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lovesickeros · 5 months

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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #imposter au #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #arlecchino #lyney #furina #you do NOT wanna know what i got put thru writing this fic #trying 2 find out where arle was in the few times we DO see her and going down a rabbit hole of fuck fontaine and its layout actually!#I spent like 3 hours looking it up and checking in game it gives me a migraine thinking abt it. ew #anyway trying to write a really smart character is surprisingly difficult when ur as dumb as rocks #also used an actual chess match for this and gave myself an even worse migraine trying 2 make sure i didnt repeat moves or smth #furina doesnt get a spotlight yet just imagine her sitting in the corner trembling like a wet kitten you found on the side of the road #arlecchino goes thru a crisis more at 11 #shes a tired single dad shes isnt getting paid enough for this okay #hands u a fic over half the length of the other THREE PARTS #ehe :]#is arle actually on ur side??? is she gonna double cross u???? who knows!!!!!#shes unpredictable she might stab u for funsies #anyway im gonna go nap in a ditch now this took SO LONGGGGG OH MY G-D #also just think acolytes who arent buddy buddy w reader and even resent them is so tasty #bc how r they supposed 2 know reader was a human vibing 5 minutes before their got eebied 2 teyvat..#reader gotta roll up their sleeves and get 2 WORK sometimes murder IS okay #they gotta fix some shit around here and that means committing several crimes all at once. sometimes more #a group can be g-d (just got here) their dragon (neuvi) their cat (archon) their dog (wrio) and their wolf (arle)

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fumifooms · 1 year

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The autism coding of Kimblee - character analysis

Bestie that’s called masking. Also I beg to disagree you fucking suck at it lmao

Notice how he speaks of this difference of being a “heretic” in society’s mind. Not with a focus on what it is or means but with a focus on the perception of it, on the ostracization it creates, on it being created by norms and society. There is little weight given to it but it is treated as a social construct one can easily figure out and avoid because it is superficial, or formulaic. Small talk, what are the right things to say, or to reveal about oneself and when, the “test” is a formula he thinks he has mastered.

So boy! There are some things to unpack here with his character, welcome to this character analysis. This is going to be loooong. I’m autistic, and I think he’s autistic as shit based on a lot of things and moments. I do want to make a disclaimer: you should go into this with a will to humanize, but this is not to mean that I talk of him being redeemable or “a good person deep down”, no. This is an analysis for the goal to understand, and in the end that’s what most of us just wants anyways, being understood I mean. I’ll be analyzing him as a coherent and multidimensional character, not as a plot device for a story. Alas I won’t be analyzing his psychology and ideologies that much, just its ties with autism and stuff, so this isn’t a complete analysis of Kimblee as a character by any means. I’m also speaking exclusively of manga Kimblee. Most manga caps I used are from @everykimblee, thank you for your resources!

Points:

The polite gentleman

Tone deafness

Logic and lack thereof

Malice?

Strange but strong moral code

Explosions, and stimming

Misc

Conclusion

The polite gentleman

It is oh so interesting, then, that he values his manners so much, isn’t it? He has peculiar priorities and fixations, like good manners, even as he does atrocities. We’ll talk about his tone deafness more later, but for now let’s focus on this angle a bit.

Suits, fedoras, a pure, spotless white. Symbols of the epitome of class.

As stated, he keeps his good manners even as the situation would normally have them dropped, or they are useless, and such. They are treated somewhat like how he would convictions, when he speaks of strong wills and being firm in your beliefs. Then his manners are not something he’s willing to compromise.

But still you have to ask yourself, does he maintain this persona for himself or for others? I think it may be interesting to note that this aspect of his character isn’t much seen before he goes to and leaves prison. In camp he sits like other soldiers do, very unlike how he sits in the rest of the manga, etc etc. This suggests that either manners became more important to him after his 8 years long of incarceration, or that sort of like a chameleon he adapts himself to his environment. With his awareness of being a heretic and how to play around it, allegedly in his own word, the latter is a theory with support. Both are plausible, or perhaps he’s always had a strong taste for suits and politeness and the warzone simply wasn’t a place to show that.

Regardless of him genuinely liking all of these high end tastes or not, I’m fascinated with the idea that it may have developed as a defense mechanism. People who wear suits and act respectable like he does sociologically inspire good faith, that they are, well, respectable. My theory that he doubled down on this angle after prison would be because, well, he has passed 8 years of prison doing very little and being treated with very little respect and empathy. It is not unreasonable that straight out of prison, he would want to reclaim a sense of humanity and respectability through acting out the codes of high society. But again, does he do it for his own self-esteem, or to try to convince others that he should be respected? Few people see men in suits and imagine that they’ve been in prison once.

To be aware of being a “heretic”, and saying he knows how to pretend to be normal, Kimblee growing up has doubtlessly learned good manners and their importance in this social act and how others see you. Is his politeness genuine or forced? In the end I think it matters little, in the end it’s still as important to him regardless. I’m not going to talk about the social trauma autistic people usually experience, but I do want to reiterate that a nice suit as an instant token for passing as normal + getting charitability is something I think he’s aware of and values. His demeanor and outfit, you could say, is part of his masking. Listen, in a college essay I studied other essays about how prom dresses are treated as a token for future success in life + social recognition. A suit as a transactional token for entry into respectable society really isn’t a social dynamic that far fetched.

The way he speaks of masking, as this “easy formulaic test”, does make me think that this is the case, that his choices in demeanor and fashion are part of this role and that he knows what he’s doing. Indeed, if a suit is all he has to wear to be accepted, his loner attitude becoming a “serious & mysterious” aura, his strict demands becoming simply a severe no-nonsense man used to quality and who has things to do, well, the test is easy to trick. It’s all about framing. He’s still taken to it on a personal level though imo, he does speak of his suit with fondness etc etc.

His gentleman attitude might have deeper, more important and personal roots for his character than simply being a cool aesthetic or random taste, is what I’m saying.

Tone deafness

It is ironic that his manners are important to him because they are often severely lacking or misplaced. Like most things, I believe that Solf keeps his manners because they are a judge of character that is important to him, beyond it being for others’ perceptions of him. So even if inappropriate, he stays true to himself and these beliefs of his, he does not want to perform as much as he leads us to believe by saying he pretends to be normal. Though this tonedeafness then is sometimes intentional with a will not to betray his true self, I do think that often this is not the case and his tone deafness is out of genuine misunderstanding. Though very often it seems like a state of being, rather than situational awkwardness, like a disregard for reading a room instead of simply making mistakes.

For example, Armstrong letting ishvalans flee willfully through a hole in the wall, then Kimblee coming and killing them, afterward saying to Armstrong: “What a relief, if it had been anyone else you’d have been court martialed for sure”. It seems he did this genuinely to pick up his compatriot’s slack in a will to help. Is he aware that Armstrong did it willingly and it’s a thinly veiled threat not to do it again? Possible, but the other case seems equally possible, but regardless in either case his delivery and actions were still tone deaf. For example, him telling everyone in camp “do you all not like killing? Why are you all even here, you chose this.” In another example, his detached tone in most situations and amused or casual tone in life threatening situations.

He is shown to be rather perceptive on a technical level, though not so much in social situations. Below is him confronting Edward about having a sniper targeting him.

He is extremely nonchalant in serious and grave situations. It is also the inappropriate emotions he shows that are infamous to him, the thrill and glee he gets by fighting. To me these are easily explained by adrenaline and Solf being generally understimulated and leashed by his polite standards in society (though of course these are still issues he has), but to most it seems like senseless hysterical behavior.

Notably it is this tone deafness that makes him an heretic to others, what ostracizes him. He did not do worse than other veterans in Ishval, Roy and Riza were also extremely proficient killers on the field. The reasons Kimblee gives for being on the field and “doing what they gotta do” are reasonable and cool-headed, most of all he has a point in how he gives everyone a wake-up call that they chose this by becoming a soldier and that they’re all complicit. No, Kimblee is an heretic not because of these concrete things, but because he is not miserable on the field. People, both in world and readers/viewers, simply think that his emotions and attitude while killing others are misplaced for the situation. It’s his tone deafness that unsettles others. He doesn’t have the sense to at least act apologetic, unlike Roy who acts like a martyr yet still chooses to do it every day. Sure his ideologies and enjoyment of killing are disturbing and unhinged, but the tone deafness is what sells it, sells him as a villain. It is an emotional, social reaction.

He is also so, so blunt. His whole speech in Ishval to Roy & Riza is enough proof and yet he tops it on the regular. Below is his meeting with Miles:

He’s so hard to destabilize and it’s so funny. I love his three ?s. This lack of emoting is the sort of iconic autistic trait that makes people see us as emotionless inhuman creatures.

Logic and lack thereof

He is incredibly logic oriented and strangely composed most of the time; does not react to things as one would be expected to, as discussed. He loves to talk philosophy, and debates with others often, even stopping a fight to spend some time discussing with Alphonse. He often engages in hypotheticals, like when he logic’ed his way into challenging Riza that she probably held some pride in her work, or when he proposed a deal to Ed having assumed his priorities and motivations; He does not understand others through innate understanding or empathy but through logically working through what he knows of them and of the human psyche to then turn what they do into a predictable formula. (Oof shit, that hits hard and a little too close to home ngl.) Which is perhaps why he is so fond of people who have strong convictions; they are honest and upfront, they do not waver, they are easy to understand and to predict, he can understand someone like that and their internal consistency. If someone thinks Edward Elric is going to kill them, then they do not know Edward Elric.

Has an hard time understanding others’ mentalities, often encountering people who do not follow his logic which confuses him, like his Ishval speech and when Edward didn’t follow his “self-preservation” deal.

His goal for the better part of the story is to be a spectator to the “battle of wills” between homunculi and humans. You could even say that it is to assuage a curiosity. The fact that he gives no emotional stakes to a sense of belonging with humans that should innately make him want to fight for humanity makes sense as well, especially since humanity doesn’t accept him much. Myself, I scoffed when Edward said this. I have hyper-empathy, but to me there should still be a better reason than a blind sense of community to one’s species to pick a side. It might seem like the obvious reason to most, “side with the humans!”, but to me without sound reason it just seems like blind toxic patriotism, or blind faith and adherence to a cult. Kimblee’s reasoning is survival of the fittest applied to evolution, that the superior species will be the one to survive because that’s how nature works. Personally, I say side with the humans because the homunculi have senseless goals that promise destruction upon the world, but y’know, whatever. The important point here is that Kimblee fundamentally works on a logical basis. The “side with humanity!” argument without further reasoning is an emotional one, yet it is one that appeals to most. /neu He does indeed reveal he has some personal stakes in siding with the homunculi, not only because they let him do whatever he wants alchemy wise, not only because he loves fighting for survival, but also because in a double meaning with the opening excerpt of this post, should humans win then he would have to go back to a life of pretense where his “existence” is threatened.

Malice?

Another interesting thing about him is that he doesn’t say the awful things he says out of malice, neither is it the intent behind most of his actions. It’s always a twisted sense of helping, or just doing his job, or doing his victims the ritual show of respect of battling them with the full extent of his will, and remembering them. He has his own way of looking at things, of what constitutes morality that we should concern ourselves with; honesty is more important to him than compassion and hipocrisy peeves him. By killing the ishvalans that Armstrong lets flee, he “rights a fault”. Kimblee not seeing how ill-intentioned many of his actions seem certainly call back to his tone deafness, that or a blatant disregard for conformity.

Strange but strong moral code

As mentioned several times, Kimblee values a strong set of belief in someone, and this even if he personally disagrees with them. I don’t want to repeat myself too much so this section will be short but yes, then it isn’t surprising that his own code is very strong and he is very confident and unashamed of it. I don’t want to spend paragraphs deconstructing his moral code but his actions are consistent to it and he does not betray them, going to the point of bringing Pride down even in death inside of the philosopher stone because he judged Pride’s actions cowardly and hypocritical. Rigid morality is a trait of autism.

By strong, I do want to precise that I do not mean morally irreprehensible or correct, I mean internally coherent and resistant to external challenging. He is set in his beliefs.

Explosions, and stimming

Lastly but perhaps most importantly, the most iconic thing about him: the explosions.

Apparently there’s no post on here calling what Kimblee does stimming and stims headcanons so -cracks knuckles- heavy is the head with the big brain I suppose.

Understimulation is a state in which the body doesn’t get enough stimuli or sensory input to keep one invested in their surroundings and such. It can be the cause of a meltdown. I myself used to struggle a lot with it, it got easier after I got diagnosed and I understood the issue. For example, I am allowed to listen to music, usually glitchcore, while taking academic tests. Back in the time that was not the case, I used to have songs stuck on loop in my head while I did tests, often hummed them, particularly for mathematics.

Why does Kimblee even like explosions? Well, the cues he gives us is that he loves the sounds it makes, of destruction, not only of the screams it causes but the explosion itself. He calls it musical terms like symphony and calls it artful. As he says himself, it shakes his whole body to the core, and he fixates especially on its sound. That is all sensory input, to see it as music and artful is that it is pleasing to his senses as he himself expresses. Look at the way his body quivers in the aftermath and he goes unhinged and emotional. Sensory issues right there, chronically understimulated guy getting a shred of sensory satisfaction 100%. It is release to him. Explosions are a deafening burst of loud and short noise, accompanied with intense light and heat. It is, in short, a bomb of stimuli. Explosions are a very intense sensorial experience. This is what Kimblee likes about them, even delighting in the size and length he can make his explosions achieve, making it always more and more intense. Much like his ideal lifestyle and activities of risking his life and his soul battling, explosions give him thrill and adrenaline unlike anything else. In monkey terms, boom boom scratches the brain itch.

Explosions as a stim/intense and pleasant sensory experience is actually a thing I’ve thought to explore with an oc of mine prior to watching fmaB, but that really is how I immediately interpreted Kimblee’s introductory scene. My (autistic) brother when he was a kid very often had to be driven around in a car before he’d sleep, for example. It’s a fullbody sensation of vibrations and floating, being in a car. The brain even registers the sensation as strange, which is how motion sickness happens. Babies are sensitive to stuff like that, my bro wouldn’t sleep without it because, without it, he was understimulated, not stimulated enough to be able to sleep. Rocking babies is the same kinda thing, plus the comforting aspect. Weighted blankets, too. Everyone self-regulates their sensory input, aka stims, to some degree, bouncing their leg, etc. But sensory dysregulation is a trait of autism, and severe states of understimulation and overstimulation are what makes it a neurodivergent experience.

Screams in the stone being like lullabies to him is another sign of him having understimulation in general. At the very least, he has a strong resistance to overstimulation by, like Pride said, retaining his individuality in the overwhelming storm of souls. ”Ah yes I am amongst an overwhelming sea of screaming souls. I love it here, it energizes me actually”

Honestly I just think it explains parts of his behavior and glee for war if he generally feels understimulated. It explains that lust for battle and destruction. Like yeah bitch you’ll feel great and manic and thrive if you get sensory bliss from the chaos and “symphony” of war, definitely. /gen

Also, he was in prison so like who can possibly blame him for being bored af, but stimming wise I do count playing with the rock in prison. The way he rolls it in his fingers and all. Even regurgitation, that’s bound to be a moderately intense sensory experience. If he repeatedly swallows it and regurgitates the stone then that can def count as stimming. Maybe the reason he didn’t go more insane than he did is because he had the one thing to fidget with lmao. The screaming thrumming perfectly sized & smooth evil explosive rock really is a great stim toy, huh.

I get intense and off my rockers too when I’m understimulated ngl, slap happy even.

He really does seek adrenaline and thrill. I think in the above he was getting somewhat delirious due to blood loss though. He’s definitely prone to manic states. Sure okay grandma whatever you say, let’s get you on the stretcher.

Misc

And as my usual autistic analysis finisher: he sits weird. More seriously, analyzing sitting positions can be interesting because it’s again about understimulation. Legs crossed, arms crossed, it’s weight on your body plus feels snug idk. But personally I need to have my legs crossed at all times when I’m sitting, except in extra comfy chairs. Body language is a whooole thing to analyze with autism, because infamously people misinterpret them; for example crossing your arms is considered to be a defensive or hostile gesture, when a lot of people would just go “wtf it’s just comfy”. Insistant and direct eye contact is seen as a will to dominate, meanwhile for a lot of people they’re literally just staring thinking nothing of it. Etc. However like discussed at the beginning of this, it can be theorized that he tailors his body language to his environment, like compared to when he was on the Ishval warzone.

Conclusion

Cool motive still murder bro. Def a lot of fun neurodivergence going on in his character though. I am obsessed with this type of autistic character, who as a survival mechanism becomes hyperaware and very logically and psychologically attuned to social norms and how people work to try to fit in and survive in the group. I am OBSESSED with autistic characters who know the game so well and try so hard yet still feel uncanny to others. Humanity is, after all, a social species. And one who does not take kindly to heresy. Definition of heresy: opinion profoundly at odds with what is generally accepted. Heretic does not intrinsically means harmful, however. Labeling something as heretic is often an emotional reaction, like say how racism or homophobia is initially from a xenophobic gut instinct, and it is an emotional reaction that makes us dislike Kimblee.

Not to say that’s the ONLY reason, of course. Kimblee is justifieably generally disliked. But as someone who values cause and effect, it is ironic to me that Kimblee is considered a worse veteran than others because he refuses to act guilty over it and does “his job” with a smile on his face, worse than Roy who boiled people alive. I find it ironic that straight out of the gate we have a sinister opinion of Kimblee because of the framing when he was in prison, of what it meant that he was in there and why he wasn’t miserable 24/7 in his cell, instead smiling and humming, and it’s all ironic because the reason he was in prison is… He killed his superior officers, who are active agents in malicious corruption and are 100x more times gleeful about the Ishval war than him. Framing is an emotional thing, and if there’s one thing Henry Creel taught me is that it’s quick to rob a character of humanity. If humanity performatively want people to be miserable, then is it so surprising for Kimblee to want to reject it? Take my hot takes or not, I’m not interested in debating philosophy unlike Kimblee, I just wanted to showcase his autistic traits and it got a little thought provoking by nature lol. Thanks for reading! :) Is this last emoticon tone deaf and/or uncanny? I can’t tell… Ah well!

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