when Garnet couldn’t muster words. Sage when Amethyst’s youthful clumsiness sometimes made it difficult to find the right words.

And he could hold it together long enough to actually say it.

Trailing behind him, pale fingers gripping the fabric of her sweater, Pearl’s horror took the form of sniffling that couldn’t quite be concealed. She was holding herself together—the news had cleaved her apart—and he wondered again, not for the first time since Steven’s diagnosis, whether or not she had been right all those years ago, when she had told him quite plainly, in that incisively logical way of hers, that she was better for Rose.

They’d come a long way since then.

They grudgingly tolerated each other now.

They coparented the best that they could.

Sometimes, he thought that they were even friends, sharing beers together on dusk lit balconies and spending so many sleepless nights side by side at the kitchen table, poring over bills and medicines and more bills because the bills, above all, were endless.

And perhaps in the end, he and Pearl were even family in the way that they loudly and silently and entirely loved the same dying boy.

(That was how they had loved the same woman, too.)

But still, maybe she had had a point.

Pearl always tended to have a point...

The hallway was painfully short; Room 11037 arrived far quicker than any of them had ever anticipated.

His breath coming in hitched gasps, chest seized with a sudden tightening, Greg palmed the wood of the door, splaying his shaking fingers against its smooth grains as though to steady himself against an impossible reckoning. He was minutes away, possibly seconds, from breaking his own son’s heart, and that was on him.

Hell, all failures when it came to his son’s happiness were on him.

He was the kid’s dad.

He was supposed to protect Steven, shelter him, keep him safe from every quantifiable danger that he could.

And here he was, about to deliver another slap to his face and call it kindness.

The contradiction was not lost upon him.

The unfairness of it all stung.

It stung his eyes, and it stung his heart, and it stung all over, simply undid the man. He was a pincushion falling apart in all the places where he had been needled over and over again.

But he felt a hand on the small of his back then—gentle, kind.

He expected it to be Garnet or maybe even Amethyst; that had always been their sort of thing.

But when he looked back behind him, his mouth half-formed in an empty, perfunctory thanks, he saw that it was Pearl, her big, blue eyes still edged with the remnants of her tears.

Her sweater, neatly pressed, seemed to swallow her entirely.

She stood perfectly within the lines of one of the tiles on the floor, feet poised like a ballerina’s. Rose had once told him that she’d been trained to dance—once so disciplined in the art that she could stand upon the tips of her toes for as many minutes as her tutors required.

Even when she was devastated.

Even when she was hurt.

“How… how do I do this?” Greg asked before he could stop himself. The words tumbled out of his mouth in an ungainly rush. “How do I… how can I… I mean… he’s just a boy… a kid, and I—“

And I don’t want to do this, Pearl.

I don’t want to see him go through this.

Pearl swiped delicately at her nose, and she swiped at her leaking eyes, but the carnage still remained. It was unlikely to disappear for a very long time. She wrung her slender fingers together and twisted them apart. She congregated them in a prim temple just above her stomach. She eventually let them fall to her sides. She glanced down. She failed to look back up.

Shoulders shivering.

Feet still in first position.

“I… I don’t think there’s any right way to do this,” she finally said. “Not really… but I—we’re behind you, Greg.”

“Yeah,” Amethyst agreed.

Garnet nodded her silent assent.

“We’re… always behind you.”

The weight of these words, the implicit meaning behind them, was not lost on Greg. He immediately understood how much it must have cost her to say such a thing to him, and yet, he simultaneously knew that she must have meant it—for Pearl rarely ever said things that she didn't mean.

She gave silent treatments, and she evaded tough emotional conversations with all the agility of a dancer; she shot people glares that she thought to be discrete from the corners of her eyes; she kept secrets to herself, kept them tucked away in the same places where she had invisible shrines to the woman they both loved.

But she rarely lied.

Or maybe, more accurately, she wouldn't lie now.

And so, choked, overwhelmed, grateful, he could only muster something like a vague sound of gratitude in the back of his throat that he thought she equally understood because she nodded at him primly.

And then, he turned to face the door again, palming the brass handle.

On the other side, he heard a snatch of laughter.

Steven.

Assuredly.

Perhaps he was watching one of his favorite shows, laughing at something a character had said.

Greg twisted his hand downwards and pushed lightly upon the door.

iii.

The door opened upon a scene that Yellow Diamond had always intended to flee before she could be caught out, but one anecdote led to another, and before she knew it, Steven Universe had started telling her about how he’d met Blue at the cemetery where their dead daughter lay. And the conjured image of her bathrobed wife, holding a hibiscus aloft in her gently curving palm, plucked an dusty chord in her chest.

So this was the flower that had been on the nightstand for a couple of nights now.

This was the story of a boy and a woman and a cemetery and a handful—a lifetime, really—of aching, miserable griefs.

“She told me that she married you so her name would be a pun,” Steven had said, grinning mischievously.

“Something to that effect,” Yellow dryly returned.

And he pressed for more stories, more memories, more chords inside her chest. How did she meet Blue? When did they fall in love? Who proposed?

He asked so many questions, his brown eyes alight with curiosity, that she was reminded so much of Pink that it almost hurt to even look at him. But, just as she had done with her daughter, she sighingly indulged him, groaning and moaning and making it out as thought she was doing him a massive favor by relenting. And he only smiled at her teasingly—like he was in on the secret.

It was the other way around.

She was the one at his mercy.

And so she told him the story of the princess and the knight in less than fantastical terms, laying out the bare bones of her and Blue’s first meeting with a halting voice as the memories slowly came flooding back: Blue Montgomery’s sweeping ball gown, the spidery chandeliers, the waiters swerving in and out of the crowd bearing silver trays loaded with champagne, her ridiculously dramatic mother waltzing through the ballroom with all the radiance of a sun.

God, how many decades ago was that now?

Years and years and years.

“Our daughter used to love this damn story,” Yellow murmured at the end, briefly flicking her eyes downwards. “We told it so many different times to her that she could repeat it word for word.”

“It’s a very good story,” Steven returned, laughing. “Did you really think about punching that guy?”

“Fleetingly, yes,” she almost smiled, “but—”

But then the door opened so abruptly, bringing reality back in with what appeared to be a collection of harried looking people. The businesswoman’s head sharply cocked towards the far side of the room to greet an assemblage of expressions that she was surprised to find in total strangers: anger and disgust.

Complete and total loathing.

Damn, at least buy me a drink first.

“You!” A slight woman in a sweater hissed furiously.

“Uh-oh,” Steven Universe said, shrinking slightly beneath his covers. “Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh...”

But Yellow Diamond wasn’t listening to him anymore, instinctive indignation rising to her aid and defense as she stood up from her chair and mustered as haughty of an expression she could for a woman wearing silk pajamas.

“Excuse me?” She asked venomously, crossing her arms over her chest. “And you are?”

“Pearl…” The balding man standing next to the sweater-wearing accoster tried to plea, placing a big hand on her much smaller shoulder. “Maybe we shouldn’t… uh—?”

“No,” The woman named Pearl snarled, jerking her arm away from him. Yellow could see that her pale eyes were bright with tears, which seemed like an overreaction if she had ever witnessed one. She didn’t know these people from Jack, Jill, or Harry on the sidewalk! “I want to know what she’s doing here! She has no business—“

“Pearl, wait!” Steven tried to interject, jerking upwards from his pillows. “It’s okay! She just wanted to vis—“

But his voice got lost in the shuffle as the taller woman behind Pearl suddenly stepped forward, her powerfully muscled arms clenched into fists by her sides. There was an indefinable air of authority about her that Yellow only recognized because she, too, possessed it. Her bicolored glare was a weapon in and of itself; the harsh florescence of the overheads glinted off the sunglasses folded neatly across the collar of her sweatshirt.

“Leave,” the woman said. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Garnet! No! She wasn’t doing anything wro—“

“Well, frankly,” Yellow shot back before Steven could complete his thought, “I’d perfectly well surmised that without your help. But forgive me if I’m having trouble piecing together the context behind this unwarranted rudeness.”

“You know what you’ve done,” Garnet growled.

“No!” The blood inside her head churned, simply boiled. She had never known when to leave well enough alone. “I damn well don’t!”

“1999—Diamond Electric vs. Hutchings,” Pearl began to tick off names on her fingertips. “2005—Diamond Electric vs. Davis. 2011—Diamond Electric vs. Bach. Are these names ringing a bell? Unsafe factory conditions! Unconstitutional wage gaps! Leaking waste reservoirs!”

“All settled in court!” Yellow returned with a cruel laugh that she did not remotely feel, raking her cold eyes over each and very one of her newfound opponents in turn. It had always been her against the world for as long as she could remember—she the trapped lioness cornered by the angry mob. (But the mob always tended to forget one crucial fact about exchanges between lions and men. Lions had claws and sharp, gleaming teeth; she would devour them and gnaw on their bones for sport.) “What are you all? Lawyers? Reporters? Protestors? Please, spare no sordid detail as to why I’m being read case names for events that happened long ago.”

“Yellow Diamond, please—” Steven’s voice was tiny by her side; she could not hear him; or perhaps, she didn’t want to hear him.

She wanted to fight.

“We’re, like, the Crystal Gems,” the smallest woman to Garnet’s left said emphatically. Her lavender bangs fell over one of her eyes, but she blew them back with a small puff of air.

“Never heard of you,” Yellow replied flippantly and untruthfully.

Because she had heard of them—several times, in fact.

They were some small activist group that had always been a vaguely minor nuisance at her side—especially a few years ago—but they’d never done anything more than force her lawyers to spend some time haggling in appeals courts.

A waste of time and money for everyone, really.

“Never heard of us?” Pearl spluttered wildly, her complexion whitening. “Never heard of—“

“Enough, you all!” The doctor who had been at the back of the group finally seemed to have found her tongue, and a pretty harsh tongue it was because her exasperated voice clearly cut through the melee. “We’re in a hospital for goodness’s—”

But the doctor was drowned out, too, lost in the onslaught of noise suddenly coming from one of the monitors above Steven’s bed—a shrill beeping noise that put an effective end to all the squabbling. The neon green line measuring his heart rate was spiking in short peaks, the numbers climbing, climbing, climbing… and beneath it all, clutching his chest, Steven was struggling to breathe, gulping in shallow bursts of air, his skin paling. Sweat beaded at his pale templed, hid eyes wide with fear.

“STEVEN! Steven!” So many voices yelled his name; it was all a jumble, a blur, a dissonant symphony.

The white coated doctor shoved past Yellow unceremoniously, nearly knocking her to the ground in her haste to get to her patient’s side. She pulled an oxygen mask down from one of the receptacles behind the bed, placing it over Steven’s mouth and nose.

“Breathe, Steven!” She commanded, her voice tight with obvious strain. The man and the woman named Pearl scrabbled over to the child’s bedside. Tears streaming down his ruddy face and into his beard, the man placed an arm around Steven’s back, steadying him. Pearl clasped one of his hands, her shoulders shaking violently.

“In and out,” the doctor continued. “Breathe. One… two… three. That’s it, honey. There you go…”

As Steven’s breathing evened out, the monitor’s beeping died down, nearly becoming regulated once more. Exhausted, overwhelmed, so quickly undone, the boy slumped against the man who was holding him, closing his eyes heavily as the doctor took the opportunity to more securely fasten the oxygenated mask around his face.

But what happened next, if anything happened at all, Yellow Diamond did not stay to find out.

Violently tearing her gaze away, the woman turned around and did what she should have done the moment she made the poor decision to come into this room in the first place.

Shoving past the remaining Crystal Gems, uncaring that she knocked Garnet in the shoulder, Yellow limped away as fast as her sore leg would allow her to go, nausea rushing up the column of her throat, her cheeks burning with shame.

What a pathetic creature she was.

A monster.

A lioness among men.

(The lioness always tended to forget one crucial fact about exchanges between lions and men. Lions had claws and sharp, gleaming teeth; she would end up destroying the people she cared about, too.)

iv.

Pearl only had eyes for one person in the entire world, and his name was Steven Universe. Both in the absence of Rose and in the lingering presence of her, he was the center of her universe, the sun which she orbited day after day after varied, sundry day. Weak, pale, cold, he shivered in his father’s arms, barely able to keep his eyes open as his heartbeat continued to regulate itself after that latest episode.

“Acute stress arrhythmia,” she heard Priyanka explain behind her. The nephrologist had her back turned to them as she read numbers on a nearby computer monitor.

She didn’t elaborate.

She didn’t need to.

Everybody in the room knew exactly who was to blame for his acute stress.

Shame colored them all; shame welled up in the corners of Pearl’s eyes as she continued to hold on to Steven’s hand.

Garnet collapsed into the chair that Yellow Diamond had just vacated, placing both of her hands over her eyes.

What children they had been.

What fools.

Pearl closed her own eyes in a useless attempt to stem the tears that were flowing freely now, unable to hold them back any longer. Shame wrapped a hand around her insides and squeezed.

Steven was… he was—oh, God, the word was too unbearable to even think, much less say aloud—and here they all were—fighting with someone who would never see reason.

How stupid.

How pathetic.

“Steven, wait, honey. You need to put that mask back—” But Priyanka’s soft admonition was apparently ignored; Pearl looked up just in time to see Steven feebly lifting the oxygen mask from his face, dropping it just below his mouth. Each movement looked like it took something from him; he couldn’t even lift his head from Greg’s chest.

So he stared straight at her.

Directly into her eyes.

He had his mother’s eyes.

Her dark and lovely eyes.

“S-she…” She had to lean forward to hear him, for his voice was barely a whisper, an echo, a ghost. “…she really wasn’t being mean.”

“Shh, Shtu-ball. We know,” Greg tried hoarsely, pressing a kiss into his son’s mass of curly hair. “Save up your strength…”

“Steven,” Pearl pleaded, barely able to discern him through her tears. She refused to let go of his hand; it wasn't as much for his sake as she would have liked to kid herself to believe. “I’m so, so sorry. We shouldn’t have squabbled with her like that. We just weren’t… I mean… I wasn’t… I was stressed—I-I wasn’t thinking.”

“Stressed?” Again, his voice was so small that it struggled to be heard over the hissing of the various machines he was hooked up to, and the fact of it nearly undid her right then and there. Salt coated her lips. It lacquered her tongue. “Why… why were you stressed?”

No.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this... the news wasn’t supposed to come from her. It was supposed to be Greg’s job to do this; he was the one who was good at emotions; he was the one who knew how to have these sorts of conversations without completely dissolving into nothingness and rubble.

(He was the better person.)

(The one who Rose chose.)

Pearl could yell at a tyrannical businesswoman for longer than she could hold herself together in front of Steven; she could protest wars; she could hold demonstrations; she could plan fish fries; she could keep herself together on a day to day basis, bound by Scotch tape and glue.

But for him?

For Steven Universe?

Her eyes refilled with fresh tears, and she finally withdrew her hand from his, placing it over her mouth in the quietest sign of her incapacity.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Childish.

Fool.

“Oh,” Steven only rasped, understanding immediately. He was so smart like that; he never missed a beat. “The… the kidneys fell through, didn’t they?”

“I’m so sorry, kiddo,” Greg said, wrapping his arms more tightly around Steven as gently as he could manage as Priyanka took the opportunity to replace the mask over his nose and mouth.

“The kidneys were damaged during the donor’s accident,” she explained dully, “and we couldn’t detect it until we were already in surgery… I’m sorry, Steven. I am.”

But Steven never took his eyes off Pearl, those dark and lovely eyes.

They were wounded eyes.

Bruised eyes.

Goddamn exhausted eyes.

"I'm sorry, Steven," she whispered. "I am so, so sorry."

The mask prevented him from speaking.

In place of his reply, there was only the steady hiss of oxygen and the dark-cloaked presence of grief, the seventh person in an already crowded room. They sat on the edge of Steven’s bed, simply taking up precious air.

Pearl couldn’t breathe.

I'm sorry.

Night descended upon the sky like a heavy curtain, unfurling its black velvet across the horizon with dark finality, the punctuation unmistakable. Sitting atop of the bulky air conditioning unit that stretched the length of the hotel room’s window, Amethyst gazed emptily at the spectacle, knees pulled up to her chest, her still-damp hair pulled over one of her shoulders. If she was back at home, there would be a roof to clamber onto and a vast canvas of stars to behold… but here, there were only skyscrapers that stretched their supplicatory hands upwards to an unhearing god. Here, there were stars made out of lit windows. Here, there was that familiar feeling of suffocation, of being cloistered in...

Cornered.

And unlike in a good alley fight, putting up her fists wouldn’t solve a damn thing.

Three hours had passed since they’d nearly given Steven a heart attack and then told him that he wasn’t going to get those stupid fucking kidneys. And still, the scene haunted her mind’s eye in the absence of anything else to think about, to obsess over, to grieve. When they had all left for the evening—Greg the only one staying behind for the night—he couldn’t even muster enough energy to tell them goodnight, simply blinking at them from over the top of his oxygenated mask before closing his eyes.

Merely twelve hours ago, they’d all been sickeningly happy because they had thought that the nightmare was over… but that sensation had long passed, a relic of time immemorial now.

Now, there was only darkness.

A feeling of falling.

The ground giving way beneath their feet.

Now, there was only Dr. M’s only consolation that wasn’t really a consolation at all.

He’s at the top of the list now.

The door opened and gently closed behind her. Amethyst swung her head around just in time to see Garnet come in, a towel slung around her corded neck, her white tank top damp with sweat. She’d gone to the hotel’s gym to obviously treadmill away from her feelings, which was a way more productive solution than Amethyst’s choice coping mechanism. She raised her half-empty bottle of wine in greeting—reckless, loose—accidentally sloshing a little over the top of the rim.

“Hey.”

“Where’s Pearl?” Garnet studiously avoided her gaze as she lowered herself to the carpeted ground, leaning against the wall. Her shoulders hunched forward, elbows braced on top of her knees, she almost looked like some kinda statue—still, beautiful, tragic.

“Tryin’ to drown herself in the shower, I think,” Amethyst shrugged before taking another hearty swig of Moscato. The tangy notes stung her tongue. “She’s been in there for an hour now, so you might not have hot water later.”

The gym trainer shrugged noncommittally as though this was all the same to her.

And the two of them simply listened to the hissing of the water beyond the thin door to Garnet’s left for a handful of seconds; the serpentine sounds lashed the ground. Lashed their skin. Their ears. Their chests.

Amethyst sniffed and took yet another drag of wine.

There was nothing else better to do...

... but the silence was unbearable now that it was optional.

She turned her bottle upside down again.

Liquid courage.

“I met the old lady, y’know,” she said softly, her consonants a little rushed around their edges, a little tipsy, a little unsure. “Blue Diamond. It was… yesterday, I think? Hell, I think it was yesterday. God, I don’t even know at this point. But she was in the lobby, waitin’ for her valet to pick her up…”

Garnet didn’t say anything, didn’t even look up at her, but Amethyst knew she was listening from the way that every line in her body was rigid with attention.

“She’s kinda snooty, I think. Kinda looks like she’s got a stick up her ass… but she’s got a good heart, I guess. She cares about Steven…” Amethyst remembered the way her accented voice broke when she spoke of him, all of the syllables collapsing upon themselves in the throes of her gentle tongue. And she remembered the woman’s eyes, how startlingly blue they were, haunted underneath by the ravages of grief and time.

“A lot,” she added. “That surprised me.”

“I… I shouldn’t have let Yellow Diamond get to me like that,” Garnet said, reaching up and gingerly holding her head. “I know. I know.”

“No, that’s not what I’m sayin’, G,” Amethyst immediately and fiercely returned, shaking her own head. “I mean, it’s kinda what I’m sayin’, but we all got caught up in her. She got under all of our skins. I’m just, I dunno, I’m trying to—“

But she broke off then, ripping her gaze away from her roommate and back towards the window.

To the darkness.

The absence of stars.

She raised the bottle to her lips once more but stopped short of taking another swill; the sickly sweet perfume nearly gagged her.

“It’s just… it’s difficult,” she continued, setting the drink down between her knees. “That’s all I’m sayin’. God knows why, but he likes the Diamonds, and the Diamonds like him… and we shouldn’t… I mean, we should try our best not to shit on him for that because—“

But Amethyst stopped short again as the natural end to that sentence reared its head off the floor of her stomach, striking just where it hurt.

Sick, ashamed, inconsolable, she covered her eyes with both of her hands.

“Because we love him,” Garnet proffered, her voice quiet, almost inaudible over the noises coming from the shower, “and we want him to be happy.”

That wasn't the end of the sentence.

That wasn't what they had both been thinking anyway.

“Yeah,” she croaked gratefully, wiping roughly at her eyes. “Yeah.”

They resumed their silent vigil together then, mostly because it kept them from commenting upon the fact that it wasn’t just the water they were hearing behind that thin bathroom door.

Garnet reached upwards and grabbed the remote from the edge of the nearest bed, turning the volume up on some stupid sitcom to drown it out.

The water.

The weeping.

And the weeping and the weeping and the weeping.

vi.

Blue Diamond had been on the balcony for hours now, long enough for the sky to bruise from peach to blue to purple, long enough to see the first stars ascend to their storied mounts, glimmering down upon the world in silvery, distant specks.

Long enough that the tear tracks riveting down her cheeks had dried upon her long face in stiff lines.

Long enough that she wondered passively to herself if she had been here forever, a statue carved out of flesh and bone and misery and blood.

Long enough to reflect upon the fact that she wasn't referring to the balcony... but to something more abstract.

Metaphorical.

A state.

A cycle.

A condition of perpetual mourning.

Her phone laid facedown on the tiny table between her chair and Yellow’s empty one.

The last text she had received had been from Steven Universe.

It wasn’t even a sentence.

Just a fragment.

No exclamation points, no abundant elaboration, no joy.

Tuesday, 7:09 PM:

Steven: kidneys fell through

Blue had seen the boy just this morning—dropping by after she had left Yellow’s room—and she could remember, quite distinctly, how radiant his face had been, utterly metamorphosed by its own happiness.

She’d been drawn in by it, magnetized.

Oh, how the two of them laughed and smiled and played.

How many years had it been since she had last played?

It was before Pink died assuredly.

But even then, the details were murky to her; she’d been so wrapped up in her school, that she had forgot what it was to be twenty-one, and that twenty-one year olds were still children in a way, that they loved to have fun.

She’d been so strict with her sometimes.

Forbidding.

Cold.

(Her own mother would have been proud.)

But she and Steven Universe? They played, and they played, imagining all the things that Steven was going to do once he had recovered from the transplant surgery. Some of these plans were simply extraordinary in nature. He was going to run all day just because he would finally feel like it. He was going to make a massive sandcastle on the beach with all of his friends. It would be palatial, obviously, so they could live in it together, making seashell necklaces and seaweed crowns. He was going to eat all the donuts that he wanted—his diet had been so restricted since he’d taken ill—and then some.

“And if I get sick,” he had said proudly, “it’ll just be a normal sick, and that’ll be perfectly okay.”

But it wasn’t the extraordinary inventions which had touched Blue, which had moved her to the quick.

Rather, it was the simple things.

The mundane ones.

He would get to go to school with all the rest of the kids his age. He could go to a theater without worrying that his symptoms might flare up during the movie's climax. He could ride a bike through his charming, little beachside town.

He could simply be a child.

And that would be enough.

That would be perfectly okay.

“And I could come over for tea and cakes on Fridays,” he teased as she had prepared to leave, running one last hand through his curly hair as she stood up from her chair. He smiled at her gently, his mouth tilting crookedly.

“Aye,” she returned warmly, returning the gesture with an almost easiness that still surprised her. “I would love that..."

But just as quickly as these fantasies had risen—entertained, explored, viscerally imagined—they had been wrenched from his hands just as immediately, and so Blue Diamond sat on her balcony for hours on end grieving for the poor boy.

But because she was selfish, because she was predictable, because she was broken, she gripped the arms on both sides of her chair, and grieved, too, for Pink Diamond.

(She was always grieving for Pink Diamond.)

Fingernails digging into the weathered wood, she thought herself a desolate fool for ever kidding herself into believing that she could go a day without being painfully aware of her daughter’s ghost.

She thought herself a masochist for inviting the same pain again in the form of Steven Universe.

She thought herself a coward for not daring to say three words to Yellow Diamond, three words that wouldn’t make everything between them right, but three words that needed to be said nevertheless.

And she couldn’t bring herself to utter them.

Not even when Yellow was in a hospital bed, covered in lacerations and bruises.

Because how could she say such a thing when she hadn’t said it in so many years upon years?

I and love and you.

And she kept thinking these things until they chased each other around her head in circles—dizzying, unceasing, senseless circles that gradually chipped away at the tentative hope she had held aloft in her chest ever since she had met Steven Universe.

Spirals and spirals and spirals.

Fool.

Masochist.

Coward.

Circles and circles and circles.

And somehow, every time, Blue Diamond concluded where she had first begun: alone in her own misery, drowning.

Fool, masochist, coward.

vii.

The walk to the parking deck that night was slow and laborious, one foot dragged after another, the styrofoam cup of shitty coffee in her hand doing little to perk her up for the long drive home. Priyanka couldn’t remember the last time she’d stayed past her shift so long, but she’d wanted to make sure that Steven remained stable… that he didn’t suddenly crash on them after such a long, hard day on his body… that she continued to try (and miserably fail) to keep Rose’s last request.

Take care of my baby for me, please…

Ever since his episode, Steven’s breath sounds had been decreased on the right side of his chest; she instructed the intern on duty for the night to keep him on a steady supply of oxygen and to page her immediately if his stats even shifted by a margin.

“Like, even a number or two?” Dr. Stephens asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes,” she had snapped rather harshly. “Even a fraction.”

But somehow, even as Priyanka had said it, even as the poor intern had flinched, she had known to herself from the very beginning that she could quantify every little integer and it still all be for nothing.

Chronic kidney disease didn’t care about numbers.

It didn’t care about people.

“Hey! Priyanka! Wait up!"

Oh, hell and shit—she recognized that voice.

Wincing, she tried to arrange her features into an expression that didn’t completely betray her entire disinterest with humanity before she turned to face her colleague Dr. Reed. Maisie Reed, an ER doctor, had been at Empire Regional for about a decade longer than Priyanka.

She was a good woman and good friend, but frankly, she just didn’t know when to shut up, going off on long, rambling tales that were hard for Priyanka to weasel away from once she got rolling.

This was vaguely annoying on most days, but tonight, the nephrologist simply wouldn't be able to bear it.

“Hello, Maisie,” she returned brusquely as the older woman caught up to her. Her curly, flyaway hair was tucked back in a messy bun, her wire-rimmed glasses perched a little crookedly on the bridge of her nose. “How are you?”

“Exhausted,” Maisie rolled her eyes. “Did you hear about my star patient?”

“I think I actually met her,” Priyanka said, resuming her brisk walk. Maybe if she made it to her sedan before Maisie started a story, she could make a narrow escape. “She somehow made it to my patient’s room. Goodness knows for what reason. She and the patient’s family nearly got into a fistfight.”

“Ha! You're kidding! I didn’t think that part was true, but some of the nurses were saying—”

“It’s true,” she affirmed curtly, cutting across the woman. “All of it.”

They lapsed into silence then as they walked side by side on the harshly lit concrete. The nephrologist could see her tiny car near the end of the row. She pulled the key out of one of the pockets of her lab coat, clicked the unlock button, and hoped that Maisie would finally take the hint.

“I think we’re only parked a little ways from each other,” she said cheerfully, dashing all of Priyanka’s dreams.

Joy.

They continued to walk together, the heels of their shoes clicking reliably against the floor.

“I also heard… that you’ve got a bad outcome,” Maisie murmured, her voice soft, empathetic.

Pitying.

It was the pity that Priyanka hated most of all.

Her companion’s hazel eyes raked her over piercingly, like an X-Ray, and there was tenderness in her expression.

Understanding.

“I’m so sorry, honey.”

“It’s not a bad outcome yet,” she snarled, rounding upon the woman fiercely, not bothering with polite pretense anymore. Screw her. Screw everything. Screw this fucking day. “He’s still alive. He’s still got a chance. I’ve just got to find…”

“… kidneys, yes. I’ve heard,” Maisie finished gently.

Priyanka violently turned away again, increasing her pace so that she pulled ahead of the other doctor. Her entire body strained against the sudden burst of energy.

She was tired.

So fucking exhausted.

“Then don’t resign him to the grave yet, Maisie. I’m still fighting for him, dammit.”

“Yes, I know that, too… I’ve always admired that about you, dear. You never give up.”

“Yeah, well”—she didn’t exactly know what to say to that—“that’s what we do.”

“Mm, yes,” Maisie replied. “That’s what we do…”

She finally reached her sedan with no small feeling of relief, proceeding to the driver's side with the expectation that Dr. Reed would continue onwards to her little red Nissan at the end of the row, finally putting an end to this unpleasant conversation.

Infuriatingly, though, Maisie stopped, too, her eyes bright with kindness and warmth and all the other things besides that Priyanka simply couldn’t stomach at the moment.

“Yes, well, goodnight,” she said pointedly, making a motion to open the door of her car. She threw her briefcase in rather unceremoniously. It slammed against the passenger side door and fell feebly to the ground.

“What’s his blood type, Priyanka? I’ll keep an eye out for any patients that fit the description… you know what the ER is like. We get potential donors all the time.”

Yes, this was assuredly true, but Steven’s blood type being what it was, finding a donor so quickly would be a damn near miracle.

Priyanka exhaled harshly through her nose but relented anyway—anything to end this absurd conversation.

What the hell—it wouldn’t hurt.

“It’s a long shot… but O neg, so I need an O neg donor. Had any of those on your docket lately?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

And here was the part where Maisie’s kindly face would undoubtedly fall into dismay because of course she hadn’t seen an O neg patient in a while—only seven percent of the entire population had O negative blood, which was a startlingly rare number. So, of course, she would shake her head profusely and apologize and swear to keep her feelers out…

… but Maisie Reed didn’t exactly follow the quick script that Priyanka had constructed in her head.

In fact, her pink lips wobbled into a radiant smile.

“Honey,” she laughed, “sit down and take a sip of that damn black coffee of yours because you’re not going to believe this.”

#rose quartz #steven universe #blue diamond #yellow diamond #pearl #garnet #amethyst #greg universe #priyanka maheswaran #s: steven universe #mimiku #flower child #holy shit — with this chapter #we've reached 100K words

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smalltragedy · 4 years ago

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* natalia dyer, nonbinary + she/they | you know philomena carmichael, right? they’re twenty, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, a day? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to the leanover by life without buildings like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole wind whipping around your hair, the gentleness of decomposition, a naked blur dancing around the flames of an everlasting fire thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is april 20th, so they’re a taurus, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( james, 22, est, they/them )

hi thank u all fr being so patient w me as i rapidly switch out muses n figure out wht the fuck im doing atm <3 also sry fr my rare presence work hs been kicking my ass like lets jst say i deserve 2 b smbdy’s housewife (misogny wins this time sry) so i nvr hv to work in my life <3 DFSLKSDHKGLFSHLKAGHLKAHLKSG this is a joke 2 clarify. anyways. this is philly she’s old bt she’s one of my very favorites ever. this intro is also old sry its nt in my usual. style. LKDFKHGLKGF

CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION, DEATH, GRAPHIC MENTION OF DECAY, INSECTS MENTION TW.

mini playlist.

the girl who stole my tamagotchi ;; hot sugar / i dropped out ;; and the kids / pork soda ;; glass animals / wonderfully bizarre ;; bendigo fletcher / (dream) ;; salvia palth / alien blues ;; yundabar / dust in your pocket ;; glass animals / warm honey ;; willow / bela lugosi’s dead ;; bauhaus / gecgecgec ;; 100 gecs / blinding ;; florence and the machine / nantes ;; beirut / cherry-coloured funk ;; cocteau twins / not allowed ;; tv girl / oblivion ;; grimes / space song ;; beach house / dog food ;; 100 gecs / the leanover life ;; life without buildings.

statistics.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

birthday: april 20th, 2000.

zodiac: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

mbti & temperament: infp & improvisor / phlegmatic.

label: the halycon.

sexuality: demisexual.

pinterest.

biography.

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are … eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

cancer tw // it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children … it doesn’t last for too long. end of cancer tw //

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels…less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen … van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

during particularly desperate times, they two resorted to identity theft & credit fraud - getting away with it only by ditching the cards once they’ve made it out of state.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

depersonalization / derealization tw // it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs. depersonalization / derealization end of tw //

death, decay. maggots tw // there is trauma though, deep-rooted but somewhere inside - you just have to look for it.

you. just. have. to. look. for. it. look for it. look for it. look for it look for it look -

you were ten and she was thirteen, an off-trail hike in familiar woods in a familiar town, safe and familiar. it was your idea, to stray from the carved out paths, down creeks and up hills and round, and round again. you’re the one who spotted the scarf first, sticking up from the dirt and dancing in the wind like the beginning of reincarnation. it was not reincarnation, it was discovery. it was ruin. with curiosity drawn, you skidded down - with compliance, followed juno, followed your sister - clumsy in her steps and tumbling down quicker than you. you saw the corpse, but juno felt it. decaying flesh and maggot. end of death, decay, maggots tw //

and she left juno, just like that - just five years later, when juno had finally gone to the end of her wits. philly up and left. abandoned her.

philomena and elektra leave the city after that therapy session. they do not return. she’s always been good at hiding her secrets.

after ending up with warrants from their arrest in florida (after running from the law in texas), philly and elektra have wound up at irving <3 partially hiding from the law and partially bcos their trusty van’s broken down and they haven’t got the money to fix her up yet.

personality & facts.

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been.

currently living in florence, their van, with her sister elektra <3 currently residing in lilac ridge.

they used to live in motels on the occasion, the cheapest room, and more often than not they’d both go home with strangers for a comfier bed and a hotter shower.

it was a common occurrence - she didn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weaseled her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her. (smirks at leo)

will consume anything you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her. third favorites? florence, of course. fleetwood mac. the bird and the bee.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggling.

also, accordion.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

( like her frequent visits to the woods, late at night when the moon is high and full. it’s freeing to dance around a fire, stark naked in the cold. builds immunity )

comes and goes wherever she pleases, nothing & nobody can stop her (besides elektra).

has a certain knack for getting animals to like her. has too many ‘pet’ rats that reside with her, alongside a baby raccoon & a few crow pals. has a new animal companion everyday, but she doesn’t contain them or force them to stay.

wanted plots.

speaking through my third eye ... ;; philly is new in town n shes very strange. constantly lives in a state in which she does not exist (at least on the same plane). this is her harassing the locals. this is her slipping thru their fingertips as they attempt 2 understand her. they get close smtms bt philly jst. whisks herself away.

hollows of our eyelids ... ;; perhaps there is smbdy jst as strange as philly. i’m out here calling fr all the weirdos. lets be friends. lets hv philly n co go on adventures n discover horrible sites n uncover ancient secrets tht lie deep below irving. mayb nt tht. bt im jst saying. this is fr the dreamers. da weirdos. the jugheads. LHKDSHFSADLKGFHLSKADG fr those who also feel as if they r not real.

bills n aches n blues... ;; ya this is my call fr all negative plots. bills (catching philly be a thief and a fraud), aches (mayb heartache? unrecruited feelings or w/e theyre called?), n blues (ooooh so sad... so sad ... angst ...) obviously i am a genius. i wldnt say tht philly is here 2 make enemies bc philly doesnt care much abt ppl bt perhaps tht cld b an issue. tht she doesnt care much abt others. mayb ur muse is jst like. cn u pls care. n philly is like. i am incapable. sry. sucks.

n also ,, ;; like. anything i’ll. take anything. philly is weird lets come up w surreal plots tht verge on the edge of like. nt being correct fr this verse. suddenly theres vampires? or so they think ... smirks. anyways. shes been 2 jail n been in the circus (shoutout 2 kirby) n dances naked in the woods n hoards animals n treasures. we hv a lot to work with here obv.

#irvingintro #death tw #decay tw #maggots tw #dissociation tw #depersonalization tw #derealization tw #cancer tw #trauma tw #zooweemama #anyways. kira's will b up soon

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recentanimenews · 4 years ago

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RECS: Want to Watch Old Anime? Discotek Has You Covered

Every anime season brings a new roster of hits, but the shows of the past recede into the distance. Certainly, there are some exceptions and niche fans keep the spirit of ongoing series like Gundam alive. But with the continued emphasis on new and exciting anime, it’s tempting to forget the multitude of great shows and movies that already exist. The Discotek label has fought consistently over the past several years to ensure that anime’s past is preserved. Run by industry stalwarts, they’ve done the impossible time and time again: they tracked down the masters of cult OVA Project A-Ko, painstakingly restored the 2001 remake of Cyborg 009: The Cyborg Soldier from thousands of damaged tapes, and much of their best stuff is now available for streaming.

If you’re looking for something a little different or simply looking for a new show to watch, why not travel back into anime’s past? Here are some great TV series and movies as enjoyable today as they were when they were produced.

These are just my own recommendations, picked from the great sea of Discotek titles. But if you want to explore further, and check out titles including real-life inspiration on Yoko Taro, Sister Princess, you can find their shared Crunchyroll catalog list here.

Note: The titles listed are largely only available in the United States and Canada.

Movie Night

Urusei Yatsura Movie 2: Beautiful Dreamer

One of the best-known anime directors ever, Mamoru Oshii first made his mark with an outrageously popular animated sitcom: Urusei Yatsura, the series that put the queen of romantic comedy manga Rumiko Takahashi on the map. Oshii struck a balance throughout the TV series between hilarious comedy and experimentation, but it was in the second Urusei Yatsura film, Beautiful Dreamer, that he really went all out. This surreal time loop story keeps finding new ways to defy audience expectations throughout its runtime both as an atypical Urusei Yatsura tale as well as a sterling example of just how imaginative and ground-breaking the Urusei Yatsura anime could be at its best.

GoShogun: The Time Etranger

GoShogun: The Time Etranger is that classic anime standby: a film completely different in tone and content than the franchise that spawned it. Released four years after the original 1981 super robot series, The Time Etranger spends much of its runtime focused on the dreams and anxieties of sole female cast member Remy as she lies in a coma at the hospital. Examining “what happens after” a final super robot fight, it remains an enjoyable film with smarter writing than you’d expect. The Time Etranger is also a notable favorite of the great 80sanime Tumblr.

Night on the Galactic Railroad

Kenji Miyazawa’s novel Night on the Galactic Railroad might be best known to English-speaking audiences as a reference point for anime like Mawaru Penguindrum and Galaxy Express 999, but in truth, it’s one of the most beloved Japanese children’s stories ever written. An anime film adaptation was released in 1985, directed by the famed Gisaburo Sugii and scored by Yellow Magic Orchestra member Haruomi Hosono. Also, the characters are all drawn as cats! While slow-paced, it’s a strong adaptation that captures the charming and whimsical spirit of the original novel.

Other Discotek movie recommendations:

All the other 6 Urusei Yatsura movies

Jin Roh

Like the Clouds, Like the Wind

Ringing Bell

Mecha

Giant Gorg

Folks talk up director Yoshiyuki Tomino as the key creative force behind the original Gundam. But don’t forget Yoshikazu Yasuhiko, the talented character designer behind both Mobile Suit Gundam and Zeta Gundam. His most personal anime project is Giant Gorg, the story of a young boy who stumbles across a giant robot on a mysterious island. Rather than a Gundam-style war narrative, Giant Gorg is a proper adventure story in which the young cast spring from cliffhanger to cliffhanger. A white whale in American anime fandom for years, it was finally licensed for distribution in the United States in 2015. Don’t forget this fantastic mash-up between the Giant Gorg OP and the Perfect Strangers theme!

youtube

Mazinger Edition Z

In Mazinger Edition Z, cult-favorite director Yasuhiro Imagawa reimagines Go Nagai’s classic robot series to create a unified setting packed with pulpy thrills and conspiracies: The giant robot Mazinger has a past history involving the Greek god Zeus! The villain Baron Ashura is recontextualized as a deeply tragic villain with the best story arc in the series! We’re even given Tsubasa Nishikori, a Go Nagai staple who here becomes Imagawa’s best-written female character!

Mazinger Z is absolutely suffused with the spirit that made Imagawa’s earlier masterpiece Giant Robo so beloved and is an essential watch for any fan of that series. Not to mention that it ends with a cliffhanger brutal enough to make Go Nagai jealous.

Other Discotek mech recommendations:

Dai-Guard

Gunbuster 2

Tetsujin 28

Comedy

Cromartie High School

Anime comedies speak to the time that they were made, but there’s something uniquely timeless about Cromartie High School. You could say the show is funny because it’s set in a high school whose roster of delinquents includes a robot, Freddie Mercury, and a gorilla. But I think it goes even further than that: Cromartie High School is funny because its rowdy delinquents live lives just as boring as our own. When I watch Cromartie High School, I think not “what weirdos!” but “same, bro.” True in 2003, true in 2021.

Other Discotek comedy recommendations:

Bludgeoning Angel Dokuro-chan

Cat Girl Nuku Nuku

Golden Boy

Samurai Pizza Cats

Drama

Key the Metal Idol

Key the Metal Idol is a truly weird series. Directed and written by Hiroaki Sato, one of three animation directors who brought anime film masterpiece Akira to life, it’s the story of an android tasked by her creator to become human by making 30,000 friends. It’s a series that skewers the entertainment industry but is also loaded down with science fiction exposition. It’s a series that’s deeply in love with the work of David Lynch. Key the Metal Idol is flawed and idiosyncratic, but it’s also a genre-busting original far ahead of its time. And the opening credit sequence rules.

The Twelve Kingdoms

Fantasy anime are a dime a dozen these days, but for my money, no recent title comes close to The Twelve Kingdoms. The series has its share of magical creatures, epic duels, and even more elaborate fantasy worldbuilding than you can shake a sword at. But most of all, it’s a story about people and growth. Twelve Kingdoms puts its cast of scared teenagers in a crucible and subjects them to intense pressure until those teenagers realize, to their shock and genuine awe, that they can handle anything the world throws at them. Twelve Kingdoms deserves consideration along with Berserk as one of the greatest works of epic fantasy that animation has to offer.

Other Discotek drama recommendations:

Hajime no Ippo: The Fighting!

Honey and Clover

Kaiba

True Tears

What are your favorite older anime? Is there an anime BluRay or DVD you treasure most? Let us know in the comments!

Adam W is a Features Writer at Crunchyroll. When he is not evangelizing Kaiba to his friends and neighbors, he sporadically contributes with a loose group of friends to a blog called Isn't it Electrifying? You can find him on Twitter at:@wendeego

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a feature, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: Adam Wescott

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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loopy777 · 3 years ago

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Non-Review: Free Comic Book Day 2021 - The Legend of Korra (Also Featuring Avatar: The Last Airbender)

With all the hype around 'Suki Alone,' it looks to me like most of the fandom missed that an additional Avatar comic with a story from each cartoon's era was just released for Free Comic Book Day. You can read them for yourself on either Dark Horse Digital or Comixology where it's mislabeled as being for ages 17+ (free accounts are required for both), but I'm sure one of the reasons you all love me is because of my willingness to jump in between you and these comics like the deadly bullets they can be. Well, I'm happy to die (metaphorically) for the sake of (a little anonymous internet) love, so I'm doing a full snarky review for each ten-page story. Also, I'm bored, and it's more fun to make fun of mediocre stuff than to praise stuff I like.

It's time for me to review "Free Comic Book Day 2021 - The Legend of Korra (Also Featuring Avatar: The Last Airbender)" or more specifically "The Legend of Korra: Clearing the Air" and "Avatar: The Last Airbender: Matcha Makers."

CLEARING THE AIR

The cover makes this look like a story about Jinora and Ikki having a sibling conflict. That's a lie. The Air Sisters arguing is merely the inciting incident for Tenzin telling a story of his youth. I should note that, as inconsequential as the Air Sisters stuff is, it's actually written very well because it posits Ikki as a victim of circumstance and Jinora as a bully who terrorizes her little sister with threats of getting thrown in jail by Metalbenders for an accident, cementing the characterization from the cartoon. This is not sarcasm. I really do think Jinora is presented by LoK as a Holier Than Thou little snot who just so happened to be naturally gifted with magic spirit-powers, but for some reason the rest of the fandom doesn't agree with me.

Anyway, Tenzin comes in to find the arguing (and Meelo just running amok for the fun of it and so far these characterizations are perfect), and rather than telling Jinora to shut her stupid face, he delivers a tale of his youth about conflict resolution.

So the meat of the story is how, when Tenzin was "a few years older" than Jinora, a pair of vandals got onto Air Temple Island and burned some graffiti into the spinning-panel things that Korra will destroy out of frustration during her Airbending training. Literally, the vandals are depicted as scorching the wood with enough smoke to be seen across a plaza. Tenzin goes after the vandals and they flee across the bay back to Republic City proper (one of the vandals is a Waterbender with a surf-plank). Tenzin pursues, catches them, and attacks them hard enough to smash some dockside crates. They are all then arrested by Metalbenders and dragged before Chief Toph. She's going to let Tenzin go (yay Toph!) and throw the vandals in jail (YAY TOPH!) and makes this face, and this entire comic is worth it:

However, Aang arrives and instead arranges to forgo the jail-time in favor of an Air Nomad Conflict Resolution Ceremony. This is nice and in-character, but I'm totally with Tenzin that these vandals should have been thrown in jail. They literally burned insulting graffiti into antiques from a genocided culture. But instead, Aang demonstrates conflict resolution by having Tenzin explain why he's hurt and what needs to be done to redress the wrong. And so the vandals help Tenzin scrub the graffiti off the panels with water and rags and mops- how, I don't know, since they were literally burned.

They also do a ceremony thing where they each take turns bending their element into a central space between them to 'clear the air' (GET IT GET IT HA HA IT'S ALMOST LIKE A PUN BUT NOT), so it's a good thing they were all Benders because this is kinda racist. This fixes all the problems and everyone is friends. Yay!

In the present, though, things are not so nice, because Tenzin's kids are still screaming at and provoking each other. Korra comes in with Asami at the end to ask what's going on, and Asami says nothing, so I still think everyone is characterized with perfect consistency with the cartoon.

I made this sound silly, but (aside from the spinny-panels getting cleaned with a little water and elbow-grease, which doesn't matter because Korra will eventually blow them all up anyway), I actually like this one. It has Tenzin demonstrate how much he's always had to work to be the Perfect Air Monk that everyone expects him to be, and Aang acknowledges how this is unfair but that Tenzin will never let him down no matter what. It also has Katara come in at the end (for just one line, boo!) to acknowledge that this was an especially easy little conflict for Tenzin to practice on and he'll eventually face worse. I found it a nice adult moment in a story that's otherwise clearly aimed at 8-year-olds.

The art is good. It's simpler than the LoK cartoon, with flat colors, but it captures the story and has enough liveliness for everyone's character to come across in their look and body-language. The brief action-sequence where Tenzin attacks the vandals is well done, moving quickly but showing the full flow of the fight and every move Tenzin makes.

MATCHA MAKERS

Apparently, "Matcha is finely ground powder of specially grown and processed green tea leaves, traditionally consumed in East Asia" according to Wikipedia. I had to look that up. I'm curious how many people understood the full reference in the title, especially since these comics are aimed at kids too young to be allowed on the internet.

This is a very simple story about Iroh in his tea-shop in Ba Sing Se. He has an assistant/waitress named Feng, a new character who wears glasses, ruining the hopes and dreams of all the fanfic-writers who were so sure he'd rescue Jin from the Lower Ring. A frequent patron of the tea shop is an elegant, older lady (very clearly Upper Ring material) named Li-Mei, who cannot go a single panel without giving Iroh a HEY BIG BOY look. She is very clearly smitten. Also, I feel the need to clarify that she knows his name is Iroh, so apparently Ba Sing Se is okay with the Dragon of the West serving tea to their wealthy. I don't say that as a criticism, I'm just noting it.

That night, Iroh meets up with his friends- the Pokemon-style spirits that we saw in Legend of Korra. (I don't know if they're the actual spirits from LoK, or just new spirits in the same style. This is because I would sooner grind matcha into my eyes than rewatch Book Spirits.) He serves them his special blend of tea and talks about how he's totally into Li-Mei but isn't going to pursue it because he's feeling old and doesn't want to take a risk. At this point, I could stop describing the plot because between the title and what I've said so far, I'm sure you could figure out every single plot beat that will follow.

The next day, the spirits trip Feng so that she drops Li-Mei's tea and Iroh needs to bring a replacement, and they've drawn hearts on top of the replacement tea with foam or sugar or milk or whatever. I don't know because I've never bought tea in a place that will even put the bag in the hot water for me. Iroh gets out of the situation without starting any love-affairs and runs into the back to tell the spirits to knock it off, dudes, they're totally embarrassing him! The spirits respond by giving him a flyer for a romantic restaurant. I don't know how they got it, so I can only assume that some Upper Ringer had their mail diverted.

Iroh refuses, so when Li-Mei orders more tea and he brings it to her, the spirits hover just out of her sight and threaten to smash the furniture. I am not making that up. They literally threaten to smash Iroh's furniture unless he asks the lady out. He submits to their tyrannical threats, Li-Mei happily accepts the date, he happily accepts her acceptance, and the story comes to a close. Iroh thanks his spirits friends for opening him up to new experience, but hopes that next time (so I guess Iroh is signing up for Tinder after this?) they won't threaten his shop.

At best, I can describe this story as 'harmless.' But it's been a long week and I just got a bunch more extra work at my day job that I really don't want to do, so I'm going to go ahead and call this story 'dumb.' It's rote, leans towards humor without actually being funny at all, and turns the spirits of the setting into Pokemon. And not even the cool dragon kind.

The art is strangely stiff. The coloring is soft and nice, but the drawings seems more 'assembled' than actually drawn. I swear there are even a few panels that reminded me of 'How I Became Yours' with janky poses, horrifying expressions, and just enough resemblance to the original cartoon to make me think a screenshot was partially traced and then ruined. (I'm not accusing the artist of tracing, BTW. I wouldn't even condemn the artist for tracing if they did. I'm just describing that HIBY feeling I got.) It was so stiff that rather than hear Iroh's dialogue in Mako's rich tones, I instead imagined Greg Baldwin doing a stiff Mako-impression with no naturalism to the delivery.

This story is definitely worthy of its "Also Featuring" billing. I'd rate it below Gene Yang's Mai and Suki FCBD short stories, but above everything else he wrote for Avatar.

So there you go. Overall, this is very middle-of-the-pack for Avatar FCBD stuff. It's very much of the nature of the 'Team Avatar Tales' stuff, and I wouldn't be surprised if the Iroh story was a leftover from that project. On Free Comic Book Day, you often get what you pay for.

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roselen-mylady · 4 years ago

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In Another Life

Bucky Barnes x reader ° part ten

Summary: Waiting 88 years to find your soulmate? It was cruel. But it was a cruel fate Bucky would have to face whether he accepted it or not. Bucky was a tortured man all his life and he wasn't even granted the solace of having his soulmate at his side. All he had was the promise of one in another life. They were separated by two different times.

But the pain in their lives were connected.

Y/n had been alone ever since she could remember. All she could depend on was the soulmate that was destined to be at her side. Yet when the snap occurred she lost him.

And Bucky never got to meet her.

Though Steve showed no signs of leaving or the anger Y/n had feared, she still felt the anxiety that came from revealing her true past. He was supportive, as he always was and so was everyone else once they were told. Tony only had a mere, 'I knew it' to add to the subject and while Y/n was touched, she couldn't help the array of things she felt.

Foolish was one of them. Hiding her past from them before was stupid but Steve insisted that her going underground was probably best since HYDRA would've searched for her. While that brought her some solace she was still uncomfortable with the idea of becoming more involved. Something always went wrong and Nat was proof.

She missed her friend badly and Y/n couldn't help but feel it was her own cursed luck that had taken Nat. It was ridiculous to think that she could ever be happy. Stupid to think she could help her friends bring back everyone. Stupid to think she might actually meet her soulmate.

"Hey, kid. We're going to put the stones together." Tony cut into Y/n's racing thoughts. Her gaze lifted from the drawing Steve had given her, settling on Tony as he leaned in through the doorway.

She didn't know why she was still looking at the picture or why she had even accepted it. She wanted to believe she was still furious, still resentful. Wanted to force all the pain and guilt she felt into him once more. But in all reality she was just so lost. For years she pretended to be someone else and now that she was free to be the girl she once was, she didn't even remember who that was.

A genius? A hero? A terrified little orphan? She had no idea but she didn't want to be any. She wanted to be Y/n, a friend and a psychiatrist. She now understood why Steve wanted her around. He needed someone to remind him of who he was, who he truly was.

Was James that person once?

Was that why she found herself gazing at the sketch, hoping for a split second that maybe she could go back to the moment that was drawn? Praying to go back to a time where James Barnes was fighting for his past and his own will. A time where he might comfort her like he did Steve over the death of Nat. A time where his thoughts were his own and so we're his actions.

Y/m almost hated herself for despising him. Though she knew there was still much to his story she was too scared to ask, she knew he was nothing more than a tortured soul with a gun. She couldn't figure out how the man in the drawing was the same man who'd nearly killed her.

It wasn't.

Noticing her broken expression, Tony hesitantly stepped into the room coming to sit with her. Her fingers gently held the page and he looked down at it, recognizing the face instantly. It sent a chill through his spine, seeing the same face almost ripped the arc reactor straight from his chest.

It had taken him years to forgive Steve but he still struggled to do the same with the man who murdered his parents in cold blood. All the hatred toward his parents' assassin had gone unresolved since Steve and Bucky left him at that frozen HYDRA base. And once forgiving Steve, Tony had no other outlet and he found it difficult to sit there with the picture.

So he tried to focus on something else.

"So, you and Ms. Romanoff were close?" He mumbled trying poorly to begin consoling her. She nodded numbly, folding the paper and setting it aside.

The emotions she felt were mixed and intense making it hard for her to filter through her feelings but one surfaced more than others. Guilt.

"Ever since the snap." She replied, her shoulders slack. Tony and Nat had their own relationship, one much older than her own but they'd been apart for so long. Ever since Nat went off the grid with Steve and even after the snap when he distanced himself from all of them, they hardly interacted. But they were friends. The type of friends that wouldn't be parted even by death.

"Do you think things would be different if I hadn't showed up?" Y/n asked him suddenly. He looked over at her studying her guilt ridden eyes that she kept trained on the floor. It was a familiar look, one he wore often. But not one he wanted her to.

"Natasha wasn't the type of person to let anyone dictate her choices. I think she was ready to give her life for a cause and none of us could've stopped her." Tony sighed, the weight of her death finally reaching its max. "Not even a couple of geniuses."

•••

"Let's hope this doesn't blow up." Tony mumbled next to her. The small group consisting of them with the addition of Bruce and Rocket stood in the lab, waiting in anticipation as Tony carefully placed the stones in the gauntlet. With his shaking hands it was difficult to be precise while he manipulated the machine but he managed to place all six stones in their respective places. They held their breath unsure if the stones would react or blow up the lab as Tony feared.

"Boom!" Rocket yelled suddenly making all of them flinch. He began to laugh loudly and they all turned to him with annoyed looks. Y/n slapped the back of his head, cutting his laughing short as she walked off trying to ignore the trembling in her legs. Tony muttered something under his breath moving to bring the gauntlet to a more accessible area for the wearer.

"You're an asshole." Y/n groaned. Tony walked past them, putting the gauntlet on a display table that made it hover a couple inches above.

"Come on, it was funny!" Rocket argued, earning an unamused stare from both Tony and Y/n.

It took a few minutes for Bruce to collect everyone but eventually everyone was gathered around the gauntlet. Most had expressions Y/n familiarized with PTSD and once following their gazes she realized their experience with the gauntlet Thanos wore was resurfacing.

Hopefully, with the new one they'd be able to reverse what he'd done. But the trauma would stay. That she knew.

"All right. The glove's ready. Question is, who's gonna snap their fucking fingers?" Rocket questioned, looking up at the group. Their options were limited since most people in the room were only human, even Steve.

"I'll do it." Thor volunteered without hesitation. He drunkenly stepped forward making everyone turn to him with confused and reluctant looks. Their choices were limited but they weren't desperate enough to put such a powerful object on a drunk god.

"Excuse me?" Scott asked, glancing around at the others for one of them to tell Thor what a bad idea it was.

"It's okay." Thor insisted, marching forward with a purpose. Steve moved to stop him with the help of Tony making the poor large man pause.

"No, no, no, whoa. Stop. Stop. Wait a sec. Hey, hey–" Everyone was a mess of refusal and Thor's face turned hurt as he tried to continue.

"Wait, wait, Thor, just wait. We haven't decided who's gonna put that on yet." Steve explained. Thor shifted on his feet, clearly upset with their rejection.

"I'm sorry. What, we're just sitting around waiting for the right opportunity?" He asked,

annoyed. Scott looked to Y/n hoping she might use some of her 'therapist powers' he called them after realizing she really couldn't read minds.

"We should at least discuss it." Y/n tried to reason. Thor shook his head stubbornly, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

"No, no, sitting here staring at that thing is not gonna bring everybody back. I'm the strongest Avenger, okay? So this responsibility falls upon me. It's my duty." He told them, gesturing to the gauntlet then himself.

"It's not about that–" Tony told him gently, coming to stand in front of him as he started to move Thor back. Thor resisted but was unsuccessful as he started to grow emotional. "Hey buddy-" Tony tried again only to be cut short by Thor frantically shushing him and everyone else.

"Stop it! Just let me! Just let me do it. Just let me do something good. Something right." Thor begged, tears filling his eyes. He was desperate to prove he was worthy, to prove he could still be the hero he once was.

"Look– It's not just the fact that that glove is channeling enough energy to light up a continent, I'm telling you, you're in no condition." Tony fought. There was no way they were going to let him hold the fate of the world in his hand while he was drunk. Even the Thor he was years ago shouldn't have held that kind of power, it was too risky.

"What do you– What do you think is coursing through my veins right now?" Thor asked, his eyes studying Tony's for any kind of hope that might tell him they would let him make the sacrifice.

"Cheez Whiz?" Rhodey scoffed, earning a glare from Y/n. Thor looked over at Rhodey pointing a shaky finger at him as he tried not to cry in frustration. He held onto Tony, grasping at his shoulders and prying Tony's attention away from Rhodey's comment.

"Lightning." Thor corrected, looking back to Tony with pleading eyes. Tony nodded but he knew he couldn't allow Thor to wear the gauntlet. "Lightning." Thor repeated, distraught but Tony's reaction.

"Lightning won't help you, pal. It's gotta be me." Bruce announced suddenly. Thor shook his head letting go of Tony. "You saw what those stones did to Thanos. It almost killed him. None of you could survive." Bruce explained.

"How do we know you will?" Steve questioned as Bruce paced over to the gauntlet.

"We don't. But the radiation's mostly gamma. It's like...I was made for this." Bruce mumbled. He gazed intensely at the stones, silently calculating his odds. If the Hulk couldn't handle this, was this really how he was going to die? And if so would it even work?

They looked at each other knowing it was their best chance at bringing them back. They had to take it.

Tony stepped forward, grabbing the gauntlet and handing it to Bruce as they headed to a more secure part of the lab.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" Y/n asked Bruce quietly. She knew how Nat's death had affected him and she refused to make the same mistake with him.

"Yes. We have to finish this." He declared. Y/n watched as he paced forward to catch up with Tony as she lagged behind to Steve.

"Do you think this will work?" Steve questioned. Y/n chewed her lip anxiously, focusing her stare at the gauntlet as Steve came to stand beside her.

"Bruce's gamma radiation is stronger and most equipped to handle the energy but it's still dangerous. The stones are too powerful together, I didn't think they were ever really meant to be used together." She sighed, hating the sacrifices that came with saving the world. If they lost someone else just for this to not work was it really even worth trying?

"Bruce is strong." Steve tried to ease her worry but it wasn't enough.

"I know. I just-I can't keep losing people, Steve. It's like a curse. Every time I try to do something good…-"

"Hey, hey, it's okay. You're not gonna lose anyone else. Not on my watch." Steve promised but both of them knew it was practically empty. There was no guarantee. "Let's just bring everyone back."

Y/n tried to smile but like his promise it was hollow. "Yeah, okay."

"Good to go, yeah?" Tony questioned as Bruce carefully held the piece in his large hands. He seemed anxious but who wouldn't be in that situation.

"Let's do it." He confirmed as Y/n and Steve returned to the group. She walked around him, stopping beside Tony and sharing a steady nod.

"You remember–everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago, you're just bringing them back to now, today. Don't change anything from the last five years." Tony told him seriously.

"Got it." Bruce assured. Then suddenly the room grew quiet and a tenseness settled in the air that Y/n was too amazed to catch onto. For the first time she realized she was living the dream of millions of people. Everyone had readied themselves and Y/n watched as they stood there in their superhero uniforms, the power and determination they all had washing over her.

Tony pressed his chest allowing his suit to expand and morph to his body, a shield lighting up before him. His stare then drifted to Y/n who still stood there in her casual clothes, watching them all confused and out of place. Why were they getting ready now? They were doing this here?

"Hey, kiddo. Come on." Tony urged, motioning to her earpiece. She gave a soft 'oh' mimicking him as she pressed the button making her own suit appear. A shield of her own design came to her forearm and Tony eyed it curiously.

"Did you mess with the suit?" He asked, the seriousness in his tone startling her a bit. She shrugged, looking at him defensively.

"Yeah, you said it was just a prototype so I fixed it a bit." She explained. He looked away, grateful she couldn't see the entertained smirk on his lips as he turned back to Bruce.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., do me a favor and activate Barn Door Protocol. Will you?" Tony called. Y/n had gotten used to the suit during the time she could spare to examine it and she put 70% power into the armor, figuring if something did go wrong it probably wouldn't hurt to be a little more protected.

"Yes, boss." F.R.I.D.A.Y replied. Metal doors began to close off the lab as the compound went into lockdown and if the seriousness of the situation hadn't set in yet it definitely did then as Y/n widened her stance to try and brace herself.

"Everybody comes home." Bruce reminded himself, cautiously reaching his hand into the gauntlet. The gauntlet expanded to fit his hand thanks to Tony's nanotech but as soon as it was fully on the power of the stones surged through him. He grunted in pain collapsing to his knees as the energy began to burn into his arm.

"Take it off! Take it off!" Thor cried, waving his hands as Bruce shakily held the gauntlet. Steve stepped forward, keeping anyone from acting.

"No, wait. Bruce, are you okay?" Steve questioned. He knew more than anyone that just because something was painful didn't mean they couldn't do it.

"Talk to me, Banner." Tony called, becoming more concerned with each unresponsive moment. Y/n started moving to help but froze as Bruce looked up at them.

"I'm okay. I'm okay." He insisted. They eased up a little and everyone watched carefully as he tried to regain control of the stones. Thor gave a double thumbs up, watching the scene before him with an astounded expression.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y what are his vitals?" Y/n questioned anxiously. Charts bloomed around Bruce and she quickly read them realizing his heart rate was dangerously high. In fact everything was high, his blood pressure, his respiration rate, even his body temperature had increased. Bruce screamed again, fighting the instinct to remove the gauntlet from the overwhelming pain it caused him as he lined up his fingers.

The world seemed to stop at the echoing of the snap, the fated sound she'd only heard about for five years finally filling her head the same way it had for the others.

He fainted and the gauntlet fell off his arm, clattering on the floor before Clint quickly kicked it away from him.

"Bruce!" Steve called, kneeling beside him as the others rushed forward to check on him. Y/n tugged the remains of his sleeve back gently as Tony kneeled beside her, holding up his hand.

"Don't move him." Tony demanded, applying a coolant spray from his fingertips over Bruce's arm. Bruce groaned, reaching out and grabbing Steve's arm urgently.

"Did it work?" He questioned breathlessly, keeping his large hand tight around Steve's arm. Thor gave him a reassuring smile while Y/n looked over the damage of his arm.

"We're not sure. It's okay." Thor soothed, his voice hopeful as he turned his gaze toward the door where the lab was starting to open up again. Scott walked off to the now open area and some of the others spread out to see what had happened but Y/n stayed at Bruce's side.

"You did great, Bruce." She told him, giving him a smile to which he returned, though it was a bit more pained. A muted vibrating came from the table on the other side of the room and Y/n turned to see Clint walking over to it almost numb.

Did it work?

"Honey? Honey." Clint spoke, his voice quivering in joy as Y/n looked at Tony. They shared a wide eyed glance, both rattled by the idea that they might have actually won.

Y/n wished to look at her wrist, praying that the countdown she had before the snap returned. She couldn't even remember how many days it had read back then but it didn't matter anymore. She just wanted to meet her soulmate. Would he be looking for her?

Were his eyes really blue?

But their victory couldn't last long and Y/n knew that as she followed Bruce's gaze to the skylight above them. There flying menacingly above the compound was the biggest spacecraft she had ever seen and dread instantly set in upon seeing the missile coming their way.

"Look out!" Y/n screamed, trying to warn the others but it was too late. Her helmet quickly came forward along with her shield which she tried desperately to put over Bruce's head, protecting her and him from falling debris. But the roof wasn't the only thing falling apart.

The floor split and some of the group fell into the large hole while Y/n struggled to regain her balance. She quickly looked around her, catching sight of Steve sliding across the floor toward the hole. Using the thrusters, she launched forward, grabbing hold of one of the straps to his uniform and dragging him back toward Tony.

The building was falling down around them and any means of escape were closing off faster than she could find them. Steve managed to climb to his feet again but before either of them could come up with a plan a large piece of the roof fell, striking Y/n down. She cried out falling through the floor to the room below, getting pinned on her stomach under the roofing.

"Y/n!" Steve yelled, peering down into the hole. Y/n gasped, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Tony looked down too, the two men struggling to keep themselves up as they waited anxiously for her to speak.

"Minimal damage to prototype armor." F.R.I.D.A.Y announced making Y/n groan. She slowly lifted herself up using her back to push off the rumble before leaning back on her knees, panting slightly.

"You call that minimal?" She questioned, annoyed. Tony chuckled through the headset, her reply giving him a little relief knowing she was alright.

"The suits can handle more than we can, kid." He explained. Y/n grumbled, climbing to her feet. She didn't care how durable the suit was, she was still very much human inside the metal and every hit the suit felt, she did too.

"Are you okay?" Steve called, leaning closer to the edge of the hole. Tony put a hand on his chest, keeping him from falling in while Y/n slowly climbed to her feet.

"Yeah. I'm fine, Steve." She waved her hand pretending to be nonchalant before coughing from how forcefully her lungs had been emptied. They were about to attempt to go down to her when the floor they were on shifted and Steve fell over, sliding off to another part in the lab.

"Cap!" Tony called, trying to reach out and catch him. Steve called back that he would be alright giving Tony a little assurance as he turned his gaze back to Y/n. "This building is falling apart!" He called down to her.

"What do you want me to do?" She asked, looking around at the floor around her. She had landed in the living room area, one of her favorite places but like the rest of the facility it was falling to ruin.

"Find the stones. We can't risk losing them." Tony instructed. Y/n let out a short sigh, the weight of the task making her stomach turn.

"Is it too late to go home?" She joked. Tony smiled softly unbeknownst to Y/n. The building shook again with another hit and he knew he wouldn't have long to talk to her.

"No." He answered truthfully. If she could find a way out, there would be nothing stopping her. She could easily fly away and forget about this. "But you know what they say. It only takes one fight to make a hero." Tony explained.

Y/n pierced her lips, knowing that she never really intended on leaving. She was all in from the moment Scott had been yelling into the camera and though she'd been doubtful before, she knew this was where she was meant to be.

"Go be Iron Star." Tony chuckled, making her scoff and shake her head. Of course, he had to ruin the moment.

"We really gotta talk about that name!" She called, turning away and running off toward the window to her left. Using the thrusters in the metallic boots she flew forward and smashed through the glass, unsteadily keeping herself in the air outside.

"Just find the stones."

•••

When Bucky had woken up he was right where he'd been in Wakanda. T'Challa ran to him trying very hastily to explain what had happened. They had been gone for five years according to the wizard man they called 'Strange' and now they needed to come fight Thanos again.

While Bucky was usually quick to understand and move on to the next fight, he couldn't help but stop at this news. He'd promised himself that the fight with Thanos was the last time so that he could find his soulmate but he was still fighting. When would it stop?

For a split second he feared maybe his chance at meeting his soulmate had come and gone and he frantically ripped back his right sleeve to look at his wrist.

"3 days?" Sam asked, peeking down at Bucky's arm as T'Challa organized his army. Bucky numbly nodded, his heart racing as he watched the seconds tick away. He was three days away from her.

He had to make it through this time.

No matter what.

•••

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, can you scan the compound for the stones' energy signature?" Y/n questioned, looking over the wreckage of what was once the Avengers compound. It didn't even look the same, all blown to the foundation with rubble spread around like a battlefield.

"I detect energy levels matching the stones underneath the building in the sewer systems. You should have access through what's left of the first floor." The A.I. answered. Y/n flew over to the nearest opening of the building, using micro lasers to burn a hole into the floor leading down into the sewers.

She jumped down into it, landing as quietly as possible before looking around. It was hard to see much, the only light being the blaring red light of the alarm system but the tunnel appeared empty other than the obvious debris and flooding. She cautiously walked forward watching as her display outlined the surrounding area.

It was eerily silent, the soft trickling of water putting her on edge as she continued down the tunnel, following the power signature of the stones.

"I detect hostiles approaching." F.R.I.D.A.Y spoke suddenly. Y/n watched carefully as her display changed, showing a clearer picture using an x-ray of the surroundings. The stones rapidly approached as did the hostiles and she quickly held up her hands, powering up the repulsors as Clint ran into her vision.

"Shoot 'em!" Clint screamed, narrowly dodging one of the creatures that lined the tunnel. Y/n did what he said, firing at the closest creature before moving onto the next, trying to hold them off long enough for Clint to run past her.

"What the hell are these things?!" She yelled, following after him as they both broke off into a sprint through the water.

"I don't know but I'm tired of this alien shit!" Clint shouted over his shoulder as Y/n glanced back at the creatures, firing again at one that got too close. Clint pulled out one of his arrows, throwing it into one of the pipes next to them before running faster.

Catching onto what he was doing, she picked up speed as well, jumping with him as the arrow exploded taking out most of the creatures. Y/n looked up from the ground, noticing that some of them had started to crawl through the flames making her climb to her feet, grabbing Clint under his arms.

She activated the thrusters and they launched up, faltering a bit since Y/n had barely learned to fly by herself let alone while carrying someone. Clint unsheathed his sword, yelling as he cut through some of the creatures that had climbed up beside them.

Once reaching the top Y/n dropped him to the side before falling herself, tumbling a few feet away. Clint climbed to his knees, holding out his sword as he let out a threatening shout. Thankfully, no other creatures appeared over the edge and he collapsed onto his back next to Y/n.

"Hey." Clint chuckled, nudging Y/n tiredly. "You're an Avenger now." He told her drawing a half-hearted laugh from her. She groaned the pain in her ribs increasing at the action and she put a hand over her side.

"Being an Avenger hurts."

•••

Once going through the portal the wizard had made, Bucky was met with a wasteland. Thanos and Steve watched as others arrived through the portals and while Steve's expression was much more relieved than Thanos', it was clear they were only evening the playing field as Bucky looked toward Thanos' forces.

The Wakandan armies chanted as hundreds of other heroes came through the portals, each ready for the final battle. He walked forward, coming to stand a few feet away from Steve as he studied the enemy across the way. He was determined to finish what they had started five years ago. He wanted to find his soulmate and he wanted this fight to truly be the last.

"Avengers!" Steve called. Bucky held his breath, hoping with everything he had that for all his misfortune over the years, today would end better.

He'd suffered for a lifetime.

Please let this be the last fight.

"Assemble."

Everyone yelled, running forward at Thanos' forces. The fight broke out and Bucky managed to find himself alongside the raccoon he'd encountered last time. They shared brief eye contact and Rocket's eyes flashed with recognition while Bucky tried to ignore him.

"How about now?!" Rocket yelled, motioning to his arm. Bucky glanced over at him, growing annoyed with the talking animal's persistence. What the hell would a raccoon do with his arm?

"No!" Bucky yelled back. He turned, noticing one of the creatures had been sneaking up on Steve while he had his back turned and Bucky quickly shot at it, knocking it down. Steve turned, giving Bucky a grateful and joyous smile. Bucky smiled back making sure to keep aware of the creatures around him.

"What the hell did you get me into, Steve?" Bucky yelled teasingly. His friend gave a short chuckle, using the large hammer to slam back another one of Thanos's creatures.

"Nothing two old men can't handle."

Taglist:

Part eleven

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