#that's just how he feels in my own personal version of canon events

[youngpettyqueen]

ive tried a few times now and I gotta say it. BJ Goes to Maine as a concept- the way ive seen it executed the most- really just doesnt work for me

[azirafeast]

I am SO EXCITED for the 4th Annual #Azirafeast, The Feast Day of the Angel Aziraphale, an inclusive fandom event! It’s celebrated November 19th and is a made-up holiday that brings the community together, regardless of how a person participates in fandom.

On November 19th, everyone is welcome to celebrate the Feast Day of Aziraphale by drinking cocoa and wine, eating good food, reading, being stylish on their own terms, enjoying the company of friends and embracing the spirit of Aziraphale! Please share your pics on socials with #Azirafeast!

Creators are encouraged to show Aziraphale indulging in what makes him happy or why you love him (canon or fanon!) Create “Lore” for why Aziraphale has a feast day! What miracles throughout history has he performed? Creations can be dramatic, serious, sexy or silly!

All forms of creation are welcome: Draw, write, sing, act, sew, bake, cosplay or anything else! However YOU want to appreciate our favorite angel. All variations, versions and representations of Aziraphale are welcome on the feast of Aziraphale.

Anything tagged #Azirafeast or I will reblog, the same for Instagram and Twitter. I’ve had a permanent highlight on my Instagram for the last 3 years, and maintained this tumblr. Check out what others have made for previous years!

There is also an AO3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Azirafeast

Anything added to it I will promote on my socials for #azirafeast.

I know I don’t have the biggest following, but the idea is that on the feast of Aziraphale even fans who don’t have a large social media presence will still be seen, still have their experiences noticed, and will feel part of a community that cares.

Folk can get stressed about creating by a “due date.” I encourage folk to post early if they want, and to keep posting after Nov 19 if they miss the day or don’t finish in time. Aziraphale procrastinated on preventing the apocalypse, you’re just embracing that energy!

And remember, you don’t have to “make” anything to participate. Eating cake and lying to your boss is a great way to celebrate! Confuse some customers, watch a nature documentary, get drunk, be kind to someone (Muriel) who is new but trying their best!

Just make sure to tag your contributions with either #azirafeast so we can celebrate with you! Please feel welcome to take my words and reshare anyway that you like, and make your own posts to generate awareness! Please do share in any fandom communities you’re a part of, or feel free to try to convince people IRL this is totally a real holiday.

I do not run, own, control or anything of the sort in regards to #azirafeast. The idea came from Cliopadra and a private discord server, and the brilliant folk there picked the date and ran with it. I encourage folk to participate because I think it’s a lovely idea! It is NOT “mine.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

rabbit costume + luxe couture miss raven

Because I love the Alice in Wonderland aesthetic and White Rabbit Fest is running in EN right now… 😭 I decided to make a Rabbit Costume for my OC! Figured I’d also do the same for the event running in JP at the same time, Tapis Rouge in the Shaftlands.

Special thanks goes to @peripheralsanity for the super adorable bonus drawing of Miss Raven in her Rabbit Costume 😭 I wanna cram that bunny into my mouth like an Easter marshmallow…

My own doodles are below the cut, along with various design notes 📝

First up, the Rabbit Costume!

It takes a lot of inspiration from Alice herself: the bow in her hair, the dress, the apron. Miss Raven’s Heartslabyul dorm uniform design also pulls inspiration from Alice, so I tried very hard to make this look unique from that!

There’s a lot more bows, frills, and huge, goofy-looking accessories—like the rabbit ears + tail plus the shoes. The outfit also features a lot of pastel checkerboard pattern and shimmery makeup, like what is featured in Deuce’s Rabbit Costume. Upon closer inspection, there’s even more intricacies! Raven’s apron has heart-shaped pockets, the apron’s top has card motifs stitched into it, and the corset belt has a rabbit slowly dressing and then taking up a bugle to play. The transition demonstrates her own adaption to living among non-animals 😅

The rabbit on her skirt, chain, prize ribbon, and earring aren’t the White Rabbit but a cobbled together rabbit that’s missing an eye. The XO Rabbit poses as and stillinvokes the image of the White Rabbit, especially when it’s right next to a pocket watch. It fits Raven, who is someone not “organically” in the world of TWST (since she’s an OC).

I think my favorite part of this design is the super wacky and big hair. You may recognize it from the Hatsune Miku x Cinnamoroll campaign that was popular a while back. The shape reminded me of bunny ears, so I thought it would be nice to incorporate into Raven’s Rabbit Costume.

There’s so many strange things in clock town to observe! Miss Raven would have a fun time hopping around and seeing the sights… documenting them with Ortho, picking out clocks and other souvenirs with Silver, chomping through the local specialties with Epel. Ah, and as for Deuce 🤔 “Your son is trying very hard in his studies, ma’am,” she’d tell Dylla very seriously. “I commend him for his efforts.” (She very tactfully focuses on his improvements and personal growth over the actual numbers he produces.) Students of 1-A gotta look out for each other, right? Deuce fist bumps her behind her back or something to signal his thanks.

Miss Raven isn’t the athletic type, so I don’t think she would run in the relay race with them. (It would be hard to run in that dress anyway.) She can stick on the sidelines and cheer for them…!

Next is the Luxe Couture!

I actually made two variants. One is more inspired by the Fairest Queen’s raven and the other is similar to the SR and R boys’ huntsman-inspired designs.

The first has more of an old-fashioned movie star feel to it… which isn’t really what Vil invited the other students for so it falls outside of canon 😂 I just thought it would be cool to have a more personalized, glamorous fit for Raven.

She has much darker and more excessive eye makeup in this version. A bold, more confident look outside of her usual wheelhouse. Her hair is also curled into her face to resemble feathers, and her bun also has strands spiked up to look like feathers too. The dress itself is also very feathery, forming a train behind her wherever she stomps in her heels. The top of the dress also acts as a feather boa, making her appear larger and more intimidating than she actually is.

If you’re wondering why tiny skull earrings, it’s because the Evil Queen’s raven falls into a skull at one point in the movie 💀 since it’s so taken aback by what it is witnessing… That “wow!” but also somewhat scared feeling is very similar to how Raven feels entering Fairest City, so I wanted to include a skull in some way. If I made the motif too big or too obvious, then it might clash with the whole ensemble so I chose to go with an understated accessory instead.

This look is definitely the most “different” of the group, but I tried to keep some elements in common with the others. For example, Raven still has the lace curtain which appears from where her dress is slit. She also has sheer gloves that have been studded with little white rhinestones. The jewels aren’t as big or colorful as Vil’s, but that’s the point: to not outshine the star. Miss Raven is nothing more than the shadow that clings to its queen 😌

The more group-cohesive outfit is last!

It’s a similar double-breasted beige coat as Jamil’s, but it fans out into a dress + slacks at the bottom and has different sleeves. The puffiness of the sleeves at the shoulder and wrists make her seem large and in-charge! The buttons on her coat are large pearls.

I tried to maintain the huntsman’s color scheme throughout the outfit. Because of this, Raven’s belt is red and the lace in her dress is green. Her boots are similar to hiking boots (just picture them fancier in your head OTL I’m not great at drawing footwear).

We get her forehead in this design!! Her hair is pulled back into a “fancier than usual” ponytail, with her hair bunched into one loop before resuming as a normal ponytail. The clasp she uses is similar to the one Vil wears in his school uniform. Originally, I thought of just shoving an arrow through instead but decided against it since it makes the huntsman theme too obvious. The same reasoning came up when I considered giving Raven a small cocktail hat that looks similar to what the huntsman wore. Her head just looks so naked without something there 😂 but in the end I managed to refrain, and I think that helped the outfit look more clean and elegant.

Raven would be excited to visit Fairest City—it’s the capital of the entertainment industry! Though her main medium is quite different than that of films, she’s always wanted to visit for educational purposes. (Maybe she can learn from the scriptwriters there!) “At least one of you cares to learn,” Vil would tut. The trip’s a little stressful, trapped between Jamil and Azul’s petty remarks at one another and Ace teasing her for being the “odd one out” of the group—but hey, it’s all worth it for the experiences made there! I’d imagine that Raven loves all the pampering they get and all the important people they meet, it makes her feel like a real princess. Everywhere she looks, the streets and stores are shining too! Her raven blood is soaring. “I didn’t realize you had such excitable juniors, Vil,” Eric would chuckle. (“Waaaah, so cool! Like a prince!!” Raven would gush, earning eye rolls from her classmates and a groan from Ace.)

Walking on the red carpet wouldn’t interest her that much; she doesn’t like the attention so she tries hard to just fade behind the others and play support as best she can. Carrying Vil’s things or helping him with his makeup is no problem, just don’t thrust her under the spotlight and all the flashing cameras!

[stormxpadme]

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.

[skunkox]

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.

[probably-impossible]

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 😂

[espighty]

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.

:)

[cosmicatta]

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.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

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! 💛

[magicstormfrostfire]

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. 🌱

[meltedbluecaterpillar]

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.

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

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.

[tenaciousduckpoetry]

Unresolved Feelings

Hobie has been nothing but nice to you, sadly, you can't return the favour

Warnings: angst, mention of death, canon events, bit of a Gwen x reader, but also Hobie x reader

"I can't even look at him Gwen." Your words came out trembling, eyes watering. "I can't look at him or talk to him. I-.. I can't go on another mission with him. I almost got us killed!" Your rambling was neverending. The look in your eyes sent chills down the Spider-Woman spine. Not once has she seen you so distraught. Dark bags covered your cheeks, pupils small and hair a mess. Your clothes were the same that you wore yesterday, meaning you probably slept in them.

"It's okay. We can talk to Miguel.. He'll understand." She said your name so softly, hands coming to rest upon your shaking shoulders. A hiccup slipped past your swollen lips and you almost started crying again. "I'm sure we can fix this." Gwen offered a sympathetic smile, thumbs wiping away any stray tears that dared to fall down your soft cheeks. "Come on, let's get you in some clean clothes and brush your hair. Then we can go talk to him, okay?" Her words were so sincere and comforting that you couldn't help but be embarrassed about your sudden emotional outbursts.

You nodded.

While getting ready, with Gwen pulling some clothes out for you to put on and helping you brush back your hair, you were completely lost in your thoughts. Hobie came to mind and the memories followed.

Hobie was your canon event. In your universe you worked as a variation of spider-man. Hobie was your best friend, your ride or die, the person you promised to look after no matter what; and you failed him. In a moment of quick thinking where you could have prevented his death, you faltered and instead, he ended up 6ft underground. The memories left a cool shudder running down your spine. Goosebumps formed across your arms and the hair at the back of your neck stood at attention.

"He won't understand, Gwen. This is useless." You spoke quietly, rubbing your face as if that was going to get rid of your eye bags. "This isn't going- you know what Miguel is like! If anything this will make it worse." You huffed through your nostrils.

Gwen just shook her head an rolled her eyes. "You're a pessimist." She sighed softly, squeezing your hand ever so gently. "I promise it will be fine."

Of course, by the time you had made it to Miguel's 'office' you were feeling a little bit better. Gwen had reassured you that Miguel might listen and you wouldn't have to see Hobie again. Part of that pained you.

The conversation went.. okay. As okay as it could go. You were now free from any interactions with Hobie Brown. You felt so conflicted.. Gwen understood your pain. Seeing such a close friend die and then to be confronted with that same person.. but not your own version is traumatizing. The amount of unresolved trauma that comes back is overwhelming; no wonder you wee getting no sleep.

On the way back to the lobby you were confronted with this unresolved feeling. The same punk rocker that you had been actively avoiding was marching his way towards you, a slight frown on his hollowed face. Your heart was racing, your head almost spinning. He stood in front of you and yet you couldn't move. Your feet were frozen, eyes staring into the deep brown of his own. You felt like crying again, but nothing came out.

"You've been avoiding me."

His words didn't come out as harsh or controlling, but rather concerned.

"Get out of my way."

"That doesn't change the fact that you've been avoiding me." Hobie said your name in the same way that your version did. Your shoulders shook slightly, head hung lowly.

"It doesn't fucking matter- okay? You didn't do anything! So get out of my way, Hobie!" Your words were harsh. Your tone was conflicting against your thoughts. No matter how much you wanted to run into those familiar lanky arms or playfully flick his chin, you couldn't, because this man wasn't your Hobie. The Hobie in front of you was a stranger. One that you only had superficial feelings too, and one that you could never be nice to.

The pained look he gave you made your heart ach within your chest. He didn't say anything and just stood to the side, taking a step out of your way. Your mouth moved but no words came out. Instead you forced your feet to move before you did anything that could have been even more stupid than your outburst. You left him standing there with your head now held high in an attempt to seem strong.

Hobie could see through your act. You couldn't fool him.

[pigdemonart]

Do you ship Fox and Krystal?? Because they were my childhood 🥺 baby's first otp yknow

hahah I do! But with a BIG asterisk. Putting it under cut for INSANE STAR FOX RAMBLINGS

* <- the big asterisk: I ship them, but like I also am okay with them not being end-game. I think their relationship could be so much bigger than that!! OK so, let me explain. When I was a kiddo I shipped them! I was a baby furry and I loooooved that there was a playable girl character in Star Fox FINALLY (though, you know that was for only a split second bhnjmk) But now, I just think the way they were both written in the games was a little boring and one-note. Also just uncomfortable at times, since her first appearance Krystal was made out to be weird kinda-fetishy, sex-appeal and not much else. I don't think that's a controversial statement though LOL Later games I don't much feel for their chemistry either, though they have cute moments here and there. The more interesting parts about them is when they're not seeing eye-to-eye and they're apart from each other, honestly. So in my drawings I was picturing something less canon and more re-imagined. Krystal is the lone survivor of her race and she's on Sauria trying to find the truth about what happened to her home planet while also aiding the local wildlife. I don't imagine the dinosaurs speaking much in my version, but Krystal is telepathic and an empath, she can read their minds well enough to talk to them and be understood. I imagine also she knows about Andross, but doesn't believe he's the reason her planet was destroyed (there's disagreements on if that is canon or not, and I think its pretty silly to blame every bad thing on the one guy.) I think it would be fun if Krystal (never being encased in a crystal because that plot was dumb) meets Fox on Sauria early on in the events of Star Fox Adventures. I mean it would have been GREAT if Krystal was his partner, instead of Tricky. Though in the drawings I included Tricky too, cuz why not? I like the dynamic of Krystal being kind towards all living creatures and Fox having to learn to keep up with that. Nature never seemed like his -thing- ya know. See I like the idea of their personalities crashing a lot at first. They are from different cultures and backgrounds, their understanding of Lylat history is different -- Fox being from Corneria means he views the war against Andross as a necessary thing, something Andross brought on himself and eventually paid for with his life, not to mention the death of his father weighs heavily on him forever. Krystal disagrees, being a firm believer that war is never the answer and the price of peace for some came at the cost of the death of others, including her own people. Like...DO YOU SEE HOW MUCH THEY WOULDN'T MIX, they are just too different and too caught up in their own life missions to really get the other's intentions. But then in spite of all that, they become friends. I think my ver. of Krystal while looking down on Fox somewhat for being a mercenary would also be intrigued by him. She would want to know how exactly this guy and his team defeated Andross, and from there know more stories about his life. Likewise, Fox being stuck on ground on Sauria with Krystal I think would open his eyes a bit more (lmao touch some grass for once) and they would at least bond with each other while also helping each other stay alive. I think they realize on their own that they each bring out good things about one another... at least at first.

In the games Krystal is pretty much assimilated into Star Fox and we don't really see how that happens or how she really feels about it. We just know she eventually breaks up with Fox and cuts ties with the rest of them, something that broke my heart when I was a kid, but I'm not super against or in disagreement with. Personally I just think her sort of beliefs and upbringing would have never lent itself well to the line of work Star Fox does, at least not so easily. It came off to me like she was a young woman caught up in a romance that felt right at first and then became bitter and unfulfilling once reality set in. And in my eyes, I think its more interesting if she becomes disillusioned with Star Fox and the Cornerian Defense Force because, put simply, Krystal isn't pro-military. And that's sad...but it's pretty raw, too. And I love my stupid children's game about furries in space being full of dark themes!! Nintendo already set the domino pieces up, I just feel like we never got to see them all come tumbling down. We were teased with possible ideas that the Cornerian army and General Pepper were morally grey and that Andross had good intentions mixed in with every totalitarian thing he did. Krystal even is the one to defend Andross in one scene in Command, which is fucking crazyyyyyyyy!!! but it doesn't GO ANYWHERE -tears hair out- But anyways, as you can see Fox X Krystal drives me insane. /pos There isn't really an ending I love or subscribe to the most from Star Fox Command. That game really just threw a lot of the fans for a loop with all the drama and "bad," not super fulfilling ends to beloved characters. Though, that being said, I lowkey like the Kursed/Krazoa arc for Krystal, I think it's like an interesting path for a character like her. Like yeah, turn this woman into a hardened butch bounty hunter!!!! why NOT!!! She'd get under his skin better than Wolf ever could!!! Plus, how often does a pairing go from friends-to-lovers-to-enemies-to-strangers?? Fox can't recognize the love of his life anymore because she's been fundamentally changed by the world HE introduced her to. Now they both gotta live with that with Sauria being nothing but a distant memory. It's tragic, it's messy, it can go in so many different directions and I just think these furries should yell at each other for my amusement. anyways that's all. :] i'm actually normal about them tee hee.

[monimccoythings]

Miguel O’Hara headcanons

Warning: This contains slight spoilers for Across The Spiderverse

I’m a new person after watching Across the Spiderverse. Words cannot describe how much I loved this movie. But the things I loved the most was how the characters were portrayed, like, you could tell their actions were wrong and that they were taking the worst approach to the situation, but still understand why they behaved like that and empathize with their reasoning behind their actions. Another thing I truly loved was their approach to their supposed love triangle, they mostly took the same route they took in Venom, Miles was a bit jealous at first, but the supposed love rival (Hobie my beloved) was just a cool guy who genuinely wanted to help and there was never any rivalry or hostility between them and that’s very healthy. I also loved Oscar Isaac’s portrayal of Miguel O’hara, absolutely wonderful.

I usually try to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, but this time I decided that this time reader would be fem!reader, but please feel free to use any pronoun you feel more comfortable with.

Imagine Miguel who after the incident with his alternate self’s daughter closed his heart off to everyone else, genuinely believing that to be Spider-Man you need to suffer and vowing to never love anyone ever again.

Imagine Miguel finding a carbon copy of his alternate self’s deceased wife in his real “home” universe and realising that he could have had a family here after all.

Imagine Miguel deciding not to pursue you and start a family, thinking that it would all end in more heartbreak and pain for them.

Imagine Miguel keeping tabs on you despite everything, because he wants to make sure you are safe, happy, well cared and surrounded with good people.

Imagine Miguel’s shock when you start working at the same laboratory as he as a lab assistant and having to self restrain himself from holding you against his chest and never letting go.

Imagine Miguel having to become cold and aloof towards you to save you both the suffering, thinking it will be easier if you hated him even if it’s killing him. Nonetheless, you still see through his façade and realise that behind that cruel and cold mask there is a scared man. Because you always do see him, in every universe.

Imagine Miguel pretending to not care whetever  you are dating someone or not, but still tearing his private lab into pieces in the middle of a jealously induced rage fit.

Imagine Miguel finding and beating the shit out of the date when they inevitably break your heart.

Imagine Miguel’s walls slowly coming down no matter how much he wants to keep them up because that’s the effect you always have on him.

Imagine Miguel’s learning to appreciate and love your version’s differences with the one from his deceased counterpart universe and value you as your own individual.

Imagine Miguel’s sudden understanding as to why Miles was so adamant of protecting his family when he sees some thugs about to shoot you.

Imagine Miguel losing it and becoming a rabid beast ready to murder those thugs.

Imagine that the only way to calm him down his to hug his broad back and whisper soothing and reassuring words to him. Even if you are trembling with fear, you find more important to hush him before he does something he will surely regret.

Imagine Miguel finally deciding to pursue you romantically and open his heart. He is not risking losing you ever again.

Imagine Miguel always fearing something bad might happen to you so he is a bit overbearing and overprotective. He always is expecting the worst of everyone. But you are always there to reassure him you are not going anywhere.

Imagine Miguel almost expecting a canon event to take you away from him again. But as time passes, your romance blossoms, you get engaged, you get married, have beautiful babies, and nothing happens. Not like Miguel isn’t there to make sure something bad happens, as mentioned, he is very overprotective.

Imagine Miguel being kinda worried that his children may inherit his “special traits” and you comforting him, telling her that no matter what you love them all.

Imagine Miguel waking up one day and realising nothing bad is happening because this is the future he was meant to have, a happy one.

Imagine Miguel stepping down from his role as leader of the Spider Society and giving it to more capable hands to spend more time with his family.

Imagine Miguel finally allowing himself to relax and enjoy life and his role as Spider-Man with his family by his side. Healing from trauma once and for all.

[silly-salty-utdr-rants]

an unnecessarily in depth analysis of my take on underfell papyrus

before we begin: let it be known that none of this is properly confirmed or canon, this is all based on the version of underfell that almost solely exists in my brain. also the quality of grammar, spelling, and translation of brainrot to coherent essay is not guaranteed. also uf!papyrus belongs to underfella

to start lets look at the very basics, what would it take to turn papyrus, the only person to believe even the worst of the worst can improve, the causation (however indirectly) of the true pacifist route, the only monster that will never kill frisk, the sole creature in the entire world of undertale to be dubbed the sadistic fuckface flower's favourite, that the world is kill or be killed? allow me to spin you the tale of how i think it happened.

maybe once upon a time when uf!papyrus was just a kid, he wanted to be a hero. he wanted to be a pacifist in a kill or be killed world. maybe, even unintentionally, he constantly put both him and his older brother in danger. and one day, he tried to spare the wrong people, so both he and his brother were scarred in the process causing a crack over the eye for papyrus and a lost tooth for sans. and on this fateful day papyrus was faced with the choice, kill the attackers and survive or spare them and be killed. and maybe since he's still alive as an adult, he chose to kill, thereby gaining his first LV.

at least thats what i think happened. this traumatic event would cause a number of changes in his life, including, ditching his former obsession with "being a hero" in favor of being a villain, on several occasions being peer pressured to murder, and being more harsh to sans.

BUT. as i have said before and will say again, papyrus' soul is almost definitely bravery and integrity so his preference for pacifism isnt going down without a fight! maybe his whole "kidnapping and torture chamber" schtick is an excuse to not have to kill someone while not being seen as weak. maybe he lies about how many people he's killed or how much LV he has when in reality both numbers are shockingly low. maybe he wants to be captain of the guard so he can delegate the killing to others. maybe he hates asgore because its because of him that their world is like this. maybe he never kills the human. one thing i've never understood is whether or not he kills or spares the human or if he does the whole "OOP YOU'RE AT ONE HP! TIME TO GO TO THE CAPTURE ZONE!" thing. i like to think that he does. hell ive already done a whole damn drawing on what i think it would look like.

⬇️

so yeah. he spares frisk. and maybe adopts them

one last aspect of this guy that intrigues me before i go! what is underfell papyrus' dynamic with flowey? maybe he respects flowey a ton. maybe papyrus is envious of flowey's courage to run away from fights and defuse them instead of hurting the opponent. maybe they're the only one that the other truly opens up to.

but these are only my thoughts on the dude because frankly, there arent enough character analysis about uf!paps. feel free to add your own! or not! i dont care!