#bertolt

𝜗ৎ intimacy after pregnancy news unsettles him at first. he hesitates, afraid of hurting you, afraid of hurting the child. the first time you tug him down and insist, he’s stiff, almost apologetic. “i shouldn’t,” he mutters, but you cup his face, remind him it’s safe, remind him you need him. when he finally gives in, it’s almost overwhelming, he holds you so tightly that you can barely move, whispering, “i love you, i love you,” against your throat as he moves inside you. afterward, he collapses into tears, ashamed for doubting, overwhelmed by relief.

𝜗ৎ his aftercare doubles when you’re pregnant. he kneels at your feet to rub them gently with oil, untying your slippers himself, careful with every stroke. he brushes your hair back when you’re too tired to move. he rarely lets you leave the bed without coaxing at least two glasses of water into you. he mumbles questions against your skin, “did i hurt you? did i go too far? did you really like that?” until you silence him with kisses. his need for reassurance borders on endearing. he insists on carrying anything heavier than a loaf of bread, even carrying you over puddles if the ground looks too slick. he loves to carry you, up the stairs, across the yard, into the bath, just to feel your weight, the curve of your pregnant body against his chest. he grumbles playfully, “you’re getting heavier every week,” but the hand cupping your ass betrays his delight. you tease him relentlessly, making him laugh even as he mutters, “stop moving, or i’ll drop you.”

𝜗ৎ he cried the first time he felt the baby kick. you had guided his hand over your belly late one evening, and when the little flutter pushed against his palm, his jaw trembled, then tears streaked down his cheeks before he could stop them. “it’s real,” he whispered, stunned. you teased him gently, told him not to cry so much or the baby would come out weepy too, and he laughed through it, kissing your stomach again and again until you had to shove him off to breathe.

𝜗ৎ reiner’s skin is fever-warm even at rest, so you’re constantly pushing him away at first only to drag him back again when you realize you can’t sleep without the weight of him. during sex, that heat doubles. sweat rolls down his temples, dampening his hair, soaking your collarbones where his mouth lingers. he apologizes for it, muttering, “i’m all over you,” and you answer, “that’s exactly where i want you.” that’s enough to undo him completely, his thrusts faltering as he hides his face against your neck.

𝜗ৎ the house you live in is cottage-like, on the edge of town with a yard that grows wildflowers each spring. his neighbors adore him, he’s the one who helps with heavy lifting, who repairs fences, who offers a hand when the older men can’t reach their roofs anymore. they smile when they see him walking you arm-in-arm, murmuring about what a devoted husband he is. it embarrasses him, but you always squeeze his hand tighter.

𝜗ৎ reiner is weak for praise. he craves it more than he admits. call him good, tell him he feels incredible, beg for more, and he crumbles. he’ll rut into you with a desperation that borders on frantic, voice cracking as he groans your name. afterward, when you tease him for being so easily undone, he flushes deeply and buries his face against your chest, muttering, “don’t say it like that,” even though you can feel his smile.

𝜗ৎ reiner gets off on location risks. he’d never outright propose it, but he can’t hide how much it turns him on when you initiate in places where you might get caught. once, in the kitchen with the curtains open, another time against the wall in the narrow hallway where your neighbors were just on the other side. he muttered, “you’re going to get us in trouble,” even as he pulled your leg higher around his hip.

𝜗ৎ both of them are possessive in their own ways. reiner needs to cover you, to fill you, to hold your wrists to the mattress and remind himself you’re his.

𝜗ৎ he has a fixation with your stomach once you’re pregnant. he kisses it constantly, palms spread wide, moving slow as though you might break. when you guide his hands lower, he hesitates, flushed with guilt at the idea of lusting after you while you carry his child, but your insistence always unravels him. his size difference with you becomes more pronounced then. your body under his hands feels so delicate that he can’t stop murmuring things like, “you’re so small in my arms,” while you roll your eyes and pull him down anyway.

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𝜗ৎ BERTHOLDT HOOVER on the other hand, is steadier from the start. he doesn’t cry as easily during intimacy, but that doesn’t mean he feels less; it just simmers deeper inside him. his height makes every position a negotiation, and he always adjusts himself around you, folding his frame down, curving his spine, so he can kiss you without breaking rhythm. his go-to is also missionary, but slower, deliberate, hips grinding into you with patience until you’re writhing beneath him. he keeps his hands wide on your hips or thighs, grounding you.

𝜗ৎ bertholdt’s size difference shows in every intimate detail. his hands span your hips completely, his fingers pressing into the dip of your waist like they were made for it. when you sit on his lap, his thighs are so broad they spread yours open easily, your knees dangling in the air as he cups your ass and keeps you steady. you tease him about being a “giant made for this” and he blushes, ducking his head, but the way his cock twitches against you gives him away instantly.

𝜗ৎ bertholdt lovessss leaving marks: your neck, your chest, the curve of your thighs mottled with the evidence of his mouth. you wake up with bruises shaped like his fingertips, and when you confront him about it, he only smiles faintly and says, “they’ll fade.”

𝜗ৎ the house that you live in which was one of the few that was fortunately untouched by the wrath of the rumbling, bertholdt’s family home, is a large, sturdy brick home with tall windows. it feels timeless. his mother’s engagement ring is on your hand before the pregnancy. it has a sizable old-cut diamond set in a gold band, with an heirloom weight. he added a second ring just for you, a finer, newer one, so that together they glitter heavily on your finger. he stares at it constantly, especially when he holds your hand in public.

𝜗ৎ doctor’s visits amuse him more than scare him. he’s fascinated by the process, asking measured questions in his calm voice, always listening closely. when the doctor checks your vitals, he takes notes. when the baby’s heartbeat echoes in the room, he looks at you like he’s falling in love again, saying quietly, “that’s ours.” he walks you home afterward, stopping to buy flowers for the table.

𝜗ৎ bertholdt adjusts to fatherhood with a quiet intensity. pregnancy only makes him hungrier for you. he touches your belly constantly, kisses the curve, presses his ear there in hopes of catching movement. when he feels the baby kick for the first time, his eyes go wide, then wet. he doesn’t speak right away, just rests his forehead against you, inhaling shakily. outside the bedroom, he’s endlessly attentive. he rubs your back when you complain of aches, carries you upstairs when your ankles swell, and fetches pastries late at night because you can’t sleep without them. when you protest, he shakes his head, smiling faintly. “it makes me happy to see you happy,” he says, and he means it.

𝜗ৎ bertholdt is an eater, plain and simple. he never lets you leave the house without breakfast, never ends a date without dessert, never stops himself from feeding you bites off his plate. during pregnancy, he dotes shamelessly, finding whatever you crave, walking to town late at night for fruit, milk, or pastries. “i’ll get it,” he insists, sliding on his coat. “don’t move. i’ll be back in ten.” he loves nothing more than watching you eat happily, as if nourishing you nourishes him.

𝜗ৎ he is less shy about oral than reiner. he takes his time with it, long licks, deliberate pressure, his fingers spreading you open while he watches every twitch, every gasp. you tease him for how serious he looks, like he’s studying for an exam, and he flushes but doesn’t stop. when you tug his hair and tell him to look at you, he obeys instantly, eyes wide, mouth wet, the obedience itself enough to make you shiver.

𝜗ৎ bertholdt’s playful side comes out more in bed than anywhere else. you’ll call him handsome when he’s inside you, and he’ll smirk faintly, saying, “you only say that when you want me to go harder.” he’s right, of course, and he always indulges you, pace quickening until you’re clawing at his back. he likes when you ride him too, though the sight of you above him almost overwhelms him. his hands grip your waist, guiding you down, his voice breaking into low groans as he mutters, “you’re going to ruin me.”

𝜗ৎ bertholdt surprises you with stamina. he doesn’t waste motion, but he can keep going for what feels like hours. he’s deliberate, working you open, pulling you to climax again and again until you’re begging him to stop because your legs can’t take any more. “you always say that,” he murmurs, still steady inside you, “but you don’t mean it.” he’s right, of course.

𝜗ৎ bertholdt is needier than most would expect. his height and composure give him the appearance of control, but behind closed doors he’s often the one tugging you toward the bedroom, burying his face in your neck, murmuring, “i need you.” after long trips to paradis as ambassador, he returns ravenous, pressing you against the door before you’ve even hung up your coat.

𝜗ৎ after, he isn’t as fussy as reiner, but he’s deeply affectionate. he pulls you onto his chest, strokes your back lazily, presses kisses into your hairline until you drift off. he doesn’t always speak much, but sometimes, when you’re half-asleep, he lets out little admissions, “i can’t believe i get to have this,” or “i don’t know how you love me so much.” you always answer, even drowsily, and the relief in his chest is so obvious that it makes you hold him tighter.

Now, imagine a matrix diagram where the X-axis goes from "Gemeinschaft" (Community) to "Gesellschaft" (Society), two terms taken from german sociologist, Ferdinand Tönnies, and the Y-axis goes from "Deontic" to "Epistemic" in a mix between a Gretchen McCulloch's linguistic sense and a Józef Maria Bocheński's philosophical sense. If everything I just said made no sense, don't worry. Here's a (very) rough explanation of what I'll mean with these two dichotomies through this post: X-axis: A classification of societal ties. "Gemeinschaft" refers to personal, direct interactions with emotional relationships (such as families or small towns like Rayashki) formed by people who strive to archive the goals of a collective. "Gesellschaft", on the other hand, is about indirect and formal interactions, with more rational relationships (like a company or an institution like Zeno) in which everyone band together to persue personal goals in common. Y-axis: A classification of actions as both modality (McCulloh) and authority (Bochenski). Roughly: "actions based on interpretations and beliefs done by someone with an authority based on their ammount of knowledge and experience" (Epistemic)" vs "actions based on rules and/or desires done by someone with a role or position that gives them the power to enforce them" (Deontic).

Upper-left: Gemeinschaft/Epistemic

Windsong's quest, mostly percieved as a fool's errand, is a classic underdog story. The lone reasercher who, disheartened by the lack of support from all the important academic institutions and societies, finds in the small town of Rayashki a more hospitable enviroment to persue her goals. She creats emotional conections with the community and soon finds more self-fulfilment in helping the townfolk than in other things like taking Zeno's offer or abandoning her studies, which are presented as more beneficial options from a rational point of view.

She confronts the notion of "cruel reality" and rejects "Reality is Cruel" as a principle. This action comes from what she knows (her study of ley lines) and beliefs (the people of Rayashki, the usefullness of her field of research).

Bottom-Left: Gesellschaft/Epistemic

You'll think he should be at the opposite side of Windsong BUT Bertolt, as the classical evil guy in your everyday underdog story, actually rejects the notion of "cruel reality", and accepts "Reality is Cruel" as a principle. His emotional detachment from the people of Rayashki, their values, and even their very same idea of community, comes from his role as a member of Zeno, an institution that exemplfies the impersonal and formal relationships of the Gesellschaft. He doesn't see himself as the evil corporate guy who's there to destroy their dream for a greedy goal, but as the savior who comes to provide the light of rationality to this uncultured rural people who are willing to risk their lives for the sake of primitive traditions and values. He defines himself as a "simple representative of Zeno, bound by their rules and orders, working tirelessly to help people in a world wreaked by The Storm", a description that allows him to minimize his negative perception of the reality of others while justifying operating under the principle of Reality is Cruel.

Bottom-Right: Gesellschaft/Deontic

Evgeni is shown through the story as a leader of Rayashki who deeply cares about his community BUT is willing to destroy it for the sake of a rational goal: protecting the lives of the townfolk.

He embraces the notion of "cruel reality", and accepts "Reality is Cruel" as a principle.

But how is HE in the opposite side of Windsong, instead of Bertolt? In Tönnies dichotomy of Gesellschaft and Gemeinschaft, the relationships that are meant to keep people in communities and societies can also push them out: is all about wether the social ties become too tight or too lose to help us find self-fulfilment in them. Windsong found in a community what she couldn't find in society (validation and encouragment for her study of ley lines), while Evgeni thought he found in a society what he couldn't find in his community (a positive prospective for the people of Rayashki).

Upper-Right: Gemeinschaft/Deontic

While Bertolt is a man of the world, trying to expand the benefits of globalization by placing the needs of bigger groups above those of the little ones, what Vila is persuing isn't just a goal to archive, but a dream to share. She didn't became a part of Rayashki only to build an utopia: everyone living there were already doing that and Vila found meaning in developing strong emotional ties with everyone as they strive together to work hard for Rayashki.

However, unlike Windsong, she accepts the notion of "cruel reality", even if she doesn't agree with "Reality is Cruel" as a principle. This one si a bit tricky to explain.

It all comes down to their experiences while chasing their dreams and how that shaped their understanding of what a dream is.

For Vila, is something that kept her going. A cherished wish that inspired her to leave the rusalki and search for a new home. A goal she could share with the people of Rayashki. A hope to cling unto while she nourishes the sprouts of Rayashki while they are passengers of the ship called "St Pavlov's Foundation" while adrift in the vast sea of the outside world, so they can carry on the spirit of Rayashki. She accepts the "cruel reality" as something that could hinder her dreams, force her to adapt them, but never crush them.

For Windsong, the dream was but a promise turned into a burden. It was not something that comforted her if held tight, but rather something it pained her to let go. Accepting the "cruel reality" meant letting something die, and for someone who was struggling in all fronts, it meant taking a toll way to big for her to handle.

As the last ley line hunter, the dream is but a gamble turned into an investment. The chance of failure is there no matter what. Only thing she can do, is to work hard to reduce it as much as possible. To her, a "cruel reality" is something that crushes dreams. Is not enough to reject the use of this perception as a principle: her own experiences taught her that the perception itself can be a cancer. She might have a tendency to put herself down, to have doubts on what she does and to even be "realistic" in any situation she encounters. But there's ALWAYS a part of her fighting her perception of reality from turning into a negative one even if she lacks the proper arguments or mental state to do it effectively. Vila noticed that from day one, and began to slowly share with her the tools Windsong lacked, helping her become a more confident and capable person, while inadvertibly gaining a trusty partner to rely on.

little.. comic