#render practice training arc

[abbey-abdominal]

My part of an art trade for a good good friend of mine who I hope promptly explodes upon seeing this. Nurse!Ragatha teasing Pomni (who is supposed to be sick but uhhhhhhhhh? Is being a simp a sickness? Google is being a simp a sickness?)

[wispstalk]

devotion

a piece i intended for summerfest ft. martin and baurus. ~1200 words

---

Among all the charcoal hatches and smudges there is a void. Blank white parchment, the color of death, roughly in the shape of an open book. Baurus could suggest the Xarxes’ contents with scribbles, but the blankness is intentional: a reflection of his own ignorance. What wondrous secret revelations are contained in this tome, the viewer might ask— then look to the troubled face above it.

The sketch just looks unfinished. A little too high-concept, perhaps, for his technical skill. Still, he’s happy with how he rendered the play of candlelight.

Working with light and shadow is new to him, a practice borne of the luxury of time. Baurus’s strength is faces. He can capture defining features in a few quick sweeps. He can work off the sparest description. It was how he led the Hero of Kvatch to Mankar Camoran— for all the good it did them.

He does not think himself an artist. It was only ever a casual hobby, a childhood fascination with what makes a face unique and what makes them all the same. Only when the spymaster caught him sketching his fellow trainees in the barracks did this habit take on value. Swordsmanship and tireless strength, the spymaster explained, are the least of a Blade’s talents. One must also cultivate the craft of observation.

After the Simulacrum, the Emperor saw schemes taking shape in every shadowy recess. Uriel wanted no more mysteries in his court. Every secret meeting, every tryst, every whispered conversation in the back of the council chambers: caught by a dissecting eye. Every visitor whose interest in the galleries or gardens was a little too keen. The idea was that if a plot arose, there might be a face to put to it, a moment captured, something to trace and therefore some way to get down to the why beneath the how.

(For all the good it did them.)

Now his duties are simple: he stands there, and he keeps watch. Or he did. Martin asked him (politely, stammering a little) if he would please stop looming. The Emperor’s trueborn sons were loomed over from cradle to grave; to them, the Blades were backdrop. This bastard heir, this farmer’s foundling, is not used to it.

So Baurus took the offered bench. Through this little crack in his discipline, the urge to fidget crept in.

(It took the heir some time to notice, but once he looked up while Baurus was doodling on a discarded scrap of paper. Martin made no comment, but extra rolls of parchment and proper charcoal sticks somehow made their way up the mountain in the Hero of Kvatch’s pack.)

So, as if it is his duty, Baurus keeps a record of the still mountain fastness where all fate hinges. Caroline’s hair ruffling in the wind as she takes off her helmet during a patrol. The complex gnarls of the Grandmaster’s fingers as he reaches to place a pin in his map. The Hero of Kvatch whipping in or out of the temple like a storm, all motion blur and restless shadow. Fortis and Pelagius out training in the sparring yard, the arc of an arm, the glint of pale Bruma sunlight on blunted steel.

But there is one conspicuous absence from his growing collection of faces. Their whole reason for being here. The very center of everything, and Baurus just can’t get it right.

He looks again at the sketch, and its subject. Furrowed brows pressed in thick dark hashes, smudges of shadow beneath the eyes, the stippling of three days’ stubble, a lock of hair twisted around a finger. A beleaguered patch above his right ear is beginning to thin from constant tugging. The gentle candle-glow does nothing to soften the jaw’s taut lines.

It’s a good sketch, from a technical standpoint. It’s true to life. Baurus crumples it and tosses it in the hearth.

“Your Grace?” he says softly. A little louder now: “Your Grace.” Nothing. So then, “…Martin?”

The heir to the throne jolts as if he stepped on a lightning rune. He drags the heels of his palms across bleary eyes and makes a noise like Buh?

“I wondered…” Baurus clears his throat to stifle the flush creeping up his neck. “I wondered if you wouldn’t mind sitting for a sketch.”

Martin blinks around the room, then points to himself. Baurus nods.

A shaft of sunlight splits the great hall, pouring in from those insecure high windows that Jena is always complaining about. Baurus frames up his hands and squints through them, and places a stool just so. After Martin eases himself down on stiff knees, his grimace remains.

“Your, er, you might not want to hold that expression for so long,” Baurus suggests.

“Ah.” Martin prods at his face as if the whole arrangement is new to him. “The first imperial portrait, isn't it? You'll have to take some liberties, I imagine. It falls to you to make me look wise and distinguished and pious and, ah— lordly, and all those things I ought to be.” He throws a sly grin over his shoulder. “And handsome. That’s an order, Bladesman. At least pretend I’ve combed my hair.”

As Baurus marks out loose shapes in negative space, he recalls the last portrait of Uriel ever commissioned. The painter had taken great care to hide the emperor’s age but gave him a certain jowly dignity. All the gravity of his years. Baurus, who was bodyguard to a very old man, saw what the painter had captured only once: when Uriel passed through the Hero of Kvatch’s cell and looked, unflinching, into the face of his own death.

The ghost of Uriel’s youth takes shape on the page. The curve of the nose in profile, the set of the jaw. But Baurus is careful not to diminish that which is all Martin’s own. The darker hue to his skin. His terrible posture, from all those hours bent to his translation. The fall of his hair, uncombed.

Baurus saves the eyes for last, scratching out faint suggestions first and coming back to tinker. His challenge, his crowning victory, will be to capture the eyes, the way Martin Septim now seems to see through the temple walls and track down the jagged mountain slopes, as if he slices open the thin skin of the world with his gaze.

Baurus works quickly, out of habit. He holds up his board to show the finished product. “It’s nothing worthy of the Ring Gallery,” he says, by way of apology.

Martin flicks his eyes up from the sketch. “The Ring Gallery?”

“The corridor outside the council chambers. It holds portraits of all the Emperors past. The most famous works, at least.”

“Oh. In the White-Gold Tower.” Martin gestures for a closer examination of the sketch. “I think it would suit me well. Picture it: all these grand frescoes, my vaunted ancestors writ larger than life, and then..." He lifts the drawing high in the air and flicks his wrist as if to slap it against a wall, this tiny piece of parchment with its dashed-off sketch. Baurus can't suppress a laugh, and the heir gives him one of those vague distant smiles. Never does he show his teeth. Always he looks as if he is keeping something back. "I'd rather have it for myself, though. Is that vain?”

“Of course not,” Baurus says reflexively, though something small crumples within him— he had hoped to add this to his collection.

The heir studies him. Picks him apart, translates whatever he finds beneath the mask of duty. “Terribly vain,” he decides, and hands it back.

[delta-gambit-au]

FAQ about Delta-Gambit

As I mentioned before, I think this post should clarify a lot of questions behind my project. If anything is missing, be kind to tell me so and I'll edit.

((05/OCT/2024 -- I'm going to unpin this temporally until I finish tidying up this post -- had a huge set-back IRL that will dent my ability to focus on the project)) ((15/SEP/2024 -- Still trying to catch up on pending stuff for my blog, now that I'm getting more confident with Ibis Paint on the phone and combining it with CSP, I'll be able to focus on doing some organizing on this blog soonish. After that I'll focus on the stuff I owe to other people 😳 (not 3D because I still can't buy a GPU replacement for my broken one, but at least I can draw picturs... if RL stops nagging me with their selfish requests) ((18/AUG/2024 -- I gotta do some cleanup in this post later down the month now that I'm learning how to handle better the blog's presentation by watching how other people do theirs. Please disregard the present mess until then.))

((05/AUG/2024 -- I think I should add some disclaimer here -- currently I'm working on the project very slowly due to several RL issues that doesn't give me enough spare time a day -- until I get a new tablet (now a new GPU) to work faster I'll keep posting sketches and other things that I can do on the phone and 3D renders of my AU and OCs of other people -- I apologize for the slow trickling of content on my blog and thank you for dropping by))

🔵 What is this AU about?

This AU branches out after a half-baked Pacifist Route in which the plea of Spamton has been ignored by Kris for too long. Everything else is as a normal Pacifist Route, but with a tasteful twist. The story revolves around Spamton mostly, but he isn't the sole protagonist of this story, as other characters come to prominence later on and get tangled in a deep conspiracy that puts all of their lives at stake. It's roughly a story about the lives of the Darkners in a Dark World more than character centric drama, but I get to weave a ton of narrative devices that so far is being loved by all my proof-readers.

🔵 Is this AU related to any other AU?

Nope. This AU was created without any knowledge about anybody else's AU in the past. In fact, I didn't know other people made theirs until I read about it and that's when I came to the realization that what I did was called as "AU" 👀 I started writing the prologue draft at the end of January 2024, but I did not make any contact with the fandom up until the end of March 2024.

🔵 Why you make so many experimental art not related to the visual novel?

Because that's my way of training art, and I'd rather pick my characters as theme and focus of my training than practicing with something else to be honest. I also need to practice drawing my characters more often so that I can stay consistent with the designs when I start to build up the visual novel in Unreal Engine 5.

🔵 Do you have any samples of the visual novel?

Currently nope, as I'm still in training, learning through an Udemy course a friend of mine gifted me to learn how to make visual novels in Unreal Engine 5. Until I get the script of the first season done, I'll not work on the visual novel, because it would be dumb to work on it and not have any complete chapters done to start sharing them.

🔵 Will the visual novel be free to play or?

The visual novel will be free to download, but of course, you can always give a tip of kromer if you think my work is worthy of it 😁

It will be published on Locals, Itch.io and on Steam (this last one further down the line because of how it must be setup and the $100 that costs to get a game slot on Steam).

I'd also upload gameplay of it on my YouTube and Rumble channels if you are more of watching others playing it than playing the game yourself.

🔵 You mentioned a "season". Is your visual novel split in seasons?

I thought about calling them "arcs" but then I settled with the word "seasons" because of how animated they are and visual-novel format is almost like watching a movie but with huge captions. I've enough material for 1 season (of roughly 12~15 chapters, depending if I need to split chapters more because of their length) and I have ideas for a Season 2 that can survive on its own up until Chapter 3, 4 and 5 of the original Deltarune comes. Then after we get more official Deltarune story, I'll be able to produce a third season.

(moved updates to a different post)

🔵 Why Spamton though?

idk, brainrot? My Spamton should be called DG!Spamton, to distinguish it from the original (or other Spamton in the fandom). Though both are similar (if not identical) mine has something that made a few Spamton haters to start to like Spamton. I don't know how to explain it… It just works ._.

🔵 How do you pronounce "Spwatchton"?

S-pwatch-ton

🔵 Are you a Spaniard?

Born and raised, and it shows in my odd way of writing. Hope you don't mind some typos here and there but I try my utmost to quash them when I see them 😅

Also and just in case, you may address me as he/him or they/them but since I'm NB you may use whatever pronouns you feel comfortable with 😉I love you all 💌 (in the most respectful way)

You may call me Spwatchton or Spwatch, we're not picky.

[renton6echo]

For the Bad Batch ask: 12 19 &/or 21!

YES, @thebispaceace! Here we go:

12. Which Batcher are you taking with you on an undercover mission?

Woof. That's hard. Subtley is not their language, but Echo would be my first choice. (1) On a very practical level, despite his modifications he's easy to disguise. (2) Echo is an ARC Trooper. He was trained for this and knows how to be stealthy. (3) He is closest to a generalist that the team has. So he's flexible and would provide the best cover for all the challenges that could arise in a mission.

19. Which Batcher is the first to fall asleep at a sleepover?

Crosshair. I feel like he's an introvert that needs to recharge after a lot of socializing. So if it were a slumber party, he would be the one who finds a nice corner or high space and passes out with no pre-cursor or goodnight. Leave him alone. He needs his recharge time.

21. Which Batcher is the best cook?

Hunter. He has the best senses for making everything taste good and he treats it like an art. So he can follow a recipe but improvise and add his own spin on a dish.

I initially wanted to say Tech, but he strikes me as both too practical and also too chaotic. So he would either have no patience to cook and/or eat rations bc food is just sustenance OR he would experiment way too much with the cooking method or flavoring rendering it inedible.

[otto-bot]

So you may ask: why didn’t people do this more often in history?

Simple: you almost never saw lone archers. Archers, mounted or on foot, usually fought in large groups who would all fire at the same time. Since bows would loose accuracy at longer ranges, shooting mass volleys would increase the chances of a hit, and would have a greater effect against packed formations of enemies.

When firing en masse, the priority was always to fire quicker. More volleys = more results, especially when so many arrows are being shot at once. In Addition these volleys were almost always fired high and wold arc down to hit the target due to the longer range of combat than seen in this video. The distance and trajectory would make the dispersal seen in this video be much greater by the time they landed. Not to mention the increased risk of them colliding with each-other mid flight if each archer shot multiple shots.

There is also of course, training. Most archers of the period weren’t as skilled as the Welsh, English or Mongols, who practiced with their bows for practically their whole life. Most were local peasants or woodsmen levied into a lords army, and lacked the training and skill to do this kind of thing.

Finally, IDK if you’ve ever been shot by a bow, but usually one arrow is enough to take down a target, or at least render them a non-threat.

When one arrow isn't enough...

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND WORK

Could it be that, in a modern society, increasing variation in income is a sign of laziness. But I think server-based software you can build without studying users is the sort for which you are the typical user. But we weren't saying this to be benevolent. The minimum order for a factory production run is usually several hundred thousand dollars. That's the whole point of technology. I'm not saying there's no such thing. Language designers, or at least inevitable form, but it's the same thing with detective stories. The main complaint of the more articulate critics was that Arc seemed so flimsy. Suppose you're a college freshman deciding whether to allow deductions is that, if they do let you down, will still seem to have regarded wisdom, learning, and intelligence idiosyncratic.

When Steve Jobs started using that phrase, Apple was already an established company. It might be a good thing. So, yes, there does seem to be facing off in a kind of selection going on here too: they're exactly the companies programmers would most like to work for. There your job is largely a matter of spanning a given distance with the least strings attached. The founders thereupon proposed to walk away from the company, as well as your audience. Not so much from specific things he's written as by reconstructing the mind that produced them. A good running back is not merely determined, but flexible as well. But flexible, like a digital image rendered with more pixels. Here it is: I like to find a place where there are a lot of people seemed surprised that someone interested in computers would also be interested in it for its own sake, out of the way as soon as you can be smart without being very smart. Intelligence and wisdom are obviously not mutually exclusive. Don't disregard unseemly motivations. No one thought to go back and debug Aristotle's motivating argument.

The government could not do better than to piggyback on their expertise, and use investment by recognized startup investors as the test of whether people love what they do with it. As a little piece of debris, the rational thing for you to do everything. But those you don't. You'll find more interesting things by looking at structural evidence, and structurally philosophy is young; it's still reeling from the unexpected breakdown of words. The one saving grace was that English courses tend to favor pompous, dull writers like Henry James, who deserve black marks against their names anyway. Twenty-six years later, I still don't even have a flying car. Practically everyone thinks that someone who went to MIT or Harvard or Stanford and sometimes find ourselves thinking: they must be smarter than they were and yet had zero attitude himself. You could call it Work Day.

There is more to be actively curious. They wanted to get staffed up as soon as you get into an office, work and life start to drift apart. The most important reason for having surprisingly good customer service. Fundamentally an essay is a train of thought, as dialogue is cleaned-up conversation. Quite the opposite. Well, you don't take a position and then defend it. What are the great things to work on as there is for things that solve the mundane problems of individual customers. But due to a crime well enough executed that it had been forgotten. But the dictionaries are not doing a very good job. I understood them, but they have at least started to omit the initial Who is this guy and what authority does he have to write a parser or a regular expression library. Professional means doing good work, what you have is perfect. The most common unscalable thing founders have to do to get rich by creating wealth has been turned on and off the prospect of keeping it.

Almost everyone's initial plan is broken. It must be something you can learn. Instead of working back from a goal, work forward from promising situations. In the absence of other information, it would seem the noise is caused by the fan. Once, when I was about as observant as a lump of rock. No one does that kind of works. For example, in genetic algorithms and even product design. Consulting is the canonical example of work that wasn't very common in Confucius's day. People sleeping on airbeds in strangers' apartments?

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Robert Morris, the Berkeley CSUA, and Garry Tan for reading a previous draft.

[tinyapartments]

notes from our first trip to japan

luntian and i booked this trip very late because we had to make sure we were fully covered—she was awaiting the bar results and looking for a job as a new lawyer when we decided that we were going to japan to witness her dear friend’s wedding. given that it was both our first time visiting the land of the rising sun, there were expected back and forths on flights, airbnb bookings, and visa applications, but i knew we were both stoked to go.

japan in springtime is chilly, our friends who had been there warned us enough times. and this was what i was afraid of as someone who does not do well in the cold. the only preparation that i personally did for this trip was to stuff my packing cubes with uniqlo heattech, which i will only wear half of for the duration of the trip. i was happy to experience the springtime chill in japan without feeling like i will keel over to my death.

march 29, our flight left at 2pm and we arrived in narita at almost 8pm. a late admission if you will, but i had relinquished all the navigating to luntian since she is so much better at it than i am, and so i was quite surprised to realize that narita was still an hour or so train ride to tokyo. i was hungry (we both were), and since it was my first time traveling abroad after the pandemic, japan’s airport confused the hell out of me. what was i expecting? that the people would speak english to accommodate my poor bilingual ass? my years of watching anime rendered me useless when we were figuring out where to get our pre-booked skyliner tickets to ueno.

the train station was an entirely different hurdle: japan’s railway system will eat you whole. as i stood in the middle of ueno station in front of the gigantic rail pass map all i could think of was demon slayer’s mugen train arc and how the train itself was alive and ate almost all the passengers. i thought to myself: we are never getting out of here. i wish i could chalk up the exaggeration to simply hunger and exhaustion that night, but during our week-long trip, i never got the hang of the train station. and that’s just in tokyo.

for our first meal in japan, we went to mcdonald’s. tired from lugging our bags, navigating (this was mostly luntian), and arguing (because i was practically useless haha), we gave up and ate at the first thing we saw when we got off at ogikubo station. the design of the fast-food joint was fascinating but unsurprising given japan’s culture: the tables are arranged for solo diners. people would come in, order up, and eat their food alone while watching videos on their phones. it is quite lonely living in japan.

march 30, for our first morning and the rest of all the mornings we will spend in tokyo, we had breakfast at convenience stores (we actually had our first breakfast at lawson, and they had this decadent matcha pudding that i could not find in family mart, much to my disappointment). when we were still planning this trip, luntian and i already agreed that we would scrimp up on our food budget. it was quite a surprise to me that not only was convenience store food delicious, but it was also comforting. i looked forward to the mornings we spent walking toward family mart and planning ahead on what to get. but as creatures of habit, our breakfasts mostly consisted of the usual items: an onigiri of any kind, hot coffees, berocca (may baon kami!), seaweed soup, and a vanilla pudding for me. sometimes we’d share a melonpan or a chickenball skewer, but most of the time we ate the same thing every morning and none of us complained. i would do the same thing again when i come back.

rhea and ryo’s wedding was one for the books. the ceremony was at the infamous meiji jingu shrine. we lined up behind the bride and groom and walked around the public square (tourists were taking pictures of us, fellow tourists! haha) to get to the small temple where the wedding rites would take place. the ceremony was short, formal, and nothing less than cathartic. i could not understand a single word that the minister was saying, but the silence and the uniform gestures as well as the rituals (drinking sake and clapping to a beat) that even we as guests had to participate in was unforgettable. the reception was at meiji kinenkan hotel where we gorged ourselves on an eight or ten-course meal. i will never allow myself to forget about the lobster thermidor.

after the wedding, luntian and her friends had planned to meet in shibuya at night time. i was excited to cross the popular shibuya crossing. to my extreme horror, shibuya was swarmed with people. shibuya was teeming, filled to the brim, however you want to call it. you could probably stop walking in the middle of the road, and the sheer force and volume of people passing through would still carry you across. my probinsyana ass was not prepared for it, but i embraced it anyhow. we bought cheese pancakes from a hole-in-the-wall shop manned by a turkish guy. i greeted him with a most likely mispronounced marhaba (i only got to module 2 of turkish in duolingo), and he asked how to say how are you in my language. we had late dinner with amie at a small ramen diner where we had to google if it were rude to share your bowl with someone else. google said it depends. before heading home, our group had managed to take a shot at hachiko’s statue which was packed when we arrived.

march 31, this was probably one of my favorite days in our trip. we had a late start since the previous day was packed and we were recovering our spirits from how busy and crowded shibuya was. luntian and i agreed to never go back there for the rest of our trip. we went to the nearby mall and shopped at uniqlo (mostly items we will still need for our trip and some pasalubong for our parents). in the afternoon, we went to yoyogi park to participate in hanami—the activity of hanging out at a park by the cherry blossoms. we were disappointed, however, as the cherry blossom trees in yoyogi park weren’t in full bloom yet when we got there. we walked around the park, enamored by its enormity, while we waited for jake’s response on where exactly to meet up. jake, luntian’s friend from way back, is a graphic designer who had been living in japan for five years or so. he invited us to come over to his house which he and his partner, zach, had just recently built.

he finally spotted us while we sat on one of the benches at a nearby dog park within the park (it’s a really huge park). we took the bus to their house, which was also in the ogikubo area. their house sat in a very quiet and suburban area (which is how the entirety of ogikubo looked like, i suppose). it was the only house with a dark façade in an entire neighborhood of white japanese houses. on their fence was an embossed lettering in bronze metal (or was it gold? hard to tell in the night): zach and jake. i raved almost endlessly about this detail like i was the longtime friend he hasn’t seen in a while. inside was a cozy house with the kitchen counter overlooking the open dining and living area. jake baked and cooked as a hobby apart from his dayjob as a graphic designer. there we were greeted by their three adopted cats: snuffy, luca and oreo. jake fed our hungry stomachs with roasted chicken and tomato pasta—a simple but hearty dish akin to a mother’s cooking. while eating, i noticed his small collection of filipiniana books. i promised him i’ll send him more filipiniana books when i come home (i’m working on it!).

april 1, following jake’s recommendations, we went to kichijoji after another round of convenience store breakfast. it was just two stops from ogikubo and i must say that kichijoji was one of my favorite places that i went to in tokyo. not only is it much less crowded than other districts, but if personal and pasalubong shopping plus a gastronomic trip were the goals, kichijoji will never disappoint. from dry goods to dessert trucks to stationery stores, kichijoji got ur back. we were happy to find loft in there as our friends back home had pasabuy requests. i went crazy at the stationery portion in loft, needless to say. we had late lunch at yoshinoya since it was the nearest and possibly cheapest restaurant around. we had to make it to ueno by 7pm for a group dinner with rhea and ryo.

rhea and ryo booked an izakaya for our dinner. it was there that i learned izakaya were after-work restaurants that were usually for drinking and decompressing. essentially, what elbi square was to us in college. after that, they took us for a nighttime walk to ueno park where cherry blossoms were almost in full bloom and lanterns also dotted the trees. after walking the entire stretch of ueno park, the group decided to walk to akihabara and go to the gacha games. the walk to akihabara wasn’t short, but as someone who went to college in up los banos, it was fairly tolerable. our group of 15 charged toward akihabara, and it were only luntian and i who didn’t win at any gacha/claw games. she quietly threw a tantrum for the rest of the night.

april 2, we went to disneysea! we actually had not planned on going prior to our flight, and just made a last-minute decision on this. we had already passed up a day tour of mt. fuji as we weren’t sure of the odds of the mountain appearing (we should have gone because luntian’s friends saw mt. fuji), so we didn’t want to miss going to another cliché tourist destination in japan. i have been to two different disneyland parks in my lifetime, but luntian is a disney parks virgin. on the discussion of waiting for the light show at the end of the night or going home early to beat the swarm of park-goers on their way home, it was a no-brainer: we’ll watch the light show. it was a good decision nonetheless because luntian bawled to pieces when moana showed up at the performance.

we actually shared this disneysea trip with mac, one of luntian's friends, whom we accompanied to tokyo, tokyo (didn't know there was such a place! now the fast-food joint in pinas makes more sense!) before going to disneysea to hunt for onitsuka sneakers. we enjoyed the entire disney trip like a proper throuple (kimmy). after the amusement park, we shared a table with fran and ysa (more of luntian's friends) at isomaru in shinjuku. we talked about how fran and i are similar while ysa and luntian shared the same peculiarities.

april 3, with our return flight the next day and the question of what the hell to do with our luggage, we decided to take this day slow: we went to a self-laundry and washed all our clothes, packed our luggage more mindfully (instead of just buying another suitcase—essentially my idea because i give up too easily haha), and check in to a hotel in ueno where the skyliner station to narita is at. scrimping on food has left us with enough money for taxi fare to ueno (we didn’t want to lug our stuff from train to train anymore) and a one-night hotel check-in, thank god.

for dinner, we went to ichiran ramen house. the toll of walking long stretches, socializing with friends, and navigating a new city for almost a week was starting to catch up on our thirty-year-old bodies, and we wanted some good old broth to resuscitate what’s left of our energy. ichiran succeeded our expectations: a rich and hearty broth, starchy al dente noodles, and a serving of tender chashu pork were all we could ever need at that moment in time. and i was happy to discover that it isn’t expensive as well (clearly, i did not do any iota of research before this trip). we went back to ueno park to see the cherry blossoms once again and were pleasantly surprised to see that the small fair had started, and we were successful in the search for tanghulu!

april 4, we had quite a bit of time since our flight leaves at past 7pm, so luntian and i were happy to finally do something we’ve prioritized but didn’t have time to do on the early days of this trip: visit museums! it was a good thing that the tokyo met was just inside ueno park. we went there and looked at the free exhibits but again, we made another surprise discovery: the worcester art museum happened to be touring and they brought the original water lilies by claude monet. at first we brushed it off because it was a paid entrance, and we just roamed around the free calligraphy exhibit. but after a while, we were convinced that this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see a monet painting in the flesh. what were the odds that they toured during our trip, too! so we threw caution to the wind and raced to the ticket booth. not only did we catch water lilies by monet, but we also saw original pieces by cezanne, metcalf, and pissarro. i felt as pretentious and as genuine of an art hoe all at once.

the walk back to the hotel was accompanied by the view of cherry blossoms during daytime. i think it was the first time in our trip to have come close to cherry blossoms in full bloom during the day, something that i probably need to have more appreciation of. it’s actually luntian who keeps on looking for parks where they are in full bloom to take pictures of whereas i would be happy enough to just sit on a bench and read a book. we walked around ameyoko in ueno as the last destination for our trip. it was the only place we were able to find souvenir magnets. everything else was expensive in ameyoko though, so we didn’t buy anything else than the magnets that our friends and parents wanted.

the trip back home went without a fuss except for the long line at the check-in counters. i must note that only the philippine flight was not allowed self check-ins in at the airport, so the wait was really a long one. i left luntian for a bit to continue a personal traveling tradition—buying books at airports/other country’s bookstores. i bought sayaka murata’s life ceremony, which, little did i know, happened to be what luntian was reading on her kindle. we were equally surprised by this serendipitous turn of events.

we knew we were home because the first thing that greeted us was the april heat in manila. the moment we landed, we took our jackets off while promising ourselves we would keep coming back to japan (hopefully with our families next time!).

[spr1n6tim30nionzzz]

my art training arc continues… this time some rendering practice and i was trying to make even more colorful art. i also applied some lighting knowlege from my lighting practice from last time. this one came out much better then expected but i def need some more practice still :D

edit: i forgot to crop it, ignore the time and the ad i dont pay for ibis paint and i refuse to >3

[gobboguy]

Chapter 20: The Inner Fire

Under the watchful canopy of ancient redwoods, Ionia delved into the relentless practice, the Spiritcall Glade becoming both her training ground and dwelling. For several days, she surrendered to the rhythmic dance of her practice sword beneath the starlit sky, the ethereal glow of the Pinnacle casting shadows over her determined form. Her entire life was dedicated to this task. She slept outside in the training grounds, beneath the stars and with her sword at her side. Her meals were ascetic, meager gruel consumed with a focus that mirrored the precision she sought in her strikes. She woke, she ate, she practiced, and she slept. That was Ionia's life.

The training dummy, its sackcloth surface whispering promises of mastery, stood as a stoic adversary in the clearing. Ionia, fueled by the fire of determination, aimed to pierce the marks left by Frahd with ten perfect and precise strikes. Each attempt, however, proved elusive, and frustration gripped her with an ever-tightening hold. The slightest deviation in the trajectory of her strikes rendered them slightly off, a maddening imperfection that echoed in the quiet glade.

What compounded Ionia's struggle was Frahd Kriska's forbidding decree – she could either pass the test he gave her or leave the Swordmasters, lest she be killed by her Swordmaster Coach. The days grew longer, marked by the relentless repetition of attempts that brought her no closer to success. The sun arced across the sky, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor, yet Ionia's quest for perfection remained unfulfilled.

As despair crept into her heart, Ionia confronted the daunting reality that a perfect cut to the center of an X with just the tip of her sword was already a formidable feat. To achieve it ten times over seemed an insurmountable challenge, an ever-distant goal that taunted her with the specter of failure.

Frustration reached its crescendo within the confines of Spiritcall Glade as Ionia, her strikes once again veering off course, threw down her practice sword in a fit of despair. The metallic clang of metal striking earth echoed through the quiet glade, a discordant note amid the symphony of rustling leaves and distant nocturnal creatures. The dummy stood defiant, it's surfaced marred by ten imperfect cuts; the cuts were either too deep and large or were slightly off or some combination of both. No matter what she did, it was never perfect.

With a raw scream, Ionia voiced her frustration to the heavens, the sky seemingly indifferent to her anguish. "This task is impossible!" she exclaimed, her voice a desperate plea that hung in the air like a lingering ghost of her shattered confidence. The weight of perceived failure settled upon her heart, casting a shadow over the once-promising journey to Swordmaster mastery.

As the moon rose over the horizon, casting an otherworldly glow upon the glade, Ionia's thoughts spiraled into the depths of her memories. Recollection stirred, and she found herself revisiting the harrowing encounter with the Harpy's Strangler. It wasn't a skillful strike or a powerful blow that had saved her; rather, it was her sudden mastery over her bodily functions, the ability to make herself resemble a lifeless corpse.

In the stillness of the night, Frahd Kriska's words resurfaced in her mind like a whisper carried by the nocturnal breeze: "Did you learn nothing from your brush with death?"

Could it be possible? Could she truly control her muscles with such clarity and precision that she could move her sword with perfection? A seed of hope sprouted within Ionia's heart, a fragile bloom in the face of overwhelming doubt. The Inner Fire. The Inner Fire of the human spirit that Frahd had spoke of. Could Ionia access it? She had to try.

With an inward turn of her focus, Ionia closed her eyes and delved into the depths of her being, seeking the elusive Inner Fire Frahd had spoken of. In the vast canvas of her mind, she envisioned a flame, an ethereal warmth emanating from her heart and coursing through her veins. The flames danced and flickered, casting a gentle glow that bathed her entire being in an otherworldly light.

As the imagined fire grew more intense, it began to seep into her muscles, setting them ablaze with an internal warmth. Every sinew, every fiber of her being, felt the heat, reacting with an instinctual twist and contortion, as if attempting to escape the fiery grasp. She took a deep breath, the rhythm of her respiration harmonizing with the imagined inferno within.

In her mind's eye, she pushed this inner fire out from her center to every muscle in her body. Her muscles were alive, twisting and shirking away from the flame that they could not escape. The conundrum for her muscles unfolded inside her – the only path to survival for her muscles was to move with the perfection she so desired. The imaginary flames coerced her muscles into alignment, molding them into a symphony of coordinated motion that responded to the rhythmic pulse of the Inner Fire.

Eyes snapping open, Ionia found herself propelled into a heightened state of awareness. The Inner Fire surged, pushing into her eyes and causing her gaze to focus with unwavering intensity. Every sense became finely tuned, as if in reaction to the inferno burning within. The air currents brushed against her skin like a gentle caress, the rustling of leaves transformed into a thunderous symphony, and even the dummy's canvas cover revealed its intricate stitchery under her newfound perception.

She remembered Frahd's words. "The cells want to continue living. It is the purpose of life to beget life."

Yes. It was indeed the sole purpose of life to continue it's own existence. Her body, threatened by the spread of an internal flame, was forced to function as she commanded it. Every sense was forced out of necessity to work at it's maximum function.

In this heightened state, Ionia stood as an embodiment of the Inner Fire's transformative power. Every sense was alive, every nerve on fire; she felt as if the turn of the world had ceased in anticipation of her next move. The beat of her blood was a drum, thrumming in her ears and singing in her veins, giving her muscles life and delivering the Inner Fire. It was all so simple, she realized. It was as if this was the culmination of her entire life.

As Ionia breathed, a deliberate exhalation that seemed to echo through the ancient redwoods, she allowed herself to sink into a moment of serene focus. The Inner Fire, that ethereal force Frahd had spoken of, pulsed within her, casting a radiant glow upon her every fiber. With each measured breath, she harnessed the energy of the flame within.

With a move akin to a coiled spring unleashed, Ionia struck out with her practice sword. The air parted around her as a perfect stab snapped out, swift and precise. The dance continued—two, three, four then six and eight and finally ten strikes, each one a manifestation of the newfound mastery she had unlocked. The dummy, once an unyielding opponent, now succumbed to her flawless onslaught, a canvas of perfectly punctured figures marking her triumph.

Staring in awe at the transformed dummy, Ionia marveled at the realization that she had gained complete control over her movements. The symphony of strikes, like a carefully choreographed dance, had revealed the depth of her newfound Swordmaster skills. In that moment, the Spiritcall Glade stood silent witness to the birth of a novice Swordmaster's prowess.

From the shadows emerged the sound of clapping, a rhythmic applause that heralded the arrival of Frahd Kriska. Stepping out from the trees, his skin transitioned from a camouflaged tree-like pattern to his normal tone, revealing him in his entirety. His smile, radiant as the moon filtering through the redwood canopy, conveyed the pride of a mentor witnessing the blossoming of potential.

"Well done, Ionia," Frahd congratulated, his voice a melodic affirmation. "You have taken your first step toward becoming a Swordmaster. Mastery over the body is the foundation, and you have proven that you possess the strength to grasp it. The Inner Fire within you has ignited, and with each strike, you become more attuned to its dance. This is but the beginning of your journey."

"Might be the beginning aye, but she's got more to prove." A melodic voice resonated from the depths of the ancient redwoods, its ethereal cadence weaving through the rustling leaves and woodland whispers.

As if in response to the call, the leaves on a particular branch shimmered and stirred. Suddenly, a young woman gracefully descended from the branch, her skin transitioning from a seamless camouflage to soft white, wavy red hair cascading around her shoulders, and her eyes revealing the vibrant hue of rich brown. Clad in brown leather armor adorned with delicate leaf patterns, she emanated an air of woodland grace.

"Lyra Ronchessac, as I live and breathe." Frahd smiled. "Did you decide to come down from your nest just for this morsel, little Sparrow?"

Lyra's face turned sour and she turned towards Frahd. "Don't call me little Sparrow Frahd. I've told you this countless times."

Frahd laughed and turned towards Ionia. "Ionia, I like to introduce you to your next Swordmaster Coach. Lyra Ronchessac, "

A seasoned figure with an aura of mystery. Lyra, turning towards Ionia with a confident stance, placed a hand on her hip and gave Ionia a dangerous smile. There was something about the woman that Ionia didn't like but there wasn't too much she could do. She'd have to meet her coach's challenge, no matter what it would be. Lyra's gaze, a reflection of experience and determination, met Ionia's, signaling the beginning of a new chapter in the novice Swordmaster's journey.

[sorenblr]

Can we get your quick take on each Jojo part?

Sure thing. I'll try to keep it punchy (spoiler for every Jojo part, obviously):

Phantom Blood

It's so sick that Araki just started drawing like Tetsuo Hara while Fist of the North Star was at the crest of its popularity. Never underestimate the viability of naked imitation in feeling out your style. I love Phantom Blood. Really cool to see him work in a more traditional vernacular with reasonable pacing. Back in yon day people would try to turn you onto the series by suggesting you skip the first two parts and go straight into Stardust Crusaders. I always thought that was psychotic. Luck... and pluck??

Highlights: The rugby match cold open.

Battle Tendency

Araki was getting really into Antonio Lopez around this time and it paid off in a big way. Joseph Joestar is a top-tier protagonist. He's such a dumb piece of shit. The Pillar Men reveal spread is a watershed moment in the history of manga. Lisa Lisa rules but Araki was simply too Kojima-brained to make good. The last proper training arc in the series is Joseph and Caesar trying to climb up a big greasy pole. Hey, not bad.

Highlights: Kars doing pro skater 3 moves to avoid landing on a flower, Joseph and Caesar threatening to shoot up a post office.

Stardust Crusaders

Joseph Joestar is back, and his piece of shit grandson won't stop smoking Malboro reds as the Joestar bloodline's most bisexual nemesis reappears from beyond time. Everything from D'arby on is golden, but until then the pacing struggles as Araki feels out the structure of those succesive tournament-style battles that define the series from here on. Really fun cast. Jotaro delivers one-liners like someone who was very recently diagnosed with CTE. Kakyoin can only do that puppet thing when he's evil?

Highlights: All the luxuriously rendered close-up panels from the final act. Araki was pushing this practice to the absolute limit before transitioning to the new idiom in DIU.

Diamond is Unbreakable

Joseph Joestar is back again and ready to face his most fearsome opponent yet: age-related cognitive decline. Killer cast and tone. Kira is probably the most compelling overall antagonist. I think Jotaro as mentor is generally more compelling than Jotaro as Clint Eastwood. Him getting finessed by a rat undermines any conversation you can have about power-scaling in this series, which is pretty good. Read the original Duwang scans back when they were the only viable English language source and loved it.

Highlights: That thing Josuke does with the motorcycle, any time Rohan has to interact with any other character.

Golden Wind

Jean Pierre Polnareff (French Joseph Joestar) is back, and buddy, it is so joever. It was joever before it even jarted. I don't dislike this one nearly as much after revisiting it fairly recently. Funniest concept and setting in the series. The Squadra goons are great and the Diavolo sweater bimbofication reveal is one of the hardest transitions in the series. Giorno having the personality of a root vegetable is a real drag on the whole affair, as is Diavolo shedding most of the interest to his character post-Doppio.

Highlights: I wish I loved anything as much as Guido Mista loves shooting himself in the head.

Stone Ocean

Jotaro Kujo is back, and his emotional constipation is finally about to pay off in a way that will make him wish it was his soul in that fucking turtle. In contention for my favorite part. Planet Waves is the strongest martial arts sequence in the series. Very refreshing that Jolyne is an insane Florida sukeban- the coolest thing the last guy did was pretend to drink someone's piss. Best climax of any Shonen. 'Anakiss' macking on Jolyne in the new world is really bad. I'll just assume this incarnation isn't a huge fucking freak.

Highlights: Everything from C-Moon on, Dio's insanely ugly children.

Steel Ball Run

Intimate male relationships are back, and the revelation of the empty tomb? Total bullshit, apparently. My other favorite arc. I think Araki's character writing excels when he allows himself to focus on a smaller cast and set of relationships. Artwork is breathtaking, a late peak that the series will probably never rebound from. No one has ever been more committed to the bit than Mountain Tim. Blackmore, kill this man.

Highlights: Mandom, Hot Pants & Diego vs. Valentine, the little blurb at the end that tells you about how the kid Gyro was trying to save died of a head cold.

Jojolion

I really need to do a proper archival read of this. My impression is that it's very muddled and unfocused. The 'mystery' never really compensates for the lack of a compelling antagonistic force, and I refuse to learn this much about plant husbandry. The bad guy's motivation was that basically he wanted to make a bunch of money. Is it a crime to grind?

Some high-highs and low-lows. Curious to see how it all flows when read together, since monthly the pace was incredibly plodding. Think everything I've mentioned is exacberated by this being by far the longest part. Still, Araki starts to lean into these luxurious double spreads to push the action here, and it's some of his best work in that compositional mold.

Highlights: Flashback arc, beetle fight, the one-off chapter where Joshu balls out insanely and doesn't learn a lesson.

man you really have to work for it if you want the original scans and not these ugly fucking digitally colored things. one of my least favorite things about the modern era of manga. nerds want this to be anime so bad

[abbey-abdominal]

whos that wonderful girl? could she be any cuter? who is that wonderful girl!? LOOK! Here comes a suitor!!!

[brightymir]

Demon slayer Request ok can you write like a part 2 of 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒/𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁 like reader is female and characters are gyomi sanemi tokito and inosuke.

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒/𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐁 𝐏𝐓. 2 [𝐬𝐜𝐬]

cw: canon violence, gore, language, swordsmith village arc spoilers (for mui), misspellings

word count: 2.5k

characters: inosuke, gyomei, sanemi, muichiro x gn!reader

author's note: THANK YOU FOR 600 AYOO WHAAT T_T i made the reader gn because it's how i did part one, hope you don't mind :) hope you guys enjoy this and have a lovely day!!

part one || part two

❄︎ inosuke hashibira

you were occupied by the troublesome threads that kept you suspended in the air while inosuke and tanjiro fought the large spider demon whose skin was rock solid and cannot be pierced with their nichirin swords.

when tanjiro was hurled away, you were able to free yourself from the threads that were in your way. you then wasted no time and proceeded to head where inosuke was stubbornly trying to pierce the demon’s body. you assisted him and started swinging your blade into the demon’s neck. 

this, however, proved to be a difficult feat especially with the stark differences in strength between you and the gigantic demon. 

but still, your spirit were fiery than ever and you did not let your worries dishearten you. inosuke’s eyes were trained on you through his boar head, eyes studying each strike of your sword and his attention solely on you. he knows that you are strong, maybe even on par with him. but he cannot take chances and be overconfident when it comes to you. 

it was because that you have his undivided attention that the demon managed to land a blow on him, the demon’s fist colliding with inosuke’s stomach. this flared you up and repeatedly swung your blade at the demon’s arm, but it paid no mind to you. 

you can see blood pass through your lover’s mask and you knew that you had to intervene. so before the demon could register a fatal blow to inosuke, you leaped high up in the air and blocked the hit. the demon’s fist collided with your left arm, making you wince in pain as you staggered, but not before grabbing inosuke and scampering back into the woods, 

you leaned against a tree and tended to your bleeding arm. the force of the hit was not strong enough to sever your lower arm but it was enough to render your arm useless. it was like a limp strip of ramen that was utterly useless and hung from your elbow like an ornament. 

you fought back tears and focused on easing the pain that inosuke felt. your boyfriend, however, was silently blaming himself for how your arm turned out. he can’t express it but he was extremely felt guilty and responsible for your broken arm. 

you did not remember how you ended up resting in a room at the butterfly mansion. you awoke to the soft aroma of jasmine filling your nostrils and the sound of soft breaths in the air. you raised your head and saw inosuke sleeping soundly with hs propped on the bedside. 

his right hand was gently placed atop your broken and bandaged left hand, which felt numb up to your left shoulder. you let out a broken sob at the realization that your arm would never recover and you can only practice the sword with your right. 

this shook inosuke from his slumber and he jolted awake. he pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back comfortingly, his hand running up and down the expanse of your arm. 

“hey, don’t cry now. you saved my life, and you can still fight. you’re strong, you crybaby, strong just like me. but we’re stronger when we’re together, okay?”

inosuke thanked all the gods in existence for giving him the chance to be with you much longer. for letting him be safe and warm with you, his home.

❄︎ gyomei himejima

gyomei, by no means, is not weak. he is the strongest hashira in terms of physical prowess and impact. and neither were you, climbing up the ranks steadily as a hinoe within four months of picking up the sword. together, you two were a force to be reckoned with. 

but faced with lower moon three and lower moon four, who brought with them no lesser than a hundred demons would still make you falter in your steps. your gaze landed on your partner who was swinging his flail and axe towards the enemy, overwhelming the opponents. you steeled yourself and took the reins of your emotions and capabilities, reminding yourself of the mission at hand. 

you kept a close eye on the lower moon demons, but you couldn’t sense anything from them yet. that is until gyomei halted his attacks and frantically whipped his head everywhere, as if looking for something. it finally registered seconds later that he was looking for you, as you heard your name spill past his lips. 

you responded back but to no avail, gyomei kept calling out to you, tears starting to stream down his cheeks. the lower moons laughed in mirth, rejoicing in the fact that gyomei was distracted. 

“it’s futile. my blood demon art makes him unable to sense your energy and scent, as well as makes him deaf to your call” the lower moon three explained. you then surmised that the other lower moon must be the one creating the hallucinations for gyomei. 

you brushed them off and focused on finishing the remaining demons in your way. the demons were irritated at your unfazed behavior and without a second thought, moved to attack your partner who was still calling out your name. gyomei definitely felt that heavy presence approach and thought it was you, which made him lower his guard, still unable to recognize your scent. he did not want to swing his axe at you.

before the demon could even land its claws on your lover’s neck, you jumped and stepped on its back, crushing it to the ground. this however, made you open to the lower moon three, who succeeded in slicing your right leg off, making you fall to your sides.

the scent of human blood shook off the trance that the rock pillar was in, and in the blink of an eye, both lower moons were reduced to a pile of flesh and ashes. gyomei himself was a formidable opponent, but add his weapon and his expertise in using it, then a fight between him and a lower moon would be finished quickly.

it just so happened that they hurt you, and his rage enabled him to finish the demons off in the blink of an eye.

you let out a sigh of relief and felt your body being carried and laid into a large and strong lap. you fisted gyomei’s haori and tried to even your breathing, doing your best to not let him feel or hear the immense pain you were in. 

“i’m so sorry, my darling, i should’ve foreseen and intercepted their attacks. please hold on, the kakushis will be here soon. let it out, i’m here. you did so well tonight, you’re so strong” he comforted you and urged you to let your frustration and pain out, to which you obliged to. 

you let your tears fall freely, falling on the back of gyomei’s hands. his heart hurt deeply, with the knowledge that he let you get hurt, he let you lose a limb when you were right in front of him. he pulled you into a tight hug and let you cry your heart out. 

“i’ll still be able to fight, right? i’m not worthless yet?” you questioned in between sobs and whimpers. and it pained gyomei to the bone to hear you utter those words. 

“you are the strongest one i’ve ever met, my love. we will overcome this hurdle and trial together. i’ll always be by your side, no matter where or when. my heart beats for you, y/n” he responded and kissed your forehead lovingly. 

and gyomei were true to his words, never breaking any of his promise until he has the ability to keep them.

❄︎ sanemi shinazugawa

sanemi was not expecting for this to happen.

all he wanted to do was stroll and roam the forests for a while in the area under his patrol and supervision in hopes of bumping into an upper moon. the others, after all, already managed to finish off upper moons four, five, and six. but all he kept getting these past few weeks were filthy and lowly demons.

he agreed to let you tag along, for the purpose of bragging when he finishes of an upper demon. and partly because he's already accustomed to the two of you being together on missions.

however, one thing sanemi miscalculated was that the upper moon three was extremely difficult to deal with, even though it was a demon who relied solely on his combat. the fact that it was the very same demon who killed rengoku a few months back did not help in suppressing the intense emotions that sanemi felt as of now. he wanted to crush the demon right then and there.

but the demon was skilled and efficient in combat, evading sanemi's breath of wind stealthily without getting grazed nor injured. you kept up with your lover's attack and assault on the demon, giving every ounce of strength and impact you have in your body.

you added force to each of your attacks, not letting the demon's aura and battle spirit overwhelm you, and instead, focused on slicing every inch of his skin that was exposed. sanemi took the demon head on, trying to divert its attention from you since he can see that fatigue is catching up to you fifteen minutes into the battle.

you set off your crow for the meantime to search the area for wisteria flowers nearby before catching up to the two who were occupied in showing off their skills and exhanging swings and blows to each other.

you arrive just in time to witness the next blow that could supposedly end the wind hashira's life. your body moved before your mind could think and in a brief second, you were in front of sanemi, your right arm positioned over his solar plexus.

the crunching of bones was crisp and clear in the night, as the mushy sound of flesh resonated in the forest, the scent of blood alarming sanemi. but you took the opportunity to slice at the demon's neck, to which your partner did the same.

but to no avail. sanemi used one of his last resort, injuring himself and letting few drops of his blood fall to the ground. this affected the demon's senses and made akaza feel dizzy at the same time. but before he could lunge at the two of you, your crow arrived in time with a beak full of wisteria flowers, it's mere color and scent enough to make the demon run away.

sanemi stood up and was about to chase after the demon but his crow stopped him, pecking at the top of his head and pushing him back to where you were leaning against a tree, tending to your freshly severed arm.

you gave him a light smile and urged him, "go after it, you can deal with him, right?"you said with a breathy voice, trying to cover up the pain you were feeling. but he stood rooted in place, eyes staring deep at your bleeding limb.

he moved towards you and helped you control the bleeding, "stupid, stupid! losing an arm over something so silly, you really must be born with no brain!" he reprimanded which made you chuckle, your laughter making him frown even more.

"oh? you're the stupid one! hogging that demon's attention, i was almost jealous that you led him away to have alone time" you joked which made him squeeze your elbow, making you yelp in pain. he looked at you dead in the eye and spoke lowly.

"that will be the first and last time you pull that kind of stunt, you menace. i do the protecting here, not the other way around" and you can only nod in acceptance, sanemi sighing at your gesture.

what a relief it was only an arm. what a relief you two were still together.

❄︎ muichiro tokito

he was more than capable on his own, this was an undeniable fact that even the other hashiras would agree on. at the age of fourteen, his prowess and strength was comparable to uzui tengen and himejima gyomei.

but even though he was strong and highly skilled with the sword, the mist in his mind easily disheartens him and makes him have a hard time in seeing the silver lining of clouds. which is why you insisted to tag along in his missions whenever the opportunity shows up, because though muichiro doesn't need your skills, he needs your guidance.

this proved to be true when he faced against the upper moon five, when he took in the array of needles in place of kotetsu and kanamori. he soon then fell victim to a blood demon art which enclosed him in a large pot, which, without a doubt, would suffocate him to his demise soon enough.

you made sure to deliver the other swordsmiths to safety first before going back to him, swinging at the pot and providing him with oxygen with the help of young kotetsu. and when he came out of the pot, there were no longer a layer of mist that clouded his eyes. it now looked radiant and focused, prominent just as much as the mark on his cheeks.

you two hurried to the shed where haganezuka was busy forging tanjiro's sword. you caught the upper moon five'a attention and led him away from the village. the mist hahira and demon then engaged in combat, and you knew full well that you were no longer needed in that situation. tokito muichiro and the new mark on his cheeks were more than enough to take down the upper moon five.

well, that was what you thought.

perhaps it was because your breath of cloud complemented his breath of mist that you managed to see the incoming attack that muichiro must've missed in the sea of mist that enabled you to intervene and jump in the way before further damage was inflicted to his body.

muichiro was quick, pulling you to his side as soon as he noticed your presence. in a split second, gyokko's head was severed and tumbled onto the ground, his screams and wails of confusion filling the dawn sky.

you watched as the demon disintegrated into nothing but ashes, paying no mind to the ring and pinky finger you just lost. however, the missing fingers was bothering muichiro, and you had to lead him away from the site to lighten his mood and spirit.

when he saw kotetsu well and kicking, he fell unconscious as the poison finally took a toll on his body.

he woke up to the sound of your light snores as your cheek rested against his palm. his eyes flew to your bandaged hands and his heart clenched, his memory enabling him to feel the emotions that he was robbed of for the past three years.

you awoke moments later, and moved in to give him a hug, to which he returned with a bright smile on his face, making a blush creep up on your face.

"you look really good with a smile" you said which earned you a hearty laugh from him.

"you're here to make me smile all the time, don't get tired of it" he said and brushed strands of your hair away from your face.

muichiro was glad that the mist finally cleared, and he can appreciate the beauty of this world with you.

additional a/n: i definitely do not have favorites, pfft. (proceeds to write with my whole heart and soul for these four characters) ALSO i did not do limb cutting in mui's part because someone had to stay conscious!!! THANK U ALL SM AGAIN FOR 600 MWA MWA XOXO

© 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐘𝐌𝐈𝐑 2022 - all rights reserved. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or share my work on other platforms without permission. thank you.

[astra-stellaris-a]

@shisui-uchiha-anon​ // -----------------------

There were some things Astra would never understand. At the age of twelve she had lost everything. Her mother, her father, her brother.. all of it. She could still hear her brother’s cries as they were separated, as her mind was opened for all of the elders to see--the memories, pained and hurt and--

she knew that the results of their actions would render her mute for a time. Sometimes such mental trauma did.. and they were none too kind about it. Her father had been overruled--and she was tossed out like the disgusting creature her mother thought she was.

And so she wandered for years, living in the wilds, afraid of stepping out of them.

Until this person--who by the protector on his forehead looked like a shinobi-- took her in. Helped her. Gave her food and water. A place to live. And the first time he’d tried to touch her she shied away and she wanted to verbalize ‘no--!’ but instead a growl had taken it’s place. He had tried asking her multiple times but every single time she’d tried to speak and the only response out of her throat was that damned growl. She’d been reduced to nothing more than an animal.

It had been at least nine.. or ten years and she still couldn’t speak-- how much did they damage her when they forced those memories out?

The other’s presence in her life wavered in and out. She assumed that when he wasn’t on missions he was with her. Didn’t he have a family? Didn’t the sharingan-eyed clan want him back?

But she never left. She could have.

After that the training began. He’d seen her practicing the forms--the lightning arcing off her was sure enough evidence of her capabilities-- and had began teaching her what he knew. At first she floundered, unused to the patient teachings. Unused to the kind words of praise when she did something right. 

Then he’d been sleeping in the same room as her. 

The room itself was warm. But in her dreams it was cold. An ice river grabbing her by the ankle and pulling her underneath. She felt like she could drown in the voices that she’d heard from her family--from everyone she’d been exposed to.

Eventually he began laying next to her and she didn’t force him away. She’d decided that if he wanted to kill her.. he would have already. And if he hadn’t and was just toying with her and wanted to end her in her sleep.. she was okay with it.

She was tired.

The morning after those words, after they were done training, she tried speaking again. She was cocky--arrogant, but as she tried speaking again it came out and she found her thoughts spilling out--and her emotions. “Y-you are a shin-obi--” her deep voice was hoarse from years of silence. “Your headband. Don’t you have a family? Why--Why the kindness for me--?”

The gloves on her hand, stained, faded, had always stayed on. The scars on her hand and arm itched-- Her hands fisted at her sides. “Why. All of this. I’m-- not a kid. I don’t need you-- are you wanting me to kill for you? Become a shinobi? What do you want from me--?!”

The only time people had been kind to her was when they wanted something from her. “Tell me now!” She stepped forward, pointing her finger at him. There were almost tears in her eyes, threatening to spill down her face.

It was probably comical--having a small woman looking so threatening and upset. “I have not relied on anyone for ten years. Tell me now why you dare do this--!”

[cdroloisms]

Do you think c! Quackity are skilled on the mastering of "necessary convincing" on a person? And man the stream yesterday was so intense dark theme.

hello ! 

this is testament of how behind i am in asks, haha, considering this was sent basically at the beginning of q’s visits and it’s been ,, uh ,, several months since then ASJKFLJAS - but im going to try to answer it now while pretending that we dont have months proving that c!quackity is very willing to do whatever the hell it takes to get the revive book from someone.

i think that the ,, technicalities? of the torture were never an issue - everyone in the dream smp universe has to know how to use a weapon in its most basic form, after all, just to defend themselves from mobs and stuff, tho some people are clearly more adept at using them than others. torture is ultimately just hurting someone until they do what you want them to do (way oversimplified, but this definition works here) - physically, if you’re able to kill a zombie, there’s functionally little different with inflicting harm on a defenseless unarmed human with no means of defending themselves.

the real challenge, as with most things in the minecraft roleplay, comes from the mental side - how far is c!quackity really willing to go? obviously he *can* hurt someone, but doing so also tends to go against a lot of our most basic instincts as humans. defying that becomes the real question to consider - and c!quackity, in his increased willingness to hurt not only c!dream, but everyone as he’s manipulated people more and used people more for his own gain in the last few months, seems to providing as much of an answer as we’re going to get. 

this obviously isnt to say that he isn’t conflicted, or that he’s pure evil !! but c!quackity, by his own admission, seems to hold little trust for other people and ideals anymore. his main goal is Las Nevadas and whatever he needs to make it great - anything and everything else is either a means to his end or an obstacle in his way. i dont doubt that there are chinks to this mindset to exploit, things that he cares about enough to take his single-minded focus off of Las Nevadas. as of now, though, i don’t think that torturing c!dream and the violence it’ll require of him will be that breaking point.

anyway, have a really dark snippet exploring c!quackity some more !! he’s really fun to write, though i don’t think i’ve really mastered his voice yet - practice makes perfect, i guess. heed the warnings and hope you enjoy! 

tw: torture, abuse, blood, injuries, branding, violence, death mention, abuse apologism, mental deterioration, dark content, dark imagery, very dark portrayal of c!quackity, pandora’s vault/prison arc

There’s a certain learning curve that comes with torturing someone.

It sounds obvious, thinking back, as much as it sounds morbid as all hell, but it’s not like he’s in any position to judge. Quackity swipes another stack of iron from a chest, momentarily grumbling about the cost, before melting down three ingots for the blade of his next axe. He could just do it in a crafting table, but there’s a degree of calm in the monotony of doing it all by hand, slowly watching as the iron begins to glow red hot in the heat of the furnace and then hammering it into shape on his anvil. He hadn’t been good at it before, had let Sapnap do the majority of the smithing for the three of them in the past, but. Well.

When you’re eating through several sets of iron tools a week, either from bending them out of shape against unforgiving obsidian or melting the blades past saving in lava or burning them all entirely, when he’s too tired to be bothered cleaning off the blood and simply chucks the used tools after a session into the molten rock outside the cell, you kind of have to figure out how to make your own shit so others don’t get suspicious.

He beats the metal into a block, humming softly over the clangs of his hammer. There’s definitely a learning curve to crafting weapons, too - he’s pretty proud of the ones that he can make, now, even though he’s still no good at any of the fancier furnishings and finishes (nor does he particularly care about them). Figuring out how to torture someone effectively was a similarly slow process - finding their limits and how far to push before something, inevitably, gives. He hadn’t exactly handled it the best in the first few visits, usually retching into the nearest wastebasket at the smell, at the feeling of blood coating his fingertips, at the screams ringing incessantly in his head. It wasn’t all that long before he forwent sleep altogether, devoting all of his time on paperwork and calls and anything that would deafen the cries that would’ve haunted him otherwise. He was no good with his tools, either - more than a few times, in those early visits, did he end up slicing too deep or going too far and needing to cut the session short for Sam to come in and administer health pots before Dream died and rendered all of their efforts useless.

(Sapnap had been the one to first teach him how to wield an axe, correcting his stance and his grip with gentle, calloused hands. He remembers them training on the newly laid dirt surface of Mexican L’manburg, sweat dripping down his neck from the sun beating against their heavy armor, Sap laughing at his unbalanced, heavy-armed swings and demonstrating with his own weapon, movements fluid and graceful as if it was an extension of his own arm. In the cell, he thinks of Sapnap’s voice, firm in his focus - feet at least shoulder width apart, hands braced on the axe handle, left sitting just above the end and the right just a few inches below the head - and swings.)

It had been...a process. A bloody, often painful process - his hands are calloused, now, in ways they never were before, from the constant handling of his many tools. His back aches constantly from bending over, and his shirt - more often splattered with blood than not - now bears some permanent pink stains that he can’t get out no matter how hard he tries. (The laundry, he thinks wryly, had been a hell of a learning process as well.) He picks up the metal with a pair of tongs, easing it back under the fire’s heat until it glows a soft pink, and then places it back onto the anvil to work - slowly beating the metal into shape.

He’s had to learn a lot. The lessons are fascinating, in a gruesome, morbid sort of way. He’d brought a brand the other day, painstakingly carved into a fancy, curlicued Q all on his own, used in his work at Las Nevadas originally to finish furnishing a few pieces of leather furniture he had scattered around the city. As Dream struggled under him, skin blackening under the white-hot metal, he’d immersed himself in the sight, far more similar to his past leatherwork than he might’ve originally expected. He almost wanted to do it again, just to compare, but the stress of it all had been enough to knock the prisoner into shock, which had put a significant damper on the rest of his visit. He watches the iron glow contemplatively from his anvil, not nearly as hot as he works at it.

Another dip in the furnace later, it’s heated just enough to work out the finishings, and he carefully knocks the ends into a blade. Picking it up with a pair of tongs, he holds it up to a nearby piece of glowstone, grinning at the finished axe head. There’s still quite a bit to do, technically - he still needs to sharpen it along with the other ones he’s finished, as well as fasten them to their handles, but even so - it looks good. He examines it, back and front, against the light. It’s probably his best one yet.

Quackity smiles to himself as he puts it down with the rest, pulling out his calendar from behind him and carefully marking another red X over the date. Learning to torture someone takes a hell of a lot of time, but. Well.

He has all the time in the world.

[countessofbiscuit]

Right of Bang

a post-Fives fic, feat. Commander Fox’s insecurities

1000 words | Teen | Ao3 . . .

Army admin had a funny sense of timing.

Fox frowned at the blasters, racked and ready for his use, and swore he heard ARC-5555 laugh as he marched beyond the grave.

“Ready to begin, sir?” Corporal June asked, in a plummy Timira City accent that hadn’t had its diction scuffed up. Smooth as his armor — and his just-dropped balls.

“Yes,” Fox replied, congenially as he could.

June cleared his throat. “Take control of one of the weapons, none of which have been under your direct supervision.”

Get back in that turret, trooper. Fox selected the pistol. If he was going to flunk out thanks to a box-ticking joke, better not make it the punch line.

Without being certified current in weapons handling, Jango himself would’ve found the armory doors closed upon him. Didn’t matter that they’d been fondling blasters since decant. Toy and training, of every make and model; one mind, any weapon and all that kark. Every year, twice a year, you had to demonstrate you were capable of operating the damn things.

And, now, there was at least one officer in the GAR who insisted Fox couldn’t.

Measuring his breaths behind his helmet, Fox conspicuously determined the weapon condition for June’s benefit. Chamber clear. Slide forward. Clip empty. No residual energy. Safety on. Still plenty deadly if someone wanted to try and make Fox’s day.

“Load!” June ordered, his voice not quite filling the corners of the range.

Fox unscrewed the chamber and wondered who was feeling more insecure.

The corporal being evaluated on evaluating Rear-Marshal Commander Fox.

Or the commander who’d lied on his last contact report.

The clone who’d flicked from stun to full power without blinking. Without thinking. Who’d put a lethal blast in a brother’s heart and had to convince himself he’d meant to.

And who hadn’t fired a shot since.

Hells, Riyo had probably handled his pistols more since he’d holstered them with hands that threatened to shake. Thoughtless woman. Refused a blaster or instruction, but apparently sashayed around with his in her robe while Fox slept because she was scared.

Slotting the clip, Fox made a mental note to review the overwatch outside her house.

Then he waited, a current of panic tickling his neck.

“Make stun ready!”

Fox went through the motions, deliberately. Safety off. Slide cocked. Stun engaged. Low-ready assumed.

Downrange, about twenty meters at its deepest, the target arc whirred to life. And the featureless holo of a humanoid, rendered by white lasers, flickered before the superconductive backstop.

Fox blinked.

It was random. The targets would cycle through at random, he reminded himself. SBDs, B2s, a grab bag of organics, and ... this thing.

Can’t trust a Corrie. They use whitejobs for target practice.

They didn’t, actually. Not since Kamino.

But Fives manifested just the same. Redundant tattoo and all.

Only thing worse than a soundly functioning ARC was an unstable one with a fully powered weapon. Even General Skywalker had attested to the readiness of his captain’s pistol.

(“‘Cause you didn’t give him a fucking chance.”

“To do what?! Shoot one of my men? Sorry if I don’t give more of a damn. I’ve lost enough of them to the 501st recently.”)

Perversely, Fox was grateful for the furore Rex kicked up. Never was more articulate than when someone mussed his hackles. It directed his choler outwards.

Forget his failing memory. Fox stiffened over his conviction:

Fives signed his own death certificate when he unplugged his failsafe hardware, went berserk on the Chancellor, and sallied out to 79s for a fucking fix. He’d just forced Fox to date and timestamp it for him.

Waiting, Fox stared at his fingers. He demanded them to obey.

The light appeared. The order came.

Fox stunned his mark. Then the next. And every sporadic target that followed, well within the mandated time.

“Stop!” June cried. “Clear the weapon, reload, and adjust to full power.”

Again, Fox demonstrated his proficiency with infoholo staginess.

The almost-Fives reappeared. And on the order, Fox put that shot back in his chest. Just right of center.

Because Commander Fox didn’t miss. He didn’t fuck up or flinch. He fired exactly when and where he meant to. With intention.

Every target got treated to the same heartburn. Even those that Fox knew possessed more than one. He fell into this same flow with the carbine. And the rifle — fuck, he loved the long lines on that thing. Heavy-hitting. Career-ending. Powerfully conclusive with the merest caress of his finger. He field-stripped, clean-stripped, and made them all safe upon command, while the air perfumed with ions. His confidence trickled back though grooves hewn by lifelong practice and fundamental pride, until the exercise was over.

“There you go, sir,” said June, renewing Fox’s licence to kill with a few strokes on his datapad. “In date and competent with the weapons system. Like there was any doubt,” he added cheerfully. His smile bounced so artlessly from his face, Fox couldn’t do anything but catch and throw it back.

“Am I free to congratulate a new skill-at-arms instructor?” Fox addressed the observing sergeant over June’s shoulder, who confirmed that he could.

Boozy with relief, Fox thumped June’s back. “You ever heard of the Den, Corporal?”

“... Yes, sir,” June replied, uncertain. Now truly nervous before a commander known to drop guardsmen for anything, up to and including nothing.

“When this damn lockdown’s lifted, I expect to see you there.” Fox tapped a code into the corporal’s compad. “Locate Lieutenant Rhys in a timely fashion, present that code, and he’ll add you to the guest list.”

June’s smile went positively nuclear. “Thank you, sir.” He clipped to attention, gave a salute to slice ice, and about-assed from the range.

You did right, son.

Fox wasn’t a danger to anyone. Every room was safer for him being there. Including that goddamn warehouse.

Rex would thank him, later. When that baby Senator Amidala was carrying had a father. And when Rex got to hold something he’d never get himself.

. . . . . 

(Ao3)

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

trying to articulate my frustrations with Marvel’s treatment of female characters and characters of color

Hi, hello, hola, bonjour. I've been having a lot of thoughts about Marvel’s lack of diversity and of how they treat minority characters, so I'm taking a page out of Luisa’s (@its-tortle) book and just making a long, rambley post to get it all out.

Please bear with me while I try to encapsulate all of my frustration within the limitations of English language.

(ALSO, I'm white. I’m Spanish-American, but I do not have the ability to speak for fans of color and the other grievances they have. This post is just a combination of my own thoughts and what I've heard other people say on Tumblr, in YouTube videos, in articles etc.)

Now that we've had over week to collect ourselves after the WandaVision finale, because it was such a tearjerker and the end of a true masterpiece of a show, we really need to talk about how Marvel treats their their characters of color and female characters. I'll specifically be looking at Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and Monica Rambeau.

Let's start with Sam.

Until Monica Rambeau became Photon just a few weeks ago in WandaVision, Sam was THE ONLY Black superhero in the MCU.

He first appeared in Captain America: The Winter Soldier 7 years ago in 2014, and he's been in 4 movies since then (not counting the post-credits of Ant-Man).

Let's see what we know about Sam in the MCU:

He was a pararescue airman in the U.S. Airforce

His wing-man, Riley, died in combat, prompting him to leave active duty

He works at the VA to help other veterans adjust to civilian life

That's it. This is all we know about his backstory, separate from Captain America. However, the MCU decided to include these parts of his backstory, (and exclude others) because they make him a better supporting character to Steve.

Sam's a vet - so is Steve. They have the same, early-morning run routine that alludes to strict military training. Steve is still new to the future and hardly knows or approaches anyone, but Sam is wearing his VA sweatshirt, so there's some sense of connection, one that is furthered when they talk about their beds being too soft. Sam is someone who can understand him, aside from being a super soldier.

Riley, Sam's wingman, died in combat - Hmm, haven't heard that one befo - oh, wait. *Bucky waves from the abyss of the Alps*. Yeah.

I'm not saying that these connections are bad, in fact, I think the opposite. In terms of storyline, these connections are incredibly important for their friendship. Steve is lost and alone in the future. No one he knows cares about him for any reason other than the fact that he's a super soldier, nor can he relate to any of those people on any level. Sam just fits. He's funny and kind and although they are 60 years apart in age, he can, to some extent, understand what Steve is going through in a way they no one else can.

But for the last 7 years in the MCU, all he's been is Steve's supportive friend.

Almost immediately after meeting Steve, Sam is dragged into an end-of-the-world battle. He readily agrees to put his life on the line to fight by Captain America's side. After SHIELD falls, Sam gives up his life for 2 years to help Steve find Bucky. When they find him, Sam, without a second thought, becomes an international fugitive to protect Bucky and Steve.

I mean, he practically says that he lives in Steve's shadow himself: 

"Don't look at me. I do what he does, just slower."

Who does all this? Seriously? Sam is also a recovering vet. He, in theory, has a life, a family, a job, his own mental well-being to consider, but he immediately gives it all up to help Captain America, to follow in his shadow, to be his back-up and support in every battle. Marvel wrote him as a 2D character that lacks his own identity and agency.

Sam deserves his own storyline; he deserves to exist outside the orbit of Steve Rogers.

What Mackie has been able to do with the character is astounding. He took Sam off the page and truly brought him to life, turning him into a beloved character. I'm ecstatic that both Mackie and Sam finally (hopefully) get their time to shine in TFATWS, but it should have happened WAY sooner. Marvel has continuously overlooked Mackie, despite how much he brings to the movies and despite the significance of Sam as the only Black superhero. It's just so clear that they do not care about representation.

(And let's not start with the whole "Bucky should be Captain America" thing, thanks)

Next, let's talk about Natasha.

Nat has been in the MCU for 11 years, starting with Iron Man 2 in 2010. She was heavily featured in an additional 6 MCU movies (not including small cameos/post-credit sequences). She's one of the few female superheroes in the MCU, and the only one that's been there since the beginning. Nat was the only female superhero for 4 years until Gamora appeared in Guardians of the Galaxy.

Let's see what we know about Natasha's history:

She's a former KGB operative and assassin, trained in the Red Room project

When she was a part of the Red Room, she was sterilized

Clint Barton got her out of the Red Room and converted her to a SHIELD agent

THAT'S IT. The second point is actually nauseating because this is what she says to Banner when we learn about her infertility in Age of Ultron:

"They sterilize you. It’s efficient. One less thing to worry about, the one thing that might matter more than a mission. It makes everything easier — even killing. You still think you’re the only monster on the team?"

Like, actually, what the fuck? I remember watching this scene and having to rewind because I thought I mis-heard what she said. In truth, Natasha is probably referring to the terrible things she was forced to do as a KGB operative are what make her a "monster," but why in the world would they include this anecdote here?? It's just so distasteful and disgusting! It makes it seem like her infertility is what makes her a monster, perpetuating the misogynistic belief that the center of a woman's identity and purpose is to have children.

As Vox says in this article, the subject of Nat's infertility 

"rears its head sub-textually when Black Widow sacrifices herself for the Soul Stone. [...] It’s reasonable for Natasha to make the calculation that Clint’s kids deserve to have a dad when they come back to life after the Avengers complete their “time heist.” But because of that Ultron plot, there’s also an insidious implication that Natasha’s infertility renders Black Widow just a little bit more disposable than the rest of her teammates."

Furthermore, Nat's death in Endgame serves for nothing more than motivation for the other characters working in the time heist, WHICH ARE ALL MALE. Even then, the other characters talk about her death briefly (in a mostly unaffected manner), and by the end of the movie, she's been pretty much forgotten about,  completely overshadowed by Tony Stark.

I don't want to say that Nat shouldn't have died in Endgame. It caused me so much heartache and emotional pain, but I truly believe it was a great way to end her arc. CinemaWins on YouTube put it best:

"She needed to save her family, Clint included, finally wiping the red from her ledger. So much of her jouney in the MCU was trying to find her purpose, figure out which side she was on, and she finally feels like she's found it, just in time to die for it. 

"It's not wrong to feel cheated by her death, [but I think] she deserved this moment because of it's importance."

She says it in the movie: 

"I used to have nothing, and then I got this. This family. And I was better because of it."

Nat shouldn't have to die, but it's on her terms, and she is absolutely ready for it. Saving her chosen family... that is her purpose.

But altogether, over the course of the MCU, Natasha was cheated out of getting the storyline she deserved. Like Sam, she was relegated to the position of the supportive friend of Steve, but also of Bruce and Clint. For the audience, her identity is tied to this role that she plays. The identity and motivations she has independent from these other characters, her history, is skimmed over, and treated with immense disrespect.

It took 11 years, but it is thrilling that Scarlett Johansson finally gets to be the start of her own Marvel movie. There is no way that Black Widow will be able to completely make up for her and Natasha's mistreatment by the MCU, but I hope it will at least bring us some closure and allow us to have a better understanding of Nat's history and who she is away from the other Avengers.

Last, but certainly not least (despite what WandaVision may have you believe) is Monica Rambeau.

I spoke about this last week after posting about this review of the show, but it bears repeating.

Monica is a new character. You'd hope that, after 11 years of extremely limited diversity in the MCU, much to the dismay of fans worldwide, and after recognizing this and creating a movie with a cast like The Eternals, Marvel would try to get their shit together across the board.

Nope!

Monica was seriously the token diversity character of the show. It seemed like they would give her more depth after the episode during which they flashed back to the her during and after the snap, losing her mother, and seeing a little bit of what she's done as an adult since Captain Marvel, but that ended up being the most we got.

But why? Monica literally became a SUPERHERO. She became Photon! She deserved a much greater role in the show, especially in the finale, where she instead had maybe 5 lines and just stopped some bullets for about 30 seconds.

As the review I linked says, 

“There are so many black writers, fans, and critics noting how Monica got relegated to a complete lack relegated to meaningless best friend protector lacking in their own self agency and story except for making a shoehorned comparison of grief.”

Marvel made the same, bull-headed mistake that they made with Sam with Monica!

Let's do this again. Monica was snapped away for 5 years, and when she was snapped back, she learned that her mother had died. Losing someone you love and having the whole process of mourning and pain be complicated by the snap? What an interesti- oh wait. *Vision phases his head through the wall with a smile*

The only reason we got this backstory was because it made her a more sympathetic character towards Wanda. Her understanding of what Wanda is going through allows her to be the catalyst in the creation of the ideological fork in the road between herself, Darcy and Woo, who see Wanda as a victim of grief and loss, and Hayward and the rest of SHIELD, who see her as a dangerous threat.

How do you make the same, major mistake that you've been making for the past 7 years again? Guess what? You don't! Maybe it's not intentional, but Marvel, again, clearly doesn’t care enough about their characters of color to consider the roles they relegate them to in the MCU, realize what they've been doing is harmful, and then change it.

Hopefully, they will not continue to treat Monica this way and will remedy this in the next Captain Marvel.

In conclusion: MARVEL GAVE A FUCKING ROBOT AN ACTUAL ORIGIN STORY, A RELATIONSHIP AND MORE INDEPENDENCE THAN ALL OF THESE CHARACTERS.

But in all seriousness, Marvel needs to be help accountable for how they treat women and their characters of color in the MCU. I just looked at 3, but you could also make a similar argument about Rhodey, Hope van Dyne and Valkyrie, as well as Jane Foster, MJ, and Ned, although they are supporting characters and not superheroes. And I'm sure there are many others. Marvel (and Disney!!) has had an awful track-record, and change is long overdue.