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endless diamond sky 

Becca is yet another member that has returned to us, and was sorely missed in her absence. As much a part of the family as though she'd been here from the very beginning. She's always welcoming, always kind and supportive, and most importantly ready to offer all the magical feels-breaking plots you could ever ask for. So don't forget to show her your love next time you see her!





charas of the month

Welcome to ENDLESS DIAMOND SKY! We are an animation personified site set both in the animated world and present day San Francisco. A terrible darkness is spreading through the animated realm, driving everyone from their homes and into unknown territory that we know as reality. Now they find themselves at a crossroads: do they fight for their world or do they turn their back on it and make San Francisco their home? What will you choose?

san francisco, calif. 2018


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EDS is known to cause death by soul-crushing feels. Don't forget your feels bucket.


 BALANCE / STRENGTH, peter / junie
arthur alexandre drake
 Posted: Nov 22 2017, 03:12 PM

Just because you don't understand something, doesn't mean it's wrong. .

  sword in the stone
  25 years old
  HE | HIM
  sam (SHE | HER)


if today's the day i die

Lay me down under the lights Let me fall in love Let me save a life

Sweat from a morning full of practices trickled down the sides of his face. His arms hurt, muscles fighting the urge to let go and let his limbs collapse limp at his sides. Instead he kept going, pushing through the burn as he practiced swinging and lunging with the large sword in his hands. Even with such an untrained master Excalibur was a sight to be seen. It flashed blindingly in the barest of lights, it's edges sharp enough to cleave a man's head from his shoulders in a single stroke. It required no sharpening, didn't rust or age, and every time Arthur held it he felt power humming inside of it. A great sword fit for a King, and he spent more time than he could count trying to live up to it. It wasn't a question of whether or not he believed he'd live up to the legend, he believed (with almost childish certainty) that he would one day be exactly what the sword needed him to be. His problem was finding the time to actually work at getting there.

It had been almost two whole months since he'd found time to cross over. Between school and work he'd put his responsibilities to the resistance and himself aside. Something he'd swore he'd never do. It didn't help that he didn't have to worry about the portal's little side effect. He'd learned over time that something about the sword made it so he'd never forget, even when he didn't cross for months at a time. It was both a relief and a hassle. It took away that sense of urgency he'd had in the beginning. When running through the portal had been the only surefire way to make sure he never forgot about his home, or who he was.

When he'd finally sat down and told himself to take the day off for a trip through the portal, the first thing he'd done was dive into training. He needed to make up for what he'd missed, though he knew one day wasn't going to outweigh what could have been weeks of learning.

He knew from watching the better fighters that his hold on the sword still wasn't strong enough. A well placed strike and he'd drop it. He also left himself open far too often, but when you sparred mostly with fighting dummies it was hard to get an accurate read on how best to move so that others couldn't find your weaknesses. Overall most of his problems stemmed from being a somewhat awkward eighteen year old, in good shape, but still not completely grown out of the gangling long-legged youth he'd been as a child.

Yes he'd grown, but on this side he was still young, still growing and it didn't help that this body moved differently from the one on the other side. It was hard enough learning to function with one body, never mind two.

Panting, Arthur lifted an arm to rub the sweat from his brow. When he'd crossed it had been cold out, the ground covered in steadily melting snow, but the workout he'd given himself had effectively cancelled out most of it. He felt hot almost suffocated in the layers he still wore, as he moved to the log where he'd left a water bottle half buried in slush. Collapsing onto the makeshift bench he pulled out his bottle and took a long gulp, wincing at the coldness of the water. The arm still holding his sword planted it securely into the ground.

"Not bad, could have been better..." His voice carried in the silence of the training part of camp. Winter seemed to be having some trouble letting go, and he considered crossing back to the heat of San Francisco. Or finding a campfire back at the camp, his eyes straying towards the noises he could hear bustling away. Semi-distant, yet comforting.

And all I know is: No one, no one lives forever

user posted image
peter llewelyn pan
 Posted: Jan 1 2018, 03:17 AM

Nobody calls Pan a coward and lives!.

  peter pan
  peter pan
  20 years old
  junie ()


He may have lost the Lost Boys – and irony that did not escape even him – but Peter was very rarely alone. There was always someone to talk to, whether it was on this side or the other, even if they weren’t particularly conversational themselves. They often didn’t want to play, though, which was why Peter often found himself on the move. If he had a choice, he’d bustle about the side of the portal he’d come from; in San Francisco, he was much older and practically an adult. It made his skin crawl just thinking about. So he usually spent his time in the forests and wastelands of the world that had once been his, secretly hoping that Neverland would spring back into existence, and enjoying the fights he got into with monsters in the meantime. Sometimes, however, there were no monsters to fight, and he found himself very bored indeed.

Peter sat in a tree and watched the boy below practicing below with mild interest. He’d been up there for hours, playing his lute until the boy had come along. Peter had made to leave at first but he found the boy below unexpectedly interesting. He seemed to be fighting the air which, in Peter’s experience, could be quite a good game, but ever since Neverland had been swallowed by the darkness, he’d found that his own powers of imagine had dwindled some out. Make believe food didn’t taste as good as it once had and things he’d merely believed to be real were no longer as reliable as they once had been. He couldn’t imagine that this boy’s imagination, whoever he was, could be any better than his. Especially not a boy who seemed so well on his way to becoming a man. Gross.

It was still a bit entertaining, though, and Peter had lapsed into an unusual silence, observing from his resting place in the branches. If he had to guess, he would call the boy-man a pirate. He didn’t really look like one – too young, too blonde, and not nearly vicious enough. If he wasn’t a pirate, though, Peter wasn’t entirely sure what he was. Part of the resistance, maybe. Peter did battle with them from time to time but they took it all far too seriously and often grew cross with him for not taking it seriously enough. He didn’t remember seeing this boy among them but that didn’t mean much, given Peter’s generally terrible memory and the fact that he often wandered off on his own. It wasn’t his fault the resistance was so dull.

Eventually, he grew bored with merely observing and rolled off the branch, floating down to land on the ground on his own two feet. Or rather, land very close to the ground, his feet hovering just a few inches above the snow to avoid the cold and wet. He stood a few feet from where Arthur sat, eyeing his sword with interest. “What could have been better?” he asked without prelude, no hellos or introductions, just Peter being his very curious self. “Who were you pretending to fight? Was it pirates?”

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