#(an understatement)

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Hi!

I'm so glad i found your blog, your deep dives are making my brain tingle in the best of ways! It's so difficult to really find all the info your curious about with the many different editions and histories of everything so you are an absolute lifesaver for understanding all these intruiging lore aspects.

I've been very curious about Asmodeus for a while now but am kinda struggling finding out more about him, I know he's very strong and apparently a large snake?? But I was wondering if you at some point feel the motivation to if you could tell me some about him, he seems so interesting to me and I just wanna know more about who and what he is.

Again, you are so awesome and I vow to devour all your writing!

Asmodeus: An Origin

Thank you so much for the kind words - and for your patience as I worked on this one. If there's any question you had about him that feels like it's not wholly answered here, feel free to let me know! There's still a lot that I was not able to include.

As ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.

You would be hard-pressed to find a more succinct introduction to Asmodeus himself than in the following passage, from 3e’s Book of Vile Darkness: 

Asmodeus the Archfiend, the overlord of all the dukes of hell, commands all devilkind and reigns as the undisputed master of the Nine Hells. Even the deities that call that plane home pay Asmodeus a great deal of respect.¹ 

As to his current position, 5e’s Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide features Asmodeus among the list of gods, naming him the “god of indulgence”, and crediting to him the domains of knowledge and trickery. His symbol is “three inverted triangles arranged in a long triangle”, as seen in the image below.² 

While his active circle of worshippers remains small, he is one of the gods habitually turned to by those in need, particularly those who have done something to earn them the displeasure of another god:

After transgressing against a god in some way, a person prays to Asmodeus for something to provide respite during the long wait. Asmodeus is known to grant people what they wish, and thus people pray for all the delights and distractions they desire most from life. Those who transgress in great ways often ask Asmodeus to hide their sins from the gods, and priests say that he will do so, but with a price after death.³

Asmodeus is particularly appealing to those who fear what awaits them after death, or have arrived to find the reality does not match their hopes. For these souls, even the hazards of Baator might be preferable to long centuries of solitary wandering on the Fugue Plane. 

All souls wait on the Fugue Plane for a deity's pleasure, which determines where a soul will spend the rest of eternity. Those who lived their lives most in keeping with a deity's outlook are taken first. Others, who have transgressed in the eyes of their favored god or have not followed any particular ethos, might wait centuries before Kelemvor judges where they go. People who fear such a fate can pray to Asmodeus, his priests say, and in return a devil will grant a waiting soul some comfort.³

The worship of Asmodeus attracts staunch individualists, who desire a future unaligned with the domain of any of the other gods, and are willing to choose self-determination in any form that might approach them.

The faithful of Asmodeus acknowledge that devils offer their worshipers a path that's not for everyone — just as eternally basking in the light of Lathander or endlessly swinging a hammer in the mines of Moradin might not be for everyone. Those who serve Asmodeus in life hope to be summoned out of the moaning masses of the Fugue Plane after death. They yearn for the chance to master their own fates, with all of eternity to achieve their goals.³

Asmodeus achieved his current official status of godhood during the Spellplague, which lasted from 1385 to 1395 DR. After this, for reasons he has unsurprisingly chosen not to reveal, he performed a ritual to alter the metaphysical categorization of all existing tieflings, giving them features that highlighted this connection.

Due to this shift, tieflings are often perceived with wariness by those who believe that Asmodeus is able to exert control over these newly-determined “descendants” of his. While this is an unwarranted suspicion, as tieflings are no more bound to his will than any other individual of another race, the mistrust remains unfortunately pervasive.⁴ 

The true origins of Asmodeus, particularly from 3rd Edition on, are kept rather ambiguous, seemingly quite by design. This is both for Watsonian reasons – that a supreme being of evil such as Asmodeus would not carelessly leave information about his origins (and, potentially, weaknesses) floating around – as well as Doylist: it is a more elegant solution than eternal retcons, and leaves it up to the individual scholar or DM which explanation they ascribe the most veracity to.⁵ 

On the charge of Asmodeus’s true form being a giant serpent, we have Chris Pramas to thank for that bit of lore, stated in 2e’s 1999 Guide to Hell, but rarely mentioned - and not in any definitive manner - from 3e onward.⁶ 3e’s Manual of the Planes, published in 2001, does reference this account, but as a whispered and shadowy theory about the Archdevil Supreme, rather than objective truth.

Brutally repressed rumors suggest that there is more to Asmodeus than he admits. The story goes that the true form of Asmodeus actually resides in the deepest rift of Nessus called the Serpent’s Coil. The shape seen by all the other devils of the Nine Hells in the fortress of Malsheem is actually a highly advanced use of the project image spell or an avatar of some sort. ... From where fell Asmodeus? Was he once a greater deity cast down from Elysium or Celestia, or is he older yet, as the rumor hints? Perhaps he represents some fundamental entity whose mere existence pulls the multiverse into its current configuration. Nobody who tells the story of Asmodeus’s “true” form lives more than 24 hours after repeating it aloud. But dusty scrolls in hard-to-reach libraries (such as Demogorgon’s citadel in the Abyss) yet record this knowledge. Unless it is pure fancy, of course.⁷ 

One can see from the framing of the above excerpt that there is no attempt made at certainty. Perhaps it is mere conjecture, or perhaps a secret, hidden truth that few may know. It is impossible to say for certain. 

Another story of Asmodeus’s possible origin is found in 3e’s Fiendish Codex II. This text, again, does not frame the information given as universal truth, but rather takes pains to emphasize its ambiguity. 

The best way to understand devils and their ways is to listen to the stories they tell about themselves. The most famous of these tales have propagated as myths throughout all the worlds of the Material Plane, becoming familiar to mortals of all sorts. But as is often the case with legends, contradictions abound. For example, the tale of the Pact Primeval is the accepted version of the multiverse’s creation. But an alternate story claims Asmodeus as the fallen creator of the universe.  Countless cultures have their own versions of the Pact Primeval legend. The names of the deities featured in it change depending on where it is told, but the names of the devils are always the same. Perhaps this fact is what inspired Philogestes, the accursed philosopher of evil, to pen his famous proverb: “The gods exist in multiplicity, but Asmodeus is unique.” As is the case with any myth worthy of the name, the following tale is true — whether or not it actually happened.⁸ 

In this account, Asmodeus began as a celestial embodiment of law, formed from the concept itself to fight against the embodiment of chaos — demons.⁹ Over time, as he and his followers became more akin to the enemies they were facing, those celestial beings not engaged in the fight grew leery of what they were becoming, and took him to trial, to account for himself. The god of valor spoke first, laying out the concerns of those gathered against Asmodeus. In response: 

Asmodeus smiled, and the smoke of a thousand battlefields rose from his lips. “As Lord of Battle,” he pointed out, “you should know better than any that war is a dirty business. We have blackened ourselves so that you can remain golden. We have upheld the laws, not broken them. Therefore, you may not cast us out.”⁸

Despite their efforts, the gods were able to find no laws that Asmodeus had broken. Unsurprisingly, as he himself had helped write them. This conflict between Asmodeus and his host and the remainder of the unsullied gods continued on, with the gods unable to get rid of him, and free themselves of the constant reminder of the Blood War.

With time, the concepts of “good” and “evil” entered the world alongside law and chaos, and Asmodeus was able to argue for dominion over those souls that chose evil. The gods loathed the reminders of this fact, however, and when Asmodeus volunteered to move to the empty plain of Baator, they enthusiastically agreed. It was only years later, when the number of souls arriving at their own planes after death began to sharply decrease, that they thought to travel to Baator themselves, where they found a robust operation based around encouraging mortal souls to take to the path of evil. 

“You have granted us the power to harvest souls,” replied Asmodeus. “To build our Hell and gird our might for the task set before us, we naturally had to find ways to improve our yield.” The war deity drew forth his longsword of crackling lightning. “It is your job to punish transgressions, not to encourage them!” he cried.  Asmodeus smiled, and a venomous moth flew out from between his sharpened teeth. “Read the fine print,” he replied.⁸ 

While the recorded story implies a simple act of one-upmanship, a later section of the Fiendish Codex tells us that Asmodeus’s split from the other celestial deities was not so amicable. 

Once he had committed himself to residing in Baator, the deities physically cast him out of the upper realms, and he fell — and fell, and fell. Upon reaching the plain of Baator, he plunged through the nascent layers he had begun to shape. (In some versions, his fall created the layers, breaking the formerly featureless plain into nine pieces, which then arranged themselves into floating tiers.) At last he hit solid ground but continued to fall, spiraling through rock and soil. The protesting earth of Baator tore at his flesh, opening scores of gaping wounds. Still he fell, until he could fall no farther. The point where he finally stopped was the deepest part of Baator — the Pit.  The wounds that Asmodeus suffered in his dramatic fall have never healed. Though he manages to appear blithely unperturbed by his injuries, they still weep blood every day, and he has been wracked by constant pain for millennia.¹⁰ 

This casting down and its associated injuries is corroborated in other texts as well, including 3e’s Manual of the Planes. 

5e’s Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes seemingly follows on from the Fiendish Codex’s account, sharing one conception of the fallout of Asmodeus’s stratagem, positioned as an in-universe account penned by the aasimar bard Anodius in a work titled “The Trial of Asmodeus”.

At some point after Asmodeus broke from Celestia to rule Baator, he was brought up on trial for unspecified crimes and trespasses. Asmodeus claimed the right to speak in his own defense, and a court was gathered, arbitrated by Primus, a being intrinsically aligned with Neutrality and Law. From Asmodeus’s recorded arguments in his own defense, we can surmise that those on Celestia had accused him of acting outside of the law in actively working to turn mortals to evil. 

The case stretched on, with neither side ceding ground, for weeks, until finally Primus declared his judgment. While Asmodeus could not be convicted of any true crime – for he had acted within the law in all things – he was to take an artifact, the Ruby Rod that is synonymous with his position, which would “guarantee his adherence to law”.¹¹ A quote from Anodius’s in-universe text is helpfully provided by Mordenkainen: 

“I literally sit beneath eight tiers of scheming, ambitious entities that represent primal law suffused with evil. The path from this realm leads to an infinite pit of chaos and evil. Now, tell me again how you and your ilk are the victims in this eternal struggle.” – Asmodeus addresses the celestial jury, from The Trial of Asmodeus¹¹

In a manner similar to his contested origin, Asmodeus’s appearance is described in several varying ways — a fact that seems in line for a principal schemer such as himself. This seeming discrepancy could also speak to varying uses of aspects or projection spells.

The Fiendish Codex II in one instance paints him as “a horned, red-skinned humanoid with a tall, lithe frame” who “dresses in splendid robes and understated but elegant accoutrements.”¹⁰ A later section in the Codex corresponds to this description given in the Book of Vile Darkness: 

Asmodeus stands just over 13 feet tall, with lustrous dark skin and dark hair. He is handsome in the same way that a thunderstorm is beautiful. His red eyes shine with the power of hell, and his head is crowned with a pair of small, dark red horns. He dresses in finery of red and black; a single garment of his might cost what an entire nation spends in a year. Of course, he is never without his Ruby Rod, an ornate piece of unparalleled jeweled finery and vast magical power.¹ 

Regarding his personality, he is most often described as “a soft-spoken, articulate, chillingly reasonable fellow who is confident in his status as one of the multiverse’s most powerful entities. Even when surprised, he reacts with supreme poise, as if he were already three steps ahead of his adversaries.”¹⁰ The Book of Vile Darkness notes correspondingly that: 

The actions of Asmodeus are often mysterious to outside observers, but that is due to the short-sighted and dim-witted view most beings have. Asmodeus’s manipulations are labyrinthine and insidious. They work on a grand scale, although when it suits his needs he is willing to focus his attention even on the status of a lowly mortal soul.¹

¹ Book of Vile Darkness. 2002. p. 165-6.

² Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 21.

³ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 24.

⁴ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2015. p. 118. 

⁵ “Watsonian vs. Doylist”. Fanlore.org. 

⁶ In general, I try to stay in-universe with these lore writeups, but in this case it did feel like some out-of-universe context was necessary. 

⁷ Manual of the Planes. 2001. p. 123.

⁸ Fiendish Codex II: Tyrants of the Nine Hells. 2006. p. 4-5.

⁹ While the description of these events found within the Fiendish Codex is too long to transcribe here in its entirety, I highly encourage you to read the full account for yourself. 

¹⁰ Fiendish Codex II. 2006. p. 73-4.

¹¹ Mordenkainen’s Tome of Foes. 2018. p. 9-10.

[barbieaemond]

Sister Wives uniting for new crumb >>>>> Avengers’ Assemble

[milfmas]

tyler the creator’s new music: 🥰🌈🫶🏽😘🤗❤️

tyler the creator’s old music: 😡🤬🔪👿🖕💀

[miodiodavinci]

frankly i would be so powerful in terms of UTAU things had the universe not cursed me with Unable To Maintain Focus On Long Repetitive Tasks With No Immediate Payoff™ syndrome

[adieutauridor]

People are really Upset that yoU are here. And by people I mean person.

yEAH, i KNOW,

[rjalker]

Indeed, there was too lightsome a tone of flippancy all through the paper. It was plain I had undergone a considerable change without noticing it

Yeah dude you started saying smote

[chloesimaginationthings]

So that FNAF 2 movie teaser huh,,

[otiksimr]

Poorly drawn Onix line (With a slightly less poorly made Steelix)

[anendtopursuit]

not to gush too much abt neil newbon's performance as astarion (and stephen rooney's writing for him) but like. he's discussed on streams before how conscious the decision to make him feel like he's constantly performing is (regardless of outcome; theatrical spawn astarion & operatic ascended astarion), and how stephen rooney leaned more into the whimsy and fun of the character based on things he saw in his portrayal (hence astarion progressively getting funnier and more charismatic through game development). but the thing that drives me absolutely mad tbh is the moments where all of it drops and he's suddenly so sincere, because it hits you like a truck to the face.

his voice going all soft and quiet and brittle when he describes cazador instructing his spawn to torture themselves. his mannerisms shifting from seductive and playful to a little more nervous. but the one that always gets me is in the graveyard romance scene, talking about what cazador has taken from him, how it was taken by force; "but he did take it," in this voice that's so full of sorrow that it almost sounds hollow, muffled by none of his usual pomp and theatricality, when even in cazador's palace his admissions of upset were sandwiched between attempts to brush it all off. dear god.

[i-ate-the-rats]

hehehehe oh shit indefinite sad dark shadow (⊙ˍ⊙).

[shouyuus]

18+, pitfighter!vi brainrot, bc its girl-dinner time tw: sorta smut, sorta obsessive!vi, codependent relationship, not quite yandere but the vibes r kinda there, but still fluffy bc im me duh

pitfighter!vi who fucks you like she's trying to leave a part of herself inside you, who holds you so hard that the next morning, you wake up to the blue-tinted ghosts of her fingers along your hips and thighs, the dull blossoming bruises littering your neck and shoulders, rings in the shape of her teeth like strange, demented flowers (or perhaps like footprints) the way they trail along your skin, inked there for all to see.

pitfighter!vi who fights like she's trying to break everyone else in the same way she wishes she were broken herself, all fevered, focused rage, and none of the restraint. no patience, only the blunted sting of a punch well-aimed, an elbow to the ribs, a knee to the groin, spit trailing out the edge of her mouth, a grin crooked and bloody hinged between her lips bc she knows when she looks up and scans the crowd, she'll inevitably find you there, watching her with your wide, alluring eyes.

pitfighter!vi who thinks she knows the depths and widths of hunger, has seen and felt it all, growing up in the lanes, and there are so many different kinds, aren't there? the kind that aches dull and deep in the stomach, the kind that claws and roars open in her chest, the kind that tingles like spider-poison all along the length of her spine. still, she's never quite felt a hunger like this -- the kind that threatens to consume her from the inside out the first time she sees you, and at first, it might've been a wholly vindictive thing -- perhaps its because there'd been something in the shadow of your smile that reminds her of -- well, it doesn't matter.

but the first time she kisses you (in the crush of bodies on a crowded dance floor, the music too loud, the bottom of her boots tacky with spilled drinks and blood and whatever else), you'd run your thumb along the line of her jaw so gently, traced the lines of her face with a touch so soft it ran a fissure through her car-alarm heart, and when she'd pulled away, you'd smiled as if she'd given you something other than just the jagged, broken bits of herself.

later, you'd told her that you still appreciated it then. bc it looked like that was all she could afford to give; and she gave it to you anyway.

pitfighter!vi who does not think she will ever get enough of you, and still, the more she gets, the more you give, the deeper the hunger grows. it yawns open inside her, huge and dark and cavernous, carving into her the more that it's fed, and by the gods do you feed it -- the way your head tilts back to allow her access to the smooth expanses of your throat, the darling, moon-lit landscape of your bare chest and shoulders, the way you're so pliant beneath her, your trust pouring from you like drink. and she drinks. and drinks. and drinks.

drinks till she's head-dizzy and heart-full. drinks till her vision blurs but for the sight of you, the shape of you so familiar to her waking moments it does not shock her in the least the first time she wakes up in the morning to the after-images of you in her dreams.

pitfighter!vi who, for the first time in her life thought she had lost all direction, but now -- she feels like at least there's still someone worth protecting, worth fighting for. and she knows, she knows it's not entirely healthy, how much and how hard she falls for you, knows that perhaps it is not the best thing for a woman like her to make someone like you the still-point of her turning universe, you, who manages to shine despite the grime that collects in the city around you. you, who is softness made into an act of defiance, who, one night, curled against her side, told her that there's a certain vindication to smiling in the face of a world who would love nothing more than to rip the joy, bleeding and raw from your throat.

"it's not always easy... actually," you laugh, the sound sweet as spring water as it trickles over her skin, "it's really fucking hard but... why not do it anyway?"

"what, be happy?" her own voice is low and cracked from the fight earlier that night. but you'd kissed a line down her throat and told her that you loved it when she moaned.

"yeah. if the whole world wants us sad and angry... what bigger fuck you is there than to be... happy?"

pitfighter!vi who lets you draw the dark lines down her cheeks, but they're neater than she'd done them herself, who kisses your fingertips when they're stained with the black of her hair-dye, who laughs fully for the first time in... she doesn't even remember how long, when you lean forward and trace a tiny mustache with the leftover ink on your fingers right over her mouth. who sinks into the sound of your laughter like a warm bath, letting it soak into her sore muscles, unspool the tension coiled in her shoulders, the rictus threatening to settle in the set of her knuckles.

she lets you sooth over the harms and hurts that had followed behind her, nipping at her heels like disobedient dogs her whole life, lets you kiss her brows and pull her behind you as you point at the new graffiti art that wasn't there the week before.

pitfighter!vi who has always had a fierce love for zaun because it's her home, but has never stopped to consider just how beautiful of a place it is until she meets you -- and it is beautiful, an angry, pulsing, rebellious beauty, raw and dripping with shimmer-soaked ichor. a beauty carved of disparate limbs and desperate parts, one that is hard-earned and well-fought, the same beauty found in the darkest hours of night, right before the morning dawns, the same beauty she finds reflected back at her when she sees her blurred reflection in a pool of spilt blood on the fighting pit's arena floor.

zaun hums to the tune of debauchery, and for the first time, she's with someone who allows her to be greedy, allows her the breadth and width of wanting so freely. and she thinks it might be spiraling into a full-blown obsession, the way she can't go three seconds without thinking about you, wondering where you are, what you're doing, what you're up to. and you always tell her, tell her about the flowers you saw growing from a crack in the sidewalk, the shaft of sunlight hitting a shard of broken glass in just the right way, how sometimes if you close your eyes and listen, the ticking and clicking noises that run like a baseline thrum through the entire city almost sounds like birdsong.

pitfighter!vi who can't say she's ever fallen properly in love (she thinks that perhaps, once, she got real close), but wonders if this is what it feels like, to feel the void of your physical absence like the itch of a phantom limb, so she does everything she can to keep you close, glares at people if their eyes linger too long on you as the pair of you walk down the street, doubles down on her training regime so that she can fend of anyone who even breathes wrong in your direction.

who can't help pouting every time you pull away to do anything -- to grab another bag of snacks, to ask the bartender for another drink, to listen to something loris is saying -- she has to tamp down the urge to pull you back, to meld you to her side and never let go.

pitfighter!vi who starts to get more strategic with her fights, who saves up money now bc she wants to take you out to dinner, or just buy you nice things once in a while. who spends way too many hexes and cogs on a bouquet of fresh flowers, ones that aren't tainted or bred with the faint, sickly shine of shimmer, and she thinks its all worth it to watch the smile break across your face like dawn over a brand new day -- brilliant, blinding.

she blinks, watching with a fond smile as you fuss over the flowers in your tiny apartment, the space small but cozy, everything neat and in its place. you put the flowers into a tall, slightly chipped glass mug and set them by the window, admiring them from this angle, then that.

"y'like them, angel?"

you nod, grinning as you throw your arms around her, "i love them, vi! i love them so much!"

"good. i'm glad you like 'em. just..." her voice trails off; you cock your head.

"just, what?"

she shrugs, "ah -- just, i always thought it was sad getting flowers cause... they'll wilt someday, right?"

but when she looks back at you, still caught up in her arms, you're still smiling. and there's a fox-fire glint in your eyes that makes something in her stomach twist hot.

"well, there's one kind of flower that won't wilt that i wouldn't mind having here all the time..."

vi blinks, a dry heat creeping up the back of her throat, her heart a wild, fluttering thing caught beneath her cage of ribs.

"yeah?" her voice is hoarse as she swallows around the hope pooling on her tongue like blood. "and what kinda flower is that?"

you lean in, your breath a whisper along her parted lips.

"violets."

pitfighter!vi who moves in three days later, with nothing but some old clothes and her punching bag, which you'd already made room for (somehow) hung up from one of the high rafters in the kitchen, next to the tiny dining table tucked into the corner. who spends the next three days fucking you on every available surface (and some unavailable ones, like against the fridge for instance), telling you that it's only right to christen things now that you're officially living together.

who doesn't bother to wonder if things are moving too fast, and dives in head first because that's the only ways she's ever known to how to do things. who thinks, blithely to herself one night, the warm shape of you curled next to her, sleeping so soundly it almost breaks her heart, that you're probably the first good thing she's ever gotten stuck on -- and she's gotten stuck on a lot of things (fighting, boxing, the guilt, the shame, the anger, the world-ending sorrow of losing it all). its one of the things vander had always warned her about.

"you get into things too hard, kiddo -- gotta learn to pace yourself."

but she doesn't care, because hard's what she was raised on, and it's how she plans on loving you, god, if it's the last thing she does, right or wrong, so be it.

pitfighter!vi who still has her bad nights, still drinks a bit too much sometimes, but at least you're always there to keep her from going too far. and you're the only one who can pull her back, the only one she'll listen to when you tug the drink away from her hands and slide it down the bar towards loris, who'll eye it for a second before downing it and settling up the tab, nodding towards you even as you sling an arm around vi's middle to lead her out of the bar.

who still wakes up screaming some nights, her eyes wide and unseeing, scrabbling at you, tugging you into her if only to bury her face in your shoulder, her whole body wracked with dry-heaving sobs.

"my sister used to think there were monsters under the bed, and make me check down there every night before going to bed," she murmurs, her face inches from yours, her words soft and ever so slightly slurred.

you brush your fingers against her cheek, a comforting, repetative motion -- back and forth, back and forth, till her lashes flutter shut.

"guess she was right... but the monsters never wanna stay under the bed, do they? it's like they always... wanna come out and play..."

you let out a breathy laugh, "or maybe," you offer, your voice low and soothing, "they're just as scared as you are. and they're just looking for someone to scare their own monsters away."

pitfighter!vi who is still not good at slow, but sometimes, when she kisses you, she wishes that had the power to hit pause on time, just so she could stretch out the moment and kiss you forever. she thinks that she'll never be good at patience, but sometimes, when you tell her just gimme a sec! when she's waiting for you to get ready before going out to dinner at jericho's or just for a round of drinks at the bar round the corner, her leaning against the doorway watching as you put the finishing touches of your makeup on yourself in the kitchen mirror -- she thinks she'd give you every last second of the rest of her life if you ever asked her to.

pitfighter!vi who, recently, has really, really started hoping that someday soon, you'll actually ask her to.

taglist: @traiitorjoe @rizzscary @wetcat020 @alex-thegiraffeboyy @nanasemo @saturnhas82moons @unear7hly @drsnowrose @grantaires-waistcoat @isab3lita @ally-all-around @starrysetup22 @lipsent - join the taglist

[kookjinnies]

Seokjin laughing ft. Super Tuna playing at the Louvre

[duckthevillain]

His face after MK sacrificed himself I'm-

How did I not notice

Good lord they want me dead

[sulfurzee]

Prophet of the River

[valtsv]

powerful new silt verses transcript moment just dropped

[charlioak]

silly goose activities