#i'm not sure if that's blocked

[nerdinsandals]

Blue hoodies! 💙✨

I can't be convinced that Liko's Mega Voltage design isn't meant to be a loving nod to AG, haha. Look, even the front part of her hair looks similar to May's!

[bluewolfangel01]

I love the unhinged idea that if Mc is angry or dissapointed with the demons, that they would create a circle of salt around themselves and just stay in it

And no matter the immense combined powers that Diavolo, Barbatos, and the Brothers hold, they ain't getting past the salt circle no matter what they do

Salt is the most powerful thing in the Devildom, confirmed

[elleldoe]

all day, every day

[starcurtain]

Some Notes on Mydei's Characterization (Part 1)

I'm already tired of seeing Mydei slander (if I have to read "He's a brawn over brains berserker who just cares about fighting" one more time, I might actually die), so I thought I'd put together some quick notes on what canon has to say about Mydei's character. Please note this post contains only my own interpretations of canon material; not everyone will interpret scenes in the same manner.

Starting with some of the most off-base stuff I've seen first:

1. Being Capable of Violence is Not the Same as Being Violent

Mydei's trailer and his role in the story both confirm that he is capable of extreme acts of violence. When it comes to battle, multiple people--Eurypon and Phainon, for example--refer to Mydei specifically as a "beast," rather than a person. In his character stories, we're told that he was such a ferocious predator in the Sea of Souls that even monsters stopped coming near him, and in another of his character stories, he's described as tearing the throat out of an opposing enemy who had an army a thousand men strong. It is a basic and unavoidable fact of Mydei's character that he is capable not only of killing but of killing in egregiously brutal ways, literally tearing his enemies apart with his bare hands.

Mydei will fight, he will cause harm, and he will kill--whenever it is necessary to do so.

But there is an extreme world of difference between being capable of violence and actually being a violent person, and Mydei has shown, in both word and deed, that he is an inherently gentle character who, if given the option, would prefer to choose the path of least harm.

Over and over, the devs hit us players with the idea that Mydei's actual nature is one that abhors needless violence. We see this from his first character story, where Mydei--despite being thrown into the Sea of Souls as an infant, despite fighting every single day of his childhood just to survive--is described as saving drowning fishermen with no reward. Even the author of the legend points out the incongruity of this choice, saying "Why would a Kremnoan ever bother to save others?"

Remember that this is a Mydei who has had literally no human contact. He has no frame of reference for even the concept of generosity. If we take his story seriously, then despite being effectively feral at this point in time, his innate reaction to seeing others in danger was simply to provide aid. Even when his own survival was the only thing he had experience with, he still chose to selflessly save others, with no motivation other than the fact that benevolence appears to be his core nature.

Reinforcing this idea that Mydei is an inherently gentle person, there's the memory in Castrum Kremnos where an unknown someone asks Mydei what his dream is, with the only acceptable options being different combat roles. But Mydei's answers are charmingly abstract instead--young Mydei doesn't want to be a soldier and bring harm to others, he wants to be a wanderer or even a "beam of light."

(Saw some interesting talk linking this "beam of light" with Kephale recently too. I'm very interested to see whether the upcoming patches will tie these connections together or if we're all just reading too much into things lolol.)

3.0's plot hammered this home as well, with Mydei continually disputing Aglaea's mission requests; Aglaea says that sending too many Chrysos Heirs to fight Nikador would be a waste (in case they end up dying), to which Mydei responds that there's no point in needlessly risking people's lives.

Even the 3.0 side quests repeat this message, with one Kremnoan NPC, Aelius, noting that an assassin tried to murder him on his first day in Okhema. Instead of responding with force, as might be justified by the severity of the crime, Mydei--brand-new to Okhema and their ways himself!--still chose diplomacy, and went to the Council of Okhema to legally ensure the Kremnoan people's safety, instead of directly seeking vengeance.

Even a small scene in Kremnos's ruins gives the devs an opportunity to show that Mydei prefers to exhibit aggression only when threatened first: As the Trailblazer and Co. wander through the Soul-Forging Zone, the group meets a half-crazed titankin. Obviously it poses a danger and could become a more serious threat in an instant, but Mydei doesn't offer it any resistance. It isn't violent with him, so he has no reason or motivation to be violent with it... as opposed to Phainon, whose first reaction is immediately to attack.

(If you choose to kill it, by the way, Mydei scolds Phainon and the Trailblazer, effectively calling them bloodthirsty executioners...)

When Krateros attempts to manipulate Mydei using Mydei's mother's wishes, urging him to continue the cycle of domination in Kremnos, Mydei stops him cold by pointing out that (like Mydei who inherited her beliefs) he knows Gorgo was opposed to violence for violence's sake:

Then, of course, there's the entire deal about refusing the crown of Kremnos, breaking his people's endless cycle of violent lives and even more violent deaths and repeatedly refusing Nikador's power because Mydei had no desire to become Strife. Despite revering his people's god for what Nikador was supposed to be--the guardian who sacrificed everything to protect Amphoreus--the game repeatedly tells us that Mydei sees Kremnos's cultural tradition of conquest as a meaningless waste of life, glorifying cruelty for no reason and bringing nothing but harm to the Kremnoans and Amphoreus as a whole.

Mydei fought hard to not become the demigod of Strife. At every turn, he was pressured and manipulated by others against his expressly stated wishes, and ultimately was left with no choice but to accept the destiny forced upon him despite clearly longing for a different, gentler life. Although I'll talk more about this later, the fact that Mydei even went so far as to change his name among the Chrysos Heirs shows us just how intensely he was trying to separate himself from his own past and from Kremnos's bloody history. Mydei wanted to be a person, yet in the end, he was forced back into being a beast, into becoming the symbol of violence, the very thing that took everything good from his life.

(This isn't a shipping post, but Phainon's efforts to take on Nikador's coreflame can be read to at least some extent as a rescue attempt--despite himself believing that Mydei was the better fit for Strife, Phainon saw how sincerely Mydei did not want to take the coreflame trial, and at least in small part, Phainon did take on the trial to spare Mydei from that inevitability. Personally, I think this failure will eventually be one of the linchpins that brings Amphoreus crumbling down, because Phainon was supposed to be everyone's hero, but just like Cyrene, he failed to save Mydei.)

I've seen some people debating this idea that Mydei is not a violent person by pointing out that Phainon calls him "reckless when he gets the urge to kill." In 3.0, Phainon implies that Mydei could even hurt other people with his recklessness in battle. But... we have never seen Mydei ever bring any harm in battle to someone he didn't intend to hurt. No one innocent ever gets injured in-game by Mydei (at least so far...), and we have no indications at any point that Mydei would intentionally endanger others out of recklessness. In fact, even in their first scene, it's Mydei who scolds Phainon for being careless during battle.

For example, Mydei's first reaction to confronting Nikador was to immediately remove Phainon and the Trailblazer from the fight so that they wouldn't come to harm. Even inside the coreflame trial, while the power of Strife was driving Phainon mad, Mydei was still level-headed enough to rally the Trailblazer and Dan Heng and get Phainon out safe. Mydei was still rational enough to even recognize the Okhemans inside the illusion and say "This isn't who these people really are; they're being twisted by Nikador."

Is this really the behavior of a reckless person who loses his sense of reason in battle?

To be honest, players should take most of what Phainon actually says about Mydei with a grain of salt. Phainon, especially during 3.0, doesn't actually know Mydei's whole story (for one, he has a foot in mouth moment in 3.0 where he tells Mydei to make more friends, only to then find out in 3.1 that Mydei had more friends; they just all died), and we know that Phainon often exaggerates Mydei in many ways when talking to others. Mydei may be reckless in battle--but his recklessness almost certainly centers on himself, being willing to risk his own life, rather than others'. This is echoed again in his "Keeping Up With Star Rail" video, where Phainon comments on Mydei's complete lack of self-defense once he enters battle. While Phainon might think Mydei's lack of attention to his own pain is worth calling out, it isn't a sign that Mydei is genuinely a mindless berserker.

I've also seen people debating this point by saying that Mydei appears to go "crazy" in battle and starts grinning when he gets a battle high. But as for Mydei's smiling in battle, we really only see it three times: 1) When Phainon first returns to Okhema, 2) When Mydei finally engages in solo combat with Nikador, and 3) When engaged in solo combat after all his allies in the coreflame trial already "died."

Again, this isn't a shipping post, so write the first smile for Phainon off as you choose--maybe Mydei's just excited to have the opportunity to flex in front of his "rival." The other two smiles are admittedly a bit unhinged, but I'd argue that neither of these moments represents actual enjoyment of battle. Instead, both of these smiles occur only inside the overwhelming pall of Nikador's power, which we're told canonically infects the mind with a desire for bloodshed. More importantly, both of these instances also take place when Mydei is only fighting titankin, not human opponents, and only after Mydei has been left entirely alone, when he is certain that the only person at risk in the fight is himself. When Mydei can confirm that there's no one left to defend (or left for him to lose!), then and only then does he give in to Nikador's violence for violence's sake and engage in battle whole-heartedly.

tl;dr: Mydei was the crowned leader of a culture that glorified cruelty, death, and mindless brutality. He was forced into a life of violence where he had to fight tooth and nail for survival from virtually the moment of his birth. Everyone he ever loved died worshiping a god that used their souls as nothing but fodder for further meaningless destruction. Yet Mydei was doing everything he could to rise above that life, and to help others also rise above that life. Of course he fights when he must, but reveling in it? I don't really see the evidence.

My man did not tear down a dynasty, breaking a thousand years' cycle of pointless strife, to get hit with the "He's a battle junkie" allegations. I swear to god I will bite the next person who says it--

2. His Reputation as Quick-Tempered is a Front

While it's typically not Mydei's fans going around saying Mydei's just another "battle-obsessed manly man," there is a different stereotype I actually do see being perpetrated by self-proclaimed Mydei fans: It seems to be a common trend in fanfics and fanarts to write Mydei with a strong temper, showing him becoming very aggressive when annoyed and suggesting that his first resort in difficult situations is always brute force.

To be fair, I think this is influenced by a number of factors, not the least of which is the game itself playing with this idea as a joke. In Mydei's "Keeping Up With Star Rail" video, Phainon playfully reduces Mydei to the quick-tempered brute stereotype, saying things like:

Phainon also brings this up at other points, such as suggesting that Mydei would only need one try to solve the puzzle in Janusopolis because his method of solving it would be... to just punch his way through.

But again, please take the things Phainon says about Mydei with a grain of salt. Roasting your friends for fun is simply a given, and I think that Phainon's comments about Mydei are meant to be understood as playful banter about his "rival," not serious analysis of Mydei's temperament (which really doesn't align with the stereotype of a hot-head at all).

Complicating this whole situation is the English voiceover, where it is clear the voice director encouraged Mydei's English VA to portray Mydei as particularly gruff and worked up in many of his lines. I have nothing against the English VA at all, but the voice direction of the English version clearly missed the mark on Mydei's character and went for a more aggressive vibe than any of the game's other languages. (The whole thing reminds of me Ray Chase not being given proper direction on Neuvillette's character at first and dramatically changing his voice acting over the course of Fontaine's patches.) I don't mean that English Mydei is never gentle, but that many of the lines are delivered with a level of vitriol that is not suited to the scene at all nor present in other languages. (Compare this line delivery in English with the same line in Chinese, for just one example.) The English interpretation of the character is strongly colored by this strange directing decision ("Mydei should be actively angry in many of his scenes"), unfortunately.

Complicating the whole situation even further is fandom's habit of reducing characters to flat caricatures because making funny meme art and exaggerating character traits for comedic effect is so common. (And enjoyable, don't get me wrong lol.) There is a well-loved relationship dynamic of "the grumpy one with the sunshine one," and I think unfortunately Mydei and Phainon are getting this treatment in fandom quite a bit: Phainon is depicted as the exuberant, happy puppy, while Mydei is the angry, bristling cat. It just makes sense when we consider cliches, right? The muscle-bound warrior dude will obviously be a cranky, easily angered hot-head, no? To a certain extent, I understand why fans jump to that conclusion and take that route in their fanworks; it's definitely easier to depict the characters with these kinds of shorthand tropes than to encompass their complicated personalities in every art or fic.

But the problem is... in-game Mydei is really not much like fanon Mydei, at least where tempers are concerned.

Repeatedly, the game tells us that Mydei keeps a level head even in situations of extreme pressure, and that he prefers to use communication, rather than force, to try to resolve the conflicts he encounters. Going back to some examples I've already mentioned: In the ruins of Kremnos, he's the first to suggest communicating with the titankin and the first to suggest that there's no reason to use violence against them. In 3.0, a scene lots of people say shows Mydei's "bloodlust," where he confronts Nikador and claims he has an intent to kill, actually starts with the line: "All that anger and regret I feel right now, I've learned to control them".

In Okhema, when the Kremnoans were facing assassination attempts, Mydei handled the situation legally, within the confines of Okhema's clearly ridiculous bureaucracy, to ensure that the Kremnoan people would be able to live within the city. In 3.1, when Krateros wants to lose the Okheman guards that are trailing them, Mydei defers to Krateros's lead, asking him if they should use force on the guards and only complying when he says yes.

In fanarts, it's common to draw Phainon doing something silly, with a 💢grumpy Mydei💢 barely tolerating it. But... in game, Mydei actually tends to weather Phainon's teasing without that much issue, often playing along readily and teasing back or simply not rising to the bait at all, sometimes giving him a flat response that actually irritates Phainon instead.

Even when Phainon lobbies some of his snappiest jests (the line about Mydei not being able to write comes to mind), Mydei's strongest reaction is usually "Why are you stupid?" and then he moves on. He's not out here roaring like an angry lion or flipping a table every time someone is a bit obnoxious in his general vicinity. Mydei's mostly chill with the silliness, guys. He's sometimes silly back.

And even in the moments where he should be his angriest, such as the day he avenged his mother by killing his father, Mydei tends to respond to pressure and even cruel provocation with level-headed answers, coldly telling Eurypon just how pointless the entire crown of Kremnos was. Krateros insults Mydei specifically for choosing communication as his conflict resolution strategy. Like, how did people decide Mydei would be an easily provoked hot-head when his own mentor insults him for trying to solve Kremnos's problems using words instead of action?

Perhaps one of the only occasions in the game where we actually see Mydei genuinely lash out in anger is the moment with Tribbie, where she tells him not to worry for Phainon. Mydei responds harshly--but then immediately walks his words back, explicitly notes that his single sharp answer was rude, and apologizes.

But what I haven't seen anyone discuss is that fact that Mydei had every right to be angry at Tribbie here. In the prior scene, Aglaea literally belittled and pressured him into taking on the Strife coreflame following Phainon's failure, and Mydei knew in this scene that Tribbie was fully aware of Aglaea's plan to manipulate Mydei using Phainon.

Again, not a shipping post, but Tribbie daring to go "Aw, don't be worried" rightttt after that concern for his friend was weaponized against Mydei to deny him his agency? A direct slap in the face. Aglaea--with Tribbie as her willing accomplice--knowingly put Phainon's very life at risk to entrap Mydei and force him to take on a role he was rejecting with every fiber of his being. After deliberately using Phainon as a tool, for Tribbie to have the audacity to say "You shouldn't worry about him" was actually pretty vile.

And yet it's Mydei who apologizes. It's Mydei who reins in any hint of frustration and tries to approach the situation politely, as if the person he is talking to hadn't literally just doomed him to an entire future of misery by using the safety of one of his only remaining friends as leverage. The achievement you get just before this moment, "Sing, O Goddess, of His Rage," suggests that Mydei truly is rightfully furious about this situation--but in the end, Mydei still forgives both Tribbie and Aglaea without hesitation, because he knows the importance of the Flame-Chase Journey and of following the prophecy at all cost.

Does this really strike us as someone who flies off the handle at minor annoyances, someone who is brash or easily riled up, someone who resorts to punching his way through all his problems?

Despite appearances, I think it would be more accurate to say that Mydei's temper runs pretty even and that he is actually difficult to provoke to genuine anger. There are times where we see him truly furious (when he confronts Nikador about the honorless scheme to attack Okhema, when he confronts his father, etc.), but in every situation where Mydei is angry, it's because the anger is absolutely justified, because something truly unforgivable is happening to him or those he's sworn to protect.

Mydei's suffered just about every manner of injustice it is possible for a person to suffer, and yet he soldiers on without making his suffering other people's concern. He apologizes for even minor outbursts, despite his feelings of outrage clearly being righteous. In some cases, we might even read him as a little passive aggressive instead--the fact that Phainon's food is nasty whenever he really annoys Mydei and yet he has no idea why the food is bad is a hilarious hint that Mydei's definitely more of a "revenge is a dish best served cold" kind of person than a hot-head.

So what about that moment early on, where Mydei uses the threat of violence to silence Verax Leo?

Well, no Verax Leos were harmed, so? Ha, being serious, I actually think this moment should be better understood as the player's first real insight into Mydei's character, separate from Phainon's colorful commentary.

This moment tells us one thing really clearly about Mydei: He's self-aware. Mydei knows the Verax Leos are literally cowardly lions, and he knows they think he's scary. He's aware of his own reputation as a "beast," and he isn't above utilizing that reputation to achieve a goal if doing so will produce a greater good for others. Without even needing to resort to any actual attack, Mydei is able to silence the Verax Leo's rumor-mongering using just the threat of his capacity for violence.

This suggests to the player that Mydei is actually discerning, straight to the point but intelligent enough to tailor his actions to the level of response that is appropriate for a given situation. He's not a "go in fists blazing right from the start" kind of guy when that's not what's needed. He could easily just punch the lion off the wall--but he doesn't. He lets his words doing the threatening, instead of his fists. (The fact that this particular Verax Leo was apparently helping to slander Kremnoans the week before and still lived to spread rumors about March tells us how disinclined Mydei is to solve his daily problems with actual violence.)

The takeaway is that Mydei's angry reputation among Okhemans, but hell, also among players(!), is largely fueled by stereotypes more than by any real actions on Mydei's part. People expect him to be a quick-tempered brute, so that's what they see, even when Mydei's real actions don't lend themselves to that cliche much.

Yet Mydei is also self-aware enough to know that same crude reputation is a powerful tool. It benefits him for certain groups to be very afraid of him, and this leads to an interesting conflict in the character: On the one hand, Mydei wants to distance himself from Kremnos's violence. He renames himself, swears allegiance to Aglaea's cause of hope, and spends his free time in Okhema doing gentle things like taking part in cooking competitions, playing house with kids, and judging drama festivals. More on this in a bit, but I think it's very interesting that not a single one of his marketing or promotional materials--nor any of his scenes in the game itself--show him willingly spending his free time on martial pursuits. (The animation they gave us was Mydei playing with children, not sparring with Phainon or even training with his dedicated warrior brothers-in-arms.) Mydei clearly wants to be seen and relate to others as a person separate from his bloodstained past.

On the other hand, his reputation as a terrifying warrior is one of the only things allowing him to live his current life. It's only as the to-be "blood-crowned" king of Kremnos that the Kremnoans willingly follow him and respect what he has to say. His ability to decide their futures hinges on them continuing to perceive him as Mydeimos, their undying lion of conquest. His only use to Aglaea and the Flame-Chase Journey is as the future manifestation of Strife or as an expendable resource that can be thrown single-handedly at enemies because he's the only one that can take their punishment and keep kicking. His place in Okhema is only secure so long as the Okhemans continue to fear his might, their discrimination kept at bay only by the knowledge that none of them can come close to defeating the Kremnoans if it came to blows. His reputation in Okhema is secure only so long as he can continue to cow the Verax Leos into silence with threats of retaliation.

Mydei doesn't have any attachment to his image as a monster--and yet his situation will not allow him to let it go. As much as he would like to live a different life, the view that others have of him--that he is an angry, savage person who is barely restraining an innate violent nature--is a shield locked in his hand, protecting him and making it possible to keep going--even when all he really wants to do is stop.

So, long story longer: I don't think Mydei has an especially hot temper at all; he's lived an incredibly hard life and had every one of his hopes and dreams systemically stripped away from him. He's under constant and immense pressure and feels entirely alone in bearing his burdens. His frustration occasionally bubbling to the surface--for which he apologizes--is not only justified but honestly still shockingly under-stated. If I was in his situation, a whole lot more heads would have rolled.

And now, a few less important notes to round this post out because I can already tell I'm going to hit tumblr's image limit before I run out of things to say about Mydei, so:

3. He's Not a Dumb Jock or Actually that Fitness Obsessed

This one is kind of annoying because Mydei's marketing materials like to play with the "dumb jock" trope as a joke. As mentioned before, we have Phainon's humorous "If you want wisdom, he's got might" line, Mydei being terrible at math (to the point even the Trailblazer assumes they'd be better at math than Mydei), the implication that Mydei is so straightforward he would miss deceptions from those speaking in ill faith (like during the Verax Leo's riddles), and of course, the overwhelmingly common stereotype of gym bros caring more about their muscles than their brains...

But the game also goes out of its way, repeatedly, to emphasize that just as Mydei doesn't fit the stereotype of the savage warrior, he also doesn't fit the stereotype of brawn over brains, of focusing more on physical prowess than thought.

Mydei being bad at math is played for laughs, sure, but in the same breath we're also told that he's a better student of history than Phainon is (which loops back into ironic when you remember that Phainon loves history and clearly wants to be good at it).

Mydei is one of the game's only confirmed bilingual characters outside of the Genius Society, despite the fact that, if his backstory is to be believed, he would have spent the most formative years of his childhood entirely language-less, and even after leaving the Sea of Souls, would likely not have attended any form of formal schooling. He never went to the Grove like Phainon and Castorice, yet he's capable not only of speaking and reading in multiple languages, but also of translating even archaic variations of his native tongue, enough so that (according to his marketing), being an archaic Kremnoan language mentor is one of his official titles.

He's also one of the characters most strongly associated with reading in the entire game, via the library, his canonically stated ability to interpret poetry, his character stories all being texts... All the other characters associated as strongly with reading as Mydei in the game are regarded as "nerds": Ratio, Dan Heng, Pela... Somehow critical portions of Mydei's character can be oriented around literature and he still gets hit with the dumb jock label???

He's also an accomplished military strategist capable of commanding the respect of seasoned veterans as well as waging effective war campaigns against enemy nations with a marginal, aging army and virtually no resources... He's capable of playing Aglaea's and Okhema's political games, despite having obvious disdain for such things... In fact, in Mydei's goodbye to Aglaea, he speaks to her as one nation's leader to another, remarking on how he's learned valuable lessons in managing his people from her, and specifically highlighting that her trait he most admires--what is missing from his own people's history--is her ability to instill genuine hope in others.

But yeah, Mydei is dumb muscle because it's funny, I guess.

What makes the whole "jock" thing loop around into doubly ironic (and also sad) is that although Mydei's character does involve a strong emphasis on health and fitness, the way it's framed in his marketing versus his actual in-game character is extremely different. Mydei's marketing is all about combat, how he's a "fitness ambassador," and "performance enhancers aren't in the Kremnoan language."

But in game Mydei...?

He doesn't have anything particularly unique to teach Phainon. There isn't any special "extreme Mydei training regimen" above what the other Kremnoan soldiers do, a fact we can confirm with the bath NPC Peleus, who tells us that Mydei has taught him his training regimen, and it's just the "Kremnoan traditional exercises" (the high-altitude shuttle run, firewalking, etc.). This idea that Mydei isn't devoting himself to constantly improving his ~super special combat capability~ is also reiterated in Mydei's marketing when someone tries to scam Okhemans by selling a secret "Mydei combat move" and Mydei is just like "There's no such thing..."

Yes, this is me telling you that the fanon thing where Mydei is all about hitting the arena to beat the crap out of challengers every single day is probably not that lore accurate. Yes, of course Mydei spars and keeps up with his strict exercise routine, but combat training doesn't actually seem to be his favorite hobby. In the game, Phainon is definitely worked up about wanting to spar and practice together, but Mydei's attitude to the idea of training with Phainon seems closer to "Please... be more chill..."

Just as an example, at possibly the most plot relevant time ever to suggest a spirit-raising spar with his "bro," the ideas that instead come to Mydei's mind for working out Phainon's disappointment are...

All gentle socializing.

In fact, although Mydei's marketing hyper-emphasized the "fitness" shtick, we never actually see Mydei sparring or training with anyone in any of his mainstream marketing materials or in game. (I'd say we don't even see him fitness training at all, but hey, they did add one chat sticker where he has a weight lol.)

Although we're informed repeatedly that Mydei's a fitness junkie, what his marketing and in-game free time scenes actually show us are, uhhhh *checks notes* sleeping in, taking long baths, eating pancakes, singing around the campfire with his band of bros, people watching, and babysitting? It's the life he truly deserves.

Again, this isn't to say Mydei doesn't train (obviously you don't look like that without putting in massive effort!), but both promotional materials and the scenes chosen for characters in game are deliberately designed to highlight the most integral aspects of characters' personalities. Mydei surely is exercising hard to keep up his health off-screen--but by de-emphasizing that in what the game actually visually shows us players, the only obvious conclusion is that other things (food, playing with children, spending time with comrades) are much more important to Mydei than just getting swole. Out of the "warrior" type characters we have in Star Rail, Mydei is one of the least pumped up about sparring that we've seen. From what we're actually given in game, Yanqing is infinitely more gung-ho about combat training than Mydei is.

In fact, rather than exercise itself, I'd say more of Mydei's "fitness" focus in game comes from his connection to food, and--perhaps this is me reading into things a bit too much (but that's my job, you know)--I'd argue that Mydei's repeated emphasis on eating healthy is actually a thinly-veiled trauma response to his childhood experiences with starvation.

We're told that, in the Sea of Souls, he fed on the raw flesh and bone of the abyssal monsters he fought--literally eat or be eaten--and could really only hold off the feeling of starving on the rare times that the tides were low and he could catch live shrimp instead. He also closely associates the Kremnoan Detachment, his only refuge, with the notion of comfort food.

And every time food is discussed, he's quick to tell others, even the Trailblazer, exactly what to add in order to make sure they're not only full but also eating a balanced meal that will keep them hale and whole. More than a gym bro, I think Mydei missed his calling as a nutritionist.

Long story longer, Mydei has never had a time where he could go without fighting. For virtually all of his life, at least until he reached Okhema, fighting was all he ever knew. Would he even really need much extra fitness training when his entire existence is a constant stream of battles, of pushing his body to its limits over and over again? He's been "working out" since he was literally an infant, with no down time, and even in relatively peaceful Okhema, a Chrysos Heir's duty to battle never ends.

This is just my personal take on it, but I'm inclined to think that when he finds rare moments of peace, Mydei would probably prefer to do things other than fight, especially if it's something that allows him to provide for himself and others, helping his friends stay well, such as through cooking.

I think the in-game material does a great job of emphasizing that Mydei's definition of "fitness" doesn't necessarily focus foremost on being a gym bro/jock who hits the training field every five minutes--his definition of "health" and "wellness" have a lot to do with nourishing the spirit at the same time.

4. Mydei is Significantly Less Impulsive than Phainon

Okay, I can hear you--if Mydei's not a brute, and he's not a fiery temper, and he's not much of an actual gym bro, what is he?

Well, unfortunately I'm just here to tell you another thing he's not: He's not actually that proactive of a rival either.

Aglaea is quick to call Mydei and Phainon "impulsive youths," putting them on the same level in terms of childishness, but actuallyyy...

Despite the fact that Phainon likes to claim Mydei "taunts him every time they meet", every single actual competition we've ever seen between Mydei and Phainon was initiated 100% by Phainon, with Mydei just sort of getting swept up in Phainon's antics.

In their joint lightcone, it's Phainon who calls for the contest of speed. In Kremnos, it's Phainon who proposes the titankin killing competition. After the coreflame trial, it's Phainon who demands the hot bath challenge (and then lies and blames Mydei lol), and it's even Phainon who turns taking home the other affected bath patrons into a competition too, one in which Mydei flat out claims he wasn't even competing:

We're given several hints, particularly throughout 3.0, that Mydei and Phainon's prior missions were largely characterized by Phainon coming up with ridiculous plans, and Mydei mostly going "Welp, that sounds like it's going to get us killed, but okay I guess."

While Phainon is ready to go "Fuck it, we ball" and fight a titan to the death all by himself, Mydei spends the entire first part of 3.0 going "Hey, so, like, fighting Nikador without an army is a really dumbass decision, and we should probably not be attempting this."

(This moment is kind of less funny in retrospect when you rewatch it with the knowledge that Mydei knew they couldn't handle the fight, but Phainon was like "No, we totally got this, trust me bro!" Spoiler Alert: They did not have it. Literally all of Mydei's deaths in 3.0 happened because of his crippling inability to say no to Phainon. But this is not a shipping post. I promise.)

Anyway, in one of the only examples we have of Mydei possibly being impulsive on his own, the note from the bath manager that reports someone charging into the baths to ask who the strongest warrior in Okhema is, the actual implication is that Mydei had no idea how poorly the Okhemans would take that (nor their obsession with debate which would be sparked), and his faux pas comes less from being immature and more from the cultural discrepancy between Okhema and Kremnos, as the Kremnoan in the note finds Mydei's behavior perfectly normal.

In fact, instead of being an unruly youth, Mydei is criticized by other characters several times in the story specifically for choosing to hold back and think things through before committing himself to a decision. If anything, he's closer to indecisive (or at least slow to decide) than he is to impulsive.

Now, don't get me wrong. The game tells us repeatedly that Mydei does get competitive as hell once Phainon actually manages to convince him to join in on the shenanigans. Of course Mydei likes to win. But the notion that Mydei is Phainon's equally impulsive rival, actively issuing his own challenges, goading his frenemy into new contests, and particularly motivated to keep one-upping Phainon? It's really more of an informed trait and a fandom cliche (red and blue rivals, the people cannot resist) than anything actually shown in the game.

At the risk of perhaps inserting too much of my own interpretation here, I'm inclined to say that Mydei's willingness to engage in Phainon's dumb competitions is less brash rivalry and much closer to "Guy who never had the chance to be an impulsive youth cautiously allowing himself the privilege of feeling carefree for ten minutes or so."

It's not that Mydei is actually that driven to assert his dominance or is particularly impetuous when left to his own devices--it's that he never before had a long enough period of peace where he was safe enough to act childish. If he ever had competitions in his past, they almost certainly would have been like "Who can murder the most enemy soldiers with their bare hands today?" In Okhema, Mydei can participate in sauna-offs.

Mydei isn't as (deliberately performatively) silly as Phainon. He's nowhere near as impulsive as Phainon is. He's not really that fixated on being a rival. But he is a pretty great partner in crime. He does allow himself to be drawn into Phainon's schemes over and over, because well... they're obviously fun for him. He gets into the competitions once they're in motion, even if he complains about them at the start. Mydei's life has been criminally devoid of light-hearted joys and normalcy, and being led into trouble that doesn't result in people literally dying on him--harmless trouble--is probably an extreme novelty for Mydei. Basically what I'm saying is, he isn't going to propose the Jackass competition, but he is going to fold like paper the moment said competition is suggested.

Case in point: In 3.0, there's a second where you can actually hear him regretting his life choices, trying so hard to convince himself that he is above Phainon's weird antics, but... in the end, he can't help himself. When Phainon starts LARPing with the Trailblazer during the titankin competition, Mydei's first reaction is essentially "Oh my god, this is so cringe," but just two lines later... look who joins the LARPing.

This nerddddd.

When left alone, Mydei withdraws from the world. Trailblazer typically finds him locked in silent contemplation, rejecting visitors, up on his own private corner of the rooftops. On his own, Mydei is significantly less likely to seek out trouble, cause public disturbances, or become a (usually accidental) nuisance compared to half the other Chrysos Heirs.

But when the company around him makes him feel comfortable, he is willing to engage with life in the childish ways he was never free to before. His "rivalry" with Phainon is better understood not as a macho dude-bro need to assert superiority, but as just one of the most obvious manifestations of Mydei's desire to experience the life he never got to live, to let himself be the kind of person who can just do silly things and cause dumb messes.

Mydei isn't a particularly impulsive person--but sometimes he lets himself try it out. As a treat.

Okay, last note for now:

5. Mind Your Manners

While it might be tempting to see Phainon and Mydei's competitions as the peak of Mydei's comedic contribution in the story, I think the actual funniest aspect of Mydei's character is the game's running gag about his manners.

Yes, Castrum Kremnos is a savage nation that revels in death and is rumored to drink the blood of their enemies--but they still keep it classy, damn it! Sure Mydei might have grown up as a half-feral sea beast and then a homeless, wandering exile subsisting off the land, but sometimes he literally can't help it--the aristocracy just jumps right out of him.

No, I'm not joking. Mydei really does have the prim and proper manners of a blue-blooded royal.

We see this from his first appearance in the game. A character's first scene is generally their establishing moment, the devs' chance to give players a strong starting impression--which makes it so telling that one of the first things out of Mydei's mouth is a insult to Phainon's manners.

This is a direct and pointed critique, suggesting Phainon has neglected his duties as a host by relying on his "guests" as back up in the battle. In the context of Amphoreus's historical inspirations, this is actually a very serious scolding: hospitality was a big, big deal in ancient Greece, and the idea of forcing foreign guests into serving you before affording them proper welcome and rest, let alone actively endangering them, would literally be considered an affront to the gods.

With this one short line, the devs are impressing the extreme difference in social status between Mydei and Phainon: Phainon is effectively a "country bumpkin," a member of a lower class who doesn't know how to (or perhaps just doesn't care to?) properly practice the civil gestures of the upper rungs of Amphorean society. Mydei, on the other hand, not only knows the proper rituals of etiquette but expects those rituals to be upheld by others. He's basically calling Phainon a mannerless peasant in one of his first lines of dialogue, which is why Phainon gets so grumpy for the rest of the conversation lol.

We see Mydei's inclination towards proper decorum in several other places as well. As a prince, he's entitled to respect and deference, and while we might be inclined to say "Mydei isn't the type to enforce his royal status over others," the game itself shows us that... Mydei kind of does expect people to treat him differently.

Just as one small starting example, I know it's somewhat popular to have Mydei deny his royal status in fanfics, such as telling people not to call him by his titles or acting as if he has no connection to the upper class, but this doesn't actually happen in the game. Mydei introduces himself to the Trailblazer from the start as Castrum Kremnos's crown prince, consistently thinks of himself (such as in mission journal text) as a prince, and is largely referred to as "the crown prince" or "your highness" by everyone outside the Chrysos Heirs, including all of the Okhemans:

In fact, I'd go so far as to argue that Mydei takes his role as a prince very seriously and does not remotely deny the responsibility he bears toward his people. It's important to him to fulfill his duty to the Kremnoans, so rather than downplaying his role as their prince, he seems to acknowledge it freely, working to serve as a principled leader as best he can.

In short, Mydei is aware of his status--and he expects everyone else will be aware of it too.

I don't mean this in a bad way at all; he's not rude or pompous about it--rather, I think this is a subconscious aspect of his character. Mydei has spent many of his formative years with his people putting him on a ridiculously tall pedestal. He's spent at least a decade as the leader of a group that basically worships the ground he walks on; the Kremnoans obviously aggressively follow the social protocols of their very traditional culture, which seems to include somewhat blind adoration of their kings. Even if Mydei wanted the Kremnoans to treat him as "just another one of the people," there's almost zero chance they would do so. It would likely go against their nature to even ask that of them. Ergo, Mydei's almost certainly spent his entire adult life as the recipient of his people's extreme respect--and their strict adherence to proper social protocols around their prince.

Because of this, Mydei does have specific (if likely subconscious) expectations for "how people will behave around me," and we players get to see several humorous moments where other characters in the story violate Mydei's understanding of how princes should be treated:

In a particularly infamous memory crystal, we see one of Phainon and Mydei's early interactions, with Phainon inserting himself in Mydei's presence and starting up a conversation Mydei obviously did not expect. This is such a faux pas that only someone like Phainon could have had the audacity to thoughtlessly do it; he basically hop-skip-jumped about twelve rungs on the social ladder to waylay a royal without seeking an audience--and Mydei is clearly taken aback to be approached so casually and without preamble. Although Mydei doesn't actually say it (because doing so would be rude, of course), Phainon himself awkwardly ends up acknowledging that Mydei is trying hard to end their conversation:

It's not because Mydei dislikes Phainon already, but because the act of walking up on a stranger--especially a stranger who is a prince!--and assuming such a degree of familiarity as to comment on his body of all things would be so beyond the pale of appropriate social behavior that even Mydei hardly seems to know how to respond at first.

We see this same completely (or perhaps willfully) oblivious to social protocol behavior from Phainon numerous times throughout the 3.0 and 3.1 quests, and Mydei's affronted reactions are always pretty priceless. You can almost hear him thinking "The audacity!"

The exact same face my conservative grandma makes when I accidentally drop an F bomb in front of her.

Blatantly asking a prince to praise you when you haven't earned it? Scandalous.

But Phainon isn't the only person who can provoke these offended responses from Mydei while pushing the prince's boundaries with bad manners. Trailblazer hilariously earns themself a few critiques about their lack of courtesy too:

And even Aglaea triggers a haughty response???

(Sure, we could give Mydei the benefit of the doubt here and say he's talking about himself and Phainon, but honestly? I think this English translation at least lends itself to the possibility of a different take as well: Bro got so embarrassed over being caught acting a fool that THE ROYAL "WE" just burst straight out of him lmaoooo. I mean, come on, he wouldn't be saying Phainon has a formidable presence while laying on the ground like an idiot, right? It's the royal we, I'm telling y'all. 😂)

In another humorous example, in the animation where Mydei plays with children, the "princess" in the play criticizes Mydei for not being very good at princely behaviors like Okheman waltzing, which immediately results in... Mydei seeking dance lessons from Tribbie so he can improve himself. Princes can't be caught slacking!

(But hilariously enough, as a sidenote, Mydei's dance ability seems to be another case of culture gap: One of the other children in Okhema, the one who was taught about Kremnoan traditions by Mydei, is actually quick to inform us that Mydei may not be familiar with Okheman dances--but he does know all about Anastenaria dancing!)

(Mydei might not fit the standards for an Okheman prince, but he's killing it as a Kremnoan one!)

Anyway, being serious again: Although it's quite funny the dev team insists so much that Mydei, despite being prince of a nation of savage warriors, is nonetheless a prince, with all the trappings of prim and proper etiquette, I think it also says a lot about Mydei's character that he does try to follow social protocols so closely. He apologizes for rudeness. He minds how he speaks to others. He is precise and forthright and always honors his word. Hell, he even politely makes prior arrangements if he knows he's going to be late to an event.

Mydei is self-aware enough to know his status. He knows the weight of that status, and he knows what his status means to his people. He takes the responsibility seriously and bears the role to the best of his ability, striving to meet the Kremnoans' expectations of a "crown prince" even as he can't bring himself to truly align with their core beliefs. He is trying his best to carry himself as a leader should, complete with his commitment to honor the traditional expectations and social class systems of both Kremnos and Okhema.

Despite his rough start in life, Mydei has accepted his people's intense respect and adapted himself to become someone worthy of commanding that respect. Social graces may not have come naturally to him after a childhood completely outside of humanity's reach, but Mydei nevertheless has worked hard to become a cultured person who embodies the demeanor and decorum of a sole surviving prince.

Although it's played for laughs, it's also played quite straight throughout Amphoreus's story: Manners matter to Mydei--both in himself and in others.

Anyway, since I still have more notes I jotted down about Mydei's characterization, here is some other stuff:

Part 2, over here ->

[kasanetetolover]

One of my moots on insta (@heresallyis) made a swap au with them, and I had to make fan art

[lazy-ahh]

It would be cool if you wrote something for maskless mark x kryptonian!malereader

(YOU WERE) MY HOME

pairing maskless! mark grayson x (kryptonian) male reader

you memorized the exact shade of brown in mark’s eyes. the way his laugh crinkles his nose. how his hands always tremble after a fight. he memorized the way your body went limp in his arms when the kryptonite hit. how your blood looked smeared across his suit. the exact second your heartbeat stopped. (he’s not your mark. but when he kisses you like he’s drowning, you let him.)

taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

your earliest memory is fire—not the gentle kind, not the warm glow of a hearth, but the violent, screaming kind. the kind that eats metal and flesh alike as your family’s ship tore itself apart in earth’s atmosphere, the heat so intense you could feel it searing your skin even through your crash harness. the scent of burning circuits and something darker, something organic—your parents, still strapped into their seats, their bodies limp and wrong in ways your child-mind couldn’t name but understood instinctively. you remember the way your throat burned from screaming, the way your fingers trembled as you clawed through twisted wreckage, your tiny hands slick with ash and something wet that wasn’t yours. then—cold grass beneath your palms, the shock of it against your skin as you collapsed in a stranger’s backyard, the night air biting at your tear-streaked face. you didn’t know where you were. you didn’t know if you were dying. you just knew you were alone.

until you weren’t.

a boy—messy-haired, pajama-clad, eyes wide with curiosity instead of fear—peered down at you like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. "whoa," mark whispered, voice hushed with awe, as if you were a fallen star instead of something broken. "are you an alien?" you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. your voice was lost somewhere between the wreckage and the weight pressing against your chest, but it didn’t matter because mark didn’t wait for one. he just reached out, small fingers brushing your arm like you were something precious, and you shattered. you clung to him, shaking, gasping, and he held you back without hesitation, his arms tight around your shoulders like he already knew you needed to be held together. neither of you understood what had happened—you were both just kids, too young for death, too young for the weight of the universe—but mark didn’t need to understand to be kind. he whispered soft, clumsy reassurances against your hair, rubbed your back in slow circles the way his mother did for him when he cried, his voice wobbling but determined. "it’s okay," he kept saying, even though it wasn’t, even though it would never be okay again. "i got you."

mark always had good intentions.

after that night, you were never alone again. the grayson household wrapped around you like a second skin—debbie’s gentle hands guiding you through human meals that tasted too rich, too warm compared to the nutrient packs from your ship. nolan’s steady voice explaining earth’s customs with patient amusement when you stared too long at things like skyscrapers or television. and mark—always mark—dragging you into his world with both hands, insisting you share his bed when the unfamiliar silence of your new room kept you awake. the mattress was too soft, nothing like the firm sleep-pods you were raised in, but mark’s presence beside you, his quiet snoring, made it feel like home.

cecil came later, all sharp suits and sharper eyes, but his grip on your shoulder was firm, not cruel, when he signed the adoption papers. you even remember cecil's expression softening a tiny bit when you finally mustered up the courage to look up at him. "you’re special, kid. you could do a lot of good in this world." he’d said, and you didn’t realize then how much that would cost you. the training was brutal—learning to control the way your fists could shatter concrete, how your vision blurred red-gold when anger spiked too hot in your chest—but you endured it. not because you cared about being a hero, but because nolan had quietly told both you and mark that he would inherit powers one day. and mark? mark already dreamed of it. of soaring through skies, of saving people with that bright, fearless grin of his. "we’ll be unstoppable," he’d say, bumping his shoulder against yours, and you’d nod, because all you ever wanted was to stand beside him.

you remember the little things most: the way mark split his peanut butter sandwiches with you in the cafeteria when you couldn’t stomach the school’s mystery meat. how he’d sneak you onto the roof at night, pointing out constellations he’d misname on purpose just to hear you laugh and correct him. the winter your fingers went numb during a snowball fight, and mark—without hesitation—pulled off his gloves and pressed your hands between his own, blowing warm air onto your skin until the feeling returned. "better?" he’d asked, cheeks pink from cold, breath fogging between you. you lied and said yes, even though your chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with the weather.

and then there were the bigger moments: the first time you flew together, mark whooping as he clung to your back, his laughter vibrating against your spine. the way he’d look at you after messy, early missions—bloodied but triumphant, grinning like you’d hung the stars yourselves.

somewhere between stolen lunches and whispered secrets, between scraped knees and shared victories, you fell in love. not all at once, but slowly, inevitably, like gravity pulling you into orbit around him—helpless, hopeless, a collision course written in the stars. and the cruelest part? you never even tried to stop it.

you memorized the shape of his name like a prayer, the syllables curling soft and reverent against your tongue every time you almost said it: i love you, i love you, i love you. it lingered in the spaces between your ribs, ached behind your teeth, spilled into every quiet gesture you couldn’t stop yourself from making. the way you’d fix his suit after battles, fingers lingering a second too long on the fabric stretched over his shoulders. how you’d always bring him his favorite snack after patrol, even when he forgot to ask. the nights you stayed up late just to listen to him ramble about his day, your chest so full it threatened to crack open.

you were brave in every way that mattered—except one. the words never made it past your lips, because you knew. you knew. mark liked girls. loved them, even. the way his eyes followed amber in the hallways, the soft, dazed smile he’d get when eve laughed. you watched it all with a hollow kind of hunger, wondering if maybe—maybe—you could be the exception. if his hands, so careful when they patched up your wounds, might one day cradle your face instead. if his laughter, bright and endless, might one day be yours in a way that wasn’t just friendship.

(you remember one night, the two of you tangled together on the couch after a movie, his head lolling sleepily against your shoulder. your breath caught, heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. this is enough, you told yourself. this has to be enough. but then he shifted, his lips brushing accidentally against the curve of your neck, and for one delirious second, you let yourself hope.

he didn’t even notice. just yawned and mumbled, "g’night, dude," like you hadn’t just short-circuited entirely.)

you never overstepped. never pushed. you loved him too much for that. so you stayed—always giving, always there, hands outstretched but never grasping. and mark? mark never pulled away. never acted uncomfortable. just smiled at you like you were his favorite person in the world (and you were, just not in the way you wanted).

sometimes, you wondered if that was worse.

but of course, ever the giver, you stayed. continued to pour yourself into the spaces between his broken pieces after nolan left him shattered across that mountain. held ice packs to his bruises when his healing factor was too slow, stayed awake through his nightmares when the memories of his father's fists became too loud. every life he couldn't save weighed on him like stones in his pockets, and you? you became the water that buoyed him up, whispering "it wasn't your fault" into the hollow of his collarbone when he shook apart in your arms. and when he'd look at you afterward—eyes wet with gratitude and something unreadable but familiar, mouth soft with something you didn't dare name—you let yourself pretend, just for a second, that it meant more.

but then the drift began. slow, like the tide pulling back from shore—that subtle, inevitable retreat you didn't notice until you were already standing on damp sand, wondering when the water had gotten so far away. you told yourself it was fine. normal. that this was just what happened when two people grew up and became heroes, when the weight of the world settled across their shoulders like second capes. mark was drowning in responsibilities, just like you were—global crises that left blood under your fingernails for days, collateral damage measured in broken buildings and broken families, cecil's ever-growing demands that came with that particular tilt of his head that meant refusal wasn't an option.

you'd see mark across crowded briefing rooms, the shadows under his eyes darker each time, his shoulders tensed like he was still bracing for his father's blows. sometimes your fingers would twitch with the memory of how easily they used to fit between his shoulder blades, how he'd lean into your touch like a sunflower chasing light. but in the rare moments he surfaced for air—between missions, during stolen minutes in the guardians' lounge—he never reached for you. not like before. not with that easy, unconscious trust that used to have him slinging an arm around your neck before he'd even finished saying hello.

instead, there were new distances measured in centimeters of couch space between you, in conversations that ended just a beat too soon, in the way he'd sometimes look at you like he was trying to solve an equation written just behind your eyes. you told yourself it was the exhaustion. the trauma. the growing up. you told yourself it didn't feel like losing something you'd never really had in the first place.

(you remember that particular tuesday night with crystal clarity—the way the dim lamplight caught the exhaustion in the slope of mark's shoulders as amber's name flashed across his phone screen again, the third time in forty-seven minutes. the couch cushions dipped under his weight as he slumped against you, his forehead pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder like he was trying to fuse himself there. you could feel the frustrated heat of his skin through your shirt, could count each uneven breath that gusted against your collarbone. "she says i'm never present," he muttered, the words cracking open like overripe fruit, all sticky vulnerability. your fingers spasmed against his back, nails leaving half-moon indents in your own palms as you fought the urge to fist your hands in his shirt and scream i'm here, i'm always here, why can't you see me? instead, you traced the familiar topography of his spine through thin fabric, your palm skating over the knobs of vertebrae you'd set back in place after countless battles. "then be present, mark," you whispered, the advice settling like powdered glass between your teeth. he never knew you'd rehearsed those exact words in your bathroom mirror that morning, watching your reflection mouth them until your expression stopped twisting into something ugly. never knew you kept a mental tally of all the times you'd talked him through his relationship problems like some masochistic saint.)

you were stupid. selfish. a fraud wearing a martyr's skin. because when mark and amber finally shattered apart—when you found him sitting on your roof outside your bedroom window in the rain, his hands shaking around a lukewarm cup of coffee you'd made him just how he liked—your grief came in layers. the first was genuine: the way your throat closed at his red-rimmed eyes, the immediate urge to fix what you couldn't. but beneath that? something rotten and hungry uncurling in your ribcage, whispering maybe now. maybe me. the shame hit like a solar flare, burning through your veins hotter than any kryptonian heat vision ever could—because even as you pulled him into a hug, even as you let him stain your shirt with tears, some treacherous part of you was already calculating if this pain of his might finally turn his gaze your way.

and then—

the words hit like a kryptonite blade between your ribs, delivered with that familiar, awkward scratch at the back of his neck that you'd always found endearing. "hey, so. eve and i. we're, uh. together." mark's grin was bashful in the way that made his left dimple appear, afternoon sunlight gilding the curve of his cheek like he was something holy. your fingers spasmed around the coffee cup—the one you'd brought him back from that paris mission last year—and you took a hurried gulp, letting the near-boiling liquid scald your tongue raw. the pain was a welcome distraction from the way your vision blurred. "that's great, man," you managed, the lie sticking like wet sand in your throat. you'd gotten good at this, at stitching your voice into something steady when everything inside you was collapsing.

he didn't notice. of course he didn't. mark never saw the way your breath hitched when he touched you, never caught you staring at the place where his t-shirt rode up when he stretched. now he was practically vibrating with the need to share, knees bouncing as he leaned forward. "she kissed me after the downtown mission," he confessed, voice dropping like you were co-conspirators in this joy. "like, right in the middle of all the rubble? and her laugh—" his fingers fluttered over his sternum, mapping the phantom flip of his heart, and you thought distantly that you could chart every fracture spreading through your own chest in real time. the ceramic mug creaked ominously in your grip, but you couldn't feel the heat anymore, couldn't feel anything except the terrible, perfect clarity of this moment: mark, glowing with happiness that wasn't yours to claim, and you, committing every detail to memory like a masochist preserving their own ruin.

(≧∇≦)ﾉ☆

the sky isn't just red—it's hemorrhaging, great arterial sprays of crimson light pulsing behind thick, choking clouds that don't move like normal clouds should. below you, the streets gape open in jagged wounds, asphalt peeling back like the skin of some massive creature trying to escape its own bones. the air isn't just smoky—it's alive with the taste of burning copper and molten steel, each breath scraping your throat raw with the ghosts of a thousand shattered lives. your cape snaps violently behind you, a desperate thing trying to flee the carnage, while your heart jackhammers against your sternum with such force you're half-afraid it'll crack through and go tumbling down into the ruins below.

chicago isn't just burning.

it's being unmade.

again.

you've seen this city broken more times than you can count—watched it crumble under alien invasions, superpowered brawls, the careless collateral damage of beings who called themselves heroes. you know the drill by now: the screaming, the sirens, the way the news cameras always zoom in too close on crying children. you've memorized earth's sick little dance of destruction and rebirth, how it always stitches itself back together with temporary scaffolds and hollow promises of "never again."

but this?

this is different.

because the figures streaking through the carnage below—the ones reducing buildings to dust and civilians and heroes alike to red smears on concrete—they all wear his face. his jawline. his messy dark hair. they move with his fighting style, shout with his voice, even bleed the same shade of red. but their eyes? their eyes are all wrong. cold and chaotic where his are warm, empty where his always held that stubborn spark of hope.

none of them are your mark.

the sky weeps fire around you as you hover above the carnage, the acrid smoke stinging your eyes worse than the truth ever could. somewhere in this nightmare of broken concrete and broken bodies, the real mark fights for his life—while you're trapped here, your lungs burning with the cruel joke of it all. that in this city of a thousand twisted copies wearing his face, the most unbearable pain wouldn't be failing to find him... but reaching for him only to grasp another hollow imitation.

you don't know where your mark is. he's probably halfway across the world by now, his arm slung protectively around eve's waist as they fight back-to-back like some perfect, seamless team. while you? you're knee-deep in rubble, using your body as a human shield between collapsing buildings and innocent civilians—always the bridesmaid, never the groom. or something like that.

the irony tastes like blood in your mouth—metallic and thick, the kind that lingers after a punch to the jaw. you’d stood like this days ago in the guardians’ headquarters, your trembling fingers digging into your palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents, half-moons of desperation carved into your skin. mark had been gearing up for another mission with her, his suit clinging to his shoulders in that way that always made your throat tight. his gloves smelled like ozone and sweat when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him mid-motion as he reached for his mask. your grip was too tight, your pulse too loud in your ears.

"you're always with her," you’d choked out, the words scraping your throat raw, tearing free like shrapnel. your voice fractured like the sidewalk now splitting beneath your feet, each crack exposing years of buried longing.

it all came tumbling out then—how you’d memorized the exact shade of brown in his eyes (warm, like earth after rain), how you’d counted every faint freckle scattered across his nose like constellations. how you’d give up your powers, your legacy, your name if it meant he’d look at you just once the way he looked at her—soft and awed, like she’d hung the stars herself. the confession burned worse than kryptonite, searing your tongue, leaving your mouth tasting like smoke and regret.

for one suspended second, mark’s face did something complicated—his lips parted like you’d punched the air from his lungs, his pupils blowing wide, dark with something unreadable before his gaze dropped to your mouth. your heart stuttered, a trapped bird slamming against your ribs.

you didn’t know why you’d said it. maybe it was the alcohol rex had shoved into your hands earlier, his smirk sharp as he’d muttered, "drink up, superboy. maybe it’ll make you stop staring at him like a kicked puppy." you’d swallowed it all down—the bitter drink, the bitter truth—and now here you were, spilling your guts like some pathetic, lovesick fool, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

mark had frozen like you’d hit him with kryptonite, his hands suspended in air, fingers still curled around the edge of his half-raised mask. the familiar crease between his brows deepened, his lips parting slightly—not in anger, but in dawning, terrifying comprehension. "what?" he breathed, voice barely above a whisper, and you saw it then—the exact moment realization struck. his breath hitched, his pulse visible in the jump of his throat, his gaze dropping to your mouth one again for one electrifying second before snapping back up, wide and startled.

in that suspended heartbeat between confession and consequence, you could have sworn something shifted behind his eyes—something warm and terrified and impossibly, dangerously like reciprocation. like maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for this too.

then the comms crackled to life with eve’s voice, bright and urgent, and whatever fragile moment existed between you shattered like the storefront windows now raining glass down around you. "mark? you there?"

he flinched like you'd caught him with his hands in the fire, his mask slipping into place with a sound that felt too final—like a coffin lid sealing shut. "we'll talk later," he muttered, but the words came out all wrong, cracked down the middle like his voice was splitting apart the same way your ribs were. you saw everything in painful clarity: the tremor in his fingers as they fumbled with his mask's edge, the way his adam's apple bobbed like he was swallowing back something thick and unsaid. then he was gone in a streak of blue and yellow, leaving you standing there with your heart ripped clean from your chest, still beating raw in your palms. you wondered if this was how icarus felt—watching the sun flee from him, knowing he'd flown too close.

you became a hero for him. learned to fly not because the sky called to you, but because it was where he lived. trained your fists to break bones only so you could be the one to set his afterwards. stood beside him through every battle, every loss, every quiet midnight where the weight of the world pressed too hard against his shoulders. always beside him. never with him. never the way you truly wanted—fingers laced together, mouths sharing breath instead of battlefield strategies.

now, as you wrench a sobbing child from collapsing rubble, their tiny fingers clutching at your collar like you're the only solid thing left in this nightmare, you wonder if that hesitation in his eyes meant he felt it too—that inexorable pull between you two, like twin stars caught in each other's gravity. or if you'd just shattered the best thing in your life for nothing more than a maybe.

a building groans nearby, its steel skeleton screaming as concrete rains down in deadly chunks. you move before you think, your body slamming into the structure with enough force to crack your spine. the impact knocks the air from your lungs, but you hold firm, muscles burning as you lower the crumbling mass inch by agonizing inch. people scramble free beneath you, their screams mixing with the distant wail of sirens. you don't have time to gasp before the shockwave hits—another explosion ripping through the street, sending you skidding backward through debris. smoke fills your mouth, your nose, your pores, but all you can taste is the ghost of his name.

that’s when you see him.

floating there like some half-remembered dream, blood painting abstract patterns across his cheekbones. but—no mask. no goggles. nothing to hide the way his face transforms when he sees you, his eyes widening like you’re the first real thing he’s seen in years. the moment his gaze lands on you, something fractures deep in your chest—not the clean break of a bone, but the slow, seismic splitting of tectonic plates—only to knit itself back together with golden thread when his lips part in quiet awe.

this mark looks at you like you’re the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life. like you’re water after decades of drought, like you’re the first star he’s seen after being trapped in an endless night. his eyes trace your face like he’s memorizing it, like he’s trying to drink you in before you disappear again—and oh, god, the way his expression softens when he realizes it’s really you, like his entire body sighs in relief.

then he’s moving, closing the distance between you in a heartbeat, his hands coming up to cradle your face before stopping just short, trembling in the air like he’s afraid you’ll vanish once again if he touches you. "hey," he murmurs, his voice so tender it aches, the sound wrapping around you like sunlight. "it’s okay. i got you."

and suddenly you’re seven years old again, trembling in the wreckage of your pod, your tiny fingers clutching at the grass as the world spins too fast around you. you remember the warmth of mark’s small body pressing against yours, his arms tight around your shoulders like he could shield you from the entire universe if he just held on hard enough. the way he whispered, "it’s okay, it’s okay," into your hair like a prayer, his voice wobbling but sure.

this mark is looking at you with that same fierce protectiveness, that same unwavering devotion—but now it’s layered with something deeper, something older. something that makes your breath catch. he looks at you like you’re the axis his world spins around, like every scar on your body is a constellation he wants to worship. like he’s loved you in every lifetime, and will love you in every one to come.

a sob claws its way up your throat, raw and broken, because this—this is how you’ve always wanted to be seen. not as a sidekick, not as a best friend, but as the living, breathing center of someone’s universe. and here, in the middle of a burning city, with a version of mark who wears his heart as openly as he wears his scars, you finally are.

you let him carry you in his arms, let his fingers curl protectively around the back of your head as he tucks your face against the warm hollow of his neck. the wind screams past your ears as he takes off, but you don’t fight it—don’t even tense. your mission brief echoes dimly in your mind (neutralize all variants, show no mercy) but it feels distant now, drowned out by the steady thump of his pulse beneath your lips. let them see, you think hazily. let the whole world watch as he flies you away like something precious.

next thing you know, you’re perched on the edge of your bathroom sink, his hips slotting between your knees as he patches you up with practiced hands. he’d flown you high enough earlier that the sun could kiss your wounds closed, but he still fusses—dabbing antiseptic over the cuts that haven’t quite healed, his touch feather-light when you flinch. "still hurts here?" he murmurs, fingers hovering over your ribs. you nod, and he makes a soft, wounded noise in his throat before reaching for the salve.

you watch, hypnotized, as he cups the salve between his palms—the same way you've done for yourself a thousand lonely nights—letting his body heat soften it before spreading it across your aching skin. his fingers move with practiced ease, tracing the map of your wounds like he's reading braille, like every bruise and cut tells a story only he understands. "you know my place better than i do," you murmur, voice scraped raw from smoke and unshed tears.

his hands freeze mid-motion. when he lifts his gaze, his eyes are bottomless pools of ink in the dim bathroom light, swirling with emotions too complex to name. "of course i do," he breathes, the words spilling out like a confession dragged from his chest. his thumb finds the sharp angle of your hipbone, brushing once—a fleeting touch that burns hotter than any solar flare. "how could i not when i spent most of my life with you?" his voice drops to a whisper, cracking open like an eggshell. "when i spent years memorizing the way you breathe when you're hurting? the way you grit your teeth slightly when you're lying?"

the air between you grows thick, charged like the moment before lightning strikes. you can feel his pulse where his fingertips rest against your skin, rapid as a hummingbird's wings. the mirror fogs with your shared breath, obscuring your reflections until it's just this—just his hands on your body, his truths in your mouth, this fragile thing you've both been too afraid to name.

the confession lingers in the humid air between you, delicate as the steam spiraling from the faucet, as transient as the condensation tracing paths down the mirror. you ache to ask—how many realities exist where your fingers intertwine as more than friends? how many versions of himself experienced this moment with you? but then his calloused palm rises to frame your jaw, his thumb sweeping salve across your cheekbone with a tenderness that steals your voice. the medicine stings, but you'd endure a thousand cuts just to keep his hands this close.

"there," he murmurs, his breath ghosting over your skin like a summer breeze through open curtains. the scent of him—ozone and the faint metallic tang of blood—mixes with the antiseptic's sharpness. "good as new."

except you're anything but. you're a constellation of fresh wounds and ancient scars, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath your skin where your bodies press together. yet as his forehead comes to rest against yours, as his lashes brush your cheek when he blinks, the familiar ache in your chest doesn't feel like shattering.

it feels like dawn after endless night. like gravity finally pulling you into orbit. like the first full breath after years of drowning.

it feels like every cliché about home you ever rolled your eyes at—because home was never a place. it's the boy who learned your pain before he learned your favorite color, who carries the shape of your wounds in his hands like something precious.

the warmth of his hands on your skin feels like sunrise after decades of darkness—like finally breathing after being submerged too long. for one heartbeat, two, you let yourself drown in it, this dizzying sensation of being cherished, of being truly seen for the first time in your life. then reality comes crashing back like a fist to the gut, bitter and violent. this isn't your mark. can't be your mark. this is one of the invaders, the destroyers, the monsters who painted chicago's streets red with innocent blood. his hands may cradle you with familiar tenderness, but you saw what the other versons of him did to the city. what he's done too.

your muscles tense, fingers curling into fists at your sides. you should attack. should drive your fist through his chest the way cecil trained you to. should make him pay for all the lives lost today.

but then—

his lips quirk in that lopsided smile you've traced in your dreams a thousand times, the one that makes his left dimple appear just so. his eyes crinkle at the corners in that way you could recognize blindfolded, but there's something shattered in his gaze now, something ancient and grieving. "god, i missed you," he breathes, voice cracking like dry earth in a drought, like the words have been clawing their way up his throat for years. the sound of it—so raw, so painfully familiar—makes your traitorous heart stutter behind your ribs.

your breath catches. "what happened..." you swallow hard, fingers twitching at your sides. "to the me in your world?"

his face does something complicated. for a second, he just looks at you, his gaze tracing your features like he’s trying to commit them to memory all over again. then, softly: "we were together. properly, i mean." his thumb brushes your cheekbone, hesitant. "confessed to each other a year before i got my powers. it was... stupidly awkward. i tripped over my own feet trying to kiss you." a wet laugh escapes him, his eyes shining. "you laughed at me. then pulled me in by my shirt."

the image blooms in your mind—mark, younger, softer, his face burning red as he fumbles through a love confession. you can almost see it.

his expression darkens. "then the invasion happened. you fought—of course you did. even when that bastard pulled out the kryptonite." his voice cracks. "i was too hurt to move. could barely breathe. but you—you looked at me, right before..." he chokes, his hands tightening around yours. "you smiled. like you weren’t scared at all."

the sob tears through you like a supernova—violent, uncontrollable, leaving you trembling in its aftermath. before you can think, you're clutching at him with desperate hands, fingers twisting into the frayed fabric of his suit as if you could somehow stitch reality back together through sheer will alone. your knuckles press white against his ribs, nails biting into your own palms, but you can't loosen your grip. you'd crawl between dimensions yourself if it meant bringing his version of you home. because seeing him so broken like this... it just. hurts so fucking bad.

he collapses into you like a dying star, his arms locking around your waist with bruising intensity. his face presses hot and wet against the curve of your neck, his tears searing your skin as his shoulders shudder against yours. you feel the exact moment his knees give out, how his weight sinks into you—the great invincible mark grayson, brought to his knees by grief.

"we lose you... in every other dimension," he chokes out between ragged breaths, the words fracturing as they leave his lips. his fingers scramble across your back like he's memorizing your pulse points, your scars, the way your lungs expand with each shaky inhale. "and i feel so god damn jealous of the versions of me who didn't-" his voice shatters completely then, dissolving into something raw and wounded.

instinct takes over. your hands find their way into his hair, cradling his head as your thumbs sweep across his damp cheeks. "shhh, i've got you," you murmur into his temple, the same words he once whispered to a scared alien boy in his backyard. the irony tastes bitter on your tongue—how after all these years, you're still comforting each other through losses that never seem to end.

the salt on your lips could be from his tears or yours. you've lost track of who's breaking apart more violently, whose grief runs deeper. are you mourning the you he watched die? the mark who will never look at you this way in your own world? or simply the cruel joke the universe keeps playing—that in every reality, one of you is always left holding the pieces?

"please..." his voice cracks like a breaking spine as he drifts closer, hands hovering near your face but not daring to touch. his breathing comes in ragged bursts, lips trembling around each word. "come home with me." the raw need in his tone makes your stomach flip. "my dimension—it's quiet there, baby, so quiet. just us. no eve, no cecil, no him." his fingers finally brush your cheek, sticky with blood and tears. "we'll disappear somewhere where no one knows us. i'll build us a house with my bare hands. you'll plant those stupid flowers you love. we can even take a bunch of cats with us. i'll—fuck—i'll worship you like you deserve. please."

you want to. god, you want to. your traitorous body already leans into his touch, craving more of the warmth you've been starving for.

but—

"mark," you whisper, heart shattering at how his face lights up just hearing his name from your lips. "you've... you've killed people. innocent people."

he doesn't flinch. doesn't hesitate. just leans in until his forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in ragged, uneven puffs that ghost across your lips. you can smell the blood and smoke clinging to him, can feel the way his pulse races where your skin touches. "yeah," he admits, voice rough like gravel, thick with something desperate between shame and worship. "but i'd burn a thousand worlds to ashes before i let anything hurt you again." his hands slide down your sides, fingers digging into the curve of your waist hard enough to bruise as he yanks you flush against him. you can feel every hard line of his body, the way his heart hammers against his ribs where your chests press together. "i'm already damned," he murmurs, lips brushing yours with every word. "let me be damned with you."

you wince, hands coming up to push weakly at his chest. "mark, you're not mine—"

"i know," he interrupts, pressing his forehead harder against yours like he's trying to fuse your thoughts together. his voice drops to a whisper, raw and broken. "but i could be."

around you, the city burns. the air is thick with the stench of melting metal and charred flesh, the distant screams of the dying swallowed by the roar of collapsing buildings. somewhere beyond the smoke and ruin, your mark is fighting—whole, unbroken, untouched by the kind of grief that twists this version of him into something sharp and feral. somewhere, he's pulling eve close, whispering promises against her lips that taste like forever.

and here you are.

letting a ghost hold you.

this mark—this broken, beautiful monster—is on his knees for you.

you swallow hard around the lump in your throat. because despite the blood on his hands and the fire in the distance, you already know your answer.

oh my god, 6.1k words of pure, unfiltered angst and i am unwell over it. this one-shot clawed its way out of my soul like a demon possessed and i blacked out only to wake up with this masterpiece of pain?? i was absolutely feral writing this, fueled by spite, sleep deprivation, and the haunting echo of "what if mark loved him back but in the worst way possible? what if he did love him but never realised he did (but he did realise this in every other dimension except this one)?" and now here we are. sobbing. you probably thought this would be cute or wholesome. you probably thought, "oh, maskless mark? hot." AND THEN I HIT YOU WITH THE EMOTIONAL WAR CRIMES. but come on, it’s maskless mark—did you really expect anything less than soul-crushing, heart-stabbing, tear-your-ribs-open angst? be so for real. anyway, enjoy the suffering. i sure did. 😭💔

[joyfuladorable]

Baby Junior's First Steps (based on a scene from Bluey)

Prompt from my buddy @vadfannypack! Everyone thank them Right NoW!!

[boykingscourt]

"Just feels like yesterday, we were together in heaven, and now... I'm here, and John is gone, and they're gone. And every moment I spend with you reminds me every moment I lost with them."

Mary Winchester in 12x03: "The Foundry"

[sootnuki]

need

[starlight-eclipsed]

“What?!” both Sky and him shout in unison, utterly shocked. Nearby, birds startle out of the trees at the sound.

Go read A Dark Among the Lights by @luckylectio! It's a story in which alarmingly few heroes are aware of who their patron goddess is (or at least haven't been keeping up with the recent lore updates).

[vreemd]

I don't talk abt it much on here but I crochet pretty much nonstop, this is the nicest thing I've made so far. super proud of it

[nudityandnerdery]

This applies on both sides of the political spectrum, too, it's why I will always fight the "Well this is what you voted for," response when MAGA voters got hit by this regime's bullshit policies.

Say "We warned you" if you want, but let them recognize their mistakes and switch sides to stand with us now. Let them try to make up for their actions. Realistically, I think we're at a point where most people can still do that.

Don't let your desire for vengeance warp your desire for justice and human rights.

[elleldoe]

Decisions, decisions...

[cinnamelle]

i would die, and without regret i'd offer up my life because i'm a SOLDIER

[vulchak]

Amidst all the live action Lilo and Stitch hate going around(I hate it too I'm just sick of it at this point, not much left to say on it) it reminded me of another aspect of the franchise I can't stand

I utterly hate Angel

She appears in one episode of the series and 10 seconds of "Leroy and Stitch" and she's absolutely taken over the franchise

Why? Because she's the cute PINK marketable plushie to go with Stitch's cute BLUE marketable plushie. Boy and girl one. Perfect for merchandise

Said merchandise usually straight up cuts Lilo out and is just branded as "Stitch"

Angel brings absolutely zero value to the franchise. She's a nothing character, who suffers from the unfortinate trend of "it is absolutely imperative that the audience knows this one is a girl"

This would be enough for me to hate her, but on top of it all. She's not marketed as a sister/cousin to Stitch, she's marketed as his girlfriend.

They're cousins.

Every single experiment was created by Jumba, and is referred to as a cousin. Only she, selectively, isn't. But just because they don't bring attention to it doesn't make it any less true.

Disney is actively and proudly marketing incest with characters who are meant to be what, 7ish years old at most? Stitch being the same age as Lilo mentally. Which, if Angel is the same, and the way she's drawn, acted and presented as a "femme fatal" of sorts. Is extremely disturbing and disgusting

The franchise that's all about Ohana, no one getting left behind, said "yeah ditch Lilo, forget your sister, we have a cute pink girl alien for you to hang out with, now pose for a photo we can slap on t shirts, backpacks, notebooks, pencils, stickers-"

That episode was always off-putting to me as a kid, and I was glad it was one episode I could ignore. Now it's a pink fucking mold that's spread to the whole franchise

[aishabellasbigblogofeverything]

Honestly seeing that one bitch say that Halle Bailey has a "man cock" in addition to being so fucking racist and disgusting, was also really disheartening and served as a harsh and disturbing reminder that...it doesn't matter how pretty or feminine or soft and sweet and delicate you are as a Black woman, you could be all these traits superlative to any white woman on the planet, but as long as you're Black they will always find a way to call you a man...no matter what. As long as you are a Black woman you will be masculinized and have your femininity called into question. It's really hurtful.