#i don't write...anything

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

[maeamian]

If you saw me agreeing with being annoyed about wasted helium in a fictional context and were like "I bet she has some more helium based anger in her life" good news LAPD fucked up a raid on a medical facility they thought was a pot farm and flat out ruined thousands of gallons of the stuff.

[sceletaflores]

slippin' and slidin' all over you!

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!

logan forgot to fix the ac...

It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.

One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.

"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"

"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.

You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"

Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."

Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"

You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck. 

Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room. 

All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.

Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin. 

You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.

It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.

Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.

Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.

A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.

You fail.

“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”

You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in. 

The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.

"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."

“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.

Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.

“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”

“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.

The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.

"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.

You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you. 

"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”

Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.

"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.

The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.

"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."

With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.

You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.

Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat. 

But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh. 

You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him. 

You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”

Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”

“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”

“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”

“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.

You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.

Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.

You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”

Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before. 

You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."

Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.

He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.

"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."

You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.

His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.

"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."

You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.

Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.

Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.

Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.

“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”

Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands. 

The last threads of his restraint snapping.

 He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.

“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.

Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.

“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.

Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.

You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.

It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer. 

The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.

“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”

“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.

He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”

Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.

The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”

You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response. 

“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”

Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”

You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.

Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.

You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.

You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.

Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning. 

“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”

Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.

“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”

He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.

The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.

The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come. 

“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.

Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.

"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."

A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."

Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.

"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."

A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.

His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.

“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.

Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."

The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.

The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.

Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.

"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.

The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.

Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.

You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.

"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"

Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.

“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.

"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."

It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.

Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.

When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.

His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.

Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth. 

Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.

"Swallow," he commands, unwavering. 

You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.

Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.

As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.

“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”

You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.

“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[egophiliac]

I loved your drawing(and I love your style in general) with Leia in your recent post! If/when you have time can we see more of her in your style? I get so happy whenever I actually see people mention/talk about her and she’s not just forgotten because we didn’t get to see much of her. 😭

thank you! 💙💙💙 Leia/Leah/Lea/whatever is fascinating to me. she is the ultimate unknown. what was she like? how involved (or even aware of any details of the invasion) was she? Silver's basically a physical carbon copy of his biodad, so what did he get from her? like, I understand why the two of them kind of have to stay as these super vague and mysterious figures -- the whole point of them is that their story ended 400+ years ago and they're not really relevant anymore (and. well. the more that gets explained about them, the less that can just kinda be handwaved as "oh the politics were Very Messy") (we can sit here and theorize all day but let us acknowledge that, ultimately, canon gave us almost nothing about them post-Meleanor and we'd just be making things up). I do still wonder about her though! RIP Lea, we never knew you and we probably never will.

actually you know what, as long as we're here, I think I WILL go ahead and just make some stuff up about what Silver might've inherited from her instead.

[asavt]

[ Your Truth. Your Lie ] (Comic Version.)

Hello hello! I come here to leave the little humble offering of the result of around three days of work (a little more if you take in count the fic version but aahhh....)

This has become an AU btw, not sure if I'll do the other parts since I still got to take care of my thesis and what not. But the other written parts are... in progress.

Anyways, here's the fic version too!

[inkyrainstorms]

you guys know those AUs where Stanley opens the portal after thirty years but for Ford only a few second/minutes/days have passed in the portal.

What if, in another world - by the infinite nature of multiverse - the portal was functional enough for another run right there in the portal room, that blistery cold 1982 winter day. What if, when Stanley threw enough things around and pressed enough buttons and the portal opened again (in the same spot in the Nightmare Realm it had before) (not calibrated to Ford like had been in canon) the Ford had stepped out was the one from his final confrontation with Bill. What if Ford stepped out thirty years older and wiser and angrier

What if he saw Stanley crying, relieved, and then terrified and confused and devastated. What if he, at sixty years old, saw Stanley and saw only a scared child, half his age. His brother.

What if Ford had thought his brother had left and grown up for those long thirty years, but he came back and it was his brother that saved him that very night? His brother, by sheer dumb luck? His brother, who couldn't have accounted for time dilation if he tried (not like the old Stanley did) but still tried

[no-passaran]

Spain lied about not selling weapons to Israel.

Even after October 7th, Spain has sold more than 1 million € of weapons to Israel. Norway and Finland make it possible.

In January, Spain made headlines word-wide when the government's Minister of Exteriors, José Manuel Albares (PSOE), claimed in Congress and later again in a radio interview that Spain had stopped selling weapons to Israel ever since October 7th. Israel's intensification of violence in Gaza following October 7th meant that, on top of decades of apartheid and ethnic cleansing, between October 7th and January 23rd Israel had already killed 28,000 people and forced 2 million out of their home. In this context, many people were demanding their governments stop arming and funding the genocide of the Palestinian people, and here on Tumblr and other social media sites like Twitter I think we all saw the many posts praising the Spanish government for this.

Well, it turns out it was a lie.

According to Albares, "Since October 7th there are no more weapons exportations [from Spain] to Israel". But in November alone, Spain exported weapons to Israel for 987,000€, as was published on the Spanish Government's official website dedicated to exterior commerce (Comex). A researcher from Centre Delàs (an independent centre for peace studies) found it and published it, and it has also been verified by newspapers such as elDiario.es.

This 987,000€ worth of weapons in November was not the only ammunition that Spain has sent to Israel in 2023. In 2023, Spain exported a total of 1.48 million € in war material to Israel.

All of the weapons sent in November come from the factory of Nammo Palencia (Castilla y León), a corporation that is 50% property of the Government of Norway and 50% owned by a public Finnish business. However, even if the owners are foreigners, the ammunition was sent from Spain and thus it had to be authorized by the an organism of the Spanish Government named Junta Interministerial de Defensa y Doble Uso, whose deliberations on whether a weapons exportation is accepted or denied are kept secret. The only cases where they have denied exporting weapons to Israel have been when they thought that Israel would re-sell these weapons to the Philippines.

Spain has had a close relation with Israel for years. As published by the Spanish Government, Spain has sold 20 million € of weapons to Israel between 2012 and 2022. Spain also buys weapons and military software from Israel (for example, the Spanish Intelligence Service has been using the Israeli software Pegasus to illegally spy on Catalan activists, journalists, politicians and civil society members and their relatives to attack the Catalan independence movement), and Spain has continued buying from Israel and allocating defense contracts to Israel even after the October 7th attacks. It is very difficult to track the concessions of public contracts such as buying weapons, but some contracts have been known. For example, on November 24th 2023, Spain bought 287.5 million € of missiles from Israel. This is not unusual: between 2011 and 2021, it is publicly known that Spain bought war material from Israel for at least 268 million €, but experts say that the real number could be two or three times as much.

Spain has also continued allocating concessions to Israel. For example, on December 15th 2023 Spain allocated a contract worth over 576 million € to Israel for a rocket launcher programme. On November 22nd, Spain allocated another another Israeli company to provide missiles for 237 million € at the same time as the Spanish army bought Israeli inhibitors for 1.4 million €. The very next day, November 23rd, Spain signed another military allocation to Israel for 82,600€. The following week, Spain signed yet another allocation with a different Israeli military corporation for 3.7 million €.

Spain also allows Israeli weapon manufacturing companies to produce weapons through their branches located in Spain. This way, Israeli weapons make their way to markets with which Israel doesn't have diplomatic ties but Spain does, like Saudi Arabia. And since Spain is a member of NATO, Israeli weapons produced in Spain are approved according to NATO standards and access it easily. In the same way, these Israeli weapons manufacturers also access European Union defense funds through their branches in Spain. (source).

As I said, I saw a lot of positive posts around when Albares said Spain was going to embargo, but I haven't seen any post about how they didn't do it. I also (personally) haven't seen anything on international media, and barely anything on Spanish media, which is already busy with the PSOE covid material corruption scandal. So I share this in the hope of helping put pressure on Spain to cut all ties with Israel immediately.

SHAME ON EVERYONE WHO GIVES ISRAEL THE MATERIAL AND MONEY THAT WILL BE USED TO MASSACRE THE PALESTINIAN PEOPLE. SHAME ON SPAIN, NORWAY, AND FINLAND.

[sillylittlecharacters]

thinking about Odile and Isabeau's friendship again...

I think why I find them so compelling is because there's so much room for tension in their dynamic, and yet there's so much affection and care too... Man who doesn't like being treated like an idiot but dumbing himself down is the only way he knows how to earn affection vs Woman who treats everyone like their stupid on principle... Woman struggling with cultural alienation and disconnection with a country that should've been hers vs the Vauguardian posterchild for Change and everything said country stands for... Loverboy vs Hatergirl...

So many reasons why they shouldn't be able to stand each other, or hell, why they shouldn't have met in the first place, but who cares! They certainly don't. Why worry about all that when they're getting drinks later?

[oshkakoshka]

Just a couple of Merlins for the soul

[sceletaflores]

𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐊𝐧𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐎𝐧 𝐌𝐲 𝐓𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡…

￫ PAIR: Remmick x fem!reader

￫ WC: 1.5k

￫ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, religious (sacrilegious) themes and imagery, nat taking some liberties with the established vampire lore, semi-light gore (in a flashback), murder (also in a flashback), vampirism, vampire/human, monsterfucking, established relationship...kind of, biting, blood play, spit kink, pain kink, period sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), blood drinking, a very obsessive/possessive relationship, corruption, biting is just another form of sexual penetration guys, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

￫ MINI NAT'S NOTE: i've contemplated posting this for literally so long and i've ranted about my woke/horny inner turmoil already...but i just can't stop thinking about the sexy vampire man and i just love some southern gothic themes DOWN so i had to. remmick as a character is so complex and interesting to me that i knew it would be an experience to write him, and i was right like this google doc really kicked my ass for a bit. let's hope it's not dog water! also this is totes inspired by @spikedfearn! i absolutely loved and died for under the blood moon and i've been clawing for an excuse to write some depraved period sex of my own so now's the perfect time. hope you love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune!

a monster dressed in the skin of a man lurks outside your window...

There's a man outside your window.

You know he’s there even as you face away from the panes. The moonlight casts his shadow along the wall of your bedroom, broad shouldered and still as a tombstone. You don’t move, continuing to lay on your side as you trace the shape of him with your eyes. Cicadas and crickets sing in time with one another, a sweet song that sours at the edges as he stands among them.

The longer you lie still, the heavier the room becomes. The air thickens like soup on the stove, slow to bubble. The shadow raises its arm, all you can do is listen as the sound of nails scratching gently along glass fills the four walls. 

He’s waiting.

He always waits.

You don’t need to invite him in, you haven’t since the first night.

He likes you to.

“Come in.”

When the pane creaks open behind you, slow and careful, you don’t flinch.

You breathe through your nose. The scent that rolls in with him isn’t human—copper and mineral, sweet like decay under sunbaked wood. It smells like the road, like blood, like the belly of something unholy. It smells like him.

“Remmick…”

Even now, as his boots touch your floorboards like thunder soaked in molasses, you don’t turn to face him. You’ve long since learned that looking at him too early gives him the satisfaction of watching your pupils dilate, your breath catch, your pulse flutter like a moth trapped in a mason jar. 

His voice is a rasp, smoke behind your ear. “You been waitin’ on me, honey?”

Remmick steps into the shine of the moon, eyes glinting dark and red-rimmed in the light.

He’s sin stitched in skin. Wears the allure of his very being like a preacher coming to warn you off temptation, but you know better. You’ve tasted temptation, bathed in it body and soul. Let it crawl between your legs and drip from your lips. 

You barely have time to breathe before he’s on you. Calloused hands, cold lips, teeth that drag across your neck but never pierce. There’s blood on his mouth already, you can feel the slickness of it as it stains your skin—it’s not yours, yet.

You watched him once. Stood by as he fed, watched impassively as the man beneath him writhed and choked on the blood flooding his torn throat, arms and legs scrambling in the dirt until the last traces of life finally faded from his eyes. He was left nothing but an empty husk, the color from his skin drained as the last few moments of horror were preserved on his face.

Remmick turned to look at you when it was done, blood drenched and nowhere near satiated. He fucked you for hours that night, right there on the dry dirt. Your face pressed into the earth as he took you from behind over and over again, cunt aching and abused around the ungodly stretch of his cock.

Your fingers shake as you curl them in the sheets, your body already aware of what’s coming. You’ve been craving it. Begging for it in the silence of empty, rotting pews.

Even as your mouth tried in vain to pray the memories away, your hips have been rolling against the mattress all night, slick with more than sweat, damp with more than fear. There’s a scent to it—ripe and hot, threaded through with iron. You’re bleeding. And he knows.

“I can smell you, baby.” You shudder as his lips brush your neck with every word, goosebumps pebbling over your skin as your cunt throbs shamefully between your thighs. Drool drips from the corner of his mouth, thick and hued in a dusty pink as blood melts into it.

Your body screams at you to reach out, to drag your tongue along the filthy mess and make it your own. Your lips part in a soft breath as Remmick smiles down at you wolfishly, sharp fangs catching the moonlight dangerously as it gleams through the open window.

“Sweet little wound. Givin’ it up for me already, angel?”

A broken sound blooms in your chest, caught in the lust and horror forming a knot in your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, soft breasts heaving with every shallow breath as big, frigid hands skate down the offered expanse of your body.

“Christ.”

A dark chuckle rings out over your head. “Trust me, he ain’t here, just me.”

Warmth burns at your cheeks, but the embarrassment has long been worked out of you after all this time.

Remmick likes it best like this. When you’re raw. Unclean. When there’s blood in your panties and God in your mouth.

He slides his hand beneath the thin cotton of your nightgown, and chuckles when he feels it—your cunt already bare, adorned with blood and slick, thick and messy, coating his fingers like oil paint. He brings it to his mouth and sucks them clean, the sound obscene, reverent. 

And the way he moans at the taste—full-throated, low in his chest, hungry and pleased and damn near feral—makes your spine arch. You swear you can feel your blood rush towards his voice like it’s called.

Remmick glides down your body like a serpent curling around the branches of a tree, urging you to bite from the forbidden fruit just as he will.

He never asks permission. Just parts your thighs with the heel of his palms and settles his weight between them like he belongs there—like he was carved from your ribcage in a past life to fuck the God out of you.

You feel it when his hand grazes the inside of your thigh, hot and slick. The mess between your legs has him inhaling hard through his nose, a deep growl tearing its way from his chest. His tongue comes out to wet the dry skin of his lips. Your heart stutters as his breath fans cool over your sweltering heat.

The first lick is obscene. A broad drag of tongue from hole to clit that has Remmick groaning like he’s starving. You think, a bit hysterically, that he is. He always is.

Although, you don’t know what he’s hungrier for—your cunt, or the blood slicking it.

He fucks you open with his mouth like he’ll be judged for it. Hands branding bruises into the soft skin of your hips. Forked tongue licking you until your thighs quake on either side of his head, until your breath hiccups into desperate moans that sound more like confession.

Your shaking hands fist in his hair, back arching off the bed and into his mouth. “God–”

Sharp pinpricks of pain bloom white hot between your legs. Your eyes dart down just quick enough to watch the way his nails pierce your flesh. Tiny trails of blood running in weak streams in time with the helpless pulse of your cunt. Fresh against the drying evidence of his red stained hands stamping their prints over your skin.

Remmick pulls back, mouth soaked. Your blood streaks his chin, his cheeks, his nose. It stains his teeth and tongue. He grins, and it’s terrible. “What’d I tell you, girl? God ain’t coming.”

He spits on your cunt. Thick. Filthy. Blood and saliva and slick mixing on your skin like a sacrament.

Then his mouth is back on your clit, rough and clever. He kisses the sensitive bundle of nerves once before dipping his head, thick fingers spread your lips apart, wide enough to watch your hole convulse and shake for him. A deep, evil sound fills the room as his lips descend onto you once more.

You can feel the blood trickle out as he sucks, feel his tongue move in tandem with the sharp press of his fangs. He doesn’t bite yet. He’s teasing. 

Tempting. 

Worshipping. 

You whimper. He groans. “Keep makin’ that sound,” he pants, voice hoarse. “That pretty little hurtin’ sound. Devil’s listenin’, baby."

You can't help but obey him, a symphony of pathetically sinful noises pouring from between your parted lips like hail mary’s. You writhe on the mattress, twisting the soft curls fisted in your hands tightly as your body trembles. Your rosary swings haplessly from the bedpost, deep red beads gleaming like an omen you’re blind to. 

Remmick pulls back once again, panting as he rests his soiled face against your thigh to peer up at you like a lonewolf stalks a lamb grazing far too close to its den. “Say you missed me, darlin’.”

You did. You hate it. You do.

“Say it,” he snarls, dragging his teeth along the vulnerable skin, breaking it so shallowly it stings.

“I missed you.”

He bites.

You scream.

You come on his mouth with your thighs trembling and your eyes rolled back far enough to strain.

Remmick won't stop. Not until he's drunk his fill, until your thighs are sticky and raw and he can kiss you with your own blood on his lips.

Outside, the cicadas resume their song.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: extra special shoutout to my husband @ebodebo for advocating for the posting of this fic with a near violent enthusiasm, she's to blame for this. thank you so much for reading!

[whenthelightisrunninglow]

how's the other guy holding up

[burningcheese-merchant]

ANSWER THIS AND YOU GET A FUNNY BURNING CHEESE COMIC

Hear me out

The ancients giving themselves up to the beasts as sacrifices if they agreed to leave earthbread alone and never wreck terror or show their faces again

I'd say everyone besides Flour would go:

Say less Babygirl*hops into a pumpkin carriage and rides off into the sunset*

Maybe Salt would need a lot of convincing because... Holy shit it could be this easy, Milk you seeing this, quick Spice snap a photo this is a moment in history

Flour is just in massive denial but would find a way to agree to mke it seem like it isn't about love or anything

Unknown3doors, don't tempt me like that 👀 don't tempt me like that, unknown3doors 👀 you're playing with fire, unknown3doors 👀🔥

Pure Vanilla surrendering to Shadow Milk would be the happiest day of Shadow's life. He makes Vanilla repeat himself multiple times, makes him announce it through a megaphone, they do a radio broadcast, Shadow makes a TV special out of it, Shadow writes poems and essays gloating and taunting... And then he eventually agrees to Vanilla's terms (although, he DOES try to haggle for permission to continue annoying people). Pure Vanilla is HIS!!! HE'S FINALLY HIS!!! FOREVER AND EVER!!!!!!! (And the Soul Jam, technically. But WHATEVER!!! HIS SILLY VANILLY!!!). Now Vanilla must endure having to spend EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of his life within 10 feet of Shadow AT ALL TIMES, or else the deal is off and Shadow will commit genocide in retaliation. Why the long face, though? You agreed to this! You knew this would happen! Maybe if Vanilla behaves well enough, like a good little doll, Shadow will allow himself to be HIS doll for a time. Tit for tat. It's only fair. They can be each other's playmate for eternity now...

Eternal Sugar would be 100% awake for the first time in forever if Hollyberry offered herself to her - in exchange for anything at all, it never had to have been for keeping innocents safe. Typical of Holly, in her estimate; she's not necessarily surprised by this. Maybe she'll feign a bit of surprise just because, maybe she'll tease Holly about it... But all in all, she's quite pleased. Now she can keep those pesky subjects of Holly's away from her much easier (as well as her friends... Including that ridiculous dragon...). Holly will learn to see things her way eventually. Appreciate the little things. Like a nice, long nap in a warm bed, in the arms of a loved one... Pleasant, sugary sweet dreams that are too comforting to wake up from... No one ever bothering them about anything ever again. Free from their responsibilities, free from the burden of the shield and the crown. Just the two of them in their own little world, pursuing their own happiness. Won't that be nice?

Mystic Flour would struggle to even entertain Dark Cacao's presence, never mind his... proposal (oh gods, not that word). She would refuse, and refuse, and refuse again. But Cacao does not give up, stubborn fool that he is. Curse his Light of Resolution... Eventually, in lieu of plainly refusing, she tries to appeal to reason. What about his kingdom? His people? What would they say, think, do? Will he leave them behind just to keep her pacified? What about his friends? His son? Who will rule in his absence? Unfortunately, Cacao has an answer for every single one of her questions... and, with an even greater undertone of misfortune... she likes them. That part of her that likes HIM also likes this. That he always has an answer for everything she says. That he won't bend the knee to her, no matter what. His self-sacrificing nature, bordering on martyrdom... just like hers once was. In truth, every word out of her mouth is only serving to delay her inevitable acceptance of his offer. A feeble attempt at shooing him away, one final shot at denying her feelings towards him, for having him around her constantly would be too much to bear, and she might... She... She'll break. She knows she will. And she can't have it. She won't stand for it.

... Dark Cacao, stubborn, handsome, selfless fool that he is. He has undone everything she ever worked for. Her apathy meant nothing the moment they locked eyes. It means nothing now, as they go back and forth about this foolish deal of his. And it won't mean anything when she eventually says yes.

(But she'll try to pretend otherwise, for as long as she can. Neither of them could handle the truth...)

Golden Cheese: Burning Spice, if you leave everyone else alone, I'll give myself to-

Burning Spice: DEAL!!!!!!!!! *pounces on her before she can actually finish or explain herself any further... What he does next, I'll let you imagine/decide 😉*

Silent Salt... wouldn't even believe it at first. He'd be astounded. Dumbfounded, really, that White Lily would say such a thing... Is this really her? Is someone forcing her to do this? What is the catch? Enough reassurance from her would convince him that she's being real and sincere and every other word that can be used to describe her deal, and... he accepts it. No other ifs, ands or buts. His White Lily... now, she really IS his White Lily. Forever and ever... He doesn't mind having to keep away from society; that's hardly a punishment. It costs him nothing. And if his White Lily is there with him, he won't even notice the difference...

[gothamite-rambler]

Damian: Here you go grandfather. Happy birthday.

Damian handed Ra's Al Ghul a snow globe that had a small forest design in it with glitter that sunk and floated when shaken. Ra's looked at the snow globe with no reaction at first then turned to his grandson.

Damian smiled sweetly.

Damian: It's a goofy gift, but sometimes simple gifts are nice to have. I... Hope you're not going to be mad or yell at me. If you hate it, that's fine, but I have a headache already.

Ra's (deadpan at first then a kind tone): This... This is the dumbest, cheapest looking, chachki crap I've seen sold in gift shops. And I love it! I'm not the easiest man to give gifts too, but you actually accomplished this... Thank you, grandson. I will cherish this dearly.

Ra's patted his grandson on the head then walked off to put the snow globe in his office.

Bruce: Did that... Did he actually like the snow globe?!

Dick: Did he say he'll cherish it dearly?!

Damian: I... Made grandfather happy? Father, my wish has been granted! Drake, give me my fifty dollars.

Tim (groaning): Dang it, Ra's had to be a decent person with a snowglobe gift?

[starcurtain]

Some Notes on Mydei's Characterization (Part 2)

<- Part 1 is back this way.

I hit the tumblr image limit way before I ran out of things to say about Mydei, so here is the second half of the notes I've been collecting on his characterization. As always, interpretations are my own.

6. Mydei Both Embodies and Challenges Nikador's Virtues

We know that Mydei is regarded, by characters in the game at least, as the perfect avatar for Strife. Repeatedly, the game parallels Mydei and Nikador, and throughout our journey in 3.0 with Gnaeus, we're supposed to see the similarities between his aloof but noble behavior and Mydei's belief that violence without honor is nothing but meaningless slaughter. Obviously the undying king with powers literally based on the spilled blood of legions would be a good match for the warrior god whose conquest plucked the sun out of the sky... (Although I do like the recent discussions I've seen of there being mismatches between the Chrysos Heirs and the titans, hmm.)

But though Mydei reveres Nikador as his people's god, at the same time, he actually reviles what Nikador has come to represent, quintessentially rejecting the the central tenants of his own people's faith. Even as he recognizes the inevitability of the prophecy, Mydei is unwilling to accept the coreflame because he sees his own identity as diametrically opposed to Kremnos's conception of Strife. Mydei doesn't want to become what Strife means for his people; he does not feel fit to be Strife's demigod because he understands that doing so will mean losing himself, a person who is fundamentally different from the Nikador of Amphoreus's current timeline.

So the game is simultaneously telling us that Mydei is a great parallel to Nikador and a terrible parallel to Nikador, and it achieves this interesting contradiction by deliberately examining Nikador's five core traits in comparison to Mydei, who both exemplifies those traits and defies them.

According to the Kremnoans, the five virtues of Nikador are:

Unfearing of blade at the throat, manifesting the visage of courage

Unyielding to conniving treachery, protecting the crown of honor

Unblinking of eyes burning bright, upholding the cornerstone of reason

Unbending from wounds to flesh, forging characters of tenacity

Undaunted of risking life to protect, embodying corpus of sacrifice

Taking only the key concepts--courage, honor, reason, tenacity, and sacrifice--it should be abundantly clear how closely Mydei hews to these virtues and how they've informed his character arc so far, but I think it's particularly interesting: Mydei's story also intentionally refutes the traditional Kremnoan interpretations of those virtues.

I'll talk more about sacrifice later, but the other virtues are very apparent:

"Unfearing of the Blade at the Throat"

I barely have to say anything, do I? I doubt there's anyone who would question Mydei's courage given what we see in from 3.0 to 3.1. Without flinching, Mydei was willing to plunge into single combat against Nikador, despite knowing that he would almost certainly die a countless number of times while trying to hold the god off. Even knowing that Phainon was literally losing his mind in Nikador's coreflame trial, Mydei was willing to jump into the trial himself to save Phainon, again without a single ounce of hesitation. Mydei has lived a life where he has constantly faced death head on, where he has needed to stand up against impossible odds over and over again.

Clearly, he fully embodies the classic Kremnoan notion of charging into battle without wavering, of never backing down from the challenge, and of never shying away, even when loss is imminent. On the surface, we can easily say that Mydei parallels Nikador in this manner, and that Mydei gracefully fulfills his people's expectations for a leader to be absolutely undaunted in combat.

But then the game takes another track and tells us that Mydei is not only what he seems on the surface. With direct confirmation, the game tells us that Mydei is not fearless.

In fact, he's flat out terrified--not of combat, but of history. He is frightened of his own authority, of the responsibility he bears toward others, of choice that has been left in his hands. He is afraid of making the wrong choice, and for both 3.0 and 3.1, we see him do the exact thing a Kremnoan king--an embodiment of Strife--should never do: he wavers. Multiple characters criticize him for this hesitance, even Phainon, who jokingly scoffs at the idea of Mydei breaking his people's traditions, only to backpedal when he realizes Mydei is serious.

The conclusion of Mydei's arc in 3.1 is not the trial with Nikador. It's not Mydei's becoming a demigod. It's not Mydei's battle with Flame Reaver. It's Mydei finally making up his mind and committing both himself and the Kremnoan people to the dead opposite path expected of a blood-stained conquering nation. Mydei's definition of courage directly opposes the traditional Kremnoan definition, and therefore also opposes their interpretation of Nikador's "unfearing" virtue.

Rather than charging into battle without flinching--Mydei's courage demands the Kremnoans surrender the fight instead. Instead of dying, now they have to live. This is what makes it so fascinating that Krateros actually reacts to Mydei's brand of courage with terror:

Kremnoans know how to throw their lives away without hesitation. But asking them to embrace peace? Change? To survive? They are unprepared and entirely out of their realm of experience.

Mydei's courage parallels Nikador's--but also utterly inverts it.

"Unbending from Wounds of Flesh"

Tenacity, too, should be very obvious. Of course Mydei fits the traditional Kremnoan interpretation to a T--he takes every hit and stands right back up again. Very little needs to be said about Mydei's willingness to keep going even if it kills him, then to come back swinging even after dying. In the eyes of the traditional Kremnoan people, who could possibly be a better example of tenacity than someone whose body can't even be stopped by death itself?

The implication of the original Kremnoan virtue, linking tenacity to being "unbending from wounds," is that physicality is what matters. Before all else, to be able to battle without ceasing is the aspiration, while other aspects of the soul, other elements necessary for meaningful lives, are left under-developed or entirely eschewed. You keep going into battle or you might as well not keep going at all.

But Mydei once again challenges this notion, as his character revolves around a central conflict whose answer is "peace"--he doesn't want the Kremnoans to have to show the type of tenacity they most ferociously believe in. Like Mydei's courageous decision to lead his people away from their own faith, Mydei's actual tenacity appears most clearly in his ability to face Amphoreus's cruel world with empathy.

Given everything he has experienced in his life, Mydei is the character in Amphoreus who has the most right to be jaded, to believe that people are inherently cruel, that nothing in their dying world can be improved, and that there's no meaning to life other than to suffer. He was murdered by his father who also murdered the mother who loved him. He suffered ten thousand deaths drifting miserably in the abyss of the Sea of Souls, entirely alone--yet he clung tenaciously to that life that promised nothing but more suffering, dragged himself free of that hell and kept going. He embraced friendship and found himself a family, only to lose every tiny shred of joy he had cobbled together for himself as they died in front of him in horrific ways, one after another. He became the crown prince of a fallen kingdom, leading refugees into a city that hated and mistreated them for years while he served as fodder for battle, all while knowing that his own ultimate fate would be to surrender his remaining humanity to become an avatar for calamity, ensuring his own future would nothing but endless pain and loneliness.

The man had absolutely nothing to live for (except for the fact he can't die, I guess), but instead of surrendering to despair, he's the one joining in on the Flame-Chase Journey, telling Aglaea that he admires her most because she managed to light the flame of hope in people--even in him.

Knowing that only more suffering lies ahead of him, Mydei still ferociously embraces the life he's been given and the heavy honor he bears in guiding others on the right path. Rather than just racing mindlessly into battle, again and again into the same cycle of conquest, Mydei's truest example of tenacity is his ability to "take the first step," moving forward mentally and emotionally toward the future he dreams of for his people.

"Unyielding to Conniving Trickery"

Just as with all of Nikador's other virtues, Mydei clearly embodies the traditional Kremnoan definition of honor: He's honest, straightforward, and reviles those who use trickery to achieve their goals. To that end, we can see his act of patricide as the ultimate example of Mydei upholding the very classic Kremnoan definition of honor, killing a conniving schemer, his father Eurypon, to avenge an honorable warrior, his mother Gorgo.

Yet even as he accomplishes what he views as a necessary act--a duty to his mother's memory--Mydei does not react to the deed as other Kremnoans expect. Krateros rejoices at Mydei's decision to kill his father, but Mydei's only response is silence. Later, as I mentioned above, he discusses the pursuit of vengeance with Phainon and warns Phainon that revenge can never bring joy or closure.

In the ruins of Castrum Kremnos, when Phainon and Mydei debate the intersection of honor in combat, Mydei at first challenges Phainon's soft-hearted view with the traditional Kremnoan definition--but then, when Phainon claims that Mydei doesn't believe in his own people's tenets--Mydei remains silent again, tacitly agreeing with the truth Phainon has revealed.

Mydei is a deeply honorable character. Certainly the Kremnoans would have no scruples saying that about him, if only his surface actions are considered. Yet at his core, Mydei's definition of honor ultimately rejects everything the Kremnoans stand for, seeing absolutely no meaning in their pointless battles or their excuses for bringing harm upon others. Recognizing that nothing is truly gained even during the most justifiable of killings, Mydei's own sense of honor makes all of Kremnos's sacred history look like nothing but a record of historic evils.

"Unblinking of Eyes Burning Bright"

"Reason" is the virtue missing from Nikador, the one that up and wanders away while the Black Tide moves in. We're introduced to Nikador's reason as an entire embodied concept through Gnaeus. Through Castorice's interactions with Gnaeus, we're led to believe that Nikador was once fair and just, capable of staying his blade in respect of worthy opponents and of discerning the schemes of lesser men. The virtue, in the classical Kremnoan interpretation, seems to lie in being judicious, in knowing when to strike to always secure victory.

Mydei, of course, is not an unreasonable person. (He's more reasonable than the cranky/tsundere stereotypes he gets in fandom, anyway lol.) As I mentioned in the first part of this post, when Phainon wants to go charge straight into fight Nikador, it's Mydei who demonstrates this virtue of reason, reminding Phainon that they simply don't have the resources to tackle the fight. In 3.1, it's Mydei who reasons out what is going on in the first coreflame trial and determines how to solve their issue, find Phainon, and safely escape. Tactically, Mydei clearly demonstrates the ability to keep up with his opponents' moves, strategically divide forces, and see through enemy bluffs. By all accounts, he's a perfect picture of traditional Kremnoan "reason" too.

Yet, once again, Mydei's particular sense of reason puts him at odds with Kremnoan beliefs--because he is smart enough to see the bigger picture. What does victory in one, two, three battles mean? What does winning one war mean, if the next war is already on the horizon? What purpose does dying in noble combat even serve in a world that is already ending? Mydei applies his reason not to the short-sighted conquest of prior Kremnoans but to the longer view of the future, recognizing the futility and inevitability of the rise and fall of nations. For this clear view of history, Krateros warns Mydei that the ultimate consequence of his own intelligence will only be more suffering for him:

Like Nikador's reason standing alone, Mydei's reason sets him entirely outside the Kremnoan faith, causing him to recognize the inherent failings of a cultural system of wasteful violence enforced for over a thousand years. Looking at his own people with a discerning eye, Mydei ends up accidentally separating himself entirely from the familiar confines of his people and their traditions--like Gnaeus, struggling but unable to return to the whole.

On the surface, Mydei represents an excellent embodiment of classical Kremnoan virtues. As Eurypon says in the Kremnos flashback, Mydei bears the seeds of all of Nikador's virtues, stepping unflinching into battle, refusing to surrender in the face of death, approaching every duel with honor, and knowing when and where to strike. But at every turn, he also rejects and exceeds the confines of his people's interpretations of those virtues, using courage to stop battles rather than start them, tenacity to take the first step on a journey toward a more peaceful future, honor to reject the cruelty of Kremnos's callous views on death, and reason to grasp the broader context of making meaning in a dying world.

Mydei should be understood, at his core, as a character of extreme contradictions--both the "most and least Kremnoan of them all." Examining the way his character parallels while also wildly deviates from Nikador's perfectly encapsulates the core conflict of Mydei's character arc, the place where who the world expects him to be--crown prince of Kremnos, demigod of Strife--clashes directly with who he wants to be--the revolutionary remembered for freeing his people from despair into a true "Era Nova" of hope.

7. The Person Who Matters Least to Mydei is Mydei

Okay, so wait--what about "sacrifice"? It almost goes without saying, but I left the last virtue to its own point because "sacrifice" is the single most important trait of Mydei's character.

This is true in two entirely different ways: Mydei's life and philosophy were shaped almost single-handedly by the sacrifices of others--first, by his mother fighting to the death in an attempt to avenge him, and then by the sacrifices of each of his five friends in turn, who died insisting that Mydei should live on in their place. Knowing of his mother's sacrifice and witnessing his friends' deaths were clearly the life-altering experiences driving Mydei's departure from the Kremnoan faith.

Even as he tried to fulfill his friends' wishes by taking up his place as the crown prince of Kremnos, it's from these losses that Mydei truly learned the meaningless of the central tenet of Kremnoan belief, "valorous death before glorious return." There was nothing valorous in the deaths Mydei was forced to watch--the people he loved died pointlessly, fighting essentially for a cause and nation that had already rejected them. By watching everyone he cared for sacrifice themselves on the altar of Kremnoan ideology, he--the sole survivor, the one always, always left behind--was forced to confront the real reality of a culture that chooses to romanticize death, that hinges self-worth on a willingness to kill and be killed, that exists entirely as a war machine dependent on its ability to bring pain and suffering to others.

Even as he loved Kremnos for being the nation to birth him, the nation to embrace him, and the nation to need him--I think Mydei must have hated Castrum Kremnos in equal measure. This, I think is core to understanding Mydei's relationship with his own self-identity as Kremnos's prince: He loved what Kremnos could have been, while despising what it had become.

In the sacrifices of his comrades, Mydei found the very opposite cause his friends expected of him--he found his will to tear down their entire nation's thousands-year-old system of wasteful bloodshed.

But, another contradiction: While hating the sacrifices others were willing to make for him, Mydei has also proven himself to be an exceedingly, unflinchingly giving person. There is no aspect of himself, his own happiness, or his own freedom that Mydeimos is not willing to sacrifice if it means protecting the people, the land, and the world. If by giving something of himself, he can improve the lives of those who deserve it, Mydei will always choose to take the suffering of others on himself.

We see this selflessly giving nature from his earliest memories. His first character story impresses that even from his time as a tiny child, he was willing to aid others with no thought of reward, at his own expense even, helping drowning fisherman make it to safety but never seeming to be able to make it out of the Sea of Souls himself. By 3.0, we're told that Mydei and the Kremnoan detachment had become Aglaea's blade, carrying the brunt of Okhema's battle against the Black Tide and the raving titankin. Despite the fact that Mydei has reservations about Aglaea's orders, he follows them essentially without question, even when he knows this will put him at risk of pain and death:

But 3.1, of course, is what truly hammers the extent of Mydei's self-sacrificial behavior home. In 3.0, we see Mydei flat out refuse the coreflame of Strife several times. Mission text for the game tells us that he has "an absurd extent of hesitation and objection to accepting the god's authority," but Mydei also insists repeatedly that his hesitation doesn't have to do with worrying about himself. Instead, he says that his only hesitation is his people. Whether this is true... more in a second, but for now:

Mydei does not want to accept his destiny to become the demigod of Strife because he fears it will bring harm to those he cares for, the Kremnoan people he has fought for and died (many times) to protect. He is afraid he will perpetuate the exact same cycle of needless violence he despises if he loses his self-identity to the soul of Strife. He is, he claims, perfectly willing to sacrifice his humanity and self-identity as "Mydei" to become "Amphoreus's Guardian"--but only if he can do so while still ensuring a real future for the Kremnoans. Sure, this seems like a noble goal, but in all of this, there is no talk of Mydei's life, Mydei's freedom, or Mydei's dreams. It is only ever "what is best for the Kremnoan people" and "what is best for Amphoreus."

In essence: What Mydei wants does not matter, because Mydei's only spoken concern is the needs of other people.

For me as a fan of this character, the first half of 3.1 was viscerally discomforting. As players, we have the oh-so-pleasant privilege of starting 3.1 watching Mydei be systematically manipulated into sacrificing his own autonomy. I absolutely love Aglaea and Tribbie, but I won't sugarcoat it: by word and action, both of Okhema's demigods knowingly stripped Mydei of his agency:

First, Aglaea insults and pressures Mydei, calling him foolhardy and essentially suggesting that if Amphoreus falls, it's going to be because of Mydei's indecision. She essentially drops the responsibility for all of Amphoreus on his shoulders:

Then, Mydei confronts Tribbie about the even harsher truth, that both Aglaea and Tribbie had knowingly gambled with Phainon's life strictly to push Mydei into that corner:

Yet even after all this, even knowing that Aglaea and Tribbie have just doomed him to an end in pain and misery, what does Mydei say? "I have no intention of condemning you for it." He knows the meaning of the Flame-Chase Journey and understands that his autonomy was never going to stand up to the prophecy. He just lost every hope he might have had of living the life he dreamed of--and what does he still say? "It's okay. I don't blame you." Goddamn Mydei, won't you stand up for yourself at least a little?

Then we get to watch Mydei grow desperate. His freedom and future are already bought and sold. He knows he's running out of time, and he still hasn't found a way to protect the people who are relying on him. He practically begs Krateros to help turn the Kremnoans away from their path of bloodshed, and what does he get from the closest thing he ever had to a father figure?

A extremely cutting guilt trip, and, maybe even worse, a thinly veiled threat to withhold regard:

This might as well be a father saying "You have disappointed me."

Mydei has no one to turn to in these early scenes. Again, not a shipping post, but his only genuine ally, Phainon, isn't here to be his back up, leading to scene after scene where Mydei is treated like fate's chew toy. Players get to watch every single character who is indebted Mydei for his service and who has every reason to respect his wishes instead turn on him and push him into doing things he doesn't want to do.

(Okay, I'm lying, this is a little bit of a shipping post: I can't help but laugh, because the plot of mid-3.1 is literally "Phainon comes back for one scene and almost single-handedly solves Mydei's central character conflict by sending him to talk to Chartonus." He really said "I gotchu, man." 😂)

In Mydei's final goodbye to Castorice, we even see this unhesitating self-sacrificial nature when Mydei thoughtlessly offers to let Castorice kill him just so he can help with her own goal of pursuing Thanatos. Castorice is quick to rebuke him because, unlike Mydei, who has come to view his uncountable number of lives as nothing but currency to be spent in service to others, Castorice desperately values life. She chides him for being so willing to sacrifice himself, but he basically deflects, claiming it's an aspect of all Kremnoans rather than reconciling with the fact that, by this point, he's basically given up on trying to have any regard for himself.

In the end, Mydei manages to find his way forward, making the final, devastating difficult call to dissolve the dynasty and end the history of Castrum Kremnos. This is framed as Mydei reclaiming his agency, making the choice that he knows is right over the choice everyone expects of him. This is what Mydei wants for his people.

But what is the final outcome here for Mydei? The Kremnoans staying safe in the holy city wasn't Krateros's wish, nor the detachment's wish--it wasn't even the young Kremnoan children's wishes to stay in Okhema. It was Mydei's wish to live peacefully in Okhema with those he cares about, finally free of the shadow of Kremnos's bloodstained history and the madness of the path of Strife.

The life that Mydei secured for the Kremnoans is the life he dreamed of living.

And now the only Kremnoan who doesn't get to live that dream is Mydei.

Mydei went to Castrum Kremnos knowing he would likely never return. He went knowing his own death was already signed and underlined in future records of history, either at the hands of enemies from the Black Tide or at the hands of the person he trusted his deepest secret to. He knew that he would spend the rest of his life alone, engaged in the very same endless war he wanted to stop, the strife he did everything to spare his people from.

He sacrificed his own humanity, his entire life--everything he fought to claim as his own--all to protect other people. (I.... love this character so much...)

Nikador's last virtue is sacrifice. If you want to understand Mydei's character, just remember: Mydei is the kind of person willing to sacrifice everything he has.

8. But the Fact that "Mydei" Exists Means Something

Okay, but with all of that said, the true tragedy of Mydei's story is that he wasn't completely selfless. If he genuinely had no thoughts for himself and lived only for the happiness of others, his actions in 3.1 wouldn't be framed as a sacrifice in the first place.

Mydei's decision was difficult, and his ultimate departure was saddening, because he did have some regard for his own life. Mydei had dreams that didn't involve becoming the demigod of Strife. There were things Mydei was looking for in the world that now he will never get the chance to find.

And nothing more clearly tells players this than the existence of the name "Mydei."

Unfortunately, the effect of Mydei's name change is a little bit lost from the original Chinese to English: In Chinese, while "Mydeimos" is the same as in English (Màidémósī/迈德谟斯), "Mydei" is actually "Wàndí" (万敌), functionally an entirely different name. This works in Chinese because the use of specific characters allows the meaning of the name to stay the same (the "My" in Mydeimos means "ten thousand" and so does "万") while the sound of the name changes noticeably. In English, just using an abbreviation doesn't have quite the same effect unfortunately, but obviously the English translators didn't have the same options.

Anyway, the point is that in the original text, Mydei didn't just ask the Chrysos Heirs to use a nickname; he literally gave them an entirely different name--almost an entirely different identity. This distinction is reflected in his very first voice line, where he introduces himself as both "Mydeimos, the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, and Mydei, the warrior of Okhema," as if these are two different people.

Mydei was essentially inventing a different life for himself, a life where he didn't have to be a prince but instead could be just a regular warrior, where he wasn't "of Castrum Kremnos" but "of Okhema."

At the end of 3.1, Mydei's return to Castrum Kremnos is framed as "returning home." The mission description suggests this, and when Mydei returns to Castrum Kremnos, he's greeted by his mother's voice and answers her turn.

But this is actually bittersweet, because the game tells us repeatedly that Mydei has deeply conflicted feelings over whether to think of Castrum Kremnos as his home. In 3.0, Phainon insists that Mydei must be feeling extreme homesickness while exploring the ruins of Castrum Kremnos, but Mydei's conflicting backstories make it unclear whether he ever truly lived in Castrum Kremnos as a child.

Then, in 3.1, Mydei's scene with the children is obviously meant to be an evocative parallel. The children insist that Kremnos is their home, but Mydei pauses and asks them: "Can a place you've never seen be called your home?" This scene is important, because it is clearly intended to parallel Mydei's own situation. Most characters in the story--including all the Kremnoans--view Castrum Kremnos as Mydei's home, but he was thrown into the sea from the time he was an infant. Even if he returned to Kremnos after that, it could only have been under a false name, hiding his existence from his father the king. Is he himself holding on to the notion of Kremnos less for what it is and more for what he feels it's supposed to mean to him? Merely because of tradition and history? Was Castrum Kremnos ever really his home, or has Mydei's home always been the people he loves?

When Castorice asks him if he's returning home at the end of 3.1, Mydei struggles to answer the question, making it clear that he doesn't truly believe that Castrum Kremnos is his home anymore:

But if Kremnos isn't his home, then where is? (Oh, you wandering lion...)

I'd like to point out that Mydei's "About Self" line isn't "About Self: Castrum Kremnos." It's "About Self: Holy City." In this voice line, he expresses his surprise about the new life he managed to create in Okhema, how he never would have dreamed of ending up there as their ally one day. But in the same breath, he laments that "Okhema cannot be a home for everyone," because, as he discusses later in his "Annoyances" voice line: "Castrum Kremnos and Okhema have long been at odds. A spear can pierce the enemy king, but it cannot resolve the deep grudges of the people." Mydei is vexed by the barrier between the Kremnoans and the Okhemans because he doesn't want his two nations to be at odds. He wants Okhema to be a welcoming place for the Kremnoans--himself included.

The game tells us that Mydei was a person who was looking for a home, and that he wanted Okhema to be that home.

Mydei admits to Phainon that he is (they both are) naive, always wanting the best for everyone:

What Mydei believed was "the best for everyone" was a peaceful place. A place his people could prosper, a place where they could live on without needlessly wasting their lives on the battlefield, where, like the Mountain-Dwellers pushed from their homes in Chartonus's story, there would at least be a future for the Kremnoans that wasn't just "valorous death."

But Mydei wanted all that for himself too.

In "As I've Written," the author writes that Okhema was the final gift Mydei gave to his people--but in doing so, he had to sacrifice the chance to keep Okhema as a home for himself.

Mydeimos was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice for his people without hesitating. He was willing to throw himself into danger over and over again, even when it would kill him painfully numerous times. He was willing to face his deepest fear and take on the coreflame of Strife to protect Amphoreus, despite knowing that the cost would be his personal happiness and freedom. He did so almost entirely without regard for his own life, unwavering in his sense of duty to others.

But the existence of "Mydei" meant something: a small, secret wish for a different future, to become someone who could live freely in a world without meaningless, endless violence, unchained from the evernight at last, surrounded by the people he cared for and who cared for him in turn.

Many people are worried for the numerous death flags surrounding our favorite prince... but the truth is that "Mydei" is already dead. That hoped-for life died the moment Mydeimos accepted the coreflame of Strife and surrendered his humanity, the moment he returned to the empty darkness of a fallen kingdom, where only a throne of blood was waiting, bidding farewell to any dream he ever had for a softer future.

9. Deeply Affected by Okhema's Discrimination

All right, that was bad. So you know what I'm going to do now? Make it worse.

I truly believe that part of the reason Mydei did not fight harder against his fate is that, even as he made his decree telling all the other Kremnoans to stay in Okhema and adapt to their ways... He didn't know how to do that himself. Even as he wanted to make Okhema his new home, he didn't know how to make the holy city accept him. (He probably doesn't know how to make himself feel at home anywhere, really.)

"As I've Written" says that cruel rumors followed him everywhere he went in Okhema, even though he never raised a hand against anyone in the city:

His voice line "Annoyances" suggests that Mydei is frustrated that he could kill what was likely one of Okhema's greatest enemies, Eurypon, and yet still the city would not forgive the grudges of the past. In 3.0, one of Mydei's first lines to Phainon is to remind him that Okhemans and Kremnoans still don't get along, even as he also says "I'm not in a place where I'm free to change that."

In 3.1, we see that despite serving the city faithfully as frontline soldiers for years, dying for Okhema's cause, the Kremnoans are still so mistrusted that the Council orders higher ranking members like Krateros to be placed under surveillance. In 3.0, the Kremnoan NPC Aeleus basically ends up running off from Okhema (to his implied death) simply because the Okhemans would not accept his relationship with one of their own. At the very beginning of 3.0, one of Phainon's first lines is chiding Mydei for not protecting "Okhema's citizens," but the way the line is framed accidentally excludes Mydei from being counted among those citizens, something which Mydei calls Phainon out for.

In 3.1, what the Kremnoan children tell Mydei is pretty devastating: they're being ostracized so badly, they can't even think of the place where they were born as their home.

At the end of 3.1, Mydei is even shocked to see that people other than the Kremnoans have come to see him off, seeming genuinely surprised that any of the Okhemans would respect him enough to want to say goodbye.

Even more telling, Mydei's own allies, his fellow Chrysos Heirs, admit that they've completely neglected the situation of the Kremnoans, turning a blind eye to the discrimination and hardships Mydei's people have been facing for years.

But all of this really culminates in the first coreflame trial. Although I've seen lots of people talking about how Mydei's fear was losing his friends, including Phainon, I think a lot of people kind of blanked over the fact that Mydei didn't just fear losing his friends--he specifically feared that his people would become the victims of hate crimes. The entire setting of the first trial for Mydei was watching the Okhemans turn on the Kremnoans, hurling slander and literally beating Kremnoans to death in the streets.

(This last one was particularly harsh, as Mydei clearly holds Chartonus in high regard--seeing someone he cares for act frightened of him and tell him there's no place for him in Okhema clearly shook Mydei even more than seeing the shade of Perdikkas die again.)

Mydei confirms for Tribbie that in Nikador's trial, he saw his "greatest fear," something that "terrified him." But Mydei wasn't just frightened of losing his friends--if it was only losing his friends that he feared, then like Phainon was, he would have been transported to the past and relived their real deaths. Instead, we specifically see a new fear: Mydei is terrified of Okhema's xenophobia, terrified that his people (and himself) will eventually be entirely rejected, losing their last refuge in a dying world.

Part of Mydei's greatest fear is the belief that no one wants him, that there is no place in Amphoreus for the "beast spurned by all."

This, of course, makes Tribbie's comment about how she and Aglaea have sidelined the Kremnoans' concerns all the worse--while treating him as a friend and ally, the Chrysos Heirs seem to have largely failed to do anything to address the prejudice Mydei was facing. In fact, we even see this mirrored in the bath scene later; yes, it's light-hearted but also, in the broader context, it isn't the greatest of looks: Even though Phainon is obviously being dumb, everyone automatically believes Phainon when he pins the blame on Mydei, and they confront Mydei as if the whole thing were his fault.

Mydei is an incredibly resilient and enduring person. He has faced the entire world as his enemy and still come out on the side of good. He certainly would not allow the opinions of plebeians to sway him. Nothing others could say or do would force him to bow his head.

But... I don't think Mydei was as immune to Okhema's discrimination as he liked to seem. The fact that he created an entire new name for himself, that he swore his loyalty to Aglaea and kept every promise he made to Okhema and the Chrysos Heirs, and yet still couldn't find a way to make Okhema his home... The fact that dream he had for his people's future was essentially for them to be able to live the exact same lives the Okhemans already do, in peace and prosperity, and yet even while living among them for years, the Kremnoans hadn't been able to reach that level of comfort... The fact that his last wish to Phainon was for him to be the bridge to finally help the Kremnoans adapt to life in their new nation...

Phainon's comments about what happened to the Mountain-Dwellers after they left their homes almost seemed to suggest that he fully understood the dangers of the action Mydei had just taken--like the Mountain-Dwellers, committing the Kremnoans to a future in Okhema does mean exposing them to further prejudice and mistreatment. Mydei accepts this as fact, suggesting that he knows just how much his people might suffer from the choice forcing them adapt to a foreign culture's expectations. And yet Mydei excluded himself from that need, and now will likely never--in this life at least--have the opportunity to grow to fit the place he expects his people to one day call home.

The fact that so much of Mydei's story revolves around this conflict between the two halves of his life, his two nations, suggests that this issue did affect him significantly, likely for years. I think it is actually one of the key reasons Mydei struggled so severely with his decision over the Kremnoans' future--and over his own future. If Okhema had accepted Mydei with open arms, treated him with respect and affection, if the holy city had given him a real home for possibly the first time... I don't think the story would be where it is now. Mydei was so willing to give up his own life and freedom at least in part because he felt like he had no other options, and some of that feeling certainly comes from believing he had no place in Okhema. Mydei was convinced that the other Kremnoans would eventually adapt and be accepted by the Okhemans, but I don't believe he ever thought that acceptance would apply to him.

It wasn't just the prophecy that drove Mydei away to Castrum Kremnos.

I think Mydei's character should be best understood as someone who, even while refusing to ever give in to the hurtful comments and behavior of others, was at least very much aware of, and shaped by, years of discrimination for beliefs he didn't even hold.

10. Stranger Danger/"I Won't Say I'm in Love~"

All right, with those wonderfully depressing points out of the way, why don't I end with some comedic relief? There's one last thing I want to say about Mydei's characterization:

He's kind of shy.

😂😂😂Okay, okay, I'm kidding. Mydei isn't actually shy by the average definition of shy folks (nervous, struggling to assert themselves, cracking under the slightest scrutiny). Mydei isn't going to ever make himself smaller or run away when someone tries to approach him, of course not.

But Mydei is reserved. It seems that he does not usually befriend people easily, is slow to trust, and keeps himself aloof, particularly among those he doesn't know well. It's easy to see this in the flashback from early on in Phainon and Mydei's acquaintance, where his responses to the conversation are exceptionally stand-offish, devolving into just one-word answers to try to free himself from the awkward small talk with a stranger.

One of the places people are most likely to find Mydei in Okhema is withdrawn, keeping to himself all the way up on the farthest corner of the roof. He even flat out asks why the Trailblazer would ignore his obvious wish for alone time. Even in 3.1, when taking a photo with the Trailblazer, Mydei is pretty awkward about it, saying that he doesn't take photos often, which suggests that he doesn't put himself out there much, even on Okhema's World Wound Web. (Maybe he's just hiding behind his cute chimera tiktoks instead; I am a Fig Stew truther lol.)

But I think perhaps the funniest indicator of Mydei's reserved nature are the scenes in Castrum Kremnos in 3.0. Although the Trailblazer is obviously not the most talkative character in Star Rail, Mydei goes almost that entire sequence without speaking more than a single sentence directly to the Trailblazer. Literally, the only line of cutscene dialogue he says to the Trailblazer for an entire two hour sequence of the patch is "Think what you want." Every other line in the entire Castrum Kremnos sequence is instead spoken to Phainon; sometimes he even speaks about the Trailblazer but goes right over Trailblazer's head to talk to them through the medium of Phainon.

Even Mydei's voice lines start with bare bones, one-word answers; his greeting to the Trailblazer is just "Mhm," despite clearly having no issues speaking full sentences to people he knows better.

Mydei really said "I don't talk to strangers."

Which, honestly? Totally fair of him. When you're an exile from your homeland which is ruled by a king who tried to kill you and every single other surviving nation on the planet hates your guts, it's not like a lot of the strangers you meet are going to end up being friendly. Mydei has obvious reasons to be aloof and to withhold his thoughts from people until he's certain he can trust them. He even has reasons to not be that well adjusted; the first nine years of his life were spent with virtually no human contact, and then even after that, he was taken in by the Kremnoan exiles who were already predisposed to support him no matter what his ability to connect with others was like. It's perfectly understandable for Mydei to not be the most talented social speaker and to tend to keep to himself.

But it's also just so humorous in practice--an undying prince of a conquering nation, one of the lead warriors of Okhema, rife with the pride of Castrum Kremnos, refined in both body and manner... And he's just awkward with people he doesn't know well. As much as it might be influenced by a tragic past, it's also a charm point.

Hell, Mydei's a little bit awkward even with people he does know well, at least when it comes to trying to express himself. Of course, the bath scene is the best example of this. Mydei comes up with literally five different options for things to say to Phainon and then ultimately scraps them all because "None of those sound right." (What he goes with in the end honestly isn't any better lol.)

Mydei was clearly trying his best to find the correct words, and the fact that he hesitated over picking the "right" answer tells us that he's not always as confident in communicating with others as he might initially come across. He's not just trying to come up with the first thing possible--he's trying to find the right thing to say because he is considerate and invested in in being understood by those he actually cares about. Krateros accuses Mydei of using words alone to try to end the Kremnoan dynasty, but the truth is that if Mydei were better at expressing himself--more eloquent and more persuasive--he likely would have faced less opposition for his beliefs.

When characterizing Mydei, I think he reads very much as the kind of person who can say the exact right thing in the exact right moment when it comes to, say, earth-shattering duels with the gods--the kind of person who can speak with poise if there's a challenging political or martial situation afoot. But in closer settings? In those personal conversations where he can't assume a distant, military commander stance and fall back on the expected answers of a warrior prince? The places where what he says really matters, emotionally, to the person on the other side? A lot tougher battlefield.

I think Mydei really is someone who comes across as distinctly reserved--not always because he's aloof or untrusting, but because sometimes he just doesn't know what to say or how to say the things he's feeling and thinking. It's cute, okay?

And you know what else is cute?

It's true that Mydei isn't classically shy, but his marketing has shown us that there is one scenario that he absolutely can't handle: Mydei can't even hear the word "romance" without getting flustered. (The gap moe is so, so real; I am not immune to your propaganda, Hoyo...)

In the 3.1 special program, just the rumor that Nikador once had amorous feelings is enough to leave Mydei stuttering, and in his weibo animation, when the "princess" demands that Mydei act charming, he completely falls apart, so much that he can't even get the sentences out straight and blurs them into a nonsensical mess.

Mydei, fistfighting a god: For me, it was Tuesday.

Mydei, being asked on a date: This is how it ends.

I know it's popular to make jokes about Mydei having his harem, but honestly, if just hearing the word "pretty" makes him panic, I'm not sure how he would ever have managed it. 🤣

Of course, this gets even funnier when we remember that Mydei is also the male character who most consistently brings up talks about emotions and the importance of recognizing and embracing them, who chides Phainon for trying to hide his sadness during their goodbye, and who casually drops half of Amphoreus's most romantic lines. Mr. "If there's chance in the next life, you should come visit my library" can't handle "Do you wanna dance together?"

Make of all this what you will; I don't have a deeper meta analysis of this that wouldn't be better put in a ship post, but in terms of characterization, I think the way Mydei communicates, struggles to communicate, and the places where his communication completely breaks down are all great indicators of the overall person the dev team was trying to convey:

Someone who cares for other people, even more than he cares for himself, but who still, and perhaps always, longed to find a place to belong, loved ones to come home to, and those who will listen to both the words he says and the ones he can't quite get out.

Mydei isn't a brawn over brains brute whose temper pops off every single time he gets mildly annoyed, or someone who lives his whole life in the training arena and takes every chance he can to start petty arguments. He isn't especially grumpy, machismo, or repressing his feelings, even when he's not always capable of realizing just how justified those feelings are. He's not unnecessarily aggressive or particularly rash, and he's definitely not dumb muscle. He is self-sacrificial to a fault...

But he is also a character of true extremes, combining an incredible capacity for violence with a longing for peace, a desire to do his duty to others while still wanting to keep something for himself, a pragmatist who understood the futility of fighting fate while still, deep down, harboring the idealized dream of a kinder future. He is the one who always asks to talk, but also struggles to find the right words; the one who embodies every tenet of his people's faith, only to reject everything that faith stood for.

Mydeimos, the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, and Mydei, just the warrior of Okhema.

The man that you are. ❤️

One of my favorite Star Rail characters, beyond a doubt.