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thr0wnawayy · 1 month ago

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"Canon" Perception: Why MHA's World Building SUCKS!

I figured I'd make this post because it's about time I discussed my views on "Canon" or as I like to call it

The Vanilla-verse

Why?

Because Hori's version of events feel like he opened a choose your own adventure game and clicked the most straight forward options available.

Quirk Awakenings Make No Sense (JJK mentioned)

@bibibbon might like this one.

It's no secret MHA's world building is, lackluster. It feels empty.

Characters not allowed to speak out or back against favored ones, Plot lines dropped, Victims shuffled off to the side.

But where Hori fails most of all is his power system:

But first Jujitsu Kaisen

Similar to Hori, Gege (I hope I spelled that right) also struggles with world building.

Firstly the concept of Cursed Spirits.

Monsters being created from "bad" or negative emotions can work as a concept. But it also heavily depends what is considered bad.

It could allow for the tackling of what makes emotions "bad" and tie in with the shows setting of a restrictive society that forces people to either mold to the pressure or be crushed by it.

Suppressing their true selves and emotions in favor of fitting in with the norm. (to evade social subjugation)

Instead, it demonizes what is a fundamentally intrinsic part of human existence, if nor most sapient life.

It also brings up too many questions that go unanswered: Like the historical implications. If spirits have been around for so long, then why aren't places like Japan (with it's bloody history and bleak present) overrun with then.

Why are spirits trying to replace humanity if humans act as the sole reason for their existance. After all: No Humans = No Cursed Energy = No Sprits

What exactly counts as a "negative" emotion and how much does it take to give birth to a cursed spirit. Stuff like that doesn't seem to have an answer.

[This is also coming from someone who has never interacted with JJK in their life]

Similarly Hori has the same problem with almost every detail in the Vanilla-verse. Stuff like: Eri's bullets, Quirk Singularity, Trigger and so, so much more is never elaborated on.

So pray tell, why did I chose Quirk Awakenings to be the subject of this section.

Because they prove that Hori has no idea what he is doing.

Quirk Awakening or QA's might just he the most frustrating thing in MHA. Doesn't matter if it's in Hori's-verse or someone else's.

It hardly fucking ends well and that's because it's so broad.

Take Himiko's quirk awakening.

At first glance, it seems alright. A tad off but not something to raise hell about.

That is until you look at her quirk.

Transformation is a quirk that relies on blood to work, Himiko cannot copy quirks partially because quirks are stored in the DNA of an individual and Transform can only copy the outward appearance of a person.

She needs to learn the individuals mannerisms and habits on her own, she doesn't achieve those by the default of her quirk.

(The same could be argued for her voice, it would be much more impressive if she trained it)

It would make much more sense then, for the evolution of her quirk to allow her to better mimic people. Expanding the scope of who and what she could change into and how accurately she could become a subject.

It also would fit the theme of 'becoming who you love' with the saying 'imitation is the sincerest form of flattery'

Instead, though. Hori decided to make her AFO lite and it is broken.

If she copies AFO, does she obtain his quirks?

Would her quirk awakening account for other quirk awakenings. Say she transforms into Shigaraki would she be as strong as him post MVA or would she be stuck with USJ-level Decay?

Ignoring the blatant retcon-ex machina of it being dependent on Himiko's connection (not like it mattered during the Forest Camp Raid!), It is massively over powered and it doesn't fit Himiko's themes.

Now, let's look at Twice.

Twice's quirk (Double) allows him to produce identical copies of anyone through a sludge like substance that excretes from the palms of both his hands.

Each copy is a little weaker than the original, if a copy makes a copy then that fragility doubles.

Twice's quirk is ties to his character by his trauma. To the point he's so fearful of turning to sludge, that he actively goes out of his way to avoid conflict.

This guy had to watch himself kill himself, clone against clone and until MVA, Twice isn't even sure he's the original.

Twice's quirk awakening works.

It works solely because of Twice's character and themes, it simply fits.

It makes sense, Twice was so traumatized that he actively suppressed a part of himself and by breaking through that barrier he can begin to grow stronger by accepting himself.

Twice's quirk awakening works because the peice were always there. It wasn't that Twice pulled this out of his ass, he earned it.

He not only unlocked a part of himself, he came back stronger. In this way the formula works

Quirk + Effort/ Character Growth = Stronger Quirk.

Rather than replace or rebuild, Twice's QA works with what was already present and it comes off wonderfully.

I wish I could say the same for our next "challenger"

I have plenty of complaints about Shigaraki as a character, plenty.

His quirk awakening is certainly up there, not on the top. But it's up there.

It takes the weaker aspects of what I mentioned above and uses it as a crutch.

Besides Shigaraki remembering and accepting his past, this QA has nothing going for it.

It's almost boring.

There's only so much you can do with a quirk like Decay.

All it does is expand the speed and radius. And while that works for what Decay is, a quirk made to destroy things. It's really boring from a story perspective.

Seeing Deika and later Jaku was cool, but just that, cool. It only really served to push things forward and what it pushed was horrendous.

Stepping away from the narrative side, let's discuss the In-Universe side.

Post MVA Decay has two advantages. It spreads really fast and it makes things explode:

So why doesn't it work like Twice's did?

Themes. Nothing about Shigaraki's QA ties in with the themes expressed in MVA.

As the protagonist of the arc, we should feel a connection with Shigaraki, but we never do. Mainly because we don't get that much time with him.

Besided the bonding he does with the LOV we are given little reason as to why Shigaraki ticks like he does, there's little to no theme-ing with Shigaraki.

Doctor Garaki says it best with this line:

What does Shigaraki have to show us outside of his past and the PLF.

Hardly anything.

We know he's an avid gamer and likes to destroy things.

That's it.

Even Magne had something before she died, somekind of concrete goal that aligned with her character.

Tomura has nothing we can attach that to and as such his QA falls flat.

And this set the standard for every other quirk awakening in the series, no I'm not counting that monstrosity Hori bulled with Bakugo .

Uraraka's, Midoriya's, Shoto's (implied) Awakening, they all fall flat because they don't match the themes that were set literal years ago. Hori doesn't know how QA work despite having written them.

If your at the point where you, as a writer, don't understand your own in-universe system. Then maybe it's time you take away some stuff.

Why Shigaraki fails as a antagonist (featuring: Nine and Hana)

I already brushed the surface of this topic in the last segment. I'll elaborate on it here.

Shigaraki sucks as an antagonist. I don't like to use Reddit due to the attitudes on there but had found something while looking for information.

I managed to find a post that I think sums up my issues with Shigaraki pretty well, even if I don't agree the rest of the post (mainly blaming Shigaraki for Hori's failures)

The main one being what is the LOV even doing?

Spinner brings up a good point why do they even follow Shigaraki, what can he provide them as a leader that they can't get by sticking it out on their own.

Shigaraki is spoon fed practically everything and once you notice, it kills any possibility of him being taken seriously.

Let's see:

Dabi, Himiko: brought in by Giran, AFO's associate.

Spinner, Mangne, Compress: Came aboard under the false pretense that Shigaraki had cooperated with Stain.

Gigantomechia: Kurogiri has to draw him out, gets arrested while doing so.

The MLA: Has to gain a quirk awakening just to match ReDestro's output and ReDestro hands him the keys almost immediately. Only reason the merger happens is because ReDestro and Spinner planned it.

Every single goddamn thing in this story is because of factors external to Shigaraki. He literally stands around until Garaki gives him a new quest-line like a fucking Bethesda NPC.

It was understandable in the USJ because Shigaraki needed to be introduced. He was at his base form and needed to grow, except that growth never happens.

The story just dances around him, he doesn't need to try because Hori will just force things to happen.

The entire Jaku arc is him throwing a tantrum and the benefits just falling onto his lap. It is sheer luck that the public made that correlation.

Because the Nomu's behavior don't line up at all with Stains ideals. Nor does Shigaraki's "philosophy", and that was what partly triggered the whole Hosu arc in the first place!

Realistically nearly every member of the LOV should have turned tail the moment they met Shigaraki in person and spent time with him for over five minutes.

The LOV only exists and works because Shigaraki takes the backseat.

The entire Camp Raid, the focus is on everyone but Shigaraki who does fuck-all until Bakugo gets captured and we see him at the bar.

You could pluck Shigaraki from the arc and nothing would change because the central focus was on Dabi and the Vanguard Action Squad. How is anyone supposed to take Shigaraki seriously, when he is second fiddle to his own team.

And it's pretty much the same in the Overhaul Arc what does he direct contribute?

Again, nothing. I've heard the term 'Talk no jujitsu' used and it perfectly encapsulates his response to Himiko's anger.

No one in the LOV has any reason to believe him, to put faith in him because the fuck up was so colossal.

Let's review:

Shigaraki knew someone (someone important, a villain) was coming, made no plan if things went south. Dabi had actually left the base to recruit on Shigaraki's orders! Meaning that Shigaraki is primarily to blame for the casualties dealt during this fight.

Already bad, but maybe he does something to reaffirm their belief in him as a leader. Nope.

His revenge plan hinged on Overhaul not deciding to kill two of his team members on a whim, or use them as bargaining chips. Sends them directly into enemy territory with no resources.

Put his teammates on a position where they are forced to kill a hero in order to evade capture, making them a priority target for society at large* and further pushing them away from possible resources. (*A society, mind you that openly mutilates and kills outlaws)

His relationship with his team members is near non existant: from the Reddit Post

Spinner. Shigaraki plays videogames with him off-screen. Never even shows any concern for his whereabouts after Spinner starts losing his mind and almost goes full Nomu off of his quirks.

Kurogiri. Shigaraki never shows any wonder or comment as to Kurogiri's presence, despite the fact that Kurogiri was his babysitter for a long time and he apparently missed him after his capture.

Mr. Compress. Shigaraki never shows any wonder or concern as to his capture.

Dabi. Shigaraki never interacts with him in any way that suggests real friendship.

Toga. Shigaraki never interacts with her in any way that suggests real friendship.

Twice. Shigaraki never shows any kind of wonder or any concern as to his death.

Magne. Shigaraki never interacts with her in a way that suggests real friendship. Side Note: he never really reacts to her death either.

Y'wanna know who does have a relationship with his team?

Nine:

Nine might be one of the few characters Hori has ever created that managed to make me give a shit about them outside of alternative (or fanon) materials.

He is everything Shigaraki tried to be as a character:

A solid goal: To create an ideal world for his allies and himself where their idea of the 'strongest' rule.

Connections: Everything Nine does, he does himself. His teammates ate intertwined with hin through their history, he actually saved Chimera's life and it's implied he also did this for Slice and Mummy.

Effort: Nine puts himself in harms way numerous times for the sake of his allies and their mission. He even goes through with Garaki's experiments knowing he will likely wind up as the experiment himself.

Nine is phenomenal for what he was: A character from a spinoff movie.

youtube

And then he was killed.

God Fucking Damn it Hori.

===============================

Something that always bothered me about the defaced All Might statue was the laziness of it all.

In a way it reflected the direction MHA was headed, headlong into a kerosene coatdd dumpster.

I Am Not Here.

That's the best thing you could come up with? The falling action of the Arc and all you could conjure was that!?

When MHA ended, I said no, no fuck that and began putting some of the concepts I had made during MHA's decline to good use.

The logical conclusions went into Crownless Monarchy. Which serves as a continuation to what Hori failed for finish.

The rest?

The rest had been going into a side project of mine called:

I Am Nowhere

Or Nowhere for short.

Total Timeline Derailment is a phenomenon I noticed pop up in specfic works.

It occurs when an author throws out all stages of canon in favor of crafting their own story and shedding the limitations of the source material.

The story of Nowhere starts off modestly, following an alternative line of events where Hana's quirk causes a much larger scale massacre upon it's blossoming and the expands to show just how different this universe really is.

Such changes include: Hana's quirk being named and shown:

Soundwave: evolution of Nana's quirk and takes inspiration from Hana's name meaning (Flower)

Present Mic and Jirou losing their quirks in their youth (or as an infant in Jirou's case)

Himiko's parents making a deal with the Symbol of Evil himself.

Expanding upon Doctor Garaki's past and friendship with AFO.

The Yakuza going a different route (Overhual gets a new brother)

An alternate USJ: Christmas came early

AFO and Garaki both having successors.

And a ton of other things I need to flesh out more!

One may wonder what this has to do with my critiques on Hori's canon.

Besides being a pitch of sorts, this allows me to elaborate on how Hori seems to make mistakes one wouldn't expect of someone with as many years under the belt as Hori.

The one thing Hori always forgets is consequences. In Nowhere, Consequences are everywhere.

Enji shipping Rei off to the mental ward to cover up his abuse?

AFO takes interest and decides to pull some strings to get Rei transferred to Jaku General.

UA slacks on security?

Ok! Just let Hana bring Warmonger (USJ Nomu) along and have her kill Thirteen and nearly kill All Might in the same hour. Oh, and Himiko is playing the insider (of her own volition)

Bakugo rejects Midoriya's hand?

His abuses attract the attention of the Pale Sculptor herself, leading to him loosing both his parents in a "gas leak" ignited when Marsaru clapped his hands and caused an mini explosion to occur. [They get Rei's version of Nomufication] setting Nomufication forward by a decade in the process.

Ideally this story won't leave things out. Speaking of that I have one last thing to discuss

The whole debacle with the Winged Nomu and how some people don't know that it's apparently supposed to be Tsubasa

(yk the obscure character who only shows up twice and who we didn't get a name for until said reveal)

"What a Bomb to Drop", yeah it would have been better to "drop" it without needing to cram it into volume extras.

That right there is what gets me about Hori's writing, the lack of storytelling.

We shouldn't have an entirety different series just to understand why a character is they way they are (I'm looking at you Oboro)

I will say Vigilantes is leagues above it's parent series, even with the glaring flaws that plauge it.

Moral of the story: LEARN TO WRITE!

#bnha critical #bnha rewrite #anti mha ending #mha ewe #mha critical #anti horikoshi #anti aizawa #anti endeavor #anti enji todoroki #anti bakugo katsuki #anti bakugou #shigaraki critical

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cosmicatta · 5 months ago

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An analysis of Portgas D. Ace through the light novels

Yes, I'm here again with my bullshit. After reading the Law novel, I was very excited to get my hands on the Ace ones too. And because I feel very intensely about him, I couldn't help turning my reading experience into a character analysis essay. Again.

So here we go!

Some notes before I start:

The edition I've read of this novel is the official Spanish translation by Planeta. When quoting and mentioning numbered pages, I'm referencing that edition.

I originally posted this on Twitter as a thread! If it sounds familiar, that might be why.

I've also posted an essay/thingie about Law's novel here!

These are just my personal impressions, I'm not trying to tell anyone how they should interpret the novel or Ace's character. I'm just doing this for fun!

Much like the Law novel, these are kind of a “prequel” to the source material. The story starts with Ace getting stuck in Sixis Island, where he meets Deuce, and follows their journey as Ace builds his own crew and later ends up joining Whitebeard.

The difference is that Ace’s novels, unlike Law’s, rely a lot more on canon events that we already know happened, because they’re mentioned or briefly shown in the manga (especially in the second volume). I’ll go a bit more into detail about this later, but either way, we can say that the novels are very canon-compliant at the very least.

Also, it’s important to point out that volumes 1 and 2 are written by different authors. I do think this has an impact in the way the narrative flows from one part to another, but it still reads like a cohesive story as a whole.

Overall, it offers a very different reading experience from Law’s novel. I guess the biggest contrast here is that we already know what’s going to be Ace’s tragic destiny, so the narration can’t really feel too hopeful.

Even if the story is lighthearted and adventurous most of the time, the tone that surrounds it all is bittersweet. And the core points of Ace’s journey are always marked by his fatal wounds: love, identity and the concept of deserving.

There is no real resolution for any of these themes throughout the novels; there can’t be, because we know Ace will only reach true understanding right before his death.

In this sense, I think the first volume does a better job at capturing that feeling of “tragic hero” that the story seems to go for, without necessarily getting too grim about it. And there’s a few things about it that get lost in the second part:

Volume 1 is written in first person, but it’s not Ace, the protagonist, who narrates the story. It’s Deuce. I think this is an interesting decision because it allows us to see Ace from the outside, through the eyes of someone who loves him.

And what we see from Deuce’s perspective contrasts with the image that we know Ace has of himself. This is especially interesting for 2 reasons:

He shows what Ace craved for all his life but didn’t know he already had until the end: love and respect.

He’s offering the readers a version of Ace’s identity crafted by an outside viewer, which is also what Ace keeps doing all the time: defining himself in relation to others.

These are going to be the main ideas that shape Ace’s journey from the start and what both novels try to explore.

Although Deuce and Ace’s relationship doesn’t start off in the best way, from the beginning Deuce sees a light in him that he has never known in anyone before. This even reflects in the way he describes Ace physically:

(Quotes roughly translated from Spanish):

P. 27: “He played with his radiant black hair.”

P. 129: “His pupils glowed with the colors of the sea floor.”

But what is most emphasized about Ace throughout the narration is his kindness and gentleness—he shares his fruit with Deuce while he’s starving too, he has a place for all kinds of rejected outlaws in his crew, he helps Isuka even though they’re supposed to be enemies, he gives the rice crackers he’d just bought to some children in Sabaody, etc.

Ace just goes around giving away his endless love without thinking too much about it. It’s in his nature. And people love him in return.

P. 66: “What does it mean to be a captain? To me, it means people love you. […] Ace was born to be a captain.”

There’s a small episode that I find very interesting in this sense—right before attacking him, a bounty hunter declares:

P. 67: “Ace! I love you!”

Ace assumes the guy only said that because his head would have granted him a ton of money. But it’s still a weird way to word it. It’s as if Ace was a shooting star that everyone couldn’t help but admire in awe, friends and enemies alike.

But, as I said before, Ace seems to be completely unaware of this, despite the very explicit ways in which people show him appreciation.

It’s at this point that we start to see the conflict between Ace’s “goals” that he set for himself and his true desires (though this will be explored in more detail in volume 2).

Although he keeps claiming to be in search of fame, he doesn’t really seem to be that interested in it. He only reacts to his own popularity when his loved ones do, because that is what he actually wants: acceptance, validation.

P. 82: “Whenever the number increased [Ace’s bounty], we celebrated it. And him, in seeing us all so happy, celebrated too.”

What Ace is doing is just constantly looking for the answer to that dreadful question he asked Garp as a child: “Did I deserve to be born?” And he tries to find clues in his crewmates’ faces, in his enemies’ words, in the way the whole world around him reacts to his existence.

But what’s interesting is that he’s not just passively contemplating, he very actively tries to earn that right to live, in his own twisted way.

Yes, the world had already decided who Ace was even before he was born, but now it’s his turn. Now he can try and recreate his own image for them to see. And if he has to be a monster, it will be in his own terms.

It’s not about fame, it’s about identity. Because Ace’s identity has never been truly his own.

This is a very delicate subject for him, especially when he realizes that his bounty is growing at an abnormal speed, indicating that the government probably knows who he really is. And so, he is tormented by the idea that, despite all his efforts, he can’t escape the portrait that others have painted of him without permission.

Even those who don’t know the truth about his origins feel free to decide Ace’s worth as a human being. In this regard, his fight with Vice Admiral Draw is notable—he judges Ace not as Roger’s son, but as a regular pirate, and yet he still reaches the same conclusion and says the words that Ace fears so much:

P. 148: “You don’t deserve one more second in this world. It is because of you that so many people live in fear. […] If you didn’t exist, no one would be unhappy.”

Ace wins this fight, but he leaves with an open wound that never closes and only seems to get bigger with time.

And with this, the first volume closes in a very bittersweet tone:

P. 159: “Ace didn’t believe he deserved anyone’s love. […] But Isuka didn’t think the same, and she wasn’t the only one. The problem was that Ace wouldn’t realize. […] He was like the Sun. Everyone adored him, his enemies respected him. Ace was the center of everything. But, like the Sun, way too bright, he was always alone. […] Ace had created a home for us. But what about him? Could we find a home for him, where he’d be able to smile in peace from the bottom of his heart?”

The second volume starts where the first left it, with Ace and his crew entering the New World.

I have to say that I didn’t like this one as much as the first because, for a book that’s supposed to be about Ace’s relationship with others, it kind of falls flat at some points in that sense. Sometimes the novel seems more concerned with describing action scenes that aren’t really that interesting, or events that we already know from the manga without adding much to them.

Also, I feel like I have to mention that some scenes and description choices were a bit questionable (casual misogyny, etc.), but overall the book was still enjoyable to me.

The style and structure is a bit different from the first volume too—for starters, it’s written in third person, although the perspective is a bit all over the place sometimes. The POV keeps switching back and forth between different characters, which could a useful and interesting approach, but you need to know how to do it right, and I’d say it was a bit messy here.

But there is a good side to this, which is that we get a peek into Ace’s thoughts too sometimes.

And we see, as volume 1 already hinted, that his motivations are unclear even to himself. He insists that he wants to surpass his father’s fame, but he isn’t interested in titles or riches.

P. 61: “I don’t aspire to be the King of Pirates or anything of the sort.”

P. 74-75: [In response to “What brought you to the sea?”] “I guess I expected to find out at the sea… Though there’s something I do want to achieve. […] I’ll make sure everyone knows my name.”

Part of the reason why Ace despises the title of “Pirate King” is very obvious—it was his father’s title. But this disinterest also reveals the true reason why Ace thinks he wants the fame: it’s not ambition or vanity; it’s, again, his way of crafting his own identity.

In reality, although he directs his resentment towards his father, it’s not him he really hates, but the world that built a monstrous myth around his figure, a myth that Ace inherited.

P. 80: “This world killed Sabo. Unless you’re someone like Roger, whose execution brought a new era, it doesn’t matter if you live or die. […] Even if I can’t win their recognition, even if they hate me, I’ll become a pirate and take revenge on them all. […] One day, people won’t say ‘Ace, Roger’s son,’ but ‘Roger, Ace’s father.’”

Again, if he must be a monster, he’ll be one he’s created himself.

But it becomes clear in this volume that he has no idea how to do that. He wants to change the world, but has no plan to do so, and doesn’t even understand what that means exactly.

And here’s where Whitebeard is key, as we already know. He sees through Ace, and eventually makes him reevaluate his own ambitions, until he ends up admitting that he has no idea what he’s doing.

P. 159: [Thatch asks him] “You want your reputation to surpass that of the Pirate King, but you’re not interested in the One Piece. You don’t want to break the code either. What the hell does your flag even represent?” [And Ace answers] “I don’t know. Honestly, I thought I did, but not anymore.”

P. 224-225: “Whitebeard inviting him to be his son had seemed to him like another ‘father’ attempting to take control of his life. But […] now he understood the word ‘son’ a little differently.”

Though there’s no real resolution to Ace’s big questions in life, he slowly starts finding his own place and learning to accept the kindness he’s given, even if he doesn’t fully understand it yet.

P. 229: [Deuce asks him] “Do you think you’ll find what you’re looking for with Whitebeard?” [And Ace answers] “Yes. […] Because here I feel at peace.”

The book finishes with Ace offering his back to get Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger tattooed. With this, he’s constructing his image around the figure of a different father, one that he’s proud of. He still builds himself in relation to others, but is now more benevolent in doing so.

This is the first step of a healing project that we know will never be fully complete. And because of this, despite the ending having a hopeful and gentle tone, it’s still a bit heartbreaking. Like the first act of a tragedy.

There's a lot more interesting stuff to talk about in the novels, like the way Ace talks about Luffy and Sabo, and how it becomes clear that they are what really made him want to live and keep fighting. But this is already way longer than I originally intended, so I'll leave it here.

So, if you read this far, thank you! ♥ I hope you enjoyed it or at least found it somewhat interesting.

#one piece #portgas d ace #one piece ace #one piece meta #one piece light novel #irene.ppt

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podiumackles · 28 days ago

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the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

CHAPTER 2

A/N: English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: not much in this chapter. mentions of power imbalance, possibly swearing, Soldier Boy's incorrect view of what a man needs to be, mentions of (mental) abuse and manipulation, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

1970s

Soldier Boy had noble intentions to protect and serve his country. He had dignity, honour, and believed every man should grow up to be a “real man”, as his father had repeatedly told him.

Enduring the Second World War wasn’t enough.

Becoming a superhero wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough. Not for his father.

His father’s words echoed in his mind, a constant reminder that no matter what he achieved, it was never sufficient.

A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands. He doesn't cheat his way into power.

Those words shaped him, pushing him to become something greater than just a soldier, more than just a hero in the public eye. But no matter how many enemies he thought he vanquished or how many medals adorned his chest, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was failing his father’s impossible standard of manhood.

But the 1970s were a far cry from the battlefields of his youth. Superheroes were no longer symbols of patriotism and sacrifice—they were products, controlled by Vought, manipulated into glossy icons for public consumption. Soldier Boy's clean-cut, all-American image had become a brand, slapped onto cereal boxes and comic books. In private, however, he was chafing under the weight of being Vought’s golden boy. He was a symbol, a puppet, but to his father, he was still just a disappointment.

The breaking point came when Vought began assembling a new team of supes- as Vought would call them- to form the latest supergroup. Ben, a natural leader in his own eyes, felt a simmering resentment. He wasn’t a team player. He was meant to be the star—the hero who stood above the rest, not one who shared the spotlight. To him, the team would only drag him down, undermine his own success, and ruin the carefully crafted image he had worked so hard to build.

But, despite everything, Vought’s grip would always have been too strong. So, despite his disdain, he reluctantly agreed. They understood him. And he needed them. He had been sure he would be appointed the leader of this new group. When he was, he would ensure control over every aspect of the team so they wouldn’t lead to his downfall. This was his time.

As he stood in Vought’s headquarters, a sense of superiority coursed through him. He was the seasoned war hero, the one who had fought on real battlefields. These supes were nothing more than attention-seeking showboats, eager for fame rather than true service.

You, dressed in an orange-red suit, stood next to him with wide-eyed curiosity. You looked like you were barely out of your teens, your youthful face betraying your lack of experience. "Is it true, then?" you asked, your voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "You killed the president?"

Ben thought the suits Vought had made for the team were ridiculous. He wouldn't need a special suit to be the best version of himself. He wouldn't need anything but himself.

Without looking at you, he growled, “You believe everything you hear?”

You blinked, taken aback by his gruff response, but quickly recovered. “No, I just…” you tore your gaze from him, focusing on the other supes getting in the final pieces of their attire. “Would be a shame to be on the team with a murderer.”

Your words lingered in the tight air between you. He realised you had put up a facade, a mask to hide your wariness of the man next to you. You didn’t idolise him. In fact, you might have been close to despising, if he didn’t know any better.

Ben finally turned his head to face you, his eyes cold and unwavering. Your suit tied around your body, but it seemed loose enough to not reveal too much to the outside. Cloves hugged your delicate hands and reached until well near your elbows. A small cape was fastened onto your wrists, which Ben found all the more ridiculous. Who the fuck needs a cape?

“I’m no murderer,” his words were short, harsh. This woman had no right to speak to him like that. “At least not to people who didn’t deserve it.”

“Did he deserve it?” You started, looking back at the slightly taller man next to you. “The president.”

“I didn’t kill the fucking president.”

Soldier Boy’s glare intensified as he sized you up. Your audacity infuriated him. He had dealt with enough scepticism from his father—he didn’t need it from some rookie in a costume Vought had only designed to sell toys.

The room around you buzzed with activity as the other members of the team prepared for their first group appearance. Ben seethed in silence. These so-called superheroes were nothing like the comrades he fought alongside in the war. They lacked discipline, focus, and the hardened edge that came from seeing real combat. They were actors in a carefully orchestrated performance, and to him, that was a disgrace.

You still stood beside him and seemed to sense his irritation, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you tilted your head and raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to lash out.

“You think you're better than us, don’t you?” you asked, your voice quieter this time, but laced with a subtle challenge.

Soldier Boy scoffed, crossing his arms. “Better? I don’t think, doll. I know.”

Your lips curled into a smirk, and for the first time, Ben noticed a flash of something in your eyes—something darker, more calculating than the wide-eyed naivety you'd shown earlier.

“Maybe you do,” you said, your voice a low murmur now. “But this isn't the ‘40s anymore. It’s not about who’s the toughest soldier out there. This world, Vought’s world, is about control. It’s about image and playing the game.” You glanced around the room at the other supes. “And you, with all your medals and war stories, are just another player.”

Your words rang through his ears more than he’d like to, and he started to think he thought of you wrongly. You weren't an ordinary trophy girl- you weren't someone to idolise him. You had your own strong opinion, and it wasn't something Ben was sure he could live with.

He clenched his fists, a storm of rage starting to brew inside him, but before he could respond, a booming voice cut through the tension.

“Alright, team!” The commanding voice belonged to Vought’s newest public relations handler, a slick man in an expensive suit. “It’s showtime!”

You shot Soldier Boy a final, knowing glance before you turned away, your cape swishing dramatically as you moved toward the centre of the room. Ben remained where he was, his jaw clenched, watching you. He hated your arrogance, but deep down, he knew you weren't wrong.

This wasn’t the battlefield. This wasn’t about sacrifice, honour, or even survival. This was a new kind of war, one he wasn’t sure he knew how to win.

But win it, he would.

Because failure? That was never an option. Not for him. And certainly not for his father.

As the team assembled for their public debut, Soldier Boy straightened his shoulders and put on his best, most patriotic smile. No one in the crowd would ever know the battle raging inside him, the war he fought against the crushing weight of expectations.

He would play the game, for now. And when the time was right, he would remind them all just how dangerous a man like him could be.

Cameras flashed; eight new heroes to represent America, to supposedly save the residents from upcoming threats, upcoming wars.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the commanding voice rang through their ears again. “May I present to you, your heroes, your idols, your team; Payback.”

Pictures were taken, but Ben paid it no mind. He was used to all the attention, to all the girls swooning over him. He stood front and centre, flashing his most practised, toothy grin. The name Payback echoed in his ears. A team to stand up for their people. But this wasn’t about anything but pride to Ben—it was about staying on top, holding onto the power and prestige he had built over decades.

And the team around him felt like a joke.

You stood a little behind him, a faint smirk still playing on your lips. Your audacity lingered in his mind, taunting him. Despite himself, he couldn’t shake the way you had spoken—calm, deliberate, and entirely sure of yourself. That was rare. Most of the other heroes around him were too obsessed with fame and too concerned with their image. They fell in line because Vought told them to.

Ben clenched his jaw, his father's words echoing in his mind once again.

A real man builds his own success, with his own two hands.

But was this success? Standing here, posing for the cameras, while Vought puppeteered them all? It didn’t feel like the heroism he had once envisioned. The battlefield, the grit, the true sacrifice—it had all been replaced by PR campaigns and flashy photo ops.

Still, he knew better than to show weakness. He had perfected the art of hiding his inner turmoil, just as his father had taught him. To the world, he was still the unbeatable war hero, the icon of American masculinity. No one would ever see the cracks beneath the surface—the doubt, the frustration, the endless quest to be enough.

As the cameras continued snapping, Soldier Boy’s mind wandered your words. It’s about control. Image. Playing the game. You had said those words so matter-of-factly as if you had already accepted the new rules of this world.

After the press conference, the team dispersed to prepare for their first mission together—a staged event, of course, meant to show the world how “heroic” they were. But Soldier Boy lingered, watching as the others left the room.

One thing was certain: he wasn’t going to let anyone take his place at the top. He would play the game his way, and when the time came, he would show them all—Vought, Payback, his father—that he was still the strongest, still the best.

Because if there was one thing Ben knew, it was that in the end, power didn’t come from suits or smiles. Power came from dominance, from control, and from the ability to crush anyone who dared to stand in your way.

And that was exactly what he intended to do.

As he turned to leave, Soldier Boy caught a glimpse of himself in one of the giant mirrors that lined the hallway. He stared at his reflection—his square jaw, broad shoulders, and the tight-fitting mask over his head. He looked every bit the hero Vought had made him out to be. But simultaneously, he looked ridiculous.

“Suits are cool, huh?” your familiar voice spoke up as he left the previous room and wandered the hallways of the slightly known building. “Kidding. You look awful.”

Ben hadn’t thought he looked awful altogether; the green hugged his features wonderfully, the gold details shining as a representation of his pride. Just the mask was a reject.

“Can’t say any different about you.” Ben said matter-of-factly.

The hallway was dimly lit, and he continued walking with purpose, ignoring the voice behind him. He didn’t need anyone's approval—especially not from the cocky rookie now catching up with him. The smirk he had seen earlier was back, and you walked with a casual confidence that irritated him even more.

You weren't one to shy away from confrontation, clearly. Your snarky comment about his suit wasn’t just meant to jab at him; it was part of the ongoing game you seemed intent on playing. Ben found it annoying, yet there was something about you that stood out. You weren't like the obedient pawns he was used to, always falling in line and praising him without question.

"Aw, don’t be like that," you teased, still walking alongside him. Your cape fluttered with each step, an accessory he couldn’t understand the need for, as if to taunt him for eternity. “Just saying, for someone who’s supposed to be the leader, you sure look like you're heading into a costume party instead of a mission.”

Ben clenched his jaw but kept walking. He wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of a response.

You continued, undeterred by his silence. “But you know, maybe that’s the point. We’re all just playing dress-up here, aren’t we? Vought dresses us up, makes us look shiny, and sends us out to wave at the cameras. Nothing heroic about it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ben finally muttered, his voice low. “I’ve seen real combat. I’ve been in the trenches. What have you done, other than talk?”

Your smirk didn’t falter, though your eyes darkened slightly. “You’re right,” you said, a hint of venom in your voice. “I haven’t been in your precious war. But I’m not stupid. I know how things work now. And this… all of this,” you gestured around the hall, “isn’t about being a hero. It’s about staying relevant. It’s about power.”

Ben stopped walking, turning to face you. His eyes narrowed as he looked you up and down, sizing you up again. “Power?” he scoffed. “You think prancing around in that cape gives you power?”

Your smirk faded, replaced with a more serious expression. “No, I think understanding how to use what I’ve got gives me power. You’re strong, Soldier Boy. No one’s doubting that. But strength doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to play the game. And that’s where you’re going to lose.”

Ben’s fists clenched. “I don’t lose.”

“We’ll see.” You stepped back, eyes locked with his. There was no fear in them, just a cool, calculated calm. “But you should know, they own you, just like they own all of us.”

Silence fell between them, only the annoying presence of you urging him to keep on walking.

“Name’s Fury by the way. For the public, that is.”

He glanced at you quickly, frowning before letting his eyes fall on the relics on the walls when they continued their way.

“Soldier Boy.”

Ben could’ve sworn he heard you laugh; just the faintest hint of a breath leaving your mouth in a way that angered him.

“I know that,” you spoke, and he grew to feel more frustrated at the feeling you wouldn’t leave him alone. “You got a real name?”

“Yes.”

“Mine is Y/n.”

“I don’t fucking care.”

“Alright, I’ll figure it out eventually." Your words echoed in Ben’s mind as you walked away, pace speeding up to leave him alone in the hallway. He stared after you, his mind racing with a storm of thoughts he wasn’t used to entertaining. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to force his mind back to what mattered: control, power, dominance. But your words lingered like a stubborn itch he couldn’t scratch.

You were audacious, irritating, and worst of all, you had a point.

Ben hated to admit it, but you seemed to understand the game better than most. Vought didn’t care about his war stories or his medals. To them, and to the world they controlled, he was just another pawn in a machine far bigger than the battlefield. For all his strength, for all the wars he had fought and won, Ben was no longer the master of his own destiny. He was trapped in a world of PR stunts and corporate interests. And that gnawed at him, more than he cared to admit.

He had always believed power came from raw strength, from being the toughest, the strongest. But this new world, this world of superheroes-for-hire and manufactured images, was different.

Ben’s jaw tightened as he turned and continued down the hallway, alone with his thoughts. Vought owned him, you had said. That was the part that stung the most. He had spent his life trying to prove to his father that he could succeed on his own terms. But the truth was, his success had always been shaped by someone else. First his father, now Vought.

As he entered the large meeting room, where Payback's first mission briefing was about to take place, he felt a new kind of resolve building inside him. He didn’t like playing games, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Vought—or you—think they had the upper hand. He was still Soldier Boy, the greatest hero America had ever known, and he would prove it.

The team was already gathered, some stretching, some chatting, all waiting for their cue from Vought’s handlers. You werethere too, standing off to the side with your arms crossed, your eyes scanning the room with that same calculated coolness. You caught his gaze for a moment, but there was no smirk this time. Just a flicker of something that almost looked like respect—or perhaps it was just curiosity.

He didn’t care.

Ben straightened his shoulders and strode to the front of the room, where the mission briefing was about to begin. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t need anyone to tell him how to lead.

The lights dimmed, and a large screen flickered to life. A Vought executive appeared, slick and polished as always, ready to guide them through their heroic PR spectacle.

The exec began, his voice oozing with rehearsed enthusiasm. “Your mission today is simple: protect, serve, and show the world why Payback is the team they can trust.”

Ben barely listened. The mission was standard fare—save some politicians from a staged crisis, and make it look good for the cameras. Easy. What he cared about was how he would position himself at the top of the group. This wasn’t just about completing the mission; this was about showing everyone that Soldier Boy wasn’t just another cog in the machine.

After some specifics and unnecesary questions from his lower ranked team, they filed out toward the transport that would take them to the mission site. Ben was the last to leave the room, watching as the others chatted excitedly, eager to get into costume and play the part Vought had crafted for them.

He glanced once more at you, your back to him as you spoke quietly with another member of the team. You were different. You weren't a puppet like the others. That made you dangerous.

But Ben wasn’t worried.

Because at the end of the day, he knew one thing for certain: he didn’t lose.

And when the time came, when he reminded the world just what a real man, a real hero, could do, You—and everyone else—would be forced to recognize that.

He was Soldier Boy. And this? This was just the beginning.

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys tv

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dont-offend-the-bees · 3 months ago

Text

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛

#painlandweek #painland week #payneland #dead boy detectives #dbda #my fanfic #PHEW #WE MADE IT GUYS #i think there's some things about this one i might have tweaked/restructured given a little more time #a few things i would have gone into more as well #idk if it's a thorough an exploration of the concept as I'd planned #but all in all not half bad!#and working with olly has been an honour and a delight!!#thank you so much everyone who's been cheering me on this week 💛💛💛#and now i have time to finally go and read all the great stuff you've been writing!!!

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stormxpadme · 3 months ago

Note

There's a bit of fanfiction negativity in the tags :(. Looking for something to cheer me up, what's your personal scogan fanfic favorites?

Yeah, I saw that, both in the scogan and scogean tag, with posts even including the character name tags. Like. Not cool, people. Way to make authors feel shitty who have been guarding the ship lighthouse for the last 20 years. Claiming in the most popular tags, there's only like 1 good fic among more than 1500? Wow, okay. So I was very happy to receive your ask. Let's counter that negativity with some awesome scogan reads!

Damaged by scottxlogan

Can't do any scogan rec list without including the leading authority on the subject. @scottxlogan is the author who pulled me into this ship years ago, not to mention they're a great friend, unbelievably talented writer and artist, and they deserve all the love. Damaged is surely one of their most ambitious projects and deserves every single view, kudos and review out there. Set in the DOFP finale verse that is no doubt the author's specialty, the story comes with an alluring, intricated plot that leaves you on the edge of your seat along with all the feels.

Submission by scottxlogan

I'm also including a newer work by the same author in case you just want to get a feel for how wonderfully she writes these guys, not to mention the shameless steamy goodness that are the author's smut scenes. scottxlogan is an expert at reversing common fandom tropes believably, and this will leave you longing for more of these power exchanges easily.

he carries the reminders by Wolfsheart

@mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea is another great friend and author I would trust even with my biggest squicks (not that she writes those anyway :D). She's not only technically brillant and very well-versed in the lore which makes every pairing she writes a great read (check out her Tony/Emma, too!), but she'll also never fail to make you laugh or put those hearts in your eyes. And don't miss all those pop culture references that even put Peter Parker to shame! She also gives us scogan fans exactly what we need with stories like this one, combining our fav hurt/comfort tropes with a healthy dose of canon fix it.

I loved you since I knew you by strangenewwords

@strangenewwords is a fairly new and dearly beloved addition to our group at @scoganbingo events, but she's already made a huge impact with her delicious smut and angst stories that hit you right in the feels. Technically also brillant, the linked story is definitely one you don't want to get spoilered for beforehand because the ending will leave you in absolute awe and tears. The author doesn't shy away from including the darkest sides of Scott's past but handles every subject with the necessary care and respect, and as I said ... You don't want to miss out on all that delicious smut!

The Day Before the Soldiers Came by Cerylid

Cery is offering a much-needed fixit for the team dynamics between the X-Men and Logan before X2 with this story. It comes with a lot of humor but also far more feels than you expect. The texting is hilarious but it's the quiet tones that get to you.

*****

Speaking of fix-its, since that negativity in the tags kinda got to me, too, I might just throw in one of my own works here too since I also got lots of Scogan stuff out there.

My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold

is basically my go-to X3 fix-it. You look for something to make that movie right, you got it all right there. Along with a bit of horror (we are talking about resurrection, after all) comes a dramatic rescue mission in a mental limbo, and you get an Avenger and Emma Frost guest-starring. There's a couple of follow up chapters that explore both scogan and Tony/Emma a bit further, and we even get a Laura version in old movieverse along the line, and of course all the nasty nasty smut you guys are here for.

########

So, that's it from the top of my hat. All these accounts have even more great stories to check out, and there's lots of other scogan authors out there with great stories to enjoy. So don't let anyone tell you, there's no quality scogan stuff on AO3.

#sometimes stormy gets asked things #greyskulls #scogan #scott summers #wolverine #fic rec #fic recs #cyclops #scott x logan #cyclops x wolverine #if people are interested #i can look up some scogean too #i feel pretty much alone with my works in that section often #but there a few gems

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skunkox · 4 months ago

Text

Darlin' and Hair

Below the cut are headcanons, probably more suited for/ canon to my version/s of Darlin'.

Darlin running their fingers through Sam's chest shirt and happy trail when they're trying to self sooth or deep in thought. Sam finds it comfortable but checks in if it lasts more than two minutes.

When it comes to their own hair, it may be the only thing they attempted to really take care of in any capacity on a regular basis. It's something they have control over, and it's one of the first things people take notice of. I feel there's a small circle of people that they let touch it.

Sam, Milo, Marie, Asher and Baaabe.

(As of now)

Sam:

Darlin' has a lot of hair. It's very much an all-day affair when it comes to its care. It takes about a year or so for them to seek out help from Sam just to part it into sections. This would later snowball into helping them wash it. Outside of care, they often let him "play" with it while they're cuddling. It takes less than 5 minutes for Darlin' to fall asleep when he does. Sam uses this like an off button when he sees them fighting sleep. It's happened during get-together with the pack.

Milo:

Definitely has tried to fix them up before a pack meeting or before their parents would see them after a fight. It was always a fix now, ask questions later kind of situation. When they were younger and needed to confide in someone about their home situation, hair kept their hands busy and made it easier to talk.

Marie:

Has healed them up so many times but there hair would always tell just how bad a fight had been. Marie would see how they would fret as a kid about being seen visibly roughed up. Or rather. Letting their parents see them like that. Marie would keep hair care just for them at her place.

Asher:

They realized very early on that Asher didn't believe in personal space. Guy was pretty lanky as a kid, too. It wasn't uncommon for his hand to end up on their head. They accepted this bit of physical contact for the most. At least until he started saying some off the wall shit or was increasingly putting more of his body weight on them. They still are like this to this day and will continue to do so till they're old and decrepit.

Baaabe:

Actually loves doing hair and misses doing it for others. It took time for Baaabe to work up the courage to ask, and Darlin' was skeptical. When they did agree, they were pleasantly surprised by how gentle they were about it. Especially their tender spots. Baaabe has been doing their hair for all big events. Occasionally if Baabe is not in the head space to to maintance on their own locs, they'll call them over to do it for them hair days are their bonding time and Ash couldn't be happier about it.

#redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted darlin'#sam/darlin #sam collins #redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted headcanons #redacted sam #milo greer #redacted milo #marie greer #redacted marie #asher talbot #redacted ash #redacted asher #redacted baaabe

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probably-impossible · 2 years ago

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pls pls pls pls give us headcanons about the scara x katheryne crack ship or i will literally die bc i am a sucker for robot love too and i need this in my life :D

Okay so... I may have actually gotten way too invested in this and started writing a fic about it. 😅 But just in case that never comes to fruition, here's my more in-depth, canon-compliant(ish) thoughts:

The Katheryne in Sumeru was possessed by Nahida enough times that some of Irminsul's influence rubbed off on her and made her sentient. This only began to manifest after she was skewered by the Eremites, repaired, and then sent back to her normal Guild duties.

Scara visits the Adventurers' Guild for one reason or another and makes one of his usual snarky remarks, then is surprised when Katheryne briefly breaks character to snark back at him. Intrigued and slightly annoyed by the fact that a supposedly non-sentient "inferior" puppet has roasted him, he resolves to keep observing Katheryne and find out what's going on.

Meanwhile, Katheryne is new to this whole sentience thing and isn't quite sure what to do about it. She tries extra hard to go about her job as usual but finds that some weirdo in a big hat is always hanging around & disturbing her for some reason. She resolves to find out what his deal is and why he gives her pesky feelings in her chest sometimes.

Cue shenanigans, bonding over puppet troubles, themes of figuring out together how to make their own purpose in this world, etc. etc.

My headcanon for Katheryne's personality is that she has spent her entire existence working in customer service and has Seen Some Shit. As a result, she is usually unflappable, but can be taken aback by new or strong feelings. She's also very attached to / protective of the Adventurers' Guild and its members.

By contrast, Scara has the emotional fortitude of a wet paper bag, but he is technically more experienced with having feelings (and he has Nahida as his personal therapist). So he's able to help Katheryne adjust to being her own person & get her to explore the world a little more.

Also Scara's tsundere shit totally fails to land with Katheryne. He'll be like "Tch. As if I could ever do anything as embarrassing as spend time with you," and she'll just say "Okay, goodbye. :)"

I feel like Nahida would know exactly what's going on and would be bemused by it at first, then start actively trying to get them together. At some point she would definitely tell the Traveler to sub in for Katheryne at the Adventurers' Guild one day so Katheryne and Scara can hang out. (Of course the Traveler would be comedically overwhelmed and this arrangement would never happen again.)

If Katheryne gets a Vision in this version of events it would probably be Dendro. Her voice lines in combat would be variations on her standard canon dialogue, ex. "Compliments of the Adventurers' Guild!" or "Here is your reward!" while beating the living daylights out of some Hilichurl.

That's my take on it, anyway! There may or may not eventually be more from me on this because people seem to like it way more than I expected, ha ha 😂

#genshin impact #scaratheryne?#i saw someone suggest wanderyne which i think is fantastic #anyway thanks for indulging me lmaoooo #headcanon #scaramouche #wanderer #katheryne #my asks

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magicstormfrostfire · 11 months ago

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Something that confuses me a lot is some people's reactions/analysis to Sonic saving Shadow in the void in Sonic Prime.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE it, and its parallels to what happened in SA2. That is incredible. But what confuses me is that a lot of people assume that in this show, SA2 happened and Sonic is losing Shadow again.

But I don't think that's the case...? I know it was said that the show follows modern games/everything is canon, but I dont think that means what some people think it means. I've seen some people criticize this interpretation of Sonic BECAUSE they think all of the games happened in this universe.

What I understood is that this is simply using the current ongoing personalities/traits/styles of the modern Sonic characters in games, but this is NOT the same universe. Its a different one. The direction they are going with the characters in Sonic Prime is writing them closer to their mainline game counterparts, just in a different universal setting. The universe is just not as drastic of a difference as say, Movie!Sonic or Sonic Boom's universe. (Which i think is why they made a point to say its following mainline Sonic; because Boom is a universe with its own games, Sonic, and canon as well.)

This is also why I think so many people judge Sonic Prime on what Sonic should know, how he should act, and what he should have learned from. But this is a different universe Sonic! He's a lot more naive and learning to get around. Its why I interpeted that Sonic catching Shadow was not ptsd of losing him again, it was fear of losing him period. This is very likely this Sonic's first world-saving scenario; he's use to just stopping Eggman's latest 'Robot of the week'. He is out of his depth with the shatterverse situation.

Now, I think its totally fair if this kind of 'new & naive' direction with Sonic's character turns people off, or if they dislike/hate it. This is not me trying to pursuade people into liking it if they don't. This is not me saying 'hey if you dislike this, its prolly because you're interpreting it wrong and if you see it this way you will like it.' But I constantly see people criticize the show for not taking into account things that happened in games. Or in this case, praising it for taking account events in the games. Those things didnt happen here! This is a different Sonic!

Of course, I could absolutely be wrong, and if I am, that's fine. But honestly it feels like they're making a different Sonic altogether, and frankly it wouldnt make sense for this to be the exact same Sonic.

So I guess my overall point is that I kind of feel like Prime is being saddled with game expectations it literally cannot meet, via being a different universe. Like I said, hate it, love it, idc I'm not your mom. I just think that this needs to be said and added to the conversation.

('Everything is canon' means 'every interpretation is valid'. Sonic has different universes, so its a lot more validating to fans to say everything happened, instead of alienating entire swathes of fans who all experienced Sonic differently through different media, by saying their experience isn't 'real' or 'true' anymore. And I think the more people realize this, the less people will argue 'evidence XYZ in game and this comic and the Japanese version of this podcast, and this game dev, and this episode, and this writer contradict your theory of Sonic hugging people' you do not need canon as gospel to validate why you like or dislike a certain take.)

Sonic in general is so fun because of how freeform and multiverse and endless it is. We haven't had that in a long time. There are things I love and things I hate, but not because of how closely they follow mainline. Its because I just like or hate it. We should cultivate this new growth and diversity, not prune it to fit into one shape. 🌱

#sonadow #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedeghog #sonic prime #sonic #sth #prime sonic #prime shadow #sonic analysis #shadonic #shasoni #I am begging people to use reading comprehension and do not bitch at me about things you THINK I said #I rarely put out my personal sonic thoughts for this very reason #but ive been sitting on this for a while and havent seen anyone address the whole #'Sonic has ptsd from what happened in SA2' narrative #and it had been bothering me for a while

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espighty · 4 months ago

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I'm making some scuffed relationship charts with some of the cultist ocs in my canon, starting with my version of yellow cat. I've shown him once before in an old meme redraw post. His name is Elijah. He is the unluckiest creature in the whole wide world.

More info on him under the cut.

Here's the redraw I mentioned. It's how I decided his name.

And then for his overall background in my canon:

Leshy and Eli (I'm gonna call him Eli for short ok) do not get great first impressions of each other. It's a short time after Leshy gets out of purgatory. He's been out for long enough that he's adamant on trying to navigate the cult on his own, but short enough that he's still super jittery about everything. And for the most part, the normal cultists know to keep their distance. But Elijah accidentally stumbles his way a bit too close. Gets a chunk bitten out of him because Leshy panicked.

I have a little comic in my minds eye of a little back and forth as Eli is bleeding out.

Eli screaming and Leshy just being like "... uh. sorry. You startled me." "YOU TOOK A CHUNK OUT OF MY ARM" "Yes. And I'm apologizing. Stop being dramatic." "Ohhhh my god I'm gonna throw up. or faint" "You know, most people would consider it an honor." "Both. I think both." And then Eli just straight up dies of blood loss and Leshy tentatively sidesteps away hoping no one will be able to pin it on him.

So when the Lamb resurrects Elijah and there are no consequences, Leshy is baffled. Finds the time to go up to Eli and ask about it. Why didn't he tell the Lamb. Is this blackmail? What does he want?

And Eli is like "oh well you said it was an accident and apologized so I didn't feel the need :3. I die like once a week anyways it's fine." and Leshy goes huh. What.

Turns out Eli is (A.) not the sharpest tool in the shed, and (B.) the most cartoonishly unlucky person you've ever met. He actually does die once a week, often more. Stuff falling over onto him, objects falling from the sky, rube-goldberg-esque events that end with him skewered against a building. It's so normal for him that he's desensitized to it. Also repeatedly dying may have killed some brain cells, but that's neither here nor there. Either way, Leshy is immediately intrigued, opting to accept "friendship" just for the opportunity to experience the bad luck events first hand.

And boy is that a fun time for Leshy. God of Chaos in his natural element. Except, one day, Elijah starts narrowly missing death instead. The stack of marble falls onto the place he was standing only moments before. The roof of the barn collapses in just the right way that he was kept from harm. The onions (toxic for cats) that were mistakenly added to his soup don't harm him in the slightest. Eli doesn't seem too bothered, but everyone around him is always on edge, because this good luck can't last forever, and it will surely come back far, far worse. Leshy hangs around Eli all the same, enjoying the anxiety of the other cultists, and the company of his friend.

#normalize the bishops slandering and defaming Narinder among any friends they make. normalize that. you know it happens.#Leshy specifically. I know he exaggerates it too.#''yeah Narinder ripped out my eyes and pushed me down the stairs and took my Microsoft dinosaur CD and cut me up all over my body''#and Elijah believes him no hesitation.#it's so cute. I love them.#cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl leshy #cotl yellow cat #leshycat #leshy x yellow cat #platonic or not? I don't care. you decide.#ivy’s scribblings

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meltedbluecaterpillar · 3 months ago

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Welcome to more Headcanons where I discuss clothing. Because it is fun for me. Today we will talk about Jade Leech and how in my mind he dresses like a serial killer; specifically Patrick Bateman. Just kidding. I will talk about that sort of fashion later. When I make these posts I plan to update them with another version of the character dressing in another way. But, let’s keep it short.

Subtle Punk/Grunge

Firstly, Jade has been confirmed in many ways to be more muscle than Floyd. So I like to personally picture him in tight fitting tops. His own mental mind game of showing you; “If I wanted to hurt you I would.” But of course image is everything.

I am desperately clinging to the Punk Jade we could have had in canon with piercings and body modifications but also… Going to a prestigious academy… Jade cares a lot about how he is seen by others on campus. The butler trope fits him very well, but what about off campus? I think he does wear subtle punk fashion when he’s out alone on the island. He loves the belts and black boots and how to layer shirts. All while asking some frightened looking cashier about what kind of mushroom spores they sell.

The reasons for the heavier fashion; A) I personally like it. And it’s okay to disagree with me. B) Jade is a merman, and in my mind their ability to regulate temperature isn’t the same as someone on land. So I would like to think that Jade has issues with cold weather. Please see his club wear card.

I get that camping can be something you need to layer for, but a coat, and a sweatshirt, and a turtleneck, and a wool(?) hat with gloves? He either has horrible circulation or mermen just have issues with cold weather. I think it’s the ladder. Jade also looks good in boots. Being in the Mountain Lovers Club, and even during the Camp event he looks good in boots. Combat boots and kicker boots are also something you usually will see with punk and more ‘aggressive’ forms of alternative fashion. He’s so used to wearing boots when he goes hiking that it feels more natural to wear something like that even on weekends when he’s out and about. Also, the heaviness is like extra weight so he can strengthen his legs. At least that’s what I think. He doesn’t seem like a jeans man but there’s also a lot of things Jade hides about himself. Now for a quick outfit!

Thrifted x DIY

I think he usually will wear things like this as it gets darker and he hangs out at underground music clubs where it’s mostly rock and alternative music playing. Now, Jade comes from money. Which can make him seem like a ‘poser’ because he is a nepo baby. But Jade also loves doing something and getting results. Like taking care of terrariums and discovering things in the mountains. I don’t think when he dresses like this he focuses on the best brand clothing wise. I think he wants to not stand out so I think he would go for darker colors while still having personality with his outfit. So I also gave him those nasty ass crust-punk jeans because I think he would have a pair he made himself and they probably smell like Fritos. He washes them… Sometimes.

Accessories… I can imagine Jade wearing small ones or thin leather bracelets with beads. But also at a music club, he probably would take time to make kandi to trade with some local emos. Rings would look nice on him. Especially big metal ones with chunky charms so if he gets into a fight, it’s like pseudo brass knuckles. He keeps it classy and clean while still upkeeping how he looks and is perceived. He wants to go all out. Shaved sides of his head and all. But he also fears… Something. I think he has to be seen a certain way for family reasons but also because of how he is seen at school. I think Jade… Lacks confidence to be himself. Even if he says he’s happy being a little weird and having such a pristine self image… Is he really? … It’s all my Headcanons and you don’t have to agree with me. But this is what I think.

#absolute gossip.#jade leech #jade leech headcanons

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ghostflowerhotpotch · 1 year ago

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Why I consider Miguel replacing his own self so bad?

Originally this was going to be a response to a post someone else did, but then I feel I was being mean to people just enjoying a character, so I repurposed it. Is funny because before that post I wasn't planning on doing this but that one got the words out of me somehow.

As disclaimer; I don't think there is anything wrong with liking Miguel, or any character of this movie. It doesn't matter what Miguel may or may not had done in this movie, or if your headcanons and ideas align with how he is in canon or not.

I also feel that regardless of what I think it went down in this situation, I can't call Miguel evil; I would have some words about what I think later in this post, but I don't think when he did what he did he was doing it because ~evil~

With all that out of the way, let's start with this:

The way he talks about the ordeal makes me uneasy.

You know why I find this unsettling? That this is about himself.

I understand that Miguel is narrating this story from his perspective, and is about his mistake, so by that, you wouldn't need to bring up anyone else. You can even make the argument it may be too painful for him if you want.

So why I still have a problem?

Because the narration isn't the only problem I have with this, in fact, what I find the most disturbing, is the following part.

Here is my thing...Don't you find odd how quickly he found out about this?

Think about it; it would be weird that he was just looking on the Multiverse, saw a version of himself with a nice, happy family, and just at that moment that person got killed, so he step in.

I had seen someone made the argument that he did what did because he was thinking of Gabby, however, nothing on his demeanour or words makes me think this was about anyone that wasn't himself.

Let's go back to those pics.

Want to know why I posted two that are basically the same? Because what's important is Miguel's face.

He is completely stoic.

We see Miguel seeing the body at the same time the mugger is running away, this makes me believe it was implied he watched at least the guy get away. But when Miguel appears on the screen, it is already watching the image, it doesn't make me think he just popped up the screen and saw it play at the moment he got killed.

Much less because he looks so calm, like he was expecting this to happen.

I don't know how much Miguel can see in future events, I believe there is some capacity because he said to Miles that his dad will die in two days. That may be because is when he becomes a Captain and his words are more speculation than actual confirmation. It could also be that at that moment he didn't have the means to look into it.

But all this footage makes me believe he saw his other self try to do the right thing, get killed, and then came in.

This wasn't about preserving the canon, this is in theory, before he knew how "canon works" (because he affirms the universe collapsed because he try to take the place of someone who was suppose to die. At least that was the impression it gave me.) So is not like there was any reason to not step in and help him.

This is going into speculation territory, so feel free to say this is a reach, but...was there really no way to save the other Miguel?

It gave me the impression the guy used just one bullet, unless is in specific places, normally one bullet wouldn't be enough. More important, Miguel is from the future, his world can make travel to the moon as if it is just going on the highway; are you telling me that if Miguel wanted to help to save this guy's life, was there really nothing he could?

Like sure, he doesn't need to, this isn't this problem and not his story, he shouldn't interfere.

Except that he did, to replace him.

And that's why I consider his initial speech so disturbing.

Let me put all together what Miguel said:

"I found a world where I had a family. Where I was happy. And that version of myself was killed. So I replace him. I thought it was harmless."

This entire discourse is about himself, with no real thought put into how Gabby, or anyone else may feel. Miguel keeps saying "family," which makes me think it was more than just Gabby, since I don't see why he wouldn't just say daughter if it was only her. That being say I am praying that I am wrong.

My heart really breaks for the other Miguel, he just wanted to do the right thing, he didn't have any powers or special abilities but he still try to help this lady that he probably didn't even know.

And what he got?

That his family will not mourn him, that none of his love ones would go to his funeral (I doubt there was one.) That the people who loved him can't even begin to deal with the mourning process.

Because Miguel, wanted a family.

I am sorry, but I can't help to feel this was en egoistic action when literally there is no mention of ever thinking of anyone that wasn't him; you can try to argue that the "harmless" part also included every other person who knew that Miguel, since they now don't need to go through the pain of a funeral.

But Miguel wasn't that Miguel, if there is something the multi-verse has shown us, is that different versions of a character don't need to be the same, in fact is not odd to not be.

I mentioned this in the past, but if I feel my boyfriend was acting odd, and then discover that he got replaced by another version of himself, just because this one wanted to have a partner- It makes my blood boil; I would personally feel outraged.

Because it should be my decision, which is removed completely of the equation because someone decided they knew me better than me, so they could take decisions on my behalf.

And if I heard him talk, and realize all he ever mentioned was about him and what he wanted? Oh that's one easy slap to the face minimum.

I don't think Miguel had nefarious intentions by doing this, the problem is that he does the thing he literally does the rest of the movie: Assume his idea is the right call, no think twice about asking anyone's opinion, and then blame it on something else when things start to go south.

(If you want an easy example: Literally blaming Gwen for the fiasco with Miles, as if the guy didn't literally scared Miles off when Peter was THIS close to making him go with him.)

Hope anyone liked it! If you did, please consider either commissioning me or donating to my ko-fi, and if not please reblog!

Have a good night.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #miguel o' hara #the spider society #gabby o'hara #I am really starting to get close to the wasp nest with a bat #not sure if I should be more afraid or bite the bullet #atsv files

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metalgearstranding · 4 months ago

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Big Boss' Boyfriends: a Retrospective? A Character Analysis? A Bunch of Words Strung Together For Sure

Re: this post about Ocelot being willing to die FOR Big Boss versus Kaz willing to die WITH Big Boss. I think it's absolutely true, and I just wanted to expand on the subject and talk about Ocelot and Kaz, and why they're different on that front because of their personality and their history.

(Notes: 1 English is not my first language so forgive the mistakes and the general lack of polish 2) those are of course my personal interpretations of events colored by bias. I'm not pretending to know the Correct and True version of anything. Also I might be misrembering/forgetting things. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong about CANON informations, add important infos I might have forgotten, and share your own interpretations of the characters and events if you want!)

Unlike Ocelot who went on to do his solo thing after MGS3, Kaz was taken in by Snake after they met, and MSF was born shortly after. Kaz was vital to the creation of MSF, it was his baby as much as it was Snake's. MSF was more than a base, it was a home, for both of them. It brought them close, not only because they shared something they made together, but also because they spent a lot of time together, physically. Even when Snake wasn't on mother base, they constantly kept in contact through the radio. They had plenty of opportunities to get to know each other personally and become close. It's ironic that Kaz probably never knew Snake's real name, because for a while he was in a better place than Ocelot to really get to know "John".

Officially, Snake was the boss at MSF of course, with Kaz serving as his XO, his second in command. Their relationship never really felt particularly hierarchical however. Despite his talk in MGS3 about being loyal to the top brass and willing to die for them, Snake never gave me the vibe that he cared very much about ranks and rigid military rules, especially not after leaving FOX to do his own thing. Kaz didn't have that much military experience to begin with in comparison, so he was probably more than comfortable with the loosey goosey operation Snake was conducting. So yeah, to me, Snake and Kaz in Peace Walker felt more like equals than anything.

Even without a romantic angle, their relationship was very symbiotic, so it makes perfect sense that they'd both be willing to go down with the ship, considering the amount of time, money, love, and blood that was poured into their new way of life. Kaz especially -in contrast to his sharp business acumen and practical sense- always struck me as a very... intense guy, for better or for worse. Hell, the bbkaz meet cute was Kaz almost blowing both himself and Snake with a grenade... So yes, straight from the beginning, Kaz was very willing to die with Snake, first as an enemy, and then as a friend/lover/partner once Snake's rizz won his heart over. And it was both Kaz's practical sense and his passionate nature that cost him Snake's companionship (in part).

Ocelot's case is simultaneously both simpler and much more complicated. He and Snake are as inextricably linked together as Snake and Kaz, but in a different way.

The two men have known each other for a long time, and they were around each other for one of the most formative moments of their lives. Snake lost an eye to Ocelot and gained his absolute loyalty (and the coolness factor that comes with an eyepatch). Meanwhile, Ocelot simply wouldn't be Ocelot without Snake: the revolvers, the interrogation fetish, Ocelot's chosen Purpose in life, all of that can be retraced to Snake. They share a mother, one spiritually and the other genetically. They've tried to kill each other several times, and saved each other just as often. Aside from the nod to Ocelot and Snake's plot armor, MGS3 loves to show how Fate brought them together. First, by making the Boss -he most important and influential person in Snake's life- Ocelot's mother, and second, with all the moments where Ocelot COULD have killed Snake, but wasn't "allowed" to.

Even without the events of the story bringing them together, unlike Snake and Kaz who are complimentary but very different, Snake and Ocelot are very alike. The Sorrow spoke of the Spirit of the Warrior, which both men have. Snake joined the military very young (15yo), and that life is all he's known and wanted. Ocelot was literally born on a battlefield and raised to be a spy. Both men live by the sword, are perfectly content living that way, and they understand that about each other. The notes for the MGS3 script about their meeting in Rassvet speak of them immediately liking each other: "a pure love". If you ignore the strong connotations of the word "love", it's clear that both men recognized as kindred spirit in the other at the very least.

No matter how strong the bond and the understanding between them, Snake and Ocelot rarely came into direct contact after MGS3. It's very possible they met more often when the Patriots were founded, or were in more direct contact after Snake left, but we don't get to see that in game. With or without hints to Snake and Ocelot's contacts through the years, the games make it clear that Ocelot is someone who prefers to work alone behind the scenes, and is actually quite happy and more comfortable that way. There are several hints that he DOES miss Snake sometimes though in the script of MGSV. Then there's this amazing line: "Foxes spend most of their time alone, but they'll keep the same mate. They say that in the case of the Blanford's foxes, it's for life. *hmph* Can't see the sense of it myself." Ocelot is obviously full of shit, because this describes him to a T: he too spent most of his time alone but kept the same mate (Snake) all of his life.

Ocelot being apart from Snake most of the time seems to be in major part a decision of the former. But that means that despite sharing their formative moments, Ocelot didn't get to know Snake -"John"- as he is in his day-to-day life like Kaz did. Snake's more intimate habits, quirks, tastes, what makes him laugh, how long he takes to dress up in the morning, that kind of stuff you only learn by sharing someone's life he didn't have access to as far as we know. In MGSV, Ocelot says this: "She (Quiet) fell in love with the legend (Snake). I was the same way, once." You can interpret this line a few different ways, but it's indeniable: Ocelot fell in love with the legend. And I think in a way, because of the physical distance between them, Snake remained a Legend in his mind, a distant deity he had chosen to devote himself to.

Ocelot might not have had the privilege to be raised and taken care of by his parents, but he is definitely their son. The Boss and the Sorrow were characterized by their strong sense of loyalty, love and duty. When the Philosophers forced the couple to face each other in battle, threatening to end their son's life if they didn't, the Sorrow willingly decided he'd be the one to give his life. And of course, the Boss' life is filled with examples of her self-sacrificial nature. Through the sacrifice of her life and reputation, she saved millions of lives.

Ocelot wasn't as noble as the Boss, he doesn't exactly share his mother's wish for peace, but he is just as self-sacrificial and loyal to a fault (well, to HIM at least). He didn't like Zero's vision of the world, and he went to impressively absurd lengths to destroy it. Whether or not he truly believed that hard in Snake's pet project, Ocelot still went to MORE impressively absurd lengths to help Snake see it through. Not for honor, but for Him.

But what about Snake's in all of that? Snake is kind of an idiot, the end. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

Seriously though, I don't think I'm being very controversial if I say that Snake is single-minded to an unhealthy degree. He doesn't seem to care about much outside of war, guns and cigars... And the Boss. And that's where the problem lies.

The extent to which Snake was attached to the Boss was a little erm... worrisome? For a man who said he didn't care about other people's lives, Snake sure was interested in the Boss as EVA points out in MGS3. Snake didn't take their time apart well, and he took her death (at his own hands) even worse. The events of Snake Eater pretty much singlehandedly ruined Snake and all remaining hopes he could've had to someday live a healthier life.

One of my friends once said about Snake that he was incapable of love. I don't think it's wrong, but it's also very much not true, because Metal Gear Solid as a series happened because Snake couldn't heal from the pain of losing someone he loved so deeply. Sadly, it did affect his relationships after that, especially the ones who loved him most, Ocelot and Kaz in particular. Of course, the death of the Boss wasn't the only factor for that, there were also the betrayals, the many, many betrayals... I'm not gonna talk about Zero here, but aside from the Boss, he's the one who did the most damage to Snake.

After he and Zero parted ways, unable to reconcile their difference of opinions about the Boss's will (and Zero doing the first in a series of Very Fucked Up Things), Snake went on to do his thing and met Kaz. They found each other when they needed it the most, and despite their ideological differences, joined forces to create a home for the both of them.

The day they met, when Snake explained to Kaz what he was doing in Columbia (mercenary work). Kaz's first reaction was: "so you go where the money is". Snake denied this, told Kaz that they were fighting for themselves. Kaz insisted: "so, for the money". Snake should've seen this as the red flag it later came to be. Snake does what he does for the love of the Game. He fights to live and lives to fight. Kaz does what he does for money. That served Snake well during the MSF days, because Snake is not a very practical guy outside of the battlefield, logistics aren't his thing and neither is handling money.

And that's when Kaz did an oopsie. MSF was struggling, and when a golden opportunity presented itself, Kaz just couldn't say no. Blinded by the prospect of getting a lot of money to help MSF grow, Kaz accepted to work with Zero... without telling Snake. Snake who had just been more or less stabbed in the back by Zero and had trust issues up the wazoo at this point. Snake didn't say much when it was revealed, but you can feel the disappointment in his voice when he says Kaz's name.

When Kaz learns in Phantom Pain that Snake has left to make a bigger, better MSF, he gets pissed and vows to send Snake to hell. Aside from being the consequence of his actions in Peace Walker, Kaz's reaction is both puzzling and very understandable.

Snake and Kaz were close, they were partners. Or so Kaz thought. Kaz would've been ready to die with Snake for what they had created together, but Ocelot informed him that he wouldn't get to be by Snake's side while he built his new nation of fighters. Kaz had been... demoted, essentially. In his mind at least. No longer an equal partner, he was now working FOR Snake, not with him. And he couldn't take it. He had become so comfortable sitting at the right hand of God that he thought he was now entitled to share the throne with him (Which I guess makes Kaz Lucifer in a way in this analogy...? And Ocelot Archangel Michael? XD).

Snake at this point had bought into his own hype, rejected the Boss and claimed the title of Big Boss once and for all after struggling with it for years. He went along with Zero's Phantom idea, and rode away from a burning hospital with a smile on his face. If Snake had second thoughts at the time, if he felt guilty or grateful about the enormous sacrifices that were made in his name, we don't really get to hear about it.

Kaz lost his partner status but he wasn't kicked to the curb completely however, which means Snake still wanted him around in some capacity at least. Or Snake assumed that he had Kaz's loyalty no matter what, and would gladly get along with the plan just like Ocelot. In a way, he wouldn't have been wrong, because despite Kaz's anger and his vow to get revenge on Big Boss via enfant terrible one day, he still stayed around to help with the Phantom project. It's unknown if Kaz submitted himself -willingly or not- to hypnotism. Ocelot being over-committed is nothing new, but I wonder if he would've insisted to do the same to Kaz...

If Kaz had carefully proded the limits of his position in Peace Walker, in Phantom Pain he kept poking at them with his crutch . Kaz had always been intense, but his anger and lust for revenge during the game were very loud next to Venom Snake's calm attitude. Kaz constantly went against Snake's decision, demanding where Ocelot suggested. The best exemple is Kaz outright telling Venom Snake that if he took Quiet back to the base, he'd "just have her killed", sending choppers with armed men pointing their weapons at Snake. Once again, Kaz acts as an equal, not someone who's taking orders, which either means he WAS hypnotized and didn't learn his lesson, or he wasn't hypnotized, and doesn't recognize Venom Snake's authority as his commander at all. Even if he gave no shit about a hierarchy, if he was pissed against the real Snake, Kaz still seemed to yearn for him, at least at the beginning. They get so close so often in the first hours of the game that you really wonder whether they're going kiss or not.

We know where Kaz ends up at some point after this (training Solid Snake, then getting killed -presumably by Ocelot- in his home). I'd really like to know when he left Venom Snake's side, and how Venom took it...

All the while, Ocelot had always been working in Snake's interests and never waivered. Ocelot stayed behind as a spy for Snake when the latter left the Patriots. Zero was probably aware of that fact, but by that point, Ocelot's loyalty and love for Snake was beyond question, so it's no wonder he was chosen to watch over Snake for the next 9 years while he was in a coma. Meanwhile, Kaz was informed that Snake was alive and safe, but was not told where, and he was not allowed to see him either (because his presence would be a dead giveaway for Snake's enemies). Whatever news he received were via Ocelot.

Kaz's emotions always get the best of him, he's very expressive, so we know how he feels at all times. Ocelot on the other hand is calm, composed, in control. He's made a career out of pretending to be what he's not, so it's hard to say how he really feels. I'm sure he was devastated by what happened to Snake, but we don't really get to see it sadly. In MGSV he acts like a professional, he offers his expertise to Snake when it's needed. He's not subservient, but he's fully aware of his place and his role. Despite his poker face, I think you can still very much feel Ocelot's affection for Snake during the game (and possibly even some jealousy towards Quiet).

Ocelot's insistence to work alone, his history with Snake, and his reverence for Snake saved him from a lot of the heartbreak Kaz had to go through. It also guaranteed his place in Snake's life until the very end. We don't really know what Snake thought of Ocelot, how he really felt about him, but we know he trusted him fully, which, considering all the betrayals Snake went through, really means something.

Kaz made errors of judgement and let his emotions get the better of him, which cost him Snake's trust and the place at his side he wanted so badly. Ocelot's independance and dedication to his mission cost him an opportunity to really get to know the man he had worked so hard for. He never really got to see the fruits of his schemes: the end of the Patriots, and Snake himself, gloriously back to life, free from them at last. And because of his single mindedness, his selfishness (or obliviousness perhaps), and the heartbreak he could never heal from, Snake was never able to give back to the people who loved him and gave everything to him.

#bosselot #bbkaz #revolver ocelot #naked snake #big boss #kaz miller #kazuhira miller #mgs #mine #i could have added eva in the team of blondes doing dumb shit for snake but this was getting way too long lol

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