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crazytogether4l · 2 years

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"Will they?" "Won't They?" Don't Worry My Loves, They Will ;)

Scroll down to see an analysis of who the heck the duffers could be calling a "will they" "won't they" couple. The first section is basically just context with some of my thoughts so feel free to read that as well! <3

On November 5th, a day before Stranger Things Day, the official Stranger Things twitter posted a thread of tweets replacing Steve's iconic 'boobies' quote (I have no idea how else to describe it lol) with various fandom inside jokes and comments like that. Here is the order/content of the tweets!

Okay so, the ships/people mentioned in the previous tweets were Steve Harrington, Lumax (WE LOVE LUMAX, Lucas + Max), Erica, Will Byers, The Byers, JOPPER (WE LOOOVVVVEEEEE, Joyce + Hopper), Murray, Dustin (DUSTYBUUUUNNN), AN ANONYMOUS COUPLE WHICH I WILL TALK ABOUT, and then El.

I find it very interesting that they put the mystery couple directly before el, it's kind of like establishing Els independence for the upcoming season!

Now, what in the world is a "Will they" "Wont they" couple, and who could the duffers be describing?

So this is my understanding of the basic characteristics of a "will they" "wont they" couple;

Romantic chemistry shared by both people

Relationship is threatened by all of the following;

Uncertainty

External obstacles

Internal strife

Romantic tension that remains unbroken or unresolved

Now let's compare this list to different st couples the duffers could be referring to, I'll try and remember all of them but there are a lot so lmk if I miss any! To check the criteria I will name a couple or ship, say their status and go through the criteria as it relates to each! Each couple must meet all the requirements of a "will they" "won't they" ship to be considered as such.

Which ships will I be counting? I mean, the criteria are automatically biased based on my perception of the show, so I'm trying to use solid canon evidence that the couple either is romantically involved or at least one person in the ship is romantically interested in the other. Both characters also have to be a part of the main teams of s4 like either the California (mike will el Johnathan argyle), Hawkins (Dustin steve robin Lucas max nancy erica), or Russia crew (joyce hopper neil murray). (I'm excluding Eddie because he's... well... not a contender anymore). For example, Milkvan would count as a valid ship to consider because , they are dating, but a ship like Dustin and Lucas wouldn't count (only for what I'm trying to do here, ofc I think every ship is valid as long as its respectful, everyone has their own headcanons and I support all of your perceptions of the show ofc <3) because there is no canonical evidence to support this being a possible romantic pairing in the show. Anyway, let's get started, if you have any questions on how I determined if a ship could be considered or not please feel free to message me, I love talking to all of you! Oh also I should clarify as well that I'm only counting ships that have both parties alive (with the exception of max who we aren't sure is alive or not)

Couples I'm choosing not to include (but still meet criteria to be considered): Duzie, dustin and max, robin and vickie (because vickie isn't a part of the main groups and I don't think that their relationship has built up long enough to be considered a wtwtc, however, if you disagree id love to talk about it!)

Color code: True False Is a wtwtc is not a wtwtc

COUPLE Jancy (Johnathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler)

STATUS Dating; They have been dating since season 2 when they got together after an interrogation from Murray. In season 4 they struggled with maintaining the relationship due to the long distance, but when they reunited this was mostly resolved, still some stuff was left up in the air with stancy and all.

CRITERIA (1) Yes there is romantic chemistry (2.1) No, there is no uncertainty with the validity of their relationship. While they may be struggling to figure out how to maintain their relationship, there is no uncertainty about whether or not they are in a romantic relationship. (2.2) Yes, there were external obstacles such as stancy but those obstacles have been resolved and are no longer affecting the couple. For example, will going missing and steve and nancys relationship count, but both of those obstacles have been resolved (2.3) No, there was no notable internal conflict besides shared trauma and anxiety about approaching their feelings for each other. (3) While there is romantic tension between them, the tension was resolved by them getting together and becoming a couple officially

While there is romantic chemistry, the ship did not fulfill all requirements to be considered a "will they" "wont they" couple

COUPLE Stancy (Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler)

STATUS Ex's; In season one, Nancy and Steve were in a relationship. They broke up after Nancy called their love bull shit at a high school party. There is some romantic tension again in s4, though it doesn't really go anywhere, at least directly.

CRITERIA (1) Yes, there is romantic tension. Especially in season 4, there are numerous moments of sexual tension. (2.1) Yes, there is uncertainty with the validity of the relationship. However Steve wants to have his "six little nuggets" with Nancy, but we as an audience can visually see how that future doesn't excite her. Steve still loves nancy but nancy does not love steve, no matter how much she hopes she does. (2.2) Yes, there is an external obstacle, Nancy and Johnathan are a couple so that is an obstacle that would get between them from being together. (2.3) No, there are not a ton of moments of internal conflict. Steve potentially likes Nancy again and Nancy doesn't feel the same IMO but even considering that, there is no internal conflict that is a barrier between a platonic or a romantic relationship. (3) No, there is no unresolved sexual tension, as they have already been in a relationship

Jancy does not qualify as a will they won't they couple, they have already been in a relationship, and the romantic tension was already broken so there's nothing new romantically to build up that hasn't already been done.

COUPLE Lumax (Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield)

STATUS Ex's, Romantic interests, kinda unclear lol; Max and Lucas got together at the end of season 2, when they kissed at the Snowball. They were dating throughout season 3, however, in the beginning of season 4, we see max isolating herself from the party, and therefore we as an audience understand that Lucas and Max were not together romantically anymore. It wasn't until we see them at billys grave and we also see Max and Lucas together at the Creel house (Lucas asking Max on a movie date) when we finally see them express romantic interest in each other again Not super related but this is a parallel to Jopper with Enzos and the fact that they couldn't go on their date because of multiple obstacles (like Joyce standing hop up to figure out why her magnets weren't working, and hop going to Russia causing everyone to think he was not alive anymore)

CRITERIA (1) Yes, there is romantic tension between Lucas and Max (2.1) While there is uncertainty with what Lumax's future will look like, there is no uncertainty with whether the romantic feelings they have are requited or if they have the potential to be in a romantic relationship because they already have been in a romantic relationship. (2.2) Yes, there is one big external obstacle which is max literally being in a coma lmaooo (2.3) Yes, there are internal obstacles Lucas and Max struggle with regarding their romantic feelings towards each other, especially Max. Max isolates herself after she experiences the trauma of witnessing what happened to billy and she experiences symptoms of vecna's curse, basically she's being vecna'd and that causes her to suffer mentally and therefore she isolates herself from the party, especially Lucas. (3) While there is unbroken romantic tension that came up in s4, Max and Lucas already dated so there is no new romantic tension that could be potentially broken here. "will they" or "won't they" couples are typically built up over numerous seasons, so the previous romantic history between them would disqualify them from being considered a "will they" "won't they" couple.

Lumax can not be considered a "will they" "won't they" couple because they do not fulfill all of the criteria to be considered a wtwtc, and even if they did I don't think that lumax would be the wtwtc they were talking about because they were already mentioned in Stranger Writers' thread as an official ship

COUPLE Mileven (Mike Wheeler and El Hopper)

We already know that Mileven is not a "will they" "wont they" couple because they are already in a romantic relationship, but I'm going to pretend like I don't already know that because its good practice for me to be able to be more open to other perspectives of the show and also I think its important in general to analyze the dynamics of their relationship anyway :)

STATUS Dating; (I am a passionate byler shipper so I will try and be as factual as I possibly can) Mike and El kissed towards the end of season one but didn't get together again until the end of season two when they finally went to the snowball together. El dumped his ass in season 3, Mike said "I love her and I can't lose her again" in a heated fight with the group, and they got back together at the end of the season when El said she loved him too and kissed him. In season 4 we see them struggle with managing the distance as well as discovering their own identities. Mike has trouble saying 'I love you' to el (he is discovering his sexuality simultaneously... regarding his feelings for will), and El is not receiving the type of love she wants and needs from mike. At the end of the season, we see mike and will stand together and El stands alone, which foreshadows an independent El for season 5.

CRITERIA (1) This is something that is super controversial in the fandom, and as a byler supporter I personally don't think that there is any romantic tension between mike and eleven, but I will try and look at it from multiple perspectives.

As a byler supporter, what I see is a longing for romantic feelings, especially from mike. Mike wants to fit in and his role models are nancy and his parents, both of which have been in toxic relationships and fake love (stancy) and that is all mike knows about romantic feelings. In season one people continue to accuse mike of having romantic feelings for el. When Mike first meets el, he treats her kind of how he would treat any other peer, like showing her his toys and being nice and letting her sleep in his basement. The romantic implications of that don't even cross his mind until Lucas and Dustin point them out. There is a huge difference between the was Lucas and Dustin interact with el, and the way mike does. Lucas and Dustin think, oh this is a girl, omg a girl in mikes basement. But mike is focused on finding will, and El could lead him closer to finding him. Mike claims that he has always loved el, but he literally tried to get her to go back to where she came from in their first few moments together. Like we don't see Mike actually push for El to stay until she recognizes will in that photo. Lucas, dustin, even his older sister Nancy all ask him if he likes el romantically. I think this gets in his head a lot, which causes him to kiss her at the end of the season. In season two at the end of the season we see mike sulking at the snow ball. I think mainly this kind of had to do with the fact that will was out dancing with a girl and he felt jealous feelings but didn't understand why or what that meant. That is my perception because of the headcanons I have of byler but if I'm looking at it from a mileven perspective then it was because he assumed she wasn't coming. Personally, I don't think this is why because he knew she was back in town and she was okay and there must have been some communication about whether or not eleven was actually going to the snow ball but either way she showed up and we see his face change. Then right after we see El walk in and I think he uses the shame from his jealousy to motivate him to do romantic things with el, but that could just be my opinion because thats what I believe in my head lol. For el, she only really starts expressing romantic interest in mike after she starts watching soap operas. Mike kissed her in s1, and when she sees couples kissing on the tv in s2, she has a realization that maybe that was something couples do so that means that she likes mike... right? Or does she have this thought because she doesn't have any other exposure to what romance actually looks like? Its an interesting question to dive into, and I'll go in more detail in a future post if anyone would be interested in that. I think something that is very telling is the mileven breakup in s3. This scene has been analyzed over and over again, but in general, the way she says "i dump your ass" so easily and then laughs about it on the bus with max is very telling. Like idk about you but if I was supposedly in love with someone it wouldn't be that easy to just dump them and then giggle about it a few minutes later. In s4 we see el being very inauthentic, like for example she looks at the note on the flowers that says "from mike" and then puts on a fake smile. And over the season we kind of see this fake smile start to break down until she stops talking to mike altogether at the end of the season. At the end of the season El knows that Mike can't give her the love she needs. The fact that he says I love you, which is what El wanted to hear, but she still gives mike the silent treatment after his confession and we don't see them talk for the rest of the season? Like I love you is what she thought she needed but it didn't fix anything because she knew they were just empty words said in the heat of the moment, just like how he said "I love her" in the heat of the moment in season 3. There is soooooo much to talk about, especially in season 4 and season 3, so let me know if you want more of this because I have a lot to say but I should get back to the topic of this post <3

(2.1) No, there is no current uncertainty regarding the validity of their relationship. As an audience, no matter if there is a deeper meaning or not, we know that el has said I love you to mike and mike has said I love you to el. No matter if those words are true or not, we as an audience are expected to believe this as canon and therefore their romantic feelings for each other are not uncertain after Mike said I love you to el. (2.2) Yes there have been external obstacles, however, at the end of season 4 these are all resolved to our knowledge. El is back in hawkins with mike. The only other obstacle I can think of is will, but neither el nor mike are aware of his feelings for mike, so I would save this for a potential season 5 obstacle. (2.3) Yes, there are internal obstacles. Mike is having a hard time saying I love you to el because of internal hardships regarding his sexuality, and el is not receiving the love that she wants or deserves from mike. This is the opposite of a will they won't they couple, this is incompatibility and its obvious. (3) No, there is no unresolved tension. Mike and el have both said I love you, kissed, and had a relationship, there is no tension that needs resolving anymore, if anything their relationship is getting boring at this point IMO (no hate to milevens at all you all are totally allowed to love your ship <3)

No, Mileven is not a "will they" "wont they" couple because they have already broken the tension that is needed to be considered one and they are already in a relationship

COUPLE Jopper (Joyce Byers and Jim Hopper)

STATUS Dating; I think Jopper has always been a will they wont they couple. There has been romantic tension with them since the beginning. Joyce has always been comfortable just walking over to hopper, speaking her mind. We see them start to form an emotional bond over season one. Then throughout the seasons, they get closer which leads up to hopper asking Joyce out on a date and they plan to go to Enzo’s but the plan changes when hopper disappears to Russia at the end of season 3. Season 4 they reunite in Russia and release all the sexual tension by making out in the warehouse thing. It’s a lot more beautiful than that but I have a migraine and can’t think of a poetic way to write that lol.

CRITERIA (1) Yes, there is soooo much sexual and romantic tension between joyce and hopper!!! Literally in every single season, especially season 3 and the end of season 4! Theres no other explanation needed :) (2.1) No, there is no uncertenty with whether Joyce and Hopper like each other romantically or not. We know that both of them like each other and they both have expressed romantic interest in each other. (2.2) I mean besides bob in season 2, and basically the entire world ending, there arent too many outside obstacles currently at the end of s4. Hopper was like kinda gone in another continent for most of the last season though so that counts. (2.3) Yes, there are internal struggles. Hopper struggles with grief and for most of season one and two joyce was emotionally unavailable due to the trauma of losing her son and people telling her she was crazy. Both of these characters love each other, but they are both so scared of losing the ones they love that they love, they cant bare to give all of their love to each other just to have It ripped from them all over again.

This is off topic but this inspired me to talk about loss throughout the show, which is centered around loss. Thats what its all about. The first ten minutes show a a family, a friendgroup, even a whole town that is greatly affected by the loss of a boy. Especially in season 4, I think that the major theme throughout the show was the fear of loss, especially around the idea of love whether it be platonic love or something more. Max distanced herself from the group, partially because she was afraid of causing even more pain and loss than she felt she already had. El was so scared of losing mike, like we can see her desperately trying to be worthy of his love. She wrote to him like every day, she lied to seem cooler than she was, she faked smiles to make sure everything was perfect. Mike is probably the one most affected by the fear of loss in my opinion. His best friend went missing and he thought he was dead, then el went missing, then will almost died again in season 2, then el almost died in season 4, like the amount of times mike has had to deal with the idea of his friends leaving him is very sad. I think a lot of this stems from his childhood. Will is also scared of losing others, especially his sister and brother and mike

(3) No, the tension was broken when they kissed in season 4 lmao. Also when they kept talking about their date. This was a hard couple to debate on, especially since they were a will they wont they couple in the past, but I think because they already broke that tension, and its canon that they have romantic feelings for each other and they have done romantic things together, there is no uncertainty if they like each other more than platonically. I think that jopper is like the original "will they" "wont they" couple, and then that romantic tension was broken and now they're just a slow burn romance! Ugh I love them so much I could talk about them for hours :) If anyone wants to talk about them id love to!

This was a difficult one to determine but since there is no uncertainty with whether their romantic attraction is requited, and the romantic attraction has been acted on, I do not think that they can be considered a "will they" "wont they" because like, they already DID if that makes sense!

COUPLE BYLERRR! (Mike Wheeler and Will Byers)

STATUS Best friends, potential love intrests, gay as hell; Its currently canon that Will is in love with Mike (confirmed by noah schnapp), however it is not yet canon if mike is romantically interested in will (even though it couldn't be more obvious). There is sooooooooo much romantic tension between the two, not to mention the COUNTLESS parallels between them and other couples from the show. Not only just from stranger things, but actual canon gay couples from OTHER SHOWS! Like the duffers put a lot of thought into their parallels. Its truly beautiful, like they are the best slow burn gay romance in all of tv history. Its undeniable.

CRITERIA (1) YES OH MY GOD! There is soooooo much romantic chemistry between the two! Like especially from mike.

BEST FRIENDS DONT LOOK AT EACH OTHER LIKE THAT! tHEY JUST DONT! THEY ARE BLUSHING LIKE NO BODIES BUISSNESS AND THEY ARE LOOKING AT EACH OTHERS LIPS AND THIS INTIMATE MOMENT IS BROKEN SUDDENLY, JUST LIKE SO MANY INTIMATE MOMENTS IN THE SHOW!

Like, come on... theres just so much evidence that they are in love, not to mention all of the "intimate moments" and parallels to other couples. I could go on and on! (2.1) Yesssss there is uncertainty and loooaadddssss of it! The beautiful thing about byler is its up to interpretation. Neither of them just comes out and says out front they are in love, will uses el as a cover for his own feelings, and mike just is scared to be vulnerable about how he feels because of external and internal homophobia. Both of their romantic feelings for each other are shown not only through just words and physical communication, but also through symbols, set, lighting, music, etc. Their story is left up to interpretation because that's just accurate to the time. We are unsure if both of them love each other canonically, but we can feel it, that's the beauty of the show. We know that will is in love with mike. Thats canon. But mike, mike's story is so accurate to the struggle of growing up as a gay kid, and many adults who have grown up in the 80s have said that they identify themselves with mike and wills story! Like as a queer person who grew up with similar feelings to mike and will, its just beautiful to watch their love story unfold despite all of the obstacles they face. (2.2) EXTERNAL OBSTACLES! SO. MANY. EXTERNAL. OBSTACLES. I mean, this is a gay love story about two gay boys in the 1980's, a time when homophobia was experiencing a spike due to the HIV crisis and hate crimes and everything of that sort. And not to mention that mike is in a relationship with wills sister, so even if mike broke up with el, will getting together with his sisters ex boyfriend is kind of a betrayal to her so there's a sense of guilt or shame that's added on top of the feelings he is already having. And for mike, he has to navigate the fact that he cant say I love you to his girlfriend because he already loves will. Also he doesn't know will loves him so he assumes that he has no shot with him anyway. Not to mention all of the supernatural struggles that come with their feelings for each other. Like in season three and two, a lot of the times mike and will have an intimate moment he then feels vecna. Also the fact that will is literally being brainwashed by vecna for like half the season. Also the bullying in seasons one and two when the boys, especially will, have been called homophobic slurs their whole life. This causes shame and guilt for who they are, which makes them hesitant to acknowledge their feelings for each other.

(2.3) INTERNAL OBSTICLESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! SOOOOO MANY! First of all internalized homophobia, which mike sufferers from a lot! Its shown throughout the show in so many ways. First of all, mikes relationship with el is kind of an avoidance tactic for mike, as well as a safety tactic. He uses his relationship with el to convince himself that he is in fact straight and he does everything he can to be perceived as straight, even by himself. For will, there is so much shame that has been thrown at him his whole life. Not only from his father but his peers. He has been bullied his entire life and so has mike, they have experienced homophobia their whole lives, which has caused them to believe that they themselves are the problem. And there's a whole other struggle that especially affects mike, which is heteronormativity. The minute he showed el any kindness at all, everyone started asking him if he liked el and were calling her his bf and stuff like that. Hes lived in this headspace that in order to be seen as 'normal', he has to be straight. Like he thinks that getting a girlfriend and giving up on the 'childish' things he enjoyed as a kid like dnd is all a part of growing up. There's just so many internal struggles with both of them, especially in regard to their romantic feelings for each other. (3) No, the romantic tension has not been broken yet! There is sooooo much tension and so many scenes where they seem like they are about to kiss or about to confess their feelings, but they are interrupted by a person, a noise, etc. They are so in love I love them so muchhhh! Like for example the bedroom scene when they're like "I didn't say that" and mike is like "you didn't have to". Like that scene is a direct parallel to another gay ship that KISS after they exchange their little "cool", "cool". But for byler that tension is interrupted by the van arriving, like there are so many examples of this throughout the show! I could go on and on about byler so let me know if you want me to discuss this more :)

Yes, Byler is a "will they" "wont they" couple! While many of the st couples have fit under the "will they" "wont they" umbrella at some point in the show, the unknown romantic aspect of their relationships have all been resolved except for byler! And even if jopper counted as a "will they" "'wont they" couple, the st twt still mentioned them in the thread before they mentioned the will they wont they couple, so it wouldn't make sense for jopper to be referred to twice in the same way.

So to kind of summarize all of those words, byler is the only "will they" "wont they" couple in present-day stranger things canon, which therefore is EVEN MORE evidence that byler will be end game. Especially because the way the line is used in the first place, like steve saying that Vickie obviously likes women, and then that being true in the end, it shows how byler is also true and it will happen! I hope all of this made sense! Sorry this is pretty delayed after the thread came out, I've been so busy and also trying to add to this post as much as I could over the past few weeks haha. If you have any fun things to add or stuff you want to discuss please do! I always love talking to you all. As always, much love to everyone <3

#will byers #byler canon #byler proof #byler edit #i love byler #byler is canon #byler exists #Duffers explain #Stranger things Twitter #Will they wont they #will they wont they trope #cinematography #stranger things 5 #byler

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n7punk · 1 year

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She-ra (2018) Con-Exclusive Merch & Giveaways

I'm assembling a master post of all officially-produced merch for the SPOP reboot, but it's focused on information. I have a separate post focused on promotion-exclusive items, and this post is dedicated to detailed information for the ambiguous middle ground: con exclusives. Some of these were given away and some were for sale.

If I get additional information on any of these specific items, I'll edit the post to add it, but if I find anything new then it'll go in a reblog addition as I've hit the image limit on this post.

Sometimes you have to click photos to see full images, as many are cut off due to varying dimensions. Any [x]s will lead to the source of the images, usually secondhand listings that will eventually become defunct. I use the best photos I can find.

Pins/Buttons:

The buttons (first two images) were at NYCC in 2018. [1st] [2nd].

Han Cholo sells a lot of pins on their website, but the four on the right were exclusive at SDCC one year (concept photo in the final reblog here, this post chain in general has a ton of photos of She-ra merch from a mix of sources). [3rd]

Misc:

A foam tiara (2 photos) and a (seemingly foam and plastic) flat sword were at NYCC 2018 & 2019 and SDCC 2019. [2nd], [3rd]

There aren't any good photos and I'm at the image limit anyway, but there are pictures in the final reblog here of knee-high socks that were given out at promo events (possibly cons) and in reviewer/influencer promo packages. They're patterned after She-ra's uniform and have a cape on the back. Any details on this would be appreciated if you know them.

Temporary tattoos (far left) and stickers (middle left) were at NYCC 2019 and maybe also Power-Con. Coloring sheets and hair ties were at either NYCC or Power-Con. The coloring sheet is watercolor with paint squares provided at the top of the sheet. I believe the hair ties came in three colors (purple, pink, and blue) and the long post* has good photos of the pink one. If you want to look at approximately ten pixels, this listing has all three colors. [1st] [2nd] [3rd]

Bookmarks were available at SDCC one year and likely any other locations that had the books (Power-Con, etc). [x]

Collector card sets featuring 16 of the characters were given out at cons, possibly SDCC 2018. First image is the front of the packaging, second is one of the cards, and the third is the back of the package. [1st] [2nd] [3rd]

Posters:

Buckle up, this is the final, longest part. Posters were at many conventions and some designs may have been available at multiple cons. I mostly want to catalogue the designs here and will list a con just when I know it. Most listings online are of fan reprints unless otherwise specified.

The first four (left to right) were available at SDCC 2019. The 4th & 5th are the front and back of the same poster, which was probably also distributed at places like Power-Con or wherever they sold the books (since it's a Scholastic poster). [4th] [5th]

Here are clean social media uploads of the 2nd and 3rd image. The 2nd was also the cover image for season 3 and the front of the DVD for seasons 1-3.

The character mini prints in the bottom right [6th] seem to have been given out at multiple cons. They were probably at SDCC (year unknown) and/or Power-Con (year unknown). The collector card designs roughly followed their design pattern.

All three of these were at SDCC WonderCon. The first was 2019 and the second was probably 2018. The 3rd was supposedly at 2023 but was (probably) 2018 unless they still just had a bunch of extras laying around. WonderCon also had a variant of the 4th poster from the SDCC section above, but I can't find good photos of it and there's going to be a third variant of it further down too, so at this point I think you get it.

The first design is the cover image for season 2.

The first was probably at NYCC 2018. The right two were given out at a NYCC 2019 panel, as well as sent out with an exclusive statuette to family bloggers to promote season 4.

The first design is the cover art for season one. Its design was also used for a shopping bag at Anime Expo 2019 (photo in the final reblog here). The second one is the cover image for season 4.

Distribution currently unknown (if there ever was one). The second image is the cover for season 5. I'll edit on the distributions if I happen to find them, but I'm fine with what I've got here. I could have missed one or two posters, but since their distributions mostly amounted to handing out flyers, they're hard to find.

#merch #words and things #god i'm a lunatic #a little of this ground is being retread from the long post but I had to get more organized about this #by ''cover images'' i mean those are the cover photos dreamworks uses on its website for each season #and thus were likely created specifically to promote them and might have been covers on netflix at some point too #i lost the link for the first she-ra crown picture oops lol #it was from an archived ebay listing anyway #spop meta

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rjalker · 10 months

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Title: "Male-presenting" Time Lord

Created November 26th 2023. Finished: November 28th 2023. Posted December 5th 2023 because I immediately forgot it existed.

Summary: The Doctor is not "male-presenting" just because ler new body is perceived as male. That's not how this works. That's not what those words mean. Donna and the Doctor have a conversation about gender, and not assigning it to other people. They also talk about the consequences of the Doctor erasing Donna's memories without her consent in the first place.

A fix it fic for Russel T. Davies' The Star Beast episode, because he currently fails at all crucial levels of understanding how transgender people work, so that the moral of the story just jumps straight back to biological and gender essentialism in the worst possible way that gets presented as "progressive". So now literally millions of people, cis and trans alike, think misgendering people by assigning them "x-presenting" language is tootally cool and epic and progressive. I hate it.

Word count: 4,237

Web archive version (Read and download in multiple formats)

Fanfiction.net version (read only because they're boring and outdated)

Tumblr version under the read-more.

(Archived read-more link)

The Doctor was in the TARDIS’ conservatory, lying on a bed of Orbisian nest fungus near one of the tidal pools, head propped up with one arm. Hea was watching the tiny flits of blue and black that were the Quilluci dancing lights flies as they darted through the air, pollinating the flowers of the Venusian trumpet vine climbing a dormant tree a few feet away, while above, in the higher canopy, a Terran boat-tailed grackle whistled and rattled to show off its territory.

All around the Doctor were various shades of every color imaginable, each species in the conservatory competing and synchronizing to form an adaptive ecosystem.

The circadian rhythm of this section was winding down, so the light was starting to dim into an artificial twilight. Already, a few of the more go-getting night-calling life forms were starting to begin their chorus of hoots, chirps, croaks, and buzzes, either trying to attract mates, marking their territories, telling their friends the events of the day, luring in prey or pollinators, or sometimes all of the above all at the same time.

The Doctor had finally changed out of the clothes hea had regenerated into, but hadn’t chosen a new outfit yet. Instead, hea’d found simple pajamas and sandals, since Donna’s family was spending the night in the TARDIS due to their house being destroyed, and the TARDIS being more comfortable, and exciting, than a hotel, and less intimidating than a stay in one of UNIT’s guest centers.

Plus, the TARDIS had refused to take off until Donna came in to catch up with her. She had missed her so much. The Doctor had left the two of them to talk in the control room while hea showed Sylvia, Rose, and Shaun to the rooms they’d be staying in, then gave them a basic tour of the more casual areas of the TARDIS, safe for them to visit with only the TARDIS’ supervision.

Lying there surrounded by singing nature, it was so strange to think that hea and Donna had spent more time apart than they’d known eachother in the first place. Nineteen years it’d been since hea’d last seen her on her wedding day, right before hea’d regenerated out of this face the first time. And now this face, this body, was back, but hea wasn’t the same. And neither was she.

She’d spent all the winnings from the lottery ticket hea’d left her. Gave it all to the poor, the hurt, the oppressed. Left just enough for her to buy her family a house, and then spent the rest on paying for her daughter’s gender-affirming transition so she wouldn’t be forced to wait even longer to be allowed to be happy.

Hea really should have known Donna wouldn’t keep it all. If she had, she wouldn’t be the same Donna Noble he’d come to care about so deeply, and hea wouldn’t care for her nearly as much as hea did.

It was peaceful here, and this was the first time since this new regeneration that the Doctor had been able to stop and rest. Hea was different this time too. This body was older, like it had felt the time that had passed.

Hea was tired. There’d been a lot of running, and a lot of emotions, and that was a lot to take in immediately following a traumatic regeneration. Not that hea could even remember what a benign regeneration felt like at this point…Which just compounded the exhaustion. Thinking about what had led up to this regeneration hurt ler hearts.

Hea laid down more fully on the bed of soft, cushioned mushrooms, fully intending to fall asleep right there in the conservatory, hoping to wake up to happier thoughts. It was the perfect temperature, it was peaceful, the sounds of the wildlife were soothing. And the nest-fungi below ler were releasing the still achingly familiar scent of Orbis, trying to lull ler into sleep, promising dreams of the ocean…

“Are you awake?” Donna’s voice was pitched softly, but still managed to cut straight through the Doctor’s drifting thoughts like a knife, bringing ler back to the present moment so abruptly it was shocking.

Hea opened ler eyes and looked up at ler friend, saying, as though hea hadn’t been about to fall asleep, “Yup, I’m awake.” then, “I was going to take a nap, though.” Something about this new brain compelled the Doctor to be more honest about ler feelings that hea had been the last time hea had looked like this. It was kind of nice.

But hea wasn’t about to turn Donna away just for the sake of sleepiness. “Come on, get in here.”

Hea scooted backward, propped ler chin up on one hand again, and patted the mat of fungus in front of ler invitingly, sending up a cloud of sweet-smelling spores. Donna, slower than she would have done the last time they’d done this, laid down on the mat across from ler, both in matching poses, chins propped up on one arm, a comfortable distance between them for conversation.

There were a few moments where they simply looked at eachother, enjoying the sounds of the nature around them, learning the changes in the other’s old, new face.

The Doctor was so happy she was okay. That the metacrisis had been resolved without her death. But hea couldn’t help but feel the hurt that was festering somewhere around ler hearts from what she’d said just two hours ago, and all the things that went along with it. It was shockingly upsetting, and hea couldn’t seem to shake it.

Maybe it was the recent regeneration, and everything that had come with it, maybe it was the scent of Orbis clinging to ler clothes, maybe hea really was tired...or maybe it was just that ler friend had hurt ler without realizing how deep it would cut.

Donna’s expression changed as she watched the Doctor, growing more concerned with every heart beat. “Doctor, what’s wrong?” She finally asked gently.

Once upon a time, the first time hea had had this face, the Doctor would have brushed the question off, avoided answering, avoided facing ler feelings, avoided admitting them. But that was then, so many years ago, and this was now, after so many things had changed.

Hea said, keeping ler tone soft to match hers, “What you and Rose said before. You said --” Hea closed ler eyes for a moment, trying to remember the exact wording. “You said, ‘It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore, she would’ve understood’, and ‘something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand’.” Hea opened ler eyes again to gaze across at ler friend. “That, well, that really hurt me, Donna. Deeply.” The fact that hea could just say, out loud, how much it had hurt, was still astounding. It helped, saying it out loud.

Donna’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open slightly in clear shock. “But I – you --” she said uncertainly, clearly lost and upset. “But I don’t understand? Which part hurt you? I didn’t mean to hurt you, I...I was just trying to make a joke...”

“I know you didn’t mean for it to hurt.” Hea said gently, “But it did. And I’m not…” It was getting harder to speak, but hea pushed on. “I’m not ‘male-presenting’,” Just the taste of the words was wrong. “And I really wish you wouldn’t call me that. It—” Ler voice broke a little. “--it really hurts.”

“I’m sorry—” Donna said, confused, regretful, “But I thought...you...I mean…but aren’t you male? This body? Isn’t it male? And the way you…” She trailed off, tongue tied, eyes begging for an explanation.

The Doctor knew what she was trying to ask. Of course hea knew what she meant. That was the whole problem.

Hea sat up, and the sweet smell of Orbis’ southern sea perfumed the air.

“This is my body.” Hea said, gesturing with ler freed hands at ler body, clothed as it was in a simple pearlescent nightgown. “Its DNA is randomly assembled when I regenerate. There is no part of this body that I chose for myself, or that I have any control over.” Hea lifted a hand to ler head, and tugged on a lock of short brown hair with a hand that was noticeably shaking. “I can’t grow this out. It stays this same length until I regenerate again. It would take hours upon hours to even dye it a little, and it’d probably fade within the day.” Hea gestured at ler chest, which was as flat as a board. “I didn’t choose this shape, this face, these hands.” Hea held them up for her to see. “I didn’t choose this.” Ler hands were both shaking now, so hea lowered them. But all of the rest of ler was trembling with emotion as hea continued, “I’ve never been able to choose.”

Hea was almost crying as hea said it, overwhelmed suddenly. It was like this regeneration had brought out all ler pent up emotions, dammed up for hundreds of years, now finally given an opportunity to break free. If only...

Donna had sat up to match the Doctor, and reached out to take ler hands in her own. Her hands were warm and conforming as she held lers. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said with heartfelt regret, “I never realized! Do you, I mean, do you want me to use she/her pronouns for you?” There was a little bit of desperation in her voice.

The Doctor wanted to drop ler head into ler hands, but Donna was still holding them, and hea didn’t want to pull away from the comfort she provided. She still didn’t get it. So many of them didn’t understand.

Hea shook ler head, suddenly unable to speak past the lump in ler throat. It took a few painful moments of trying and failing to finally get out the words, “Donna, I’m not a woman just because I’m not a man. I’m non-binary. I am not presenting myself as male or female, other people decides that for themselves based on what my current regeneration looks like, without ever asking me what I identify as.I don’t use she/her or he/him pronouns, or they/them, either. I—” And hea couldn’t speak again, struck still by hundreds of years of endless pain hea’d had to quietly endure.

Donna stared at ler, concerned, upset, still holding ler hands, massaging them soothingly. A thought flickered across her face, and she leaned forward, squeezing the Doctor’s hands as though in apology. “Doctor, I’m sorry, I should have just asked instead of assuming it was one or the other. My pronouns are she/her, same as before, just so we’re both clear. What pronouns would you like me to use for you?” She spoke the last words like they were a well-rehearsed script, and with a trans daughter, maybe they were.

There was a long, painful pause while the Doctor considered the pros and cons of being honest. On the one hand, it had been so long since hea’d had anyone who knew and used ler real pronouns. On the other hand, Donna seemed to only know about she/her or he/him pronouns, and maybe they/them.

How would she react to hearing pronouns that weren’t yet well-established in early-21st century British English?

Well...there was only one way to find out.

“Hea/ler”. Hea said, and cracked a teary, self-mocking smile in spite of lerself. “Can you tell I’m running on a theme?” The relief of just saying the words out loud almost managed to overwhelm the anxiety. It was silly. It was beyond silly.Hea was over a thousand years old. Hea shouldn’t, and normally didn’t care what people thought, but this was something so personal, and this was Donna, one of the best friends hea had ever had.

She gave a little laugh at ler joke once it registered, then pulled one hand away to hold it up as though for a pause. “Okay, healer. Hea/ler...” she let out a breath, and waved her free hand to gesture in a roundabout way. “So if your pronouns are hea/ler, that means instead of he like a man, I’d say hea, which sounds the same, but like a doctor. And instead of him or her I’d say ler? Have I got that right? What about the rest of it? Like his or hers?”

“They’re used the same sort of way as she/her, actually.” The Doctor said, starting to regain some composure now that she seemed to be accepting. This was the easy part, in comparison. “You’ve got ler as in, ‘that’s ler over there’, but you also use ler for the possessive – ‘that’s ler TARDIS’.”

Hea paused for a beat to see if she was following, and she nodded for ler to continue, so hea did. “And then like how you’d say ‘the TARDIS is hers’, you say ‘the TARDIS is lers’. I’d love tell you the grammatical terms for all this, but my brain can’t seem to remember that part right now.” Hea waved a hand around ler head for emphasis. It still felt weird having these hands back. Especially that one. Oh, almost forgetting -- “And then when you’d say ‘herself’, you just say ‘lerself’.”

Donna abruptly stood, startling the Doctor. Or at least, she tried to abruptly stand, but had to slow down with a wince, and struggled to get her knees to unbend fully. When she’d sucessfully stood up, she stepped backward and look down at the confused Doctor.

She squinted, then waved her hands as she spoke, as though illustrating her words. “So, alright, let me try this, and you tell me if I’ve got it right -- ‘This is my friend the Doctor, hea’s an alien, and hea’s not from Mars, hea’s from Gallifrey, which is so far away I forget the numbers. The Doctor is a...a...uhh, okay if I wanted to say like, ‘man’ or ‘woman’, what do you want me to use? Would just person be okay?” She looked at ler for guidance.

The Doctor pushed lerself to ler feet, and hopped over the rest of the fungi mat to join her. “If gender matters,” hea said, shoving ler hands in the pockets of the night gown and rocking forward and backward on ler heels, “Then you can say ‘non-binary person’, or ‘othran’ if you want. It’s a term that starts getting used around this time in English. Oh! Or enby! Enby’s always fun. You get it? Enby, N-B, short for non-binary, isn’t that fantastic?” Euphoria was buzzing through ler veins, just like little bees. Hea hardly felt tired at all now. “If gender isn’t relevant, then, yeah, person’s fine. Or Time Lord, if it’s a medical setting.”

“Alright,” Donna smiled back, “So my friend the Doctor is an enby who flies around in the TARDIS, who, by the way,” She raised her voice a little louder to address the TARDIS, “Is looking absolutely stunning, if may I say so myself!”

The TARDIS, in response, sent a pleased thrum through the floor, and made the Venusian trumpet vine glow with streaks of yellow and blue to show her appreciation.

“She says same to you.” The Doctor translated with a smile.

Donna came over and put her arm through the Doctor’s, leaning against ler side and resting her head on ler shoulder, still smiling. The Doctor leaned ler head on hers in return.

“Alright, which ones did I not do yet?” Donna asked, quieter now, “I got hea -- and, actually, I think I only did hea? I can’t think of any example sentences right when I need them! Rose even gave me a whole notebook full of them so I’d practice and remember her new pronouns, and now I can’t remember any of them!”

The Doctor laughed. Hea couldn’t help it. “How about if I make some for you?” Hea suggested, then took on a playful tone. “My friend the Doctor is the luckiest enby in the universe, because hea gets to have me as ler friend, and I am one of the best friends ever to exist, and no one could possibly be luckier than to be my friend. How’s about that?”

Donna was by this point blushing and grinning, trying to shake her head. “That’s not even using your pronouns!” She said, then held up one hand to cover ler mouth, “Shh, shh, shush! My turn!”

And, in an accent clearly attempting to mimick the Doctor’s she said, “My friend Donna is actually the luckiest woman alive, because she gets to have an amazing othran like the Doctor as a friend!” She threw her free hand out in front of her for dramatic affect. “Hea’s amazing, and brave, and kind, and selfish, and was the first person I ever met besides my granddad who treated me with respect.”

She seemed to be confusing who she was supposed to be speaking for now, but the Doctor was not going to interrupt, there was so much raw emotion suddenly in her voice.

“Hea helped me gain the self-confidance my mother spent my whole life tearing down and ripping to shreds, and I am so grateful I got to meet ler, not just once, not just twice, but three times. I don’t know what sort of person I’d have been if I’d never met the Doctor, but I know I would never have been as happy—”

Her voice caught, and it was a few moments before she could continue, clearing her throat heavily.

“I spent years not being able to remember ler. Hea erased my memories, even though I didn’t want ler to. Hea erased my memories to save my life, but they never really went away. A part of me was still missing, and it hurt so much…”

There was a vice around the Doctor’s hearts, squeezing tighter with every word she said.

“Every time I’d close my eyes, I opened them expecting to see someone, even though I could never figure out who. I would dream of other worlds, horrible or beautiful or empty or peaceful. And I’d always wake up, not knowing what I dreampt of, only that I’d dreampt. Not knowing who I was missing, but knowing I was missing someone. I felt like I was losing my mind. Sometimes I’d hallucinate, see or hear things that weren’t there, that no one else heard or saw.

“I lost my best friend in the whole world, and didn’t even get to remember what I’d lost. Because hea took it from me, even though I begged ler not to.” Her voice was breaking, and the Doctor knew without having to look that she was crying. Ler own eyes were burning with the threat of tears.

And Donna kept on talking, baring her soul to the person who’d hurt her so badly. “Hea sent me back to my abusive mother, without any memory of what it was like to be away from her, to be free and happy and feel like my life was worth something more than her disappointment.”

She threw her other arm around the Doctor suddenly and pulled ler into a hug, burying her head in ler shoulder as she began to cry, deep, gut-wrenching sobs of sorrow and pain and anger.

The Doctor couldn’t hold back ler tears anymore even if hea’d wanted to, and this regeneration seemed to have no desire to subdue its emotions. Hea was sobbing right along with her as they held eachother in an embrace that had waited so many years of sorrow to come.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Hea said over and over again into her hair, “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t watch you die, I couldn’t let it be my fault. I’m so sorry I was so selfish. If I’d just been – been braver, we could have had time to fix it. But I was a coward, I was selfish. I’m so sorry I hurt you like that, and for nothing.” The pain was heartbreaking. “All we’d needed was just a little more time.” And worse so because all of it had been for nothing. Hea’d lost ler best friend, and caused her a world of misery, for nothing. All hea’d needed to do was listen to her. But hea’d been selfish, and terrified of losing her. And so hea’d hurt her, just to spare ler own feelings.

Hea hadn’t thought about what it would mean for her, back then, having to go back to her abusive mum, hadn’t considered how deeply the scars of the abuse ran.

Hea’d known Sylvia didn’t treat her with respect, hea’d known Donna’s self esteem was at rock bottom, and for a reason. Hea’d known that suddenly waking up and losing more than a year’s worth of time would be shocking and traumatic.

But hea hadn’t wanted to think about those parts. Hea had just given her the lottery ticket and told lerself that it was for the best, that she was happy, that this was the best that could be done for her.

Donna mumbled into ler shoulder, “Don’t you ever do that again, space-enby…” She trailed off. “Space-othran.” A pause. “Martian.” said so tiredly.

“I’m not from Mars.” Hea rejoined automatically, laughing a little through ler tears, feeling the same wave of weakness that had clearly taken over her. Hea was back to feeling just as tired as hea had been before Donna had woken ler up.

At that moment, she somehow managed to pull the Doctor even tighter into the hug, then released ler, her face blotchy and red with crying. She punched ler lightly on the shoulder and said, mock-angry, “I know you’re not.”

Her eyes and shoulders were drooping, and the Doctor didn’t need the TARDIS’ helpful scan to know that she was exhausted. So many things had happened to her today that just on their own would have been enough stress for a week. It was a wonder she was still on her feet. It was a wonder any of them were. The Doctor could sense through the TARDIS’ scan that Shaun, Rose, and Sylvia were still taking a tour of the library.

“Come on,” The Doctor said gently, taking Donna by the arm to lead her out of the conservatory, “Let’s get you to your room—”

But Donna pulled away, shaking her head. “Huh-uh, no way. I’m sleeping right here.” She pointed to the Orbisian nest-fungus. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to sleep on this heavenly plant again? I dreampt about it so many times that I can only remember now. I literally slept in my dreams. And it was the second most peaceful sleep I ever had.”

“Ah.” That was where the Doctor had planned to sleep. “I’ll...just go somewhere else then.” Hea wasn’t going to make Donna go and find another bed of fungus, hea was the one who knew where they all were now, not her. Hea started to walk off, only for Donna to grab ler sleeve, keeping ler in place.

“Space-othran…” She suddenly seemed nervous. “I actually wanted to sleep here with you, if that’s okay.” Her eyes searched lers. “I know it sounds silly, but I’m afraid if I go to sleep you’ll disappear.”

The Doctor opened ler mouth, surprised, closed it, then opened it again. “But…I mean...” Hea scratched the back of ler head, befuddled. “Won’t your husband have a problem with that? I may not be a man, but you’re still married, and…”

To ler surprise, Donna cut ler off by laughed outright, loudly, complete with putting her hand on her belly and throwing back her head, like hea’d said the most hilarious joke ever to be told.

“What?” Hea demanded, completely bewildered.

“Oh, no, wait, you, you don’t know, do you?” She laughed breathlessly, and shook her head wildly. “Doctor, my beloved husband, Shaun Temple, is the most cuddliest person you have ever seen. I literally have to get my own bed when we have friends stay over because they literally all sleep piled on top of eachother like cats and hog all the blankets.

“Not only will he have no problem with us sleeping together, he’ll be sad if we don’t invite him. So, to formally ask your permission, my best friend the Doctor, would you consent to sleeping with me, and my husband, and probably my daughter too, because she inherited the cuddle-bug from her father, on this amazingly soft, dream-scented plant from another planet? I do have to warn you that you will probably wake up with an arm numb because Rose latches onto you like a koala bear and getting her to let go is a chore and a half. You probably don’t have to worry about sharing with my mum, she likes her own space. Please?”

She even pulled out the puppy dog eyes.

And how could hea possibly say no to that?

The last time hea’d had this face, hea would have grumbled about it, at least tried to joke about not wanting to. But a lot had changed since then. Including ler.

So hea asked the TARDIS to let the rest of Donna’s family know where they were, and to send blankets their way, and, smiling as hea stepped forward to take her hand, hea said, “I would love to, Donna Noble.”

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elstreem · 2 years

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Taking a Look at Bedivere's Outfits

Why not, I want to do something silly and fun :b

Long post so I'll put it all under the cut.

Gotta start with his default outfit, of course! 100/10, I do so love his overall look. The silver and green color scheme is just so pleasant to look at, and it really fits his personality, somehow.

One little detail I appreciate now after watching the Camelot movie adaptations is that Bedi's sword is actually positioned so that his left hand draws it - makes sense, his left hand is his actual flesh and bone arm! It's a shame that in the game he holds his sword in his right hand regardless, but in the movies they show Bedivere often holds his sword in his left hand.

Butler outfit! He looks so sharp and dapper in this one, 100/10 would keep him as my butler forever. I also appreciate that in this outfit, Bedi's default expression is to smile. He deserves to look happy! Also the character art details his eyelashes and that's a neat detail, not a lot of other illustrations give Bedivere eyelashes the same color as his hair. The teapot he's holding is different from what's actually used in the battle sprite though, he uses a silver one.

I do enjoy drawing this outfit since it's a bit simpler than his armor to draw, heh. Also it's good practice to think about how to draw suits.

The "I'm forever salty if they don't ever release this outfit" summer hoodie. I know since Bedi got his butler costume he probably won't get another one...but I can dream. Or just give us a summer version! Let Bedi have his fun, Gareth apparently has a summer version, why not Bedi... Ahem. Anyway, ranting over, I really do love this outfit! I know the summer KotR is shameless fanservice lol but at least Bedivere's is a really cool look. I wish I had this hoodie in real life, the colors are so cute. I won't be able to pull it off shirtless though lol.

Specific neat details - the sectioning of the colors on his hoodie and the x-shaped threads on the shorts are reminiscent of his armor. For a mischievous AI that's a bit out of wack, BB has pretty good taste when she gave this outfit to Bedi.

And idk why, but I find it cute that Bedi wears sandals. And let's not forget, we have shades Bedivere because of this, too.

This dork (lovingly).

Also I remember joking with friends that Bedivere Alter uses guns and then the Summer Fest rerun happened and I remembered Bedivere does practice on the shooting range with you...so Gun-ivere is actually a possibility lol.

Now for some CEs! This is Festive Outfit Bedivere for one of the anniversaries. 100/10, so cute!!! This is one of my favorites actually, and I'm biased as blue is my favorite color, but the blues and oranges are so cute and pop in a good way. Also that cap is just adorable. Everything about this outfit is so cute. Love it to bits!

One of the Camelot movie release celebrations CEs! Back to being dapper again. He looks rather scholarly, with these glasses.

90/10, it's a good look and a bit different with the hat and glasses! But man Bedi sure loves his suits and coats doesn't he, haha. Altria's outfit is also really good in this one, it might be my actual favorite outfit of hers.

I think this one is the 5th Anniversary celebration, the one that's titled like Under the Same Sky? Look, any CE with Bedivere smiling and enjoying his life gets a 100/10 from me. His smile here is especially precious!

The outfit itself looks so cozy. Same as the festive outfit one, his outfit here has little touches of orange, which I really like.

Apron Bedi from one of the summer mangas. Simple, but super freaking cute. Please help him, he's probably the only responsible one in this household. He definitely cooks and cleans. 100/10, prime husband material.

Oh hey....I just realized that in this one, Bedi doesn't have a metal arm. Did Ritsuka and co. do that to separate their manga Bedi from Chaldea Bedi?

The formal craft wear! I wasn't playing F/GO when this released so I'll never have it in game :'''''). But I spotted it in the 5th anniversary video! I posted about it before, but I just find it funny that in this video they made Bedi's hair super long, it reaches past his hip when normally his hair falls to around the middle of his back.

This one is pretty fancy, and looks a bit busy with the cape and tassels. It's a good look, don't get me wrong, but I don't like this as much as his other fancy outfits. Idk, it doesn't feel as cohesive to me, I guess? Lancelot wears a similar outfit but I think his looks more suited to him. Though I do like that the sleeve is cut out on Airgetlam's side, I think it's more practical to not have any cover on it.

This one is from one of the promotional images for the Solomon movie! I do like this one a lot, I just really like the colors of it (enough for me to draw it as a chibi). Seems even Bedi got tired of wearing a coat though lol, he's just holding it here.

Here's from one of the Chaldea Boys' Collection CEs! Though we don't really see much of his outfit here, so it's a bit hard to comment on. The cap looks a bit silly though, it's just awkwardly sitting on his head.

This one is from the earlier Chaldea Boys' Collection, which I also didn't get since I wasn't playing the game at the time. I am tempted to get it on the Rare Prisms exchange though...

I do actually like the colors of this one, and it's a bit similar to the butler costume he ended up getting, though this one is in white.

While I do want to get it since Bedi is in the CE and all, is it just me or something is a bit off with Bedi's faces in both of these Chaldea Boys's Collection CEs? Idk why, but the way Bedi's face looks in these comes off a bit...creepy. I hate to say it that way since it makes me sound like I'm picking on the illustrators - I'm not, these are beautifully detailed, the way Bedivere looks is just not up to my preference.

There's a bunch more I didn't get to, a couple of CEs and some more promotional and product images released during the Camelot movie (like the Wendy's one, that still floors me to think about, knowing art exists of the Camelot cast in Wendy's uniforms lol). A lot of it involves him in suits though, so I'm gonna be repeating a lot of points if I collect more of them.

My top favorites aside from his default look are the festive outfit one, the Solomon promo image and the summer outfit (I'm still begging the devs to release a playable version). Special shout out to a super cute acrylic I saw though, the Cafe and Diner one which was also released as Camelot movie merch? That is also super cute.

#fate grand order #fgo #bedivere #fgo bedivere

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dragonbleps · 2 years

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Okay SO, it's a wall of text, so don't feel obligated to read it :'D

TL;DR-- fixing 2 sprinklers took all day for various reasons due to a couple mistakes/accidents, and we still have 2 more to do. I'm tired. And not exactly sure why I'm supposed to want to own a house when there's all this pain-in-the-ass maintenance.

Dad took today off so we could fix one (1) sprinkler that we knew was broken. I woke up at about 10am and after feeding the dogs we immediately went to work.

First, I cleaned out the "globe", the part that would normally house the filter for the water, except someone stole ours ages ago for some bizarre reason. It was disgusting :) I've never seen so many colors of algae in the same place.

Then dad went to turn the sprinkler sections on one by one to check if there were any other sprinklers that needed fixing. It's a finicky process because apparently some part of the switch already doesn't work and dad has just kind of Dealt With It, and the sprinklers sections can't really be manually turned on one by one. More like, turn one on, turn it off, wait for the water pressure to build back up again, turn it on, and hope you waited long enough for it to activate the next section rather than the one you just got done checking.

There are 5 sections of sprinklers. After going through 4 sections, we found 4 sprinklers that weren't working correctly. 2 were just not spraying water at all, which is less of an issue. 1 was not coming out of the sprinkler head correctly and was just flooding the sidewalk. And the last 1 was just shooting water straight up because the sprinkler head was completely missing. (Sometimes if the lawn guys run it over with their lawnmower, the blades just chew it up and we're not notified either bc they don't want to tell us or they just dont notice.)

Dad went to switch to the 5th sprinkler section, and nothing happened. None of the sprinklers came up at all. He figured it was a failure to switch that was the issue, apparently something that'd gone wrong with it before. It was at this point he called an irrigation professional, planning on having him look at both the switching device (idk wtf it's called) and possibly replace the sprinklers that were broken.

We had to clean up a corner of the garage (which we messily use for storage) to make it easily accessible for the sprinkler guy. He arrived just as we were finishing up sweeping the area. He went to check the pump area and showed us how the globe was cracked. And, in fact, it had only JUST cracked, he said, because the slightest crack will prevent suction and water flow. So, literally as dad was switching from the 4th section to the 5th section, the globe cracked.

He attempted a quick fix of applying glue to the crack, which KIND of worked? But not for very long, and we'd have to prime the pump every time we'd want to use it, to help it along. Dad understandably didn't want that.

Sprinkler Guy doesn't have the right globe for replacement in his truck, but knows where to get one. Dad says okay. Guy says it might take about an hour, and leaves.

He comes back roughly an hour later with the part, installs it, then we check each section of sprinklers again. They work (well, aside from the ones that are broken of course). Mom comes home from work in the meantime and goes inside. Sprinkler guy gets paid for his work, leaves, and we go inside to rest for a moment.

We have to go to Home Depot to look for sprinkler heads to replace the ones that are broken. We decide to also eat dinner while we're out. So we go to Home Depot, go to eat food, then go back home.

Me and dad go outside and start digging up the 2 sprinklers that need the most immediate fix. Dad gets a shovel/spade thing and starts shoveling, while I get my gardening spades to get in closer around the sprinkler. Dad can't bed down, so I'm kneeling or sitting on the pavement doing this. While digging up one sprinkler, we found a separate unattached sprinkler head in the dirt next to it? Like whoever have replaced it previously had just left the old one buried in the dirt rather than throwing it away.

So we get the 2 main sprinklers dug out and removed, and pull out the sprinkler head replacements. And they're the wrong size.

Dad has to go back to Home Depot while I wait and try not to make eye contact to people going on walks who are walking by the two gaping dirt holes in our lawn. It was starting to get dark.

Dad gets back and we finally start replacing the two sprinkler heads. One was rather straightforward, although it was a pain in the ass to get it to screw on straight. Then we have to replace the dirt, and put the concrete donut back in place, continuing to put dirt and sod tucked in close to everything so it doesn't move.

The second one had a part of the previous sprinkler broken off into the pipe. I try for probably 10 minutes to try to get the piece out with what tools I had, but it was stuck tight. Cylinder inside a cylinder, yknow. I go back inside, grab a couple of knives bc idk which is best for cutting the pipe, and ask my mom to come outside and bring a flashlight to hold.

Dad starts cutting the pipe, mom's holding the flashlight, and finally the pipe gets cut and we can start putting the new sprinkler in place. Same as last time, dirt and sod and the concrete donut back in place.

Then we could finally go and check the sprinklers again, switching them on and off and trying to get each section to come on so we could make sure we put the new ones in right. They came on, and the sprinklers were all put in the correct direction. The only thing we'd have to change is the distance which the water from the sprinkler covers. It shoots too far haha

Came inside, dad took his shower, I took my shower, I fed the dogs, and now I'm finally able to chill for the night =u=

He wants to change the sprinkler distance tomorrow, and I think he might want to replace the last two sprinklers tomorrow, too. We'll see.

#missy rambles

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avant-hope · 9 months

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Not Too Much on Martin

NOTE: This post is a behemoth with a ton of pictures, hyperlinks, and text. It will probably crash your phone if you are in app.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Was a Black, Baptist Preacher and Civil Rights Leader born January 15th, 1929 [we love a Capricorn here] in one of the Blackest cities on the planet: Atlanta, Georgia. He is known to the world as the man who gave the I Have a Dream speech, went to jail for the cause a few times, led some marches, and most notably, ended racism. More importantly than ending racism, he did all these things through completely non-violent means.

This white-washed understanding of Dr. King is so incredibly pervasive that it also persists within the Black community. My aunt has this absolutely absurd hyperrealist drawing that I grew up looking at depicting Martin Luther King Jr. Beside Barack Obama that sort of looked like this:

Image ID: Disembodied images of Barack Obama and Martin Luther King Jr. Beside one another in Black and white

This post isn’t about Obama, but at a certain age, I started looking at that photo with some contempt. Martin Luther King Jr. was probably rolling in his grave being depicted as a guardian angel of one of the most vicious American war criminals of all time. Placing him in the cultural Overton window as so was probably easy because he’s dead and can’t speak for himself to dispel this nonsense, so I’m here to do it today.

Dr. King gave his most famous speech I Have a Dream, on August 28th, 1963 during the March on Washington For Jobs and Freedom, or the Great March on Washington for short. The speech was delivered at the foot of the Lincoln Memorial.

Within the context of what we as a nation believe about it and Dr. King and I Have a Dream today [how he’s discussed in schools, in speeches, and on the news] large sections of the speech are missing from the cultural Overton Window. Of the five refrains of “I have a dream…” within the speech, I personally have only seen up to two of them mentioned, those being the ones where he talks about wanting white and Black children to be able to go to school together, and the “not by the color of their skin but the content of their character” part.

Alongside the refrains being cut out, there’s also the top half of the speech where he says some things that were probably considered inflammatory in the moment:

“There will be no rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.” - Dr. King, August 25th, 1968. I Have a Dream.

This speech has been instrumental in minimizing Dr. King’s revolutionary action and ideology in part because aside from containing minimal critique of white America and being inspiring, the speech also takes several moments to gesture away from physical violence.

He spends so much time insisting that violence is bad probably to avoid getting SHOT and still, even those parts of his speech go unrecognized except for the one time you had to read it in 5th grade. He was still listed as an adversary of the FBI, enduring smear campaigns, and listed as a possible "Black Messiah" in COINTELPRO, a document written by J Edgar Hoover with the express motive of illegally undermining Black Liberation efforts.

Image ID: Redacted COINTELPRO document proposing exposing Jean Seberg's pregnancy to tarnish her reputation.

Malcolm X was also listed as a possible Black Messiah in COINTELPRO, though they note him as a martyr for the Black cause; someone who fucked around and found out—

“Prevent the RISE OF A “MESSIAH” who could unify, and electrify, the militant black nationalist movement. Malcolm X might have been such a “messiah;” he is the martyr of the movement today.” - J. Edgar Hoover, COINTELPRO

Martin Luther King is mentioned within the same bullet point, though, the FBI considered him more respectable and "obedient" at the time.

Now within the context of the public eye, they are at odds with one another, specifically on the subject of violence, or militancy. Where Malcolm X promoted the By any means necessary line of thought, Dr. King was an incredible admirer and student of the famously non-violent Mahatma Gandhi.

Image ID: Dr. King standing at his desk overlooked by a portrait of Mahatma Gandhi

Positioning them as enemies within the ballpark of the civil rights movement is wholly unfair to both of their ideologies, though. While their opinions differed on what uses of force was appropriate within their freedom struggles, Dr. King never openly denounced the act of rioting, nor did he insist upon "law and order." Instead, he sought to uplift his non-violent tactics in hopes that they could further the civil rights movement. And even then, he is quite regularly quoted by leftists stating that “A riot is the language of the unheard," in the often discarded The Other America

All of this discussion of nonviolence so that they can ignore one of the core reasons why Martin Luther King Jr. deserves to be revered as a fallen leftist, regardless of his stance on reform or violent revolution:

“So today capitalism has outlived its usefulness. It has brought about a system that takes necessities from the masses to give luxuries to the classes. . . . Our economic system is going through a radical change, and certainly this change is needed. I would certainly welcome the day to come when there will be a nationalization of industry.” - Dr. King, early letter to Coretta Scott King

This quote doesn’t necessarily mean that Dr. King was an Anarcho-Syndicalist or Maoist-Third-Worldist or Marxist-Leninist or whatever you are. While he did lean towards Marxist ideals and away, he rejected the worldly understandings within dialectical materialism and replaced it with his religious understandings.

Typically a point of contention or a big no-no amongst many Marxists, this reworking of Marxist ideals into something that has a place within a religious understanding of the world has a historical home within the Black community. Whether it be through the NOI, the Baptist church, or any other predominantly Black congregation, Black people in the U.S. have had to mesh together Anti-Racism, Religion, and Class warfare with one another in order to believe in Black people’s ability to survive this country.

We have had to form our own Avant-Guard movement in which anti-racism, anti-capitalism, anti-imperialism, and the like have all been entrenched with one another after being rejected or put second by white leftists.

While he is most definitely not the first to do this, Dr. King deserves to be celebrated by using his belief as a lightning rod to guide large portions of the Black community to a wider ideology of liberation.

#civil rights #martin luther king jr #leftist #anti capitalism #antiracism #brushing up on reading about COINTELPRO actually ruining my week #This is actually one of my finals so I hope you found it nutritionally dense with information

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prophbuilds · 2 years

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SDCS RX-78-2 Gundam (Gundam Base Colors) - First Build of 2023

First build of the year is one I'm more than familiar with yet still somehow managed to trip me up. I have a love of the Super Deformed Cross Silhouette line of Gunpla so, when the recent online Gundam event came up, I decided to toss a special color version in with another order I had. After a bit of waiting, that order came in a couple of days before the writing of this and I couldn’t wait to get started.

Without further ado… here's the write up for my SDCS RX-78 Gundam (Gundam Base Colors).

The basic unboxing was pretty standard. Seeing this is like my… 7th(?) SDCS kit and my 5th RX-78, I was well versed in this and had a solid idea as to what to expect… or so I thought. o.O

Things this very nice blue kit did right:

1) No extra parts. Both the book and the runner only had the basic larger CS-style frame. It seems to be a standard runner – the A2 runner – and it lacked any of the smaller SD parts to make this particular kit the smaller version that find in other Cross Silhouette kits.

2) The colors! I knew this was the “Gundam Base” version of the kit. This means it’s rocking a lot of blue tones. The main hue being a very nice dark blue. I have a G-Base colored Haro so I Kinda’ knew what to expect but those kits are just funky ball-shaped mascots. This looks Way better with the bright white armor parts offset against the weird grayish off-white of the frame most RX-78’s I’ve built have come with. The key is a cornflower blue (a light blueish purple) that was used for the chest vents and hip panels. It makes the whole thing work. = )

What it did wrong:

1) Still just the old RX-78 runners. It may have nicer colors but it’s still the old runner. This means you will need some cutters to take off the hands and the beam rifle. They bumped up those connections beyond the rest of the kits and it’s impossible to simply pop off like the rest of the pieces.

2) No extra parts. See… I did a broadcast for this and I always make a backup recording for possible time-lapse shenanigans. When I got the leg section of the build, I noticed I have one less foot frame part. I thought it had fell off the runner in transit and I yeeted it into the middle distance when I went to move the bags out of the way. Nope! It was missing from the start. Having the SD parts would’ve actually been a Good thing this time around.

Time for a sweet Photo Montage! = D

With a little luck, I managed to dig out some replacement feet frame parts and fix that aspect of the kit. It was a fun little build that came out great. Being a straight build, I stuck (Ha!) to just the included stickers. I did keep to a long running tradition with my kits and left the stickers off of the shield. The cross is supposed to be in that cornflower blue like the chest vents and skirt panels. It’s just that it’s a very complex set of tickers to cover that complex shape. I rarely use complex stickers on my kits as they never live up to a nice paint job or, like in this case, the raw plastic. I also left off the Gundam Base branding ‘cause… yeah. I like the shop and their choice of colors. I have no intention of slapping their logo on my Gundam. It makes it feel like an 80’s plastic smock and mask costume kit where you’re not dressed as Orko from Masters of the Universe. You’re dressed as Orko wearing a shirt with his face on it for some odd reason. o.o

Needless to say... this is going to be part of my desk toys alongside my (now fixed) G-3 kit. I Might just see if I can max out this frame and get the expansions for it. That will make it ever-so-slightly taller and give it a more mobile set of hips. A task for a later date.

Anyhoo! If You want a neat little G-Base exclusive SDCS RX-78 kit of your own... you might be out of luck unless you can make it over to Tokyo, know someone who can or P-Bandai adds it to their next Gundam Online sale.

#Gunpla #MS Gundam #SD #SDCS #RX-78-2 Gundam #Gundam Base Colors #Straight Build

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reanimatedcourier · 4 years

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How to Write Indigenous Characters Without Looking like a Jackass:

Update as of December 26th, 2020: I have added a couple new sections about naming and legal terms, as well as a bit of reading on the Cherokee Princess phenomenon.

Boozhoo (hello) Fallout fandom! I'm a card-carrying Anishinaabe delivering this rough guide about writing Indigenous characters because wow, do I see a lot of shit.

Let's get something out of the way first: Fallout's portrayal of Indigenous people is racist. From a vague definition of "tribal" to the claims of them being "savage" and "uncivilized" mirror real-world stereotypes used to dehumanize us. Fallout New Vegas' narrated intro has Ron Perlman saying Mr. House "rehabilitated" tribals to create New Vegas' Three Families. You know. Rehabilitate. As if we are animals. Top it off with an erasure of Indigenous people in the American Southwest and no real tribe names, and you've got some pretty shitty representation. The absence of Native American as a race option in the GECK isn't too great, given that two Native characters are marked "Caucasian" despite being brown. Butch Deloria is a pretty well-known example of this effect. (Addendum: Indigenous people can have any mix of dominant and recessive traits, as well as present different phenotypes. What bothers me is it doesn't accommodate us or mixed people, which is another post entirely.)

As a precautionary warning: this post and the sources linked will discuss racism and genocide. There will also be discussion of multiple kinds of abuse.

Now, your best approach will be to pick a nation or tribe and research them. However, what follows will be general references.

Terms that may come up in your research include Aboriginal/Native Canadian, American Indian/Native American, Inuit, Métis, and Mestizo. The latter two refer to cultural groups created after the discovery of the so-called New World. (Addendum made September 5th, 2020: Mestizo has negative connotations and originally meant "half breed" so stick with referring to your mixed Latine and Indigenous characters as mixed Indigenous or simply by the name of their people [Maya, Nahua].)

As a note, not every mixed person is Métis or Mestizo. If you are, say, Serbian and Anishinaabe, you would be mixed, but not Métis (the big M is important here, as it refers to a specific culture). Even the most liberal definition caps off at French and British ancestry alongside Indigenous (some say Scottish and English). Mestizo works the same, since it refers to descendants of Spanish conquistadors/settlers and Indigenous people.

Trouble figuring out whose land is where? No problem, check out this map.

Drawing

Don't draw us with red skin. It's offensive and stereotypical.

Tutorial for Native Skintones

Tutorial for Mixed Native Skintones

Why Many Natives Have Long Hair (this would technically fit better under another category, but give your Native men long hair!)

If You're Including Traditional Wear, Research! It's Out There

Languages

Remember, there are a variety of languages spoken by Indigenous people today. No two tribes will speak the same language, though there are some that are close and may have loan words from each other (Cree and Anishinaabemowin come to mind). Make sure your Diné (you may know them as Navajo) character doesn't start dropping Cree words.

Here's a Site With a Map and Voice Clips

Here's an Extensive List of Amerindian Languages

Keep in mind there are some sounds that have no direct English equivalents. But while we're at it, remember a lot of us speak English, French, Spanish, or Portuguese. The languages of the countries that colonized us.

Words in Amerindian languages tend to be longer than English ones and are in the format of prefix + verb + suffix to get concepts across. Gaawiin miskwaasinoon is a complete sentence in Anishinaabemowin, for example (it is not red).

Names

Surprisingly, we don't have names like Passing Dawn or Two-Bears-High-Fiving in real life. A lot of us have, for lack of better phrasing, white people names. We may have family traditions of passing a name down from generation to generation (I am the fourth person in my maternal line to have my middle name), but not everyone is going to do that. If you do opt for a name from a specific tribe, make sure you haven't chosen a last name from another tribe.

Baby name sites aren't reliable, because most of the names on there will be made up by people who aren't Indigenous. That site does list some notable exceptions and debunks misconceptions.

Here's a list of last names from the American census.

Indian Names

You may also hear "spirit names" because that's what they are for. You know the sort of mystical nature-related name getting slapped on an Indigenous character? Let's dive into that for a moment.

The concept of a spirit name seems to have gotten mistranslated at some point in time. It is the name Creator calls you throughout all your time both here and in the spirit world. These names are given (note the word usage) to you in a ceremony performed by an elder. This is not done lightly.

A lot of imitations of this end up sounding strange because they don't follow traditional guidelines. (I realize this has spread out of the original circle, but Fallout fans may recall other characters in Honest Hearts and mods that do this. They have really weird and racist results.)

If you're not Indigenous: don't try this. You will be wrong.

Legal Terms

Now, sometimes the legal term (or terms) for a tribe may not be what they refer to themselves as. A really great example of this would be the Oceti Sakowin and "Sioux". How did that happen, you might be wondering. Smoky Mountain News has an article about this word and others, including the history of these terms.

For the most accurate information, you are best off having your character refer to themselves by the name their nation uses outside of legislation. A band name would be pretty good for this (Oglala Lakota, for example). I personally refer to myself by my band.

Cowboys

And something the Fallout New Vegas fans might be interested in, cowboys! Here's a link to a post with several books about Black and Indigenous cowboys in the Wild West.

Representation: Stereotypes and Critical Thought

Now, you'll need to think critically about why you want to write your Indigenous character a certain way. Here is a comprehensive post about stereotypes versus nuance.

Familiarize yourself with tropes. The Magical Indian is a pretty prominent one, with lots of shaman-type characters in movies and television shows. This post touches on its sister tropes (The Magical Asian and The Magical Negro), but is primarily about the latter.

Say you want to write an Indigenous woman. Awesome! Characters I love to see. Just make sure you're aware of the stereotypes surrounding her and other Women of Color.

Word to the wise: do not make your Indigenous character an alcoholic. "What, so they can't even drink?" You might be asking. That is not what I'm saying. There is a pervasive stereotype about Drunk Indians, painting a reaction to trauma as an inherent genetic failing, as stated in this piece about Indigenous social worker Jessica Elm's research. The same goes for drugs. Ellen Deloria is an example of this stereotype.

Familiarize yourself with and avoid the Noble Savage trope. This was used to dehumanize us and paint us as "childlike" for the sake of a plot device. It unfortunately persists today.

Casinos are one of the few ways for tribes to make money so they can build homes and maintain roads. However, some are planning on diversifying into other business ventures.

There's a stereotype where we all live off government handouts. Buddy, some of these long-term boil water advisories have been in place for over twenty years. The funding allocated to us as a percentage is 0.39%: less than half a percent to fight the coronavirus. They don't give us money.

"But what about people claiming to be descended from a Cherokee princess?" Cherokee don't and never had anything resembling princesses. White southerners made that up prior to the Civil War. As the article mentions, they fancied themselves "defending their lands as the Indians did".

Also, don't make your Indigenous character a cannibal. Cannibalism is a serious taboo in a lot of our cultures, particularly northern ones.

Our lands are not cursed. We don't have a litany of curses to cast on white people in found footage films. Seriously. We have better things to be doing. Why on earth would our ancestors be haunting you when they could be with their families? Very egotistical assumption.

Indigenous Ties and Blood Quantum

Blood quantum is a colonial system that was initially designed to "breed out the Indian" in people. To dilute our bloodlines until we assimilated properly into white society. NPR has an article on it here.

However, this isn't how a vast majority of us define our identities. What makes us Indigenous is our connections (or reconnection) to our families, tribes, bands, clans, and communities.

Blood quantum has also historically been used to exclude Black Natives from tribal enrollment, given that it was first based on appearance. So, if you looked Black and not the image of "Indian" the white census taker had in his brain, you were excluded and so were your descendants.

Here are two tumblrs that talk about Black Indigenous issues and their perspectives. They also talk about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people of Australia.

However, if you aren't Indigenous, don't bring up blood quantum. Don't. This is an issue you should not be speaking about.

Cherokee Princess Myth

"Princess" was not a real position in any tribe. The European idea of monarchy did not suddenly manifest somewhere else. The closest probable approximation may have been the daughter of a chief or other politically prominent person. But princess? No.

Here is an article talking about possible origins of this myth. Several things are of note here: women from other tribes may have bee shoved under this label and the idea of a "Cherokee Princess" had been brought up to explain the sudden appearance of a brown-skinned (read: half Black) family member.

For a somewhat more in depth discussion of why, specifically, this myth gets touted around so often, Timeline has this piece.

Religion

Our religions are closed. We are not going to tell you how we worship. Mostly because every little bit we choose to share gets appropriated. Smudging is the most recent example. If you aren't Indigenous, that's smoke cleansing. Smudging is done in a specific way with ceremonies and prayers.

Now, a lot of us were forcibly converted. Every residential school was run by Christians. So plenty of us are Catholic, Baptist, Anglican, Lutheran, etc. Catholicism in Latin America also has influence from the Indigenous religions in that region.

Having your Indigenous character pray or carry rosaries wouldn't be a bad thing, if that religion was important to them. Even if they are atheist, if they lived outside of a reserve or other Indigenous communities, they might have Christian influences due to its domination of the Western world.

Settler Colonialism and the White Savior Trope

Now we've come to our most painful section yet. Fallout unintentionally has an excellent agent of settler-colonialism, in particular the Western Christian European variety, in Caesar's Legion and Joshua Graham.

(Addendum: Honest Hearts is extremely offensive in its portrayal of Indigenous people, and egregiously shows a white man needing to "civilize" tribals and having to teach them basic skills. These skills include cooking, finding safe water, and defending themselves from other tribes.)

Before we dive in, here is a post explaining the concept of cultural Christianity, if you are unfamiliar with it.

We also need to familiarize ourselves with The White Man's Burden. While the poem was written regarding the American-Philippine war, it still captures the attitudes toward Indigenous folks all over the world at the time.

As this article in Teen Vogue points out, white people like to believe they need to save People of Color. You don't need to. People of Color can save themselves.

Now, cultural Christianity isn't alone on this side of the pond. Writer Teju Cole authored a piece on the White Savior Industrial Complex to describe mission trips undertaken by white missionaries to Africa to feed their egos.

Colonialism has always been about the acquisition of wealth. To share a quote from this paper about the ongoing genocide of Indigenous peoples: "Negatively, [settler colonialism] strives for the dissolution of native societies. Positively, it erects a new colonial society on the expropriated land base—as I put it, settler colonizers come to stay: invasion is a structure not an event. In its positive aspect, elimination is an organizing principal of settler-colonial society rather than a one-off (and superseded) occurrence. The positive outcomes of the logic of elimination can include officially encouraged miscegenation, the breaking-down of native title into alienable individual freeholds, native citizenship, child abduction, religious conversion, resocialization in total institutions such as missions or boarding schools, and a whole range of cognate biocultural assimilations. All these strategies, including frontier homicide, are characteristic of settler colonialism. Some of them are more controversial in genocide studies than others." (Positive, here, is referring to "benefits" for the colonizers. Indigenous people don't consider colonization beneficial.)

An example of a non-benefit, the Church Rock disaster had Diné children playing in radioactive water so the company involved could avoid bad publicity.

Moving on, don't sterilize your Indigenous people. Sterilization, particularly when it is done without consent, has long been used as a tool by the white system to prevent "undesirables" (read, People of Color and disabled people) from having children. Somehow, as of 2018, it wasn't officially considered a crime.

The goal of colonization was to eliminate us entirely. Millions died because of exposure to European diseases. Settlers used to and still do separate our children from us for reasons so small as having a dirty dish in the sink. You read that right, a single dirty dish in your kitchen sink was enough to get your children taken and adopted out to white families. This information was told to me by an Indigenous social work student whose name I will keep anonymous.

It wasn't until recently they made amendments to the Indian Act that wouldn't automatically render Indigenous women non-status if they married someone not Indigenous. It also took much too long for Indigenous families to take priority in child placement over white ones. Canada used to adopt Indigenous out to white American families. The source for that statement is further down, but adoption has been used as a tool to destroy cultures.

I am also begging you to cast aside whatever colonialist systems have told you about us. We are alive. People with a past, not people of the past, which was wonderfully said here by Frank Waln.

Topics to Avoid if You Aren't Indigenous

Child Separation. Just don't. We deserve to remain with our families and our communities. Let us stay together and be happy that way.

Assimilation schools. Do not bring up a tool for cultural genocide that has left lasting trauma in our communities.

W/ndigos. I don't care that they're in Fallout 76. They shouldn't be. Besides, you never get them right anyway.

Sk/nwalkers. Absolutely do not. Diné stories are not your playthings either.

I've already talked about drugs and alcohol. Do your research with compassion and empathy in mind. Indigenous people have a lot of pain and generational trauma. You will need to be extremely careful having your Indigenous characters use drugs and alcohol. If your character can be reduced to their (possible) substance abuse issues, you need to step back and rework it. As mentioned in Jessica Elm's research, remember that it isn't inherent to us.

For our final note: remember that we're complex, autonomous human beings. Don't use our deaths to further the stories of your white characters. Don't reduce us to some childlike thing that needs to be raised and civilized by white characters. We interact with society a little differently than you do, but we interact nonetheless.

Meegwetch (thank you) for reading! Remember to do your research and portray us well, but also back off when you are told by an Indigenous person.

This may be updated in the future, it depends on what information I come across or, if other Indigenous people are so inclined, what is added to this post.

#fallout 3 #fallout 4 #fallout 76 #fallout new vegas #fallout 1 #fallout 2 #fallout: new vegas #ozhibii'ige

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kudouusagi · 3 years

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Voice actor event!

So they just uploaded this art for the voice actor event on the official website and put up some basic information.

As we know it’s happening July 4th. There are two sessions one starting at 3pm and one starting at 6:20pm.

The voice actors participating are Hatanaka Tasuku(Reki), Kobayashi Chiaki(Langa), Nagatsuka Takuma(Miya), Miyake Kenta(Shadow), Midorikawa Hikaru(Cherry), and Matsumoto Yasunori(Joe). Yusuke from HIGH and MIGHTY COLOR(singer of Reki’s theme song) and ASH DA HERO(singer of Langa’s theme song) will be there too.

Tickets to attend the event in person are:

General admission: 6,980円

General admission with merch ticket: 11,480円

The merch you get with the merch tickets are: First session: event pamphlet and A5 size illustration board of Reki and Langa Second session: event pamphlet and A5 size illustration board of high school ADAM, Cherry, and Joe

They did mention during the niconico commentary that they would be streaming the event on niconico but so far no other details of that have been released.

Edit: I swear they updated the page because there’s now a section about live streaming lol....

They will stream the events at the same times as the events through Vimeo. They will only be up on the website until the 5th at midnight.

The tickets are not going on sale until June 26th but it will be 3,500円 to watch. There is also a merch ticket for the live stream events that costs 5,500円. I assume they will not ship the merch overseas so you’ll probably need a Japanese address if you want the merch. It looks like the event pamphlet doesn’t come with the steaming ticket but the other merch is the same.

(I don’t know how the streaming will work for people overseas... it’s possible that it will be region locked and you’ll need a VPN to watch it so if you want to buy a ticket be aware that it might be difficult for you to watch)

There’s a hidden art of them without the masks!

#Sk8 #sk8 the infinity

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chickawah23 · 2 years

Note

So do you think those dates (3/14 and 12/19) in the mother’s day merch video are significant? 👀

Of course it means something lol.

Let’s go through some possible meanings:

15 years 9 months and 5 days between those moments

The month and days could be pointing to 9 albums 5th album coming next (1989 tv)

The Best Day (Taylor’s Version) lyric video time stamps for those clips she used

The easter bunny March 14th clips are at the 0:08-0:09 second mark (possible 1989 tv hint again)

The car ride December 19th time stamp clip is at the 2:01-2:03 min mark. (2 seconds)

The walkietalkie set clip is at the 2:04-2:07 min mark. (3 seconds)

2+3=5 (possible 1989 tv hint again)

The time that elapsed between those two clips 0:08-2:07 equals 1:59 seconds.

This one feels like the 15 years 9 months 5 again. The repeating of those particular numbers. 5th album.

But if you do the count just to the end of the December 19th clip it is 0:08-2:03 which is 1:55 seconds which still gives the same vibes of 5th album.

The part of the song used for the whole merch video points to 1989 tv too “don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away...”

That section of The Best Day (TV) lyric video has the clip of the birds.

That clip just always reminded me of the 1989 cover

The use of lavender (purple) is noteworthy but also the color blue feels very prominent in the collection.

Plus the picture with Mama Andrea holding the flower is in black and white while the flower is “in screaming color.”

The wording and spacing of the “I had the BEST DAY” collection is 5 words. Then everywhere else is 8 words

She’s giving away a 5 card stationary set. And then 5 other items.

So Idk could be 1989 tv. It could be nothing. It could be speak now tv. It could be debut tv. Who knows. 🤡🤷‍♀️

youtube

#anons #easter eggs

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mimik-u · 4 years

Text

Flower Child, Chapter 19 (Blue IV)

AO3 Link

Thursday, July 5th, 8:38AM:

Blue: Hello, Steven… how are you this morning?

Steven: tired.

Blue: I’m sorry.

Blue: Is there anything I can do?

Steven: no

Steven: I don’t think so

With one hand, Blue Diamond held her phone aloft and read Steven’s bare reply again and again. And with the other, she gently massaged her aching right hip, kneading her spiny knuckles gently over the bone beneath the thin layer of her nightgown.

She’d slept on it the wrong way.

Had tossed and turned all night, nightmaring.

And she didn’t need a psychoanalyst to tell her what it meant that her dead daughter erupted from a wilting hibiscus flower before transforming into Steven Universe, who dissolved into petals as she tried to cling onto them both—her smile, his laugh, her freckles, his hair, all crumbling beneath her fingertips into pollen and pieces. Pearl’s words echoed in the dark chapel of her own head as she gathered the petals in her palms: “Start with a flower and a smile, perhaps.”

Help him, Blue.

Don’t look away.

(You’ve always been so good at looking away.)

In the end, she laid her phone facedown on the bed and rubbed her sore hip in the curtained darkness of her room for a few minutes longer. It was unclear to herself whether she was trying to soothe the pain or grate it in just a mica deeper, one sensitive knuckle movement at a time.

Either way, she was only giving herself what she deserved.

Relief.

Injury.

And perhaps both at the exact same time.

A cocktail of them both—shaken, not stirred.

It was only when the alarm clock on the bedside table indicated that ten minutes had passed in silence and arthritic torture that she endeavored to apprehend her cane with both hands, violently wrenching herself into a standing position, briefly throwing her world into dizzying spirals. Blue closed her eyes against the initial nausea and told herself that she had to go on.

In so many more ways than just simply one.

She glanced fleetingly at the hibiscus that still remained on her nightstand, now withered around the edges, now graying, and thought to herself that perhaps she could save it if she acted fast, pressing it between the pages of a favorite book—an Austen, a Homer, a Kierkegaard.

Preserving it.

Start with a flower and a smile, perhaps.

Help him, Blue.

Don’t look away.

The sounds of her cane were muffled in the carpet as she made a detour to the bathroom to grab her robe, pulling on the worn garment like an old friend, the collar flush against her long neck. And then, her movements as stiff as they were laborious, she made her way from the bathroom back to the bedroom and then into the vast, empty hall—at the end of which the living room was framed in an arch of white, morning light.

Clank, she barely glanced at the door leading into the study because she knew Yellow wouldn’t be in there.

The door was completely closed, which was a telltale sign in and of itself.

Clank.

Assorted images from the previous evening sifted through her head like grains of falling sand, salting her unsettled thoughts as she moved forward, her bare feet tracing the smooth wooden planks.

Clank.

They had sat in the backseat together on the car ride home from the hospital yesterday and dared to hold hands, fingers intertwining, palms touching.

Lifelines.

Yellow was as warm as Blue was cold, the gathering of their skin simply electric.

Clank.

The sky outside the tinted glass windows had been the precise shade of a bruised peach—gold around the edges and a darker amber within. There were cream colored clouds that swirled and swirled through the ripening sky, becoming milky wisps in the places where they spread too thin.

Blue stared upwards into these vaulting heavens and thought fleetingly about beauty, how it could come from the most mundane of places.

In the continuous cycles of an ever-changing sky.

In children who gave flowers to random strangers at cemeteries.

In laughter.

In sadness.

Even in grief.

The fading light dusted the crown of her wife’s blonde head.

A slight frown pulled at her lips.

And there was great beauty and great sadness in this, too.

Paradoxes and contradictions.

“What are you thinking about?” Blue had asked, absently skimming her thumb along the side of Yellow’s hand, tracing every line, relearning every divot and groove.

“My luck,” Yellow returned in that familiar dry voice of hers. “That wreck could have been… disastrous.”

“Yes.” The word was hushed in her throat, cloistered, the possibilities that it engendered too much to bear: Yellow injured, Yellow dying, Yellow gone. The worst hypothetical had never felt more real to her than in the handful of hours that had elapsed between her doorbell ringing and rushing to the hospital in the dead of night.

With Pink, there had been no likewise chance.

No hospital to go to.

Only a morgue.

“Did… what’s her name… you know—the new valet—did she make it out alright? I forgot to ask.”

“She did,” Blue confirmed with a small nod. “Topaz—I mean. Only a few cuts on her face from what I understood. I gave her a temporary leave of absence.”

“Good,” Yellow sighed, relief palpable in her low voice. “Excellent.”

Her frown incrementally shifted, becoming the barest of smiles.

Subtle.

Almost easy to miss.

Clank.

They had ascended the elevator side by side, too, Yellow pulling her special keycard out from the pocket of her immaculately pressed shirt with fumbling fingers, and Blue could tell that she was tired by this uncharacteristic clumsiness alone.

“Let me,” she whispered before gently apprehending the card and slotting it into the reader that would grant them immediate access to their floor.

It was a tiny kindness.

Somehow, it was far more than that, too.

Yellow stared at her, eyes wide, and said, “Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Blue murmured, a dull flush coloring her cheeks as she returned the card, slipping it back to where it belonged.

The doors opened slowly, welcoming the Diamonds home.

Clank.

Blue had insisted that Yellow sleep in the bed, that she needed a good night’s rest after all that she had been through, but Yellow was infuriatingly stubborn to the last—intransigent, inflexible, chivalrous—protesting that she didn’t want to aggravate Blue’s hip problem.

She’d be fine on the couch.

It only hit her later that night, as she laid in that bed that was much too big for her, that she could have invited her wife to come to bed with her.

But the thought scared her as much as it intrigued her.

She pushed it to the side, tabling it for a later date.

(Coward.)

Clank.

The living room was dressed in a pale sunshine coat when Blue finally arrived at the very edge of it, her oceanic eyes washing over the scene until they lit upon Yellow Diamond, stretched beneath a thin blanket on the white couch, fast asleep, soft snores emitting from her half-open mouth.

In the hours that had elapsed, her wounds didn’t appear as angry as they had done yesterday, and there was already a little discoloration around the edges of her stitches that suggested that they were already beginning to do the complicated work of healing—as transitory wounds tended to do.

Blue lifted the bottom of her cane now so it no longer thudded against the floor with each slow and deliberate footfall; she could retain her balance for that long, or, if she couldn’t, then she’d very well know it was likely time she had that hip replacement her physician kept threatening at each of her successive appointments.

But she didn’t waver.

Didn’t fall.

Miraculously refrained from breaking.

Long enough to reach the creamy ottoman in front of the couch, which Yellow had apparently used in lieu of a nightstand. Her reading glasses were folded neatly atop of yesterday’s copy of The Empire City Times, the crossword section right side up.

She’d almost finished it, lacking only two-across: ANTONYM OF CRUELTY.

And the answer, Blue Diamond could plainly see, was grace.

Fondness for her wife, exquisite and painful tenderness, unexpectedly erupted in the column of her throat—a rush of love, a flurrying sensation, spreading all over, both trickling water and raging fire, paradoxes and contradictions. And suddenly, all impulse, thought swept away by feeling, feeling unknotting her hesitant bones, Blue gingerly bent down and brushed the sharp line of Yellow’s jaw where sunlight had already scribbled itself in patches. She was a child running curious fingers along the edge of a forbidden shelf. She was a butterfly tentatively skimming a blade of grass. She was a broken mother trying to learn how to be unbroken again. She was a loving wife.

She hadn’t been intending to wake her—had only wanted to touch—but somewhere in the space of four awful years, Yellow had apparently learned to be a light sleeper. Her golden eyes flew open at the gesture, catching Blue in the act.

“Blue,” she murmured, shocked, disbelieving, as though she wasn’t entirely convinced that she wasn’t dreaming. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Blue returned softly and at least had enough decency to look ashamed. (For what exactly? She wasn’t necessarily sure. Somehow, she just knew that it was a very shameful thing to touch her wife. To caress her gently after so many days and months and years of having not done it.) “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no,” Yellow protested, sitting up abruptly to make room for Blue on the half-rumpled couch. The movement must have been too sudden for her sore body because she briefly winced, glancing downwards at her leg. “I should be getting up anyway. What time is it anyway? Seven? Seven-thirty?”

Blue remembered the timestamp that had accompanied Steven’s last message, and a frown bruised her lips as she slowly lowered herself by her wife’s side, balancing herself on the head of her cane.

“Closer to nine, I believe.”

Yellow blinked once, disbelief turning to cross bemusement in the slightest shift of her brow as she searched for the truth in her wife’s long face.

“Seriously?”

“More or less.” Blue’s lips slightly rippled, and Yellow shook her head with disgust, the emotion snarling across her weathered face.

“I haven’t slept in past eight since I was in college,” she muttered, pushing a hand through her sleep-straggled hair. “Goodness, that’s unusual.”

“You were exhausted,” Blue proffered immediately, as though this was explanation and excuse enough, but Yellow only shook her head again, refusing her own defense just as quickly as Blue had risen to it.

“Not anymore than usual,” came the stubborn reply. There wasn’t argument in her voice, so much as there was an edge, inwardly pointed.

Because that was the thing about Yellow Diamond.

She saved her sharpest words for herself, lancing her own criticisms deep into her skin in order to forcibly teach herself how to do better the next day. Blue knew better than to challenge her when she did this, for Yellow did enough challenging to herself.

So she looked away and allowed Yellow to punish herself and lapsed into contemplative silence, thinking about Steven again, threading her fingers together on top of her robed lap: his sunken face, his lachrymose messages, his careworn caretakers, and all of their collectively haunted eyes. Even glancing out onto the sun-warmed balcony was enough to conjure the image of him sitting beside her in the chair that usually belonged to Yellow and eating one of Holly Agatha’s famous chocolate cakes.

The one he would later throw up.

Because he was sick.

Terribly so.

“Blue?” Yellow’s voice was soft, prodding, hesitant, awkward—full of all the dichotomies and contradictions that their relationship seemed to have been built on these last four years. They both loved each other.

Surely.

Deeply.

Beyond a shadow of a doubt.

They were equally afraid to say it aloud.

“Is something troubling you?”

Blue’s turned away from the balcony and faced her wife again—the stitches on her sharply hewn jaw, the complicated emotions in her golden eyes, the sharp set of her frown—and wondered what would happen if she simply told her the truth, if she laid it nakedly between them and simply waited for a response.

It was terrifying to be vulnerable with another.

Somehow, in the midst of everything, she remembered that it was necessary.

“Steven Universe,” she finally whispered, the name less like a name and more like a confession, gently handed over between the sliding partition in a wooden booth. “I’m worried about him. I talked to one of his guardians yesterday, and he isn’t… doing well.”

Yellow’s face grappled with the news, appearing far more stricken than Blue could have ever expected of her.

When she frowned, the lines beneath her eyes darkened and creased, making her appear ancient.

Haunted.

“I know,” she said unexpectedly.

“You do?” Blue couldn’t help herself—she arched an incredulous brow, and her wife’s cheeks promptly colored in response, the pink feathering the sickly purple of her bruises. It wasn’t a particularly handsome effect.

“I met him the other night,” she muttered, a little impish, a little stiff, glancing away. “I was curious. I wanted to know what he looked like.”

Blue didn’t know what was more astonishing—the fact that Yellow had visited Steven in the first place or the miraculousness of her actually admitting to it so plainly. Neither action seemed particularly characteristic to a woman who attempted to subjugate all of her emotions beneath the sleeves of her immaculately ironed shirt.

But she could see the truth of the words in the tense sobriety of her profile.

And she knew, from experience, that as astonishingly unlikely as it was for Yellow Diamond to visit a sickly child in the hospital, it was even less likely that she would lie about it in the first place.

And so Blue did what she could to collect her face, but she was fairly sure that trace remnants of her surprise still remained because her wife scoffed, the color of her cheekbones still a rosé red, sweet and mild.

“You don’t have to look so shocked.”

“I’m… I’m not shocked,” she protested immediately, her own features shading themselves in. “I’m just—”

But Blue Diamond, eloquent though she was, could not find another fitting word, and Yellow Diamond, seemingly despite her better judgment, laughed once, the sound harsh and warm in that airy, light-filled living room.

“Shocked,” she repeated emphatically, shaking her head.

“You’ve disarmed me before I’ve taken my morning tea,” Blue mumbled, a little petulance in her voice, a little play.

“Good,” Yellow sniffed, half-grimacing, half-smiling. “I’m glad to see I can still keep you on your toes.”

And then they both stared at each other—nakedly, unflinchingly—quite painfully aware that they were on the verge of making each other laugh for the first time in years, and the solemnity of the occasion brought them both back to themselves.

Blue frowned so easily that it was only muscle memory, primal reflex.

And Yellow followed suit, the sunlight raking itself across her wounded face.

“And what did you think of him?” Blue asked, both wanting the answer and dreading it. She slightly learned towards her wife; part of her wished to flee; and because she didn’t flee, because she stayed, the contradiction manifested as a twisting of her gut, a turning.

“A little impetuous…” Yellow said immediately, her voice low, distant with memory. “Annoyingly happy… but good, I think. Smart for his age. Kind. He almost reminded me of—”

But she caught herself just in time—stricken, terrified, revolted.

And Blue’s heart nearly failed with the simple proximity of her daughter’s ghost, of the closeness of her nearly evoked name.

But they danced through the horrible moment.

Silently.

Together.

Yellow swallowed thickly, and Blue Diamond was merciful; she gently took her wife’s splinted hand.

“Pink,” she murmured softly, the word, the name, the ghost reverent on her tongue.

Holy.

“Those eyes,” Yellow croaked painfully, folding her fingers into the gaps between Blue’s own. “That wide smile.”

“I know,” Blue whispered. “I know.”

“I can see why you like him, Blue,” she said seriously. “He hooks you in.”

Blue’s mind worked far ahead of her. Even though she didn’t explicitly articulate it, even though she likely never would, it was clear that Yellow was amongst this number.

She liked Steven Universe.

She cared.

“Before you even know it,” she agreed softly. “Before you’re even aware.”

“It’s all so very sudden,” Yellow muttered uncomfortably, frowning, a divot forming between her dark brow.

And Blue thought to herself, very quietly, that that was the nature of love, really.

It was all so very sudden.

And beautiful and extraordinary and rare.

And sad and horrible and tragic.

And lasting.

Even when it happened suddenly.

(Even when it was suddenly taken away.)

“What isn’t in this world?” Blue murmured, and she gently skimmed the side of her wife’s hand with her thumb, watching as this simple revelation played out across her powerful features.

Smoothing them.

Sanding and softening all those rough edges.

“Frankly,” she finally said, smiling a little sadly, “I have no damn clue.”

ii.

Once upon a time, there was a princess, a knight, and a little elven girl, all tucked up in bed together, side by side by side.

Blue ran her fingers through her daughter’s mass of curly hair as she snored lightly. Her tiny hand was curled into the front of Yellow’s pajama shirt, knobbly fingers twisted into the fabric, secure there. She’d fallen asleep protesting the need for sleep, trying to convince her mothers for one story more, and just as Blue had finally conceded—she rarely ever didn’t when it came to Pink—her hooded eyes drifted to a close beneath the gentle lamp-strewn haziness of the room, where she was warm.

Safe.

Loved.

For that was the crucial fact, the fundamental thing—Pink Diamond was loved most of all.

“We’re never going to have a sex life again, are we?” Yellow lamented, slanting a honey-eyed gaze at her wife over the top of Pink’s head.

Amusement in the expression.

Fondness.

Blue laughed lightly and could not help but play along, teasing her body upwards so that she was propped on her elbow, and she could look at her wife properly, drinking in the way she looked at ten o’clock at night, with her hair still a little wet from the shower. There was a certain gentleness in her hawklike face that she tended to eschew during the day around business colleagues, subordinates, and clients, but here, in the safety of their shared bedroom, it had always been implicitly understood that even birds of prey had to roost, too.

“It isn’t too late, you know,” Blue returned, her voice warm, low, suggestive . Yellow had started it after all; it was only fair that she finished. “We can simply move her to her own bed…”

“And chance waking her up again? Hell, no. It was an ordeal just getting her to sleep.”

“The couch is always an option.”

Yellow scoffed imperiously, poking her lips out in a magnificent imitation of her mother’s trademark pout.

“Every time we try that, one of us falls off the damn thing.”

“Hey,” Blue laughed again, causing a heavy strand of hair to fall from where it had been swept from behind her ear, “I wasn’t the one who vouched for hardwood floors.”

Yellow pulled on a faux-offended look like it was one of her favorite ties, dramatically starfishing one of her hands across her chest, exactly where her collared pajama shirt dipped into a vee.

“Well excuse me for thinking that carpet looks outdated.”

“You’re impossible,” Blue smiled gently, shaking her head.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is practical .”

And then, because it was late at night, and they were tired and being stupid, and there was a baby in the bed between them, the two of them caught each other’s eye and couldn’t help themselves, collapsing into laughter that was lovely and loud and ridiculous enough to make Pink briefly stir, her ears twitching irritably at the disturbance.

And then, because this was somehow incredibly funny even though it really, really wasn’t, they laughed some more—silently this time albeit—before eventually flicking off both of their lamps and wrapping their arms around their daughter in the cool darkness, fingers meeting precisely in the middle.

iii.

Friday, July 6th, 9:20AM:

Blue: Hello, Steven. Are you feeling better today?

Blue: If you are, I would love to come visit you again soon.

Steven: not really

Steven: sorry, Blue

Saturday, July 7th, 9:51AM:

Blue: Just checking in, sweet boy. Respond only when you feel up to it.

Blue: And if that’s not at all… that is perfectly okay, too.

They took their tea and coffee out on the balcony, Blue assuming the right armchair and Yellow the left, and somehow, there was both a rightness and a wrongness to these simple actions.

Because this was new.

And yet, achingly familiar.

One week ago today, they danced this same vicious dance, drinking coffee, drinking tea, sitting in these chairs, appropriating a sense of normality that they did not feel. And the memory of their failed ruse swallowed a lot of the precious oxygen in the air, making it hard for either of them to speak. Blue spidered her hand across her sternum, the tips of her long fingers touching spiny collarbone, and tried to remind herself how to breathe.

Yellow was more finicky in her discomfort, her careworn face drawn as she bobbed her left leg up and down, the heel of her slipper flicking arrhythmically against the smooth floor. And the sun that she stared at was the precise color of a healing bruise, pale ochre against a silver sky. And the bruises on her angularly hewn face were mottled in the strange light, pulsing like miniature supernovas, burning, gradually dulling.

“I heard it was going to rain tomorrow,” the businesswoman eventually said, and it was clear from the way that her voice was clipped that she didn’t really want to talk about the weather.

“I saw that, too,” Blue Diamond replied in a low voice. “On the news, I believe.” She had seen no such thing, in fact, but they were talking again, she and Yellow, and that was something that would occasionally take baby steps.

Weather talk.

Mere pleasantries.

Scratching the deep, dark surfaces with fingernails.

But then, because the weather could only take them so far, they lapsed into a silence that was its own person, sitting indelicately in the space between them.

Pink hair.

Constellation freckles.

A black hoodie.

A mischievous smile.

Once upon a time, there was a princess, a knight, and a little elven girl, who hadn’t been so little anymore—not really. She’d been tall and willowy and full of passion for a life she had yet to live. She’d been twenty-one, but both of her mothers had treated her like she was twelve.

And they loved her, but they suffocated her.

And they loved her, but they ignored her.

And they loved her, but the awful and unbearable truth of the matter was that love was not enough.

Love was the foundation, but it had to be built upon with care and attentiveness—with perceptive eyes and willing ears and flexible hearts. It required sacrifice. It demanded compromise. Mutability. Vulnerability. Change.

And so Blue and Yellow loved Pink Diamond, down to their marrow, down to all the atoms in their four hundred and twelve collective bones, but they failed her in so many of those other important respects.

And they paid the steep price.

Because once upon a time, the little elven girl who wasn’t so little anymore had had enough of her own fairytale and dreamed of carving out another.

She sought freedom and adventure.

She was daring; she wished to rebel.

But when she did for the first time (and the last), when she snuck out of her palace of a room, there were monsters out there, and nothing in the world had ever prepared her for monsters—not even her parents, who had slain their fair share of monsters: dragons and greedy businessmen and hardhearted mothers.

And so she died, and the princess and the knight were left alone in their high tower to lose their goddamn minds.

In separate rooms.

Away from each other.

They mourned and mourned and mourned.

And on that sun-paled balcony, before she knew it, before she could stop herself, Blue Diamond’s eyes were pooling with hot tears. She tried to swipe them away, so Yellow wouldn’t see, wouldn’t chide her, wouldn’t scold, but Yellow had already seen—of course she had already seen—and her golden eyes were wide.

Lined.

Horror-struck.

“I’m sorry,” Blue pleaded reflexively, covering her face with her tall hands. She was always so very sorry. “I was just... I was thinking of her and I couldn’t help it... and I’m—“

“Don’t apologize, Blue,” Yellow cut across her hoarsely, her voice a sharp knife on the edge of breaking. “Don’t ever feel like you have to apologize to me.”

But Blue didn’t think that this was a particularly healthy way of looking at things either. There were so many things she felt the need to apologize for.

(All of them had to do with looking away.)

“But—“

“Because I was thinking about her, too.”

The sentence was an admission, rushed, expulsive, thrown to the floor like it was a bomb ready to ignite.

Yellow abruptly flinched, and Blue did, too, waiting for the aftermath of the blow that didn’t quite come.

So now there was an invisible body in the space between them and a ticking time bomb on the floor.

Company was always diverse in the Diamonds’ penthouse suite.

Perpetually attuned to their self-made demons.

“You were?” Blue’s voice verged on the edge of offensively wondrous. She dared to look at her wife in the gaps between her fingers, slicing her statuesque profile into vees. Her stern jaw. Her world-weary eyes. The lines crisscrossing her face. The defeated hunch of her Atlantean shoulders.

Blue pulled her fingers downwards until they were tightly clenching the lapels of her robe, fingers sinking into the thin fabric, knuckles turning white at the grip.

“How could I not be?” Each word was acerbic, gritted through the teeth, self-loathing. “Just last week, we did this, too, and I hurt you then… I’ve hurt you so many times over Pink. I should be the one who is saying sorry.”

Yellow looked over then, her face desperately open, as though she was trying to convey the force of her raw penance by expression alone.

How tortured she was.

How craven.

Feral.

Agonized.

Undone.

“And I am sorry, Blue,” she continued, the lines beneath her eyes contracting harshly. “I am so sorry—for every wrong I’ve ever done to you. For every time I’ve made you feel wrong for grieving Pink. I… I have no excuse, no semblance of a justification… I just…” But she violently interrupted herself, her ferociousness seemingly drained from her body as she jerked forward, elbows on her knees, dragging a hand across the whole of her face, uncaring of her stitches.

And she remained like that for what felt like an eternity, a statue ruined, palm covering her mouth

Staring wide-eyed into space.

Into an awfully bruised sky.

Blue Diamond’s entire nervous system was in total disrepair as she looked at her wife.

And tried to comprehend the words she had just said, the very ones she had resigned herself to never hearing.

Because for all the four years that she had grieved and grieved, Yellow had been right there beside her, insisting that she should get a grip on herself, should get better, should move on.

And here was the apology for all those awful words.

Here was the proof that they had existed, and that they had injured, and that they had hurt.

The creased skin around Yellow’s eyes was damp.

Her robed shoulders trembled.

“Yellow Clytemnestra Diamond,” Blue finally whispered, the name less invocation than it was admonition, less admonition than it was cruelty, less cruelty than it was love, “you cannot honestly believe that it is that simple.”

That caught her attention.

Yellow jerked her head in Blue’s direction so quickly that it looked painful.

“What?”

“Can’t you see?” She asked, a pleading note in her voice as she leaned a little across the gap between their chairs, her silvery hair falling in loose gossamer curtains around her face. “It isn’t all just you, and it isn’t all just me either. It’s both of us. Together. My God and my goodness, it always has been.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Yellow snapped, her face leached of its color as she scrabbled for purchase, for a reasonable ledge upon which to mount her own cross. “You were grieving, and I kept pushing you. I couldn’t stand watching you fall apart.”

“But you were grieving, too, Yellow!” Blue all but shrieked, desperate to impress upon her wife how important it was to acknowledge the unplumbed depths of her pain.

To own it, by God.

To share it.

Because she didn’t want to be alone anymore.

She couldn’t bear to be.

“You were hurting, and you were sad,” she continued unrestrainedly, tears pricking the corners of her eyes again. She made no attempt to brush them away this time. “And I was so cruel, Yellow. I wanted you to acknowledge it for my own selfish reasons, and then, at the very same time, I was desperate to push you away. You hurt me, but fundamentally, I hurt you, too, and you can’t just… you can’t take away our history like that. You can’t shoulder all these four years on your own. It doesn’t work like that. Love doesn’t! Marriage doesn’t! We don’t!”

Blue Diamond’s chest heaved painfully at the end of all this, as though she had just run a marathon. She rubbed her sternum again, trying to excise the damage, but there was so much of it there—so many hundreds of days worth—and she was so tired.

Exhausted.

But still, there was more to be said; there were mountains between hers and Yellow Diamond’s chairs.

Insurmountable oceans.

And Yellow was frozen, a monument to her own colossal grief.

Stone.

Leaking stone.

She had fountains for eyes; they dripped and dripped.

“And we hurt Pink,” Blue whispered, closing her eyes against this final, horrible truth as the tears continued to lance down her long face, salting her cracked lips. “Oh, my God, how we hurt that poor child. She wanted so badly to grow up, and we wouldn’t let her. We looked away. And that’s what I think about every time I close my eyes, Yellow. Her last words to me echo perpetually in the dark of my head.”

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

She couldn’t help herself then; she let out a bitter sob, wrenched to her very core.

Because their daughter was dead and never coming back, and the pain of that simple fact would haunt her until the day she died, the memories of her so many thousands of scattered ghosts.

Eternal.

Omnipresent.

Her own constructed gods to worship and to fear.

“I was grieving,” Yellow confessed hoarsely, and the naked baldness of it forced Blue to open her eyes again to take a look. Her wife was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet, fingers dug into the thighs of her pajama pants. Without her trademark three piece suit, without her makeup, without her man-killing heels, she seemed so much smaller than usual—less adamantine, more human. “And I hurt you.”

“Yes,” Blue said simply.

It was a mere syllable; it cost everything in her to utter it.

“And you were grieving… and you didn’t mean to… but you… you hurt me, too.”

“But sometimes,” Blue reminded her gently, the words awful on her lilting tongue, “I absolutely did mean to. I wanted to hurt you, Yellow… I wanted you to feel the barest inch of pain that I felt and suffer with me. Us. Together.”

Yellow looked like she didn’t know what to say to that, so she ignored it, striking the heel of one of her hands across her running face, sniffing harshly.

“And we hurt Pink,” she carried on, this unforgivable truth the salt in the exposed wound. Yellow’s voice broke at the end as the pain of it simply burned. “We hurt her so many times over.”

There was only one possible answer to this leveled charge, too.

“Yes.”

Yellow closed her eyes against this final condemnation, wincing harshly, as though skewered through with a sword. Her jaw was red in the place where she’d tried to wipe away the tears that still continued to flow down her angular face.

“So what do we do now?” She asked, and the question was almost childish in her stringent voice. The desperation in her golden eyes pleaded for an answer, a foundation upon which to stand. “Where the hell do we even go from here?”

It was a simple question at the same time that it was a loaded one.

It engendered the possibilities of more pain, dissolution, and grief.

The startling potentiality that neither Blue nor Yellow Diamond would ever recover from the loss of their only child.

Their shared tomb of a bleak and horrible future.

But there was hope there, too.

The startling possibility of it.

The barest potentiality.

Small.

Slight.

Goddamn miraculous even.

But there.

Taught first to Blue Diamond by a boy in a cemetery, so many days upon long, aching days ago.

Thinking clearly for the first time in four years or perhaps not thinking straight at all, the fifty-five year old woman tenderly reached her shaking hand across the gap between their chairs and held her palm upwards as though it had a flower in it, inviting her wife’s fingers to fill in the empty spaces, to imagine a conceivable future where they could one day hold hands and be content.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice also quite childish, the words so very small. “But wherever it is, Yellow, let’s go together.”

To heaven.

To hell.

To the grave.

To their golden years.

Yellow stared at her open hand for the longest fraction of an infinity, and there was exquisite agony in her eyes, painful tenderness, too.

Paradoxes and contradictions.

“Okay,” she finally whispered, taking Blue Diamond’s hand, interlinking their long fingers.

“Okay.”

iv.

Once upon a time, there was a princess, a knight, and a night that seemed to swallow them both entirely whole.

Because White Diamond wasn’t doing well.

Her live-in nurse had called Yellow just today and told her that some days were worse than others, and worse days were become less exception than the rule; she was often agitated, frustrated, terrified, confused; she thought that Yellow was still at boarding school; she saw shadows of strange men on the alabaster walls; she missed her own mother, who had been dead for some forty-odd years; she wanted to send her dearest Starlight a postcard from Paris.

As they laid in bed together in the darkness, Blue wrapped her arms around her wife’s tense body, pressing soft lips against her pillow-rumpled hair.

“Mother always said that she wanted a grand funeral when her time came,” Yellow said stiffly, each word yanked from behind gritted teeth. “If her casket cost less than a hundred grand, she’d haunt me from the aether for the rest of my life.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Blue sighed, a little sad, a little amused, a little fond. Her mother-in-law had always been quite the character, larger than life, always meticulously dressed in Gucci jumpsuits that were more expensive than most people’s home mortgages.

“She wants to be buried in the same crypt as my grandparents naturally,” Yellow continued in that same halting voice, “and I told her that she was being ridiculous. Someone would have to knock out a damn wall to fit another casket in there.”

But Blue knew her wife too well, perhaps better than she knew herself sometimes with her obstinate avoidance of all things introspective in nature.

“My colleague’s husband is a contractor,” she said gently, skimming her fingers up and down Yellow’s sleeved arm. “I can get a quote for you on Monday...?”

“Mm,” came a noncommittal grunt, which Blue correctly interpreted as reluctant assent.

The silence laid thickly upon the two women then.

Seconds passed.

Electric minutes.

Blue could almost feel the tension agitating Yellow’s bones.

And then—

“We should talk about our own burial plans one day in the near future,” she said brusquely. “At the very least, we need to have the Zircons codify our basic intentions into a will.”

Blue stared at the back of her wife’s head incredulously, eyes wide, her dark brow contracting somewhere in the middle. With some effort, she extricated her arms from around her, so that she could prop herself up on one elbow more easily.

“Yellow Clytemnestra Diamond,” she whispered, unable to quite keep the emotion from her voice, the rising pitch, “what on Earth do you mean? We’re not even fifty yet.”

Goodness, they were barely forty.

“Accidents happen all the time,” Yellow reasoned sagely, rolling around to face Blue properly, “and I want to leave Pink with a clear blueprint. Otherwise, you and I might end up in neon pink caskets as Weezer plays over our grave.”

“How serious of you,” Blue quipped, lowering herself down to the pillow again so that they were at eye level. In the barest light that seeped through the curtains, she saw that there were tired lines scoring Yellow’s face, straining shadows.

“I’m being completely serious,” she protested shortly. “Not about Weezer, perhaps, but the fact that we should have solidified plans.”

Abstractly, Blue knew she was correct—it was only common sense for them to put their affairs in order, even if they were young, and perhaps especially while they were. And yet, she had a feeling that this particular topic of conversation wasn’t strictly about the common sense of it, the practicality, the realism.

It was more so about the haunted look in Yellow’s eyes.

And the stiffness of her body.

And her sick mother.

Assuredly, it was about grief.

“Yellow,” Blue only whispered, reaching across the barest gap between them and placing the palm of her hand on the woman’s warm cheek. Her thumb cradled that imperial jaw, tracing its harsh geometry, loving it softly.

And Yellow Diamond immediately jerked, as though stung by such a gentle, careful touch, but ultimately, she didn’t move away from it.

She leaned into it, in fact.

And closed her dark-stricken eyes.

Sighing.

“Sorry,” she muttered thickly. “I was being morbid... I just... it’s all becoming real to me, I think...”

Blue remained silent in this awful darkness, simply listening, simply holding her wife’s face.

“The inevitability that one day, my mother isn’t going to call me on the phone to chew my ass out about the company again... she’s just always been so stubborn, so implacable, that to imagine her as anything else is...”

But she trailed off, opening her eyes again. They were strangely filmy, bright but simultaneously dull.

“Well, you know what it is,” she finished awkwardly.

The words sprung immediately to Blue’s clever and elocutionary mind: unbearable, unfathomable, cruel.

She decided quickly, though, against saying any of them aloud; thinking them was punishment enough.

“I know,” she whispered, continuing to study the planes of her wife’s jaw by touch alone. She chose not to say anything when there was sudden dampness on the side of her hand.

“What do I do, Blue? The question was hushed, strangled, barely articulated into the night. “What happens next?”

Blue Diamond didn’t particularly know grief yet, the harrowing nature of it, its iron-sharp teeth.

And so that was the only answer she could give her wife in the end, as intelligent as she was, as intuitive, and as sensitive to the natures of others.

“I don’t know,” she admitted gently, “but I promise you, Yellow Diamond, I’ll be by your side through all of it.”

In sickness and in health.

’Til death did them part.

’Til Weezer apparently one day played over their grave.

“How sentimental of you,” Yellow laughed humorlessly in a failure of an attempt to hide that she was touched.

Blue leaned over then and pressed her lips against Yellow’s cool forehead, fingers still cupping her face. And when the stalwart general of a businesswoman’s entire body shuddered, she was merciful again; she pretended not to notice.

“Yes.”

Tuesday, July 10th, 7:22PM:

Steven: i’m sorry for just getting back to you, Blue. It’s been a rough couple of days.

Blue: I know how that feels.

Steven: it’s just kinda hard to get outta my own head right now.

Blue typed and sent her reply just as the door leading into the penthouse suite abruptly swung open: I know how that feels, too.

When she glanced up from her phone from where she was sitting on the couch, Yellow Diamond was limping through the threshold in such a way that it was painfully obvious that she was trying to hide that she was limping—holding her shoulders ridiculously straight and grimacing as though to subjugate any pain she was feeling in the firm press of her mouth.

Though she was dressed in a button down with black slacks and a suit vest to match, she wasn’t quite coming home from work; rather—as she’d told Poppy to tell Blue earlier that morning—she had been at the hospital all day.

Doing some more tests.

Placing her phone facedown on the nearby end table, Blue narrowed her eyes in what she hoped was sympathy but probably more so resembled fear.

“Yellow?” She asked softly, her voice small and tremulous and terrified of its own aggrandized shadow. She loathed herself; she didn’t know how to be anyone other than herself. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” came the immediate and stubborn reply as the woman shuffled over to the couch, her face unbending in unsubtle relief when she finally collapsed into a sitting position. Her palm immediately went to her right thigh, which Blue knew had been the one heavily bruised in the accident.

Blue’s brow bent pointedly over her arctic eyes.

Coldly.

“No,” Yellow amended herself, abashed, embarrassed, sniffing haughtily. “It’s only my leg, though. I was on it too much today.”

“I told you you could borrow my cane.”

“And I told you that that was the last thing I wanted to do,” she muttered, flushing, continuing to rub the inflicted area. “Besides, you need it more.”

Because it was always a competition between them—who was suffering the most. And for some odd and likely unhealthy reason, it was one competition that the ambitious CEO didn’t like to win.

Blue sighed heavily at this silent observation, disturbing the heavy braid that was slung across her shoulder, before slowly pulling herself upwards from the couch, drawing her wife’s incredulous, harried gaze.

“Wait! I didn’t mean for you to leave—”

But Blue only shook her head, quelling Yellow’s protests with the gesture, before slowly hobbling over to the kitchen and slowly hobbling back, this time bearing the ice pack that she sometimes took to bed with her and a gray towel to wrap around it. Using the head of her cane cane as leverage, knuckling it tightly, she nudged the white ottoman towards Yellow with her good knee until it was right in front of her.

“Prop your bad leg up,” she commanded quietly, her voice taking on that same authoritative note that she had once used with her pupils. “Elevating your leg will help drain some of the tension from it.”

And like the best of the headmistress’s former pupils, Yellow knew it was best to swiftly comply.

Laboriously, with obvious discomfort, she used her hands to drag her right leg onto the ottoman, wincing a little with each microscopic adjustment of her thigh. Blue, careful to give the limb wide berth, lowered herself down to the ottoman, too, where she encased the ice pack in the towel, neatly tucking the ends in together so that the cloth wouldn’t unloose itself.

Yellow watched all of this with offensively wide eyes, staring at Blue as though she was turning water into wine or doing somersaults in the middle of the living room. Self-conscious, hyperconscious, anxious, painfully aware, she tucked a stray strand of silvery hair behind her ear and tried not to pay attention to her as she gently pressed the ice pack against her leg, meticulous to cover the entirety of the affected area.

“Cold helps,” she only proffered in explanation. “I can instruct one of the maids to change it out for a new one in a few hours or so.”

“Thank you, Blue.” Yellow’s voice was constricted, tender, raw.

Blue didn’t think she deserved such an outpouring of emotion for such a simple task, this tiny, most minuscule of kindnesses; she glanced away, feathers of color dusting her hollowed cheeks.

“It’s nothing,” she returned gently. “You would do the same for me…”

A slight pause.

Loaded.

Unbearable.

She felt the need to extinguish it at once.

“You have done the same for me,” she added with quiet forcefulness, still not quite looking in Yellow’s direction, drawing both of her hands into her lap. They were cold now from handling the ice pack, rigid and stiff.

“So many times over.”

After all, how many times had Yellow Diamond sat vigil by her bedside in these past four years? Bathed her? Accompanied her to doctor’s appointments? Taken care of her the best way she knew how?

The number was unfathomable to Blue, innumerable even—both from a lack of attention and from the stunning knowledge that indeed, there were probably too many times to count.

There was a shifting noise then—Yellow adjusting herself on the couch, perhaps—and when Blue finally forced herself to glance up, she could see that there was a rumpled look in her wife’s eyes—the same messiness of an unironed collar, the stain of tea spilt on a tiled floor. She had jerked forward as though to reach out and touch Blue, but the position of her extended leg had made it difficult.

“But I could have done so much more, Blue,” she said softly, with quiet pain, the barren and fervent truth of it shining in those liquid gold eyes. “I watched you suffer more than I ever helped you… I’m so sorry.”

And when Blue immediately opened her mouth to protest, to rearticulate that it wasn’t as straightforward as that, that they had both done inconceivable wrongs to each other, that Yellow had done the best that she could, Yellow shook her head ferociously, her aspect taking on that same indefinable sense of authority which had so permeated her reign as the CEO of Diamond Electric.

And like the wisest of Yellow’s colleagues, Blue knew when it was best to simply stand down.

“No! I’ve been thinking about this,” she continued doggedly, “and I’ve come to the conclusion that just because we’ve both hurt each other doesn’t very well cancel out the fact that we did. That’s asinine, Blue—fallacious logic. I hurt you. I pushed you away. I didn’t want to acknowledge your grief for the inglorious reason that if I did, I would have to acknowledge my goddamn own.”

She raised her voice only at the end, flinching when she did, looking away.

The pale light flooding down from the strips in the ceiling cast strange shadows across her beaten face, and Blue Diamond’s heart bruised with the utter surreality of it all.

The confession.

The accountability.

The simple agony in Yellow’s voice, laid bare.

There were no barriers between them now, no walls, no facades, no meticulously constructed pretenses—only words.

Words and words and words.

Yellow Diamond had been there for Blue in so many different ways in four years… but she had hurt Blue so many times in so many different ways, too, and that was apparently something that neither of them were allowed to forget.

How many times had Blue laid in the horrible dark by herself, silent tears streaming down her face weathered? And how many times had Yellow insisted to her physician do up her meds, as though the underlying problem of grief could be treated first and foremost with a pill? How many times had her wife raised her voice at her—so devastatingly harsh, aloof, and cruel?

The number was unfathomable, innumerable.

Blue could not immediately swallow the lump in her throat.

“I… I remember thinking that if I could just keep myself together on the outside,” Yellow half-whispered, “I could be strong enough for both of us. I couldn’t bear being weak.”

And she flexed her fists on top of her powerful thighs, scraped knuckles trembling.

And she somehow found enough courage to look Blue in the eye.

And Blue stared at her right back, her eyes melting with awful tears.

“Grief isn’t weakness, Yellow,” she said ardently, with all the conviction she could muster, with all the atoms in her broken body.

Because she knew grief; she understood it; it was her closest companion, her very best and most horrible friend.

Yellow sniffed and swiped a hand across her face as though it would do anything, as though it would annihilate the over-brightness of her eyes.

“What is it then?” She asked, and from the quiet tone of her voice, Blue thought that she’d already guessed the answer.

But she said it aloud anyway, for both of them to hear and to know and to never forget again.

She reached over and gently took her lover’s hand and whispered, “Love.”

Tuesday, July 10, 9:02PM:

Blue: It’s such a hard feeling to contend with, sweet boy—the feeling of everything, the feeling of nothing, the feeling of drowning in the empty space of your own head.

Blue: I was there.

Blue: Some days, I still am.

Blue: But please know, Steven Universe, that I am here for you.

Blue: So many people are here for you.

Wednesday, July 11, 6:58AM:

Steven: thank you, Blue

vi.

Once upon a time, there was a princess, a knight, and a dead queen to mourn and to bury in a one-hundred thousand dollar casket.

On the day that White Diamond died, Blue washed her wife’s hair when they showered together that night, rubbing her fingers gingerly across her scalp as the steaming water broke across the crowns of both of their heads.

Yellow braced her shaking hands against the marbled walls and tried not to make so much as a sound.

Her shoulder blades were knife-sharp with the excruciating tension of holding herself together.

(Of not falling apart.)

Blue kissed the skin right between the middle of those tremulous mountains and scrubbed those places tenderly, too.

And when they dressed in their pajamas and went to bed together later on, loosely intertwining hands and painfully letting go, Pink Diamond came in, wearing one of Yellow’s old t-shirts as a gown, and wrapped her arms around Blue’s neck first, pressing a gentle kiss against her head. Her dark eyes were red from where she had been crying, for she had loved her Gran dearly, even if the eighty-five year old woman had taken habitual offense to the teenager’s choices of music.

“Goodnight, Mom.”

Blue closed her eyes in her daughter’s warm embrace and inhaled the scent of her floral shampoo.

“Goodnight, Pink.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.

She used to say it so easily then, and she said it so often, too.

It was commonplace.

It was habit.

(What had ever happened in the intervening years? Blue Diamond, to her eternal condemnation, could not know.)

And then the sixteen-year old dutifully shuffled over to the other side of the bed, where Yellow was sitting on the edge, staring blankly into space, the lines beneath her eyes stark, as though dictated in black ink. And Pink wrapped her arms around her other mother, too, burying her nose against that tall column of a neck.

Tears flowing down her freckled face, she whispered, loud enough for Blue to hear, “I’m so sorry, Momma.”

Yellow Diamond didn’t seem capable of moving a muscle at that very moment, more statue than human, obelisk-like, calcified.

But Blue watched as their beautiful daughter squeezed all the tighter, uncaring that she was meeting stone, her slender shoulders wrenching with a sob.

“I’m going to miss her, too.”

Yellow hadn’t cried since she had first gotten the call earlier that morning, and she didn’t start then either; Blue knew her too well; she was desperately afraid to be vulnerable for anyone to see.

And yet, with slow rigidity, with a tenderness that almost did not befit her, labored though it was, the businesswoman reached upwards and encircled her arms around her daughter, drawing the sixteen-year old girl into her lap as though she was that same child who had perpetually come into her mothers’ room after a bad nightmare.

“Shh,” she croaked, and there was pain in her fractured voice.

Pronounced agony.

Love.

Blue’s heart stuttered at the sight and at the sound.

“Shh, Pink,” she repeated, cradling her child, tangling her fingers in that wild, pink hair. “I’m here.”

vii.

Thursday, July 12, 7:12PM:

Steven: hey Blue?

Blue: Yes, Steven?

Steven: You can come visit me tomorrow if you want.

Steven: Would morning be okay? 9:00 maybe? I think they have some more tests to do on me in the afternoon

Blue: I’ll be there.

The summer evening was flush with soft colors—pink and indigo and aegean blue, all bleeding into each other, all melting, until the sky was falling with hazy radiance, white stars dotting the sky like angels in the night. Blue was on the balcony when Yellow arrived home, listening to a familiar piano arrangement that was playing on the classical radio station; the portable stereo was sitting on the table between the chairs.

“You’ve always liked this one,” Yellow said fondly, and when Blue turned around, she saw that her wife was leaning against the sliding glass doorway, dressed as impeccably as usual in a black button down and well-tailored khakis. The collar of her shirt was popped up around her sinewy neck, and there was a manila folder tucked neatly beneath her unhurt arm. She’d spent yet another day at the hospital, doing heavens only knew what.

At least she wasn’t coming home with any new injuries, though.

“Debussy?”

“Chopin,” Blue smiled faintly, and the gesture stretched a little stiffly across her unpracticed lips. “Nocturne in E Flat Major… I used to play it at my parents’ estate for our guests…”

“You used to get so frustrated when you pressed the wrong key,” Yellow teased as she pushed herself off of the door and ambled over. She didn’t quite sit down in her chair, but rather placed the manila folder down in front of the stereo before straightening up again, her silhouette tall in the burgeoning night. “Your brow would furrow just in the middle before you’d start all over again, intent on getting it right this time…”

Blue Diamond’s heart gently pulsed in her throat as she stared upwards at this figure she knew so well—so stern and so simultaneously magnanimous, so magnificent and so undeniably… broken, the lines beneath her eyes fixed scars, her face an angular canvas for cuts and oddly healing bruises.

“I’ve always been a perfectionist, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Yellow drew a purposeful step closer, and Blue instinctively leaned back, her stomach clenching against wild and irrational and warranted fright.

“Yellow…”

Because then, with a little awkwardness in her eyes, with a hell of a lot of fear, Yellow Diamond slowly proffered her hand, the metal band of her watch catching in the golden light that illumined the balcony.

There was no mistaking the gesture.

It was an invitation.

“The song’s almost over,” Blue whispered, her throat savanna-dry.

“So?” Yellow meant it to be casual, Blue inferred, but the sound came out too agitated. Color leaked from the sky and seemed to scribble the hollows of her cheeks in. “That’s never stopped us before.”

She was embarrassed.

It was adorable.

And strange.

And oddly sad.

And so, Blue Diamond swallowed her fears.

She took her wife’s hand in the star-strewn darkness.

They could be embarrassed and strange and oddly sad together.

Relief shattering her face, Yellow leaned forward then and wrapped her arms around Blue to help her stand, going slowly, with all consummate gentleness. Their bodies were so close that they could hear the hummingbird beating of each other’s hearts—loud, quick, and desperately afraid.

Blue placed her chin on Yellow’s shoulder and allowed herself to be held by her wife for the first time in four years.

The thought and the sensation nearly made her want to cry.

Yellow Diamond led them slowly and carefully as the arrangement lolled through its sweeping notes. With Blue’s bad hip and Yellow’s sore leg, they couldn’t do much more than turn around in careful circles.

Once upon a time, they would have both sworn that they could out-waltz a king.

“I had an interesting day today,” Yellow said suddenly, as though this was explanation enough for why she was dancing with her wife. Her breath was warm against the tip of Blue’s right ear.

“Oh?”

“Indeed,” she nodded, her chin briefly pressing against Blue’s shoulder, “but I’ll have to tell you about it later, I’m afraid.”

“You’re such a tease,” Blue murmured, but the accusation didn’t come out quite as light as she wanted it to. Her voice shook, and her hands trembled where they were resting on the woman’s back.

Tears danced in her sea-dark eyes.

“Something of the sort, yes.”

The song continued on, but it was nearing its beautiful end—a series of high-lilting lifts and then a final, graceful fall.

Blue greeted every note like it was an old friend, long lost at sea, now come home.

“I’m going to see Steven tomorrow,” she whispered as they continued to draw their slow circle upon the floor. “Early. He asked me to come visit.”

A slight pause.

The piano tinkled a spray of final notes.

And then, there was silence.

“I don’t think his head is in a good place.”

The silence made the proclamation all the more wretched.

Yellow stopped them in their place but didn’t quite let go of Blue, her fingers curling into the thin fabric of her dress.

“I don’t find that hard to believe,” she murmured. “We wouldn’t be in a good place either if…”

But rightfully so, she let the end of that particular hypothetical trail off into the night, for Yellow and Blue Diamond both weren’t in a good place either yet. They were dancing, and they were tentatively smiling, and they were learning how to love each other all over again.

But that was only the beginning.

The start of another piano arrangement began to rise softly from the stereo.

“Bach,” Blue said automatically to smooth the rough moment over. “One of the Goldberg Variations, I believe.”

And so they began their gentle revolutions again, swaying, barely moving their feet to the solemn melody. The wind ran its fingers across them, stirring Blue’s heavy braid, ruffling the collar of Yellow’s shirt.

“Do you know what you're going to say to him?”

It was a remarkably intrusive question, or perhaps it very well wasn’t. Perhaps Blue was judging off the standard that four years of standoffishness from her wife had taught her so emphatically. The questions she most associated with Yellow now largely had to do with whether or not she’d taken all her pills.

She shivered a little, even though the air was mild.

“No,” she replied, closing her sunken eyes. “I haven’t the faintest idea…”

She hadn’t been able to rouse herself out of four years of grief; despite whatever Pearl seemed to believe, she wasn’t entirely sure that she possessed the words that would be enough to help Steven Universe. For even he hadn’t given her words that fateful day in the cemetery.

He’d given her kindness.

He’d given her a flower.

“You’ll figure it out,” Yellow said with an assuredness that made Blue’s heart flutter again. It was a wonder that she could even breathe.

“You say that with such confidence on my behalf.”

And as Bach’s mournful contemplation scored that profound night, Yellow Diamond drew back, so that Blue could see her face, every sharply drawn facet of it, illuminated in that softly scattered lamplight—fifty-six years of life, pressed into the layers of her skin, lines and shadows and lines. These were the lines that had formed beneath her eyes when their daughter first died. And there was the cut that raced across the bridge of her nose from the car accident. And here were the stitches that currently served as a memento of that scary night, too. And there were the slight parentheses formed around her mouth whenever she frowned, relics of time and age and grief.

Her golden eyes were bright with emotion and ancient with the weight of so many passed years.

“Because I know you,” she returned simply, “and I love you.”

They were merely three words, but Blue’s heart nearly failed to hear them.

Spoken to her.

Meant for her.

By the person whom she loved.

Oh, dear God, when was the last time anyone had ever told her that they loved her?

She could not say; she strained to remember.

“I love you, too,” she whispered it back, even though it was only four words, and they were all so very semantically simple.

But the expression on Yellow Diamond’s face was anything but as she, too, registered what it was to be loved by another, her mouth agape, pleasure and pain and ecstasy and terror warring across her face in dizzying swirls.

Oh, dear God, when was the last time she had told Yellow that she loved her?

She could not say; she strained to remember.

And there was hesitancy then.

And vast, godawful fear.

And there was longing then.

And tender, unquestioning desire.

And they both leaned forward then…

And tilted their heads in just the right way…

And they…

viii.

Once upon a time, there was a princess, a knight, and a master bedroom that smelled like a fresh coat of paint.

It was empty as of yet, hollow and silver-walled and woefully unadorned—the movers had just placed the bed and mattress down. They’d be coming back later on that day with the nightstands, armoires, and dressers—all custom-made for the Diamonds’ penthouse suite.

For their first home.

“Wait,” Yellow said, and there was mischief in her twenty-eight year old voice that took Blue by pleasant and tender surprise. “Let’s finalize this bridal style.”

“Yellow,” she laughed, her face coloring pink, “don’t be ridiculous.”

But the heiress only shook her head, grinning with all the self-assuredness of her love and general air of arrogance, as she bent down and scooped her wife into her well-toned arms. Instinctively, Blue wrapped her own arms around that corded neck to help support her weight and found herself so close to Yellow’s face that she could not help but be enchanted.

By her.

Because of her.

This golden-eyed knight.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Yellow scoffed, pressing a quick kiss against her head. “I’m being romantic. Haven’t you heard of the concept before?”

“Abstractly,” she teased. “In novels and fairytales and the like.”

“You read too many books.” “And you read too little.”

“Nerd.”

“Neolith.”

And they grinned at each other with unbearable affection as Yellow Diamond walked them over the threshold of the room, careful to maneuver her body in such a way that Blue’s feet didn’t hit the doorframe.

When they were on the other side, though, she gently placed her down, so that they were directly in front of the bed that would soon be their own. Blue would assume the right side and Yellow the left, and on some nights, they would meet directly in the middle.

“Soon,” Blue murmured, softly interlinking her fingers with Yellow’s. The bands of their wedding rings clinked delicately at the touch.

“No more bumming out in my mother’s mansion,” Yellow smiled, playing a little with Blue’s hand, swinging it.

“And hearing her daily tirades about being late to breakfast…”

“Oh, yes,” came that harsh, lovely laugh that Blue so loved. “I certainly won’t miss those.”

And they turned to face each other then, light playing in their youthful eyes.

And Yellow reached up and tentatively brushed back a strand of loose hair behind Blue’s ear.

And Blue leaned into the touch because she could not imagine ever doing anything else in this world.

And their futures stretched before them, ribbon-like, graceful, spiraling into each other’s lifelines with an inextricability that they simultaneously believed in and found hard to fathom. They were each other’s beginnings and their ends. They were partners, soulmates, wives. They dreamed, in that very moment, tiny though it was, of all the things that they would do together over the course of an interconnected lifetime. They would chase their ambitions with wild abandon and climb to the very height of them side by side. They would take long walks in the park near their high rise. They would go see musicals on the date nights that Blue chose and drink the most expensive bottles of champagne over steak and lobster on the ones that Yellow preferred. They would fall into the same bed every night, the very bed in front of them now. They would fall asleep in each other’s arms—warm, loved, secure. Maybe they would get a cat at some point, even though Yellow swore up and down that she was allergic to them. And maybe they would travel the world, seeing all the sights and wonders and ultimately concluding that somehow, even the Eiffel Tower paled in comparison to the view that they had of each other.

And maybe, one day, they would even adopt a child to love, to raise, and to cherish.

For Blue had always wanted a little girl.

The possibilities were endless.

And so, they leaned forward then…

There was nothing else left to do.

And they tilted their heads in just the right way…

And they…

ix.

Thursday, July 12, 7:45PM:

Steven: I’m scared, Blue.

They danced in the incomplete darkness for as long as they could both bear it, but eventually, their bodies caught up to them—Blue’s aching hip and Yellow’s sore leg and the overwhelming awkwardness of it all that arrested their limbs, too, as they slowly remembered what it was to touch each other.

They hadn’t touched each other in so many years.

Holding on to the head of her cane for support, Blue leaned down and turned off the stereo, while Yellow collected that curious manila envelope from the table and tucked it beneath her arm again.

When they both straightened up again, their noses were inches away from each other.

Blue could see every microfilament in her wife’s expression, softly realized by the amber light above. She was a beautiful creature, down to every last line that had struck itself across her face. Those dark lashes and golden eyes. The way her teeth gently pressed into her lower lip in tender and shy hesitancy.

With this sort of notable self-consciousness, though, she stepped backwards and away, giving them both space to breathe.

Blue’s heart felt as though it was going to beat right out of her chest.

“You can shower first,” Yellow said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I have some paperwork to attend to anyway.”

Oh.

She’d forgotten, for however long that they had been on the balcony together, that it was commonplace for them to part at night.

That they weren’t together.

How awful and how unbearable.

How completely and utterly cruel.

Yellow’s gaze flicked down to the manila envelope, but Blue’s remained centered on her wife’s face as she struggled to articulate the words she desperately wanted to say and ardently dreaded to, her lips partially cracked open, her entire body electric with nerves.

“Blue?” Concern bent Yellow’s brow. She shifted her weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.” Are you—”

“Come with me, Yellow.”

Oh, the awful and beautiful and terrible words—how they fell so clumsily and stupidly off her laden tongue.

“What?” The businesswoman’s eyes flew wide open, stretching the lines beneath them into almost comedic proportions.

Blue tried again, slowly extending her hand, palm up, her oversized sleeve dangling from her wrist.

Her skeletal fingers were trembling, but there was no mistaking the gesture.

It was an invitation.

“Come to bed with me, Yellow,” she whispered as tears reflexively blurred her eyes. It was no small wonder that she still had the capacity to cry after so many days and nights of weeping herself undone.

“Please.”

What complicated emotions were going through Yellow Diamond’s mind then, Blue could not entirely say. Sundry emotions seized across her eyes; her mouth wrenched itself open; and for what felt like an eternity, an infinity wrapped into excruciating seconds, she was simply and utterly speechless, staring at that outstretched hand as though she was seeing God for the first time.

How many nights had this woman dreamed of this moment? Blue wondered to herself, pain and love and fear commingling in the column of her throat.

And how many nights have I half-wanted it?

Half-dreaded it?

Craved it.

Pushed it away.

She did not have time to answer these profound questions, though, for with astonishing tenderness, with paramount and equivalent fear, Yellow took her hand, palms against palms, the striations of their fingers aligning themselves perfectly.

“Are you sure?” She asked quietly.

She was thorough as ever; she was giving Blue a readymade out.

Blue Diamond had never been more unsure about anything in her life.

“Yes,” she whispered anyway.

And so they…

Thursday, July 12, 8:15PM:

Blue: It’s okay to be scared, Steven.

Once upon a time, there was a princess, a knight, and a king-sized bed that had always been meant for two.

Theirs was a sad tale.

A tragedy.

Their daughter died, and that was something that neither of them would ever entirely recover from.

But, and all the same, they could love each other nonetheless.

They could be there for each other for the rest of their dwindling days.

Holding hands.

Learning the shapes of each other’s collected and accumulated scars.

Braving the night together, one second, one minute, one fraction of a vast and incomprehensible infinity at a time.

In that dark bedroom, silent tears streamed down Blue Diamond’s face as her wife tentatively held her, her face against her shoulder, her arms encircling the softness of her gowned belly. She rested her slender hands on top of those of tall, leathery ones and didn’t know whether to be devastated that this was the first time they had shared a bed together in four years or so utterly relieved.

Yellow kissed her head.

And the back of her neck.

And her cheek.

And kept asking if she was okay? Was her hip doing fine? Did she need more space?

And Blue replied, every time, in the strongest voice she could muster, “No.”

No, she was not okay.

No, her hip was not fine.

No, she didn’t need more space.

It was all paradoxes and contradictions: grief and love and so many wasted years. The potential for a better future. The awful fear that things could eventually become worse. Blue’s softness and Yellow’s sternness. Blue’s selfishness and Yellow’s tender care.

But they went to bed together, and that was what mattered.

And when Blue Diamond finally fell asleep, for the first time in a very long time, she did not nightmare.

She did not dream.

xi.

Friday, July 13, 7:22AM:

Steven: you think so?

Blue: I know so.

Blue: Being scared is how we know that we are alive.

By the time Blue had woken up and gotten dressed and made it to the kitchen the next morning, Yellow was already gone to work according to Livia, who was fixing Blue’s choice of tea. The slightly bitter aroma sharpened the air.

“She left something for you, though, Mrs. Diamond.” The slight maid used a spoon to point towards the counter. “She asked me to tell you…”

“Thank you, Livia,” she returned gently as she proceeded to the directed area, one doleful cane clink at a time.

Laying on top of the cool marble was the manila envelope Yellow had brought out onto the balcony last night. It was clasp-side down, and the businesswoman’s squared, utilitarian penmanship had dictated a short note to Blue in black ink.

Before she had the chance to read it, though, Livia was sliding the steaming cup of earl gray across the counter, the dark liquid gently sloshing against the rim.

“Do you need anything else, ma’am?”

Blue glanced up and studied the maid’s face, which was tentative with kindness and shy with awe. It suddenly struck her then, with all the precision of a lanced sword, how hard these past four years must have been for her, too.

“No,” she murmured softly. “Thank you, Livia… I think I’m…”

But then, she remembered.

Yes, there was in fact something she required before she went to the hospital today.

“My checkbook if you would, please, Livia… I haven’t the slightest clue where I’ve last placed it.”

If Livia seemed surprised by this odd request, she didn’t betray it in her features, simply nodding with all the delicacy that her natural constitution seemed to entail.

“Yes, Mrs. Diamond.”

“Thank you again.”

And the girl fluttered off, wisp-like in her movements, towards the dark corridor, leaving Blue alone with her thoughts and her tea and the manila envelope beneath her. She looked down again, running her fingers across that familiar scrawl.

Test results. The doctors rushed to get them done. I love you. - Yellow

Blue’s harrowed heart lurched against her ribcage as she comprehended these words, as they seemingly fell to the pit of her stomach.

Sickening her.

Immediately goring her.

She flipped the envelope over and unclasped it with almost indecent haste.

There were about twenty papers in all, neatly stacked; the first sheet was the same shade of light pink that had once been their daughter’s favorite color, and the reminder nearly ruined her where she stood.

But eventually, with trembling fingers, she negotiated the papers out of their sheath, her dark eyes scanning the neatly printed words.

And when she comprehended them, when realization swept down across her body with glorious, sweeping force, Blue Diamond did something she had not an occasion to do for years upon years now.

Strangely enough, though, in these past few weeks alone, it was becoming something of a commonality.

Her lips tilted upward in the barest, most gentle of curves.

And she...

#bellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow diamond #pink diamond #white diamond #steven universe #s: steven universe #mimiku #flower child #i'm going to weep #i cannot believe i completed this chapter

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camels-pen · 3 years

Text

Icarus, you old fool

DannyMay Day 22 - Mist

Summary: Vlad finds it's never a bad time to do some spring cleaning. That, and that Princess was trying to send him to an early grave.

(sequel to Boundaries & 5th part of the Not Your Son series)

Ao3 Link

“Mad—” He sucked in a breath, stopping and clenching his hands briefly. He exhaled, hands relaxing as he reached out once more. “Princess, please come down.” The cat hissed at him, swiping at his hands. He didn’t bother with intangibility, letting the claws tear through his skin as he gently lifted the cat off the mahogany surface.

She wiggled in his hold and he floated to the ground, letting her jump out of his arms. Paws pounding against the rug and scratching against the wooden floors echoed through the library as the cat ran under a table. A sound he’d almost forgotten; unnoticeable when boisterous teenage laughter still rang through the air.

Dark blue eyes roamed the messy room as he laid a hand on the bookshelf’s frame. Most of the ghost philosophy section by the door had been destroyed from Jack’s weapon and the chandelier was still strung about in large chunks across the floor. His gaze followed the little paw prints that ran through the dust covered floor into a patch of dried ectoplasm and red-green blood.

Vlad pursed his lips and rubbed at his wrists. It’d been a week. The wood was likely stained for good. There was no helping the situation.

He rolled up his sleeves higher on his upper arms and hefted the debris into a large bin in the corner, nearly tripping on the end of the rug as he attempted to make it all in one trip.

A bucket of soapy blue water was set down as he knelt beside the stain, the smell of chemicals stinging at his nose as he grabbed a towel from the bottom. He wrung the cloth and shook it out before scrubbing at the cherry wood floors.

---

Sounds of ecto-blasts going off in the lab earned a frazzled Vlad dropping in through the ceiling, dressed in a half buttoned dress shirt, pants on backwards, and a loose tie around his neck.

“What—what’s happening?!” His eyes snapped to Danny as he fired a blast, shooting a barrel of toxic waste against the wall and Vlad felt all of the color drain from his face as it wobbled on the edge. It nearly tipped over, spilling all of its contents on the floor and possibly onto his young charge. The younger halfa turned to him as he shot the barrel again making it clang loudly against the wall.

“Found a shortcut for cleaning up the lab,” he answered with a smug grin, floating towards him and giving him a pat on the shoulder in mock sympathy. “I know you’re old so you probably didn’t think—”

“Daniel!” He pulled the boy down to the ground and waved a finger at him. “The reason I let you use your powers in the lab wasn’t for messing around with dangerous radioactive material! Didn’t anyone teach you lab safety?!”

The grin slid off the boy’s face and he rubbed at his left palm. Vlad’s eyebrows furrowed as the boy stayed silent. It took a few moments as he looked at the boy in the hazmat suit shrinking in on himself for realization to finally sink in. The man’s stiff posture loosened and his eyes softened.

“I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, Danny. Of course you know the consequences, I just,”—his hands rubbed at the boy’s shoulders—“There are very delicate equipment and chemicals in here; one wrong blast could have blown you into the wall. Or worse.” Danny’s green eyes met his and the boy sighed, turning back to human form.

“Sorry, dad. I won't do it again.”

---

He scrubbed harder at the insistent stains, pushing Princess away with his elbow when she tried to drink from the bucket. That cat was going to turn his gray hairs white. A feat usually reserved for two.

---

“Why in Ancients’ name does the spirit of nature hate you so much?!” Vlad yelled as a large ghost made of plants shot a wall of thick green vines towards them. They flew around the wall, Vlad burning the right side to ash as Danny froze the left.

“He tried to take over Amity once and I froze his butt into a snow globe!” The boy yelled back, uncapping a thermos and aiming the beam at the falling plants. “Me, Sam, and Tucker used him as a soccer ball for a while, but I didn’t think Sam would kick so hard she cracked ghost ice!”

Vlad created a duplicate to continue the assault as he raced to drag Danny out of the way of a massive venus fly trap. “It’s ‘Sam, Tucker, and I’.”

“You’re doing this now?” Danny asked, annoyance in his tone as he shot an ice blast at a vine about to poof Vlad’s duplicate. He waved in Undergrowth’s general direction. “Priorities, dad, c’mon.”

---

He let out a chuckle at the memory. That boy always managed to get into so much trouble it was almost a talent.

The stain was still there. Faded, but there. A reminder of what happened. But the heavy weight on his chest lessened some with the act of cleaning up the floor. A nice comparison to the constant state of hollowness and guilt that had him dragging his feet around the mansion since Danny left.

He should do more.

Resolved, Vlad moved to the hallway, wiping scuff marks off the floors and walls, straightening out hanging picture frames, using an extendable duster to remove the green goop sticking to the ceiling. He even worked at older stains from when there were still more than one pair of shoes running around.

---

“Hey dad, I’m home!” Three sets of footsteps pounded through the halls and Danny, Sam, and Tucker passed by his office doors. They tracked mud and clumps of a strange blue moss across the floor.

“Danny, you and your friends go back and wipe your shoes at the door,” he called after them. The footsteps stopped and a groan followed. “I mean it young man. You don’t want to be cleaning the floors later do you?” Grumbling answered him and they walked back to the open doorway.

“Dad,” Danny said, pointing to the violently shaking thermos in his hand. “We gotta dump this before it explodes.”

“Give it here and I’ll do it.” He walked around his desk towards them and took it from the boy as he began to protest. “I don’t want to hear it. Now, you all go back and make sure none of that mess tracks any further into the house.” Sam and Tucker narrowed their eyes but followed a grumbling Danny back to the welcome mat.

Moments later, he caught them trying to invisibly sneak past his door, their shoes squeaking and still leaving a blue-brown mess behind them.

---

Getting caught up in happier memories and a mind-numbing routine left Vlad with a mostly tidy mansion late into the night, leaving only two rooms left to tackle.

For a moment, he stood in the spotless hallway and stared at the dark blue door covered in peeling stickers of stars and rockets.

He phased down into the museum and began to dust his collection.

A loud meowing by his ear brought his attention to the hitchhiker on his back and he startled, dropping the duster and jostling the cat, causing her to jump off. She landed on a glass case containing a black ring with a dark red ruby in the center.

“Now, now, Princess,”—Vlad slowly reached out a hand—“Surely you’d like a better place to sit than this?” He scratched her behind the ear with one hand, waiting until she started to purr to put an arm under her belly. She started to hiss and he paused, leaving his skin pressing against the cool glass and continuing to pet her.

“Come now, Daddy’s got important work to do here and if you knock this over, he’ll be in a lot of trouble.” Carefully, he lifted her a few inches off the glass and quickly dropped her to the ground as she scratched at his arms. He sighed, resting against the display as he watched her circle a few other pedestals.The duster was picked up and he went about his cleaning.

Princess looped behind his legs and leaned down close to the ground, tail swishing back and forth, and leaped at the ring’s case. Vlad almost didn’t notice and grabbed for her too late.

The ring’s display case clattered to the ground, narrowly missing another pedestal behind it. Thankfully, the case itself was still intact—good thing too; he paid a lot of money for that bullet-proof glass—but it bounced a few meters away and the ring was left to roll on the ground, uncontained.

Dark red mist began to pour from the ring, enveloping everything in its path in a sweet smell and stealing light from the room.

He slapped a hand over his eyes and nose and searched his pockets, pulling them inside out and tearing the inside lining of one in his haste. In his back pocket he pulled out a pair of thick black sunglasses and a clothes pin. Once they were on his face, Vlad opened his eyes and immediately hopped into the air, the mist having nearly touched his shoes. It was beginning to climb the walls and into the air vents.

“Sugar cookies,” he swore. “At least I can cut off the vents to this room.” He floated down and picked up Princess who was hissing as she cowered in the corner. She clambered up into his arms, curling into a ball on his chest.

“Oh, so now you want to be picked up? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t turn away good fortune.” He phased them both through the ceiling.

When he stepped foot on solid ground she was right back to clawing out of his arms. He rolled his eyes and let her down, wincing as one of her back claws left a particularly nasty scratch.

The crook of his elbow stung and he dabbed at the blood with a handkerchief. The vet was open tomorrow and his meetings were all in the evening, he could take her to get a trim after breakfast. She’d be sleepy then and would walk right into her carrier if he stuffed it with enough blankets and small pillows. Though he'd have to schedule an appointment soon; they'll be closing in an hour.

Dark blue eyes drew to darker blue wood and Vlad could almost imagine the boy on the other side, sticky notes covering his arms and fast asleep at his desk.

---

He knocked on the locked door, a cup of camomile in one hand and clad in a red robe and pink bunny slippers. “Danny, you’re going to be late!”

“No I won’t!” The younger halfa ran through the wall next to the door, jumping on one leg as he shimmied on his jeans. The tag on the back of his shirt flapped noisily as he rammed face first into the bathroom door and began to tip over. “Ow, fuck.” Vlad grabbed him around the shoulders and helped him upright.

“Language.” The tag was ripped off. “And your shirt is on backwards.” The boy hopped into the room and was in there for all of two seconds when a bright flash of light glowed around the door. Vlad took a sip of his tea and turned to leave when he caught sight of a purple strap dangling in the wall. He choked on his drink a little, practically dropping the mug as he changed to ghost form and phased the backpack out.

Flying up and through the ceiling he yelled, “Danny, your bag!”

---

He took a deep breath and rested a hand on the knob.

Lined papers, stacks of textbooks and a knocked over pencil case lay spread out on the bed and a broken model rocket and watercolor tray stained the gray carpet beside the desk. Just as it was over a week ago.

A muffled singing floated up from under a pile of cat toys and t-shirts beside the dresser. He dug through the pile and pulled out Danny’s tablet, its battery nearly dead and an alarm set for 5am blaring through the speakers.

I'm not freaking out

But it feels like time is running out

How did this shit come about?

He stared unblinking at the screen and covered his mouth.

I'm not freaking out

But I'm afraid

Afraid of losing you

There was a small hitch in his voice as he read the alarm name aloud.

“Restraining order,” he said breathlessly, collapsing into the wooden desk chair. He ran his hands through his hair as he read it again. And again and again and again and—

Princess meowed at his feet, a plastic mouse in her mouth. He didn’t spare her a glance, eyes roving over the bolded text. “There must be some mistake. He told me to stay away, but this is much too extreme.” A paw scratched at his pant leg and he looked down.

“Princess, I’m—I don’t warrant a restraining order, do I?” A squeaking toy answered him and he turned back to the tablet. The device shut down and a reflection of a man with long messy hair, deep eyebags, and small dots of glowing acne on his bearded chin stared back at him from the black screen.

Vlad sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Perhaps I should take a break.”

---

The mug on his lips was empty and Vlad furrowed his brows. He held the clear glass up to his eye, noticing a black and white blob on the other side.

“It’s like two in the morning.” Danny said with a yawn. “Can’t you do this tomorrow?” Vlad shook his head, setting down the mug and nearly missing the table.

“I have a strict schedule to keep up with and unless I finish this by tonight I won’t be keeping to it.” He tapped the open binder on his desk, reaching up for the glasses on his head and starting to read over the numbers. They were starting to blur together. “I’ve kept this up for over a decade and I’m not planning on quitting now. You can go to sleep.”

A hand pat his shoulder and he jumped in his chair, turning to see the boy who appeared behind him. “You can teleport?” the man asked, bewildered.

Danny furrowed his brow in worry. “Wow, you really do need to sleep. And that’s coming from me.” He waved a hand, but the boy continued. “You know all that talk of sleeping right after patrol doesn’t really work without a role model.” Vlad rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses and conceded, allowing himself to be pulled out of his chair and led out of the room.

---

He walked into the office and plopped onto the couch, Princess following and squeaking softly with the toy in her mouth. Several TV screens automatically flipped out from the wall, turning on to a home cooking show. While he attempted to relax into the purple upholstery, the cat chose to jump her way up to the shelves high above the screens and knock a small joystick controller to the floor.

The screens changed to all show the same image of a metal lab, a bright green light glowing off-screen. Vlad scrambled to pick up the controller.

He had to get rid of it. If Danny were to see it, his chances of reconnecting would be buried beside the thermos that would hold him.

The joy stick nearly snapped as he shifted it around, the screen bobbing up and down, flying towards the Fenton Portal. A large fly swatter appeared on the screen and Vlad shifted the stick up, sending the spy-bug into a dive and accidentally turning on the audio.

“Almost got it there, Mads!” Vlad pressed the two buttons on the bottom of the controller and the room turned into various shades of light blue. An excited gasp loudly played through the speakers. “It was a ghost bug!”

“Please let their ghost shield be working this time,” the man mumbled to himself, heart racing with anxiety.

The bug veered up through the ceiling, passing into the kitchen. Jasmine’s irritated face covered the screens and he quickly flew the bug up further, his grip slipping slightly on the stick as his hands started to sweat.

The roof. He could phase the bug through that and fly it close to the source of the ghost shield. Its destroyed remains would likely never get examined with how little the Fentons check up on it. He’d heard enough rants from Danny’s time studying with Jasmine to know that their equipment was laughable at best when it came to conventional workings and maintenance. Everything in that house was a mess of patchwork additions and stopgap solutions.

The screens turned black as the bug phased invisibly through the floor and into a small room covered in space-themed posters, knick knacks, and dim glow-in-the-dark stars.

Three sets of legs dangled at the edge of a navy blue bedspread and a boy with black hair and puffy blue eyes propped himself up on his elbows. He chuckled at something and spoke to the two laying beside him, but the man couldn’t hear a word over the blood rushing in his ears.

In his rush to pull the joystick down and fly the bug up to the roof, Vlad’s hands slipped, pressing both of the controller buttons and revealing the bug. He stared stock still as Danny’s eyes met his.

The look on the boy’s face as he switched between wide-eyed shock to tear-filled sadness to full unadulterated rage in the span of a few seconds made the controller slip from his hands.

He watched in slow motion as a harshly glowing green hand filled the screen, the grating sound of metal being crushed screeched through the speakers.

Through one of the partly cracked lenses, a bright light flickered across the screen and Vlad let his hands drop as Danny Phantom rocketed through the walls in the direction of the mansion.

#dannymay2021 #dannymay #badger cereal #nemo the writing ho #Not Your Son #danny phantom #vlad masters #danny fenton #maddie the cat #hit enter coward #i had the option to try splitting this into two chapters like with boundaries but i decided against it and here we are #7pm the day after lol

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wangisking · 3 years

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𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐘

BASICS. FULL NAME : Augustus Alexander Wang NICKNAME : August and Gus ( in general ), Auggie, Ice Prince, and Guggie ( by Aurora ). Aug and Lestat ( by Jack ), NAME MEANINGS : Augustus is Latin for the great / the magnificent. Alexander is also Latin and means defender of mankind. From what I know, Wang in Chinese means king. HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Though, his dad did think of the Roman Emperor Augustus when they named him, they liked the meaning. It seemed to fit him. They weren’t wrong, he was an emperor and he still has that energy. AGE : 22. Like Aurora, he can’t age past 22. He wouldn’t have minded either way. BIRTHDAY : 5th April ETHNIC GROUP : Augustus is half Korean and half Brazilian. NATIONALITY : British LANGUAGES : fluent in English and French. Conversational Latin. Broken Korean. Learning Urdu. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : demi-heterosexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : demi-heterosexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Single and doesn’t want to mingle. He had only one serious relationship in the past with Aurora Shams from 2017-2019. CLASS : Upper class, Wealthy but not private-jet kind of wealthy. HOME TOWN / AREA : London till he was 10 and Vancouver till he was 17 CURRENT HOME : Los Angeles PROFESSION : Drummer, songwriter, model, and student. PHYSICAL. HAIR : long and wavy. Chestnut brown. Here is an example. It goes down his earlobes in length. EYES : piercing, almond-shaped eyes. Naturally brown, but he wears blue or green contact lenses. NOSE : a Greek nose, straight without bumps. FACE : Oblong shaped, sharp and chiseled cheekbones, strong jaw. Masculine features. Example. LIPS : not full nor thin, heart shaped. COMPLEXION : pretty pale. Example is same as the face section. SCARS : one on his chest. TATTOOS : a very small ‘10/17′ on his left rib. PIERCINGS: earlobes HEIGHT : 6′5″ or 195cm. BUILD : Inverted triangle. Broad, tapered shoulders. Muscular. Defined, sculpted abs. Long limbs. Broad chest. He was naturally towards the muscular side with broad shoulders and chest. He’s never been on the skinny side. Example one and two USUAL HAIR STYLE : he lets his hair do their thing, he styles them a little, but he prefers a messier vibe. USUAL FACE LOOK : He looks generally bored. His eyes have a piercing look that seem to be drilling into the person before him. Like he can see right through you. There is an insolent smirk tugging at his lips like he thinks you’re amusing. Almost proud, like he thinks he is above you. There is depth and intensity in his eyes that stare skywards in thought. There is also mischievous, radiant glimmer in his eyes. USUAL CLOTHING : prince charming meets rockstar. Lots of jackets, darker colors, boots, necklaces and rings. Here is his wardrobe. PSYCHOLOGY. FEARS : claustrophobia and the fear of ending up alone. He always had this creeping feeling that he’d be alone in the end and that he was always meant to be alone. ASPIRATIONS : he doesn’t have any set aspirations. They change every now and then. However, his goals are just to keep his found family happy. POSITIVE TRAITS : extremely charismatic, intelligent, academic and studious, alluring and attractive, quick-witted, charming and captivating, articulate and eloquent, adventurous, desirable, analytical, brilliant, friendly, enthusiastic, adaptable, observant, kind, mellow, competent, extremely caring and protective over those closest to him, clever, loyal, clear-headed, confident, humorous, courageous, imaginative and creative, a visionary, refined tastes and manners, daring, dignified, ebullient, deep, remarkable, surprisingly he’s very forgiving, forthright, gallant, logical, gentlemanly and sophisticated, perfectionist, popular, self-reliant, shrewd, witty, suave, curious, and resourceful. NEGATIVE TRAITS : egocentric, self-obsessed, idle, indifferent, selfish, defiant, arrogant, argumentative, rebellious, kinda lazy, stubborn, distracted, doesn’t really care for morals, blunt, can appear insensitive a lot, is insensitive at times, no filters, can be cold for those he doesn’t care for, emotionally immature, deflects emotions, suppresses his feelings, sorta detached, kinda pessimistic, and unknowingly self-sacrificing because he thinks it’s fair and he deserves it. MBTI : ENTP ( Ne dominant, Ti auxiliary, Fe tertiary, and Si inferior — this means she can’t use Ni, Se, Te, and especially can’t use Fi). He perceives the world by connecting dots, thinking of never-ending possibilities, looking for pieces of a puzzle, and finding meaning in abstract. He makes judgments on if what he perceives fits his internal logic. ZODIAC : Aries sun, Gemini rising, Sagittarius moon. TEMPERAMENT : sanguine choleric ANIMALS : parrots and cats because they’re both intelligent but little pieces of shit who enjoy making your life hell. VICE : it’s either his ego or how he ends up detaching himself FAITH : currently, he’s Mu.slim. He was born protestant, became an atheist when he was 13, agnostic at 14. Bud.dhist at 15. Taoist at 16. Confucianist at 17. Mu.slim at 19. Doesn't practice it though. GHOSTS ? : yep.. AFTERLIFE ? : yep REINCARNATION ? : he guesses so. Went through it, but doesn’t remember. ALIENS ? : hell yeah. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : liberal. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : upper class or upper middle class is good with him. EDUCATION LEVEL : MSci in Physics from the University of Cambridge. Is opting to specialize in astrophysics soon. FAMILY. FATHER : Edward Wang, owner of a chain of fine dining restaurants MOTHER : Elisa Violeta Wang, psychiatrist, deceased STEP MOTHER : Chaeyoung Wang, lawyer. SIBLINGS : Cassandra Wang, athlete EXTENDED FAMILY : he is not close with his external family and doesn’t know his birth mother’s family at all. They never wanted him. FAVOURITES. BOOK : Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Galactic Dynamics by James Binney, Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Mukarami, Slaughter house Five by Kurt Vonnegut, War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, and Lord of the Flies by William Golding. MOVIE : Scott Pilgrim vs The World 5 SONGS : All You Want - Dashboard Prophets, Tokyo Smoke - Cage the Elephant, Where is My Mind? - The Pixies, Sparks - Coldplay, Lithium - Nirvana, and Mr. Blue Sky - Electric Light Orchestra DEITY : none. Let him argue with one and ask for proof of their deity-ness. HOLIDAY : Halloween. It’s dramatic and fun. MONTH : October, because he met Aurora and Jack this month in 2017. SEASON : spring and summer. PLACE : he doesn’t have a specific place, but he prefers European architecture. WEATHER : cloudy and windy. Sunny if it isn’t too hot. SOUND : drums and percussions, the sound of aurora and jack’s laugh, guitars, violins, the sound of wind roaring, music boxes, and the clinking of bangles and jewelry. SCENTS : sage, rosemary, and damascus roses. TASTES : chocolate, strawberries, chilies, and fried food. FEELS : the feeling of hitting the drums, wind in his hair, the cold night air, warm morning sun, grass against his fingertips, silk, and touching long hair. ANIMALS : cats and dogs. NUMBER : 8 COLORS : white, cherry red, pink, maroon, wine red, black, and silver. EXTRA. TALENTS : he is an extremely talented drummer, good at guitar and the piano, he is talented at songwriting, composing music, he’s exceptionally good at mathematics and physics, analytical skills, storytelling, knows a lot of facts, near photographic memory because he remembers all important historical events with dates and details, academic writing, and brainstorming ideas. BAD AT : cooking, not very good at driving because he gets distracted, doing one task at a time, playing videogames, actually listening to what people say, being humble, and actually being a good leader. TURN ONS : this is a complicated question. He needs a very strong emotional connection to feel sexual attraction towards someone. And he only felt it for one person in his whole life. But, what sparked that attraction was a brilliant mind and the ability to connect with his mind on a very different level. It’s not going to repeat with anyone else. TURN OFFS : literally everyone else. He’s not sorry, but I am. HOBBIES : playing the drums, writing and composing songs, reading, solving problems, listening to music, watching shows, getting people to do weird shit, and annoying people. AESTHETIC : crowns, drums, broken drumming sticks, abstract art, the vast space, chess boards, album cases, thrones, the echoing sound of pianos, Greek sculptures, galaxies and nebulas, early morning sunrise through curtains, libraries, equations scribbled on napkins, empty museums, unmade white sheets, polaroid cameras, conspiracy theories, VHS tapes, antique books, cobblestone alleyways, night skies, cluttered books, calloused fingers, crumpled composition pages, guitar picks, vinyl, telescopes, and planets. Basically: abstract, chaotic academia, cryptid academia, dark academia, indie, kingcore, light academia, musical academia, science academia, spacecore, QUOTES : it’s weird but i can’t decide which one fits him. FC INFO. MAIN FC : victor han ALT FC : n/a. OLDER FC : he can’t age past 22, so he doesn’t need one. YOUNGER FC : none yet. VOICE CLAIM : both speaking and singing (his accent is posh British with a slight hint of Canadian) MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about ? A1 : The same answer as Aurora, The Tale of Solis et Lunae that stars him alongside Aurora, Lunae, Jack, and Tate, plus more. A cosmic adventure / fantasy / coming of age / superhero / the reluctant hero / the chosen one. His role is of Aurora’s best friend and her greatest support in emotional and supernatural dangers. He is the time traveler who ascends time and space, so he often also gives her insight and information like the sage. It’ll expand across dimensions, worlds, and different states of existence. The scenes would be cinematic with a strong soundtrack. I imagine him to have some scenes like Quick Silver in the X-Men movies. Q2 : What would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : He would have a 90s grunge or spacey dream rock sound. It ties in with the end of the last answer because i see him in one of those scenes with 90s grunge or maybe classical music ? Q3 : Why did you start writing this character ? A3 : I made Augustus just a bit before Aurora. They were a two part deal. I don’t know when it began, I just had this image of a tall, long haired boy with piercing, intelligent eyes who’s a smart-ass and likes being a know-it-all nuisance. This character has been the same since he began in 2019 and refused to change. He was always a drummer, he always had the same fashion sense, the look, Gus was always half-Korean, he always had long fingers he wore rings on, and he was always Aurora’s best friend/partner in crime. He remains unchanged and that's why I wanted to write him. This very vivid image of this boy was something I had to pen down. And just my luck, I found a fc who looks exactly how Gus looked in my head. Q4 : What first attracted you to this character ? A4 : Augustus is just extraordinary. It’s something I always felt about him and Aurora and I don’t see any of my other characters coming anywhere close to them regardless of how much I spent time on them. But with Augustus, his entire image and looks and personality — down to his wardrobe and jewelry was always so vivid in my head. Like I knew this very chaotically handsome boy who was going to turn the world upside down. His story is interesting, but what interests me more is his perspective on his story. The way he looks at his life and how he is quiet and doesn’t show his pain. How confused he always is. How much he aches but never seems so. The way he loves but doesn’t say even a quarter of the intensity he feels. And how sometimes he believes he deserves suffering because it makes sense to him. I also love the connections he makes and the way he loves so deeply and profoundly but underneath the surface. His connection, love, fears, and hopes with Aurora and Jack for their respective reasons are extremely beautiful. Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. ? A5 : Augustus is unknowingly self-sabotaging. He let go the only relationship / love in his life that made him feel like real love just because he thought he didn’t deserve it. And because when he was provoked, it made “sense” to him. He bottles his emotions and pain so much despite their intensity. He never shows how much he really cares and really hurts. And how sure he is that he’ll end up alone without friends and that it makes sense to him. Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : Here’s a fun answer, because I bottle my emotions like him. I also interact with the carefree way he does even if I don’t feel peachy. He’s smart and witty and really hot and I don’t even have that going on for me. So, yikes. Only of Gus’ bad things I share. Q7 : How does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Gus loves interacting with people so he’ll definitely show up to annoy me. Maybe, he might think I’m fun to annoy? Or maybe, we’ll have a similar sense of humor. I think he won’t dislike me. Not sure if he’ll like me. I think he’d think I’m funny in a strange sort of way. Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : Aurora, first of all. They have this same brain wave-length thing going on where they’re partners in crime and bffs forever more. He knows how she is feeling and what she’s thinking even before she utters it. If she is about to sneeze, he’d get a tissue ready. He can tell if she is hungry or sleepy with one glance. She can do the same, so they sorta have this weird understanding of each other. Jack is this older brother figure Augustus loves. He won’t admit it, but he kinda wants to make Jack proud of him. He also wants to provide love and care to Jack that he thinks he deserves but never got. They’re his family now and he’ll never be alone or sad again. He annoys Jack a lot but behind it all, he just wants Jack to think he is needed and he belongs. That if he thinks Augustus is reliant on him, then he has this family he has to protect and care for. He can’t stand the thought of Jack feeling unloved, forgotten, alone. Tida is another one. There’s this great respect and adoration Gus has for him. Almost like he looks up to him in some ways He also has a lot of hopes and expectations attached. He feels Tida is everything that Gus himself lacks. He is the ideal boyfriend, kindest person, shows his emotions vividly, and is like a warm and cozy blanket personified. He is probably Tida and Aurora’s biggest supporter and first one to know. He can’t be happier than he is that Aurora found someone as good and perfect as Tida. Taewon is one really fun character. Their two-way frenemy jealousy spans over years and started in Cambridge when they were both in love with the same girl they claimed to be best friends with. Though, trying to be calm, Augustus was constantly provoked and hurt, made to feel inferior and constantly in fear of his relationship being broken by Taewon’s schemes that he couldn’t say out loud. This dark period ended with a fist fight and baggage of guilt they both carry to this day for hurting each other and the one they claimed to love. Today, they’re way past that and frenemies who have funny quips and arguments for each other. They say they dislike each other. But if the lighting is good, one would be the photographer of the other. Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : Music helps me imagine scenes with perfect visual details. Any scenes from shows that remind me of my storylines. Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ? A10 : I don’t remember. It was many days and I didn’t count because it was in bits and pieces.

#╰ ♛ 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 ━━ the king of gods #long post #i finally did this!

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