#but its a little more complicated than that

[fanaticsnail]

Heartbeats

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 3,600+

Summary: You were friends first, only ever friends; until a night of drinking led to something more. After that one night, you decided to not speak on it and remain only as close friends; an outcome you both could respect as captain and crewmate. A small fluttered heartbeat complicates such an arrangement. 

Warnings: suggestive content but sfw, law x afab!reader, kisses, drinking, assumed unrequited love, drunkenness, pregnancy mentioned, unexpected pregnancy, feelings, emotions, angst, swearing, fluff. 

Notes: This was a little gift for mother’s day. I thought it might be fun to explore the concept of Law telling his friend they’re pregnant, but conflicted because he was the one to make them this way. Please read the warnings.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @mfreedomstuff @writingmysanity @carrotsunshine @gingernut1314 @daydreamer-in-training @indydonuts @i-am-vita @since-im-already-here

Penguin’s birthday was an event aboard the Polar Tang that was anticipated greatly by the crew. Streamers, balloons, cake and music were flowing as heavy as the waves crashing against the hull. Not a care in the world, you all showered the dark-haired, hat-wearing man with affection and praise for his life lapping one more loop around the sun. 

And then Shachi decided to bring out the kirschwasser. The double-distilled, cherry flavored liquor that nightmares were truly made of for Captain Trafalgar D Water-Law. It was not because of the scent, nor the taste, but it was the fact that it rendered him the most defenseless and vulnerable to spilling his emotions that he was sure he had repressed. 

When Law drank kirschwasser, he remembered his mother, his father, and his sister: memories he thought he had long since forgotten came oozing up his throat, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and a subtle glisten in his eyes. He scrunched his eyes tightly shut, gripping the glass firmly in his hand, and grinding his teeth in a tight clamp. 

When you took another shot of kirschwasser with Ikkaku, you placed down the glass with a smile on your face and a laugh on your tongue. Looking over towards your captain, you cocked your head to the side as you studied his body language. Drawing your eyes over his tense body, you excuse yourself from the rest of the crew to assess the damage he was attempting to suppress. 

Approaching him, you gently place your hand on his forearm and soften your tone to a low and soothing tone. It was one simple question, one soft and pointed ask, that had him softly fold his hand within yours and thump his forehead on your shoulder. 

“Law, are you okay?” was the only question that fell from your lips that had him curl himself against you in a soft embrace. His cup hung limply behind your back as he locked his wrists after releasing your hand. He buried himself further into your embrace, sighing deeply into your neck as you widened your eyes and drew your hands around his neck.

As friends, you and Law had shared the odd embrace from time to time in your weekly catch-ups. Bepo was usually the one that the crew sought out for more warm hugs; that mink-bear was the best for encumbering holds. This felt more intimate than any moment you had ever shared, the smooth kirschwasser releasing you of your inhibitions and giving into sharing this soft moment.

As the night dwelled on, Law never left your side. His hands were always on some part of you, ensuring you did not get too far from his reach to pull you in closer as the night went on. Once the party had reached its peak and began to dwindle into the evening, Law pulled you into the hallway adjacent to the door and pinned you to the wall. 

Lips sought out your flesh, whispers of promises and confessed desires being branded into your neck, cheeks, jaw, shoulders and chest with feverish kisses. “I need you,” he whispered, “I want you,” his hands caressed your hips and began to find the zipper of your boiler suit. 

“We said we wouldn’t,” you smiled, your own resolve being chipped away at the aid of the kirschwasser and Law’s lips trailing against your skin, “We’re friends, Captain.” He groaned against your skin, enjoying the way your hands traveled to his hair and massaged the nape of his neck. 

“Friends,” he mocked his confirmation with a soft growl in his tone, “But I need more.” He nipped and bit at your neck, prompting a small whimper to flee from your lips as you elevated your head to give him more access. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as Law’s body continued to ravish yours. You groaned in frustration at your prior agreement, shaking your head as you pulled his lips and teeth away from you. 

“Not in the hallway,” you warned him, having a moment of clarity. Your eyes darted between his, glancing down at his lips and back up. Law’s eyes darkened as he elevated his hand with his thumb, index and middle finger raised.

“Room,” he whispered, leaning in closer to you, and hovering his lips over yours. As he twisted his wrist, he murmured before his breath tickled at your parted mouth, “Shambles.”

A night of passion, littering each other with marks of claim over one another, had you both sharing the captain’s quarters for the night wrapped in each other’s arms. Blankets over your waists, gazing up at each other before you fell asleep, you felt a pitter in your heart as his amber eyes stared almost lovingly down at you. This intimate moment had you captivated, feeling his emotions and heart tangibly beat with yours.

In the morning, your heads panged with the residue of the cherry liquor. Groans of regret at drinking the quantity of kirschwasser along with other mixed drinks had the night before a distant, blissful, and foggy memory. Looking down at your bare flesh and over to your captain’s, you snapped up in shock. He cradled his head with a soft sigh, only now realizing that you were in the bed beside him as he twitched back in his own shock. Both of your eyes widened, looking between your bodies and snapping your eyes up to meet with one another’s surprised eyes. 

Rambunctious, lazy laughter fell easily from your lips, both clapping each other’s hands against each other’s shoulders and arms in friendly touches. You tugged the bedsheets away from your body and began collecting your uniform from the floor, shaking your head with a smile spread up to your cheeks.

“I’ll go get started on clean up from Penguin’s party, captain,” you suggested, pinching your brow and cradling your swirling and soupy mind, “Might stop off in your office and grab some ibuprofen and electrolytes if you’ll let me rustle through your desk?” He growled and pinched his own brow, his eyes tightly clenched shut and feeling the dizzy fog eclipse his senses. 

“Rustle away,” he whispered your name in a soft voice. As you hoisted your uniform over your hips, slotting your arms into the sleeves, he reached out for you with his hand, asking the question you had both avoided since opening your eyes, “Did you-...?” he squinted his tired eyes up at you, “Should we-...?” he choked out, shifting his blankets away from his lap and rising to his feet, “Do we need to talk about this?” 

You shook your head, reaching down and zipping up your boiler suit before rubbing your face. Smoothing your skin beneath your palms and nursing your forehead, you blow out an exasperated breath and turn back to him. 

“Let’s just not mention it, okay?” you smiled at him with a soft, tight-lipped smile, “Was a moment of weakness on both our parts.” Law nodded, trailing his eyes over you to assess your posture and stance as you added, “We’re friends, Law. I don’t think revisiting last night would be in either of our best interests.” 

Law nodded his head in response, waiting until you left his room with a soft 'click' for him to sink back onto his bed and experience the full brunt of the wind being shot out of his sails. He cradled his forehead in his hands, the inked digits raking through his hair as he dwelled on your words. ‘We’re friends, Law,’ shattered his heart into shards, his hope that you might reciprocate his affections for you being ruined with those three simple words. 

As days turned into weeks, you and Law continued on as you had always been: captain and crewmen, leader and subordinate, friend and friend. You would catch up afterhours, enjoy reading with one another and discussing ailments and woes with rapport with the crew. After Penguin’s birthday party, comradery was at an all-time high, and everybody noticed as much. 

Over the next few days, Trafalgar Law took the opportunity to do as he always does as the current wielder of the ‘Ope-Ope no mi’. He takes the small luxury of concentrating on the heartbeats of his crewmen to wordlessly check in with any irregularities with their bodies and breathing, enjoying knowing that his crew is all safe and accounted for. The crew was aware he did this, and it was something each of you appreciated greatly to avoid a formal physical examination every few weeks. As he floated his attention over to you, focussing on your body as you spoke with Bepo about approaching land, his breath was caught in his lungs.

Heartbeats.

Plural. 

He rose to his feet, his eyes wide and in shock as his lips fell open. Fear overcame him, looking down to your belly and back up to your chest. Teeth chattering, he wordlessly excused himself to the hallway and began counting with his fingers while clawing at his hair. 

“Penguins birthday,” he whispered to himself, looking down at his fingers, “Three days to travel internally up to-...” he shook his head, his hands beginning to shake, “...It’s been seven weeks since-...” he joined his other hand in his hair, raking his fingers over his raven locks. 

“...Fuck.”

After speaking with Bepo, you turn to walk towards the mess hall and begin getting yourself something to eat for lunch. You had been abnormally famished, feeling drawn to spices and sweets over salt and savories lately. Eyeing off a dark chocolate ganache tart with chili-flakes, your mouth began salivating at the thought. As you reached for it, you felt a hand on your shoulder and a whisper in your ear.

“My office,” Law ordered quietly, “Now.” You snapped your head over to him before looking back to the tart longingly. He groaned, relenting with a roll of his eyes, “Bring the tart.” You beam him a wolfy grin full of teeth and joy, a smile Law has begun to yearn for each time you joined him in his office as friends. You claim the tart in your hands and, with a pep in your step, you trot along behind him to his office. 

For the short walk from the mess hall to his office, he was formulating a long speech to not only ask you if you know, but alert you if you don’t; to inform you carefully of your pregnancy, while not seeming to be overager at the prospect of you both rearing a child. He came to terms with it from the moment he sensed that small flutter. He wanted this child, wanted to parent them with you, and wanted to show it all of the love his parents, sister, and Rosinante had shown to him. 

Looking up from nibbling and enjoying the chocolate tart, you notice the tension in Law’s shoulders and additional pressure in the thud in his boots. You furrow your brows in a deep frown, unsure of what was going through his mind. Both agreeing to leave the prior experience at the door seven or so weeks ago was a mutually beneficial decision you both made. The way you rationalized it, you can’t give in to the emotions and feelings you had for your captain if you forbade yourself from sharing them with him. 

The truth of it was this: you loved him. Plain, simple, and as true as the fact the sun rose every day to illuminate the world in its glory. You started as friends, shared a drunken night together that opened a door to your heart - a door that you slammed shut as soon as it was revealed. To fall in love at sea, especially loving your captain as a subordinate, was a luxury you had both barred one another from feeling. You were friends, and you were okay with that. 

Ushering you into his office, you sat in your regular chair beside his circular table. You licked at your lips, the crumbling shell of the tart leaving a soft crust of sweetness on your mouth. Law had a whole speech finally planned out: his lips curling to attempt to relay them.

“I am so desperately in love with you. You are my closest friend, my best friend, someone I could spend the rest of my life with. I know you don’t feel the same, but considering my child is growing in your belly, I would hope that you could warm to seeing me in such a way. I want them, I want you. I love you, please learn to love me too: if not as a partner, then as a co-parent to our child.’

But instead of pouring his heart out to you, he sat at his desk and stared unblinkingly at your stomach, uttering a simple phrase with a quiet whisper of your name.

“You’re pregnant.” 

Blinking slowly, you place the half-eaten tart on the circular table in front of you, the base crumbling onto the clean countertop. You return your hands to your lap with a soft shake in your fingers. Reaching up to your abdomen, you press down on the pit of your stomach with a soft pressure. 

The Heart-Pirates had all received extensive medical degrees in specialist areas: Law being the 'surgeon of death', Shachi being an expert in fishmen biology, Penguin being an anesthetist, Bepo being proficient in naturopathic remedies, Ikkaku being the best for combat quick fixes on the battlefield, and so on. Your speciality in nursing had you explore anatomy within the midwifery sub category, your fingers settling above your uterus and using your thumb, index and middle finger assess the size of your abdominal growth. 

You looked down to your fingers, feeling the lump beneath your digging hand feel as large as a lemon in your abdomen. Using your unoccupied hand, you draw it up to your breasts and give one a gentle squeeze to test the ache in their swell. You snap your eyes up to meet with your captains, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“I am,” you whisper in shock, with a quiver in your lips and your eyes pooling in fear at the unknown. You could not get a read on him, glancing between his eyes and clenching your chattering teeth tightly shut to halt their nervous twitching. Your heartbeat tremors, your eyes beginning to swim in glassy pools as you anticipated his wrath. 

Instead of wrath, Law calmly walked over to you and sat on the couch beside you. With an unsure and soft hand, he drew your body into him and cradled you against his chest. He wanted to feel you safely in his arms, his heart crying and pleading with him to confess those unspoken words to you more fervently. You circled your hands beneath his arms and buried your face in his chest, your body caged within the clutches of anxiety at the prospect of shepherding life. Law held you like this, stroking your back with his tattooed fingers and holding you firmly against himself. 

“I’m not mad,” Law whispered, soothing your hair in his hand. Your breath hitched, your heart jumping into your throat and forming a solid lump. 

“You’re not mad?” you whisper your question against his chest, looking up into his amber eyes with shock, “But what if I am?” The small twitch in his wide eyes looked down at you in shock.

“Are you?” Law’s eyes widened with his question fleeing his lips as soon as you offered yours. His teeth clenched shut, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed in anticipation. You looked away, sifting through your eyes for regrets of the night you shared seven weeks prior. 

“I don’t think I am, no,” you admit with a soft nod of your head. You untangle yourself from his arms, sitting upright and lacing your hands in front of you with a frown on your features. 

“Talk to me,” Law ordered you softly, “Tell me what’s going on in there.” He whispered your name, humming over the syllables in his soft cadence saved for quiet moments together. You inhale deeply, exhaling with your eyes scrunched shut before reopening them again.

“I suppose I need to leave, captain,” you utter with soft sorrow in your tone, thinking about all the options you’ve explore internally and processing them orally, “Give up my life at sea, make a home for myself in some coastal town, offer my services as a medical practitioner to bring in regular clients, raise the child of a pirate alone-.” 

“-No.” 

Law’s bark shocked you, prompting you to snap your eyes up to meet his frown. His left hand shot down to yours in your lap, his right hand placed on the pit of your stomach and holding over the small, barely noticeable elevation. You fluttered your eyes between his, the seriousness in his expression beginning to cause you to run away with your thoughts. 

“I will not let either of you out of my sight,” Law whispered softly, raising his right hand away from your hands and cupping your cheek, “I want you here,” he ushered you closer by your chin towards his lips, “I want you home with me.” 

“What are you saying?” you ask him, allowing him to lead your lips towards his. Your eyes dart down to them before floating up to look at him through half-hooded lashes. His soft smile twitched up at the corners. 

“You said we shouldn’t mention it,” he teased you, mostly to make light of the situation you found yourselves within, “But I’m going to say now what I would’ve said then.” He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a soft, tender and loving kiss. He felt the shock in your whimper, the soft whisper of a sob in your voice, and smiled further into the kiss the moment you wrapped your arms around his neck.

Rubbing soothing circles into your cheek, he caressed your stomach as he raked his hand over your abdomen towards your hip. You clutched at his raven locks, finally allowing yourself to smile into the kiss and lean into his touch. His tongue darted out to dampen your bottom lip, softly coaxing you to open yourself up to him further. Before taking the kiss any further than just a simple expression, he broke away and pressed his forehead against your own.

“While I will always be your friend first,” he whispered, drawing his hand down to your chin and rubbing at your bottom lip with his thumb softly, “I want so much more from you,” he smiled at you, releasing your lip from his thumb and pinching at your chin, “I need you to know that I love you, and I want to do this right.” 

Overwhelmed with emotions, you slowly nod your head in his grip. Your wordless confirmation is all he needed to capture your lips in his once more and travel his hands to the front of your boiler suit. You gasp into his mouth, his smile morphing up more into his cheeks as he whispers. 

“Easy now, I’m not being funny,” he murmurs into the kiss, “Just need to feel for myself, alright?” His fingers reach below your boiler suit, hovering over your stomach as his lips break away from yours. He slowly, tentatively, presses down onto your abdomen and seeks out the firming ball of flesh against your cervix. He gasps, his eyes beginning to brim with emotion as you beam up at him with pride. 

“I feel them,” he whispers, looking down at your stomach, pushing a little firmly against you, “Perfect size for seven weeks gestation.” He hovers his fingers over your abdomen and activates his devil fruit to measure their fluttering beat and concentrating with his brows furrowed. After a few minutes pass, he looks back up to you, “One-thirty beats.”

“That's good,” you smile, pressing your hand against his knuckles, “Strong already for such a little lemon.” He cracks his face into a wide grin, his teeth showing and his eyes crinkling at the corners. This image was one you never thought you would see over his features, the purity of his joy fully on his face. 

Questions left unthought of and unanswered regarding the health of your child were flung from your mind. Would there be complications with this child being a half devil-fruit user, would Law’s hereditary blood disease pass from him to them, would you still be able to resist haki while balancing your own body and a foreign within you? So many questions that fled your mind the moment Law’s joy sprung to his face. 

You could be lost within his amber eyes forever, both of you feeling excited about exploring this new life growing and developing within you. Sooner or later, you would have to inform the crew of not only your new relationship, but ushering a new “Trafalgar D” into the era of piracy. For now, you lingered a little longer on Law’s couch, the chili-chocolate tart discarded for something sweeter found against the lips of your lover. 

[adkawariatka]

I can’t stop thinking about this idea soooo here is another part.

In hindsight Tim really shouldn’t have worked himself so much about that friend of Damian. Why you might think? Becouse spying your brother’s friend is an invasion of his privacy? Or just creepy? Or maybe its unfair towards said brother and his friend? No. No Tim problem was much more human shaped. He did plan to be subtle but with DAMIAN. Not with his very annoying and moral older brother. When Dick found him in Bat Cave in his work trance and asked him what he was doing…. Tim just told him, damn his one track focus. It earned him a lecture about privacy, respect and morals….So he was forbidden from any camera videos in areas that Damian met his misterious friend. He felt so frustrated when he tried to explain his worries to Dick and he called him paranoid… which fair he may be sometimes fixated on some cases and a little suspicious of everything too… normal. But Dick was just so happy about the information that Damian had a friend, that he did not think about the fact that other normal 10 year old would never be able to talk with Damian about complicated emotion problems … let alone how to solve them. The time of Damian working on friends mission, Or differently meeting with some stranger, and changing his behaviours at manor lined. SO that someone needed to talk with Damian about his social problems. The only logical way of explaining the „condinience” would be if that person was someone older. Old enough to understand social interactions to the level that allowed them to introduce it to Damian. It painted disturbing picture to Tim. Some Creep manipulating his younger brother. It can lead to a disaster not only for Damian but all the Waynes. What if he will Trust that person and tell them their secret? The talk with Damian only opened his eyes that above all the training the kid had he was still just that: a kid. The only thing that Dick advised him was to go and talk with Damian. Which ok, last time went well but…. he might at least try.

-

Tim did not wanted to believe that it was that easy. Of course he didnt start to snoop about the friend yet…. But just interacted with Damian. First time was really akward but they got past it. Tim still cringes at the memory:

It was after patrol they were changing in to civilian clothes. Tim was battling with his thoughts how to start conversation when Damian started to pull out his equipment for sharpening his katana. And he thoght that it is as good subject as any other.

-how long does it take to sharpen it?

Damian stopped what he was doing and gazed at him warly. They stood in complete silence long enough to be uncomfortable. Tim started to think that it was mistake when Damian broke the silence.

-do you…want to see?

And Tim did want. It turned out that it was great idea. Damian talked for almost an hour about granuality of sandpaper used to sharpen his katana, different kinds of oils and even how to storage it properly. Tim was impressed by detailed knowledge and experienced movements. That was his first full Blown conversation with Damian and it was great.

After that they interacted with each other more and more outside of patrols. They weren’t conversations of utter importance, but Tim got fond of them. More often than not it revolved around things as trivial as favourite books, school, fight techniques Or even hobbies. If Tim was being honest he did not Think that Damian would ever talk about such topics. In the past he often expressed his annoyance at information of this type, but not anymore. Tim suspected that it was the influence of his „friend”. However among those unsuspecting subjects Damian sometimes asked questions that worried Tim.

One of the untold rules of their interactions were that they never talked about the „deep stuff”. Which was why he was so surprised by sudden change of topics during unsuspecting conversation about donating clothes to Damian school, which by the way he was doing things like that now. Without any warning he heard question:

- when you were living in Darke manor were you… lonely?

That was weird question to ask without warning. But… was Damian worried about him? Or was he feeling like he has no one close? But there was also second aspect: From beggining of their interactions they avoided any subjects that Tim was prying for and here Damian was offering it on silver platter. He was not going to waste that chance.

-hmmm… well I was young and alone for most of the time so yes I was

Damian seemed to mull over that information. After short pause he started

- What did you do to feel better?

- I mostly tried to take my mind elsewhere. I cooked, cleaned, studied, went around making photos of Batman in the middle of the night… but I wouldn’t recommend that to anyone. Oh and I read many many books. But you know the best option is to go to people that care for you.

- that seems acceptable.

After that Damian came back to the previous subject. Tim felt a little dumbfounded. He couldn’t shake the impression that he was the one grilled for information in this situation.

Not long after that memorable conversation Damian started going to library very often. Tim was now seriously worried. Did Damian felt lonely? Did he actually think that he has no one. It didn’t seat with Tim right. He doesn’t mean that he was uneasy with Damian trying to help himself… it was more about the fact that he was doing it wrong… he had Dick and Bruce, Alfred, his supposed friend… hell Tim was right here! He thought that their relationship was better. He thought… he doesn’t know what he felt but he was damn upset about it. If Damian does not came to Tim then he will come to him. When he passed library third time that week and Damian was there picking books he decided that it was enough.

When he entered Damian was standing on a small stool picking books from the shelf high above his head. Tim walked to the stack of already picked ones and went through their titles

- I didn’t know you were interested in astrology… or maths and physics

- I am not

Replayed Damian without the beat of hestitation. Tim looked at him as if he grown second head.

-then… why did you choose those books? I can help you find some about katanas or animals

- I appreciate the offer but I do not require your assistance.

Tim stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, while Damian apparently found what he was looking for and got of the stool. He turned around and meet Tim’s unsure eyes. In his hand he held huge brown book with constellations on the cover. Damian studied him for a moment.

- Drake

- Damian IF I can somehow help…

Cut in Tim trying to act as a responsible older brother. Where the hell was dick when he was needed. He was the emotional one. His small breakdown was interrupted by Damian words:

- Timothy I don’t know what inaccurate conclusion you created but whatever you are thinking is wrong

It sounded only a little as an insult. That’s progress but it does not solve his problem.

- Damian if you look for a way to feel better…

Tim trailed off God he was awful at this. He had problems processing his feelings how was he supposed to untangle Damian’s?!

- Ancients Those books are not for me.

Tim stared dumbfounded. Who the hell were ancients and if books weren’t for Damian then…

-they are for Danny

Ok Tim did not know from when did Damian started using nicknames, or who was Danny but he started to have his suspicions. Who did Damian became close lately? To the mysterious friend. It was not difficult from there.

-soooo Danny told you he was lonely?

Tim swears that if some creep is trying to pry on his little brother developing compassion then he is going to make sure he will pay for it very high price. He needs as much information as he can get.

- No he did not. But I observed that…his mood drops whenever we had gone longer without seeing each other…. Your advise seems to help

Huh. Tim did not expect that. However that does not seem that it is not manipulation either. Danny might be playing the victim to ensure that Damian trusts him completely.

- hey Damian how old is Danny?

Damian narrowed his eyes and tensed. Oops Tim just crossed the line.

- I don’t see any reason I should inform you about that.

That was rather cold. Tim is glad that Damian’s katana is away from his hand radious.

- If he is lonely then he could sometimes visit manor. Come for dinner or something. It’s not like our friends don’t visit.

Damian eyes softened a little. Tim counted this as a win.

- I will take that into account.

After that Tim helped Damian carry his books to his room and tried not to worry too much about his suspicions.

-

In Tim’s defense he did not plan this. He was just checking out the coffee shop close to the park when he bumped into them in the doorway. He exited said store when he stumbled into someone. Only after a moment he processed that said someone held in hands the same huge brown book with familiar constalations on the cover. And sure enough when he looked to the left there was standing Damian. The boy who held the book was Laughing and looking at his younger brother. Tim studied him carefully he had piercing blue eyes, hollow cheeks indicating malnutrition and black tangled hair that seemed in serious need of a cut. He was wearing jeans that in the past were probably navy blue but now seemed more gray and brown pulled jumper very similar to what he used to wear few years ago. He was lanky in that unhealthy way that kids from troubled homes were. Tim smiled slyly and caught Damian eyes. He seemed really tense.

- hey Danny nice finally meeting you!

[owlespresso]

the coring, the goring

alpha!blade/beta!reader/omega!luocha you are a beta courier. kafka asks of you a favor. tags: filth and spice below like you wouldn't believe, extremely dubious consent, luocha and blade are freaks but that's nothing new, prone bone pt 3 of my part in @lorelune's a/b/o collab. they've been extremely generous enough to beta read all three parts and give feedback. i could not have done this without them! part 1, part 2, collab masterlist

Kafka shows up at your apartment, one afternoon. After Blade stayed over, flayed you open, left your tender underbelly exposed to the pale moonlight. You still don’t know how you feel about him. You do, however, know how you feel about her.

You’ve never told her where you live, but it doesn’t surprise you that she knows. She lingers in the doorway, leaned up against the left side. Her coy smile is more subdued than usual.

“I need your help with something,” she says. At least she isn’t wasting time on the pleasantries, today. That’ll get her to leave quicker, and that’s pretty much all you’re concerned with. You still blanch, because she wants something from you. That’s always a dire sign. Something in your life is about to go awry.

“You can’t find someone else? I’m a bit busy today.” you narrow your eyes at her. Her smile tightens. Whatever she’s come here for, it must be urgent. 

“Whatever your clients pay you, I’ll double it for the days you miss. Every single one. I’ll even throw in some of those honey candies you like to sweeten the deal.”

“Days?” you blink, already beginning to calculate the potential gains and losses in your head. Missing several shifts could lose you a few clients—could you wheedle her into paying you that difference until you find new ones?

“Yes, days,” Kafka twirls a lock of her hair absentmindedly. “You see, Bladie has a little problem that needs delicate taking care of—” she begins, voice pitching up, preparing to wind around the crux of the whole thing until you lose your mind. 

You cut her off there. “Just give it to me straight.”

“Always so forward,” she pouts. Her voice winds up like she’s about to give you a scolding, but she flattens out, lips curling into a lazy smile. “I like that about you.”

“Bladie is in rut,” she continues. Slowly, like she’s explaining the concept to a child. “He has someone to take care of him—that merchant, the blonde one. The only problem is, well… their paths don’t make them entirely compatible.”

Your lips twitch into a frown. Destruction and Abundance, on opposite ends of the spectrum. If they were both normal people, it wouldn’t pose a problem… but you have no idea if Blade’s unique condition could cause complications. Regardless, you’re not sure why she’s telling you. This isn’t your problem.

“They’ll need a mediator—” she begins.

You’ve heard enough. “Absolutely not.”

“Aw, c’mon. These two have been barking up your tree for more than a month and you’re not curious?” she teases, 

“No.”

She says your name. Your spine goes rigid. Something sweet and cloying pricks its claws into the soft flesh of your consciousness. This is suddenly no longer a negotiation.

“You don’t have to do anything. You just have to be… present, in case Blade’s mara rears its ugly head.”

“You could do that,” you point out.

Kafka shrugs. “I could, but that isn’t the only benefit of having an emanator of Harmony around. I can’t mediate like you can,” You hold your tongue only because you know she’s right. “I know it’s a hassle, but I’ll make it worth your while. And I’ll pay you triple of what you would have made this week.”

You narrow your eyes. “And if his rut doesn’t last a week?” Unease churns at the bottom of your gut. This isn’t your wheelhouse. To delve to the depths of intimacy when you haven’t even waded the shallows is unwise at the very best, life-endangering at the worst. You’re not attached to Luocha and Blade in the way they are attached to each other. And the moment you lower the drawbridge and weaken your walls, you anchor yourself even further to the Luofu.

“You’ll be paid the same, regardless.” Kafka says, as though it’s in any way comforting.

You loosen the tensed muscles of your jaw. It’s not as though you… dislike Blade. You think about him, early in the morning, when you’re too sleepy to get your thoughts straight. You remember keenly the press of his lips, the smell of him as he breached your personal space, permitted himself to your skin—

You shut your eyes. You feel too hot, all of the sudden, “Can I get that in writing?” 

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can wire you the money right now—” Kafka slides her phone out of her pocket, nimble fingers clicking all over the screen. You still aren’t comforted. 

“No, it’s fine,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, already feeling the oncoming headache. You can’t believe you’re doing this. “When do I have to be there?”

—

The house looks the same as it always does. There’s nothing new on the breeze. Nothing beside the rustling of the leaves and the chirping of the birds. You knock on the door. Luocha stands in the doorway, red robe hanging off his shoulder. Bruises bloom on his skin like blood in water, spots of bluish-purple that run up the left side of his neck. You blink, speechless. He’s greeted you dressed like this, before, but he’s never looked so ragged. So run-down. His lips are kiss-swollen, lit up an angry pink. Flaxen blond flows down his shoulders like a river stream, strands sent awry in several places—they look like they’ve been tugged at, manhandled in a way you never imagined he would allow.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” he chimes, and steps aside. He motions for you to come in. It’s a threshold you’ve crossed many times, but something about this feels permanent. There’s a heavy feeling in the air. The faint scent of something spiced and smoked lingers throughout the entryway and living room. Unease prickles up the back of your neck. The door clicks shut behind you. A hand lands on your shoulder. “No need to be so tense, my dear Courier. Nothing bad will happen to you here.”

“What exactly will happen here? Kafka gave me the rundown, but…”

“Well, that depends on you,” Luocha hums. The warm hand on your shoulder slides down to your bicep. He stands behind you, a solid stroke of heat along your back. “I know I speak for us both when I say we would very much like you to participate, but all you really have to do is… watch.” He breathes the word, breath soft and hot against your ear.

He slips away from your side. The space he occupied at your back feels cool and empty. You shiver.

“—And you’ll have to intervene should anything go awry. While I can sate his carnal urges, the same cannot be said for his mara,” Luocha continues, cracking open the bedroom door. 

“You came,” Blade’s voice rumbles, raspy with sleep and something else. He’s laid across the bed like a lounging panther, appraising you with eyes half-open. The long stretch of his body is completely bare, all broad muscle and softness in certain places. He’s taken the bandages off his chest, you realize after a few moments of looking (staring) at him from the doorway. Free of clothes and free of scars, a perfect statue of a man.

Luocha, behind you, mistakes your shock for apprehension. He laughs by your ear.

“It’s only natural to be apprehensive. Come. Just watch for a bit.” His fingers squeeze your shoulders. You let him steer you over to an armchair with green cushions sat by the nightstand, up against the wall. Blade stares at you from the other side of the bed.

He doesn’t stop looking at you. Even when Luocha rests a knee on the bed, robe slipping off his arm, inch by inch of pale skin opened to the gaping maw of his gaze. His back—it’s as broad as you would expect from a man who lugs around a coffin on the daily. Not as big as Blade. There’s a sinuous grace to his figure, with narrow hips and—you don’t dare let your gaze lower. Because he’s looking at you looking at him over his shoulder with that coy little smile, just waiting for you to slip up.

And then he’s not looking at you, anymore. You’re entreated to a view of those long, luscious locks—sliding over the alabaster of his back as he approaches Blade on his knees. 

“Well, Blade. I know you’re excited, but you’ll have to settle for me for just a little longer,” he says. You nearly open your mouth to remind him that you haven’t agreed to anything, but the breath is robbed from you as he mounts Blade’s thighs. 

The alpha’s cock is long and thick enough to make you cringe as the tip nestles between Luocha’s cheeks. Twin groans fill the air. Blade’s voice is low and coarse, the vibrating thrum of an old engine. 

Luocha luxuriates in the stretch. His back arches, head bowing back as he takes the other man inch-by-inch. The dim light which reaches in through the closed blinds casts him in perfect clarity, and you can see his thighs begin to shake as he seats himself fully on Blade’s lap. His fingers fist in the sheets on either side of him, glimmering silk bunched between long pianist’s fingers. Cock taken to the hilt. 

“You’re putting on a show,” Blade accuses.

“And you’re watching.” Luocha replies, voice breathy and soft. He starts to say something else—but Blade’s hands fit over his hips, bulky fingers nestling into his v-lines. His voice devolves into a choked little sound as he’s lifted, until only the tip remains inside of him. The effortless gesture of strength makes you swallow and sink back in your seat. The air swells with unabated sweetness. And you—you react to it. 

Your fingers tense briefly, gripping the hard cushion armrests as you watch Blade fuck into him with voracity bordering unhinged. Luocha’s soft moans reverberate through the room, each one goes straight to your wetting cunt. Your thighs squirm and shift, pressed tight together. 

Blade grunts. His thrusts lose what little rhythm they possessed to begin with. You see every slide of his thick cock into Luocha’s loosened hole—slick-doused and swelling. You can see the muscles in Luocha’s back tense and stretch as he arches. The orgasm wracks him bone-deep. His toes curl. And Blade—Blade’s grip only tightens. Luocha’s thin waist is clutched entirely in his hands. His nails dig into the skin as he sheathes himself with a throaty snarl. The cum is so excessive that it drips and pools on the silken sheets, running down Luocha’s creamy thighs.

The room goes quiet. There’s only the steady sound of their mixed breathing, desperate huffs which level out over the next however long. You’re stuck there, still. The room smells of sex. A strange, hot feeling rolls down your spine. You feel like an exposed nerve. Like a trigger a hair away from being pulled.

Luocha, eventually, pulls himself off of Blade with another slick sound. Blade shuts his eyes and reaches out a shaky hand, wrapping it tight around Luocha’s shoulder. His nails bite into the pale skin, thick fingers right next to a ring of recent bitemarks.

“Mm,” Luocha pauses. He presses his lips to the scarred fingers which clutch him. At this distance—you can sense the sudden lurch of Destruction, spurred on by cloying mara and the natural, ingrained need to give chase. To empty the wellspring of Luocha’s Abundance like a man parched. You tense in your seat. Pushing your scrambled nerves aside, you reach for the Harmony—expel it and let it float through the chamber. “I'm not going anywhere, Blade. You know that.” Luocha says. Blade’s grip loosens. The wildfire in his eyes dims to a hearth. He settles.

Now free to be as obnoxious as he likes, Luocha turns fully to you.

“Ah,” his eyes twinkle as he licks his lips, looking at you now. “Did that do it for you?”

“N…No.” your voice feels thick in your throat. The most bold-faced lie you’ve ever told.

Luocha laughs a little. “It’s alright; you don’t have to say it. How about you come over here? Or do you want me to come over there?”

“I’m perfectly content to watch,” you insist. Your voice comes out steadier than you thought it would. But Luocha only smiles. He regards you with that same, infuriating knowingness that he always does. 

He slides off the mattress, smooth as fine grain sand and assured in his nakedness. You feel the tips of your ears get hot as he approaches, crosses the breadth of the room with swaying hips. 

He has you, and he knows it. Long fingers slide over your arms where they clutch the armrest. His thumbs rub over the back of your palms as he looms close. 

“You can stop this,” he murmurs, voice close to a whisper. He pries your fingers off the armrest, urges your hands to go limp. “Any time you want,” he says, but you don’t feel like it. You feel pinned by the voracity in Blade’s eyes as he stares at you from his perch on the mattress. 

Luocha slides to his knees like a swan takes to water. Slender fingers work the buttons of your trousers open, thumbs which slide beneath your waistband pull them down. You make a grab for the elastic, clutching it in your fist. The breath rushes in and out of your lungs, something in you suddenly awoke. The fear and an apprehension you should have felt from the start snap to life like a bolt of lightning.

But Luocha. Luocha gently pulls it again. More like an ask than a demand, and you let it go. You swallow as he slides them off. revealing the seat of your panties. Wet.

“Oh? All for us? That’s very flattering,” he says, like you’re a child who's earned the praise. You don't know what kind of face you make, but it must accurately convey your displeasure because his eyes crinkle, unmistakably fond. “Forgive me. I simply can’t resist teasing you… and I was under the impression that you hated me for the longest time.”

Your tongue feels too big for your mouth. Your throat feels full of something thick and unsweet. 

Your underwear comes next. It's a simple black pair. He thankfully spares you the commentary as he delicately slides it down your thighs, your legs, so meticulously careful in his handling of you.

“Well, you still might,” he continues, once you're bare from the waist down. “But at the very least, I know you feel some base level of attraction.”

His tongue parts the wet folds of your pussy. You tilt your head back, fingers curling to clutch the armrests, unwilling to watch him make a mess of you. The air feels liquid around you, murky with their scents—which have taken on, somehow, a new intensity. 

You don’t get to think about it, because Luocha brings your knee over his shoulder and puts his lips on your clit, tip of his tongue flirting with your entrance. He laps up your slick, drinks you in like a man starved. You jerk, a wheeze rattling out from between your ribs, but Luocha holds you fast. 

Pleasure surges in you like a current, a clever twist of his tongue making you jerk—and moan, like the harlot you know you are not. It sinks in, then and only then, as you clench his flaxen locks in your fist, that this is happening.

But you don’t get to digest it. Something hot snaps in the core of you, toes curling as you gush wet and hot into his eager mouth. 

His lips are shiny with your slick when he pulls away, lips curved into an unmistakably satisfied grin. Your chest rises and falls as you try and catch your breath. You feel—wrung out, hazy in the remnants of your climax. 

“I hope I lived up to your expectations.” 

You blink blearily at him. “I didn’t expect anything from you after all.”

There’s a small huff from behind him. A small smirk pulls at the corners of Blade’s lips. 

“How charmingly candid,” Luocha says, unbothered. You’re still too witless to muster a witty retort. Or any sort of retort at all, because as soon as you try, he heaves you into his arms with an ease you hadn’t expected. 

An undignified sound bleats from deep in your throat, words on the tip of your tongue mangled as you scramble for purchase. You dig your nails into the pale skin of his shoulders. The muscles there are broad and smooth. Exactly what you would expect from a man who carries a coffin around with him all day.

“Wait just a second—”

“You surely don’t think the chair will be a more comfortable place for this than the bed, do you?” he asks, hands big and warm on the backs of your thighs. 

“Don’t just go picking someone up without warning,” you seethe, and it still feels like a concession.

“Ah,” Luocha’s smiling again. “My apologies—I forgot how easily you scare. I’ll be sure to give you due warning, next time.”

“I don’t scare easily.” you mutter. He hums. Then he gently deposits you onto the mattress. Blade lounges easily, passion only betrayed by his smoldering, half-lidded gaze. The long line of his body is caked in muscle. The kind of body you’d expect from someone who carries around a sword that heavy—whose hands have ended a number of lives and worlds beyond your reckoning.His chin rests idly on the palm of his hand. Your gaze drifts over the smooth ridges of his abdomen, the plush of his chest.

Luocha settles up against the headboard. His cock is out, you realize belatedly. It stands hard and proud against his stomach. And his thighs glisten with release—both his and Blade’s. Your cunt throbs.

A hand reaches over and fists in Luocha’s hair, dragging him downwards for an open-mouthed kiss. He tongues your release from Luocha’s mouth. Lewd, wet sounds fill the balmy air, rumbling groans and soft little whines. Even now, in this deep between them, you feel like a voyeur. Yet, you watch them with lips parted and eyes wide.

You shudder.

Eventually, they separate.Wordlessly,  Blade sits up and disappears behind you. You try to crane your neck to follow where he goes, but Luocha’s nimble fingers yet again seize your jaw.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, voice delicate as it hovers in the air between you. “Blade’s not going anywhere, dear. Just focus on me for the time being, alright?”

But it’s so hard when you can feel the presence behind you, hovering like a dark cloud. You swallow, the noise impossibly loud in your own ears. Your cunt is wet and you’re sweating and your shirt is still on—but Luocha endeavors to fix that in the next moments. It’s difficult, in the haze of everything, to keep track of where his fingers go or when your button-up slides off your shoulders, to breathe when he unlatches the clasp of your bra like he’s done it a thousand times before. 

How many people has he done this with, before? A bitter taste twinges at the back of your mouth. Unprovoked and without reason. 

Blade’s big hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing the space above your waist.

“Handle her gently, Blade,” Luocha murmurs gently. His soft hands stroke down your bare arms. His verdant gaze drags down your torso, too slow to be anything but indecent.

Blade grunts. He squeezes, once, before he lifts you without warning. You splutter, hands snapping to perch on Luocha’s shoulders for some sense of balance as you’re moved with near pitiful ease. The show of strength sends a fresh wave of heat flush to your drooling cunt, and you try not to pant as you feel the tip of Luocha’s cock nestle against your folds. 

Your fingers curl and your eyes shut.

“Just like that,” Luocha says, simple and light. Another pair of hands settles on your thighs—and he’s breached you. You choke.

The stretch hurts. You didn’t expect anything else, but your head still falls back, eyes clenching shut as your walls spasm and squeeze tight. Behind you, Blade pants like a dog, huffing into the crook of your neck, inhaling you by the lungful. There’s a tremble in his hips that you can feel. 

It takes you a moment to realize that the whimpers filling the room are yours. 

“Re—lax,” he breathes, sounding almost pained. Like he has the right to. Like he isn’t fucking you open, pushing deep in as your greedy cunt squeezes and struggles to take him. Your knees press hard into the mattress, instinct prompting your aching thighs to buck upwards and flee the intrusion, but Blade holds you fast, grinding his teeth into your aching skin. 

“You’re doing so well for me, darling,” Luocha praises, cooing as your cunt clenches, “Oh,” he sighs, like he’s awed by it. His green eyes, unseeing, blown wide—your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders as Blade lifts you again, up and up until only the head of his cock remains inside. “Gentle, Blade.” he bids, eyelids low—

And then Blade eases you down. It’s a slow drag. It hurts less, this time. Sparks of pleasure roll up your spine and send your cunt aflutter, your nails raking into his shoulders as they set the pace. He rolls his hips as Blade moves you—puppeteers you, his mouth tracking wet, open-mouthed kisses over your shoulders and up the sides of your neck. His teeth score into your yielding flesh.

“Stop—gnawing at me,” you snarl, reaching a hand back to swat him like an unruly animal. His lips find the meat of your palm, lips tenderly grazing the skin there as if in apology. He growls and inhales, again, and you marvel in fear and awe at just how stupid the chemicals in his brain have made him. Are all alphas like this, during their ruts?

Luocha says something else, but it’s all lost to the filth, to your moans and cries and other undignified noises as they further unravel you. Blade grips hard enough to bruise, his breath heavy against your skin, your ears. They work in tandem. Blade fucks you up and down on Luocha’s cock like a fleshlight, and Luocha rocks his hips into your fluttering, tight pussy in a quickly unraveling rhythm. 

And Blade—you feel his cock press hot up against your back just as dexterous fingers glide over your clit, Luocha’s touch making you thrash. Your sweat-slicked skin grinds up against Blade’s front, and he snarls. 

You come, orgasm a searing and unwieldy thing. You crash over the precipice, head tossed against Blade’s shoulder as your cunt spasms around Luocha’s cock. Milking him, shaking body trying to suck him in deep. Your entire body is one hot line of heat, pressed between them and oh fuck, Blade keeps fucking you onto Luocha’s cock. The blonde’s consistent and precise thrusts stuttering out of pace until he comes with an obscene groan. His fingers dig into your thighs as he fills you, rope after rope of his release hitting inside.

The room fades into a calm quiet. The air is dense with the smell of sex. Even through the exhaustion, the pheromones pry under your skin and keep you as hot as the bodies you’re wedged between. Blade lifts you from Luocha’s cock with pitiful ease, and the noise you let out at the separation is downright pathetic. Your mixed releases slide slick down your thighs and onto the sheets below, and your consciousness rouses just enough to feel a twinge of humiliation.

“Lovely little thing, you were even more incredible than I anticipated,” His fingers clumsily draw over your cheek, your neck, your side. Petting you, palms shaping around your breasts and stomach as you come down from the high. You all but collapse against Blade’s front, boneless. 

The moment he releases you, you topple onto the bedding next to Luocha. It’s hard to breathe. The air feels thick. You fight to regain your bearings amongst the haze, covered in sweat and cum and sore spots all over your neck and shoulders. 

Luocha coos. The pads of his fingers gently prod one such spot. 

“You didn’t have to be so rough,” Luocha hums at Blade. His touches delicately circle every point of pain, “This is your first impression in bed. You may be in rut, but you have enough self-control to not chew on your caretakers. You aren’t an animal, are you?”

“No,”

“No,” Luocha repeats, airy and fond as he pulls away. “You’re a blade. I don’t know if that’s more or less of an excuse.” He says, but he doesn’t sound frustrated. His scolding is light-handed and more amused than anything.

“Will you two quiet down?.” you grouse, finally coherent enough to complain again.

“Our apologies. We really should be putting our mouths to better use,” Luocha says, rubbing your back again. You throw a hand back to try and swat him away, but he pushes you aside with frustrating ease. “As much as I would like to afford you the proper time to rest—”

He doesn’t get a word in before you’re being manhandled onto your back.

Big hands pin your hips to the mattress. Blade’s palms are hot and clammy, sweat rubbing into your exposed skin. 

“I appreciate this,” he rumbles lowly. His candlewick irises threaten to swallow you whole as he ducks close, pressing your foreheads together. Blade’s keen gaze shifts from your eyes, rolls down your face and over your throat like a soft breeze. 

You swallow, your breath stolen from you in a gasp as he turns you over yet again. He maneuvers you how he likes, front pressed right against the sheets from head to toe. His hand settles in the crook of your left knee, opening you for the hot press of his head. The slow press of him is a sweet agony. He’s too big, he’s so fucking big—your cunt struggles to accommodate him as he bullies his way inside. Short, aborted thrusts which grate against your velvet walls. Your entire body twitches, overworked nerves crying out in muted protest, but the pleasure is open and heady, your entire body made pliant by the pheromones and—oh and it’s so much easier to go prone, like this. 

Blade’s eager mouth tooths a path along your shoulder, seeking the crook of your neck with single minded hunger.

It’s a slow, heavy push aided by previous climaxes, but he’s still much too big. You weren’t meant to take anything like this, you can’t help but think. 

Luocha gives a sympathetic coo. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

Is it? You try to answer, but all that comes out is a low, animal sound. Half pained but all pleasured. If Luocha filled you, Blade bursts you to the seams. Your fingers claw at the bedding as you struggle to take him, unable to stifle your voice. You’re not sure how long it takes for him to hilt. Minutes or hours. Time is lost to you, all of your focus centered on the tight space between your legs and how he swells in it. 

A wet, warbling sound wanders out of your weary throat as you feel his thighs press to the back of yours. At last complete. The grip he has around the crook of your knee tightens, his breath sputtering onto the back of your neck as he pulls out. 

The first plunge back in is no better than the initial fit. He pumps you full, over and over, pace breaking into something ravenous at the first sign of your acquiescence. You can’t think, you can hardly breathe as your velvet walls suck him in. Every thrust has his cockhead teasing your sweet spot. You try to arch your back, but you’re met by the solid wall of muscle that comprises him, flattening you to the bed, leaving you cored and flayed open for him to fuck, to fill, to stick his fingers and tongue inside. He scrapes his teeth over what feels like the marrow of you and makes your vision go hazy with tears. They roll down your cheeks, fat droplets soaking the bedding beneath you. 

Your orgasm isn’t a steady trickle but a sudden burst, white hot pleasure erupting behind your clenched eyelids. He fucks you through it. His knees dig into the mattress on either side of your body, pelvis slapping your ass with each disjointed thrust. Whatever rhythm he might have had sputters into nothingness. He mindlessly pursues his own climax, lips fitting over your shoulders. He kisses your spin. His hot tongue laps at your sweat and your bruises, almost tender. 

There’s an ask, there. A request for your forgiveness, or your acknowledgement. But you are too spent to speak. 

He cums inside of you, his release splattering your walls and dripping onto the sheets below. It’s so vulgar it almost makes you nauseous. But your toes curl and your voice pitches into a watery whine because he’s still fucking you. 

“Blade,” you find your voice, but do not recognize the ragged, ruined thing it has become. “Blade!” The pleasure has long tilted over the edge into pain. You claw at the sheets. You can’t tell if you’re trying to squirm away or arch closer, all that you know is the heat of his body and smell of sex and wetness of his cum running down your thighs. 

“Blade,” a different voice says. You completely forgot Luocha was even there. You can’t see where he is, “Remember what we talked about? Don’t knot her. She’ll break.”

“The poor thing,” he says, voice soaked in sympathy. A slender hand curls beneath your cheek, wedged between it and the pillow. Your lips press against the palm as your face is forced up. 

Luocha’s eyelids are low. His lips slightly parted, and his expression so impossibly benevolent as he observes you.

“Just a bit more,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against the swell of your bottom lip. You huff and squeal into his hand as Blade’s body tenses, readying itself for another orgasm. And as he spills within you a second time, Luocha steals the moan off your tongue with a deep, searching kiss.

—

Afternoon has shifted into late evening. The living room is cooler than the shaded bedroom. Somewhere after a third climax, you had been cleaned, a robe maneuvered onto your form by clinging, roughened hands. You’re not sure who did what. For the past hour, you think you’ve hovered dangerously close to unconsciousness, barely able to open your lips to sip on the glass of water someone held up for you. The rim was blissfully cold. You swallow the drink down with a voracity you’ve scarcely ever shown, let it soothe your sore throat and float some of the life back into you.

You’re endlessly grateful for this as you scarf down dinner. Some greasy takeout that fills your empty stomach, fried batter crunching nice between your teeth. 

Exhausted, and sore, and something related to satisfied, you finally rest your weary eyes. Your fingers find Blade’s silken strands. His face is nestled into your lap, nose pressed into the inseam of your thigh. He all but flopped atop of you after you finished eating, content to doze half-under a red blanket.

 Each breath taken is a warm puff you can feel through your robe. When did it go this far? How did it go this far? In a few hours, will he be just as voracious as he was when you walked in? You rummage through what remains of your cognizance in search of answers, but come up blank. All it amounts to is feeble frustration. Your fingers still comb through those long, luscious locks.

Footsteps pads in your direction from behind. You don’t bother to look up at Luocha until he nudges something into your hand. The stem of a wine glass is pressed into your shaking fingers.

When you look up at him, he only smiles, “For the nerves,” he says, and settles on the other sofa. “And the pain.”

You stare into the glass. The person reflected in the deep cherry looks sleepy and sated. A feeling of defeat churns in the depths of you. Your stomach sinks. You shut your eyes and let your head loll onto the back of the armchair. The plush upholstery cushions the back of your skull. The steady, building buzz of anxiety building behind your eyes amounts to a soft, yet still aching throb.

You lift the glass, and press your lips to the rim.

[mumms-the-word]

Illithid Souls - Part 3

The Case Studies: Karlach and Gale

Welcome to the third and final part of this wild deep dive rabbit hole monstrosity that is the three-part series about illithid souls and whether mind flayers, or specifically you as a mind flayer, have a soul.

If you read Part 1 and Part 2, then you know that yes, illithids have souls, they're just different souls that the gods don't recognize as souls because they're non-apostolic, or incapable of divine worship (as opposed to being apostolic like most humanoid souls). You now also know that you turning into a mind flayer is a bit of a special case because of the Netherese magic in the tadpoles, and this might be why you retain more of your soul than normal mind flayers would.

Also, a quick reminder of the two theories we're working with here: Theory 1 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer they essentially just die and their (apostolic) soul moves on to the Fugue Plane and the mind flayer body just gets a new illithid soul from somewhere. Theory 2 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer their soul is transformed and altered into an illithid soul, which remains tethered to the mind flayer body. BG3 seems to operate more on the Theory 2 side of things, but as we'll see with Karlach and Gale, it's more complicated than you think.

So let's deep dive, shall we?

The Case of Karlach

I'm going to be candid here and say that the mind flayer ending for Karlach makes me really sad, even knowing that there's a very high chance that her soul is mostly intact and she is mostly still Karlach. But there's no denying she's at least a little different, though the game tries to comfort us otherwise after she transforms.

Narrator: *She is transformed. Her body is no longer hers, but her eyes, her heart - she is still Karlach, for now. Only - there's a hunger in her eyes that wasn't there before.*

That "for now" is rather ominous, isn't it? But we have enough evidence from Tav/Durge/other Origins and Orpheus to suggest that the likelihood of her retaining her memories and her personality is very high. In fact, when you talk to her during the epilogue, she does seem mostly the same, though her language has mellowed out to a more formal tone and she speaks less colloquially (and swears less and less).

If you talk to her immediately after she transforms, she marvels that she's still "herself" but also "more," which again reinforces that we all get to be special mind flayers who don't completely lose our souls. But I think there are some interesting lines in this dialogue:

Karlach: This is wild. I'm myself but... but more. Player: I don't like the sound of that. Karlach: Don't worry, soldier. It's still your old pal under all this purple. But suddenly 'I' am different than I ever knew. And my engine, it's... it's... silent. No heat. No gears. Still there, but no longer threatening to explode. Soldier... Player: I guess turning into an illithid has its perks. Karlach: Here I thought I was making a sacrifice. Thank the gods I'm a noble fuck! Shit. I'm gonna be all right. I get to be alive. I get to stay. As a hideous monster, sure. But one that can feel. Think. Live. But I'm still myself. And I know what our mission is. I'm glad I get to the do the honours.

Karlach reiterates over and over that she's still herself, but you can literally hear the change in her voice. Where normally her tone and volume would be boisterous, loud, and energetic, she's now calm and mellow, even when she's swearing. Her tone here is more one of wonder. It isn't just the internal and external fires that have calmed down, her overall demeanor seems "cooler" too.

Also, in her romance ending just before the epilogue, where you're both in the Elfsong Tavern room, you can mention that she does seem a little altered.

Player: I still love you, Karlach. I still want to be with you. Karlach: I love you too. Before, that love was an irrepressible inferno. Now it is a calm, cool object of beauty. Player: I can see you're still yourself, but there's something else in there too. An illithid calm. Karlach: Maybe you're right. I feel less... changeable. Less afraid. I feel ready for whatever is to come.

It doesn't tell us much, but it does reinforce that when we or any of our companions turn into a mind flayer, we likely retain a lot of our former personality, but in a much more calm, even-keeled kind of way. Again going back to the idea that our soul is still there, still mostly the same, but has been made a bit more illithid.

What is more interesting for Karlach, specifically, is her discussion of her diet as a mind flayer. Remember what souls are allegedly made up of? Intelligence, personality, and what else?

Memories.

Karlach: For example, my favourite food used to be mutton chops. Do you know what it is now? Brains, soldier. Brains. Player: Comes with the illithid territory, I suppose. Karlach: True. But I've found ways to maintain my values while respecting that which I am - that which made it possible for me to live. I've made arrangements with a healer in the city. When a patient is beyond saving, but still able to speak for themselves, they're offered a choice. They can go as nature intends to take them. Or, when they're ready - when their goodbyes have been said, their affairs settled, and all that awaits them is pain - I relieve them. When I consume their brains, I am nourished by much more than the physical nutrition. Their memories - from birth to death - become part of me. I've lived hundreds of childhoods, first loves, marriages, feuds and friendships. I remember them all. And in this way, we all live on. Together.

There's so much to unpack here. One, she still remembers her values, even six months later, but is trying to negotiate her former humanoid values (and personality, I imagine) with her needs as a mind flayer. That seems very Karlach, through and through.

But then, when she consumes these dying patients' brains, she absorbs and retains their memories. I imagine their souls still go on to the Fugue Plane, because I highly doubt that mind flayers also consume souls when they eat brains, but it still leaves me with questions. Karlach isn't part of a hivemind, which normally circulates memories between each other, but she's becoming a similar kind of receptacle for memories, and only she is the one that contains them, rather than an entire hivemind.

I have to wonder how much something like constantly consuming and remembering memories that are not your own affects you as a person/creature. Does that eventually lead to a loss of self, as you begin to "live" multiple different lives? Or does it all count as mere knowledge?

In some ways this would put her in competition with any elder brains still out there, but she's also not collecting knowledge for the sake of knowledge. She's collecting memories and living them out in her mind, which is a certain kind of tragedy. She's literally living vicariously through these people because her mind flayer body is too scary to go out and about in, and she's making up for a decade of life she didn't get to live. She's alive, but she's not...living if that makes sense. And again...how long before all these memories start to change who she is?

(An aside. I really don’t think her eating brains and collecting memories keeps someone’s soul from moving on. If you use the spell Speak with Dead, you don’t call back an entire soul, but the corpse still has access to its memories. I think in this case, even though memories make up part of a soul, Karlach consuming brains and collecting memories is more like her downloading a copy of the memories for herself. The dead person likely still takes their own memories with them to the Fugue Plane, where they will be judged by Kelemvor or collected by their favorite deity. She’s just copy/pasting data, not transferring everything from one hard drive to another, if that analogy makes sense.)

This arrangement where Karlach consumes the brains of dying patients is expanded or clarified a bit if you're romancing her during the epilogue, and also includes a reference to souls as well.

Karlach: I can’t wait to say hello, but to be honest, I’m keen to visit the doctor before it gets too late. He said there’s a potential in his infirmary. A very old woman recently diagnosed with a wasting sickness. She seemed interested in what I have to offer. I’ll want to have a good long talk with her before we make an arrangement. Though if I’m being very selfish, I hope she’ll say yes. I’m absolutely famished - and think of all those memories. Player: Glad to hear. I was worried you were getting hungry. Karlach: I don’t hide it well, do I? Some things don’t change, even when everything else does. It’s funny. I’m hungry in my body, but in my soul too. That woman has lived a long life - births, deaths, love, misfortune. And if she agrees, I’ll be able to give her a dignified end, and remember it all in her honour.

Or if you go with a different option:

Player: I'm still not sure how I feel about this arrangement. Are you sure it's ethical to feed on the dying? Karlach: I'm sure of very little these days. But at least this way, I can live. And those who offer themselves to me can live on too. Births, first loves, marriages, losses - I remember them all and always will. Each memory I've consumed is of value.

It's just so interesting to me. One, her remark that she's eager to say hello but slightly more interested in chatting to a doctor about her next meal suggests that some elements of becoming a mind flayer are much harder to ignore. I imagine if she's hungry, she feels less like Karlach. (And I have thoughts, for another post, about whether she becomes "too fixated" on living when she's a mind flayer, given the cost of what it means to stay alive as a mind flayer.)

But she also says she's hungry in her soul. Her soul seems deeply interested in these memories, and I wonder if that's because memories are (or could be) part of souls themselves. Maybe the remark isn't really that deep, but she specifically connects the hunger of her soul to all the memories a long-lived woman will have. It's almost as if these memories nurture her soul, but it's unclear whether that is because it's somehow healing to see and "experience" life in ways she can't now that she's a mind flayer, or if it's because the memories have some kind of tangible effect on her soul/souls in general.

I suppose we won't know for sure. What we do know from Karlach's case, however, is that a great deal of the original soul (personality, memories, etc) seems to stick around even six months later, though there are noticeable changes in personality, such as an overall calm demeanor. There are also hints that consuming brains could lead to further changes down the road, but there's nothing really concrete. Just hints.

In the end, Karlach is still Karlach, and her soul still has plenty of elements of the original Karlach, even six months later. This is a good sign, but we can't completely ignore that her new body/mind as a mind flayer will necessarily mean some things have permanently changed. Whether you judge those changes as good or bad is up to you.

With that said, let's move on to the final and most mind-boggling case.

The Case of Gale

If you play a companion as an Origin run, the mind flayer decision typically works out the same way as Tav...unless you're playing as Gale. Gale gets some extra options at the end of the game.

This is mostly because Gale has perhaps the most apostolic soul that hangs in the balance, second only to Shadowheart, and her soul pendulum swings between Selûne and Shar. Gale, however, seems to be walking on a knife's edge trying to retain or earn back entry into Elysium, Mystra's domain in the Outer Planes. He's allegedly already been there, though not as a dead soul, so he knows what's at stake if his soul suddenly becomes non-apostolic or disappears.

In other words, Gale has a formerly Faithful apostolic soul, but he spends much of the game probably worried his soul will be judged as False when he dies (since he lost Mystra's favor) until Mystra offers her brand of forgiveness, which is essentially "if you sacrifice your own life, I'll let you into Elyisum again." It's a guarantee that he ends up in the afterlife he wants to be in. That's what Mystra's forgiveness really boils down to.

Now, this is a man who does not want to sacrifice his soul, and also (Netherese orb aside) does not want to die if his soul is going to be judged as False by Kelemvor rather than welcomed into Elysium as a Faithful soul. We know that Gale finds the Fugue Plane exceedingly depressing, so I can't imagine he has any desire to wander around it for any stretch of time, even if Mystra does eventually deign to invite him into Elysium. I'm sure the thought of becoming part of the Wall of the Faithless might as well be hell to him.

Gale: It’s a relief to be back in beautiful Faerûn. The dreariness of the Fugue Plane oppresses one’s soul so very quickly.

[mumm's note: yes my man died in service of a Tactician battle against Grym, but he got better]

It's a little surprising to see how adamantly Gale would prefer to choose the Netherese orb over letting himself or anyone he cares for become illithid. Look at some of what he says when he tries to offer the orb as an option for the final battle:

Gale: An easy proposition for the Emperor to make - 'become a mind flayer' - it has no soul to sacrifice. If it did - perhaps it would understand the weight of what it's asking of us. And why we might seek an alternative.

I couldn't get this next dialogue to trigger in my game, but in the same conversation as above you might potentially get the option to remind him about Mystra's offer to cure his orb condition, and even then he reminds you of the stakes that come with becoming a mind flayer.

Player: Mystra will cure you if we bring her the Crown of Karsus. You don't need to do this. Gale: To cure me of the orb, yes. But what of the guilt of allowing one of my friends to sacrifice their very soul and become illithid?

Now keep in mind, up to this point no one has shown any evidence that turning into a mind flayer won't actually mean the total destruction of one's soul. Up until now, the only evidence anyone has of an original soul remaining intact inside a mind flayer body is the Emperor (we have no frame of reference for who Omeluum was before he was a mind flayer), and most of the companions do not trust the Emperor one bit. So Gale genuinely thinks that becoming a mind flayer means your soul is either destroyed or changed so much that it's no longer you.

I mean, think about it. He's half expecting you to take the tadpole the Emperor offers and literally cease to exist. He's expecting to fight alongside a mind flayer who has, at best, your name and a few scraps of your memory, and at worst, no shred of you at all. Because again, up until this point in the game, none of them realize that they could become a special mind flayer who does actually retain most (if not all) of their soul, including their personality and memories.

Gale literally thinks that blowing up and going to the Fugue Plane is better than you or any companion becoming a mind flayer.

But that's in a companion run. Obviously, if you play him as an Origin, you can have him turn into a mind flayer as a different kind of ultimate sacrifice. The decision plays out the same as a Tav/Durge run or any other Origin run. But after the game ends, Gale gets unique dialogue if he (1) sacrifices himself or (2) does not sacrifice himself and goes to meet Mystra with the Crown in hand.

Any run of his sacrifice (aka, using the orb, regardless of whether or not he is illithid) results in Withers finding him in the Fugue Plane for a brief conversation. This conversation isn't much different if Gale is a mind flayer when he uses the orb, since all it does is add an extra option to their conversation that references being illithid ("One illithid for the whole of Faerûn seems like a fair trade to me," which replaces the option "One wizard for the whole of Faerûn...etc").

(An aside, I don't have an Origin Gale run so I can't test this, but I think if he ends his life on the docks as a mind flayer, the way Tav/Durge can with a knife got the stomach, then he just gets the usual Tav/Durge conversation with Withers about how his form has "something of the spirit" about him. See Part 2 if you're curious about that conversation.)

What this conversation with Withers reveals is how much control Mystra seems to have over his soul, especially if/when he's a mind flayer. If Gale decides to sacrifice himself using the Netherese Orb, Withers remarks about how surprising it is that Mystra hasn’t picked him up yet.

Withers: Who flickers there ‘twixt the shadows? Gale, who didst surrender his very self for the salvation of Faerûn. I feared I might not find thee here - that Mystra would have already plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate. But she may wait a while yet.

It’s a little unclear if Withers uses “plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate” to mean Gale gets to go to Elysium or something else, and it’s equally unclear whether Mystra waiting is a sign of displeasure or a sign that she is interested in sending Gale back to the Material Plane. She is capable of doing that, after all, and has frequently resurrected her Chosens, like Elminster, if it suits her.

But I highlight this conversation to show that you can get it as a mind flayer, and (if you are a mind flayer during this scene) that Mystra waiting isn't because he's a mind flayer and she can't find his soul. She waits for a minute regardless of whether he's illithid or not. But Withers is certain Mystra will be able to find Gale's soul, because he was able to find Gale's soul and recognize it as Gale.

So, not to harp on this again and again, but it's proof that turning into a mind flayer didn't destroy Gale's soul. It's still Gale's soul, even in the Fugue Plane, even if he's mind-flayer-shaped, and that soul is still capable of journeying to Elysium, should Mystra bother to find it wandering the Fugue Plane (or wherever he is).

But things are a little different if Gale decides to become a mind flayer and then goes to visit Mystra with the Crown of Karsus in hand. Keep in mind, Origin!Gale always has the option to face off against Mystra after the defeat of the Netherbrain, and this face-off is where he decides to hand over the Crown, become the god of ambition, or straight up try to fight Mystra.

However! If Gale is a mind flayer, he gets a secret fourth option.

If Gale goes to meet Mystra as an illithid with the Crown of Karsus and then gives up the Crown to her, Mystra offers to take Gale to Elysium with her. More than that, she offers to literally restore his humanity and cure him of illithidness.

Sort of.

Mystra: So, Gale of Waterdeep, you have become the inheritor of Karsus’ powers at last. What do you intend to do with them? Gale: I came to surrender them. The Crown, the Karsite Weave - take it all. Mystra: This offering cost you greatly. There is no hope in life as an illithid, devoid of soul and conscience. It is within my power to restore your soul, and your humanity, if you are willing to leave the mortal realms behind. Return with me, to Elysium.

No one else is offering this kind of deal to an Origin-turned-mind-flayer. Selûne and Shar don’t care if Shadowheart turns illithid, and Withers isn’t exactly offering to restore souls and humanity (or…mortalness?) to everyone else. This is a signifier of the sheer amount of power Mystra has, yes, but this also hints at some other things.

One, despite evidence of the contrary, Mystra is adamant that Gale-as-illithid is or would be “devoid of soul and conscience,” even though we know that that likely isn’t true (just see Karlach, Tav/Durge, etc). Perhaps Mystra is unaware that Gale is a Special Mind Flayer (seems unlikely), or perhaps she’s simply trying to convince Gale to come with her. After all, what she’s offering is still a kind of reward.

Then again, maybe Gale and/or Mystra fear the long-term effects of illithidness. Maybe over time he would become less and less like Gale, perhaps due to consuming memories, or other factors that come with being a mind flayer. Still, though, saying that his life would be "devoid of soul and conscience" seems like a massive stretch on Mystra's part.

But anyway, the reward for him turning into a mind flayer and giving her the Crown is a restoration of his humanity...but only in death.

Mystra: Return with me, to Elysium. Devnote: respectful - Gale sacrificed his humanity to achieve what she asked. If he’s willing to die on the mortal planes, she will restore his soul and body but in the heavens.

Now before I get to what happens if Gale agrees to this reward, I want to point out that Mystra herself sort of acknowledges that Gale isn't exactly devoid of soul and conscience if he refuses her offer. Here are some of the ways Gale can turn her down, with her answer to each option being the same:

Gale: [Option 1] Thank you, but no. I have someone waiting for me. Gale: [Option 2] Perhaps one day, but for now there is more I need to accomplish. Gale: [Option 3] Being an illithid has its advantages. I'm content as I am. Mystra: Then you are free to go with both my thanks and my promise - henceforth, your prayers will always be answered.

The whole idea of an apostolic soul is that it means the person is capable of worshipping a divine being, and this worship ncludes prayers. She might have said that him being illithid would mean he would be devoid of soul and conscience, but in nearly the same breath she promises to answer all his prayers. So she recognizes something of a soul within him. So why say he would be devoid of soul?

Of course, things get weird if Gale accepts her offer to be restored and go to Elyisum. If Gale agrees, then she fulfills her promise and even restores his place as one of her Chosen.

Gale: I crave nothing more. Take me to Elysium. Mystra: So be it. Gale of Waterdeep, Chosen of Mystra. Cinematic Tag: Mystra transforms Mindflayer Gale back to his human form (hollow) and grabs Gale’s hand. They return to Elysium.

This is wild to me. You see, originally when I started this project I thought I was going to be writing posts about how interesting it is that when you become a mind flayer, your soul is probably hanging out in the Fugue Plane or something, and eventually I’d suggest that Mystra is able to restore Gale’s soul to him because it’s already gone to her domain or she knows how to find it because he used to be so faithful to her. But none of that works now.

Because now I’m convinced that the Netherese tadpole changes everyone into a Special Mind Flayer whose soul is still present in their mind flayer bodies, just altered or transformed. So what’s up with this stuff from Mystra? She recognizes Gale as Gale even when he's a mind flayer and promises to answer his prayers, so clearly there's some kind of apostolic soul thing going on here. So why does she offer to "restore his soul," and also, why only in death?

She does say that she will restore Gale’s humanity, so now I assume that somehow her powers allow her to un-alter Gale’s soul so that it isn’t so illithid anymore. My idea is that she’s essentially restoring his soul to its former state and not, as we might otherwise infer, literally giving him his soul back, as if it were separate from his body. Gale’s soul is still in his mind flayer body, if all the rest of the evidence holds any water, so Mystra must have merely changed it back to the way it was.

quick picture break, this is from Northalix's video, linked below

Which makes me wonder, can a completely original, apostolic-type soul exist in an illithid body? Or does the body dictate that the soul must be somewhat illithid in order to be compatible?

Because the thing is, this deal comes with an ultimatum. She’s not going to let him go back to the mortal realms after she’s restored his soul. She probably could—she’s probably capable of doing that, if only by giving him a completely new body (she's done that before with Elminster). But she doesn’t. The cure comes with a cost. He only gets to be human again if he agrees to die completely and join her in Elysium. There is no undoing the illithid sacrifice, which seems more like a game limitation than a Mystra limitation (although we can certainly brainstorm reasons why Mystra would be so petty as to basically say "I can make you human again but only if you die completely.")

I want to point out that Mystra doesn't offer to let Gale come back to Elysium as a dead guy if he's not a mind flayer. Like, we don't get the sparkly ascension scene if he blows up with the Netherese orb, we get the Withers visit in the Fugue Plane. This Elysium offer is an illithid-only option. If he's not a mind flayer and he returns the Crown, she cures him of the Netherese Orb and sends him back. There's no option to join her in Elysium. Why is this an illithid-only option?

Also, just...I need you to watch the scene.

There's a lot that bothers me about this. One, the gestures she makes are the exact gestures God!Gale makes when he ascends Tav/Durge if they romanced him and agreed to become a god with him. Do with that what you will. But two...it just gives me the ick. This is a different kind of ascension for Gale. It's a restoration of his place in Elysium, but it ultimately means his premature death. If this is the route you take as him...it's hardly better than him sacrificing himself using the Netherese Orb without becoming a mind flayer. Only this time, we get to see the scene where he goes to Elysium, I guess.

It also massively complicates the whole idea that everyone gets to be a special mind flayer with a mostly-intact, mostly-apostolic soul. If the soul didn't change, why does Mystra need to "restore" it? And if it did change, why is Mystra the only one capable of un-changing it back to its original form (is it because he’s her Chosen and is/was so faithful)?And if such a thing is possible, why offer it and then say "but you're dead now"?

It seems as though her "fixing" Gale's soul was really just her...I don't know, separating it from his physical mind flayer body so the illithid anatomy wouldn't mess with it as much, and then dusting off his soul, which is now bodyless, and taking it with her to Elysium. I'm not saying that's what she did, but that's the weird vibes I get from this interaction. Like, there seems to be some kind of implication that you can't have a fully humanoid, apostolic soul housed within an illithid body. The soul has to be altered somehow to work with the illithid body.

So why not just give him a new body, Mystra??? Fix is soul and give him a new body! You’re absolutely capable of that!

I have so many questions.

Of course, keep in mind that Gale can reject her, obviously, and return to the mortal realms as a mind flayer. She does acknowledge that he has at least something of a soul that can pray to her so...I mean, there's that.

Anyways, what have we learned?

The Summary

With Karlach, we see that being a mind flayer does necessarily change parts of a person's personality (which, again, is part of their soul). Usually this results in a person seeming calmer, more mellow, less emotional than they normally would have been, but it does seem that for Tav/Durge, the companions, and Orpheus that turning into a mind flayer doesn't completely destroy their soul. It just seems to alter it a bit. In my opinion, the soul just becomes a tiny bit more illithid. Karlach’s case does leave us with questions about how “good” consuming and retaining so many memories might be in the long run, but as of six months post-ceremorphosis, she seems fine.

From Gale, we learn that apparently it's possible to restore or un-alter a partly-illithid soul so that it goes back to normal, but this power is extremely rare and likely relegated to the gods alone (or a particularly powerful Wish spell). We're also reminded that keeping recognizable parts of one's soul, like the personality and memories, is a huge surprise, because that's not how normal mind flayers work. We know this from Orpheus, but Gale just kinda reinforced it.

I guess we also learned that Mystra is a massive—but I should keep this civil. We all know what Mystra is.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that she's unwilling to accept Gale into her domain while he is still a mind flayer, even though his soul obviously would fit the bill based on what a soul is/does for the gods. He has a viable apostolic soul, it’s just mind-flayer-shaped!I'm sure Mystra thinks she's being magnanimous by offering him eternity as a human in Elysium, but I think it ultimately just shows how shallow she can be. Gale only gets to come back if he’s not mind flayer shaped.

And I think, deep down, Gale has always suspected that would be the case.

And on that familiar note, my friends, thank you for joining me on this excessively long deep dive into mind flayer souls and things we can learn from the game and the lore.

~*~*~

If you made it to the end, congrats! More gold stars for you!

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

If you read through all three parts and also made it to the end of this one, you are the real MVP and I wish I had stickers or achievements to give you so you can be like "I survived another three-part deep dive from mumm." But I don't even have a lousy T-Shirt to offer you.

You can have this random picture instead though :> it's my Tav Dani looking very unimpressed by the Emperor's offer of sexy times (sorry not sorry Empy, she's got a man and his name is Gale and she prefers him and all her friends to be tentacle-free)

Enjoy the lore and remember that it's all up to you to decide what you want to keep or reject! I'm just showing you what's out there!

Tags for those who wanted an update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

[damagedintellect]

Fyodor x reader x Nikolai [Rich kids AU]

💌 Days of our Bungo : Part 1 💌  

Summary: All of your fathers made a pack that whenever they had kids they would marry each other. It sounded like a good idea at the time but when the Sigma family was the only family to have a girl, and everyone wanted a bloodborne heir, things seemed a little complicated. After many arguments it was decided they would wait to see which boy, she, would fall for. Everyone always ends up having a crush on their childhood friend right?

Notes: Guess who had another Bungo dream, it was me! This time around the dream sequence started in the middle and just kept going so ima just fill in the gaps and start from the top.

Tropes: Sigma is your twin, Fyodor x reader x Nikolai, Fyodor is endgame, royalty/rich kids, Childhood friends, Mutual pinning but reader thinks it's one-sided, Nikolai knows its unrequited but he still loves you & Fyodor, eventual 🍋

💌 Word count: 4,821 💌  You Are Here | Part 2 coming soon

At the age of five you and your brother were inseparable. You were twins after all, it would have been weird if you weren't close to some degree. Sigma kept his hair long to match you even though your hair colors were mirrored. Naturally your parents gave you matching outfits although with some alterations between skirts and dresses. Sometimes you and Sigma would try to swap outfits to see if they could tell the difference but your hair colors always gave you away. That's the first memory you could vividly remember. Right before your first big fight with each other. That's when your father knew it was the right time to call his friends. Your parents were always worried about your development since there were minor complications during your infant years.

You were playing in the garden when the maids called you into the foyer. Your father had arranged for you to meet someone. Well more than just someone, your father had many friends but only two of them had children your age. Apparently you've met them before but you don't remember them at all. You and Sigma had extremely finicky memories for your age. Which is why today was so important for the both of you in that regard.

These friends of papa were special, they were his super best friends and hopefully today you would also make a super best friend too. Sigma would always be your best friend but he was your brother first and foremost. That was like cheating to you so you were hoping to make a good impression on the two boys in front of you.

Fyodor Dostoevsky and Nikolai Gogol stood before you as you curtsied. The two couldn't be any more different than you imagined. One was quiet and stoic while the other was loud and energetic. They seemed like a packaged deal just like you and Sigma. They had been friends for over a year now bonding over music lessons and the fact that their manors were close to each other. As your fathers spoke you were sent off to play and get to know the boys. Their fathers looked excited over your very meeting but you weren’t sure why and you wouldn't figure it out until years down the line.

You watched as Sigma tried to play chess with Fyodor. Nikolai was commentating the game, making Sigma loose focus. Neither you nor Nikolai wanted to play after watching Sigma get destroyed like that. Fortunately Nikolai had seen the piano when he walked in and played the beginnings of a song. He was still working on getting all the notes right but it wasn’t bad for how many lessons he's had without sheet music no less. Apparently Fyodor played the cello and that's how they met at the academy. Sigma was going to start violin soon but you wanted to learn ballet. Ever since you saw the Nutcracker at Christmas it was all you could think about. Nikolai just enrolled recently because his family needed something for him to exhaust all his uncontrollable energy. At least you wouldn't be alone.

You dragged everyone out to the garden. Something you have always wanted to do with other kids your age was to play hide and seek. Normally some of the maids and butlers would indulge you every once in a while but there were only so many places they could hide. This would be fun. You decided to be “it”, choosing to make the gazebo your counting spot. You heard the pitter patter of feet run from you as you counted down. Although when you finally reached zero you immediately found Fyodor standing behind the bush at the base of the stairs.

“Found you!” You laughed and grabbed his hand pulling him along to find the others. He didn’t protest but he did look slightly uncomfortable being dragged along. It didn't take you long to find Sigma either, he likes to hide in the same spot every time but it did take you a while to find Nikolai. The entire time you realized you never once tried to let Fyodor's hand go. Fyodor gave your hand a gentle squeeze as he pointed up in the tree near the fountain.

Sure enough Nikolai waved from his spot as he stood up striking a victory pose. He nearly fell down while he was making his descent, accidentally kicking off one of his shoes in the process. With Nikolai being the winner he was now it. You made a break for it when he started counting but stopped when you saw Fyodor just standing there. It seemed like Fyodor didn't quite get the point of hide and seek. You ran back to him and once again dragged him away. 

You saw some of the maids making preparations for afternoon tea and in a spark of genius you crawled under the thick tablecloth hoping no one would think to look there. You and Fyodor sat for a long time. Definitely longer than it took for you to find Nikolai. With the excitement of the day you had gotten pretty tired from running around. You ended up slumping on Fyodor's shoulder being comfortable enough to fall asleep. While Fyodor contemplated what to do in this situation he overheard some of your waitstaff talking about you both.

“Have you seen the way young master Nikolai looks at our young lady?”

“I wish someone would stare at me like that. Although did you notice the young lady holding young master Fyodor's hand? She must have taken a liking to him.”

“That's adorable. I wonder if she will be betrothed to young master Fyodor instead?”

“I heard that they plan on waiting until she's eighteen to decide who she'll be promised too. They're all still so young, nowadays it's customary to wait to make the announcement.”

Fyodor looked back at your sleeping face. You were going to marry him someday? He rolled his eyes. At least now he understood why his father made such a fuss about being a gentleman before he left the manor. As if he'd conduct himself in any other fashion but given his only acquaintance is Nikolai, Fyodor can see his fathers reserve. He doesn't like the idea of his future marriage being arranged especially since he'd just met you but it was reassuring that in the end it seemed like you'd have a say about who you'd end up with. Fyodor didn’t understand why it was so important to his father but maybe he'd understand with time. Speaking of time Nikolai abruptly pulled the tablecloth off the table to reveal the two of you crouched underneath. While Fyodor was originally indifferent about the game he couldn't help but frown upon being caught.

You were startled awake by the noise of tea cups clattering in place. All the maids had a heart attack for a moment before they saw the white haired boy perfectly displace the cloth from underneath the dishes. You clutched your head where it made contact with the underside of the table. Fyodor let out a soft laugh at your misfortune causing you to stare at him in awe as Sigma helped you stand. The genuine spark in his eyes left you blushing as Nikolai was boasting about his table trick. You all sat down for tea as your father's plan to become friends worked like a charm.

___

After that you all would get together at least once a week to play around before you started attending the academy. Sigma was taking violin lessons while you and Nikolai started taking ballet. You thought he was crazy for doing both piano lessons and dance at the same time but Fyodor had commented that if anyone could pull it off it would be Nikolai. The boy seemed to be able to teleport around the academy as is. Not to mention the fact that Nikolai seemed to know everyone. His best friend on the other hand was the exact opposite. Fyodor was, annoyingly, always practicing even outside of lessons. Nikolai seemed to be the only one capable of dragging him out of the practice rooms to meet up with the rest of you. Sometimes he would even fight you all and practice during lunch. It was sad because you very much enjoyed the Russian's company.

Besides that, ballet wasn’t exactly everything you'd hoped it would be. You wanted to learn how to dance on your toes like Clara did in the Nutcracker but apparently girls don't go on pointe until at least the age of seven. Although recently there had been talk that the school was in the process of changing that due to safety concerns. Nikolai had thrown a fit that men should be allowed to go on pointe too but it wouldn’t matter because neither of you were technically prepared for pointe work anyways. That's all you hear day after day, technique. It was boring learning proper placement, posture and turnout. You wanted to skip steps and just dance but apparently it was extremely important to your training to practice at the barre. Which was lame, you liked centerwork way more than being at the barre.

Even after a few years you still liked working in the center better than being stuck at the barre. Although now the years of technique classes had really paid off. This past year had been more focused on prepointe and pas de deux compared to past years. You had partnered with Nikolai whenever you needed to partner up for anything. Nikolai would make a scene if he wasn't your partner to go across the floor or for stretching so you weren’t that surprised when he became your official pas de deux partner. The teachers must have been observing the two of you since you enrolled in the academy. When you were finally put on pointe Nikolai was extremely jealous until you let him put your shoes on. He nearly fell over going on relevé at the barre, claiming that they were actually torture devices and he was no longer envious of you for being on pointe. 

A few more years had passed and you started noticing that you and Nikolai were the artistic director’s favorites. They must have seen something in you both. For the end of year showcase you would be performing the pas de deux from Cinderella. Which was going to be their summer production that you could audition for. This appeared to be your audition for the role. You both were ecstatic. Nikolai was obviously a shoe in for the prince but you had a lot of competition for Cinderella. It didn’t bother you much, you were just here to dance and do your best. You heard a lot of gossip in passing though, “(Y/N) is only good because she gets to partner with Nikolai.”

“They’re only looking at (Y/N) because she dances with Nikolai, I dance better.”

“Her pointe work is so sloppy I bet you her father pays the school to get better parts.”

Nikolai has told you to tune them out but the feeling was hard to shake. Nikolai was a freaking prodigy at everything he did. So was Fyodor. Even Sigma to some degree but you get to see the behind the scenes of his genius. His anxiety sometimes rubs off on you too. At the moment your class was let out early so you were bothering Sigma and Fyodor in one of the practice rooms. 

For their showcase they were both given Ravel’s "Pavane for a dead princess". Which was an interesting choice given that it was originally written to be a piano solo. It can be done as a duet with a piano and violin or cello but it was weird that they had been practicing it as a violin and cello piece. Nikolai was playing the piano as they were taking turns practicing their parts. Again it baffled you that Nikolai knows this piece by heart. When the lad had time to practice this was beyond you. Sigma had been practicing this at home most nights but this was the first time you’ve heard it with the cello accompaniment. 

You couldn’t help yourself; it seemed like your body was moving on its own. You were so entranced by Fyodor’s playing that you got up and danced. To you it was such a beautiful piece. Most people called it melancholic but it was beautiful. You weren’t paying attention and Nikolai was pretty sure he was the only one who noticed but Fyodor slipped up slightly. Nikolai glanced at his friend to see what happened when he noticed that the Russian's hands were on autopilot. Fyodor was watching you dance. Nikolai’s hands stopped as well, completely encapsulated by your movement. This had to be what true freedom looked like.

You didn't even realize when they had finished playing. You were too busy living in your own little world. Fyodor smiled as you continued to glide around the room. You made it look effortless. Both of them were breathless. You only stopped when Sigma cleared his throat.

“So is it my turn now?”

___

Sure enough when the auditions rolled around for Cinderella you and Nikolai were casted at the leads. It would be your first time dancing a principal role. The only problem was the animosity of your peers. It constantly felt as though someone was out to get you. It was a feeling that kept you looking over your shoulder with caution. There were more whispers lately and it only continued your bad feeling. Of course you had an understudy in the event you couldn't dance the part and you noticed how she would glare daggers at you while ogling Nikolai.

You had just finished rehearsal waiting for Nikolai to finish changing out when foreign arms grabbed you from behind and your world went dark.

Your limbs were heavy and everything was starting to slow down. The commotion at the door of the cheap motel didn’t even reach your ears. Everything was muffled compared to the steadiness of your breathing. That was until Fyodor and Nikolai burst through the door. What they were doing here was beyond you. Why not the police? This had you confused but if anyone could track and take down some random ransom kidnapper it would be them. 

Ever since Fyodor took his first computer engineering and programming courses you had expected that he took to being quite the hacker but you never called him out on it. Aided with Nikolai’s weird obsession with carnival tricks like throwing knives, hatchets and the occasional lock picking, this seemed like a normal day. Maybe it was whatever the guy slipped you that made this seem like normal behavior. For all you knew, your brain could be trying to piece together logical connections for things that weren’t really happening just to preserve whatever mental stability you had left. In other words this could all be a dream that you wished was happening.

Fyodor knelt down in front of you. Piercing violet eyes assessed your condition. You could get lost in his eyes, if he would let you. His lips were moving much too fast for you to keep up. None of the sound registered to you. You've never seen him this expressive before. When he realized you were not listening he took off his uniform blazer and draped it around your nearly naked shoulders. You hadn’t even noticed that the two had taken off your restraints. Nikolai was searching for your discarded clothes as Fyodor started explaining again, but slower this time. 

“Sigma is outside dealing with our private police force. Nikolai’s father only let us come with them under the pretense we would not, personally, get involved but Nikolai threatened the chief to let us handle it.” 

Nikolai came back with your skirt but when you just stared down at the article of clothing they both gave each other a look and helped you redress. It was only when they tried to remove Fyodor’s coat did you finally snap out of your stupor and throw yourself into Fyodor's arms. Your breath was ragged and you were shaking. It seemed like your body was just now catching up to speed. The grip you had on his shirt only tightened as he wrapped his arms around you. The feeling in your limbs were weird, it took so much effort to move them freely and when you did, they felt like they were moving on their own accord. Right now you were safe and that’s all that mattered. Fyodor always made you feel safe.

“T-t…” 

The words couldn’t leave your mouth but then again you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t even realize you had started silently crying until Fyodor pulled away to wipe away your tears. By that time Sigma ran up to you making you fall back on the bed. 

“I WAS WORRIED SICK! If Fyodor didn’t hack into “Eyes of God”, who knows what would have happened!” 

Sigma was crying more than you were. You tried to smile but your face was too heavy to turn up the corners of your lips. “Do you know how hard it was to prevent Nikolai from killing anyone? The moment we found out you were taken, those two were completely different people!” Sigma shook you for emphasis “It was terrifying!”

You wanted to answer him so badly but your mouth only opened without making a sound. It only took a beat for Fyodor to express that you’ve probably been sedated. Once Sigma got your shirt and Fyodor’s jacket back on your person, Nikolai carried you out and held you while you were in the car. Being your pas de deux partner for a few years now meant he could carry your weight near effortlessly. You leaned your head into his chest. Your eyelids were feeling extra heavy as they slid shut. You didn't notice his grip on you tightening, pulling you closer to his chest. If you were paying more attention you might have even caught the light kiss he pressed to your forehead.

___

You never got the full story but you could assume that Fyodor was able to trace the kidnapper back to your understudy because she was never seen at the academy again. You didn't stop dancing per se but you tried other forms of performance. Singing and acting have always interested you. So when you entered the high-school division you decided to give the acting thing a try. Nikolai always followed you around like an eccentric puppy and it didn’t surprise you in the slightest when once again you both were casted as the leads. Although this time there was one glaring oversight on your part.

Whenever you had any issues you couldn't sort out yourself you always sought out Fyodor for advice. You had inconspicuously invited the russian over for one of your sleepovers that hadn't stopped when you were children. The only thing that was remotely off was the lack of Nikolai’s presence. As the boys were about to retire for the night you finally mustered up the courage to speak.

“Actually um,” You reached for his sleeve “Do you think you could sleep in my room tonight?” 

You couldn’t look him in the eyes. Both Sigma and Fyodor raised an eyebrow at you. When you were kids he slept in your room all the time and none of your parents ever said anything about it. Sigma shrugged, he trusts that Fyodor wouldn’t do anything. He would have said something if it was Nikolai since he’s constantly physically affectionate as a person but if anything Fyodor has stricter physical boundaries compared to you. He'll allow it, not that he was going to try and stop you.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this but it was necessary. If you didn’t Nikolai would tease you relentlessly in front of the rest of the cast and you wanted to avoid that as much as possible. You were already freaking out that you had to kiss Nikolai of all people. He’s always felt like a brother to you and ever since that incident during Cinderella you were traumatized at the potential for that to happen again. Sure you were older now but that thought would always be in the back of your mind. You were aware of his ever growing fanclub and while after that incident they stopped bullying you completely you never know.

The moment you got to your room you motioned for him to sit on your bed. You were fidgeting with the hem of your sleeves. Like always Fyodor seemed to read you like a book, sighing softly while giving you a reassuring smile. 

“Are you really that worried about kissing Nikolai that you need to practice?”

You groaned, hiding your face as you threw yourself on your pile of pillows. “Let it be known I hate when you do that!” You curled up into a ball peeking at the russian while hugging your safety pillow. You really didn't and Fyodor knows that, otherwise he would have stopped predicting your words a long time ago but it didn't make it any less embarrassing. He knows you a little too well.

“Yes, I’m worried about kissing Nikolai! I have to practically make out with him and I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Kicking your feet in frustration you sat up in a huff. “I don’t want my first kiss to be because I have to. I always thought my first kiss would be a special private moment. Something romantic you know? And now everyone’s going to watch me make out with Nikolai! I didn’t think I’d actually be Juliet. I thought I’d have more time.” Your face was hot and your heart was racing. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Fyodor; he probably thought you were being ridiculous. Auditioning knowing that this was a possibility. It was your first time auditioning for a show that didn't have any proper dancing in it. You had just wanted the acting experience.

“There is no problem with wanting something to be special, (Y/N).” He put his hand on your cheek and guided your eyes to meet his. “If it puts you more at ease, I would be giving you my first kiss as well.”

Your breath hitched at the contact. He'd be giving his first kiss to you. You didn't actually think about that, although you should have known that was the case. He’s never had an interest in such things but he was willing for your sake.

He was sitting so close to you. When did he move from the otherside of the bed? Your head was spinning and nothing even happened yet. Neither of you initiated the kiss and his expression grew uncertain. This was awkward but you’d be figuring it out together at least. To be honest you didn't think he would entertain such an idea. You assumed he would talk you through being less anxious about it or perhaps give you a kiss on the cheek since he’s never been fond of physical contact if he could help it. That goes to show you Fyodor was a good friend, putting his comfort aside for your sake.

You closed your eyes mustering up enough courage to lean forward, gently touching his lips to yours. A flutter ran through your stomach as every thought in your head melted away. It was only one kiss but this already left you breathless and you were expected to do this on stage with everyone watching you? You became lightheaded as Fyodor pulled away first, resting his forehead on your shoulder. It felt warm to the touch which contrasted how cold he normally was. You moved to touch your lips with your hands. They still felt tingly.

Fyodor let out a shaky breath as he recited one of Nikolai’s lines. It almost didn't occur to you what he was doing until he sat upright with his eyes trained on your lips. He was caressing you just like Nikolai would in rehearsal. You don't even remember if you said the right line as Fyodor crashed your lips together. Again you were caught by surprise that he was taking this so seriously. You hummed as you melted into the kiss. Moving your lips against Fyodor's was making you dizzy. You couldn't help sighing softly under your breath. You were too enthralled with your personal bliss you didn't realize when Fyodor moved you to lay on your back. You were currently lying down with Fyodor looming over your smaller figure. Your hands gripped the front of your dress as your heart hammered away in your chest. You felt Fyodor pulling back again. His expression was unreadable but his face was flush. You were both panting looking at each other through half lidded eyes. You had the urge to pull him in for more. You really wanted to be greedy.

“Will that suffice?” He spoke as smooth and unwavering as ever, sounding unbothered like he wasn't also out of breath. You on the other hand could barely form words. “I-I believe so.” You were embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to continue where you left off but it was a self-indulgent thought. 

Fyodor curtly got up to turn the lights off and situated his side of the bed. As he turned away from you he said his goodnight. You were left mildly hot and indefinitely bothered beyond compare. How could he just kiss you with all the passion in the world and then go to sleep? Maybe Fyodor should have been the actor out of your group. You've never seen his eyes so vibrant before. You laid there lost in thought replaying that last kiss in your head. Fyodor was always there for you but you hate that no matter how close the two of you are you will never be more than friends. Over the years he's never had any interest in romance and If his actions after the kiss were any indication, he couldn't even look at you. You turned away from him trying to ease the rejection but your head was still reeling from the kiss. You would never forget what love should feel like, even if Fyodor would not return the feeling.

Fyodor was eerily still, listening for your breathing to even out. He doesn't know what came over him, the moment his lips touched yours a fire was lit throughout his body. He prided himself with his immaculate self control and his body threw it all down the drain. If he didn't stop when he did he would have just embarrassed himself in front of you. He felt the blood rush down his abdomen. That's why he was adamant about turning the lights off as fast as possible. Fyodor tried to will it away but the memory of how you looked up at him blissfully dazed was driving him mad. He agreed to help for purely selfish reasons and he almost feels bad about manipulating you but it was worth it to best Nikolai, in that you choose Fyodor to be your first kiss. 

He's watched the two of you only grow closer as the years passed and Fyodor feels like he's been left behind. Even though you've expressed that your feelings for Nikolai is that of brotherly love, he can't help but feel it's something more when he sees the two of you together. It would truly pain him to lose your affection to Nikolai but in the end if that's what you desired he's prepared to step aside for your happiness. At least that's what he tells himself, it's far too easy for him to be selfish for what he wants. In fact he's known of your love for him for years now but he doesn't press the matter because such infatuation would only distract from your studies and the last thing he needs is to have both of your father’s disapproval.

The next day you tried your best to mask your weary expression as Nikolai leaned in to kiss you. You were expecting to be met with the same overwhelming warmth that you had with Fyodor the night prior but your mind was clear of the fog. As you pulled away you waited for Nikolai’s next line but it never came. You gave him a quizzical look but he was still staring at you in awe. He gave it a beat before he broke character.

“Ah, sorry that was my first kiss.”

Your director was laughing as the rest of your cast exploded in conversation. Nikolai was always the utmost professional performer; this was the first time you think he’s ever slipped up and broke character for any reason. His face was a light shade of pink as he avoided your gaze.

___

Part 2 coming soon, 3 parts total

[redlestat]

today i watched season 1 for the first time so here are my thoughts on season 1 of hannibal.

please note that those are MY thoughts and i never watched the show or have knowledge about it.

hannibal s1 thoughts

hannibal is someone that never let his feelings controls him. he is always ahead of everyone because he thinks about every little details, he thinks of the best and the worst scenarios and get prepared for it. he reveals only what he chooses to show, allowing him to manipulate situations to his advantage. all of this is reflected in his killings and that’s why he’s never been caught. his killings are cold, clean and done meticulously with no motive but just the love of human meat and killing.

hannibal never anticipated will entering his life; it was unplanned and unexpected. hannibal became intrigued by will after their first meeting, seeing will own true self, which others failed to recognize. he said ithimself, hannibal saw himself in will but will is also his opposite. at first he just got non romantically obsessed with will and it became romantic without even him knowing.

people say that hannibal knew he loved will the day he first met him him but i think he only realized when he got will framed. until then he cared for will without knowing what it was, we hear him say « will is my friend » a lot and it shows how it is important to him. maybe his first true friend, the first time he thought he could unveil himself to someone. but first he needed will to accept his thoughts, accept what he was and he tried but it didn’t work (for now).

will is a killer it's in him even if his encephalitis acted on it it was something that was always inside him. that’s why he understands criminal behaviors so much, it’s because he desire to be them. will’s empathy and his encephalitis had gotten too much space in will’s brain that it didn’t have a place to think about acting on it or even a place for hannibal.

his side of relationship with hannibal is a bit more complicated. he felt comfortable with him, he could be completely honest. the lines between him being his psychiatrist and his friend were blurred. in contrast of hannibal we never hear will refer him as a friend or even as his doctor. he doesn’t know what hannibal is to him. he loves hannibal's company and trusted him more than anything but i don't think he was in love or at least knew he was for now. he was going through too much to even care about his feelings. On top of that i don't think he really liked alana romantically. he needed romantical love and alana was the only choice he had. he craved love not alana

the relationship between Hannibal and will is unique and special. it's neither purely romantic or entirely platonic, at least not at the moment.

for hannibal will changed everything in his life. his kills had always been planed, meticulous, leaving no traces behind and no witnesses, yet the kills we saw were reckless and with a motive: will. framing will was not out of desire or deliberated from the very beginning but more something he thought off as he went to protect himself, and to protect will from him. he loves cannibalism and killing more than anything nor anyone and he wouldn't let anyone take it from him even his best friend.

hannibal realized he loved will when will got arrested and that's why he cried because he lost will (and abigail) bc he lost family.

so many people guessed he was a serial killer. so many years of killing never getting caught and in such a short period of time he got shown. its because for the first time he had feelings, he had empathy not for his victims but for will and abigail.

he loves abigail like his daughter yes he manipulated her a lot but he cared for her like will did . he saw himself in abigail. she is a perfect mix of will and hannibal in personality, in her sociopath tendencies.

i love the show i hate gore but im loving the crimes here. the artistry and the cinematography is so good and beautiful. even the cannibalism doesn't disgust me bc hannibal is making fine culinary with it. everything is elevated.

[moonsart]

Look at his little eyes! He is completely innocent and has never done a single wrong thing in his life!

Ignore the fire in the background

[dirtytransmasc]

the Sully kids' reaction to Jake saying Spider "knew everything" breaks my heart.

they knew him better than anyone else, better than their parents. they knew his love for Eywa, for Pandora, for The People, for the clan, for their family. they knew he would never tell the RDA anything... not willingly at least.

they knew they were leaving because Spider would be tortured for information, he'd be forced to reveal their home, their plans, their numbers, their weaknesses. their brother would be tortured and they were being forced to leave him behind.

they knew they were being forced to find a new home, without their brother, because their dad knew he would be tortured.

[possamble]

What are your headcanons about Marcille's mom if you have any? It's interesting that what drew Donato to her was cause she lived the history he studied, or that was said somewhere at least. She must've had an interesting life.

so this was going to be just a normal answer but then I realized I have a Lot of Things To Say. so here goes, a compilation of what we know for a fact from the canon, what I've extrapolated from the visual cues and details, and my theories based on all of that.

Things we know for a fact about Marcille's mother because they were explicitly stated in the manga and supplemental materials:

She was a court mage for a Tall-man kingdom at the southern part of the Northern Continent

Donato, a court historian, fell in love with her because she had lived through the history he was studying, and he courted her for 17 years (age 15 to 32) before getting married

She was a cheerful person who rarely showed extreme emotion and took things as they came

She always cooked a huge meal for Marcille on her birthdays

She remarried a gnome after Donato's death and a short distance away from Marcille's childhood home

Pipi, Marcille's pet bird, was actually older than Marcille and originally belonged to her mother (bird died at 62)

She was extremely heartbroken when Donato died and ultimately ended up instilling a deep fear of mortality in Marcille with her words

the only time she showed extreme emotion in front of her family was when Donato could no longer eat his favourite dish near the end of his life.

She scolded Marcille for being cruel to ants (implying she can have a stern side when needed)

Things that are explicitly shown but mostly through visual cues

She has a very distinctive style of dress always involving a ribbon choker (mirroring Marcille's habit of always wearing a matching choker with any of her outfits that don't cover her neck)

She was almost stereotypically good at housekeeping and traditionally "wifely" things (very frequently depicted wearing an apron or doing some domestic chore when not at work, seems to have been an avid cook).

She knits? (also, note the affectionate smile as she's looking at Donato and Marcille reading a book together in the full panel)

She was as excited for Marcille's milestones as Donato was.

She didn't tell Marcille much about elven food

(there are a couple things that this panel in particular implies:

She lived a good deal of her life (if not being born and raised) in a mainly elven country in the West, implied by her knowing enough of an elven region's cuisine to prefer Tall-man food over it

seems to have a pretty carefree and casual demeanour overall, if this is how she replied to Marcille asking her about it (sounds like she never gave her culinary preferences that much thought to begin with)

slightly related to number 2, it seems like she and Marcille had a fairly casual parent-child dynamic (especially in comparison to the Toudens' memory of their father)

(local elf tastes Italian food once and never goes back))

However, she seems a lot more... serious in most of the other times we see her? Almost like the very stereotypical archetype of a graceful elf.

Subsequent conclusions about her personality:

Usually pretty carefree and cheerful at home, has been a loving and attentive parent throughout Marcille's childhood (while not being so doting that she didn't discipline Marcille).

Slightly more conjectural theories on her personality:

Had a much more graceful and professional personality at work, which would explain the more serious portraits we see of her.

Given that both she and Donato had positions at the royal court, it seems a little odd that she'd go out of her way to do all the housework herself, so maybe she just enjoyed doing it?

Now taping all the evidence together and toeing the line between analysis and fanfiction:

It's clear that she loved Donato very much and was utterly devastated by losing him. But there's one thing that really stuck out to me in what little we see of her:

Doesn't she seem... angry? The way she's gritting her teeth, clutching the tablecloth, and how this is the first and only time we see her eyes opened that wide. In the following panel, you see her being quiet and dejected after her initial outburst. She's still crying very intensely, but her brows are furrowed, and she's not really responding to Donato's affection in her body language.

We're not told the details of how she felt about losing Donato other than that it upset her. But this, to me, implies that she was angry and resented that he was aging, that the end of his life was approaching. An "it's not fair" type of preemptive grief. And if this was the first and last time she cried like this in front of her family, she was either very good at coping in private... or very bad at letting herself feel unpleasant emotions until they become unavoidable and end up overwhelming her.

It's not too remarkable a detail on the surface. It's even reminiscent of what the audience has seen of Marcille. But... when it comes to the big picture, you'd think an elf who voluntarily chose to marry a tall-man and have a half-elf child would have been better prepared for this.

It kind of recontextualizes her cheerfulness to me.

"I'm sure everything's gonna be okay!" (or some variation thereof, depending on what translation you have).

And this is stated to contrast her extreme grief when finally confronting Donato's failing body and eventual death. But I'm wondering if... maybe this optimism was why she was so upset. What if she went into all of it thinking "everything's gonna be okay"? What if she was a little young by elven standards, and just followed her heart thinking that her own resilience would get her through anything?

Of course, only to get completely overwhelmed when she actually loses Donato. She turns into a completely different person. And that's heartbreaking on its own-- but what the audience sees is the effect it had on Marcille. Can you imagine being her, watching your invincible and upbeat mother suddenly lose all the light in her eyes in one go?

I've already made a huge post about how I think Marcille models her "work persona" off her mother, but another thing that stuck with me as I was looking for more details in the manga was this:

copy pasting from the other post i made about it lmao it's like... the second she resigns herself to lifelong pain and terror, there's another portrait of her mother facing her like this. with their heads bowed, in mirrored body language of resignation and despair and sorrow. Except it's posed like Marcille is still looking at her mother but her mother is looking away.

It took me a second to realize, but I think that it's a visual metaphor for the fact that Marcille's mother was the only long-lived role model she had-- and she failed to model healthy grief for her daughter. I don't say this as an accusation or to disparage her as a character, but just as a matter of fact. In her, Marcille was seeing herself older and losing a short-lived spouse or loved one of her own, and all she saw was hopelessness.

But her mother didn't mean to instill hopelessness and terror in her. She wasn't really thinking of how it would truly affect Marcille at all (at least, that's how I'm interpreting her looking down and away from Marcille in the metaphor), she was just sad. And she, in her own way, was trying to protect her daughter and help her prepare for future losses.

What she meant was "loss is inevitable, and you have to learn how to be in pain but live on anyway." What Marcille heard was "loss is inevitable, and you will be scared and hurt for the rest of your life."

Again. Marcille's mother doesn't feature explicitly in the story the way her father does -- but in so many ways, her shadow, her silhouette, her reflection is always hanging over Marcille.

All that to say... headcanon-wise (everything from here on is 100% without evidence lmao), I'd like to think that she matured and realized that she failed Marcille. I imagine her being regretful about it, wanting a chance to fix it but never finding a way to insert herself back into Marcille's life when Marcille is so so so busy becoming the most accomplished mage possible. I imagine her being herself again, now, so many years after her loss and after remarrying -- but with her cheerfulness tempered with a lot more wisdom and the pain of having gone through loss like that. I think the second Marcille actually tells her what happened in the dungeon, she'd want to go running to her daughter again -- if Marcille tells her the full truth instead of just being embarrassed she let things get that far. (oh, the tragedy of her wanting to be more like her mother and an accomplished adult who doesn't need to be babied... being embarrassed to actually tell her mother how much she fucked up...)

There's also the tension of her having remarried -- I know that there's at least a little bit of resentment that Marcille harbours about that, because she's childish like that at heart even if she makes an effort not to externalize it. I think that her mother would be aware of that, potentially adding to her sense of guilt and apprehension at trying to reappear/intrude on Marcille's life. I honestly don't think Marcille has met her stepfather -- or even considers him a stepfather rather than "mama's new husband" and kind of a total stranger. I think she and her mother actively don't talk about it in their correspondence, like an elephant in the room.

but, ultimately, I think her mother is on her side no matter what. Ancient magic? Dark necromancy? Sure, she'll feel guilty and like she was partially responsible for setting Marcille down such a painful path, but she wouldn't care. that's her daughter!! she would've moved back west and been petitioning for her at the court, buying a house right next to the Canaries barracks and visiting her every day that she wasn't on a mission. And if her husband had opinions on Marcille becoming a "dark arts user," he either gets over it or it's divorce with him. Yes, she might have had her optimism completely humbled by losing Donato like that -- but she's still headstrong and self-assured and she doesn't care what people think of her. It's her way or the highway and she's always going to be in Marcille's corner.

(She also needs a name lol. I went with Juno, just to be cute about "Marcille"s closest real life equivalent being Marcella, which is the female version of Marcellus, which in turn is a diminutive of Marcus, which was derived from Mars. Absolutely in love with Marcille potentially being named after Ares/Mars the fucking god of war btw)

[suffarustuffaru]

hi i made a tier list of how homophobic rezero characters are

hello in the spirit of valentine's day and the very welcoming community here on rezero tumblr i decided to make this with the help of my lovely mutuals.

[seventh-fantasy]

friendships as marital ties (and other notes on relational ties) in mlc

this is sort of a third installment in the series of meta on 'mlc as an exemplar of constructing queer narratives out of chinese ideological frameworks' (1. jianghu as queer space and 2. how it manifests in li xiangyi) - focusing on the nature of relationships in it. (which I've briefly mentioned in the first one and finally actually getting to it!!)

-

I would like to first call attention to chinese ideological frameworks as a premise of queer reading in mlc. the goal of chinese philosophy is to explore the becoming of human, taking two broad paths of the (mainstream) secular vs. escaping the secular. (these two paths are not a strict dichotomy, and rather, are ever in flux and in conversation with each other.) as said by @markiafc too, chineseness is so much about the rigidity of structures, and in equal part, a desire to break out of them. thus, chinese ideological frameworks can very much offer a rich reading of queerness - that mlc, a story very deliberately structured based on chinese ideologies (more accurately, with good reasons for me to believe that it is as such), has managed to materialise.

if the conceptualisation of queerness is premised on a defiance against mainstream norms, then a reliable way to read queerness in chinese ideological frameworks can be to deconstruct it by the mainstream confucian frameworks.

in mlc, this is implicitly set up with its stage of wulin/martial jianghu. then it is further broken down by asking, hey wulin jianghu is still closely related to the hegemonic values and the mainstream structure of authority (historically, 侠 xia being politically involved says a lot about this), so what is the true meaning of jianghu? what does it then really take for jianghu to be a queer space offering comfort and freedom to those who have escaped to it - to be the space that allow the transcendence of rigid roles and labels? mlc took a step further to resist the proxy to mainstream values that wulin jianghu has become.

this is why there can be a very strong buddhism reading of mlc (suggested here, expounded in the A+++ meta by @markiafc here and here, and also what I've seen discussed by cnet as well), given that buddhism is one of the 'extra-secular' ideologies, alongside (philosophical) taoism. I've also touched on a taoist angle in this meta. both schools are articulated in different sets of languages, but ultimately convey a same ideal of what it means to be human and how to live well - that is, to resist the roles and labels defined by the norms.

so, back to confucian frameworks.

a lot can be discussed about mlc with it. but in the context of this meta about relationships in mlc, it's specifically drawing on how confucianism conceptualises social relationships with familial ties as a cornerstone, and how these relational ties are inextricable from the conceptualisation of the 'self'.

as such, one of the things about mlc that has fascinated me is how deliberately it seems to ignore and reject the conventional familial ties (the kind by blood and marital ties). I've joked about how it is a miracle for me to love mlc as much as I do, as a prime dysfunctional family story enjoyer, despite none of its main characters struggling with any complicated feelings about their (biological) parents. but on closer examination, mlc is also making a comment on the model of familial-based relationships that dominates mainstream society - but through the absence of it.

with this, I want to talk about 1) how mlc rejects the conventional ties; and then 2) how it repurposes these ties in its own ways.

-

the five relational ties in confucianism:

father and son 父子有亲 - (natural) affection between father and son

ruler and subject 君臣有义 - righteous relationship between ruler and subject

older and younger brothers 兄弟 (长幼有序) - this is actually about seniority within the family; the order between older vs younger family members

husband and wife 夫妇有别 - differentiation between husband and wife (demarcated by the 内外 spectrum of gendered inner-external spheres)

friends 朋友有信 - trust between friends

logically inferred, all these ties are hierarchical and familial-based except for the last one: friends. ruler-subject is sort of an extension of the natural familial ties, while friendship is the inverse space of 1-4 (ie. you fall back on 5 to define a social relationship outside of the familial sphere that cannot be qualified as 1-4). while all are premised on mutuality, it is only no. 5 that is defined by a sense of choice and equality.

on the surface, 1-4 don't quite exist in mlc in particularly meaningful ways to the narrative or are even outright overlooked, and friendship is the relational tie most valued by mlc. we can tell it's true just by looking at the most meaningful relationships in mlc of difanghua. but at the same time, it is more nuanced. we can take a closer look at how the story plays around with most of the ties as part of a broader queer narrative.

-

1) how mlc rejects the conventional ties

mlc's rejection of mainstream relational ties can be best seen in fdb escaping from marriage. and it was not just any engagement with anybody but an engagement with the imperial family. he struggles with the prospect of being married to princess zhaoling, but generally, it's about the idea of complying to mainstream conventions and expectations that includes compulsory heterosexuality. all these point not only to a defiance against amatonormativity - the resistance of the traditional husband-wife tie, but also an irreverence for the ties of ruler-subject (the engagement being an imperial decree) and father-son (matters of marriage being sole decisions made by parents).

of course this is on top of how fdb's own biological father is a p-o-s, and the narrative gives fdb minimal struggles in this aspect, allowing him to sever this tie without looking back (I love it, yeap). along the same line is how lxy is an orphan, who came to gain important relationships that are built on natural compassion among people rather than innate, blood-based ties - even as llh. the sense of defiance from the narrative is especially stark to me considering that he could have a completely different familial-based life - as a son, brother, and ruler, if his biological family was still around. the narrative also deliberately treats his biological brother as a phantom, replaced with an older brother who he was bonded with neither by blood nor marital ties. on dfs's front, absolutely nothing is to be known about his biological family. his childhood history with the toxic patriarch of his life - who is not even his biological father - was afforded a clean break and closure.

we can keep going on, but that's pretty much the point.

ritualisation is one of the most important things of the confucianism school, especially to the honoring of these social relationships (and the officiating of social roles). the one ceremony/ritual we saw in mlc involving the main characters - or more accurately speaking, came closest to seeing - was the imminent wedding ceremony of dfs and jlq. even in that case, it was premised on non-mutuality with dfs being the unwilling, passive party. (fem-coded dfs? 25 marks.)

and that brings us to the next part.

-

2) how mlc repurposes these ties

that particular wedding ceremony gets hijacked by dfs and lxy/llh, and gets turned into an important milestone in their relationship. they consummate - what is on text - their friendship after a long time being more enemies and rivals than friends. it is a clear establishment of the trust they have for each other. and here it is where I circle back to the subject of this post: friendships as marital ties.

in this article, as a part of a feminist, egalitarian reframing of confucianism, there is a proposal for spousal relationships to be reframed as a friendship tie. (this aligns with the interrelatedness of the five ties eg. the ruler-subject mirrors father-son dynamic, with the confucian belief that rulers have an obligation to their subjects alike parents to their own children.) by doing so, it removes the functional, gendered differentiation assigned to marital ties, and shifts it to something equal, and independent of gender. you exalt the value of trust between spouses, instead of basing marital relationships on gendered roles. as such, spouses become more like friends, and conversely, friends can also become more like spouses. (romance not a prerequisite. it has never been about romance anyway.)

given that mlc has repeatedly applied marital motifs to llh and dfs's characters in their joint narratives, this opens up a reading friendships as a marital tie. seeing marriage as a bridge for strangers to become family, marriage in mlc becomes a metaphor for the chosen commitment and mutual trust put in by strangers/friends (non-familial ties) into the becoming of family. the blurring of lines between marital ties and friendship encourages a genuine space of queer experience that goes beyond any pressure for strict labels - of sexuality, and relationships as romantic, sexual, etc etc.

(note: despite the borrowing of a feminist concept, I strongly hesitate to call mlc a feminist story. it's a whole discussion - or debate - on its own. nevertheless, it is definitely a gender-conscious story that lays foundation for a strong queer and egalitarian reading.)

-

it is to be noted that it is intended - and also beneficial to take the confucian framework of relational ties beyond face value. the framework offers what it believed to be the most fundamental social relationship dynamics, and sees room for extension and matching to other kinds of relationships (all if not, most). a relationship such as teacher-student, which is outside of the five ties stated, can also mirror the affection of father-son ties, albeit not in a literal and identical way.

speaking of which. fdb and lxy/llh.

indeed they're known by others to be good friends. fdb thinks they're good friends too - insists on it, and puts his best efforts in keeping it that way. but does it really go both ways? if it does not, then can it really still be friendship? my humble take is that, ultimately - weighing in with llh's perspective - this is a relationship that is not so much based on trust, and rather, based on an innate affection that is only unique to family. (in this case, not blood/marital-based but one that was chosen and built aka lxy's relationship with sgd.) in other words, less of a friendship, more of a familial one.

it is a lot clearer considering their relationship from llh's point of view: some brat you never wanted in your life came barging in, and whether he was going to bring any positive effect to your life was secondary to the tranquility - which you have carved for yourself in the past decade - that is so integral to your personhood. no way. but the moment you hear that he's family? well, that changes the game completely. even before learning about fdb being sgd's son (then beginning to take initiative in showing greater acceptance), it is apparent in llh that there was an instinctive resonance with fdb as his shixiong's nephew. (eg. he remarked to his shifu's grave about how alike fdb is to himself.) this is unlike with dfs whom he had taken a much longer time to build trust with. you do not apply trust - aka the quality of friendships - to family. family is something deeper, more instinctive than that. if fdb was never family, I find it hard to imagine given llh's personality, that he would have let some brazen, bratty stranger intrude for that long. (boy invited himself to llh's home, sat himself down eating the owner's dinner and nosing in his cooking abilities!!! ily bb but that was uncalled for 😭)

of course there are many more layers in their relationship. there is a substantial degree of their history as (unwitting) teacher-disciple: fdb is still healthy and alive all thanks to the existence of lxy as a spiritual teacher role model in his life, regardless it being one-sided or not. there is also indeed some part of friendship in it, especially from fdb's point of view. he sees llh as a kindred spirit who he could enjoy a life of freedom with for life. but llh never reciprocates. he knew this was short-lived. and so ultimately, the hierarchical layer of their relationship overpowers the equal one, where llh's treatment of fdb as a nephew/小辈 younger family member and a disciple is the one that sealed the fate of their relationship.

if (blood-based) familial ties are irrelevant in jianghu, then the closest proxy to a father-son relationship in the martial world would be a teacher-disciple relationship. lxy and his shifu are a clear, indisputable example. for fdb and llh, their teacher-disciple tie is murkier and not consistently applied. they were also never ritualised as teacher-disciple, and thus are not teacher-disciple in any official capacity as far as confucian ideas are concerned. yet in crucial moments, it is invoked by llh as a card of authority over fdb to get out of sticky situations with fdb. and there was their final scene together: in a moment of sincerity, llh gives the approval to fdb as his disciple - then entrusting fdb with the secret manual of his techniques, up until his final letter in which fdb was recommended to dfs as a successor to his martial abilities.

in an imperial setting, this would have been the relationship of an emperor and his crown prince that straddles both ruler-subject and father-son ties aka a tag-team of disaster. the teacher has an obligation to nurture his disciple as a successor to himself, and love him like a son too. on the flipside, he holds the final power in their relationship - withholding knowledge and feelings from the younger one. they are only equals in a way a parent-child can be. they are only equals as much as the parent allows. and this is how fdb got left behind in the dust of llh's departure. he was the child treating his parent like a friend, supporting him emotionally and begging to be loved back the same way he loves his parent - but the parent had a lifetime way ahead of him and stayed out of his reach, physically and emotionally.

llh and fdb operate with the trapping of a friendship but have always been family in the core. llh had known that way before fdb did, just like everything else he had known and put out of fdb's reach. because. fdb did not have to know. fdb is different and will forge his own path. and that's a kind of love llh has for him that nobody understands (in fact not even fdb himself) - one that is on a different plane from friendships.

by repurposing the framework of relational ties, mlc showed that the essence of familial relationships aka its intimacy and closeness can be independent from biology and formalised rituals. and it is important to myself for stories to say that people can build close ties and deeply meaningful relationships even without being born or ritualised into any.

-

then back to how these relational ties are inextricable from the conceptualisation of the 'self' in confucian worldview: the roles you play in these relationships are intended to define you. there is no 'self' independent from it. while the concept of a social, relational self is fully rooted in reality, being locked into social roles can be a painful way to live - a way that llh has experienced as lxy the sigu sect leader. so, in order for lxy/llh to realise a sense of self that exists outside the norms, it inevitably points to another way that requires a cut from these relationships. that is then the buddhist (or taoist) answer of looking past attachments to the world such as the confucian idea of relationships defining your being. only with a dissolution of a sense of 'self', can there be true liberation.

[get-back-homeward]

Anyway, we got back to Liverpool, and all the groups there were doing the sort of Shadows type of stuff. And we came back, leather jackets, and jeans and funny hair, 'mach-ing schau,' which went down quite well. —George Harrison

From the Beatles interview in The Mersey Sound, filmed August 28, 1963 at BBC's Dickenson Road studio in Manchester

[phoenixcatch7]

Honestly can't get over the three springs quests, in that link and hylia held multiple, actual conversations, where hylia asked him to check on the mother statue, he explained the situation, and she thanked him and asked for a dragon piece again, that the offering might boost her power and she could send it through to the big statue. That, and the bargainer statue possessing her plateau statue, implies a really weird relationship between hylia and her idols.

Like anyone listening to link about it would be like,

Link: and then I found my first sages will! I had no idea what it was for at the time, hylia had mentioned it but she never explained -

Person: hold up hold up hold up. Lady hylia? The mother goddess?? Protector of hyrule???

Link, who's only ever been able to remember getting instant responses and knows zelda not hearing anything was a big deal the whole kingdom knew about:...... Yeah?

Person: lady hylia?

Link: *mildly discomfited* yes?? I mean she's busy but I keep her updated, you know? I trade the sages wills with her to enhance the vows, but like I said, I didn't know that at the time, and I'm finding these things just in chests, I'm really not sure they're corporeal enough for -

Person: can we rewind hylia talks to you??

Link, cottoning on a bit: is that not... Normal?

Person, shrieking: NO THE HYLIA STATUE COMING TO LIFE AND TALKING TO YOU ISN'T NORMAL NO ONE DOES THAT????

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Hi!! Same anon from the comfort question! That's so sweet and cute thank for that!! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

now Im imagining Eddie "the southern gentleman" Dear having a mini telenovela moment while the horrors happened, he's all like "oh, I am too late, I slept too long; he is with another and have too let him go" even sad music in the background

Meanwhile Frank is cuddling Wally AND Eddie after beating the shit out o f the horror, the man need a break and also be like "this is the 3 one this week I miss my garden"

I holding onto 'frank would hold on to you like a barnacle' to Eddie after so long talking to a fake one

that is pretty much Exactly how it goes in my head lmfao - and like, the thing is that Frank & Eddie weren't really together when Shit Went Down? they were in that "we're mutually courting & neither of us has said anything outright yet but we both Know and are waiting for the right moment" stage yk yk?

so when he wakes up Frank isn't immediately all over him, cause he's kinda like "oh shit where do we stand? im not used to this, i haven't talked to Eddie in so so long! how do relationships work?!" so that + his easy & affectionate behavior with Wally creates a Perceived Emotional Distance & Romantic Disinterest from Eddie's pov. like no, hon, Frank's just rusty <3 and also unsure if he Should pursue their relationship because he's slowly fucking dying & does he want to hurt Eddie like that???

[cultivating-saplings]

begging people to understand that you are living in a world that has millennia of antisemitism woven into the most fundamental fabric of its culture, and it has left its mark on how you think about jews, even if you dont think it has.

you are not immune to the effects of conspiracy theories because you've read some posts debunking them, you are not incapable of perpetuating antisemitism just because you say you want to punch nazis

when you talk about how we all need to examine how internalized prejudices change our view of the world, don't act like jews are the exception. think about why your first thought when you see something less than glowingly positive about palestine is that it must be the result of israeli state controlled propaganda. really fucking think about it. because sure, it might be, that's always a possibility, but why is that the first place your mind goes?

i hate that i have to say this because yeah, israel and its leadership as they currently exist are deeply fucked and their actions in gaza right now are despicable, fucking obviously, and when you need to be reminded about these incredibly basic concepts like the existence systemic oppression all that does is detract from what would otherwise be extremely necessary criticism

[rorah]

Yallo!

A bit random, but do you ever think about how potentially tragic of a character Byleth is, and how it's all dependent on if they get to forge bonds and a new path in life as a professor as we can see from both games?

They get to stray away from the mercenary lifestyle, albeit it was forced at first, and the label that was forcibly placed on them(Ashen Demon) that caused them to be negatively perceived for most of their life. Nobody besides Jeralt, their father, bothered to understand them, because their lack of emoting well would just scare people and make them think they're some emotionless husk. No friends, no support system, just the sword and Jeralt.

Like it's really telling how their first dialogue option in 3Houses is "I'm a demon" factored in with Byleth being surprised in Hopes that people weren't treating them as less when recruited.

Honestly I'd argue Byleth is rather complex in a behavioral sense.

Ah, sorry for the little ramble. As you can see, I am obsessed with this autist.

OOh hello! Not random at all. And if it's random you're coming to the right place because I love randomness 🙌 Thinking about Byleth makes me SOOOOOOOFFFFFTTTTTTT 😭 ngl, they have become one of my favorite characters in the process of trying to figure out their character throughout the several gameplays. And Hopes made it a punch in the guts 💔 but also give us voiced Byleth YAY. Yes, I think about the potential tragic of their character, their past and specially in Hopes that wrecks my heart and makes me cry like a baby in some random dark corner of my room. That notion of their first dialogue with Shez when recruited about everyone in the camp being nice breaks my heart a bit because it implies that even when working for the opposite faction you choose, they didn't get to interact any of the other characters we know. Not Jeralth fault by actively isolating them since he tells them to "try to fit in" when finally joining our ranks and yet, if they're with the "enemy", their mercenary group is still isolated from the main army and don't get to interact much. And if they do, is just the random average soldier who gets freaked out by their unnerving-ness as it's been implied. Byleth haven't grown and developed like they did in houses, so they still struggle.

You're so right about their complexity of their behavior. In my way to discover the Byleth, I found myself relating to them A LOT. But also had to be careful to not "project" too much into them. I like to look at the game's options and considering part of something Byleth would say either way (because there's really not many options to pick, most of them go around the same), character reactions to them, hopes, and also heroes' dialogues. I think Byleth is a beautiful character that deserve more credit and more focus It'd be great for the Autism representation and bring hope to the autists out here lol