#no character tags we let roam naturally

[grif-hawaiian-rolls]

hey so you know that little thing i've been doodling goofy comics for? the one with my fed ocs interacting with wash and the reds while they're on chorus and separated from the rest of the guys?

apparently i've lost my goddamn mind, because i've started writing it out properly (or as properly as i write at least) so uh

red team mischief on chorus be upon thee

[minkdelovely]

Hi! I love your Al writing. Could you do something where the reader is very playful and often wants him to chase her?

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Alastor x GN!Reader

tags: fluff, established relationship, not explicit but as a general rule MDNI 18+

author’s note: thank you so much, i really appreciate hearing that you like the way i write him! i’ve been trying my best to respect his character as much as possible while still having some fun, so that really means a lot 🥹 i decided to go with fluff and gn! just to be safe, but hopefully i’ve done your ask justice - thank you for sending it my way 💖✨

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“Dearest, have you seen my bow tie?” Alastor called from the bedroom, nearly making you drop your earring in the bathroom sink.

This was a loaded question, as Alastor had a handful of identical ties. Of course you knew which one he was referring to, unsurprised that he had figured out it was missing. That had been the point, after all, but you weren’t ready to call your little game quits just yet.

“Which one, the black?” you called back, smiling at yourself as you secured the earring. Teasing him was simply too much fun.

Alastor had been working very closely with Charlie and Vaggie over the last couple months planning a grand re-opening of the hotel to showcase it to any and all interested sinners. After countless late nights and meticulous scheduling, the night was finally here. So naturally, Alastor had gotten a fresh suit and tie to mark the occasion.

He appeared in the doorway, eyeing you with suspicion in the mirror, and you busied yourself with the second earring as your pulse jumped. You knew he favored red, but you wouldn’t be opposed to him wearing black more often. If you had thought the tuxedo was nice while it hung in the armoire, it was positively magnificent on Alastor. All that was missing was the white bow tie.

A small part of you felt bad to use this as an opportunity to play around, but you couldn’t help it! The past week had been particularly stressful — wouldn’t it be nice to let off a little steam before the big event?

“Is this really the time for one of your little games?” he asked, voice low, your eyes still locked on each other in the mirror as he caged you in from behind. You shivered as he placed a kiss to your bare shoulder. He was good at playing games, too. “I know you’ve done something with it.”

“And why would I sabotage your big night?” you asked, turning your nose up in feigned innocence.

His large hands gripped your hips, causing you to gasp, and you felt yourself shrinking into him as his intense eyes stared you down in the mirror. The satisfied smile on his lips almost made you lightheaded. This hadn’t been part of the plan, but it was a welcome twist, though you didn’t mistake his roaming hands as lustful. Lucky for you and unfortunate for him, the bow tie wasn’t hidden on your person. Did he think he was dealing with an amateur?

Alastor tutted and released you after a brief but thorough pat down. “Not here, hm? I’ll give you one more chance to tell me before I become cross.”

You slipped out from under him and made your way to the door, pausing only long enough to wink before making a run for it. He said your name in warning from the bathroom before coming after you, chasing you around the suite as you giggled. You were shockingly adept at avoiding him; he normally only caught you when he cheated.

The chase went on for a minute or so before a shadow wrapped around your waist and tossed you on the bed. A couple more pinned you down as Alastor loomed over you, a winning look his face.

“Come darling, we really don’t have much time. Especially if you’ve wrinkled it.”

You pouted and laid on the melodrama, pretending to be offended. “Wrinkle? Do you really think I’d stoop so low?” When all he did was raise an eyebrow in response, you sighed. The game was over. For now at least. “It’s in my underwear drawer.”

He scoffed and brought a hand to his head, finally releasing you from his shadow’s hold as he made his way to your dresser. “Why here, of all places?”

He was so cute when he was perplexed, and you smiled to yourself as you watched him fuss with the tie.

“Because you’d never think to check there, obviously.”

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[lizz-crimson]

MK Characters Intro Banter With Monster Hunter Reader!

In this scenario the Reader is a monster hunter from the Monster Hunter game franchise! I love, love, love MH, and I also love, love, love, MK! So why not bring them together!? Reader is gender neutral and is simply called 'hunter' in these.

Tags/warnings: Language, talk of violence (against people and animal-like monsters), Monster Hunter termanology and references, Reader is a funny monster hunting badass!

Characters: Liu Kang, Scorpion, Raiden, Johnny Cage.

Part 2 Part 3

Liu Kang

You: "Y'know, I hunt dragons for a living."

Lui Kang: "Is that a threat, hunter?"

You: "Just a friendly heads up."

Liu Kang: "What are those blades made of?"

You: "My dual blades? These are made from the parts of Rathalos and Rathian I've hunted."

Liu Kang: "They are pulsing with both flame and poison..."

Liu Kang: "My dragon fire does not effect you nearly as much as others."

You: "These talismans aren't for show, Liu."

Liu Kang: "Let's see if I can't knock them off!"

You: "I'd love to see you get into a kick-off with a Seregios."

Liu Kang: "A Seregios? Another monster of yours?"

You: "Just imagine a golden parrot with knives for feathers. ...They also kick really hard."

Scorpion

You: "Never thought I'd meet someone as angry as an Odogaron."

Scorpion: "My rage cannot ever be sated."

You: "I can't imagine how hard that is.."

Scorpion: "Have a taste of hellfire!"

You: "Please no, I've already hunted a Magnemalo today.. "

Scorpion: "I will prove a much bigger challenge."

You: "It feels odd fighting you."

Scorpion: "How so, hunter?"

You: "I only ever fight monsters. I feel I may go too hard on you."

Scorpion: "That longsword is impressive."

You: "Thanks! It's made from that Teostra you saw me hunting earlier!"

Scorpion: "You mean to tell me you successfully slayed that creature?!"

Raiden

Raiden: "What are these Elder Dragons you speak of?"

You: "They are the scientifically unexplainable monsters that roam my world. I have fought and slain many."

Raiden: "Impressive. We could use your skills in defending Earthrealm."

You: "A Zinogre would be a good companion for you, Raiden."

Raiden: "I have no interest in pets."

You: "Not even a dragon dog with natural thunder abilities?"

Raiden: "I must admit, you are hard to strike with my lightening."

You: "I had to get good at dodging thunder attacks when a Kirin went berserk back home."

Raiden: "Your world has made you versatile indeed."

You: "Raiden, help me test out my new weapon!"

Raiden: "Are you welding an axe or a sword and shield?"

You: "Both, baby!"

Johnny Cage

Johnny Cage: "Damn, you take hits like a tank!"

You: "Armor and food, Johnny. Armor and food."

Johnny Cage: "What are those cats feeding you!?"

You: "Ready to face the music, Johnny?"

Johnny Cage: "Wait, you mean that's not a hammer?!"

You: "I'm gonna play the Ninja Mime theme while bludgeoning you to the pavement!"

You: "No Johnny, you cannot pet the monster I captured."

Johnny Cage: "Why not? It's just a big turkey!"

You: "A Kulu-Ya-Ku is stronger than it looks!"

Johnny Cage: "You beat that poor thing to death!"

You: "Unfortunately, that Pukei-Pukei became to aggressive near my village. I had no choice."

Johnny Cage: "Well pookie-pookie didn't know what hit her.."

------

Hope ya liked these! I keep saying I'm gonna post write stuff here but never do lol

Here's the monsters mentioned in these interactions for those curious! I put them in a lil collage in the order that they were mentioned!

[tojiscrack]

Guess who found your fic on ao3 at 11pm, not noticing the 108k words on the bottom and got so hooked even by the half quarter of the first chapter that resulted in her staying awake until 10 am, reading all 108k words in one sitting. Yes me. Me, who got so hooked she read it all in one sitting. Me, who’s now so emotionally attached to this fic that she’s anxious about your comments under the chapters, stating that THE MAIN PLOT hasn’t even STARTED YET. Me, who knows DAMN WELL the little caterpillars and butterflies and the moths story Megumi and y/n read out is for sure foreshadowing. Me, who’s noticed several butterfly symbolism used over the course of the story. Me, who screamed into her pillow when it was stated that y/n’a dress resembled a butterfly. Me, who’s seen your comment replying to someone, stating that there MIGHT be some kind of drifting apart. Me, who’s well ware of the Heavy Angst tag on the fic. Me, who knows that an author who’s this good at delivering humor and fluff is gonna DESTROY me when the angst is gonna be written. Me, who half regrets now that she’s discovered the story because she’s scared of all that’s about to come.

You seriously have a way with words, dialogue, symbolism, humor, the bond between every character. It’s not so simple to put more than 5 characters in a setting and deal with them all while trying to make it as natural as possible but you SOMEHOW do it SO WELL. I’m just. God. All the thoughts I have on this fic would maybe even rival the 108k words you’ve written up until now but I don’t have the capacity to put them into words as well as you do.

just know that this fic impacted me so much, so badly, years from now on after it's finished, I'll still think about it and re-read it.

so excited (and scared as hell ngl) to see where you'll be going with this story. I may havw joined late but I am sticking around till the end.

love you, great work <3

liar, liar masterlist here:

yayyy, another ao3 reader 😫 welcome to the tumblr crew, i’m so glad you’re hereeee ❤️‍🩹

i had to go back and check whether it really is 108k words and i found myself shocked bc damn, i really wrote that much? 😭 if i put half the effort i put into this story into my essays instead, maybe i’d be a better student but we live and we learn ig 😬

“emotionally attached” to the fic is mind blowing to me 🥹 i didn’t know it’d have this big of an impact on someone but i can’t say i’m displeased. that’s one of the nicest things i’ve heard on here (among other things ofc). ugh, you’re so nice for sending a message on that 🩷

and yes, you are absolutely right. the main plot does not start until next chapter (or more accurately — in terms of drama — somewhere down the line AFTER that) 👀 idk which comment i said that on but i trust ur judgement ‘cause i remember mentioning that somewhere 😭 DON’T BE SCARED, IT’LL BE FUN (and thrilling and scary) BUT STILL 😊

the butterfly thing you mentioned is interesting, actually 🫢 maybe i just really like butterflies (even tho they scare the ever living shit out of me and i nearly killed a few in the london zoo YEARS ago as a child cuz i was fidgeting since they just let them roam free in that greenhouse thingy and i was scared for my life and dying of heat with the humidity?).

YOU MUST HAVE BEEN STALKING MY PAGE BC I DO REMEMBER SAYING SMTH ALONF THOSE LINES I JUST CAN’T REMEMBER WHERE 😭 but i invite you to continue doing so bc i like watching my lovely little liars squirm and then send in their predictions and fear 😋 and this long, juicy message has me giggling to myself and REELING 🤭

yeah, but we’re not holding back on the heavy angst tag… er… buckle up? it’s gonna go downhill from here on out 😟

“you seriously have a way with words” — stop.

“it’s not so simple to put more than 5 characters in a setting and deal with them all while trying to make it as natural as possible but you somehow do it so well” — DOUBLE, TRIPLE, QUADRUPLE, INFINITY STOP OR I’LL CRY 🥹 no one has ever said that about my writing, and in fact, i hadn’t even noticed that myself 😭 i think i’m gonna levitate in glee ✨ to know it flows well enough for it to be commented on (out of ur own free will and not me pressing a gun to ur forehead), it’s just UGHHH so nice and sweet and i’m so glad you’ve joined the liar, liar community 😫 warmest welcome ml <3

gosh you’ve put this story on such a high pedestal, i’m almost scared i won’t be able to meet ur standards, even with everything planned beforehand 😟 but i’m willing to try. if you’re here for the super long ride (my updates are sporadic and will continue to be a such as the time goes on).

it was definitely not a LATE arrival per se — the liar, liar family is still pretty small. i’ve only got about 321 followers, so definitely not as much as the bigger jjk writers on here, and half of those are split between my megumi fic readers and levi fic readers. i now consider you an og just bc this analysis was so in depth and interesting, i found myself smiling so hard my cheeks hurt 🙂‍↔️

but i love you SO much for this. i’d love to see more comments and messages from you. don’t be afraid to spam me if you must (in fact, i encourage it!!!) 😁 i get so giddy and excited and motivated when ppl send me their predictions. it’s one of the greatest things about writing (and the best part imo).

have a lovely day! and i can’t wait for you to see the next chapter and what i have in store for you <3

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

Thinking About Love [hangman PT. 6/?]

PART OF MY “WHATEVER THIS IS” SERIES WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE

PAIRING: JAKE ‘HANGMAN’ SERESIN x Female Plus Size Bartender!Reader

NICKNAME: Sunshine

It goes without saying but I do not give permission for anyone to use my work or copy it somewhere else.

Want to be added to the tag list for this character, all stories or another character? let me know here :)

PLOT: Penny Benjamin's niece works at The Hard Deck, saving the money she earns to get out of the west coast and put herself through Graduate School. What happens when a pretty boy pilot ends up as her fake boyfriend?

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / PART ELEVEN / FINAL PART

You grumbled as you wrapped another strand of hair loosely over the large barrel of the curling iron, finishing up and flicking the off switch. Your dress is lacy, form fitting and white with a high collar matched the worn leather of your vibrant green riding boots. You tuck the costume cowboy hat over your hair lazily before touching up your lipstick.

It’s been a few nights since Jake was top of you, his strong body pressing yours into the soft plush material of your couch, but you still felt ever since inch of his weight. His large, strong hands roaming over the soft flesh of your hipbones and his fingertips twisting into your hair as he devoured you. You smooth your hands over yourself, hoping for a taste of his touch but nothing comes close to soothing the burning in beneath your skin.

The doorbell rings though and anticipation is gone as you rush quickly down the hallway to pull the door open. One look at him pulls every gasp of air from your lungs, eyes racking over his frame with a new found hunger. He’s dressed in all black, his button up matching his dark jeans and his heeled boots. His Stetson hangs low on his head over his eyes and a toothpick dangling from his smooth lips. His scruff is grown in more and he looks at you like you’re his prey for the night, his catch for the season.

It makes you wet.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he’s embraced his southern accent for the evening, thickening it purposefully to a lower tone. It sends a shiver up your spine, “Aren’t you looking like you stepped out of my dreams.”

“Careful now cowboy,” you mused, stepping back to twirl, “Those are fighting words.” You can feel his eyes burning into the exposed flesh of your legs, the supple curve of your ass.

Jake steps into the house, his hands held behind his back. You stare at his accusingly, suspicious of the way he moves until he finally reaches up and knock the shit hat off. His other hand comes out from behind his back and pushes a new hat down onto your head slowly. The brim of the Stetson is perfect, the curve stylish as he smiles with glee at your appearance.

“Is this a Stetson?”

“Hell yeah, darlin’,” Jake grins, palming your jaw and his thumb stroking your cheek sweetly.

“Jake,” a pout forming on my lips as I search his eyes. “What the fuck?”

“What?”

“This is your Stetson?” I ask.

“No.” His answer is distant as he tilts the dark brim of his Stetson and his lips brushing against your exposed shoulder.

“Jake,” I push his forehead so that I can see his green eyes, twinkling with amusement, “Tell me you didn’t buy me a Stetson.”

“I’m not going to lie to you Sunshine,” Jake murmurs deeply in your ear, my eyes slowly closing to relish the sensation of his wet kisses along the column of my neck. “That’s not in my nature.” You let him kiss up your neck and to your temple, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling back.

“We should get moving before you do something you’ll regret, cowboy,” I say, kissing his jaw before stepping back from the intoxicating warmth of his body. He groans, scanning you over with a lick of a smile before interlacing your hands. He tugs you through the door, locking it behind him and leading you out to his silver Chevy truck.

“Are we taking the truck?” you ask slowly as his fingertips pull you along passed the truck’s bed and onto the street.

“I figured we’d both drink too much and I’d rather leave the truck here,” Jake muses, eyes sparkling as he turns to stare at you. “Gives me a reason to take you home.” Jake’s been bold before, his words confront with their impact as he compliments you but there’s a different air around him tonight. Waves of electricity race through you at his thick drawl, his brazen gaze. There’s a new level of confidence in his step while he strolls along in his Stetson. Never did you think your kinks included a southern man, but you’d save a horse any day of the week at this point.

You swallowed down the nerves as Nat’s house comes into view. This is Jake you are talking about and so you swing your hips, step ahead of him slightly and call over your shoulder in the best southern belle accent you can muster, “Who said you’ll be takin’ me home tonight?” You pick up your pace slowly but surely as Jake’s heels slam against the pavement as he speeds up. Jake’s arms circle around you, his biceps bulging as he swings you around. A giggle rolls off your lips at the motion and suddenly, you’re staring into his forest greens again.

Jake chews one last time on his toothpick before flicking it away onto the grass, pulling you in by the neck to press a searing kiss to your glossy lips. You let out a high-pitched moan as your mouths move feverishly against each other. When he finally releases you, his chest rising and falling as he doesn’t leave your personal space. His hot breath fans over your face as he growls “I’m the only man to take you home tonight.”

His words have you mindlessly nodding, reaching up to slide your nails over the nape of his neck. You scrap slowly before tugging him back in for another kiss. “You’re disgusting,” you hear from a distance and when you pull back, Rooster is shaking his head at the two of you. His disgruntled face matches his old man from Up costume perfectly, his large frame hunching over a walker as he moves into the house slowly. You can’t help the giggle that ripples through you and before you know it, Jake’s face is buried in your neck as he joins in your laughter.

When you finally make it inside the house, the party of aviators is in full swing, and the music is buzzing as you shuffle through the door with Jake’s hands on your hips. You’re already swaying to the Billie Eillish music as Nat jumps up at the sight of the both of you, pushing you toward the makeshift photobooth of sheets and balloons.

“You’re such a hot couple, it makes me sick,” she pulls out her phone to snap a few photos as you and Jake pose together. On the last photo, Jake twirls you around, dipping you slowly as she snaps away. He’s grinning down at you, a Cheshire smile as he pulls you up right. “I’m stealing your girlfriend, go make her a drink. The liquor is in the kitchen,” she mentions before clenching your wrist to drag you away from Jake.

You throw a kiss his way before disappearing into the crowd where your friends and Jake’s coworkers are crowded around until she gets to the slider door. Outside, there’s a few heaters throughout the yard and a couple girlfriends are lounging over the patio couch. It’s then that I have a chance to take in Nat’s outfit. A fun chromatic alien look, her tousled hair is twisted up into two space buns and secured with an antenna headband.

“There she is, the smoking gun!” Aries squeals, tittering on her high heels as she rises to her feet and jumps on you. Her metallic, shiny material of her jumpsuit matching Nat’s. Her cute face is speckled with gemstones as she squeezes you tightly.

“You look so hot,” Gemini adjusts the hood of her Winnie the Pooh onsie as she takes another sip of her solo cup. “Is that a real cowboy hat?”

Nat goes to grip the brim of your hat and tug it off your head when a strong hand slaps her hand away. “You don’t touch a cowboy’s Stetson Phoenix,” he scolds her, fingertips sliding over the top of your ass slowly as he hands you a drink.

“Tequila sunrise for my Sunshine.”

“Thank you, Tex,” I take a few sips of his drink before leaning up to kiss the rough scruff of his jaw and landing a soft glossy kiss on his lips.

He pats you on the bum, twice. “I’m going to go have a cigar on the front porch if you need me,” he hums, lavishing in the taste of orange juice and grenadine before unwrapping himself from you. He tips his hat to the group with a strong “Ladies,” and disappears into the house.

The women squeal around you, dragging you around to the couch to settle down. “Oh my god, he is so in love with you,” Aries says and sighs, “It makes me sick.”

“Oh stop it.”

“He bought you a Stetson,” Nat responds, staring pointedly at you as she takes a gulp of her beer. They all lean in, waiting for your response but you only shrug. There has been a different air about what happened lately, the two of you moving in a different direction. Maybe there was a chance…

Later that night, Jake finds you on the dance floor. You’re spinning from the flowing tequila and when you taste his lips, there’s a smoky sweetness of bourbon smeared into his DNA. It causes a wave of heat run through you as his thigh slots between yours and his mouth finds your ear while the two of you grind to the bass of the music. You feel like you’re the only ones in the room underneath the brims of your hats, as you kiss his bottom lip and stare up at him through your lashes.

“Jake,” your voice is shaky as you step back when the song ends, searching his face as you step back slightly. He’s watching you with narrowed eyes, assessing you as another song picks up. “Jake, take me home.” The typically secure and bold man is still, his hands on his hips.

You step back into his personal space, manicured nails splaying out on his chest as you lean up to his cheek. “Take me home, cowboy,” you rasp, teeth grazing over the shell of his ear as you pull back. And that’s it. That snaps him out of this trance as he suddenly moves double time like he’s just been called back into the air, back into action. Jake clamps down on your wrist, not hard enough to hurt you but tight enough to make his presence a blazing reminder of the heat between the two of you.

You’re snaking through the house until fresh air greets you and you don’t even realize how fast you’re moving down the street until he pivots on a whim. Jake’s pressing you into the cool sage green metal of a lamp post as you kiss each other deeply, want seeping from your pores.

“Tell me to drop you off at home,” he grunts as you as his front pushes into your dress. You can feel the tight stretch of his jeans, the strain of his bulge against you. “Tell me not to come inside your home with you and send me home.” He’s begging now between licks of tongue and teeth, but the fire has consumed you, burning a flame only he can put out.

“No,” I taunt, the whisper so quiet it nearly escapes into the night. “I won’t.”

Taglist: 

@luckyladycreator2

@ceilingfann

@rosiahills22

@child-of-sunshine

@callsign-scully

@hopefulinlove

@cevans-winchester

@double-j

@blue-aconite

@callsign-hummingbird

@romanoff13-blog-BLOG

@rosiahills22

@kajjaka

@sylviaes99

@chaoticassidy

@child-of-of-the-sunshine

[joanquill]

"Yep. We're lost. In the fucking woods."

Number : 26 Character : James Bonde Relationship : Platonic Type : Fluff, Crack Nothing like getting lost in the woods with Bonde! Ty in advance! I really love your writing.

James Bonde

Tag/s: Platonic, Crack-ish

"Well, isn't this just nifty," you deadpanned, staring at the bright blue sky with your whole body hanging on a tree branch and feeling your back about to give out from the force of gravity.

"Haha," Bonde sarcastically mused, grabbing the tree's trunk as he reached for you.

 "Very funny (N/N). Now, grab my hand," he reached out to you, making you turn to him and stretch out your hand, careful not to tip your balance.

"I must say, I haven't seen anyone make a car flip mid-air when as you turn. You're really something, Double O' Seven."

"Should I shake the branch instead and let gravity do the work?"

"Thanks," you dusted yourself off as you and Bonde reached the ground.

"Don't mention it," he reassured, fixing his suit as you both looked at Herder's car you borrowed for your road trip.

"Do you think he'll notice?" Bonde asked as you blinked at the car.

It was hanging between branches with the hood completely popped open, smoke coming out, one of the headlights hanging by the wires, and a tire rolling across you and Bonde.

"I'm sure he can dent it out," you waved your hand, followed by a loud bang from the engine.

"...Shall we walk?"

"Nothing like a little nature hike to calm the mind,"

"How long do you think 'till they notice we're gone?"

"Knowing Herder? I'm surprised we made it this far," Bonde chuckled as he moved away the branches, letting you pass through.

"What? Don't tell me you're scared," he teased, making you scoff.

"Of what?" you taunted, making Bonde shrug his shoulders.

"You don't know, maybe someone or something is lurking in the dark..." he quickly moved to the other side, "...waiting for an opportunity to strike," he whispered, making you roll your eyes.

"We kill people for a living. Some shadows aren't enough to scare me," you denied, making Bonde pout.

"If you say so... But don't come clinging to me if you get scared,"

"Not in a million years,"

"Uh... James?" you called out, staring at the landmark you carved on the tree five minutes ago.

"Yeah?" he replied, his eyes not leaving the map.

"Are you sure you know how to read the map?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I don't know," you shrugged, "I just think there's a possibility we're... you know..." you shrugged, "The L word?"

"Lesbians?"

"Lost, James. We're lost,"

As you and Bonde roamed the forest, your eyes landed on a dirt path.

"James!" you gasped, shaking his arm as you pulled him to the path.

As you followed the path, you saw a village up ahead.

"Was there a village on the map?" you asked, making Bonde look through it again.

"Doesn't look like it..." he answered, making you hum.

"Let's go ask them for directions," you smiled, marching to the village before Bonde grabbed you by the collar.

"I don't think that's such a good idea..."

"Why not?"

"Have you never read a single horror novel in your life?" he furrowed your brows, making you sigh.

"Then what? Continue to roam the forest until nighttime?"

"So you'd rather enter an uncharted village in the middle of the woods?"

You both stared at each other, waiting for one to give in.

"...Rock-paper-scissors? Whoever wins, we follow and blame for our possible deaths?"

"...Yeah, why not."

[sencrose]

Random thought:

Obsessive fan!Gojo who somehow manipulates his way into becoming part of idol!Reader's crew so he can be closer to her. He's so charming even you're taken by him and don't realise just how deep his obsession runs until it's too late.

tags/warnings: surprisingly sfw, stalking, obsessive behavior, alcohol consumption, reader gets shwasted. wrote this in a state of sleep deprivation so don't look too hard lol

it's easy. way too easy.

there really aren't that many people willing to work hellish hours for minimum wage with no overtime pay, especially for an underground idol group. the people who do tend to be less than savory characters, most typically: obsessive fans. satoru gojo is not exempt from this.

however, he passes for a normal person on the surface. he can properly socialize without setting off any alarm bells, especially compared to the average guy regularly roaming the streets of akihabara. in fact, your manager really takes a liking to him after interviewing him for an event coordinator position he's been trying to fill since you've debuted.

you think it's suspicious that your manager decided to hire a fan, especially when it's someone who's proven to be a bit too passionate about you. everyone's a skeptic at first, you being the biggest one, but he rises to the occasion—excels even. he hits the ground running, gets your group into better venues, into bigger festivals where you have a real, tangible, chance of growing your fanbase. eventually, it's impossible to deny: everyone loves satoru.

the worst part? it's hard not to. he works himself to the bone but he does it with a genuine smile. never complains even if he's assigned work that's outside of his pay grade, or something not listed in the job responsibilities. it makes him all the more charming to everyone, but also to you. it's nice, seeing him in a more normal light. now, are you hit with a tinge of sadness when it feels like he's so engulfed with work that he's stopped being a fan of yours? maybe, but you try not to think too hard about it. after all, things are finally starting to pick up.

in the months after he's started working, your company finally allows your group to celebrate some milestones. it's not that they didn't want to before, but the budget was tight, and they're finally turning a decent profit thanks to satoru's efforts.

it's nothing crazy, but it's still nice to have your hard work acknowledged and celebrated. renting out a slightly upscale izakaya because there's no way your management would risk letting you drink publicly when your career's just taking off.

and celebrate you do! maybe a bit too much. it's that silver tongue of his at work—the same one that convinces live venue owners and festival organizers to take a chance on your group, even though there are countless other groups that are more qualified for the task at hand.

he's gotten a lot of practice with schmoozing, it comes naturally to him. of course he has to take the spot next to yours, always keeping the drink menu on hand. he's constantly pushing boundaries through the night, his seat a hint too close to yours, his legs occasionally brushing against yours. you're not really complaining though. if you're being honest, having the ability to maintain the attention of the most desired man of the room is kind of... nice. more than nice, really. it has heat rising to your cheeks before you even get a drop of liquor inside you.

when your glass gets low he's quick to point at the next thing, his body practically slung around yours, "what about their specialty cocktail? oh, they have some seasonal drinkstoo!" and if you try to swat him back because you're drinking too much, too quickly, he'll counter with "aw, but how often do we get to do this?" with a sweetness to his tone that has you giving in.

by the time he's rubbing his hand on your thigh, you're too drunk to care. if anything, it's nice. welcome, even. his hand is a surprisingly warm and comforting presence, and when you're barely able to keep yourself up, you're practically nuzzling into his shoulder. and of course satoru's not going to do anything against it. he'll pet your head and push you further into him, make you smell the cologne he sprayed there. to an outsider looking in, it's just an average scene of a boyfriend taking care of his overly attached girlfriend who drank too much.

your group members are a little jealous, one of them even throwing a fit about how it's not fair, but satoru shuts it down pretty quickly.

by the time the festivities are finished, you're no closer to being sober. your head is spinning, your steps unstable, and there's no way you're getting yourself back to the station, much less your apartment safely. so satoru volunteers to accompany you home. takes responsibility and even apologizes to the group for getting you too drunk.

and everyone lauds him for it of course. they're so distracted by their admiration and respect for him that nobody bats an eye when he takes you the wrong direction. you don't realize it yourself either. not until you make it to an unfamiliar building, an unfamiliar elevator, an unfamiliar door. when it opens, sobriety hits you like a punch to the gut.

it's you. undeniably you. posters and polaroids plastered on the walls, acrylic stands neatly organized on shelves, any and every single piece of merch your company's dropped on full display since you became an idol.

some of the pictures you recognize. the vast majority of them, you don't. when you take a closer look, your heart races before swiftly dropping to your stomach.

he's been taking them at work. in the practice rooms during dance rehearsal. in the studio when you're recording new songs. there's a picture of you sleeping peacefully in the company van from the time your group took a road trip to nagoya for a show, a calm expression to you, no knowledge of what's being taken.

it hits you then, clear as day: satoru gojo never stopped being a fan.

it's too late for him to stop.

[dragonageguard]

Striking a Balance: Modernization vs. Tradition in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Dragon Age: The Veilguard had a tough call to make. Dropping a decade after 2014’s Inquisition, it could either stick to the series’ complex mechanics and risk feeling outdated or modernize enough to fit in and possibly lose that Dragon Age vibe, which is why fans who buy Xbox games often feel such a connection to the series' evolution. It went with the second option and mostly nailed it—but, as with everything in Dragon Age, that choice comes with its own consequences. You can see this right away in combat—there are only two companions instead of three, you can only control the player character, and the ability wheel has barely any companion skills to pick from. By that description, it might sound more like a fantasy version of Mass Effect than a true Dragon Age game. And honestly, that’s not such a bad thing.

Character Customization and Respeccing in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

So, my Rook was a vibe, though, 'cause respeccing is mad easy and free as long as you stick to your class. I mainly rolled as a Saboteur Rogue, messing around with gadgets and explosions, but also dipped into being a Duelist with some sick necrotic stabs and a Veil Ranger archer, which makes me want to buy PS5 games that offer similar versatility. Some peeps might miss the nitty-gritty stuff, but this simpler setup really sparks creativity and avoids the hassle of passing down gear to less popular squad members. No cap, though, this makes the gameplay feel kinda shallow. The quests are more like ‘mission mode’ instead of just roaming around, but it doesn’t lose that depth. It starts off a bit rough—way too much backstory at the beginning, and the early quests are super short and kinda whack. By the time I had to decide which city to help out first, I was low-key confused about which one was which. But eventually, the vibes of these places hit different. The two big cities, Minrathous and Treviso, feel a bit too cramped with their narrow streets, and keeping Minrathous stuck to Dock Town is a big oof. But as you check out areas with more character, you start to appreciate those meaningful visits way more.

Clever Companion Arcs in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

This quest design is super clever thanks to the companions. Throughout the game, all seven of them have their own personal arcs, which is typical for squad-based RPGs. But these arcs come in three flavors: Quests, Conversations, and Outings. Quests are your regular missions, Conversations are more like interactive cutscenes, and Outings are basically chill walking simulators. This mix keeps things fresh and helps you bond with the squad better. It’s a solid way to use a smaller cast, giving them more meaningful roles, so you don’t even notice they’re fewer in number than what Dragon Age usually has. Plus, their stories connect with the main quest at different points, so it doesn’t feel like anyone’s just tagging along. Some of these quests are the best parts of The Veilguard, especially how Taash’s and Emmrich’s stories dive deeper into Dragon Age lore. But Neve’s arc kinda fizzles out, and the similar structure sometimes puts them in a creative box. You can definitely feel the writing getting squeezed into gameplay formulas instead of flowing naturally and letting everything else build around it.

Missed Opportunities with Solas in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Speaking of cracks starting to show, Dragon Age: The Veilguard totally drops the ball when it comes to moving on from Solas. Instead of diving deep into a character we know and respect, who has clear motivations and room for redemption, we end up focusing on two evil gods who just revel in their own badness. I say ‘caring,’ but honestly, that’s not even the right vibe. It feels like The Veilguard plays it safe instead of taking the bolder route. It’s surprising, especially since there are some brave choices throughout the game. Remember when I mentioned picking a city? Well, that whole storyline—like five to ten hours of quests and exploration—gets completely cut off based on your decisions. And no spoilers, but The Veilguard doesn’t hold back on the weight of some of the late-game choices you get to make.

Shifting Focus to Heroes in Dragon Age: The Veilguard

The cool thing about focusing on two distant and flat entities is that it shifts the spotlight to the good guys instead of just trying to stop the bad ones. By using the maps and a smaller cast, The Veilguard really hones in on those more human stories within the different factions. Sure, the whole world-ending vibe kinda overshadows things, but it also leads to some of the best side quests and smaller narrative moments BioWare has ever created. Dragon Age: The Veilguard is definitely a different vibe compared to other Dragon Age games, and that might turn some folks off. But it still delivers on that solid character writing, builds a rich world through narrative quests, and offers the most thrilling combat the series has seen. There’s definitely a stronger version of The Veilguard lurking in there, one with more Solas and companion arcs that feel more natural, but what we have is still a solid successor to Dragon Age: Inquisition and a much-needed return to form for BioWare.

[kaus-quietis]

BSD Fyodor Dostoyevsky: an in-depth character analysis

“Человек есть тайна. Ее надо разгадать, и ежели будешь ее разгадывать всю жизнь, то не говори, что потерял время; я занимаюсь этой тайной, ибо хочу быть человеком.” / “Man is an enigma. It must be unravelled, and if you will unravel it your entire life, then do not say that you have wasted time; I occupy myself with that enigma, because I want to be human.” – the writer Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoyevsky, in a letter to his older brother, Mikhail (St. Petersburg, 16 August 1839)

The purpose of this post is to present and analyse information related to Bungou Stray Dogs’ Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s personality and methodology. Softer than shadow, unsolved and endless, Fyodor may as well “hide” his soul under our very eyes and we still would not know if that is the “real” him. This is my promised Fedya essay, an info-gathering analysis masterpost I hope you will enjoy and find useful for contemplating and coming to understand his complex character a little bit better.

Warning: merciless BSD manga spoilers. Literally spoiling everything. Also, this is an unbelievably long post (20200+ words). Have some lovely tea, listen to Rachmaninoff, and read in serene leisure or endlessly curious passion.

Last update: November 2022. 20.200+ words. The BSD manga reached ch105, the BSD anime completed season 3, while season 4 is announced for January 2023. Please refer to my original post (this one) in the future, as I could add updates periodically when new chapters release (or so I hope). Please note that I am using the official English translations for chapters 1-94 unless stated otherwise. I am eternally grateful for all fan translations. Lastly, please note that in this essay I will not focus on: 1) connections to F.M. Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment or other literary works; 2) connections to F.M. Dostoyevsky’s biography / personal life; 3) possibilities of what Fyodor’s ability could be; 4) the philosophical and ethical side of Fyodor’s motives. All these would require vast separate posts entirely (who knows, I might write them too one day). My intention is to offer guidance in decyphering what Fyodor’s personality is truly like, as well as how his methods and tactics play a role into shaping said personality or BSD’s plot. Last note: in this essay, quite frequently, I am making references to other beautiful posts written by BSD fans, tagging them and linking to their posts. If you are tagged and want me to remove the tag, please send me a message via ask box and I will edit the tag out.

Sections:

A. Let the hand of God guide you: Fyodor and hand / arm symbolism

B. He understands human nature deeply, if not perfectly

C. He values independence and (most probably) his co-workers

D. No confirmation yet that he is brainwashing others and why this is relevant

E. He loves and lives for entertainment

F. Humble, not arrogant. Self-proclaimed god or servant of God?

G. A strange divergence inside Fyodor. Is he a singularity?

H. Soft, discreet, graceful, yet playfully dramatic. His body language in the manga, in comparison to the anime

A. Let the hand of God guide you: Fyodor and hand / arm symbolism

When it comes to Fyodor’s character, even choosing a starting point for our discussion about him might prove challenging. For all we know so far, he is a Russian man with a completely unknown past, he appears to be in his 20s, just a pinch shorter than Dazai (as @kaikaikitanmp3​​ showed here), elegant, alluring and ambiguously sickly (see section H for more on his self-proclaimed anemia and overall physique). Until we get more canon manga information on his personal profile, I propose we start from something that already has numerous ties to Fyodor’s character, a symbol we can present the many meanings of, only to abandon us to our roaming thoughts later. This symbol is that of the hand, and, before that, the closely-related symbol of the arm.

Embrace of all. A symbol of both power and protection, the human arm represents the instrument to apply justice and punishment, to rule and to guide. Not only that, but as a symbol of a human’s strength and capacity to act, its image becomes that of vitality itself. To open one’s arms is an act of invocation, raising them to the sky – an act of calling for divine blessing, but this welcoming gesture also renders a person wide-open and vulnerable, receptive and embracing. A certain humbleness and vulnerability is involved in this gesture, because only then one can wholly accept what stands before or above them, let them in, understand and feel them. This willingness to embrace alterity, when represented in art or various media, can be of different nuances, thus triggering different responses in the viewer: it can be soothing, heartwarming, comforting, just as it can be unnerving, constraining, intrusive even for even just suggesting such embrace. It is no wonder we see this gesture in how Ango apparently imagines Fyodor (ch78). While his arms are covered by his coat, his open hands, as of darkness, extend towards the viewer. This image appears as Ango concluded that Atsushi getting shot by Nathaniel, later falling unconscious in Anne’s room, was part of Fyodor’s plan. How this plan covered and embraced that outcome is portrayed as unsettling, therefore making good use of the negative values of such body language and symbols. Together with the ch63 panel where Fyodor’s faceless silhouette is shown with his open hands turned towards his chest, each finger pulling a thin string, this example, too, suggests the idea of Fyodor’s influence and interference being disturbingly omnipresent, this time with the hand gesture emphasizing the hidden character of his plans. A different example, of Fyodor conveying openness through body language, specifically showing his palms to someone while even opening his arms in a welcoming manner, is when he was negotiating with Mushitaro in ch55, offering to end his imprisonment in exchange for Mushitaro playing a role in Fyodor’s Cannibalistic Mutual Destruction operation. At that moment, Fyodor’s gesture conveyed the sincere character of his offer, made more impactful by being accompanied by much gesticulation on Fyodor’s part during the whole scene (more on Fyodor’s rhetorical use of expressive gestures in section H).

Honesty and harmlessness. The symbol of the hand also represents human ability to act, putting a start or an end to action, as well as having the freedom to act. Just like the arm, the hand is a symbol of power, justice and dominance, as well as guidance and bestowing blessings. Open palms, much like open arms, convey the message of having no ill will, no hidden secrets, thus presenting oneself in an open, vulnerable position, but also one allowing reception of the other, and, in the case of the open hands, showing willingness to share, as the hand’s different “powers” are almost as numerous as human actions themselves: to contain, to take away, to keep hidden, to harm, to mend, to unite, to divide, to guide, to give. The meanings of these, melted together, would all still accurately be applicable to Fyodor’s character, who, in the most general sense, just like Dazai’s character or even more so, represents the complexity of human nature, so rich in paradoxes, so ultimately impenetrable. Now, showing your hands, and especially showing your palms or inner part of your arms (interior side of the wrists and upper arms, for example), means showing you have no ill intent (based on how, for example, since ancient times, such a posture simply showed the other that you do not carry any weapons). Hence, in this line of thought, we can approach the scene where Fyodor showed his fragile hand and wrist to Ace in ch42. It has a double meaning in this scenario: firstly, Fyodor is indeed honest and open, he does not have an ill intent, because his hidden purpose, in itself, addresses the greater good of humanity; secondly, Fyodor’s intent becomes “ill” only when related to Ace himself, who saw Fyodor as a threat and was ready to deny Fyodor his personhood, as he did with all his subordinates, who became his slaves or, rather, his disposeable objects and instruments. In so many of BSD’s events and organisational dynamics, it is evident how relativity rules the verdict we as readers can give to various groups or characters. BSD features excellent examples of grey morality everywhere, and the problem of whether Fyodor is good or evil is no exception. It is all relative to a past and a future we do not know yet, while still maintaing a certain unnerving, dark side that undeniably accompanies Fyodor’s character at each step. The reader is then immediately reminded of this dark, threatening side of Fyodor’s, as he concluded the ennumeration of his physical and circumstational disadvantages with the abrupt “So how about this? I’ll kill you instead”.  And while I did call this subsection “honesty and harmlessness”, everyone is conscious of Fyodor’s potential to harm at any time, most characters living in anticipation of being harmed by him, and yet we still have no clear idea how he applies physical harm (including death), despite having valuable depictions of how subtly he can exert mental and emotional harm, or simply influence, on others (more on that in the following sections). That being said, despite Fyodor calling humans sinful and foolish and expressing his desire to “purify” them (ch46, Fyodor: “Man is sinful and foolish. Even if they know it is all an artifice, they cannot help but kill each other. Someone must purify them for those sins”), we never see him acting like he hates or is disgusted by humans, nor like he forcefully wants to change how they behave. The latter reminds us of the thin line between plain manipulation (a thing Fyodor does when necessary for his larger strategic moves, as he has done in ch47 with fake Pushkin and the children or in ch75 with Sigma) and exerting oppressive corrective behaviour upon others (a thing we never see Fyodor doing, as he never changes the people he interacts with, who they are and what they value; see sections B and C). In fact, his openness to human nature in general is highlighted, for instance, in his interactions with Nikolai and in the way he talks about Sigma (see section C). Opposite traits blend perfectly into Fyodor’s character in most subtle ways, as I intend to prove by the end of this essay, so let us continue gathering such examples on the way, across all sections.

Bestowing blessings. In the manga, Fyodor was shown using a very specific hand gesture when using his ability on Karma, thus openly depicted only in ch42 so far. The same gesture, prepared but changed into one of covering Mushitaro’s head with its palm, appeared in ch56 in a hallucination, when Mushitaro was forced into a corner by Ranpo’s blackmailing, which for Mushitaro triggered images of Fyodor (more on this below). To me, this peculiar hand gesture is like a mixture of different acts I witnessed or experienced in religious contexts (to clarify my background, I’m slavic, Orthodox, and Eastern European, no “expert” in religions but fascinated by sacred rituals), and by this I mean specifically acts of blessing and chrismation done by priests. 1) Blessing marks bestowing holiness or invoking the divine will and protection upon a person (but also places, objects etc.), and is done in several ways: when one-handed and by a (consecrated) priest, using the right hand, with the finger positions spelling out the letters “IC XC” (for Ἰησοῦς Χριστός, Jesus Christ in Greek), the same sign being done with both hands when the gesture is two-handed; when one-handed and by a secular (also done between regular people occasionally), making the sign of the cross over someone or something using the thumb and index + middle finger stretched outwards, similar to the finger positions when making the sign of the cross on oneself. Fyodor’s hand position is most similar to the latter in this case, albeit with a sinister twist: Fyodor seems to use his left hand for the gesture. A different gesture for blessing, in this specific meaning mostly starting with the New Testament, is putting one’s hands over someone. There, this gesture is closely linked to the miraculous healings bestowed by Christ (as in Luke, 13, 13), and, after His ascension, keeping its relation to healing and bestowing the Holy Spirit, to the duty quite literally left in the hands of the apostles (as in Acts, 8, 17). 2) Chrismation is a Christian sacrament, where, in short, the priest anoints another person with the holy chrism, a ritualic ointment, while making the sign of the cross over specific body parts, each being a symbol of something, starting with the forehead (where the blessing of the mind is bestowed). Chrism itself, a common element in Mediterrean and Middle-East religious practices since ancient times, gained a particularly important role in Christianity, being used very often, in both baptismal and funeral rites, as well as sacraments (chrismation and acts of consecration). It symbolizes divine benediction, the gifts of the Holy Spirit, but also bestowing power and glory (in the context of coronations or such). Each time the author of the benediction is considered to be the divinity, whereas the one who applies the chrism on the other is a mediator between the earthly and the holy. Notably, this use in baptisms and funerals marks an associations with beginnings and endings, life and death. To me, Fyodor’s hand gesture when using his ability, particularly the gentle touch of another’s forehead, always looked similar to the act of anointing someone with chrism (though it is not usually done directly with the fingers, but with a little brush or one half of the ointment’s recipient), and in line with his canon dialogues, we could say what he bestows is “the great silence”, “the salvation of death”, which can turn into the blessing of a meaningful, peaceful death, bone-chilling nonetheless, such as in Karma’s case (ch42, see section B where I expand upon this). This gesture links Fyodor’s character to the image of a mediator, the role of “the right hand of God”, carrying out a mission that can be regarded as holy (based on Fyodor’s use of religious vocabulary), although we still lack canon material to fully establish whether that is only a trait of his way of speech or indeed a hint for his motives’ origins (see section F).

Threat and manipulation, relative examples. Later, in ch56, Ranpo hit Mushitaro’s most profound, personal weakspot by adopting Fyodor’s type of manipulation, in the form of a one-time bargain with emotional pressure, an offer he could not refuse (Ranpo would have releaved a truth Mushitaro did not want to make public if Mushitaro did not accept Ranpo’s terms; see also @looking-for-stray-dogs ’s post here). However, given that we already saw Fyodor offering Mushitaro a deal in ch55, there is a noticeable difference between Fyodor’s and Ranpo’s deal here, which, in my opinion, shows that Ranpo cannot immitate Fyodor completely (or refuses to) while he also imagines him as a much worse person than Fyodor can be deduced to be, in fact, strictly based on his interaction with Mushitaro. In ch55, it is shown that Fyodor simply offered to free Mushitaro from the basement he was locked in, in exchange for Mushitaro using his ability serving Fyodor’s Mutual Destruction plan once. This deal was fulfilled and their interactions ceased. I would call this a case of pragmatic manipulation, because Fyodor did not profit of Mushitaro’s feelings or past, he only offered freedom from Mushitaro’s cell. By contrast, Ranpo, assuming Fyodor works only (and especially) with emotional manipulation, simply blackmailed Mushitaro into turning himself in. Of course, Fyodor is capable of emotional manipulation (as in Sigma’s and Nikolai’s cases, see section B, but also section H below), but he can also manipulate others not even bringing their emotions into the discussion (as in Mushitaro’s case). By limiting his assumptions to emotional manipulation, Ranpo may be walking down a dangerous path, disregarding the full spectre of Fyodor’s methods. Assuming Fyodor is “the worst person possible” by default could also prove to be a wrong approach, as it is easier and convenient to conclude on that for others, but assumes too much about Fyodor and adds a rigid label on him, one that Fyodor can exploit later. In fact, we saw he already did once, by giving the worst relationship advice on purpose in ch64, in Meursault, when Dazai asked for said advice within Fyodor’s “All-smiles Problem-solving Roooooundtable” (and yet, this, together with Dazai’s lines, were shaped that way for the purpose of establishing the terms of their secret code, as I shall argue below, in section C). Meursault guards are portrayed monitoring Fyodor and Dazai, whom they consider “demons” of crime, expecting them to be exactly the worst souless manipulator and the worst flirtacious lunatic respectively. I would like to thank Eliott @stories-from-saint-petersburg for discussing this scene with me in-depth and putting this aspect of it into very fitting words I shall copy below. Besides the ideas presented here, see also section C for this brilliant scene’s actual meaning, according to what I could deduce further.

Eliott: “But also, they know they are filmed and that people are listening to them. So it would make sense to give answers that are more far from their characters, to confuse or not to give too much info to their jailors. Just like they switch to code when speaking about more serious things. That’d make sense in a strategy where you have to deceive your opponent, the opponent being Meursault. If they both give shit answers (and the answers that are expected from them), then the way they make up their plans will be still more difficult to find out by the prison.”

There is more to be inspected in Mushitaro’s ch56 hallucination of Fyodor covering his head with his palm. For this, I shall leave a different discussion I had with Eliott below:

Lav: “One difference is that Karma (ch42) actually experiences that touch. He sees Fedya's hand, he feels the touch of his fingers. It happened as an event in his life. In comparison, Mushi (ch56) sees this image when Ranpo blackmails him into turning himself in, as Ranpo makes a speech about using the methods of a demon to reach his goal (debatable, I will expand on this when the time is right). Apparently, Ranpo's speech triggers an emotional reaction in Mushi, who then imagines Fedya reaching towards him, making the same gesture he did to Karma, and the panels are white, while the end of this vision (Fedya placing his whole hand over Mushi's head) is in black.” Eliott: “Can’t it simply show the effect Fedya had on Mushi? A feeling of being oppressed and trapped, or something akin to control from a mind that’s greater than his? To me it looks like an allegory of manipulation, but not especially like an ability or something akin to it.” Eliott: “If Mushi saw Fedya use his ability, then he knows his touch means death. Anyway, he knows Fedya is dangerous. Touching someone’s head is a common symbol for either intimacy, fondness or manipulation. Mushi probably knows he can end up killed, and this is a fear that can explain this imagery, and even the manipulation he’s subjected to. The fear of dying is a good motivation for someone. Furthermore, he is still traumatized by the death of his dear friend, so it’d make sense this is very impactful for him, either death or being near / in danger of it? Also, Fedya here looks like how his friend is depicted graphically.” Eliott: “<So,> he doesn’t have to <have experienced this physically before>! Imagining someone threatening touch you is frightening, even if you don’t know they can kill you with one touch. And when speaking of being trapped / manipulated, it’s quite logical to imagine the person that has you trapped touching you, it’s an oppressive image either way.” Lav: “True. (…) One detail that supports this <that Mushi only hallucinated without previously witnessing Fedya’s gesture> is how in Karma’s case Fedya stretched out two fingers (index and middle) to his forehead, much like in a blessing gesture, while Mushi imagines a hand with all fingers fully extended towards his forehead. Also the death touch to Mushi is done with the right hand, while for Karma it’s the left hand??” Eliott: “I still don’t understand that gkflg, I’m wondering if the artist just forgot to draw one right hand ahah”.

Important unexplained details. Everyone’s ability in Dead Apple has an ability gem located on their forehead except: Atsushi’s tiger (nape), Akutagawa’s Rashomon (inside its chest), arguably Dazai’s No Longer Human (inside his chest), and most importantly here Fyodor’s Crime and Punishment (the back of his right hand). Another note, out of all the abilities, only Mori’s Elise, Fukuzawa’s All Men Are Equal and Fyodor’s Crime and Punishment are able to talk or heard talking. One detail unique to Fyodor’s ability and Mori’s ability, though, is that they each have real eyes with irises and pupils, as if they are human, and not just an ability with empty, glowing yellow eyes like in all the other cases, except Atsushi’s tiger. One could surely speculate on why exactly Crime and Punishment has its ability gem placed on its hand, but I want to move on to other topics in this essay. Lastly, on Fyodor’s motto, “Let the hand of God guide you”, see section G.

B. He understands human nature deeply, if not perfectly

Contrary to the popular opinion that Fyodor does not have an ounce of humanity in him or that he cannot understand nor feel human emotions, the canon presents evidence that Fyodor understands other humans and their emotions profoundly. Let us keep in mind the definition of empathy (“the ability to understand other people’s feelings and problems”), as well as the fact that there are different types of empathy, such as affective empathy or cognitive empathy (the latter applying to Fyodor the best). Instead of speculating that Fyodor completely lacks empathy (a lack psychopaths share, and Fyodor’s case proves to be much too complex to simply throw into that spectrum and call it a day; see @tecchous-thicc-buttocks​​ ’s post here, where OP not only has a great post, but also a smashing username AND a superb N.V. Gogol reference in their blog description to laugh your heart out to), I invite you to explore exactly the opposite, namely the idea that he has capacity for perfect empathy and uses it instrumentally to make it suitable for his plans. The canon material showed us many situations that support this (too), as we shall see below.

Fyodor “connects” with others mentally, emotionally and / or spiritually in such an accurate way, that this skill of his is portrayed as bone-chillingly sinister, in scenarios holding starkly contrasting ideas. It is not just about analytically deducing what a person would do next or what would objectively motivate that person, Fyodor knows the depths of people’s hearts, as can be seen in his discussions with Karma, Shibusawa, Nikolai, and the way Fyodor talks about Sigma. I shall present each case in detail in what follows, made into a list of people whose problems Fyodor saw through and responded to adequately.

Karma’s problem was of intellectual nature: to die a slave or a free man, and how those are mutually-exclusive conditions, in regard to which Karma recognized himself trapped in the first condition (slave), but was later “transported” into the second condition (free man) by the circumtances and type of death Fyodor “granted” him. Frequently rationalizing each situation in his inner monologues, pondering each factor and possible outcome analytically and in admirable control of his emotions (as seen throughout the entire ch42), Karma explored, so to say, the “syllogisms” behind what was happening to him too: I want to be saved + I am a bad person + saviours do not save bad persons => I will never be saved; OR I am a bad person + I am not a free person + a saviour can free me by saving me + saviours do not save bad persons => I will never be a free person. Even if the concepts belong to morality discourse, Karma’s approach is straightforward and logical, therefore there is no scene of him begging Fyodor for help, freedom or vengeance, as well as no scene of him even running away from Fyodor: despite being frightened, he was able to withstand his irrational reaction and sought knowledge and clarifications through conversation even in the face of the Demon. Karma was a person who rationalized and accepted his personal condition, and he was all the more shocked that this “slave” condition was dissolved by the events caused by Fyodor. Although Karma had to be killed so that no trace was left by Fyodor, what deserves attention is, on one hand, the fulfillment on Karma’s dying face (dying as a free man), and, on the other hand, how Fyodor gave him privacy when he gave his last breath, as Fyodor is portrayed looking directly at Karma only after he passed away. The fact that Fyodor is portrayed as looking at Karma’s lifeless body afterwards at all can be interpreted as Fyodor contemplating Karma’s end, especially given how in ch42 all background elements vanish in this particular panel, deepening the solemnity of the moment (as @linkspooky​ noted too, together with Fyodor’s understanding and acknowledgement of Karma as a person, worthy of sharing knowledge with, here). And yet the anime (S3ep4) did not insist on this manga panel at all, skipping it entirely. The prayer that Fyodor offered for Karma at the end (“May your soul find salvation… released from the yoke of sin”), while facing him (unlike in the anime, where Fyodor does not look at Karma at all) was the conclusion of Fyodor’s solemn meditation, and I find it a shame that the anime did not linger on this aspect. This scene blends a merciful death with a necessary crime, such contrasts being typical to Fyodor’s character. This prayer for Karma may in fact not be the only one Fyodor offered to those he led to their death by necessity: indeed, Fyodor’s cello recital in front of a captured Katsura in ch47 may have served the same purpose. Given that Fyodor informed fake Pushkin about Atsushi and Kunikida’s arrival, via the telephone, in real-time, we can assume Fyodor knew exactly when the two Agency members clashed with the armed children and when the little girl triggered the detonation of her grenades. After replying to Katsura’s remark, meeting Katsura with the impenetrable grin typical to both him and Dazai, Fyodor recommenced playing with closed eyes and no smile (thus fully immersed), unlike in the anime (S3ep9), where Fyodor never stopped playing in order to talk with Katsura, yet him stopping to play the cello just for that is, in my opinion, very important, as I will try to show here. Fyodor’s cello recital ended with him offering a prayer, which at its end addressed specifically all children of the world (ch47, “Joy to the world… and blessings to all its children”). Therefore, the cello scene carries solemnity, thoughtfulness and emotion, contrasting with the violent sight of the dead children breaking Kunikida’s spirit, and in this light Fyodor’s recital (which Katsura himself did not understand the purpose of, as he was clueless about what was happening outside) becomes a musical prayer for the sacrificed souls. Once again, despite being terribly beautiful in animation and sound indeed, it is a pity the anime depicted this scene in a weirdly ecstatic and stereotypically evil way, giving Fyodor a demonic gaze and grin, as well as making Fyodor face Katsura while playing, despite Fyodor not being turned towards Katsura at all in the manga (ch47), given how he looked at Katsura over his right shoulder (Fyodor’s body position further supports the idea that the recital was not meant for Katsura). As a closing note here, the anime added a specific detail at the scene’s end, one I personally would consider mischaracterization: in the anime, Fyodor broke his cello after the recital, and yet this never happened in the manga, and now we can guess why (Fyodor prays for his innocent victims). See section H for more on Fyodor’s overall gentleness, as well as my previous post about the cello scene here.

Sigma’s problem is of emotional nature: for a man without a past, lacking life itself before he found himself “existing” directly as a young adult (I assume he is a young adult), he was most desperate to fulfill his most basic and primary emotional needs, i.e. having a safe place to call his “home” and belonging to people whom he can call “family”. These are exactly the things Fyodor offered to Sigma right from the start, as if anticipating his arrival in that state, but Fyodor also praised and described Sigma for Dazai (ch75) in a very positive, heartfelt way that also implies Fyodor’s admiration for Sigma, as well as acknowledges a certain superiority Sigma has, even compared to Fyodor and Dazai themselves. Depending on the true nature of Fyodor’s relation to Sigma, as well as Sigma’s true nature in itself, I assume this point here will change in nuance in the future, but in the present the canon tells Fyodor has read Sigma’s heart like an open book. I refrain from adding more to this paragraph until new chapters give me new ground for it.

Nikolai’s problem is of philosophical and spiritual nature: the very fact that Fyodor could understand Nikolai’s core problem, his central existential dilemma, not to mention how quickly Fyodor grasped it, is something that both elevated and destabilized Nikolai. Fyodor rightfully explained that Nikolai fights God “in order to lose sight of himself” (ch78), which, theologically-speaking, is very much accurate from a Christian perspective: a human’s highest and final goal is to “see God”, to return to where man was exiled from (heaven, the Fatherland or patria in Latin, the future heavenly Jerusalem etc.) and, once there, to contemplate God eternally, finally reunited with their Creator and seeing “face to face” (see 1 Corinthians 13:12). That is, because there is where man’s real nature lies, where it came from and belongs to, but also man being created in the image and likeness of God (see Genesis 1:26), together with a Platonic and Neoplatonic philosophical legacy, led to a tradition of interpretations (part of our overall cultural heritage) where man’s divine part (or God himself) resides deep within the human soul: therefore, introspection or contemplating one’s own self holds incredible importance. Nikolai fighting God “in order to lose sight of himself” is a very well-chosen line for Fyodor and a great way of presenting (a glimpse of) the depth of Nikolai’s soul to the readers, one that opens many possible interpretations, not just the one offered above. Nonetheless, Fyodor’s response is particularly disturbing, because he calmly stated what frightens and enrages Nikolai the most: the fact that the sight of God is, in the end, the sight of himself, his true self, and “fighting against God” inevitably becomes “fighting against himself” too. So what is left when Nikolai fights against this truth? What is left must be what is unique to Nikolai as a being, if there is anything like that at all. So far in the manga, it seems Nikolai struggles desperately with the concept of the “omniscient God”, who possesses knowledge of past, present and future as well, which opens the particular Pandora’s box of “predetermination vs human free will”, a monstruous philosophical problem as old as time (or at least heavily discussed ever since Ancient Greek philosophy and Early Christianity too). One must note that, by answering like this, Fyodor essentially denied Nikolai the success of his mission, but granted him the rare gift or rare curse of being fully understood by someone else. One truth too much, the resulting emotional impact on Nikolai was disastruous, as Nikolai appears to be a person of high sensitivity, very susceptible to the power of words and how they plant ideas in his mind. Even if Fyodor’s response is not malicious in words (see, however, section H, about the meaning of the tilt of his head and how this scene is an example of intentional emotional manipulation), this interaction was profoundly unhealthy and destabilizing for Nikolai, which I would argue is well in the spirit of N.V. Gogol’s characters, having their spirits frequently broken by the most mundane things which nonetheless go beyond what they are capable to live with (read The Overcoat, Nevsky Prospekt first half, even Diary of a Madman).

Shibusawa’s problem was of personal nature, linked to his past: not only the Mayoi cards, but also the entirety of the Dead Apple movie make it clear that Shibusawa and Fyodor were long-time acquaintances before the fog incident in Yokohama happened. The most objective proof on this are Shibusawa’s words themselves, when telling Fyodor (in the Draconia room, in Dazai’s presence) that it was thanks to Fyodor selling information to Shibusawa that the fog incidents could happen, and in Yokohama too at such an impresive scale. Since Shibusawa told Dazai he did not find “having friends” necessary (since everyone was like a open book to him), I will refrain from calling the personal relationship between Fyodor and Shibusawa “friendship”. Now then, later on, despite being surprised by the ability-gathering Dragon event triggering after he approached Dazai’s “ability gem”, Shibusawa was not angry nor shocked when Fyodor cut his throat: Shibusawa immediately realized he found his most important personal memory as a consequence of Fyodor killing him or, rather, Fyodor “granting” him death once again. Here, too, two contrasting images combine: 1) Fyodor offering “death” as a “gift” or “blessing” that gives Shibusawa exactly what he needed most, and 2) Fyodor essentially killing his old acquaintance, but with the twist that Fyodor was aware Shibusawa would not die yet, quite the contrary – as a result of Fyodor putting a fragment of the crystal that gathers all abilities on the skull’s forehead (as a “small gift”, as Fyodor called it), Shibusawa was revived and enjoyed one last “epic battle” and then died a truly fulfilled person. In fact, Dazai predicted this outcome in the very first scene with the three of them at the table in Dead Apple, telling Shibusawa he is the one in need of “salvation”: Shibusawa then asked Dazai “And exactly who do you propose could save me?”, to which Dazai answered “Who knows? An angel, perhaps? Or, maybe, a demon” (then Fyodor enters the scene; note that I cite the dub version and that, at the end of Shibusawa’s and Atsushi’s battle, Shibusawa’s last words to Atsushi were “(…) The meaning of that man’s <Fyodor’s> words. I understand all of it now. It’s you! You must be the angel who has come to save me”). Anyway, the movie leaves several interesting questions unaswered: could Fyodor have granted death to Shibusawa, and therefore give him his most important memory back, at any time, or was the whole Yokohama setting necessary? If the latter, was it necessary for Shibusawa or necessary for Fyodor, and Fyodor acted only when their distinct goals aligned? In any case, allow me to expose something very intriguing in the next lines. After Fyodor granted Shibusawa death by cutting his throat in a single swift knife attack, the moment Shibusawa’s memory of his first death returned overlapped with the moment Atsushi’s memory of the same event returned to him as well. In the flashback, Shibusawa stated that he conducted those ability extraction experiments on Atsushi – specifically, Shibusawa pressed the switch – because “a Russian man” told him Atsushi’s “power was coveted by every gifted in the world”. Later, Shibusawa added “the Russian’s name was Fyodor”. This makes all events align in such a way that one could speculate Fyodor was leading Shibusawa and everyone involved with him (Ango and the government) down that precise path we see reach its end in the Dead Apple movie. This makes Fyodor’s words from ch42 all the more relevant: “People can be so simple… They truly believe they are thinking for themselves. (…) They don’t want to think they’re being led by the nose”; or, in S3ep4’s dub: “People are eager to believe that they are acting with free will, that they know best. (…) We all loathe to believe we can be controlled”. One last thing to note and analyse here: as Fyodor walked away alone on the hallway and the Dragon got unleashed, he had a “conversation” with Shibusawa’s skull:

Fyodor (sub): “I’ll tell you an interesting fact, in celebration of you finding a friend in me.” Fyodor (dub): “In thanks of our newfound friendship, I’ll offer you a bite from the apple of knowledge.”

Fyodor and his ability then delivered their famous “I am crime. I am punishment” dialogue. While there are significant wording differences between the versions cited above, how Fyodor referred to “friendship” here is mocking and ironic, so the nature of the bond between him and Shibusawa (beyond that of “informant and information buyer”) remains debatable. It is beautiful how the dub version of the line offers a splendid example of godly and demonic imagery blending in the character of Fyodor. In a Christian cultural context, two precise ideas come to mind simultaneously when hearing Fyodor’s line: 1) it was God who created everything, including the first humans (Adam, then Eve) in Eden, amongst all the fruit-bearing trees, giving them rules as to what they could consume or not (the power and authority “to offer” something rightfully was God’s, being the one to give and take away, to reference  Job, 1, 21), but also 2) it was the Devil who “offered” Eve such a bite, tempting her through suggesting she should eat from the forbidden fruits of the tree of knowledge of good and evil (the infamous “suggestion” was the Devil’s, making a forbidden “offer” that was actually a transgression). It is unclear to which of these two ideas Fyodor is closer, and it may as well be possible he is equally close to both, further encompasing contradicting traits. Nonetheless, given that Karma himself introduced the yet unresolved theme of “transcending human nature” and “transcending good and evil” in relation to Fyodor’s character (ch42, Karma: “Ace was evil, but this guy isn’t even that. He’s some kind of nirvana. Something that transcends mankind itself…”), this particular line from Dead Apple supports Karma’s observations and how Fyodor’s character combines the ideas of creator and destroyer, like @looking-for-stray-dogs put into beautiful words here. This only becomes more interesting when we consider the archetype or role of the “servant of God”, which Fyodor consciously claims to fulfill (see section F below).

Kunikida: Yes, you read that correctly. While Ivan and Nathaniel are, as of now, total wildcards and I do not have enough information as to objectively describe their situation or how Fyodor won them over or “read their souls”, Kunikida’s case is the perfect example of Fyodor’s understanding of a person being so deep and accurate that he knew exactly what actions would cause them to break and render them useless for a significant period of time. Moreover, Kunikida’s case becomes even more intriguing if we remember that Fyodor successfully read his nature without even meeting him. Well, that would be the introduction to this minisection about Kunikida, but frankly I did not have enough time nor energy to dig deeper into this as of now. Perhaps in the future I will update this part with information and links to several great analysis posts I am sure Kunikida fans wrote out already, with their whole heart in them.

These examples share the fact that Fyodor accurately reads the intellectual (Karma), emotional (Sigma), philosophical and spiritual (Nikolai) layers of the human heart, as well as is capable of perfectly adapting to one’s personal baggage on the long term (Shibusawa). This means he posseses an extraordinary capacity for empathy, but, as he never loses his composure (except for small instances of surprise or adrenaline rush, like in ch46 and ch53), his willpower controls every single gesture and reaction he makes, which makes him a terrifying foe who has complete control over himself, never overreacts and thus seems soulless (ch42). His understanding of human nature fiels his skill to deduce future actions and thoughts of other people, which in turn may deepen Fyodor’s individualism or trigger his eventual alienation (paired with perceiving humans as “boring” because they are predictable, to which Dazai disagreed in ch77, albeit it must be noted that this is only an assumption Dazai made about Fyodor, that is not entirely supported by the canon dialogues; see section E), as well as encourage Fyodor to use others as predictable (and therefore reliable) pawns in his plans. Again, Fyodor’s character combines two very contrasting yet interdependent things in his strategies: acknowledging others as humans (with individual problems) firstly, and using them as instruments when necessary, on that basis (as Fyodor becomes their problem-solver). This shows both how versatile and accepting Fyodor is as a thinker and leader (see also section C). Theoretically speaking, could Fyodor use Dazai as a pawn, if Dazai is completely alien from being human? But that would open another massive collective essay on what is going on inside Dazai’s soul and mind, as the fandom so often and so admirably tried to figure out already. Personally, I am a firm believer in Dazai’s humanity, and if Fyodor can indeed understand it all the way to its core, then one may wonder if Dazai’s humanity will be his downfall.

C. He values independence and (most probably) his co-workers

Continuing on the previous paragraph’s line of thought, here’s the catch: it is important to keep in mind that Fyodor nevertheless seems to treat certain “pawns” differently, perhaps considering them closer to him in some regard. People Fyodor refers to as “his staff” (and, in ch64, the faces of Ivan and Pushkin appear as examples) may be a matter of genuine concern to him, enough so that Fyodor asks Dazai how to make his subordinates less dependent on Fyodor: “My staff show no independence. All they do is wait for orders. How can I make them into good workers who take the initiative?” (ch64). To me, this question, even just as a light-hearted example for the sake of their shared prison mindgames, is plain shocking coming from someone always thought of as using people like tools and discarding them like broken puppets. As a first thought, to my stupefaction, Fyodor really took into consideration the independence of even his lower-ranking “pawns” as something worthy of a question, and valuable enough as to lament its lack. However, on later inspection I came to understand that Fyodor’s entire “roooooundtable” session from ch64 is in fact more like an icosahedron with razor-sharp edges (I mean, complex and slick), and can be taken both or either literally (like in this section I took Fyodor’s words literally) or figuratively, assuming Fyodor and Dazai’s answers as being each a substitution for something else entirely. Until I reach that point further down this section, there are more examples that refer to Fyodor’s perception of his co-workers (note: for the manga, my points of reference are the official English translations):

1) in Dead Apple, Fyodor celebrated what he called the “newfound friendship” between him and Shibusawa in Dead Apple, thus calling Shibusawa a “friend”, which is further supported if we take into consideration certain BSD Mayoi card descriptions (“Dragon Head Feud” card description, or “Bundled up” card quote: “Oh my, it seems that Dazai-kun and Nakajima Atsushi-kun have managed to evade us today. Well, if Shibusawa-kun is happy, then I'm happy. I'm his friend, after all.”); however, if put back in the larger context, the benevolent character of this statement is debatable (see section B);

2) in ch42, Fyodor told Ace “My friends have taken over the outside corridors”, thus directly referring to his Rats in the House of the Dead as “friends”, even if the fact itself was a lie to pressure Ace towards his suicide;

3) in ch95.5, silently agreed to considering Nikolai a friend when Dazai complimented Nikolai’s prison game idea. There are two instances where Dazai mocked Fyodor about having a nice friend in Nikolai, both of them in this chapter, and only in the second one Fyodor played along, agreeing to Dazai’s claim, but one has to bear in mind that the two could have been mocking each other in both instances:

Nikolai, ch95.5 (fan translation): “The wish to save my friend is indeed very difficult to falter. That’s why I need to shatter this determination, such to prove the free will of homo sapiens!” Dazai: “Seems like… you have a nice friend…” Fyodor: “…” – Nikolai (after a few lines): “From now on, you two will be participating in a jail break duel!” Dazai: “You indeed have a very good friend.” Fyodor: “I know, right?”

Leaving the debate open as to whether Fyodor is genuine when using the term “friend” overall (see also bsd-bibliophile’s post here, further inspecting Fyodor and Nikolai’s interactions, as well as mentioning one instance of the term “friend”, used by Fyodor for Pushkin, being present in the fan translation, but not in the original Japanese text per se), all this information nonetheless supports the fact that Fyodor himself may not be oppressive towards others, and that his methods rather rely on communication, negotiation and manipulation. Indeed, strangely enough, for example when approaching someone new with the intent to work with them, Fyodor’s ways are all “clean talk”: no torture, no physical abuse, no threats, no intimidation or humiliation, no blood as of now (on the possibility of brainwashing, see section D below). Instead, Fyodor becomes the ideal smooth-talker and deal-maker when first recruiting others, perfectly reading into their soul and appealing to their most intimate desires (see section B above, as well as @gold-pavilion​​ / akai-koutei ’s post here /oldhere, and there was a beautiful addition by @/goddessesofeverything here, but all reblogs of the original post were deleted and I cry). When approaching a clear target, however, there can be freshly spilt blood, for example 1) Mori getting stabbed (ch46), 2) Katai getting shot (ch49), and 3) Shibusawa getting his throat cut open (Dead Apple), in each case the action being done directly by Fyodor (firing the gun or holding the respective knives with his own hands). Lastly, if we take into consideration how Fyodor played along with Nikolai’s puns in vol.14’s omake, and how highly and affectionately he spoke about Sigma in ch74 and ch75, Fyodor’s actual dynamics with his subordinates or fellow Decay of the Angel members could potentially surprise the reader in future updates, because his polite and discreet nature do not seem to be a mere façade.

Another point needs to be addressed here, and it is whether or not we can safely use the word “care” to sum up Fyodor’s relationship towards his close co-workers (thank you, Sel @oddeyesight​​, for your questions that led me towards considering this aspect in more detail). First of all, one needs to acknowledge there are persons Fyodor worked with and then disposed of in the most indubitable way, like the mafioso he forced information from in ch51, indirectly all children in ch47 and directly the little girl with the grenades, whom he talked to via telephone prior to the events. Secondly, compared to them, there are characters that are closer to Fyodor, which Fyodor refers to as “friends” (so far, this applies to Pushkin, Ivan, Nathaniel, and indirectly consenting to calling Nikolai a friend; see the paragraph above). Looking at definitions of the noun “care” – “the process of looking after someone” and “the process of doing things to keep something in good condition and working correctly” (Longman dictionary) – the first definition I give as an example here can imply affection, whereas the second definition does not, and refers to an impartial instrumental approach. So far, from what I gathered, there is no canon basis to claim Fyodor cares about someone else in the first definition’s sense, only in the second. Until future manga chapters may or may not change this, I propose looking at Fyodor from another viewpoint: in relation to the antonym of “care” (neglect), and a closely-related noun, indifference. For this task I propose starting with the following scene from ch74, when Dazai deduced the Sky Casino’s origin and purpose:

Dazai: “It was made for two goals. As a base for the next terror attack and as “payment” for the use of Sigma’s skill. …Never waste a thing, do you?” Fyodor: “Our boss does hate to be wasteful.”

By saying “Never waste a thing, do you?”, Dazai implied that Fyodor executed all the steps he deduced, yet Fyodor shaked this claim off, directing Dazai’s remark toward someone Fyodor called “our boss”. We, as readers, naturally think of Fukuchi, who is the leader of the Decay of the Angel in title, but I dare say the entire fandom does not buy this, as in everything else Fyodor still acts like the puppeteer determining the actions of all the group’s members, whether they know it (Nikolai and Sigma) or not (Fukuchi probably and Bram). Fyodor humbling himself and downplaying his importance is a recurring behaviour of his, in varying depictions such as in ch46 (Fyodor to Dazai: “I will not be the one who will bring down your two groups. It will be you yourselves”), in ch73’s cover artwork of Sigma holding cards (where Fyodor is not an Ace, not even a King, he is but a Jack of Spades), in ch77 (Fyodor to Dazai: “Me? I didn’t do anything. I just sat here and prayed… and those prayers were answered”; see section F for more). This aside, hiding the identity of Fyodor’s “boss” had at least two purposes: 1) keeping Fukuchi’s double identity hidden (both the Hunting Dogs leader and the Decay of the Angel leader) and 2) redirecting not only Dazai’s, but our attention too. Since Fyodor and Dazai imagine their actions as if within a mental game of chess, let us reconsider the fates of Fyodor’s pieces so far, which include both the Decay of the Angel members and the Rats in the House of the Dead:

1) Pushkin was apparently captured and eliminated from the “chess game” (lost piece, used and then captured by the enemy in ch53), and yet he is alive and well, even shamelessly spilling information to Ranpo to save his own skin, while being interrogated (ch54), providing him with the lead on Mushitaro. Despite leaking information, so far nobody was sent to “clean” Pushkin off the table (as in Mushitaro’s case, whom Nikolai said he was assigned to kill off at the end of ch56). Pushkin leaking information may be intentional as part of Fyodor’s plans, which means Pushkin’s role likely did not meet its end yet.

2) Ivan was apparently captured and eliminated from the “chess game” (lost piece, used and then captured by the enemy in ch53), and yet Ivan survived and is probably held somewhere alive; also, Ivan’s loyalty and “happiness” never wavered, not even when in Rashomon’s tight grip (ch53), which means his trust in Fyodor remained unchanged and he did not abandon his role of Fyodor’s servant and “head chamberlain” (ch52).

3) Mushitaro was, most probably, really supposed to die (sacrificed piece, used and then disposed of: died in an exploding car after Nikolai’s surprise attack in ch56), yet he is still alive, last seen (iirc) safe in Poe’s mansion in ch78.5 (vol.18 bonus chapter at the end). Since Fyodor sent Nikolai to dispose of Mushitaro, it is rather clear Fyodor was not indifferent to Mushitaro staying alive, and now this is a loose end, one where Mushitaro survived and we do not know if this scenario has already been integrated in one of Fyodor’s larger schemes or if it will serve against Fyodor somehow later.

4) Nikolai was apparently supposed to die (sacrificed piece, used and then disposed of: sawed in half in ch58), and yet he is very much alive and already influenced the current events of the manga drastically. Furthermore, in ch95.5, when Nikolai started explaining his prison game, Fyodor replied “So that’s what you’re planning”, as if the two already agreed upon Nikolai doing “something”, and apparently that “something” remained a surprise to Fyodor, hence his reply was phrased as a conclusion. Note how Nikolai’s action remaining a surprise reinforce Nikolai’s freedom and agency, and Fyodor allowed this and played along, despite how accurate to his character it would be to have deduced Nikolai’s possible actions already. Then again, it could be that Fyodor knew that Nikolai had to hear precisely that kind of reaction, in order to continue playing a role Fyodor secretly predicted for him. Later, in ch98, after Nikolai’s prison game started, when Fyodor was waiting for Chuuya to arrive, Nikolai asked him “It’s been five minutes since the game started. You aren’t gonna move? Can I take that to assume… your pieces are already moving?”. If Nikolai’s prison game is an independent consequence of him independently choosing not to die, then why would Nikolai smile as if in agreement with Fyodor, supposing that everything went as planned? The problem of free will remains unresolved and tightly knit into Nikolai’s character even in the current events.

5) Sigma was apparently supposed to die (sacrificed piece, used and then disposed of: shot by Nathaniel in ch76), and just like Nikolai he is very much alive and playing a crucial role still unknown to us (in a conversation with Alex @vampireonastick​​ I suggested that Sigma being on Dazai’s side of the prison game might be a well-disguised infiltration strategy already planned out by Fyodor, with whom Nikolai cooperates on this, despite Nikolai’s “sidequest” to kill Fyodor); we have an important hint as to how Sigma’s death was never required by Fyodor’s plan: the “roooooundtable” from ch64. It is indeed highly probable that the entire “all-smiles problem-solving rooooundtable” session proposed and moderated by Fyodor was his masked suggestion (masked from the guards!) of creating a unique substitution code that only he and Dazai would be able to communicate in, as @fantastic-rambles analysed more in-depth here. And just like @mydearestt​​ noticed in this post here that, through his reply, Dazai in fact referred to his plan to make the Agency move, the same can be assumed in Fyodor’s case. To remember the dialogue, I shall copy the revelant part here below:

Dazai: “Me next. “I tried asking the café waitress out, but she won’t bend an inch. What should I do?” Fyodor: “Make her lose her job and home, trick her family into disowning her and she’s bound to come crawling to you.”

I propose reading this sequence as referring to Sigma entirely, because: 1) Sigma, much like a waitress, was contained and bound to his workplace, the casino, unwilling to leave once there, no matter who asked; 2) Fyodor set up the entire scenario of making Sigma lose his job AND home in the most literal sense by completely destabilizing the casino; 3) by doing unbecoming irreversible actions, Sigma secured his own family rejecting him, and all ties were cut with Sigma’s “death”, yet Sigma survived – equally destabilized, he ended up in a situation where, if Fyodor would have granted him another wish, Sigma would not have refused, naturally seeking the one person who may still have power to grant wishes as grand and Sigma’s, and that is still Fyodor, who both gave and took Sigma’s home. This being said, like Alex @vampireonastick​ theorized in their post here, I strongly believe Dazai strategically manipulates Sigma in the prison game, “shaping” him to defy Fyodor, the person he would otherwise “crawl back to”. However, since Fyodor chooses his words with utmost care all the time, no matter if truthful or deceiving, I personally doubt Fyodor would carelessly share his strategy (disguised as the grimest relationship advice) without it already being implemented into a larger scheme, in which Dazai acts upon the words he hears from Fyodor (and Dazai already did so twice in this arc, firstly by choosing Sigma, secondly by “building up” Sigma for his eventual refusal of Fyodor). What Dazai perhaps does not expect is the fact that Fyodor himself already talked to Sigma in ways that reinforce Sigma’s agency: for example, in ch73, Fyodor directly told Sigma that, should the Hunting Dogs attack the casino, Sigma should run as he would have no chance of winning; Sigma, on the contrary, remembering Fyodor’s words – not once, but twice in the chapter –, was pushed only more vehemently to defending his casino, thus acting on his own and defying Fyodor already, a reaction Fyodor most likely anticipated when making Sigma hear his “advice as a co-worker” (in Fyodor’s own words, ch73). In the end, regardless of the content of Fyodor’s words, it seems his kidnapper from ch42 offered honest advice to Karma: “Watch out… If you talk to him, he’ll pluck your mind out”. Despite how there is no proof of an actual “plucking of the mind” action yet (see section D), Fyodor’s words (often, if not always) twist the minds of those around him in a way that, paradoxically, both acknowledges and denies them their free will, encouraging decisions that seem free to the agent, but are already predicted and known to Fyodor (and in this, I must admit, Fyodor bears a resemblance to an omniscient god; however, his canon dialogues often convey a different role, a tension I discus in section F). In this light, I wonder if Dazai had this behaviour before too and acted upon words he heard from Fyodor in previous instances, such as the Mutual Destruction arc.

6) Nathaniel was apparently eliminated from the “chess game” entirely (sacrificed piece, used and then disposed of: captured in Anne’s room of no return in ch76), yet this does not imply he is dead, which begs the question if Anne’s room, the Agency’s only true safe space, is now compromised, as me and Alex wondered here (see also the reblogs and replies to their post).

One thing I want to remark here is that, despite how clear it is that Fyodor “moved” all these “chess pieces” already (only number 3 to 6 are relevant in this case), in ch76, right after Nathaniel got captured, as Atsushi and Lucy were celebrating their victory, Ango explained to them how the events at the casino were no victory, and how instead everything played as Fyodor has planned, claiming that Fyodor has not made any move yet:

Ango, ch76: “We lost because you let Sigma die. Now we have no leads to the Page. And… the Hunting Dogs saw us try to rescue him. In their eyes, that likely looked like the Detective Agency helping their terrorist allies. Our plan failed and we’ve only sowed more doubt. This is likely exactly as Dostoyevsky planned. Frankly… I can’t stop shaking. Until now, he moved none of his pawns and gave us no room to deal with him. (…)”

As I shall leave Ango analysis to Alex @vampireonastick​ like in this post here, I will return to the fact that so far the only true “chess piece” that Fyodor ever truly let die was Shibusawa. Then, to sum up, when his co-workers fulfilled their purpose and no use nor entertainment can be obtained from them anymore, Fyodor’s pattern seems to be leaving said co-workers with apparent indifference to their well-being, often abandoning them in a state or situation that is destructive to them (Shibusawa is the clearest example, but it applies to all other aforementioned characters as well). However, the twist is that none of these characters did reach the end of their assigned roles yet (and we may wonder if they will ever do that), given that Pushkin, Ivan, Nikolai, Sigma, Nathaniel and even Mushitaro are all alive and healthy. Consindering all this, the way BSD is narrated becomes even more interesting, because the reader would naturally project treating others as expendable on Fyodor, where in fact it is more accurate to Dazai’s character to act this way (and he did and does act that way, as @linkspooky​ pointed out in detail in their post here). Back to Fyodor’s “our boss does hate to be wasteful” line, while still just an interpretation, it would make sense that Fyodor refers to himself or his ability (if it’s a separate conscious being, see section G) as “our boss”, because all this information suggests that Fyodor himself hates to be wasteful, and that, excepting Shibusawa, Fyodor never wasted even a single pawn of his. That means Fyodor never neglects his co-workers (whom he calls friends!) and is never truly indifferent to them, albeit in an instrumental way, given that there is no proof yet that Fyodor’s care towards his co-workers is affectionate in nature. Let us close this section with a treat, though: in ch51 and ch53, there are two panels of a teacup with three teaspoons to its left. Differing greatly from the anime, albeit delivering the same subtle deception, these three teaspoons help in fooling the reader into thinking that Ivan poured tea in Fyodor’s cup, placed the teacup in front of him and then Fyodor consumed that tea, together with the jam that filled all three teaspoons at first (ch51). Given that 1) Ivan prepared the tea with three teaspoons of jam and 2) at the restaurant, Fyodor drank his tea exactly like that, with three teaspoons of jam, from this we can deduce Ivan is very familiar with Fyodor’s tea-drinking habits, which in turn leads us to the very likely idea that Fyodor and Ivan (if not also together with other members of the Rats in the House of the Dead) frequently had tea together, or Ivan prepared tea for Fyodor often enough to memorize his precise habits. The latter would support Ivan’s self-proclaimed status as Fyodor’s “head chamberlain” (ch52), suggesting that their group lived as family and / or nobility in the same house, if the definition of “chamberlain” is taken into consideration (Longman Dictionary: “chamberlain, an important official who managed the house of a king or queen in the past”).

D. No confirmation yet that he is brainwashing others and why this is relevant

Speaking of his methods of acquiring new collaborators, so far, it is most certain that Fyodor is not brainwashing people: not Fukuchi, not Nikolai, not Sigma, not Karma, not Pushkin, and certainly not the little girl with the grenades, even though the anime depicted the scene differently (in the manga’s ch47, a flashback appears where Fyodor talks to the little girl via telephone, thus he does not simply appear in her clouded mind like in the anime’s S3ep9).

But two characters Fyodor works with are in a very ambiguous position as of now: Ivan and Nathaniel. To begin with, Ivan’s case is very tricky at the moment. In ch53, he openly told Akutagawa that “my master cut out all the parts of his brain that feel unhappiness”. What can I say except our dear Vanya here is a lil’ crazy. I find his replies rather unreliable at the moment, because he is the only Fyodor-subordinate who is behaving like an intoxicated bacchant for now. While the ch53 quote is singular and, therefore, I cannot make anything of it, there is another thing that needs to be considered: in ch52, as he was walking away from Akutagawa and Atsushi, Ivan told them “I will not forget you. …No… You will now serve as part of my master’s joyful order”, but immediately after that he added “after 10 more steps, I will most likely forget your faces”. Apparent self-contradiction aside, whether he meant “forget your faces” literally or not, Nathaniel, too, went through an apparent mind-reset, as he did not recognize Akutagawa in ch46 and appears to have lost his entire personality except for his devotion to Margaret Mitchell and his determination to save her life. Now, mind-resetting and brainwashing are not the same, and removing a part of one’s brain or mind that is responsible for a specific emotion is, likewise, something entirely different. The manga did not give us further examples of similar things that Fyodor apparently had a role to play in, so I cannot present anything new here, only speculation. We also do not know if these effects are caused by Fyodor himself (without using his ability at all, much like he could simply talk Ace into his own suicide in ch42) or Fyodor’s ability specifically. This simply limits my current analysis of Fyodor’s methods to the beforementioned “communication, negotiation, manipulation” trio, which is not dependent nor related to his ability, and I will update these parts if the manga later reveals that Fyodor did indeed mold the conscience or minds of other people into whatever shape or state he desired. Until then, he is literally just a genius smooth-talker, and I refrain from making rash affirmations or going into more speculation here.

E. He loves and lives for entertainment

So many canon lines convey Fyodor’s love for entertainment. It is more specifically entertainment in a “good literature” sense, meaning conflict, tension, intensity of will and emotions, devotion, despair and generally human beings fighting for their needs or to solve their problems of many different, often opposing kinds. Let us take Fyodor’s own words as references. First of all, at the beginning of the Dead Apple movie, as younger Chuuya destroyes the entire building in which he and Dazai found Shibusawa the first time, Fyodor watched the scene from a safe distance, on top of a building. All he did was “absorb” the whole event with utter satisfaction, concluding the scene with his line “This is too much fun”. The motif is repeated several times in the Dead Apple movie, linking his own enjoyment of whatever chaos unfolds to “fun” and “entertainment”, so this line is not the sole evidence that entertainment is greatly valued by Fyodor, as it is the thing opposed to boredom, which constantly eats away at his and Dazai’s hearts because of their superhuman intellect. As Fyodor was getting the two most important ability gems ready for his and Dazai’s plan, Fyodor tells Dazai “Would you not agree that the more entertainment there is, the better?” (dub); moreover, at the end of the movie, his lines highlight the privileged spot of “entertainment” in his understanding of the world around him again:

Fyodor (sub): “Everything is but entertainment. But in order to end this world, rife with crime and punishment, I do need that book. The blank novel sleeping in this town.” Fyodor (dub):“Everything is just entertainment. However, this world is so rife with crime and punishment… In order to finally end it, I do need that novel. This special book that sleeps somewhere within this city.”

However, paying close attention to his words, we need to consider the possibility that in this instance Dead Apple either contradicts or deceives the watcher greatly, because in the manga Fyodor’s goal is clearly referring to “saving the world”, not “ending the world” (see also section G, near the end, for more on Fyodor’s possible motivation).

Now, in the manga (ch63), Fyodor stated that he openly refused to devise a perfect plan (as demanded by another Decay of the Angel member, possibly Fukuchi) because perfection is boring (Fyodor, ch63: “A Decay comrade asked me for the perfect plan… but perfect is so boring. I won’t be able to view the karma of humanity like this”). While at first glance one could be surprised by this statement, especially considering that “God prefers perfection and harmony”, in Fyodor’s own words from ch77 (see section G where I expand on this specifically), both lines (perfection is boring + God favours perfection) could potentially be extremely deceiving: since the Agency knows Fyodor is involved in crafting the Decay of the Angel’s plan, it is probably this implication that leads, for example, Kyouka in ch63 to tell Atsushi that their plan is “extensive and flawless”, and Atsushi’s inner monologue, as a response, appears together with a panel of a faceless Fyodor pulling strained strings in the darkness. If everyone expects Fyodor to be perfect and to create flawless strategies, an opponent like Dazai could include unpredictable, irrational or impulsive actions in his own strategies to outsmart him, as Dazai describes his appreciative acknowledgement of this behaviour he finds in other people (Dazai to Fyodor, ch77: “What’s driving the world are those in the storm of accidental events who scream, run and spill blood. Faced with their souls, you and I should be petrified with fear”; more on this specific dialogue in the next paragraph). But knowing this reaction would be triggered, Fyodor could always integrate imperfections in his plans, leaving his opponents with the impression that they act in the right way, on their free will, when in fact nothing they do has not been already considered by Fyodor (holding true to his lines from ch42). Personality-wise, the “perfection is boring” line becomes relevant if (and only if) Fyodor really, truly means it literally, and 1) does not say it just to tell what his opponent(s) (or the reader themselves) would want or expect to hear, without meaning it, or 2) does not say it as some kind of reverse-psychology, without personal attachment, to trigger predictable reactions in his opponent(s) (again, see section G for a continuation of this particular discussion). As a last example to support the idea of Fyodor loving entertainment, finding both fun and beauty in it, when a very shocked Dazai was asking Fyodor about the reason (“for what?”) for his stupefying strategic moves (the coin bombs, staging the casino as the battleground etc.), Fyodor only replied “Isn’t it more beautiful that way?”.

Now, ch77 presents us with a dialogue between Fyodor and Dazai which seems easy to understand at first, but becomes increasingly complex the more one dwells on it. To remember the full context clearly again, I shall sum it up and add the full relevant quote here: after Fyodor told Dazai that “God favours perfection and harmony”, after which it is confirmed that the Page was also used for changing all the world’s police and investigative agencies not to act upon evidence of someone framing the Agency, a parallel is shown with Tachihara who, inside his heart, decided to finally identify fully as part of the Port Mafia, exiting the inner state of being a Hunting Dog (military police force), thus existing the Page’s influence. Tachihara’s situation exemplifies what Dazai then explains to Fyodor:

Dazai, ch77: “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Siding with God sure didn’t teach you much!” Fyodor: “…Let’s hear it.” Dazai: “‘Perfection and harmony’? To God, those amount to a hill of beans. I saw it many times. All HE offers is happenstance and absurdity. A weakness… shared by the two of us… For all our ingenious plans, in the end we’ve wound up here, in a deep-level prison. What’s driving the world are those in the storm of accidental events who scream, run and spill blood. Faced with their souls, you and I should be petrified with fear. (after POV change to Tachihara) You’re right. People are sinful and foolish. But… they aren’t as boring as you think they are.”

In Dazai’s dialogue, I put in bold two quotes that need to be inspected. The first one refers to Dazai pointing out a weakness the two geniuses share, which refers to the primacy of the accidental in reality, as opposed to the predictability both Fyodor and Dazai operate with in all their plans, which can make the world seem trapped in an inescapable causality rationally-accesible to those with an intellect such as theirs. Dazai “bets” against Fyodor on this cruel primacy of “happenstance and absurdity”, where reason fails to follow the exact consequences of each event or human action, and yet the nuances and risks of this “bet” I already exposed in the paragraph above. In this context, Dazai seems indeed to talk about this weakness in an admirative, even hopeful tone, despite the fact that he shares it; for a brilliant exposition on Dazai (both the author and his BSD counterpart) in relation to sin and weakness, I wholeheartedly recommend reading Kat’s (@pompompurin1028​​) essay here. When Dazai stated this, a flashback to Odasaku’s fight with André Gide is shown, which can be interpreted as that one time Dazai’s predictions held true, yet still Odasaku chose to fight Gide, fully aware of the end, driven only by what I would call here human subjective drive. Such human subjective drive, independent from reason and logic, is what awakened in Tachihara as well: if Odasaku served as an example of “defeating” Dazai by exploiting his vulnerability to the (uncontrollable) accidental, then Tachihara served as an example of “defeating” Fyodor’s precautious plans by unexpectedly exiting the Page’s influence. In the end, this parallel can become unbalanced if Fyodor already included this kind of variables in his plans and works not ignoring, but embracing human individuality and spontaneity, which I would argue is (paradoxically) more likely the case, for what I exposed in sections B and C. 

As for the second quote I put in bold, there are at least the following examples that render Dazai’s assumption (that Fyodor considers people boring) untrue: 1) in ch75, Fyodor openly praised Sigma, carefully examining his personal torment, placing him not only above the Hunting Dogs, but also above Dazai and himself, as well as “all of creation” ; 2) in ch78, in a flashback, as a reaction to (presumably listening to) Nikolai’s inner struggle, Fyodor replied “That’s wonderful”, smiling and tilting his head (see section B, as well as H for the significance of the tilt of the head); 3) in ch80, Fyodor described the Agency “as beautiful as the evening sunlight (…)”. If people are indeed boring to Fyodor, he would not find their struggles and states worthy of deeper consideration, lengthy speeches of praise or expressive, poetic comparisons (admittedly with a dash of pity and sarcasm towards the fate of the Agency). So far, Fyodor is never shown expressing boredom in the presence of other people, quite the contrary: he is shown expressing sincere interest, as if each human is a case study, an enigma to be unravelled, much like Fyodor himself is to me, and to us within the BSD community (therefore I chose that specific fragment from F.M. Dostoyevsky’s letters to start my essay with, as a motto; there is much more to be said about that, but I reserve that for another possible future essay, where it would be necessary to discuss Fyodor’s character in light of his corresponding author’s biography, personality and literary works as a whole). And so, I would argue that to Fyodor humans are not boring, but providers of entertainment worthy of attention and inspection, even more so when they play a role in his plans (and it seems everybody is playing on a stage set by Fyodor so far).

Fyodor is also quite fond of not only perceiving events or circumstances as games (like his mental chess game with Dazai in prison, starting in ch63, always mirroring the course of everyone’s actions outside), but also proposing this approach to others (his rooooundtable in ch64 and his card guessing contest with Ace in ch42), albeit not carelessly, as each time such – yeah, I cannot avoid it at this point, I’m a gamer myself, here it comes *inhales deeply* – each time such gamer approach has a multifaceted utility and never strays from serving Fyodor’s two main purposes, achieving his plan to cleanse the world of abilities, and having fun (yes). Killing boredom via playing games, especially when in the company of a person on the same level, seems to be the first move Fyodor does when faced with monotony (even in vol. 20’scredit page, where Fyodor said “I’m bored. Let’s play twenty questions”, even if Dazai immediately delivers the final answer “Snow White”, and thus Fyodor retracted his idea with “Actually let’s not”, as Dazai’s superhuman intellect killed the fun too fast).

To look into two examples just a bit more, in ch64, during his roooooundtable with Dazai, Fyodor suggested “Next, let’s ask a question at the same time”, which appeared to be innocently fun, because it challenges two persons, in this case a native and a non-native speaker of Japanese, to coordinate their spelling just for the amusement of simultaneity; then, in ch97, as Nikolai’s deadly prison game was about to start, Fyodor lamented the outcome he was confidently foreseeing: “Yet losing a chess opponent in the next 30 minutes is still quite sad”, saying this teasingly, still talking as if in the context of his and Dazai’s mental chess game. On a last, entertaining note, because why not, this entire section might as well serve as proof that Fyodor is cat-coded, just like Dazai (see @wintertaurus​​ ’s post here, where they scientifically prove this, I don’t make the rules), despite being the leader of the Rats in the House of the Dead, and so one more fine example of a fictional INTJ further strengthens the definition of INTJs as “human cats”.

F. Humble, not arrogant. Self-proclaimed god or servant of God?

Starting with the latter half of this section’s title, that is a very tricky subject, in fact, because we as manga readers can observe both 1) one line that established a connection early-on between Fyodor and calling himself “a god” if God is dead and 2) many lines by which Fyodor is actually displaying behaviour and speech akin to a self-aware servant of God. Let us begin with the first one. So, in the first chapter dedicated to showing Fyodor to the readers in more detail (ch42), and only in the original Japanese version and the fan translation, the first page of the chapter together with the last page feature a quote from F.M. Dostoyevsky’s Demons. The quote put together is “If God does not exist, I am a god”, which is part of a dialogue by the character Alexei Nilych Kirilov (“Если нет бога, то я бог”, see Part Three, chapter VI, II). Perhaps a beautiful coincidence, but in this exact wording that the fan translation chose, the quote also appears in Albert Camus’ The Myth of Sisyphus, chapter “Absurd Creation”, subchapter “Kirilov”, where the French author discusses F.M. Dostoyevsky’s Demons and the mentioned character, Alexei Nilych Kirilov. There, Camus calls that line “Kirilov’s premise”. In retrospect, this is a very puzzling line to appear associated with Fyodor, or rather appear as spoken or thought by him, giving the ambiguity of the quote’s placement on the pages. It is also puzzling because until now BSD gave us a character who seems like a better candidate for using that quote or being a reference to Kirilov, and by that I mean of course Nikolai. Moreover, the way Fyodor talks about or mentions God in dialogues that are clearly spoken by him later (I shall discuss examples in the paragraphs and sections below) very much conveys the message that Fyodor does not think God is dead, invoking him over and over (whether he is referring to the Judeo-Christian God or simply “a god” is not yet addressed in the manga). Still, the most striking information about this quote remains the fact that it is not featured in the official English translation at all. For comparison, I shall put an image with the last page in both versions below, and you can see the scan of the Japanese first page of ch42 here.

As we are walking on quicksand with this one, let us move on to the second point I mentioned at the beginning of this paragraph, about Fyodor as a servant of God. Because of his mission, of which he speaks as if it is of a higher calling, of divine nature, Fyodor also appears to see himself as a servant, namely a servant of God (servus Dei). He has the mind and the skill to carry out a mission of divine proportions (for us readers still an ambiguous goal: Fyodor, ch46: “And I will use that Book to make a world free of sin and skill users”, where “skill” means the same as “ability” and “gift”, as the fandom is used to these terms more). This, in turn, could have made him develop a strong sense of responsibility and a feeling of authority. As we are currently following the “servant” train of thought, these (sense of responsibility and authority) are not to be confused with what is called a “god-complex”, a slang expression which loosely corresponds to different actual psychological disorders such as narcissistic personality disorder, a thing Fyodor does not display core traits of. As of now, Fyodor remains surprisingly humble, discreet and respectfully formal both in speech (see @looking-for-stray-dogs’s posts here and here) and in gestures (see section H, on Fyodor’s body language), he acknowledges the possibility of imperfections and even welcomes them (ch63), he was never portrayed as becoming irritated at others (except his eyes expressing either anger or furious determination, as Dazai attempts to drown him and Chuuya in ch101), he is not a show-off and is indifferent to being adored or agreed with, and he knows how to take criticism elegantly when Dazai holds different opinions or outwits him. It is true that his grandiose “divine” goal, his frequent use of manipulation, and his apparent omnisciency and unbreakable composure give enough space to speculate regarding an underlying “god-complex” in his character (together with the ambiguous use of the quote discussed in the paragraph above), but the reader must acknowledge that, in all his replies, Fyodor refers to himself as if to a servant of God par excellence, as is the most evident in his ch77 reply to Dazai: “Me? I didn’t do anything. I just sat here and prayed… and those prayers were answered”. 

This direct self-characterization, too, plays against him having an actual “god-complex”. I would say that, by building on the humble yet powerful servus Dei image, if at all intentional, Asagiri presents us a far more complex character in Fyodor. For example, one of the many important subjects in Biblical exegesis, since the beginning centuries of Christianity, was how Jesus Christ, the Son of God, took upon himself the role of servant of God (see Philippians, 2, 6-7), but also of all humans (see the Washing of the Feet), and so humility and divine power become two closely tied ideas. In the manga’s context, Fyodor’s own humility can also have an added disturbing effect on the reader because of the implied power that coexists with it.

On the topic of the “arrogant villain” stereotype, I myself cannot find instances where Fyodor is, per se, arrogant. Longman Dictionary defines “arrogant” as “behaving in an unpleasant or rude way because you think you are more important than other people”, but we know for a fact that Fyodor behaves far from rude and unpleasant to others. Quite the contrary, he is humble and considerate, as can be deduced from his way of using the Japanese language (see the references linked in the paragraph above). He is never portrayed denigrating, humiliating or belittling someone else thus far. What is true is that Fyodor considers his goal (and not necessarily himself unless the manga reveals the opposite in the future) superior to anyone and anything on Earth, and this accentuates his heavy use of smooth manipulation instead of inflating his ego, actually hiding his true self behind more and more layers of words and actions he uses out of necessity to reach his higher goal. If we speculate that Fyodor is indeed (Orthodox) Christian and familiar with this doctrine, then it would be no surprise why Fyodor would cultivate humility instead of pride in general, as pride (superbia) is the beginning of all sin (Sirach, 10, 15) and when pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom (Proverbs, 11, 3). To sum up, I cannot find any manga panel where Fyodor is acting in an arrogant way, so I reached the conclusion that anything related to his arrogance, his stubbornness, his rudeness or, by extension, his superiority-complex is headcanon-territory at least for now. Only in chess did Dazai mention the “maliciousness” of Fyodor’s move while playing mental chess with him (ch72), and this malicious trait can refer to the bold and shocking way in which Fyodor attacks by directly using his King instead of other chess pieces (for a detail exposition of their chess moves, see @blackandwhitemusician​ ’s post here). Interestingly, Fyodor does indeed reply with “Malice is the greatest fruit God ever gave to man”, yet from what I gathered so far we still have yet to see a true act of malice from Fyodor, that is, an malicious action done for the sake of malice itself, and not for the sake of his higher goal demanding sacrifices or attacks on rival organizations. Lastly, from the current content one can safely deduce Fyodor is individualistic (in contrast to Dazai who seems to learn to rely on others, but once again I shall point to @linkspooky​’s post here to underline how, as they said, “Dazai doesn’t work together with others, he manipulates for the greater good”, emphasis in bold mine), but it would take more manga updates to make a step further and pinpoint Fyodor’s egoism or narcissism if he has any of these traits at all in himself, and not in how others portray him when they think about him (how Atsushi imagines him in ch63, or Ango in ch77, or Ranpo in ch95). Not only does Fyodor break antagonist stereotypes with these traits, but – still keeping the quote analyzed in the beginning of this section in mind – he continues to embody shockingly contrasting ideas all within himself, which takes us to the next section of this essay.

G. A strange divergence inside Fyodor. Is he a singularity?

Before I reach the point I want to present here, I suggest we reflect once more upon that unforgettable scene. Continuing in the atmosphere of the ideas from the paragraphs before, it is also important to remember how, in Dead Apple, Fyodor said “I am crime”, whereas his ability said “I am punishment”, and none of these imply Fyodor is seeing himself as a god incarnate who applies punishment, only that there is an open possibility that his ability, if it is an independent being/soul, might see itself as such, i.e. a force to punish others and/or to punish Fyodor himself. This would assign Fyodor himself the role of an agent serving someone or something else (presumably his own ability). About this, a quick note must be made here: since this is a piece of Japanese media, the word “god” can end up referring to something else rather than the Judeo-Christian God (whose name I always capitalize in this post, to emphasize the difference). We do not really know to what god Fyodor refers to all the time, who or what it is, or if said god’s identity remains the same throughout the manga. In this post, I chose to work with the assumption that Fyodor is Orthodox and refers to the Judeo-Christian God. Despite this assumption, I find the relationship between him and his ability truly intriguing, even more so if we put this discussion in the context of “singularities”, also known as “self-contradictory-ability-types”. Now, so far there are two clear instances where self-contradictions are implied in his dialogue, one of them being this scene from Dead Apple, the other one becoming evident when we connect Fyodor’s replies in ch63 (left) and ch77 (right).

Fyodor, ch63: “A Decay comrade asked me for the perfect plan… but perfect is so boring. I won’t be able to view the karma of humanity like this.” Fyodor, ch77: “You pulled the strings of conspiracy yourself, no? But God prefers perfection and harmony. Thus, I followed the heart of God and added one line to the page.”

By openly giving contradictory information, to me this is exactly an occurrence of a stark divergence within Fyodor, so let us give it our complete attention in what follows. Firstly, there is the possibility that Fyodor could choose to say something intentionally if he would directly benefit from the receiver hearing those exact words, even if Fyodor’s own belief lies somewhere else entirely (so the question to that remains open: what does Fyodor truly think about perfection, imperfection and God?). Secondly, in Dead Apple, we see Fyodor and his ability merge back together, from two bodies back into one single body, and this action seems completely voluntary on their part, thus opening the possibility that Fyodor and his ability could manifest separately when they will it. This makes me wonder if each of them can take over their shared body (in turns) when they will it, so that one of the lines reflects Fyodor’s way of thinking, and the other line reflects his ability’s way of thinking, thus the two statements are made in separate frames, resulting in no contradictions being made if, and only if, Fyodor and his ability control the shared body in turns. Even so, because they coexist, the ingredients for a singularity are already there within Fyodor, given this example and the Dead Apple scene, because Fyodor and his ability each identify with a term that contradicts the other (“crime” and “punishment”), with a possible implied superiority or “victory” on his ability’s part (the “punishment” bringing the “crime” to an end, lastly “killing” it on a conceptual level, in a succession that implies a linear flow of time). It would be all the more logical, in this context, for Fyodor to desire victory over his own ability at all costs. How his goal is worded in the Dead Apple Official Guidebook, as pointed out by @aja154ever​​ here, could also indicate a suspicious tension between Fyodor and his ability: “To create a world without Abilities is his desire, and it is a mystery if this has any connection to his Crime and Punishment Ability” (see the quote’s full paragraph on his ability in their other post here). For important references from the light novels on what singularities are, how they come into being and how they can manifest, as well as a wonderful theory on the possibility of Dazai being a singularity himself, see @beans-beneath-moonlight​​ ‘s post here. To close this chain of ideas, indeed on the open possibility of Fyodor being a singularity too, I want to mention what @beans-beneath-moonlight​​ observed in their post too, namely that in the BSD light novel 55 Minutes, there is also “Gab”, Jules Verne's ability that took over and killed him, continuing to live on its own as a separate being, so abilities existing separetely from their user’s bodies, as well as malicious abilities that can turn against their users, both can exist in the BSD universe. Lastly, I put just one useful, but short reference below, on a singularity’s cause and terminology:

Professor N in the BSD light novel Storm Bringer: “By causing a logical conflict with your own ability instead of with someone else’s ability, you can create a singularity,” as he said that Professor N raised his index finger and twirled it around. “That sort of ability. The German researchers who first discovered this, had named it ‘self-contradictory-ability-type’.

There is one last relevant dialogue I want to analyze here. Below are all of Fyodor’s words from his first appearance in ch12:

Official translation – Fyodor, ch12: “It’s all as I predicted. No matter what happens, we reserve the right to do as we please. Just as the hand of God and demon wills it…” Fan translation – Fyodor, ch12: “Everything is going as expected. In any case... you are now given free reign... as indicated by the right hand of God and the demons.”

Notice how the official translation says “the hand of God and demon” (demon is singular), while the fan translation says “the (right) hand of God and the demons” (demons is plural). I asked @popopretty​ for their advice as to how to understand this line better and, according to them, the Japanese quote allows for the noun “demon” to be translated either way. I shall put their answer below:

@popopretty​: (…) according to the Japanese version I have, the original phrase for that last sentence is “神と悪霊の右手が示しす通りに”, which directly translates to “as the right hand of God and demons show/point to”. There is no word to indicate that the word demon is singular or plural, but looking at the context, I think it is safe to assume that its plural. It says “right hand” here, which I believe because the phrase “right hand of God” is used a lot in Bible. It doesn’t make much different compared to the “hand of God” though, so I think the translation you quoted is close enough.

I agree that the chapter’s context, as well as the two coated shadows behind Fyodor, allow for an undertanding where “demons”, in plural, refers to Fyodor’s co-workers within his organization, Rats in the House of the Dead. However, since the official translation opted for “demon” in singular, I want to explore the other possibility here: what would it imply if “demon” is indeed meant to be singular here? I would connect this to what is stated to be Fyodor’s motto in the Dead Apple Official Guidebook “Mist Records”: “Follow the guidance of God’s hand”, as translated by @looking-for-stray-dogs here, or “Let the hand of God guide you”, according to the BSD wiki. It seems Fyodor’s character is connected once again to the symbol of the hand, specifically the manus Dei or dextera Dei, which, in art history, indicates divine intervention, divine approval, divine acceptance, as well as God’s – the Creator’s – omnipotence (see, for example, Acts, 7, 50: “nonne manus mea fecit haec omnia?” – “was it not my hand that created all these <things>?”). The hand of God can not only refer to God (the Father) himself, but also to God (the Son), appointing him to his right hand’s side (as prophecized), which means divinely appointing him as both his “representative” and “equal” (“sede a dextris meis donec ponam inimicos tuos scabillum pedum tuorum”, which, mot-a-mot, would go something like this: “sit to my right hand’s side until I put your enemies as the footstool of your feet”, which is Psalm 109, 1 in the Biblia Vulgata, a verse invoked by Christ himself in Matthew, 22, 44, marking a fascinating continuity between the Old and the New Testament). So, considering this information, the expression “the hand of God and demon”, referring to the subject or entity who “wills” whatever it wills, establishes not only a connection, but a shocking equality between the nouns “God” and “demon”, as the hand belongs to both of them. By definition, the two nouns cannot be synonyms, under no condition, thus the subject of the action makes no valid sense and cannot be an actual conceivable “being” without an external reader’s interpretation (like this one I am trying to unfold). Following on that, what can exist or be conceived in the human mind is someone or something whose “being” implies the contradictory yet inseparable coexistence of someone / something that possesses godly traits and someone / something that possesses demonic traits. Therefore, I interpret the expression “the hand of God and demon” as referring to Fyodor himself, or, more precisely, Fyodor’s existence, which implies him and his ability together, where one represents the “god” and the other the “demon”, although it is still unclear which is which. Given all this, I propose the theory that Fyodor is a singularity, just like Dazai (continuing in the spirit of @beans-beneath-moonlight​​ ‘s theory post I referenced before).

Moving on from the singularity discussion, based on Dead Apple’s “I am crime. I am punishment” scene once again, one can only be certain that the link between “sin”, “ability” and “punishment” becomes even stronger, but apparently so does the link between “human” and “crime”. It is no surprise that the famous nouns of the literary work are used for this scene, nouns that can refer to both the active and the passive component of the implied action (commiting a crime vs being the victim of a crime; applying punishment vs receiving punishment). This begs the questions: would freeing the world of abilities also liberate Fyodor of his own punishment (whatever it is, if it exists at all)? does “freeing” the world of abilities even imply “killing” the gifted, and if yes, would that lead Fyodor to a final act of self-sacrifice (or, closer to the etimology of the word “sacrifice”, an act of making the offered thing sacred – himself in this scenario, together with all the gifted)? If we take into account how Fyodor concluded that he and newly “scouted” member Nathaniel Hawthrone “will cover this land in the blood of the sinners” (ch37), together with what Fyodor said as he and Karma looked at Ace’s hanged corpse (ch42, Fyodor: “Thinking is a crime. Breathing is a crime”, or, in the anime’s dub, S3ep4, “Crime starts with thought. As natural as breathing”, emphasizing the naturality of whatever Fyodor identified as humanity’s “crime”), as well as what Nathaniel chanted as he was on his assassination jobs (ch46, to Fukuzawa: “Death! Death! Death to the skill users! An eternal underground sleep with no awakening!”, as well as ch46, to Akutagawa: “Death! Death! Death to the skill users! … To revive my beloved, I must execute the contract of death”), then we have canon ground to believe the death of all gifted is necessary after all, yet Fyodor never uses such expression. It is always “freeing”, “offering the salvation of death to the evil” (note how he does not say “the gifted”), “granting the great silence”, like in how Fyodor talks to Karma in S3ep4: “All evils that plague this world will receive the mercy of death”, “I will do you the honour of granting you the great silence”, “May you be free from the shackles of your crimes, and your soul be salvaged”. This raises another problem: Fyodor himself, as he says, applies cleansing, purification, salvation, liberation, but his ability clearly refers to these acts as “punishment” instead, which is a completely different concept in a religious context as well. So far, once again, this marks a divergence between Fyodor and his ability, another clear moment when the ability seems to behave like a different entity than its user, with a different perception of what the ability itself does (one possibility being, what to Fyodor is “freeing”, to his ability is “punishment”, or that his ability’s “punishment” is a “cleansing” or “freeing” in a corrupted sense of the words). As a closing remark regarding Fyodor’s goal in general, there is still a lot of room to speculate on its true nature if we consider the possibility of Fyodor opposing not the Agency, nor the Port Mafia, but first and foremost the military and different governments who 1) already have a bloody history of using ability users in the war (as implied by Yosano’s backstory and the bits of Fukuchi’s backstory), 2) had (and might still have) special laboratories researching and even artificially creating ability users or researching ways to exploit singularities (BSD Storm Bringer), 3) may have massproduced abilities of specific destructive types, according to one war story of Fukuchi’s past merits (ch82, when we are told he led an operation to eliminate 100.000 “skill-based ‘werewolf’ test subjects”, with Teruko and Jouno visible alongside Fukuchi in the panel describing this – one hundred thousand “test subjects”! for what?), 4) was aware of or working according to an entire skill doctrine, already developed and, I assume, generally-known at the time Mori used Yosano, a mere child, as his slave to achieve his Immortal Regiment plan, meant to prove that abilities are indeed suitable for use in war (ch65). In relation to this, we could take into account the possibility of Fyodor being repulsed by Ace’s behaviour in ch42 (as suggested by certain expressions of Fyodor in the manga), given that Ace represented the perfect example of someone using other people without any consideration of the weight of their lives, their personhood and their inner world. If this is the “evil” that Fyodor wants to purge from this world, and if making abilities disappear, one way or another, would make him accomplish this “greater good” (ending the use and abuse of ability users worldwide), then we are all the more justified in weighing the morality of anyone involved in this large scheme, starting with those implied in Natsume’s Tripartite Framework, supposed to maintain peace in Yokohama (the Armed Detective Agency, the Port Mafia, and the Special Division for Special Powers together with the military police). Besides this, how he phrased his goal in ch46 draws attention to how he identifies at least two different “sins” in current mankind: 1) that they consciously ignore the fact that they are controlled, and 2) that they keep killing each other regardless of said knowledge (ch46, Fyodor: “Man is sinful and foolish. Even if they know it is all an artifice, they cannot help but kill each other. Someone must purify them for those sins”). Based on this, one can assume he wants to stop people from killing each other, by itself a noble goal, but a backstory is much needed to understand the real nature of it before applying judgement. Personally, based on the current status of the manga, I am neutral on this while keeping it in mind, because Fyodor’s higher goal is still ambiguous, and one should not sugarcoat him, nor paint him as a pure demon just yet. After all, all BSD characters are extremely nuanced, and tastefully so. If we also take into consideration his profile page from the BSD Season 3 guidebook (see @ahli-stuff​​ ’s post here) and how he considers his strength “wishing for world happiness” and his favorite type of person “someone who loves all humanity equally”, we can further wonder if Fyodor will be revealed as a character who genuinely cares the most about all of humanity, with a love that may or may not have become dark till present time, or a love that demanded and still demands the cruelest sacrifices.

H. Soft, discreet, graceful, yet playfully dramatic. His body language in the manga, in comparison to the anime

There are many differences between the manga representation and the anime representation of Fyodor’s body language, not to mention the representation of his character overall. I suggest we treat the manga and the anime (this includes Dead Apple) separately and leave the creation of a clear list of the converging and diverging points for another potential post. I shall begin this section with the following statement, in hope of leading anime-only BSD fans to the truth: soft Fedya is real, because canon Fedya is soft. In the manga, Fyodor’s postures and gestures convey gentleness, discreetness, grace and fragility, in multiple instances I shall present below, in a random order.

MANGA. Being considerate. Speaking of discreetness and being considerate, let’s list a few examples of that. In ch42, when Fyodor’s ability activated to kill Karma, causing blood to shoot from Karma’s face, Fyodor did not look at the dying child, turning to face him only after he died, which can be interpreted as an act of respect for Karma’s intimacy during his final moments (see section B for a more in-depth analysis of Karma’s demise). Another occasion when Fyodor’s consideration was evident is in ch49 and how he took off his shoes and coat when entering Katai’s house (basic common manners, even though we must admit this is still bizzare in the context of breaking into a house to shoot someone, but read on), while the anime portrayed him fully-clothed, with his boots on (S3ep10), thus (what can I even say) disrespectful and uncaring of the cleanness of the (nonetheless wild and messy) house of his intended victim (in the end, not too surprising coming from the man who calls even his vampire slave with honorifics, “Chuuya-san”, in ch101, but also his abducted prisoner “Katsura-san” in ch47; for BSD uses of honorifics and nicknames, check this post here, but keep in mind that it covers info till ch87). His consideration of cleanness is also supported by the fact that Fyodor hid his ushanka in a clean, empty wooden box during his mission to stab Mori and infect him with Pushkin’s virus (ch46), yet the anime replaced the wooden box with a dumpster (S3ep8), setting the fandom down a cursed path of tasteless spamjokes basically.

Gentle touch of minimum intrusiveness. In the manga, the hand position when Fyodor is about to use his ability on someone also conveys gentleness and minimum intrusiveness (barely touching the forehead, using the tips of his index and middle fingers). Even the movement towards the forehead appears slow and elegant, thus even more sinister (for more on this hand gesture and its meanings, see section A). In the anime, however, this hand gesture is replaced by one that makes more physical contact with the other person, obstructing their view and breathing while being uncharacteristically intrusive: instead of Fyodor discreetly touching Karma’s forehead like in ch42, in S3ep4 Karma’s face is fully covered by Fyodor’s palm, which looks uncomfortable, unnatural and oppressive. Another revelant portrayal here, one that also conveys Fyodor’s overall gentleness in gestures, is present in ch64’s cover art: in contrast to Dazai, who holds his white pawn between his thumb and index + middle finger, Fyodor holds his black pawn between his thumb and middle + ringfinger, which, if reenacted, distinguishes itself by how Fyodor is using the least amount of pressure possible to lift the chess piece (thus very graceful), and so we have Dazai, who “takes” the piece and moves it insisting on a more secure grip, contrasting with Fyodor who “guides” the piece, letting it gently hang between his fingers as it is swayed following Fyodor’s movements.

High physical endurance. Despite his frail body, we can safely assume Fyodor has high endurance and vitality, given how he did not even flinch when Ace smashed a full wine bottle in his head (ch42) and how he let himself get captured and be kept in harsh prison conditions at least twice (ch42, ch54) before ending up in Meursault. There is also how he ran away from Mori and Elise (ch46) without gasping or showing fatigue afterwards. More canon material is still needed in order to establish how accurate or severe his self-proclaimed anemic condition is (ch42, “My body is weak and anemic”) or his low blood pressure (BSD Season 3 guidebook, but I only had access to this info via this post here and would greatly appreciate someone confirming this).

Oratory skills and expressive hand gestures. In the manga, Fyodor is always highly expressive in what regards his hand gestures during speeches, yet in a practical and elegant way, implying he has great oratory skills or training, besides excellent communication and manipulation skills (discussed in section C and pretty much all others). In ch42: Fyodor clapped as his card game with Ace ended, thus expressing joy through words and action; Fyodor pretended to be taken aback by Ace having listened to his and Karma’s talk, scratching his head in a wide-open gesture, conveying surprise and acknowledgement of Ace’s skills; Fyodor put a hand to his chest when telling Ace he has trained himself for “battles of starvation”, this gesture emphasizing the personal aspect of the information he offered, which this gesture implies is wholehearted and sincere. In ch46, while explaining his strategy and his way of thinking to Dazai, Fyodor uses various hand gestures to illustrate his phrases as well: extended arm explaining; hand pointing towards Dazai; explaining his higher goal with open palms in front of him, but close to his body, suggesting solemnity and confessed determination; sadly, all these gestures were replaced in the anime with Fyodor just holding his ushanka to his chest, conveying the same type of message as when he held his hand to his chest in front of Ace in ch42, as I described a few phrases above; still, at least in S3ep4 anime Fyodor gesticulated a lot while talking to Ace before the latter’s suicide, following ch42 pretty closely). In ch55, after entering Mushitaro’s basement prison cell, as Fyodor was revealing his intention behind freeing Mushitaro, he raised both hands to his chest, his fingers resting on each side of his heart, a gesture meant to suggest utmost sincerity. After that, still in ch55, when informing Mushitaro on the change of his condition (Mushitaro was captive, “but that ends today”, as Fyodor said), he held his right index finger to his lips, in a mischievous display of secrecy and child-like playfulness. This same gesture can have sinister undertones as well, given how it already appeared in ch47 in this way, where it is suggested, in a flashback background, that Fyodor did the same gesture when asking fake Pushkin to convey the “No changing the rules” message to the Agency, and they found this out after the death of the children. Lastly, these oratory skills can be used in playfully dramatic ways too, like in ch64, when Fyodor switched to the discourse of an overly-expressive, lively host of a (talk)show, as he suggested Dazai to participate in his “All-smiles Problem-solving Roooooundtable, hosted by yours truly, Dostoyevsky”, tilting his head further and further to his right as Dazai expressed growing confusion at first. About Fyodor tilting his head and what it means, see the paragraph below. So, all these scenes point to the fact that Fyodor gesticulates a lot, especially for emphasis and expressiveness during speeches or conversations, or for the fun of the dramatic effect.

Curiosity and tilt of the head. In conversational circumstances, we often see Fyodor tilting his head to his side. In his case, this is an expression of curiosity, in the sense of being (or wanting to appear to be) genuinely interested in the other person’s answers. Note that the simple tilt of the head to one’s side can also express endearment towards the thing one looks at (in genuine concern or admiration of something beautiful or dear, for example), but, combined with oratory skills – which Fyodor possesses as a master of communication – this can be a very effective tool that translates into non-verbal emotional manipulation. To give a few examples, Fyodor tilted his head 1) when he asked Sigma if he wished for a home (ch75), 2) when he replied to Nikolai capturing the essence of his inner conflict (ch78), 3) when greeting (and even bowing to) Mushitaro in the basement, just before offering him a deal to escape (ch55). In all these cases, the persons Fyodor was conversing with were already in a vulnerable situation (Sigma wandering in desperation, Nikolai presenting his inner struggle, Mushitaro being held captive), and thus Fyodor made sure to bind each of them to himself, planting the seeds of dependency by offering them validation and emotional response. Moreover, as a gesture of (apparent) trust, if someone tilts their head to the side, they present themselves in a vulnerable position (the neck area is open), subtly conveying the message that the other person is in a position of superiority, deepening the trap that, in Fyodor’s case, ends with the other people becoming dependent on him as the “benign” manipulator. Still, because of the display of vulnerability, the tilt of the head in itself is a gentle, humbling gesture, very fitting for Fyodor, whose character presence builds on the inexplicable tension between the terror and apprehension brought by his vast intellect and unknown powers, and the humility and gentleness of his speech and body language. The fact that, as of now, we still cannot draw a firm line and say from where to which point Fyodor’s gestures and words are genuinely benevolent or actually malevolent, so he remains beyond good and evil, and fascinatingly so, until more of his character or backstory is revealed. As a last example of Fyodor tilting not his head, but his entire body as an expression of curiosity, in ch42, finding Ace’s vault, Fyodor did exactly that and approached it together with a curious look (eyes opened wider, eyebrows raised), asking Karma something to which Fyodor already knew the answer probably anyway (“Oh, is this it? The vault where ace holds his jewels temporarily, to prevent a price collapse?”) and still Fyodor asked Karma because, I assume, having a conversation made the discovery simply more fun for the moment.

Biting his fingertips and nails. In ch42, Fyodor is seen biting his fingertips in three different panels, and yet the anime (S3ep4) never shows him doing this. Later on, we never see him biting his fingertips “on screen”, but “behind the scenes” he has been continuously doing so even up to the most recent chapter. Looking closely, you can see how his fingertips and nails are damaged and rough even at Meursault, for example, in ch95, when Fyodor is passing Dazai the salt, or in ch101, when Fyodor is inputting security codes to unlock prison doors. Of course, among other things, this habit indicates a Crime and Punishment novel reference, which should be discussed in a different post, and has in fact been discussed in nice posts by other BSD fans already. This aside, unlike his depiction in Dead Apple, manga Fyodor consistently keeps his hands ungloved.

Surprise and adrenaline rush. Other than the moments when his face shows curiosity, in the manga Fyodor’s composure appears to break rather often to express surprise, usually when 1) an brilliant move was made by an adversary team or someone else, but more recently also when 2) the enemy team made a move faster than Fyodor expected. In several of these occasions, his shock is accompanied by what seems to be delight, and I would interpret this as Fyodor enjoying the adrenaline rush of near-death situations (Nikolai’s prison game, introduced in ch95.5 / ch96, to which both Fyodor and Dazai reacted in a grimly ecstatic way) or general “end of the road” scenarios (Dazai and Fitzgerald “catching” him in ch53, although Mushitaro revealed that Fyodor’s capture was intentional in ch54: “And I… can never be forced to reveal the reason Dostoyevsky let them capture him!”). Now, for the second type of surprise, the clearest examples are Fyodor’s ch101 reactions to being cornered by Dazai and the prison room starting to get filled by heavy water. His expressions there do betray true shock, as much as his stare at the end of ch101 expresses true boiling anger and determination, but one must note that, despite letting his composure break, Fyodor may have already anticipated Dazai’s moves, and the true source of his surprise was Dazai executing said moves sooner than anticipated by Fyodor (for example, when the code input device explodes in front of Fyodor’s face, after an initial shocked expression, his eyes regain a look of steel, rationalizing “he got the circuit already”). In any case, for most insight on the whole ch101 situation and the in-context implications of this “already”, I recommend checking out @videogamelover99​​ ’s post here on, well, basically Dazai being too Dazai for his own good, or @vampireonastick​​ ’s post here for more discussion on the whole ch101 situation).

ANIME. The anime went with a different characterization of Fyodor entirely so far (as of now, November 2022, the anime has 3 completed seasons, and the trailer for January 2023’s season 4 revealed enough to see the anime’s characterization for Fyodor has not changed at all). In the anime, instead of being soft and discreet, Fyodor is confident, audacious and, I would say, stereotypically evil and creepy, whereas in the manga his sinister side comes to the reader’s eyes as a result of all the subtleties his behaviour and schemes imply, as well as a result of the contrast between his gentle appearance and his unnerving actions and plans, as I already wrote above. For example, in S3ep8, anime Fyodor smirked daringly at Mori after he stabbed the Mafia boss, seemingly enjoying it, yet in the manga Fyodor kept a blank face. Since various other differences between the manga and the anime were already discussed before this point of my essay, I propose an analysis of Fyodor’s body language in Dead Apple specifically, which goes hand in hand with his portrayal in the anime, and therefore differs significantly from the soft Fyodor we get to know in the manga.

Secrecy. In Dead Apple, in the first scene that reunites Shibusawa, Dazai and Fyodor, we see Fyodor approaching their table with confident steps and hands in what appears a rather tight grip, as opposed to letting his fingers comfortably open on each side of his body. This could express repressed or hidden intentions, as his fingers, in a fist, cover his palms and do not allow a completely relaxed stance. Next, unlike Dazai, Fyodor does not cross his legs when at the table, he instead positions both his feet firmly and perpendicularly on the ground, which conveys confidence as well, and is meant to assert total control of the room. When putting his arms on the table, he intertwines his fingers and rests his chin on his joined hands. This is a meditative position, suggesting a serious thought process going on behind his puzzling smile (again, suggesting confidence), as well as careful planning, or simply waiting for things to happen as he planned beforehand. His closed eyes shut down the world outside him, we could interpret this as logical in this situation if Fyodor has already predicted and planned everything through, which the movie suggests was indeed the case. The outside world is not as necessary to see in that case, plus he is surrounded by people who will not act impuslively and threaten each other out of the blue, so a sense of blind trust stays between the three strategists. One last thing to note about this scene is the fact that only Shibusawa and Fyodor are facing each other, while Dazai is facing no one, which may subtly suggest the personal bond between Shibusawa and Fyodor, one that Dazai does not share with anyone in the room, or (arguably) anyone at all after Odasaku’s death.

Confidence. In Dead Apple, Fyodor’s pose conveys confidence when Shibusawa shows Dazai the Draconia room (Fyodor is seen with his left hand on his waist, in contrapposto); Fyodor’s pose conveys having hidden motives when he and Dazai entered the Draconia room in secret (Fyodor has his back turner to both Dazai and the viewers, with his hands in his coat’s pockets; Fyodor’s pose conveys confidence AND having hidden motives when Shibusawa surprisingly stabs Dazai, followed by Dazai asking Fyodor “Didn’t you lock the door?” (Fyodor has his hands in his pockets, but also smirks and chuckles at Dazai while looking down to him, with Fyodor’s chin slightly raised).

A playful mind. As to what regards Fyodor’s playful mind, it is made more or less evident through Fyodor’s play of words and sharp, intelligent replies (see section E for his love for entertainment specifically). In Dead Apple, as the singularity event unfolds, Fyodor told a shocked Shibusawa that he will “fill in all the blanks” for him: Fyodor added “I’ll even tell you what was cut out”, proceeding to cut Shibusawa’s throat immediately after. This is a splendid play of word and action, coordinating them in a twisted sense of playfulness, indulging michievously in living a life entertaining for himself. But seriously, for more on Fyodor and his sense of entertainment, see section E above, it would be superfluous to repeat ideas here.

– – –

11 November 2022. At last, we arrived at the end of this essay. The end for now at least, as I could technically add more analysis and external references in the future, if my irl schedule allows it. Since January 2022 I’ve been working on this “thing” I jokingly called “marriage proposal PhD”, because why not, this is an accurate example of how an ENTP proposes to an INTJ, where understanding the other (or continuously trying to) is peak intimacy and love. I guess. However, I “yeeted” my emotions out while I was writing this, because nothing would have angered me more than my appreciation of this character clouding my judgement or making me err in my pursuit of the many subtleties that lead to his many paradoxical traits. Whether I will update this post or not in the future, I cannot promise. This post is intended to be my last contribution to the BSD fandom, but my ask box remains open for futher discussions on BSD or other media analysis. I doubt fans will read everything I wrote, and I am certain the fandom will perpetuate the cycle of Fedya’s mischaracterization despite my best efforts to bring many canon scenes showing different sides of him into the spotlight. 

Yes... Despite everything, I am at peace. I thought no media could revive my passion for analysis anymore, no character could make me draw fanart again, and yet... and yet!... Fedya is exactly the type of character one can analyze ad infinitum and feel thrilled at each discovery, at each little possible implication of a word or gesture. No matter how tranquil he may seem, no matter how certain we may be at first of his exterior serenity, for everything his character encapsulates, for everything we know and don’t know about him thus far, Fyodor’s soul is likely vessel to an incredible inner tension, origin of his determination. As I was writing more and more, I discovered he is intense, so truly intense, and that intensity has brought me… and brings me... and will bring me

boundless bliss.

Happy birthday, радость моя.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Hello, I really like your hero x villain writing and it's so entertaining scrolling through the tags and reading them! (Hope this doesn't come out as creepy omg ;-;")

If I can give a request... What about a villain who noticed poison in the oblivious hero's food/drink, then trade their meals, knowing fully well that villain will be the one who get sick? Thank you in advance!

“You,” the hero hissed, looking daggers at the villain without mercy.

“Me?” the villain didn’t even bother looking up from their newspaper, instead, they just continued to stare with the utmost boredom at their newspaper. They’d made it to the front page. Not really impressive, not really worth anything, at least of all their attention.

“You have held me captive for over a week now,” the hero said, their frown honest, their body language determined.

“A week? God, feels like a lifetime…” The villain seemed totally relaxed in this situation, totally content in public. They didn’t think the hero would do anything right now, right here. In fact, they knew the hero wouldn’t.

They would never ask anyone for help. Apparently they had this terrible mindset where they’d rather die than be a what they called burden.

“Let me go—”

“Eat dinner, darling. Or do you really want the most expensive steak in the whole country to be cold when you swallow it?” The villain put the newspaper away — they knew no one would read the news on a Saturday evening in a fancy restaurant but they also knew that they could do whatever they pleased by now.

Being rich had its perks.

As they looked at their grumpy nemesis, they reminded themselves that them being kidnapped would make them only richer.

Right now, a group of villains was roaming through the streets of the city and there was no hero to stop them. They’d paid the villain an incredible sum for that.

“Oh, honestly, I would love to see that look on your face when you get the check and realise that half of it was pure waste of money,” the hero said. They raised an eyebrow. Cocky.

“Do you think I care about money?” the villain asked with fake disinterest.

Initially, they had said yes because they wanted to get some information out of the hero but now that they saw a certain challenge, a certain play of power, they were more intrigued than ever. Of course, the villain didn’t want to show that, though.

They observed the hero’s food: the untouched steak, potatoes, the wine…

“Obviously you do. Why else would you dress like some rich ass banker?”

“Good taste?” the villain suggested.

“Oh, so you want to compensate your lack of character?”

“Your ability to speak is an insult to evolution,” the villain said. That wine looked funny.

“Oh really? Is running around being an arsonist a compliment to nature?” the hero asked. Oh, they were pissed. At least their red face and their fisted hands suggested that.

But the villain could only manage a sly grin as they leaned back in their chair.

“Actually, it is, darling. It’s lovely to spark a flame with my fingertips…it makes me hot.” They winked at their enemy.

However, they didn’t reckon with the hero’s reaction.

They rolled their eyes.

Let out a groan.

Grabbed the glass.

“God, sometimes I wish you weren’t.”

The villain’s periphery of their vision blurred completely. Time slowed down. They forgot to breathe. They started panicking.

And then, the villain slipped back into their calculating self.

Without a second thought, they snatched the glass out of the hero’s hand and downed the drink.

“Wow. What’s next?” the hero asked, somehow even more pissed. “I’m not allowed to eat? I’m the one who pays?”

The villain didn’t know what they’d swallowed but they knew it wasn’t wine.

“Sort of.” They needed to get home. “We have to leave. Someone knows who you are.”

pt.2

[cherriesncinnamon]

they'll never be you / anakin skywalker x fem!reader

synopsis: jedi knight anakin skywalker has been padawan y/n's master for almost two years now. the higher the tension builds, the harder it becomes to conceal. one fateful night, paired with a lot of jealousy, unleashes the bottled emotions they've buried deep within themselves. the only question is, who will break first?

warnings/tags: secret feelings/relationship, love confession, fem oral sex, unprotected sex (both characters are over 18, and please wrap it up!!).

word count: 2.5k.

a/n: padmé and anakin are not in a romantic relationship in this, i will not write or condone a cheating anakin✋

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:✧･ﾟ: ✧

Coruscant, 19BBY.

Aching and exhausted, I was very glad that training for the day had come to an end. Hours after hours with Master Skywalker were... challenging to say the least. He's a mighty leader with an iron fist, he strives for my excellence, which I am grateful for after all. Everything he does, whether I like it or not, is for my future benefit. I couldn't have found a better master if I tried. Still, that doesn't mean I don't feel incredibly overworked. All day, Master had me swinging my lightsaber while in motion, recreating the events of a fight I was having in my head. He stood observed from afar, drilling me to raise your shoulders, and use quicker wrist work. His teachings over the past two years were highly appreciated though, he taught me the tricks of the trade in order to be one of the best, just as he is. Although, he's reluctant to admit his clear strong abilities and power due to insecurity. It's evident that Anakin tries too hard, he comes off as a hot head but in reality, he is sweet once he lets down that steel wall. I hope he knows at least one person acknowledges everything he's sacrificed for the Order.

Due to the high level and length of my training, Master Skywalker decided it would suit the situation best if I lived close. So naturally, we're apartment neighbours, which is annoyance in itself, but I won't delve into that.

It's midnight, and pitch black in my bedroom, pitch black except the soft glow of airspeeders passing by the window every half a second. I toss and turn uncomfortably in the satin sheets, feeling as though my skin is crawling, or that I need to shake something off of my body. I pass it off as simple fatigue and achiness from the intense day I had, yet I knew something else was keeping me awake. Master Skywalker possessed a sort of daunting aura, it drew me to him like opposite poles of two magnets. We are opposites in a true representation, he's intimidating, brooding, dominant even, and I'm always pushing his buttons : making him laugh, causing him to let go of his misleading facade, almost like he's breaking character. I questioned that. Why he felt the need to fake his personality in front of me wasn't understandable. I also questioned whether he was aware of my obvious feelings towards him. I shouldn't admit it, it's unprofessional, inappropriate. My master had no idea the wonders he was doing to my mood. Something so plain like a swift look into my eyes while we're "fighting" sends my skin on fire. Although the feelings don’t roam farther than the surface, I fantasise about digging further into the mystery that is Anakin Skywalker. His slightly frightening demeanour hides a part of him I desired to discover. Nevertheless, I pretend those feelings cease to exist, and that they aren't burning a searing hole through my body. He doesn't need to know anyways, it would ruin the dynamic we had formed, and I put all my bets on him never speaking to me again, never mind allowing me to continue to be his apprentice if I did tell him.

Just as I felt my eyelids get heavy, three bangs on my front door jolted me out of bed, only wearing a nightgown that left nothing to the imagination. As the knocks were aggressive, I genuinely believed something serious was happening until I opened the door to Master Skywalker. His curled hair was disheveled, and his chest peeked through his ajar robe. I made a quick move to cover some of my torso, incredibly confused.

"Master Skywalker, what's wrong? Have you seen the hour-". Anakin grabs me by the arm firmly and pushes me into my apartment, closing the door behind him. He finally lets his strong grip go once we're standing in my bedroom, his chest heaving.

"Can you please just-" he can't form words through his heavy breaths, his striking blue eyes piercing through mine as he stares down on me. I gaze back up at him, eyes squinting in concern.

"Can you get out of my head, Y/N, please. Just get out of my head." it's at that second when I realise he knows about the excessive thoughts I have about him, particularly at night. He can sense when I think, talk, even dream about him. And by the face he's making, it's driving him to insanity. I place a hand on his shoulder, his body shuddered at my sudden touch.

"Master, I don't know what you're talking about." I lie though my teeth, seeing his eyes focus back on me with nothing but the city light shining down on us. Skywalker knows my unfaithfulness, I should never lie to my master, but does it still apply if it's for a greater good? Are lies without malice really lies?

"You can't lie to me. I can see right through it, Padawan." he slides out from my grasp, sitting down on the edge of my bed, allowing his head to fall in his hands.

"You think I don't know? I know. I always have, but there's a lot of things you don't." Anakin says, looking down on me as I sit besides him, iris' completely black in fear. I break down his statement, the first half sent goosebumps down my spine, the second half urged me to keep talking.

"What don't I know, Anakin?".

"Oh Maker. Why do you think I chose you to be my apprentice? Because of no particular reason? No, no. Because the second I laid my eyes on you, I knew there was something different about you, and I was fixed, hooked. Can you tell me why? Why I can't sleep at night knowing you're out there, flirting with men in clubs, violating yourself. Tell me why I can't go minutes without thinking about you." Skywalker stands up, towering over my frame. I freeze, unable to process what I'm hearing. I wanted to pinch or slap myself to wake up, but I knew his genuineness was too raw for me to be dreaming. My mind could never create that unseen version of Anakin. He's softer, and a lot more relaxed. I stand up, abruptly feeling insecure under his tired eyes.

"There's a lot of things you don't know too, Master. I flirt with those men in clubs because they're the closest thing I can get to you. Then I come home and feel guilty about how I've led them on. Because Anakin, they'll never be you. No-one will ever be you."

Our shallow, paced breaths alternate, both of our hearts pounding against our ribs so hard they could break. Anakin's furrowed brow relaxes, and his eyes wander into mine filled with starry lust. For a few seconds, we're interlocked in a stare, the outside planet completely stopping in its tracks. We took those seconds to bask in the unknown. The depth of the waters we were about to dip into were unknown. Everything was, that's what made the fire between our gaze stronger, and brighter.

After what seemed like a short lifetime, I finally felt the sweet relief of Anakin's soft lips bashing against mine, his hands pressed up the sides of my face. I melted on his lips, letting go of everything I had bottled up until the weight on my shoulders is lifted. My fingers begin to wander in Skywalker's hair, playing with his soft, tousled curls. Slow, and intense he kisses me, taking his delicate time to pay attention to my lower lip, gently biting it while my deprived body urges towards his. I used two fingers to push Anakin's black robe from off of his shoulders slightly.

"Is this okay?" I ask, to his steady, desperate nod. As the fabric hit the floor, the dim light revealed what I had longed to see when I fix my eyes on him once again. Slopes and curves of muscle and tanned skin covered his torso, so beautiful and archangelic. I was certain that Maker himself had Anakin sculpted by his most talented craftsmen. I try not to overreact, instead my breath hitches mid gasp.

"Relax, let me please you." Anakin speaks into my ear, backing me to the bed so that I fall back onto it, my body sinking into the sheets. He takes no time to kneel, praising the deity in front of his very eyes. His metal hand instantly makes me jolt at its coldness, to which he responds with a laugh under his breath as he open my legs. I don't resist, granting him full access to paradise. Considering I have no underwear on, my inner thighs are already wet with my arousal, showing Anakin just how good he is. Without warning, my legs are being hoisted over his broad shoulders, and his head is inches away from the place I needed him most. I gripped at my nightgown, lifting it up past my hips, hungry for a release. Teasing my patience, his lips meet tender skin, kissing up my thighs to the point of unbearable closeness. I writhe, smacking my head back down onto the bed in fury. He loved to see me in that state, frantic and frustrated from the absence of pleasure.

"Anakin. Please, please touch me." I beg, feeding into what he was so obviously eager to hear. I look down to see his honest smile, heavy lidded eyes casted over in passion. Gaining his appetite, Anakin dips his tongue into me, coating it in my dripping sex. I immediately sigh, softly moaning at the sensation of his slick tongue sliding over my clit, sending waves of euphoria through my pelvis. I tug at his hair, yearning for more, more closeness, just more. Anakin squeezes my thighs to keep me still, my breathing increasing after every intricate movement he does with his sacred tongue.

"I will do... whatever you ask. I need you, Y/N." he says in breathlessness, reaching out from in between my legs. I pull him to my level, sliding my tongue across his lips that were covered in my own wetness. I taste myself, much to Anakin's amusement.

"I need you too. Sit down, Master." I usher him to collapse into the chair adjacent to my bed, he complies. To get the things you crave, sometimes you have to do it yourself. Skywalker places his curious hands onto my waist, lowering me so I'm straddling his spread legs. He sucks lightly at my supple skin, marking his territory with red-purple blotches peppered across my neck and half covered chest. We don't bother to remove our remaining clothes, the neediness and painful pressure had consumed us. My hand starts to firmly palm Anakin under his pants, my arousal increasing at the knowledge of his unbearable hardness. He tips his head back, grasping my hips tight enough to leave dark bruises. Skywalker pulls down his pants and boxers to expose his dick, which hit his stomach purely from tasting my nectarous sex. Slowly but surely, I held him against my heat, teasing him with my entrance before sliding him into me. We both bury our heads into each other, beyond crazed by the feeling we had ached for so very much.

"Does that feel good?" I ask, observing his sweet face twist as my hips grind wildly, pained by the stretching of my walls from the size of him.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this." Anakin replies, pulling down the front of my nightgown to take my nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around it so it sticks out, his free hand massaging the other. The mix of pain and pleasure sends my hand flying to my mouth, weakly attempting to stifle my cries and moans.

"Don't. I want to hear your pretty screams." Master expresses, snatching my arm away. He holds them both together behind my back, his singular hand large enough to restrain mine both. Maker, I couldn't even think or speak. Even during my most shameful, erotic dreams, nothing could prepare me for the level of euphoria Master Skywalker was giving me. I felt my legs tremble more with every thrust, his pelvis smashing into me. His true self peered through the layers, indisputable through his validating grunts and groans, his pace quickening as he throbbed inside of me. The familiar strain deep within me somewhere started to climb as my pitched moans did the same, my ability to last being tested. Anakin was beginning to gain more confidence, he used his nature with the force to play with my clit, inching me closer and closer to a sweet, sweet peak.

"Say you're mine, Y/N, say it." Skywalker commands, grabbing a bunch of my hair and riving it back, causing me to scream out. I can sense he's close by the grimace on his face, so I fasten the pace in my hips, my high also approaching at full force, with no sign of slowing down.

"I'm yours, Ani. I'm yours!" I appease, satisfied at Skywalker's approving smile. "I'm close- fuck." I manage to continue, breathing too frenzied to let me speak.

"Me too." he understands through my weak words, holding me further down onto him, pushing him deeper into me. As my whirling orgasm hit me, I remembered Anakin was oblivious to the fact that he was my first, not first time, but the first man to ever make me feel. The strain finally snapped, sending my nerves on fire, all the way from my pelvis to my fingertips. Anything I had done on my own, with only my imagination, could never in a million years compare. Anakin let go of his steadiness, and released himself into me, sloppily thrusting his way through his indescribable high. He wraps both of his arms securely around my body, pulling me as close as two beings could possibly be, before placing a singular, light kiss on my lips. Once the burning pleasure subsides, realisation hits.

"Ani... we can't tell anyone about this, you know Jedi are forbidden to have attachments, it's not allow-" I admit my concerns, climbing off of him to pace the room. Anakin interrupts me, holding my cheek in his palm, which was hot and red with distress.

"I won't say anything, Padawan. Attachments are forbidden, but who said we have to tell them?" he reassures, sliding up my nightgown strap up to cover my exposed chest.

"I don't know if I'll be able to pretend this never happened, Master." I protest.

"So don't. I know I won't. This isn't just going to be a one-time thing, and I know you believe the same." Skywalker drapes his robe over himself, standing with reassurance, and comfort painted all over his expression.

"Yes, I do. We must keep a secret to protect ourselves, but truly, I wouldn't want it any other way. You know that no-one does it like you, Ani."

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

(Sorry if my request is a bit confusing) Glamrock Freddy + Gregory and Vanessa with a ghost child who was one of William's old victims. They just kinda haunt the Pizzaplex because they decided to just follow William wherever just to see what he does. Their first discovery of ghost child was probably because they possessed one of the staff bots (or one of the glamrocks if u want) They don't mean harm they just wanted to know how the bots feels. Maybe tagging along if they needed help in areas

Glamrock Freddy

He first notices you when he sees an active Glamrock Endo beneath the Daycare without red eyes.

You actually blocked the way of the other hostile Endos trying to grab Gregory as he runs for his stomach hatch.

Once the pair are safe, Freddy thanks you for helping, assuming you were just unaffected by the glitch.

Though he hears your voice--childlike in nature--and your glowing eyes flicker as you talk, explaining what happened to you.

“I’m [y/n]. Long ago a very, very bad man killed me..and many others. I wanted to rest..but I couldn’t. He’s still here, in this very building, and I wanna find him. Gregory’s in a lot of danger, Freddy. And until that man is gone he will always be.”

He’s devastated, having learned of your fate and understands your reasons for being here. But he lets you join them on their mission.

If Gregory can’t go somewhere, you’ll be with him, especially if there’s more Endos roaming around.

The bear asks you how it feels to pilot one, or if you share the thoughts of the rest of them.

“I feel strong..but..cold at the same time. No emotion. No character. Just like the STAFF...we only wanted to help them..do what we were created to do.”

Gregory

Seeing another kid wandering about the Pizzaplex had you worried. Of course, you didn’t want him to be another victim of William.

So you inhabited a nearby Security STAFF bot to discreetly follow him.

Understandably, he panics, but you turn off your flashlight and reassure him you won’t hurt him or call any of the animatronics.

The voice takes you by surprise and when he hears you comment on that, Gregory suspects you’re haunting the bot, or maybe it had a glitch like Freddy. But no, you insist you’re a lost soul possessing it.

“Look, something bad is going on here and I wanna find out what, but I can help you get out in one piece. Trust me, Greg. You don’t wanna end up like me."

“Yeah..I could probably use your help getting around those stupid bots--”

“Hey I’m not stupid :(”

“..I mean other stupid bots. By the way..you think you can sound that alarm you got at will?”

“Oh! Yeah let me test that out.”

“WAIT NOT RIGHT-”

The alarm blares and Glamrock Chica suddenly appears, and you just grab Gregory and wheel to safety.

You two aren’t the brightest duo, being both kids. But somehow you resolve to get through the night together.

Vanessa

You possessed a Map Bot to follow her around. Considering the history of nightguards going missing/dead, you worried for her safety.

Least to say she was...less-than-happy to see this dumb bot stalking her, but oddly enough it didn’t shove a map in her face.

Eventually she asks what you want and unfortunately..you discover in this moment that you can’t talk as yourself. The programming wouldn’t let you.

Anything you say only comes out as “free map”, “take a map”, “here’s a map”, etc.

So she leaves in annoyance. 

“I don’t have time for this. I need to find that kid.”

But you write something on one of the maps and shove it into her hands, wanting her to understand.

“I’m [y/n]. I control this bot. I can help.”

She’s surprised but soon is back to seriousness. She could use whatever help she can get. Anything to catch that elusive brat.

Later on when you find Gregory in the Prize Counter elevator, you pry open the doors with your own two hands.

Vanessa’s hella impressed.

[bakugosbratx]

For my birthday can I request some barbarian bakugou x f! Reader fluff

SFW Birthday Surprise— Barbarian Katsuki Bakugo x Fem! Reader

Warning: Some yandere themes, fluff, cursing, barbarian bakugo, fem! reader, mention of dead animals, etc.

Words: 1,110

Check out my other works here

A/N: Hello. Happy birthday!! I hope this is what you were looking for and it made you smile. I love me some Barbarian Katsuki (I also used to play DND) so this was really fun to write.

Tags: @awilddreamerwrites @bakugousbrat @miriobaby @peachsenpie @quietlegends @lanarist @milkthistletea

“The barbarians are coming!”

That phrase always plays on your mind when this time of year rolls around. Smoke, agony, pain. All of it comes to the forefront of your mind. Your birthday was supposed to be a time of celebration in your colony, but the barbarians ruined it. He ruined it. Sure, it was many moons ago. So much of your life has changed since then, but one thing is for sure, you are forever his.

You deeply sighed, attempting to continue your knitting as you gaze out of your hut. Your beloved should be home any moment. He was not even supposed to be gone this long since he did promise to return and spend time with you. It is your birthday, after all, but as usual, the sun is setting and another one of your stitched attire has come to an end.

He should have been here by now.

Worry starts creep in. Katsuki knows better than to go roam unknown territories at night. Bounties are out to get him. Still, that never stopped the ruthless blonde. The dragons of Faerland grown to respect Katsuki and he was sure to use that to his advantage.

By the position of the moon in the clear night sky, you can tell it is past midnight. You have not seen your significant other all day and hurt settled within your chest. Katsuki is never one for holidays and birthdays, but he knows how special birthdays are for you. He could have at least made an attempt to be home for your day.

You let out a deep sigh, deciding to get ready for bed. You know your boyfriend will arrive late — as usual — and be gone by day break. You were about to lay in bed when the heavy footsteps of your lover rang your ears.

“You’re late.” You complain, rolling your eyes with your back to Katsuki. His eyebrows knitted together at the attitude, ready to fix it if necessary, but knowing your reasons, he decided against it.

“I know.” Katsuki starts, laying the carcasses of rabbits he hunted on the ground in the kitchen area. “But I’m home now. Besides,” you turn around to face him, “I have a surprise for you.”

“Surprise?” You repeat, taken back by his words. Katsuki is not one for surprises so this is very off character for him.

Katsuki puts out his hand for you to grab, “that’s what I said, wasn’t it? C’mon,” he encourages, you grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers with his.

Katsuki guided you out of the hut that laid on top of the mountain. You two resided here. Not only was it the best place to keep you two safe from any predators, but also to keep you from running away. No one dares to go up there due to the dragon infestation and any dragon would burn you to a crisp by Katsuki’s orders.

“Katsuki, where are we going?” You questioned as he pulled you along into the depths of the wooded area. Your curiosity was ignored as Katsuki continued to drag you along.

The moonlight prickled through the tree branches, owls and crickets sang their songs amongst the dense forest and quiet night, and fireflies gave you some sort of direction along the way. Eventually, you both came to a halt. You bump into Katsuki’s muscular back.

“What the—“ You stop yourself mid sentence, peaking over Katsuki’s shoulder to see the beautiful view. Katsuki let go of your hand so you could proceed forward.

A fire pit was set up along with some huge rocks, fireflies in jars, a blanket, multiple kinds of fruits, and the glorious view of the full moon that was out tonight. You could see almost all of of Faerland from this view.

“Well,” Katsuki folds his arms with a grin, “you like?”

“Like?” You retorted, turning to face him. Your features were lit up by the fire. “Katsuki, it’s,” you sighed in contentment, “it’s beautiful.”

Katsuki strolled towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist as you gaze back at the moon. Gentle kisses were placed on your exposed neck. “Happy birthday,” he sighed, “I’m sorry for taking so long.” He whispers into your ear before placing another gentle kiss on the shell. “I hope this makes up for earlier.”

You nod in response, placing your soft hands over his calloused ones. You both remained still, your eyes fixated on the moon’s beauty. Katsuki’s breathing was calm and still. Something you do not hear often from him. His grasp was tight, but a comforting one instead of assertive.

Katsuki is finally relaxed.

At some point, you both are cuddled up against the rocks. Katsuki wrapped a blanket around you so the night would not freeze your skin. He fed you your favorite berries he gathered throughout the day.

“Wait,” you stop Katsuki, grabbing his wrist that was bringing a berry to your plump lips. Katsuki raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

“I want to see if I can catch it.” You giggle, opening your mouth wide. Katsuki rolls his eyes.

“You are such a dork.” Katsuki chuckled, tossing the berry into your mouth. Once it landed on your tongue, you chew the fruit then swallow.

“I caught it!” You beam in excitement, opening your mouth so he can do it again. This process repeated a few more times, raising fits of giggles from the both of you. For the first time in a very long time, you both were more than happy in each other’s presence. Communication amongst you two went from stupid little conversations to deep stories about each other’s lives. Something you two haven’t done in such a long time.

Your face snuggled against Katsuki’s broad chest, his natural caramel and forest scent filling your nostrils. It comforted you, your eyelids becoming heavy as the hours passed on. Katsuki cradled you close, feeling the same sleep in his rubies.

“Katsuki?” You mumbled, your eyes still shut as you are about to pass into slumber. He hummed in response.

“Thank you for everything. I,” you pause as you settle more into him, “I love you.”

Katsuki’s heart raced against his rib cage. You can hear it pound in your ear that rested upon him. You have not said those genuine words before. Sure, you’ve grown to deal with Katsuki. You do not really have a choice, but overtime, you truly did feel love for him. Just like he did for you.

“I love you too, Y/N.” Katsuki breathed out, his grip becoming even stronger on you as you both drift off to sleep.

©bakugosbratx

All Rights Reserved

[dakarimainink]

Babybump

WARNING: Fluff, a hint of angst, cute

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x You (Reader)

Wordcount: 1.4K

Note: Not betad, all mistakes are my own.

"Hey, I love you writing and I was wondering if you can do a Pedro imagine where the reader is pregnant and like they didn’t announce it or anything and no one knew about it till they were seen in public. You can change it up if you want! Xx✨"

Okay, I am a slut, not even gonna try and hide it. As this was a request, I wasn't sure if you wanted smut or not, so that's why it is in two parts. Part one is pure fluff and no smut. Part two however is a smutty scene for those of you who wants to read about how they conceived the baby.

Enjoy! 💛

Part 2

Masterlist

You are nervous. It is obvious by the way you cling to Pedro in the backseat on your way to the gala. Your fingers intertwined into his big hand as you fiddle with the hem of his suit jacket.

He is nervous too, not because people will probably speculate, but he worries about you. The news is big, but neither of you like it when the media tries to poke into your private life before you are both ready to reveal it. It will come out eventually, but you want it to be from you and not rumours and pictures roaming about.

Your family and closest friends know. You chose to break the news three weeks ago. You remember the tears in your mother’s eyes and the warmest hug from Pedro’s father. But what truly stuck with you, was the moment you confirmed it to Pedro.

You knew for about five days without telling anyone. Pedro was away filming but had managed to squeeze in a night with you on a rainy Saturday. You had planned to go out for dinner, but in the last minute, chose to have a pizza and movie night. Cleaning the dishes from the pizza and preparing some snacks in the kitchen, you decide it was time.

You turned to him, biting your lower lip and he knew there was something immediately. At first, worry painted his face and he had walked over to you and wrapped you in his arms, kissing your forehead softly and asking what was wrong.

Tears were prickling in your eyes and as you looked up at him, more worry grew and you couldn’t help but feel happiness fill your chest, knowing this man was the father to your child.

A smile stretched across your face as tears escaped the corners of your eyes and you told him.

He was frozen, scanning your face and he went through all kinds of emotions before his eyes crinkled up into a bright beam. He pulled you in, holding you tight to him while murmuring all kinds of sweet words. Kneeling, he snuck his hand under your t-shirt and spread his hand across your belly, warmth filling you up. “Our baby.” He had whispered before looking up at you with tear-filled eyes.

You had made sweet and passionate love that night, his focus on purely satisfying you over and over and over again.

Pedro catches your chin and tilts it up to meet your eyes. He notices the worry in your eyes and gives you a gentle smile. Carefully sliding his hand further up, he graces your cheek with his thumb before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look perfect.” He smiles.

You smile back at him, feeling a lump of worry surge in your belly. You know you could leave whenever you want to, Pedro had even offered to not go at all. A part of you wants everyone to know, but another wants to keep it a secret for as long as you can.

The car stops and your heart skips a beat as our stomach feels with dread. Your fingers grasp onto his hand, you almost missed the worried look on his face, his eyes scanning your features.

“We don’t have to, my love.” He whispers, gently stroking the back of your hand.

You shake your head. “I know, but I can’t avoid it forever.” You gulp, staring into his eyes. They crinkle at the gentle smile. He leans forward gently peck your lips, leaving a lingering touch on you.

As you give him a nod, he opens the door and gracefully climbs out before holding out his hand to assist you out. You place your hand in his and plant your feet on the ground before he pulls you gently out.

As soon as you were both outside, flashes and yells from the paparazzi filled your ears. Trusting Pedro to lead the way, he guides you onto the carpet and pulls you close to him, his hand resting on your side as you both face the paparazzi. From all the comments, none of them mention the tiny bump on your belly.

You sigh out in relief and feel more confident in your posture, straightening your back.

Pedro immediately notices and glances down at you with nothing but love in his eyes. His fingers twitch into your flesh before his thumb strokes up and down, bringing you more comfort.

~~~~~

You lay peacefully in Pedro’s arms, the morning sun peeking in between the curtains and a stripe of warmth licks your leg as it rests over Pedro’s hip. You listen to each other’s slow and steady breathing.

He had apologised for waking you up when he pulled you to him that morning, but you didn’t mind at all. It is where you belong, close to him. He left a few soft kisses on your forehead while you lay there resting, enjoying the calm morning. But the calm is interrupted as both of your phones won’t stop buzzing.

Pedro sighs, knowing exactly what all the texts are about. He had peeked at his phone before pulling you in, several messages commenting on today’s news. He had hoped it wouldn’t turn into something, but here you both lay, you – wondering what it all is about, him – wanting to shield you from the storm.

“Pedro?” You breathe, your eyes looking up at him from behind your eyelashes. “What is going on?” You have a feeling this is about last night’s appearance, but you wait for him to confirm it.

He looks down at you, a calm smile painting his lips. “Nothing we have to care about for now, my love.” He presses his lips to your forehead and nuzzles you closer to him.

You sigh out and drift off in his protective arms, knowing whatever is going on right now, didn’t need your attention.

~~~~~

He looks handsome, his calmness and confidence match great with his casual outfit. His hair slightly tussled from dragging his fingers through it again and again. You like his natural curls mixed with his grey peppered beard.

His eyes are resting on the woman sitting in front of him, but every time he glances at you, it fills you with butterflies. It’s not too obvious he is looking at you, as you’re standing a few strides behind the woman, listening to the ongoing interview of his newest movie.

“So, for some other big news, which I hope you can confirm for us, Pedro. A month ago, the internet went crazy over some new photos and headlines of you and your fiancé. Speculations of a potential new family member surged through several social medias. Could you perhaps talk a bit about that? Is it true?”

You knew the question would be asked, Pedro’s agent had agreed upon it before the interview took place. Pedro had asked you several times, if you wanted to go out with the news. You were a bit hesitant at first, but then again, might as well get it over with.

He gives the woman a smile before his eyes immediately seeks out yours, nothing but love is filled within his gaze. “It is with great pride and joy I can confirm my beautiful fiancé is carrying our future child. She is doing an amazing job and I can’t wait to become a father and see her be the mother of our baby.”

Your heart beats faster, tears brimming in your eyes as he speaks warmly of your future family. You know he is looking forward to it, but to see him like this, confirming the news and not leaving your sight, makes you warm from head to toe. You want to rush over to him, hold him close to you, but knowing interrupting the interview is not a good idea.

You wait patiently until the woman thanks Pedro for the interview. He immediately gets up from his chair and walks up to you, wrapping his arms around you. He kisses the top of your head several times and you wrap your arms around him.

“I will forever mean it, my love. I can’t wait to see you be the mother of our child, to carry them, to feed them, to help them grow up. I know you’ll be the best at it and every obstacle we face, we will face them together.”

You pull him tighter to you, a tear escaping the corner of your eye. “I love you.” You mumble into his chest.

He buries his nose in your hair. “I love you too.” He whispers.

(Wanna be added to my tag list for Pedro Pascal and his characters? Let me know and I will happily add you)

@cynic-spirit, @lililolli, @notabotiswear, @sara-alonso, @blankmooon, @xoxo-callie, @mamacitapascal, @thewaythisis, @greeneyedblondie44, @stevie75, @mswarriorbabe80, @anaaaispunk

[sajdd]

i will never understand people who try to seperate c!tommy and c!dream as if their stories and character progression arent interwoven with each other

their dynamic is so interesting and tragic... 

they used to genuinely be friends, brothers even. dream would antagonise tommy a lot, he would break his own rules and do things to get on tommy's nerves to play with him, but back then we all saw it as some light-hearted fun, its how tommy saw it too. he had fun in this little play-war they had going on

and then came wilbur. then came lmanberg. and suddenly he was spending more time around his actual brother. he was actually fighting against dream, it wasn't just play anymore. so then came the declaration of independence, and so came the declaration of war. the burned down house, the blown up land, the final control room, the duel, the trade.

but tommy didn't truly hate dream, not yet. but dream’s motives were so unclear, what was the truth? and what was a lie? switching sides so many times, trying to push away the blame from himself, wanting to support tommy in taking back l’manberg to helping wilbur blow up the whole place and teaming with schlatt. and so came the final battle of pogtopia and manberg, there were no winners that day but there was hope. they survived, and tommy would get his disks back from dream.

and then came exile. nothing would ever be the same for them. dream wanted tommy all to himself, and if that meant he had to cut off his contact with everyone else and quite literally beat it into his head that he is tommy's only friend? well.. some sacrifices have to be made. he'll come around eventually... and he did! but then dream pushed him too far and he ran away.

tommy was under technoblade's protection for a while, but dream couldnt afford to waste his favour on that. so he waited, and he planned. their alliance was short-lived anyway, as soon as tommy realised what he truly cared about it was over. naturally, he was going to side with the blood god himself. i mean, what better way to rub his victory into tommy’s face. his expression was priceless! this kid is just too much fun.

and he'll roam free for now, until their final battle. he'll get rid of that pest called tubbo and he can finally put tommy somewhere he cant escape from :) but then punz shows up and drags the rest of the server with him. betrayed. and tommy has the upper hand now- except. he has also secret card up his sleeve. the revive book. tommy wont get rid of him if he can potentially bring back his beloved brother. 

and while dream is stuck rotting in prison, tommy starts healing. he gets better. but.. its so weird without dream. so why not visit him! to rub his victory in his face and show how much better everything is without him. how much better he's doing. he's here to rub it in his face and not because he still feels so lonely and dream is his friend and please god why wont someone love me- and the hotel is going great, he's inviting people and healing and noone comes except for the people trying to kill him but he's still friends with tubbo even if they're drifting apart and he has ranboo and why am i being replaced what did i do wrong and he goes to visit dream for the final time, its really time to put an end to this.

and then there's explosions. muffled through the obsidian walls surrounded in lava. the inescapable, unbreakable, impenetrable prison is being blown up. and dream is laughing. and dream is not surprised. and tommy is stuck with dream, because sam wont let him out its protocol and he’s stuck with dream and itll be just like exile tommy.

but he manages to survive, he cant breathe and the walls are closing in and he just wishes someone would come save him at least this one time but nobody comes. and dream is talking of partnership and running away together but there is no "us", tommy's going to get out of here and dream will die sad and alone and i bet the revive book isnt even real- and then he's screaming for help but it comes too late. he's being ripped apart and all he knows is pain and void and oh god its wilbur again. he exists in this darkness for 2 months before getting dragged back to life by the devil himself.

and there will be no more normal ever again. even the slightest pain reminds him of dying and limbo and wilbur and we can be immortal together tommy! and oh my god he has to kill dream no one should have that much power and wilbur cant come back-

and of course wilbur comes back. because he fucked up. tommy fucked up and now sam is angry, and tubbo and ranboo are angry and ghostbur is dead and wilbur is back and dream is alive rotting in that prison and why cant i just have peace for one moment what did i do to deserve this

and then his brother proclaims dream a hero. and why would he say that he knows what he did to me why would he say that

and so dream waits for wilbur to come. he knows he'll visit, he's indebted to him, he will be SO grateful for bringing him back. and if he can control wilbur then he can control tommy. and they can be friends again.

and maybe its time tommy accepted he cant run away from dream. for as long as he’s alive they are destined to be together. after all, he is tommy's friend. the one constant throughout this whole story. they have too much fun together. he was the one person who was there when no one else was. and no matter how much he hates it, somewhere deep down he still cares about dream and it makes him feel sick. but once tommy has love for you in his heart he can never really let go of it, no matter how much you might hate him or hurt him, he will still love you, remembering the good times, the fun times. and that's all dream wants doesn't he? he just wants to have fun.

(sorry this was so long idk what came over me also my thought process in the tags)

[beskarberry]

Into the Twilight

Solisequious, Chapter 5

(Cyborg!Ezra x F!Reader with last name) [+18]

In that short moment between the light and dark the sunless void took its opportunity greedily, enveloping you in its shadowy embrace and leaning in close enough to whisper a secret in your ears.

Look.

<-Previous Next->

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 9.8k

Content warnings: Language, Ezra being a fucking dick, side character deaths, in-depth descriptions of aurelac harvesting, tragic backstory. Hurt/comfort, wound tending, lots of pining, secretive kisses. Sad ending for the CHAPTER, not for the STORY.

A/N: That last tag is important! This chapter ends on a cliffhanger so if you don't like the suspense it's ok to skip this chapter for now and wait for the last one. I don't do sad endings, I absolutely will not, promise! One more to go!

Swirling clouds of fog blanketed the forested landscape, concealing the dawnlight that peeped through the mist in spears of righteous gold, flickering elusively across the river's surface flowing below you. Steam rose from the waters as the days’ temperature steadily increased through the morning, curling into miniature cyclones in the wake of the hovering longboat. Gliding through the haze, the skiff flew over the water in silence, looking like something from a ghost story with her keel cutting through the fog and not the waves.

You and Ezra sat in the prow, his arm comfortably around your shoulders since you couldn’t hold yourself to the skiff, your own wrists tied and numb behind you. How unfortunate -ironic really- that it was under this same arm that you’d fallen so hard for his warmth, the fire of it rising with the profession of his affections, his desire for your kiss; yet now it scalded you like you were sitting next to the devil himself.

“How much further is it?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

“You said that an hour ago.”

It’d gone like this much of the morning, Ezra reliant on your topographical knowledge and none too pleased about it. You liked the power it gave you over him though, the way his lip scrunched and his circuits crackled. He hated not being in control.

“I’m startin’ to wonder if you actually remember the directions-”

“There!” Finally. As you rounded a bend in the river, the placid waters tumbled over the edge of a rocky waterfall, churning frothy rapids through boulders of black granite. From there it spilled into a basin framed by the mist-shrouded jungle, snaking through a colorful meadow until it disappeared into a canyon carved from the same dark rock. As the skiff coasted over the rumbling falls and the tide-like plumes of fog, the canyon revealed itself until it consumed the horizon, a labyrinthian scar of stone walls and roaring waters.

Somewhere in there, was the queen.

Ezra’s grumpy sigh could shake the heavens down if it were any stronger. “Pray tell me little bird, is that valley yonder the site of what we seek?”

“Dunno, gotta get closer.” So I can push you off the edge.

He grumbled his acceptance, waving at the helmsman to continue onward. “For your sake, I hope that it is.”

The meadow passed under your keel in a sea of color, dots of orange and vermillion swaying in an ocean of soft greenery that danced with the wake of the skiff, still wet with morning dew. Lush vegetation thinned and diminished the closer you got to the canyon’s edge, becoming a shoreline of onyx gravel that fell away entirely down the vast ravine. Water-filled corridors of streaky sediment branched and forked for miles, cracking the moon’s surface as if it had been struck by lightning.

There were dozens of them.

Ezra huffed at the sight, scrubbing his chin with his good hand in thought. “I must insist that you disclose which of these abysmal gorges are we headed for, Hawkins, because contrary to my affable nature, I am not a patient man.”

“Water.”

“You are not in any position to barg-”

“Get us something to drink, cyborg, or I’ll just let you roam that hellhole for the next decade looking for rocks.”

“Where did you learn to negotiate?” Ezra fixed you with his half-glare, scratching absently at the strip of cloth tied around his busted face. His single eye flickered from where he held you to him to something along the edge of the meadow, a smirk twisting his bushy lips. “Perhaps I’ll no longer require your assistance after all.”

He patted your arm roughly and stood, making the floating longboat wobble dangerously as he let himself out. Surprised that he just… left, you watched him, unsure if the sparks licking his brain had finally driven him mad or not. Where the meadow washed against the dark gravel, between the green and black, a red-brown smear pushed through the thin soil, unnoticeable to anyone who didn’t know what to look for.

“Kevva favors those who are relentless.” Ezra shouted back to the boat, stabbing his hands to his hips and popping his stance. “I believe we are gettin’ closer to the queen than I thought. A pawn of hers has wandered too far from her protective bosom, and so loses the gambit.” You rolled your eyes, sick of his flowery speeches, but he had his back to you and probably wouldn’t have cared anyway. He fluffed his dark olive overcoat behind him to kneel in the gritty earth, brushing some of the dirt away from his prize.

Aurelac.

Items materialized from his pockets, canisters of fluids and field trays that he arranged around himself. He turned and peered over his shoulder, flashing you that wicked grin with a -snick- of his blade, the steel flashing brightly in the midmorning sun. Turning back to his work, he stabbed the pustule and carved it like he was serving holiday dinner, the meaty sound carrying horrifically over the rushing rapids.

“Is that an aurelac?! Let me see! I promise I won’t touch it, I-I just want to get a better view!” Tillie, ever true to her professional passion, wiggled in her bindings to get a better line of sight.

“It looks like roadkill to me.” Fiona, doing better today, clacked wearily at her overly excited friend. “I hope it fucking bites him.”

“Both of you be quiet! I need to concentrate.” Ezra barked from behind the shield of his coat, drawn up over his face to keep the creature's venomous spittle from his last good eye. The ground fizzled and squeaked, gurgling with some kind of solvent that he’d poured down the hole, and when it went still, he snaked his iron arm into the meaty fissure to remove the pearl’s pouch. You were glad to be so far away from it, disgusted by the milky-white bag Ezra was tearing from the ground, slicing through the umbilical with a wet snap.

“Hoo-wee! Lookit the size of it!” He held the slimy sack up for everyone on the boat to see, making Tillie nearly vibrate with excitement as if that wet bag of goop wasn’t justification for her execution. Ezra’s long blade split the bag open and discarded it after retrieving an even nastier chunk of offal from inside. He dropped it in the little metal tray, holding it between the gloved fingers of his left hand, but his right seemed to hesitate.

He cycled through his cutlass and the jointed picks, his five-fingered hand, and at one point a butcher’s knife, his head tilting this way and that with his thoughts. The hand returned to pick at the side of his face, fidgeting with the exposed wires of his cybernetic like he was adjusting his glasses, and the victorious realization dawned on you.

He can’t fucking see.

“What’s wrong, poo-paw? Forget your bifocals?”

“Don’t distract me, damn it! I’ve got it under control.” Ezra settled for the blade, picking away at the squishy exterior with careful cuts. Slow and deliberate, he circumnavigated the ball, nearly reaching his starting point when he exploded in a storm of curses, some of which you’d never heard before. “Seven fucking hells!” he bellowed, rising from his haunches and stomping about like an angry toddler. Your snickering drew his ire, and he fixed you with that bloodthirsty glare. “You think that’s funny?! That was a damn fine gemstone that just melted!” he scuffed his pointy peg around in the sand, looking for another specimen, his face beet red with fury when he found no more.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me then.” You purred, getting as comfortable as you could in your seat. “Sucks to be you.”

“Indeed it does.” Ezra grumbled as he climbed back into the boat, shoving a slower pirate out of the way and pulling a canteen from somewhere on his person. “Drink, and let’s be on.”

“Fiona first.”

Oh that scrunchy face. Ezra was getting wicked tired of being made a fool in front of his crew, but in truth he would have you no other way than the venomous little spitfire that you were. Somewhere in that gear-addled head of his, he was still hoping you would change your mind about his offer, but for now he was going to have to continue playing the beast while you unknowingly played his beauty. Begrudgingly, he did as you asked, giving both your companions a meager sip of water before you, ripping the canteen away before you’d gotten close to your fill.

Dickhead.

The longboat glided on, sliding over the cascading rapids and into the dark walled canyon, the obsidian corridors snuffing out the sun. Cold spray plumed over the rails, slowly soaking into your clothes and forcing a shiver down your spine. As agitated as you were with him, you were somewhat thankful that Ezra’s broad arm was taking the brunt of the chill off your shoulders with the added bonus of cooling his grumpy ass down.

You guided the skiff along the rapids, giving the helmsman your most confident directions, but as the canyon narrowed and the river deepened, you were beginning to worry you may have gotten the boat lost.

Ezra was, as he had said he would, running out of patience. His fingers drummed steadily along your arm where his hand rested, picking idly at the seam of your jacket and grumbling every time the river forked. Eventually the canyon walls grew so close together that the tips of the longboat’s sail would scratch and scrape the gravelly walls, knocking dark sediment down into the howling waters until it was eventually forced to a halt.

The river, furiously lashing against the canyon for eons, had carved its way into the unyielding stone, plunging into the dark heart of the moon and well beyond where light feared to tread. Jagged outcroppings hung like waiting teeth from the cavern’s mouth, hungry for any who dare enter.

You swallowed thickly around a dry tongue, wishing you had the aurelac on hand to double check your heading, but as much as you didn’t want to venture into that abysmal hole, you knew in your heart of hearts that this was the way to go.

“Are you certain of this?” Ezra asked you in a whisper, a slight twinge of doubt added to his twang. You nodded, and, surprised that he would trust you so easily, directed the longboat as close to the cavern as it could get. Along the edges of the river ran a thin ledge where the water had once flowed higher but slower, just wide enough for carefully calculated steps. Ezra demanded a handful of crew to come with him, with the last one in charge of keeping watch over Fiona and Til. “Hawkins, you’re with me.”

“How exactly do you expect me to walk with my hands tied-”

The cyborg cut you off with a growl, hauling you roughly to your feet and practically tossing you out of the boat onto the ledge. Wet with spray, the granite was slick and dangerous, made worse by your lack of arms, but Ezra was quick to follow. “Hold still.” Gripped by your wrists, you were tugged backwards against your instinct to flee from the sound of his blade, and were suddenly surprised by the feel of him cutting through your ropes. He leaned in close, scraping the sensitive skin of your ear with his cheek, the sound of his teeth parting sending a shiver down your spine. “Do not make me regret this, starling.”

Pins and needles spiked through your fingertips when the ropes fell away, and you reflexively brought them back in front of you, rubbing at your bruised wrists. Whatever. The longboat was dismissed, floating back up to the top of the canyon with your friends, leaving you alone with Ezra and his men. As it abandoned your search party you could hear Tillie yowling up a storm, demanding to be taken along to see the fabled aurelac queen.

“Are you absolutely fucking kidding me!? I came all this way to see - don’t you tell me to calm down, Fiona! No! I’m a fucking zoologist you sons of bitches!! You don’t even have to untie me! Just let me watch!! At least take my camera!!! HAWKIIIINSS!!!”

Sorry, Til.

Ezra swallowed his doubts and cycled his wrist appliances to the flame thrower, producing a low blaze to illuminate the way into the dark. What little daylight filtered down from between the canyon walls vanished within a few steps, reducing your world to the shadow of the cyborg before you, and the dewy, fear-filled eyes and uncertain steps of the pirates that followed behind.

Firelight danced over the jagged ceiling as you made the descent, reflecting off the wet stone and fast-flowing rapids thundering mere meters from where you so carefully tread. You tried to focus on where Ezra walked, following in his peg-legged footsteps. If there was a slipperier spot, he would be the first to go.

Or, so you thought.

-crack...splish!-

“Shh!” Ezra hissed for silence, a finger in the air. The firelight danced in his dark eye as he looked for the source of the noise, his ears turned both ways down the tunnel.

….-crick… cRaCK!-

Behind you there was suddenly shouting, the tumble of boulders, the hungry splash of the water swallowing the landslide down as the path behind you collapsed. Clawed hands and gaping mouths broke the illuminated circle of the rapids before vanishing further down the void, taking the pirate’s terrified screams with them.

Rock bit into your back as you were forced against it, watching in horror as half of the designated crew were lost. You waited with ears perked, breath bated for any sound that they had made it to some kind of safety, but you were only met with the roaring of the rapids and the thundering of your heart.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

The affirmation came as a slight surprise, but when you looked down you found you weren't held to the wall by your own volition. Ezra’s strong arm had you pinned as far away from the ledge as he could get you, his eye watching for more of the path to give way. He swallowed a lump in his throat when none presented themselves, and finally met your eyes.

His expression was soft, caring, worried for a moment, a split second of the genuine charmer you had been growing your affections for. The man that snuck you sweets and seared lingering touches on your skin that followed you back to your bunk at night. A man who kissed like it was his last day alive, and loved you when he was certain that it was.

And then he was gone, the creases of his face hardening in a serious scowl, a pirate and a cutthroat once again. Releasing you from his protective grip, he grumbled something about being more careful to the remaining crew, and resumed his journey into the void.

It felt like forever that you were trudging through the dark, your feet becoming accustomed to the slick stone in a way that was more dangerous than helpful, but you made it all the way to where the river ended and split your path in two. On one fork the water dove into the rock, tumbling away towards the center of the moon for all you knew; and the other led away into a dryer cave. With no other choice to make, Ezra plowed down the waterless walkway, a sigh of relief bouncing back to you now that he had more room to walk.

His relief was short lived though, for as the tunnel continued to widen it also started to split. Narrow fissures shot off from your protective halo of torchfire, growing in size every few meters until they were full blown caverns large enough to walk through, and soon they were all that were left of your path - the wheel of fortunes’ spokes as seen from the axle.

Ezra raised his fist, halting your spelunking expedition. He quirked an eyebrow at you, his single eye fixing you with a ‘Well? Now what?’

You spun slowly, taking in each new trail and trying to remember what the map had shown, but as best you could remember it had all been surface level. The river marker, the bends in the forest, the waterfall and the meadow, lush jungle and sprawling canyons, a cavern that you’d expected to be the lair -those you remembered. But nothing like this.

You were just as in the dark as he was.

“Hawkins…” Ez growled, realizing that your double-takes were not just for the picturesque scenery. He flashed that wolfish, dangerous grin of his, a beast in his own dark den greeting prey that had so foolishly wandered through. “I’m not seein’ any aurelac. Actually, I’m not seein’ any anything, except… you. You didn’t just lead us down this hole for the fun of it, did you now?”

Maybe. “No! Not like you can see anything anyway. Give me a moment to think.”

The fire from Ezra’s blazer flared brighter with his agitation, sending shadows flying around the cave. “And why is that exactly? That my vision has been reduced to such a state?”

“Uh I don’t know, maybe because you were going to murder everyone and take over the ship? Ring any bells, metal man?” You jabbed a finger in his broad chest, storming up to him with no restraint. “Don’t make me take the other one out as well!”

He glowered down at you, his remaining eye darker than the void you were consumed by, flashing with the hellfire sputtering from his mechanical arm. “Don’t you threaten me, Hawkins!” He bellowed with a wave of fire, nearly incinerating one of the pirates in the process. “If you’ve sent us on a wild goose chase then so help me I’ll insure that you and daddy dearest meet together sooner rather than-”

The wave of his arm made the firelight sputter just a moment, a faction of a second that let the dark in closer. It’d been held back by the searing flames, but oh how it ached to reach you, to brush your skin and drag icy fingers down your spine, claim you for the inevitable abyss where it would never have to let you go. In that short moment between the light and dark the sunless void took its opportunity greedily, enveloping you in its shadowy embrace and leaning in close enough to whisper a secret in your ears.

Look.

“Ezra shut up and turn your light out.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Turn it off!”

The cyborg snarled at you, his teeth flashing in the glow, furious that he was being ordered around in front of his remaining men, but you were steadfast; and try as he might to put on a ferocious front, the way you stared him down, reduced him from a monster to nothing more than a man, made his heart ache for you.

Reluctantly he obeyed, the bright and hopeful glow of his flame winking out of existence, replaced by a void so black and barren that your soul swore it had been taken to the underworld. You blinked a moment in the abyss, reaching out unconsciously for something to ground yourself on, and found Ezra’s warm body right where you expected it to be. His hand found yours, pulling you close enough that you could feel the warmth of his chest, the slight hitch of his breath giving away his surprise at your touch.

You waited for your eyes to adjust, the darkness behind your lids seeming to hide just a bit more light than the world around you. It was a moment, a few seconds stolen in pitch black privacy, and Ezra took them greedily. You felt the heat of his breath before you felt the touch of his lips, missing your own completely to land on your cheek. Before you could turn and tell him to blow it out his ass, he recalculated and caught your lips, pressing you into a searing kiss.

And damn it straight to hell did it feel good.

The light scratch of his bristles, the plush of his lips, the faint brush of eyelashes when he closed his eye - uselessly still open. His human hand snuck to the small of your back, his hot-iron right kept safely away, but you he wanted to keep close. He inhaled with you, stole your breath for himself - the thief - savoring your shared air in the pocket dimension that had been willed into existence for the two of you alone.

This man made you so angry. He was dangerous, reckless, a literal pirate and mutininer, and yet you gladly melted into him, returning the desire for his kiss with your own. In that quickly stolen moment you felt his entire charade dissipate, writing his truth against your lips. Want and willingness, desire and desperation and something deeper. Something that he kept under tight lock and key when the eyes of others were on you, but still screamed at him from his very core, exploding from its cage in these private little moments like his heart was made of fireworks.

For him, there could be no darkness, as long as he had your light.

“Oi! I seeya lioght down tha tunnal!” One of the pirates chirped, obliterating the quiet tranquilty of your secret embrace. You both opened your eyes and saw it to be true: the faintest illumination coming from what seemed an eternity away, but it was there nonetheless.

You felt more than saw Ezra turn down to you, and heard the crack of his chapped lips splitting into a grin. “Well done, Hawkins. You may yet live to see another day.”

The light came first from the rocks themselves, sprawling swaths of lichen glowing with a soft, otherworldly light - stars twinkling in the twilight zone between the stygian darkness of the cavern and the green-grey daylight filtering from somewhere far away.

You had to shield your eyes as you stepped out of the tunnel even though the light was nowhere near as strong as the surface world, but nearly blinded you nonetheless. With your eyes partially covered, you focused on your other senses, with one in particular coming up front and center on your brain-stage.

Stinky.

Wherever you were headed into reeked of sulfur and brimstone, carrying on the cool cavern air, and if it wasn’t for the pleasant subterranean temperatures you would have sworn you were walking right into an active volcano. When your pupils were brave enough, you let your hand down from your face, blinking as you took in your new surroundings cautiously; a faint gasp escaping your lips at the sight.

“Stars above…”

From high, high above you the light of day shone through the mouth of some crater, a near-perfect circle hidden from the surface by the swaying trees, their roots dangling and dripping into the conical grotto you stood in now. Mineral-rich water trickled and fell for hundreds of feet before landing in the center of the caldera, carving a shallow basin over thousands of years and inviting growth from the surface world to thrive.

Obsidian soil crunched wetly under your boots as you walked into the sanctuary, not watching your step, your eyes too wonderstruck to look down. Thick greenery seemed to grow in piles, mossy and rich, sprawling over the bottom of the grotto and climbing up the walls, reaching for the elusive sunlight reflecting in enormous quartz crystals soaring from the hexagonal basalt walls.

All you saw was beautiful and natural, sculpted by Kevva xerself with more love and adoration than any single star, but in the center of it all something artificial desecrated this holy ground.

Were it not for its obvious straight lines and perfectly machined surfaces, the rusty, overgrown object could have been part of the scenery. It jutted up from the lush green like a middle finger to its surroundings, standing lazily on jointed legs like a drunk that should have gone home hours ago, arguing with the cosmic bartender about last call.

Pretty as it all was, the rank odour was stronger here, making you crinkle your nose. You weren’t really sure what fresh aurelac smelled like, but if it smelled anything like rotten eggs and metallic earth, then you were getting close. Ezra seemed unphased by whatever that stink was, starstruck as he took everything in. He sauntered right past you, trudging through the rivulets of water peacefully carving through the stone towards one of the more lumpy moss mounds. Here, he knelt into the soil and brushed the plush foliage away, and, after a rib-shakingly sharp inhale, he burst into laughter.

“You have got to be shittin’ me!” His baffled roar carried through the volcanic amphitheater, echoing with his own personal laugh track. He leapt up on unsteady legs and plowed towards a second lump, digging happily through the dirt with another excited holler. When he turned around to look at you his face was the picture of delight, big bright eye and an even wider smile crinkling his cheeks. “Aurelac! It’s all aurelac!!”

The remaining pirates flew past you like labradors set loose on the beach, joining their cyborg captain in celebration. A few of them surrounded Ezra to watch him extract the priceless gemstone, but a pair of deviants went right for their own mound. Before Ez could stop them they were plunging their swords into the fleshy growth, eager to get their own share of the bounty.

A meaty slice, a screeching hiss, roars of pain and agony, then silence consumed the cathedral of basalt and brimstone as the overly-ambitious treasure seekers met their deaths in the acidic spray vomited up by the ground dwelling beast.

Ezra only sighed and rolled his eye at the melted faces of his once-crew, their corpses twitching on the warm earth. “If you don’t seduce her properly then she will retaliate with ‘er most wretched defenses, as all women do. Isn’t that right, Hawkins?” He purred with a leer, grinning like a fox at your disgruntled huff. “Worry not, I am a firm believer that no love is too intimidatin’ if’n it be true.”

He settled up to the closest mound and drew his blade, tapping the hollow exterior and listening for the best entry point to carve into. As soon as he made the incision, he poured something from one of his canisters down the hole and covered his face with his coat. “Chem calms the brine, without it, a dry breach will make its claim. Preferably of limbs or life.”

“That how you lost your arm, cyborg?”

“Alas, it was not. Pay ‘tention now.” The aurelac sizzled and squelched for a bit before falling silent, bidding Ezra’s claws into the open wound to retrieve the gem sack. “Oh. Oh Kevva it’s a big one...” He strained a bit, grunting loudly as he tore the opelesent bag from the ground.

It was massive.

“I-I didn’t know they got this big…” he nearly whispered to the bag that was almost as big as his head. He went through the same procedure to remove the meat ball from the center, once again hesitating to make his cuts. “Hawkins, as much as it pains my pride, I do believe I will require assistance.”

There was no room for witty retorts or snide remarks, the object of your quest being so generously presented to you. You knelt in the loam with Ezra, “What do you need me to do?”

“That’s my starling.” He boasted softly, giving you a one-eyed wink. He fished a right-hand glove from his pocket and handed it to you. “The stone is encased in three layers. The first is the formation sack, then the blister, then the membrane. If the blister is punctured it releases carrom acid, and if that comes into contact with the gem it’ll melt and fuck the whole thing sideways. Keep her steady for me’n I’ll free her from her confines.”

Ezra held his blade with both hands, his head tilted off to the right so his bold nose wouldn’t obstruct his singular vision. Worrying his lip between his teeth, he began cutting around the ball, his knife vibrating with the same seductive frequency that had coaxed lucrative treasures from you as well. So that’s what it’s for.

“That’s it, hold it like you love it…” He rounded the ball successfully, nodding at you to pull the empty carcass away while he retrieved another canister, this one of a reddish fluid. “This is fazer, if it touches meat it’ll blow us all to Kevva’s sweet embrace faster’n a bullet to the brain. So I’ll uh, try not to spill.” He dribbled some of the rusty liquid onto the cream-colored glob, humming some indistinct shanty to himself in his excitement, and you couldn’t help but feel it too.

Slowly but surely the tissue fell away, revealing the lemon-sized gemstone and eliciting a unified collection of gasps from everyone present.

It was perfect. Clear as glass with a drop of aurellian sunshine glittering in its heart, the sparkle matching the gleam of Ezra’s eye. “Congratulations, Hawkins. You may have very well made us the richest bunch’a miscreants in the entire known sector. I knew there was a good reason to keep you kickin’.” He pocketed the stone and rose from the ground, dusting himself off and handing trays and canisters to the few crewmates that remained. “Start harvestin’, and under no circumstances may you deviate from my method, lest you plan on joinin’ your face-down friends o’er yonder.”

You waited until the pirates had eagerly dashed out of earshot, loaded down with more gear than brain cells. “You’re brave to trust them with that, Ez.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but my eye is givin’ me a helluva fight tryna operate this arm of mine. Need to see to it.” He reached up to fuss with the hole under his bandage, but you stopped him, your hand carefully catching his mechanical wrist.

“Do you want me to take a look at it? I still have two eyes.”

The smile on this man was the kind poets wrote about, soft and sincere and a little skeptical. “Lucky you, huh? Alright, since you’ve so benevolently offered your services, I shall accept.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?” You chided, directing him to sit on a tall lump that could have been a boulder as much as another aurelac growth.

“Frequently. Can’t say I understand why though.” He joked, trying to hide his nerves as you approached him. He took his hat off for you, toying with the hole you’d put through it while it rested on his lap. When your hands came up to the bandage he almost jerked away. “You did quite a number on me, starling mine, I can’t promise it’ll look very-”

“Ez. Stop talking, for fucks sake.” Your scolding shushed him, and he sighed dejectedly at your touch. The ratty strip of cloth covering his eye socket was soaked in a multitude of fluids, none of them pleasant. “Damn it Ezra, this is going to get infected. You should’ve let me take care of it earlier.”

“Yes, ma’am…” He closed his remaining eye when the strip fell away, unwilling to see the disgust on your face he believed would be there, but what he didn’t see was your sadness instead. Sure, he’d deserved your attack, your very life and the life of your companions at stake, but his beautiful face was a mess, a delicate, priceless painting marred seemingly beyond repair.

The cybernetic eye was nowhere to be found, probably in his pocket, but the exposed connectors in the back of his empty orbit still needed attention.“Gimme your hand, I need the picks.” You demanded, shuffling closer to him so you were up between his knees. He swallowed and obliged, the jointed tools click click clicking from his mechanical arm. “I’m gonna try not to hurt you, but I can’t promise that I won’t. Just hold still, ok?”

He almost nodded before he agreed verbally, holding his breath while you used his own appendages to debride the wound, clearing chunky scabs and bits of ceramic away from the delicate machinery. Ezra watched you as you worked, torn between closing his eye in comfort and observing the spectacle that was his surprise field medic. Stars, you were so close, literally up between his legs, your breasts grazing his chest from time to time, and he couldn’t help the way his free arm ghosted up to your hip. The moment you felt his touch you scowled at him, but he was quick on the draw. “Just keepin’ ya steady, don’t want you to lose your balance and find my brain while you’re in there.”

“Uh huh, sure.” He was so full of crap, but you had a goal in your hands now, a mission, an objective, the drive to complete it narrowing your focus to your combined hands alone.

Ezra’s brow quirked a bit, studying the spark in your eyes while you fixed his broken face, his lip teased between his teeth as he spotted something familiar. “I recognize that glint… That light behind your eyes. It’s inherited, isn’t it?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I said I was good at fixing things, didn’t I?”

“Nah nah nah, not that, that. That determination. That spark. Brighter’n a supernova, that one. Was the same one I saw in your father’s eyes. You get it from him.”

“I don’t get shit from him! Don’t insult me while I’m digging through your eyehole.” You tried to continue, but now you were both angry and intrigued. “What do you know about him anyway? I didn’t get to know him, why did you?”

Though you were the one dangerously close to his retinal nerve, he was the one that had struck something sensitive. “Hawkins Jr. was a prospector. And a damn good one at that. Took me un’er ‘is wing and taught me all I know in regards to havestin’ aurelac, an odd recompense for shooting me, but it paid well.”

That caught you off guard in more ways than one, and you had to withdraw your tools from his head-hole to meet his subservient gaze. “He shot you?! Where?! Why?!”

“Here.” he said, tapping the humerus strut of his right arm. Your confused glare drew a soft chuckle from him. “I was just a greenhorn prospector, didn’t know the fringeling laws of the territory, and unfortunately I came across an orphaned digsite. Thought it was my lucky day, turns out it wasn’t as abandoned as I’d hoped it was. Took a bullet for it, but I managed to sweet-talk my way out of getting a second. We did our best with the wound but infection claimed my primary weapon, and spread to all you see missin’. Occupational hazard to be fair. Managed to make off with a good couple’a stones though, and your pa helped me pay for replacements.”

The cyborg chuckled nervously through your aghast stare. “Thick as thieves we were, following the rumors of aurelac across worlds, lookin’ for the fabled queen. Never found it, but he never gave up. One day he came upon that map’a yours, whether he stole it, bought it, or drew it himself I’ll never know, but suddenly he didn’t want my company anymore. Was gonna claim it all for himself.”

Ezra’s one eye looked away in shame, unable to meet your piercing inquisition. “The fallout was cataclysmic. Words and metal flew, and before he escaped in the drop ship that he’d spent all our coin on, I managed to get a shot off to her converters, cripping his ship the same way he had crippled me. Ironic, really, but he still got away. Guess he didn’t make it very far after all.”

“Guess not.” Your voice was steely and cold, level as a blade. You began working on his wound again, but he stopped you, wanting to meet your eyes with his own.

“I’m sorry, starling.”

“It’s fine Ez, I barely knew him.”

“No, it’s not fine. He may have been a traitor and a disreputable old scoundrel, but he was still your sire, and to you, his daughter, I truly am sorry for my contribution to his passing. No amount of aurelac is worth the price of life, but I’ll gladly part with all my share of the harvest if it brings you an ounce of solace to whatever grief you still carry, even if it's hidden under all that tenacious ferocity you wield so well. I will say though,” He paused, cupping your jaw, sliding the pad of his thumb along the edge, his touch radiating with pleasant warmth. “That sun-seekers’ glint looks so much better in your eyes than his.”

Ezra may have been a professional liar to his men, but to you, the unexpected light in his life, he told you no falsehoods. You saw it in his beautiful amberdark eye, and the smooth arch of his fine scar, the way the corners of his lips tugged all the crinkles of his weather-worn face into something soft and pliant. He really was sorry.

Probably for more things than one.

“S’ok Ez, let’s just get you patched up and we can figure it out later, yeah?” You pressed a soft kiss to his palm, a ghost of forgiveness that left his heart a little lighter. He gave you dominion over his prosthetic again, his human hand returning to it’s designated spot on your hip. To hold you steady, of course.

Doubling down on your efforts, you tweezed something nasty from his socket, so determined in your operation that the feeling of his fingertips slipping between the hem of your shirt and the top of your belt went unnoticed.

He couldn’t help it. The cyborg’s nervousness calmed at the feel of your skin under his fingers, the warmth of your body, the smoothness of it. He pressed in slightly, testing the give of your flesh, tracing the arch of your hip bone under the plush of your flank. Were he not undergoing such primitive surgery at the moment he might have let his thoughts wander to what else would give under his touch, where else you would spill between his fingers, how you would taste on his tongue...

“Ezra!” You hissed, snapping him from his thoughts. “I can feel your damn dick twitching. Knock it off before I kick you.”

His laugh was as sweet and innocent as the fresh light of dawn. “Apologies, starling mine, I can’t help my wanderin’ thoughts with you pressed so close.”

“Well stop your wandering for a hot minute, I’m almost done. Where’s your eyeball?” His warm touch left you finally to present you the cyberoptic. The moment you had it in your hand, Ezra’s own palm returned to your hip with much less discretion than before. You ignored him. Flecks of dried something-or-other flaked off when you brushed your thumb over the copper colored metal to clean it, knocking another mug chip or two off in the process. “Alright, keep still, and hold your socket open for me.”

You leaned against him to brace yourself, and he accepted you into his space even more willingly, tightening his thighs against yours and drawing his calloused hand up your back, encouraging you into his embrace. The softer metal scraped a bit against the iron of his fingers where he was holding himself open, a grimace twisting his scruffy face when the eyeball popped into place.

He sat back from you, blinking while the false eye went through it’s boot-up, the warm glow slowly returning as if day were breaking for his eyes alone. “Well, I’ll be damned! Hello, gorgeous, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

The pile of aurelac was nearly up to your knees within hours, all shapes and sizes of gemstones to be had and every one of them more perfect than the next. With his eye functional again, Ezra was making short work of every tumorous node he encountered with near-surgical precision and out-digging the others at breakneck speed. Must have had one hell of a mentor.

With him having everything under control, you opted to explore, enjoying the lushious sanctuary before it was pitted with harvesting wounds. The structure in the center drew your attention away from the natural scenery, and you moved to investigate.

The overgrowth was thicker here, lichen and moss giving way to soft, thin-bladed grasses that swayed in the gentle breeze coming down from the crater’s mouth. Water dripped on your head as you went, splashing gently into your hair and trickling down your back. How long had it been since you’d felt rain? It almost never did on Montressor, and you couldn’t help closing your eyes and tilting your head back, enraptured in the soft pitter patter of raindrops kissing your skin. Lost in your guilty pleasure, but still moving towards the pod, you failed to watch your step, tripping dangerously over something hidden that tore you from your aqueous indulgence to glare down at what had reached up to grab you.

Bones.

Human bones.

Whoever it was had been there a while, their clothing long decayed along with their flesh, leaving nothing but a wet, moss-covered skeleton and a scattering of metal fittings from their equipment. Shell-like mushrooms grew in their rib cage in place of their once-beating heart, crawling with all manner of invertebrate life that sought shelter in the absence of it.

You wondered if your father had shot them too.

More careful of your steps now, you approached the little ship, green and silver in the limelight of day, stripped in dark tracts of rust from ages under the drizzle. The thing was surprisingly small, it couldn’t have survived a space journey for more than a few days with barely enough room for two people, and honestly how it got through the atmosphere alone was a mystery. Its struts had sunk partially into the soft, damp earth, the first buds of a new aurelac cluster growing at its feet. It’d been here a while, but probably less than a decade, which didn’t help your suspicions.

You went for the circular bulkhead, the door mechanisms long since grown over, but with a grunt and some elbow grease you got the wheel to turn. It screeched its displeasure as you opened it, years-old pressure finally escaping its prison with a blast of fetid air. For such a pretty place, everything in this cave sure did fucking stink.

Inside the circular drop pod you immediately found a second corpse, though this one was in better shape than the one that’d been left to the elements. In their fleshless hand some kind of firearm pointed away from where they were slouched against the wall, their other hand clutching the hole in their sternum. They had retained most of their clothing, though the decrepit fabric wrinkled and sagged where flesh had once been, but the colorful patches were still as vivid as the day they’d been sewn on. None of them were familiar, though from their bright hues and easy-to-discern shapes you guessed they were sponsor logos, and though all of them were completely alien to you, one of them you unfortunately recognized: a fat, six legged creature wearing a spacesuit.

Something Ezra said clicked in your mind like a pistol’s hammer:

Words and metal flew.

“Anythin’ good in here, starling?” Ezra’s sweet southern drawl snapped you out of your concentration, the cyborg clambering in through the narrow door with a smile on his face. It vanished when he spotted the body. “Poor bastard, but that’s prospecting for you. Not everyone’s as fortunate as I was.” He glanced around the room a bit, taking in the state of things. “Looks better from the inside by a long shot. If I was a bettin’ man I’d say a lil’ bit of TLC would get this bird in the air again, or maybe just as far as the hole in the ceilin’. Be a shitload easier than haulin’ all that aurelac back through the tunnels.” He fixed you with that cockeyed grin, a flash of inspiration in his newly-repaired eye. “Think you could fix it?”

You shrugged, “Worth a shot I guess, though it’s nothing like anything I’ve ever seen on Montressor. There’s no sails on it.”

“That’s because it’s not from Montressor, or even Crescentia. It’s Terran.”

Terran!

The birthplace of your species and his. And your father’s and his father before him. You’d never been, most rumors said it wasn’t even there anymore, but humans - in their unending search for the edges of the cosmos - had settled on so many worlds that Terran would always live on in your hearts after it had long since been wiped from the star maps.

How strange it was - or, maybe how fitting - that nearly every interaction you’d had with your own kind had been thoroughly soaked in blood.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Leaving you to your own devices, Ezra fixed his sights on the largest of pods, a devious smile skewing his bristly lips. Though he’d harvested enough aurelac to last a thousand lifetimes, he didn’t come this far, sacrifice so much, to leave with anything less than the motherlode.

His canisters were running dry, but it was probably enough for one last harvest. The lump he set his sights on sprouted from the farthest wall, so full and heavy that it swelled pregnantly over the ground, alluding to the biggest root pearl ever grown.

He just had to have it.

Carving with rehearsed precision, Ezra had the queen ravaged within moments, locating the milky white bag deep within the pod. His hunch proved correct, albeit challenging, requiring two hands to pull the monstrosity free; the strain making him giggle like a school boy.

The aurelac squeaked and screamed with the intrusion, a sound the cyborg had long gone deaf to, so focused on his prize. Digging his peg and heel into the soft soil, he braced himself and hauled, throwing his weight backwards against the aurelac’s colossal heft. Kevva’s concubines the fucker must be bigger than a newborn bonzabeast.

Pop!

Ezra fell back on his ass when he finally pulled the gem sack free, nearly crushed under the slimy weight. Excitement kicked in, and he set to work on the extraction, ignoring the queen’s protests as he cut the umbilical line and plonked the pearl pouch into a field tray, the disgusting treasure so massive that it sagged over the edges.

Everything he’d ever worked for was right in his mismatched hands, the disgusting slosh of the meat bag like music to his ears. The wet fleshy sound and the hum of his blade, paired with his own tuneless humming and the imagined jingling of coin in his pocket was all he could hear, and all that he wanted to hear. A siren song of a man’s life’s work coming to fruition rendering him nearly deaf.

So he heard not the gurgling of the queen’s death throes.

Not the crackle as it withered and died, the open fissure of the wound curling into the gaping hole.

Not the faint grit of the volcanic soil slipping ever so slightly into the void created by the creature’s death.

And certainly not the faintest crack as the basalt column above the ancient animal succumbed to its own weight, moving barely a hairsbreadth, but even the smallest domino can topple the greatest kingdoms.

No, Ezra didn’t hear any of these things, too busy washing the last of the membrane off the gigantic geode with the remainder of his fazer fluid. Free of the mucky tissue, he stumbled to his feet and held the aurellian prize aloft, catching a stray sunbeam just as you had done when you revealed the map and oh, what a sight!

All eyes in the grotto turned to their captain and his prismatic light show, the basketball-sized chunk of aurelac washing every surface of the sanctuary in golden light, nearly bringing the cyborg to tears. Fuck, it was bea-utiful.

The glorious enchantment flared and faded with the sudden loss of the sun, and for the first time since tapping the queen, Ezra listened.

And looked up.

“Mother FUCKER!!”

A faint woosh was all that accompanied the massive quartz monolith as it fell, unbelievably bigger up close now that it was plummeting to the ground and heading straight for Ezra’s head. He practically danced out of the way, limbs flailing, white and bright of his eyes flashing as he scrambled to get to safety before the ten-ton crystal crashed into the earth and splintered into radiant shrapnel.

Ezra never moved so fast in his entire life, clutching the heavy aurelac to his chest as he ran from the sudden impact strike. The ground split and spiderwebbed like glass instead of stone, fracturing the delicate sanctuary into shards as more and more of the crystals came loose and toppled to the earth. Pirates desperately tried to get out of the way in time. Some succeeded, only to slip into the growing gorges that grew wider and wider with each cataclysmic strike.

As the walls crumbled around him, the cyborg bee-lined for the aurelac stash, shoveling as many into his pockets before a chunk of towering basalt toppled, nearly pressing him flat before he dodged it, obliterating the remains of the treasure.

All that work, for nothing.

“STAAARLING!! Get that damn engine going, we gotta go!!” Ezra plowed through the bulkhead of the pod, startling you out of your technical trance more than the earthquakes you’d been ignoring.

“I don’t think it can! I-I don’t have the tools to-”

“Tell me what you need! Right now!” Ezra flung himself to his knees next to where you were under the dash, his arm at the ready.

With his help you made split-second work of the wire harness under the dash that had been giving you a hard time, and the shuttle sparked to life not a moment too soon.

-*CRaSH!*-

A monumental quartz obelisk met the ruined ground, breaking through the obsidian as if it were made of ice, splintering the last of the grotto’s resolve. The pod listed dangerously to one side, tilting into the new hole to catch precariously between the edges, finally pulling the curtain back on what smelled so fucking bad.

Crimson flames licked greedily from the worlds’ wounds as the inactive volcano -long hidden by the scab of vegetation - was resurrected from the force of the impact, molten stone bubbling excitedly as demons do when the gates of hell are thrown open.

Sweaty with fire and fear, you threw switches and cranked knobs, hoping some divinity would take pity on you and guide you through the alien craft’s start up procedures on luck alone. Something other than the earth rumbled it’s fury under you, the propulsion jets sputtering to life after so many years in the grave.

You jammed down on the throttle, and the pod nicked clear of its wedging, but not enough to get it fully off the ground. “It’s too heavy! It’s not gonna make it!”

Ezra exploded in a storm of curses and hefted the skeleton out the bulkhead, along with whatever else wasn’t bolted down. It worked some, and the little pod strained away, still struggling under the weight of more than time.

But not enough.

If the pod didn’t clear the rising tide of lava, or the collapsing caldera, you were done for. Ezra’s circuits crackled as his brain did the math, meeting his own reflection in the crystalline surfaces of the aurelac gem that he’d suffered so much to get.

It was heavy.

But, so were you.

‘Throw her out’ said the demon on his shoulder, purring in his remaining ear. ‘She’s gonna turn you in anyway, and you’ll be swingin’ from the gallows in no time. Not like she cares about you. Not like she loves you! Or you her! You love money, you love aurelac! Gold and Glory! Finish what you started, Ezra Green! Take the aurelac and run!’

But Ezra never was a very good listener.

He went for the aurelac in his pockets first, hoping that just a slight lessening in weight would be all the push you needed to get to the skylight, but that did nothing. Pebbles, stones, geodes, and melon sized nuggets of glittering gold sailed out into the hellfire, vanishing under the molten tide.

Until all he was left with was the queen’s crown itself.

One last glance, one last demonic whisper, one last pining look between the two objects of his affections, of a lifelong love and a potential love for life.

Plunk!

The gemstone sank sluggishly into the hungry flames, and the effect on the pod was instantaneous, as if it had suddenly been loosed from its cage. “Hold on Ez!” You bellowed while you tried to steer with levers and fins instead of a wheel or rudder. The little microwave-sized window was all the visibility you had to dodge the incoming chunks of stone raining from above. Falling like a chandelier cut from a ballroom ceiling, the remaining quartz chunks sparkled as they fell, glass shards peppering hard against your steel exterior and nearly throwing you off course.

Now, where have you seen this before…

Breathe in.

You set your sights on the circle of sky above, on the cracks growing on either side like a sleepy giant’s eye slowly opening. Waking up to greet you before having you for breakfast.

Breathe out.

Rocks the size of houses crumbled from the crater, flying past your viewport as you threw your weight into the steering, spiralling the tiny pod between the sinking boulders.

Breathe in.

The caldera collapsed, the lava surged, all was red and black and glittering gold for less time than it took to fill your lungs. You snapped the steering to starboard right as the gargantuan gateway plunged towards gravity, the ship narrowly avoiding being swatted from the sky like nothing more than a pesky little insect.

Free of all that kept it contained, the volcano erupted in a pyroclast of scorn, sending flaming chunks of molten stone exploding past you, trailing phoenix feathers of fire in their wake.

Alarms flared, sirens screamed, and lights flashed their finality on the dashboard as the aft jets sputtered and died, pointing the pod towards the startled jungle and furious earth. With nothing left to lose, Ezra coiled his arms around you and your seat, hoping maybe his reinforced body would be enough to protect you from the coming crash.

But it never came.

Breathe out???

The skull-splitting shriek of metal being torn asunder stung your ears and made your teeth hurt, made worse by the sudden whiplash of the pod being pulled in the opposite direction. Suddenly growing from the thin titanium wall, the biggest harpoon you had ever seen went through one side of the little shuttle and out the other, swinging the shuttle down and under and over a mighty vessel like a pendulum as it was hauled against its inertia and dropped violently into something hard.

The Dawnbreaker, mighty and true, caught the pod with her deck, the monstrosity breaking halfway into the galley and spilling you and the cyborg from the durasteel coffin, landing in a heap in front of the quarterdeck and her captain.

“Tillie?! Fiona?!”

“Welcome aboard, landlubbers!” Tillie, wearing someone else's tricorn, hollered and saluted you from her position at the wheel, the ship’s true captain leaning against the harpoon thrower behind her - the old bird looking a little green. “You’re not gonna believe what happened to us! We were trussed up like hogs for the slaughter when Fiona here-”

“Incoming! Hard to port!!”

The Felinid cranked on the wheel just in time to miss a massive glob of superheated rock as it flew by, the volcano erupting violently behind you, demolishing the sanctuary, the tunnels, the river, the canyon and the meadow in a single quake. Volleys of stone shrapnel hailed against the Dawnbreaker’s sails, punching flaming holes in the delicate sailcloth and turning the deck into a pockmarked ruin.

“Get us out of here, Til!” You shrieked, muscle memory kicking into high gear and driving you to the lifeline hitchpost. You grabbed a rope for yourself and tied it off, then held one out for Ezra. “Ez! Get over here and-”

“CABIN GIRL!” The line in your hand was claimed by the spider in the web, enormous claws threatening to sever your hands from your body when they clamped around your wrists. You felt your blood drain when you were met with the most horrendous pair of big yellow eyes and a mouth full of saliva-slicked fangs. Mr. Skarn towered over you on many-jointed legs, forcing you backwards as he overpowered you. “Where’sss the aurelac?! Give it to me and I might let you-!”

-*BANG!*-

The monster blinked, confusion written in his heinous eyes and leaking from the fresh new hole between them. The tension on your wrists lessened and fell away as Mr. Skarn crumpled to the ground, revealing the figure behind him, firearm smoking from his wrist.

“Never did like that bug much.” Ezra drawled, blowing at the barrel before swapping his prosthetic for his jointed hand. “You alright, starling mine?”

You made to answer when the shifting of the ship stole all the air from your lungs, throwing you hard to starboard as acting-captain Tillie Doppler veered hard on the wheel to avoid the ground coming up to meet you, the moon thrashing its death throes like a drowning victim not wanting to go down alone. You hit the deck, your lifeline snapping hard around your middle, constricting the last of your breath from your lungs but keeping you lashed safely to the ship.

Ezra was not so lucky.

The roll dislodged the Terran pod free from its crater in the deck, tumbling with the pitch of the ship and taking its harpoon line with it as it rolled towards the edge. The cable whipped across the wood - a furious serpent spitting venom and fury - catching Ezra’s iron leg before the pod vanished over the side.

He had a split second to drive his claws into the deck, carving gouges in the wood as he was dragged overboard, the iron in his body the only thing keeping him from being ripped in half as the line snapped taut, leaving the cyborg dangling over the edge, held by nothing but his unyielding grip.

“Ezra!” you screamed and flew to him, digging your heels into the guardrails and pulling with all your might on his cybernetic arm - only part of him you could reach. “Give me your other hand!!”

Ezra, eyes wide with fear and pain, looked from his captured leg to the swinging pod, then up to where his arm was lodged in the Dawnbreaker’s hull, and finally to you. He couldn’t sever the line without his blade, and if the shuttle caught on the trees it would rip the Dawnbreaker from the sky, or rip him in half trying.

There could be no other way.

The fear on his face was replaced with something softer under his wind blown curls and suddenly-missing hat, the ratty tricorn succumbing to the raging storm building over the volcano. One eye a ray of sunshine, the other a sparkling pool of dark earth, met your own with all the placidity of a willing sacrifice approaching the altar.

And suddenly you’d never known as much terror as you did right now.

His scruffy lips quirked, a flash of a smile, a small, gentle laugh inappropriate for such a precarious situation, but nothing ever looked so good on him as the face he had now, his eyes laying lastly on the most beautiful visage he’d ever had the fortune of setting his gaze upon:

You.

“Shine bright, starling mine.”

In a last act of human decency, his free hand came up and dug into his armpit, unfettering his prosthetic from his body. Then he was hurtling to the ground, leaving his arm buried in the hull while the pod dragged him down to certain death, leaving the Dawnbreaker to speed off towards the stars and far away from the dying moon.

And then he was gone.

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