Tw Long Post - Blog Posts
Another gem from my “replace all the canon gems with ocs” au; Petalite!
Petalite was not meant to be made. Pink Diamond was trying to impress White Diamond with her concepts for gems, so she could gain her first colony.
Before going before White, Pink Diamond told Blue Diamond all her ideas. Blue... was scared for Pink. All these gem ideas didn’t have much use to the empire. She feared Pink getting in more major trouble for these ideas than the tower, the worst case scenarios popping in her head.
So, Blue did the unthinkable. She “borrowed” Pink’s essence and crafted a more sensible gem that still seemed like something Pink would concept. A gem who would experiment upon organics to try to find a use for them for the empire. Petalite was born of this as the first test gem, and presented to Pink secretly before she could go to White with her ideas.
Pink was furious at Blue for this back handed slight, and threw a bit of a tantrum. Both gems were thrown into the tower to calm down and connect. Petalite feared her shattering at the hands of Pink for just being born.... But Pink did not blame Petalite for something out of her hands. Rather, she was furious at Blue for thinking her ideas were so bad and going behind her back. Stealing her first crafted gem type - a very personal and loving experience for a Diamond.
Pink was forced to present Petalite before White. White did enjoy Pink’s more serious idea, saying she feared Pink would only give silly ideas that would not help the empire at large. However. White did not think this gem concept should be mass produced, as Pink was the only one with interest in organics. No no, if anything.... This should be Pink’s right hand!
Not only did Pink loose her chance at crafting her first gem herself, she lost the chance to choose her own right hand. Pink was furious, bitter, and pulled away from Petalite as a result. It didn’t help Pink was privately horrified at Petalite’s dissection and study of organics that she just wanted to play with. And, found it hard to connect with such an outwardly flat affected gem.
Petalite tried her hardest to please, Pink, but..... Pink just kept pulling further and further away. Especially when she was finally given Earth. Where was she all the time?
On that faithful day, Pink instructed Petalite to do something on Homeworld for her. She needed to give a speech on Earth she said.
Petalite was not there the moment Pink Diamond was shattered.
Petalite was devastated, so much so she went into her own head and lost her color- something that can happen to a gem only in extreme situations. Petalite desperately buried herself in research in study, turning down Blue’s offer to become her own right hand and resulting in Bitch Crystal being selected for the position instead. She didn’t want to fail another Diamond.
No, Petalite threw herself at the shard of her Diamond, desperately trying to repair her with all kindergarten techniques known to gem kind. But nothing helped. She grew colder, more distant, and only really showed anger at those who bothered her studies now.
When Steven arrives at homeworld as “Rose”, she demands they shatter him, so she may use his naturally healing shards to try to fix Pink.. But, when he’s thought to be “Pink”... She’s relived. Happy. So glad her diamond is truly okay..... Confused. Hurt. Why didn’t she know? How could she not know? Why didn’t Pink tell her? She knew Pink didn’t like her too much but, to be left behind like that....
In era three, when Steven is Steven, she’s lost and unsure what to do now. All her existence has centered around Pink. And she’s not really sure who “Petalite” is anymore under all the trauma and loss.
Sonic characters and their canon ages, weights and heights
Sonic (Modern) - 15 years old, 35kg (77.2lbs), 100cm (3′03′‘)
Sonic (Classic) - 16 (Classic era), unknown weight, 76.5cm (2′05′‘)
Werehog - 15 years old, 60kg (132.2lbs), 125cm (4′01′‘)
Chip/Light Gaia - Age unknown, 5kg (11lbs), 45cm (1′05′‘)
Dr Eggman - Unknown age, 128kg (281.6lbs), 185cm (6′00′‘)
Eggman Nega - Unknown age, 128kg (281.6lbs), 185cm (6′00′‘)
Metal Sonic (Classic) - Age N/A, 125.2kg (275.4lbs), 76.5cm (2′05′‘)
Metal Sonic (Modern) - Age N/A, 125.2kg (275.4lbs), 100cm (3′03′‘)
Tails - 8 years old, 20kg (44.1lbs), 80cm (2′07′‘)
Knuckles - 16 years old, 40kg (88.2lbs), 110cm (3′07′‘)
Amy - 12 years old, SECRET! (Weight), 90cm (2′10′‘)
Shadow - 15 (Physically) Around 50 (Chronologically), 35kg (77.2lbs), 100cm (3′03′‘)
Rouge - 18 years old, unknown weight, 105cm (3′05′‘)
Omega - Age N/A, 1230.512kg (2712.82lbs), 150cm (4'11")
Cream - 6 years old, 12kg (26lbs), 70cm (2′03′‘)
Vanilla - Unknown age, unknown weight, 130cm (4′03′‘)
Emerl - Age N/A, 14kg (30.9lbs), 110cm (3′07′‘)
Gemerl - Age N/A, 110kg (242.5lbs), 110cm (3′07′‘)
Big - 18 years old, 280kg (617lbs), 200cm (6′06′‘)
Froggy - Unknown age, 500g (1.1lbs), unknown height.
Gamma - Age N/A, 825.256kg (1819.378lbs), 215 cm (7'01")
Beta MK II - Age N/A, 1024.256kg (2258lbs), 200cm (6′06′’)
Vector - 20 years old, 200kg (441lbs), 180cm (5′11′‘)
Espio - 16 years old, 36kg (79lbs), 110cm (3′07′‘)
Charmy - 6 years old, 10kg (22lbs), 70cm (2′03′‘)
Mighty - 16 years old, unknown weight, unknown height.
Blaze - 14 years old, unknown weight, 95cm (3′01′‘)
Silver - 14 years old, 35kg (77.2lbs), 100cm (3′03′‘)
Tikal - 14 years old, unknown weight, 95cm (3′01′‘)
Pachacamac - 52 years old, 48kg (106lbs), 115cm (3′09′‘)
Maria Robotnik - 12 years old, 32kg (70lbs), 140cm (4′07′‘)
Gerald Robotnik - Unknown age, 88kg (194lbs), 170cm (5′07′‘)
Biolizard - Age N/A, 19.5m (64ft), 87.5t (192,904lbs)
Marine - 7 years old, 75cm (2′04′‘), unknown weight.
Jet - 14 years old, 100cm (3′03′‘), 33kg (72lbs)
Wave - 18 years old, 110cm (3′07′‘), unknown weight.
Storm - 19 years old, 140cm (4′07′‘), 80kg (176.3lbs)
Orbot - Age N/A, 87cm (2′10′‘), 30kg (66.1lbs)
Cubot - Age N/A, 90cm (2′11′‘), 39kg (86lbs)
Zavok - 148 years old, 155cm (5′01′‘), 80kg (146.4lbs)
Zik - 1,036 years old, 61cm (2′00′‘), 8kg (17.6lbs)
Zomom - 133 years old, 170cm (5'07"), 260kg (573.2lbs)
Zazz - 127 years old, 145cm (4'09"), 49 kg (108lbs)
Zeena - 120 years old, 136cm (4'05"), 38kg (83.8lbs)
Zor - 112 years old, 80cm (2′07′‘), 14kg (30.9lbs)
୨୧╼ Against the dreariness of the abandoned industrial background, Violet stood out. The way she held herself was filled with pose and grace akin to one of Degas’ ballerinas. She was dressed immaculately in a style defined as modern retro. Yet if one had a keen eye, they could catch that the ribbon that held up her hair had survived a fire. Petite frame and height made her appear physically non-threatening. Something that often worked in her favor.
Doe-eyes looked up at the stranger’s herculean form. If Violet had been anyone else – perhaps she would find him threatening. After facing so many monsters, she found fear hard to muster. One could not tell someone’s intent by appearance alone. Villains came in many forms and often in a variety of disguises. A person who seems suspicious could offer aid at a time of need. It was still best to be cautious. Slender fingers clasped tighter around the dart. Which by appearance alone seemed indistinguishable from one might find in a game parlor.
“I have found one cannot rely on the word of the municipality. As corruption and power go hand in hand. However, I cannot deny this building is documented as vacant.” Violet’s voice was steady -unafraid. It was clear from her articulation and cadence that she was educated in high society. Even if those days were long gone. “Could I not inquiry the same of you? I apologize if I am wrong – but you do not exactly look as if you belong here either.”
If Violet had been a properly trained volunteer, perhaps she would handle this better. As a mother herself – she understood her parent’s choice to keep her out of the organization. Yet at times like these, she wished for just a day of disguise training. Or had and iota or her mother’s acting talent. She genuinely felt her guises and fibs worked, not due to her ability – but by the incompetence of those around her. The man in front of her had the eyes of someone who was keen and determined. So, she wished not to press her minimal luck that he could see past a mask.
“I have business here. As you see, this building has suffered fire damage. I am investigating it.” The best lie – was always a half truth. It was the very same organization that she sought who was to blame. According to her research, the former owners would not sell. Fires were always how they settled scores. “The local arson rate has accelerated over the past few months at an expediential rate. I find it very worrying.” Not once did she confirm whether she had explicit permission to be there. One should never show their hand before the appropriate time.
The commonplace book in Violet’s lap was open. Filled with sketches of the opposite building’s exterior and what looked like the designs for various gizmos. All basic drafts of things she could use infiltrate. “Beverly,” A faux name she had used since her first true disguise. Where she was forced to perform in a cruel ‘freak show’ – that was unethical and outdated. There were times her nightmares were plagued by the sounds of lions devouring Madame Lulu and the blaze of the fire that burnt the carnival to the ground.
Now was not the time to get lost in the horrors of the past, when the present was equally terrifying. There were children who suffered in the hands of the same criminal enterprise that stole her life. Personal feelings could not cause her to waver here. Her gaze went from him to out side the window, where smoke plumed from stacks and machinery buzzed. A small sigh escaped her full lips.
This war you're waging will never end.
And what did Frank Castle even know, anymore? A good, home-cooked meal? No he'd forgotten that. He hadn't eaten something made by hand in too many years to count. (He'd never have Maria's spaghetti sauce again.) A warm, clean bed with fresh sheets? No he'd forsaken that for motels and dingy holes in the wall where the fabric scratched his skin and had been feasted on by moths at some point but at least it was something warm, right? The love of a good woman? No, no he'd lost that, too. In an instant, right there with his little girl and Junior and there hadn't been a god damned thing he could do to stop it. He'd been through the phases; blamed himself, blamed others, rationalized, bargained internally, but anger ... anger stuck. Anger made sense. It felt right.
Anyone tied to the deaths of the Castle family had been dead and buried more than a year prior. No loose ends, no mess. If anyone so much had breathed their names with any ounce of ire Frank had come for them like the executioner he was, and put them down like the sick dogs they were. Because it was right. Because it settled something in him that had broken back in Kandahar. Because he thought he could find some semblance of peace.
And he did, it was true. Some part of him found proper footing knowing that the people who'd hurt him, stolen from him, were gone. But it didn't bring them back. Peace? No. That was only found putting people down. He accepted that now. It was who he was.
The Punisher.
So he punished.
On the scale of moral judgment, things that he considered pure and unfettered wrong was anything to do with children. They could be assholes sure, Frank had been the king asshole of them all when he was young, but they were innocent. They didn't deserve to be preyed upon (what if it had been Lisa?) or sold out to the proverbial mines (what if it was Frank Jr.?). He calmed his nerves before every go-around ... not because he was afraid but because he knew it would appease him too much if he didn't filter it. If he didn't shut that part of his brain off before he kicked down the door and did what he did best.
One batch, two batch.
All of the pennies and dimes in the world wouldn't stop him from following the trail.
And he'd left one hell of a bloody one behind him so far. There was a string connecting these work houses, he knew. He'd picked up the scent after the second, when the conditions were too similar and the kids had leashes held by the same hands. He'd bleed his way up the food chain, shake down enough of these operations to catch the attention of someone worth torturing information out of. He'd go from there. But for now? He'd watch.
Case too-large to be luggage in hand, nondescript duster jacket, military reg boots and a bit of hardware that might make the average Joe squirm and he was on his way into the nest across the street. He'd scoped it the day before - it's vantage points were primo, and he could post comfortably (not that it mattered) for a few hours and watch through a scope before he acted. It was abandoned, which was perfect, and at the very least he could work undisturbed.
Or ... it was supposed to be abandoned. The picture of one of Lisa's little books he did not expect to see - spyglass and all.
Whose there?
Fingers tightened around the handle of the rifle case. Nondescript, blended just enough but suddenly he seemed out of place et al.
"You supposed to be here, lady? City marked this building as abandoned."
୨୧╼ Shawn Spencer was truly a curiosity. Like one might find at one of those antique curio shops. With strange and exotic paraphernalia from assorted times and places. Where you never knew what you would see around the corner. It was clear that he was highly intelligent, albeit very silly. But her scientific oriented brain had difficulty believing in his proclaimed divinations.
Politely Violet covered her mouth, unable to suppress her giggle. There was something humorous about the way he scrutinized his food. There were many times that she had not had the luxury of being picky about food. The only requirement she had for what she ate was that it did not contain peppermint. But that was only due to an allergy. It was her sister Sunny, that had a more discerning palate.
“You certainly are a character. Though – I must admit I’ve never seen an Indian Jones movie. I imagine I won’t now since you find it so unsavory. My parents were the type of parents where all the media we consumed had a purpose. Usually educational, others for knowing what to do when confronted by villainy. Not that I have a complaint about it. Simply I missed out on certain popular culture. ”
The way that Shawn’s eyes moved were methodical. While he may have been rambunctious in nature, there seemed to be a method to his madness. Violet wondered what it might be like to look around in such a manner, without seeing a bad actor behind every door. Literally.
“A calling? A natural born gift?” Well-formed eyebrows rose, as she felt herself begin to smile. “Such as the diviners and prophets of the past? Have you ever met anyone else with such a talent?” How could she not be curious? Whatever was going on with him was fascinating. “I once worked for a dreadful and selfish woman who claimed clairvoyance. It was all smoke and mirrors however.” Sometimes Violet swore she still heard the snarls of the lions that so greedily gobbled Madame Lulu up. A wretch of a woman who used her last breath to betray the Baudelaire’s.
If Shawn truly had such premonitions; he would have seen though Violet already. The cavalcade of misfortune that surrounded her. That she did not have clean hands, even if she had the best aims. As the old proverb said, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. “Whether or not your gift is something mystical – I must commend you on the fact you use your abilities to aid in justice. Many would use them for more self-indulgent purposes.”
There were many things that Violet was good at, talking about herself was not one of them. Nervously she bit her bottom lip and glanced down into her lap. “I apologize, I am not used to people asking about me. I am an inventor with a variety of patents to my name. The ones that were the most successful ended up being an improved grappling hook and pencil sharpener. I have been tinkering since I was a child. Not all of my inventions are practical. Once I made a Grandfather Clock Toaster. Whenever the clock struck twelve it would eject two pieces of toast.” Finally, she looked back up again, “My daughter just started college – and she insisted I get out of my workshop and get this novel thing called a social life. She’s adopted – and her birth mother in trusted me with her safety. My life has revolved around her for so long, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
He glared at the plate with complete distrust. There were far too many vegetables, and none of them had the decency to be fried. And then there was the cherry tomato—sitting all by itself on the edge of the plate, like some kind of culinary ransom note. Was it a warning from a serial killer? Or maybe the chef’s desperate plea for help, communicated in the only way they could.
Just maybe—if he tilted his head and squinted—there’d be a hidden message in the arrangement of the food. An S.O.S., spelled out in unseasoned zucchini. That had to be it. Because there was no way this was what he ordered. The menu had promised "delicious," and he’d wholeheartedly disagree.
“Displeasing is how bad the last Indiana Jones movie was despite having Harrison Ford in it. This,” he gestured to the plate like it might explode, “is attempted murder.”
Grabbing his beer, Shawn casually scanned the room. His gaze landed on the guy sitting three tables down, nervously fidgeting with his watch. Obviously waiting for a date who was either late—or had already decided he wasn’t worth showing up for.
“Oh, glad you asked,” Shawn said to no one in particular, gesturing grandly like he was in the middle of a job interview. “You see, what I do isn’t really a job—it’s more of a calling. Something you’re born with. " Or, you know, something you develop after your dad refuses to let you go outside until you’ve memorized every minor change in the living room, just so he can test your observational skills.
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to an exaggerated whisper. “I get these premonitions. Commune with the spirits, the world beyond, you know. And thanks to this incredible gift, I assist our local police department with solving their toughest cases. Won a bunch of awards, have the keys to the city—it’s a whole thing.” He paused for effect before flashing his most charming grin.
“Now,” he said, gesturing for dramatic emphasis, “please—tell me all about you.”
with anya taylor joy as a fc. bc they both have sweet smiles and dark eyes.
but then there is also this french woman loving queen. who i haven't decided a fc for, the only requirements for me being dark hair, dark eyes, and non-problematic.
“You know, you never tell me anything about you. It’s a real discrepancy in our relationship, considering that you know everything about me.”
