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?
DISCLAIMER: EDS is known to cause death by soul-crushing feels.
Don't forget your feels bucket.
One of our newest members, Kay is quickly becoming one of our best and brightest! Always a pleasure in the chat and onsite, we're happy to have her. From mysterious mirror man Sterling to everyone's favorite big brother figure Takashi, we love what she's done so far and we can't wait to see what's next. Keep shining, jewel!
"gonna start a revolution of convoluted dissolution; in my final hour, i'll be a confident coward."
HAVEN HILL | MARCH 2017
At first the boy slides into the room sideways, a little hesitant. The faded sweatshirt is oversized, emphasized by his lanky frame, and making him appear younger than his height would suggest. It only lasts a moment before his confidence picks itself up again and is put back in place. Lazy strides carry him into the room, fingers fiddling with things along his path before he finds the seat opposite you and sits gracelessly. On rollers, the swiveling chair slides a bit beneath him before he catches it and stills. He plucks a lollipop from a jar of sweets on your desk and settles in for the same conversation you’ve been having near monthly. The questions go as usual — receiving short, almost blunt answers that would have been abrasively rude coming from an adult.
Despite his appearance to the contrary, you know the opposite to be true. You’ve read his file, the things he’s said to others before you. You only want him to say them to you, something he’s thus far refused to do. Therefore you only find his answers grating in tone and more so because you’re aware he’s only doing it to get a rise out of you. It’s a performance of sorts and you both play your parts well until you come to the question about college. He puts you off, also as usual, the leftover wrapper from his lollipop crinkling between his fingers. You wonder why he’s so resistant and fail to realize that you’ve spoken aloud until he crushes the wrapper into his fist.
“Been there, done that,” he says flippantly, face turning away as he swivels to the right in the chair. In profile, thick dark hair conceals his eyes but you can’t mistake the slight frown that tugs at the boy’s mouth. “Didn’t care for it much.” The boy smirks caustically. “School’s a real killer.”
The brother’s accident is something you know about and you begin there but he cuts you off with a sharp, humorless laugh. When you look up from your notes, his head is tilted as he holds the now sweetless lollipop stick between thumb and forefinger. It takes you a moment to realize what he’s doing before you realize he’s aiming for the small metal trash can a few feet away. A quick flick of his fingers and the stick goes flying, first dinging against the rim of the can and then falling in. The boy shows no reaction to the success of the obviously calculated move, his certainty having stolen the simple joy of it.
“I was wondering when we’d get to that,” he said, swiveling to face you again. He crosses his arms, danger flashing in his eyes as he stares at you. “I guess they put that in my file, too, huh?”
You nod, beginning again, curious where this line of questioning would lead. This is the first real emotion you’ve seen on the boy’s face since you began to see him and that meant something, even if it was a negative thing.
“Listen,” he cuts you off again, jaw clenched. “I didn’t want to go to that nerd school because of Ta— my brother. I wanted to go because of Callaghan and that-- well, the point’s moot now anyway.”
- - -
"can we just pretend i can take it back, change the way the story ends; i remember when things were simple."
PRIVATE VIDEO LOG (RESTRICTED ACCESS) | TRANSCRIPT
[A young man, approximately late teens, settles in front of the camera. The room behind him is too dark to make out. A white-blue cast from a computer screen illuminates his face.] You always hear people talk about how being an adult is so hard--” [He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.] But it’s not. Not really. You know what is? Learning to shave. All those angles, y’know. My brother….he was supposed to teach me. Before. But I never could get more than a little peach fuzz growing before he -- well, anyway, I had to teach myself to do it after I was brought here.
[A pause.] The concept is simple enough: a razor, some shaving cream to the face, light strokes until all the hair is gone. In practice, you’ll probably cut yourself more often than not and run through an entire roll of toilet paper trying to get it to stop. Then you do it again. And again. Because you have to or else-- [The speaker makes dramatic motions with his hands around his chin. Then he shrugs, twisting lazily in the swiveling chair.] Eventually you get good enough at it that you only use a little toilet paper and your face looks more like a human’s and less like a cat that developed mange.
[The boy stops moving, eyes downcast as his expression turns thoughtful.] Life’s a bit like that, too. When the bad things happen, you just….you keep going. Because you have to for some reason or another. Then…if you’re lucky, I mean...it gets easier. That’s what they tell me anyways. That it gets easier. [He runs a hand down his face.] God, I hope it gets easier. Some days I can almost believe that. [He raises his head, dark hair flopping into his face as he squints across the room at some distance beyond the camera.]
Those are the days I forget about them for a little while. Not completely but...I forget to think about them, I guess. Like-Like they’re all hibernating way back in my subconscious or something. Not just Tadashi and Aunt Cass, either, or Baymax but my fri-- those nerds. The ones that were with me...on the island. [His expression falls and he looks at the camera again before resuming his nervous swiveling.] Anyway, most days I’ve just gotten really good at pretending I’m not a stray.
- - -
M I G R A I N E
"waging wars behind my face and above my throat."
SOMEWHERE NEAR HAVEN HILL | MAY 2017
He walked, fists shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, head down, along the brightly lit street. Though it was late, this part of the city was still bustling. Cars zoomed past and the late spring breeze held a hint of chill brought in from the pacific. If he didn’t think about it too hard, he could almost believe he was in San Fransokyo, walking to the bodega at the end of his own street. That is, until his too-long legs caught him up and his balance stumbled and he remembered he was a good six inches taller and he -- well everything about him was bigger, ganglier, and more awkward. Skipping puberty had its downsides, he guessed. One of them certainly being that he was still unaccustomed to his new height and often found himself teetering on his toes naturally trying to find his center of balance again.
A hand reached up to rub the back of his neck as the breeze tickled the hairs across the sensitive skin. Absently, his palm ran along his jaw and the newly grown stubble there and he cringed, dropping his arm with a sigh. How many times had he thought about being grown up, had stubbornly demanded to be treated like an adult? Ironic, now he was one (practically), he didn’t want any of it. With the dark fog of nightmares still clinging to him, all he really wanted was Mochi curled up in his lap and a plate of his aunt’s chocolate chip cookies.
The fall of his dark hair obscured the homesickness in his eyes as he stepped into the harsh fluorescent lighting of the convenience store. He kept his head down as he meandered through the aisles, grabbing things at random and piling them in his arms. The music overhead was some annoying auto-tuned pop song, playing at such a low volume that it wasn’t any feat at all to tune it out for all that it fed into his negative mood. The night clerk eyed him with a blank, shark-eyed expression as he dropped his plunder onto the counter and glanced away. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, he pulled out the wad of money and plunked it on the counter, coins spinning across it. The clerk said nothing as he bagged the items up and handed him back his change. He left the store just as stonily, barely acknowledging the cashier as he walked away, sneakered feet dragging with a squeal across the linoleum.
A vending machine outside the store caught his eye; the backlight illuminating the rows of cheap candy sitting at odd angles behind the glass. He closed a fist around the change in his palm and stood in front of the machine. He studied the options only briefly before he shoved coins into the slot and entered a combination of buttons. Brown eyes watched the package of gummy bears begin to slide forward, propelled by the metal spiral that held them in place. Just before they fell, the edge of the packaged caught against the glass and stuck at an awkward angle. He stared a moment in disbelief before loosing a frustrated breath. Impatiently, he grasped the edges of the machine and shook once, then twice. The package didn’t budge. Jamming buttons and pounding the heel of his fist against the thick glass barrier, Hiro knew the aggression he was feeling towards the vending machine wasn’t rooted in his desire for candy -- plenty of it inside the plastic bags in his grasp.
It was a manifestation of everything he felt about the current state of his life: he had more than he could ever need and still didn’t have the one thing he wanted. His fury continued until he was kicking the machine -- only succeeding in stubbing his toes against the sturdy metal and running out of breath. With a groan, the energy left him and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cool glass and staring at the offending package. A heavy sigh fogged the glass and Hiro closed his eyes, suddenly too tired to move. He knew he must have made an odd picture, standing as he was practically hugging a machine taller than he was in the middle of the street. A long moment passed with him like that -- likely it would have gone longer had the machine not suddenly started buzzing. Eyes opening wide, he saw the metal spiral turning again and watched as the package of gummy bears as it descended to the bottom.
Taking a step back, he turned to see the convenience store clerk staring at him awkwardly. Hiro stared back, watching as they bent forward to retrieve the gummy bears and then silently held the package out to him. Gaze switching back and forth between the offered candy and the clerk’s face, he hesitated only a moment before swiping the package and shoving past the stunned clerk. Tell-tale splotches of red raised in his face as he ducked his head once more and headed down the street, refusing to look back or acknowledge what had happened even to himself.
- - -
NA NA NA
"crash and burn, young and loaded."
JAPANTOWN, SAN FRANCISCO | JUNE 2017
The alley was empty save for himself and the three men. They looked at him appraisingly, their greasy mugs something out of a gangster film. Hiro glanced hopefully towards the busy street at one end, the glowing paper lanterns signalling the safety of the pedestrian thoroughfare -- too busy for anyone to notice the noise they were bound to make soon and too far to easily reach. If he could get around the weasel-looking thug with the sparse mustache, the rat shifted with a nervous energy. Even if a stiff could knock him over, he looked fast. Fast enough to trip him up and the bigger one to move in. Beneath hooded eyes, he sized up the weasel’s bulky companion. Easily twice his size and with anvils for fists, there was a high probability a well-aimed blow from one of them would break every bone in his skull. As much as he’d rather be anywhere else but here, he’d also rather his brain matter stay between his ears.
Pain vibrated through his shoulder as he was shoved hard against the concrete wall. The force of it made his teeth chatter together painfully. With a grunt, he reached up with his free hand to rub at the spot prompting the big one to press him further into the building. His lean frame easily went where the meaty hand guided him and Hiro’s jaw tightened in frustration in the way it usually did when encountering bullies. No matter that the thugs might have been justified in their reasoning in accosting him, they were bullies all the same. Their leader stepped out of the shadows then like some movie villain, the useless end of a matchstick between his teeth. This thug was somewhere in the middle of the other two as far as size went but it was clear by the expensive cut of his clothing (and the obvious signs that he had bathed far more recently than his cronies) that he wasn’t planning on doing any of the dirty work. This man….he was definitely the boss.
Tiny hairs of a thin mustache lined themselves on the man’s upper lip like a contingent of ants that spread themselves out with the snide curling of the man’s mouth. Rage, hot and injudicious, threatened to overcome Hiro’s sense of self-preservation. As it was, the fist that held him to the wall was all that kept him opening his mouth and it was beginning to lose its effectiveness. Silently, the boy cocked an eyebrow at the leader and pressed his lips into a thin line. He wondered to himself if he was literally going to have to bite his tongue off if he wanted to make it out of the alley in one piece. He didn’t have to ask why he was being detained: the answer came readily enough from the weight of the cash roll in his pocket and the miniature, currently-folded robot in his grasp. Apparently, these guys didn’t like newcomers on their turf. Schooling his expression, Hiro regarded the threesome in cool neutrality.
“You played that room for idiots tonight,” The leader finally spoke, voice low and meandering theatrically. Hiro watched the red end of the matchstick bobbing as he talked. “What’s your name, kid?”
“If you wanted my autograph, all you had to do was ask,” he retorted, bravado making him sound more confident than he really was. At least his voice had ceased cracking thanks to the portal.
The main thug only laughed. A humorless sort of sound that held all the warning and none of the brevity it should have. “You think you’re a real badass dontcha, kid?”
”I could say the same thing about you,” his mouth ran away from him. Once it had taken the reins, Hiro could only raise his free shoulder in an unimpressed shrug. ”Why else would you be chewing on phosphorus and potassium chlorate? Gee, I hope I grow up to be like you.”
To be fair, he noted the man’s arm recoil a split second before the fist landed in his gut but, pinned as he was against the wall, there was no avoiding it. The beating was swift; only a warning, they said, as they ransacked his pockets. They didn’t take the bot, which he supposed he ought to be grateful for though the weasel seemed to take great pleasure in stomping it to spare parts before they left him in the alley. A long time passed before he managed to gather the pieces of the robot and drag himself up to lean against the wall. An even longer time before he raised himself to his feet and walked out of there with his head high and only a minor limp giving away what his too-thin body had been put through. It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in a similar situation but it was difficult to acknowledge that there was no one coming to rescue him this time. There was no one left to.
- - -
R U N A W A Y
"on the surface, how can you find reason to move on?"
HAVEN HILL | JULY 2017
You sidle into the familiar office with a smirk on your face. It’s been months since you’ve shown up to any of your appointments with the counselor so the brief flash of surprise that crosses their expression brings with it a hint of satisfaction. You like surprising people. It’s more satisfying when they underestimate you but the counselor has far too much faith in you for that to be the case. Still, you take what you can get. A little of your energy has been stymied by the activity of your daily life and as you wander further in, you keep your hands to yourself. Plopping heavily into the chair across from them, you prop your feet on the edge of their desk without invitation. Raising a brow at them in challenge, you wait for them to begin. You watch as their eyes track the yellowing bruise across one cheek but they say nothing about it.
It’s the usual questions, for the most part and you answer accordingly. They ask you about your new job -- you tell them. A little too much, probably, since they ask you more questions and only seem encouraged to continue. That is, until you realize and shorten your answers until they sigh. You’ve given them something you hadn’t intended to though: hope. Why they have hope for you, why they’re so invested, you don’t know and you regret opening your mouth. Then, of course, inevitably they bring up college again and you begin to tune them out. You stare at the brochure they slide across the desk to you but make no move to take it. In fact, you stand to leave, tired of this same old direction.
They say to you as you begin to turn away: “You can’t hold onto the past forever, Hiro.”
You hesitate, stopped for a moment as those words sink in despite your resistance to them. Dark eyes sliding towards them, you see them holding the brochure out to you. The corners of your mouth turn down into a frown, you part your lips to deliver a smart retort but nothing comes to mind. Grudgingly, you take the brochure from them and promptly leave the room. Outside, you pause. Though your eyes are trained on the glossy paper of the college brochure, the bright block letters proclaiming the ‘future’ to be found at SAE Institute of Technology, you aren’t really considering it. Instead, you see another school, a busy lab, and faces that are beginning to blur in your memory. A moment later, you ball the brochure up between your palms and toss it into a nearby trash can as you leave the building. You aren’t holding onto the past, the past is holding on to you.
NAME: He's pretty stubborn and still goes by Hiro, introducing himself as such for the most part. So I really wanted to find one for him that included the shorter name while still being different enough from his real one. 'Toshiro', while the 'sh' is different from the hard 'h' sound of Hiro's real name, was a close enough compromise for me. Meaning talented or intelligent depending on the characters used, the name suits him. One of the meanings of 'Eiji' is second, as in second son or second born, and this is in homage of being the younger of the two Hamada brothers. While 'Mitsuru' is not commonly used as a surname, I chose it for Hiro because it means 'growing' which is not only something Hiro has to do as a kid transitioning into an adult, whether he wants to or not, but also as a person whose worldview is expanding and changing -- a bit more rapidly than he can sometimes keep up with.
PLAYBY:Kentaro Sakaguchi. I've had a Hiro muse for a really long time now but he never solidified because I just couldn't find a face for him at all. Kentaro came up in a random search for an entirely different character and here we are. He's got a really serious, melancholic side but, other times,
he possesses a childlike enthusiasm and vulnerability that is similar to Hiro's own self-possession versus innocent excitable nature. Plus those freakin' dimples, man.
OCCUPATION: Recently, he managed to snag a job doing tech repair for a local shop and spends most of his days replacing phone screens and fixing computers. The boss doesn't hound him too much and he gets to use whatever spare parts he wants for his own projects. The bot fighting scene in San Francisco is not as lucrative or rampant as it was back home, so it's hard for him to find matches around the city but every so often he goes in and empties out more than few pockets.
POWERS & ABILITIES: Super brains -finger guns-
PERSONALITY: Hiro is very much still grieving. Not only his brother but the loss of everyone and everything else he cared about. He's had a good bit of time to come to terms with some of it and it's not something that affects him outwardly in a way that's easily recognizable. He's a punk who is sometimes a deliberately trying individual but he's a good kid for the most part and an excitable one if you can successfully engage him. That being said, he's still sad and hurting and a little bit angry and this, more often than not, reads as flippancy and boredom. Which, understandably, is not a little frustrating even for the prepared.
BACKGROUND: I didn't change anything about Hiro's background as we know it from the movie. He lost his parents at such a young age, he doesn't really remember them at all. For him, Tadashi and Cass were the main influential figures in his life up until the events of the movie. Having lost that,
and the burgeoning friendships he was making with the others post Tadashi's death, he's definitely in need of some sort of positive influence or direction in his life and that manifests in his often reckless behavior and attitude belligerent attitude towards authority. Read: his inability to hold down a job until recently and his general lack of care when it comes to mildly dangerous and/or illegal activities.
I wrote parts his application as if he has been given some form of counseling and/or guidance from the Haven Hill staff while he's been living there. A large part of him wants to move on, is trying to, but mostly he's slipped into old habits and is currently repressing a fair amount of his negative feelings about everything that happened to him.
CANON CUTOFF: After the fight on the island against Yokai. Since he technically left the island with Baymax, I tried to avoid going into detail about what happened after that point, other than that they were obviously separated when the darkness hit, so as to allow for some wiggle room for whoever might want to pick him (and the others) up in the future.