#chaos defined comic

[chaosdefinedcomic]

<<Previous (Beginning) Next>> The plot thickens! Bit by bit. Welcome back! I apologize that I'm not a fast artist. Or a faster artist, rather. One week's not that bad for three pages, honestly.

[designfiend]

TANK GIRL (1988 - Present)

Tank Girl debuted in 1988 in "Deadline" magazine, created by Alan Martin and Jamie Hewlett. Set in a water-scarce, post-apocalyptic world, Tank Girl, aka Rebecca Buck, navigates chaos in her tank. Hewlett's gritty, punk-inspired art defined the series, vividly portraying Tank Girl's rebellious adventures. The comic's success led to collected editions and a 1995 film. Hewlett's vibrant, expressive style remains integral, shaping Tank Girl into a symbol of counterculture and feminist defiance.

[thechurchoftheradiodemon]

I've been mulling over something. I read one of Vivzie's interviews lately and I've come to some conclusions about Alastor's character (these are just my own theories, though, so we'll see how everything actually develops in s2).

Unfortunately, I believe, canonically, Alastor is NOT aromantic. Maybe on the aro-spectrum, and deffinitely asexual, but not aro per se. In this interview, Vivzie confirms Alastor's asexuality, and plays with his aro identity saying something like "I don't want to ruin people's fun with him". This could be queerbaiting in a sense (I don't actually think so, when Vivzie is high on queer representation, but aro people are very left behind in the community, sadly).

But she continues to add on that there are plans for Alastor in the future of the series, saying something like "I can't confirm that he is aromantic". To me, this reads like we will see romance in Alastor's life in season 2, wether it's a past lover/romantic interest or a new one I could not say. She would've had no problem in confirming Alastor as aromantic otherwise, and I interpret this as Vivzie not wanting to spoil part of the plot.

I used to think that Alastor's deal would most surely be with Lilith, but, while it could be the case, I'm not so sure anymore (although it could be a fun dinamic). But, nontheless, I think Lilith's and Alastor's 7 year absence and his deal are intertwinded somehow.

My bet, for the future romance plot, is that it could be one of these three: either Lilith, whom the fandom is already considering in a sense; the mysterious Eve, or... Lucifer. HEAR ME OUT. I don't say this as a Radioapple enjoyer. The reasons I think it could be Lucifer are the same that I think it could be Eve (although we know absolutely nothing about her).

Mainly, I draw these conclusions from the early comic Zoophobia, from where we know Alastor's character was taken. In this comic, his character is supposed to have a crush on the character of KayCee, a powerful being with whom he could have made an alliance to reign chaos.

KayCee's descriptions could match either of the three romantic interests I mentioned, but what strikes me more are her defining traits: white and gold colour palette, and the apple. We know not all of Vivzie's characters stem from Zoophobia, and the ones that do have (understandably so) went through important changes through the years, mediums and aesthetics.

BUT these could be some clues into what we might discover in s2 of Hazbin. And, so long, the character we've seen fit this palette and apple motif is none other than Lucifer himself. Eve, on the other hand, is also shown during the intro sporting some sort of apple motif, which could be indicative of her future appearance in the series. But we know so little about her, and, knowing Hazbin Hotel will only have 2 seasons confirmed, I'm not sure we will see more of her.

I personally don't like the idea of losing Alastor as an aromantic character. I'd much rather not see him in a romantic relationship whatsoever in the canon series. But that is not my call to make, and he will always be our ace-king no matter what. Also, that wouldn't mean his story or character will be less interesting or developed. So we'll have to wait and see...

(This is visual representation of me reaching these conclusions, btw)

I would love to hear what other fans think about this, so if you want to leave and opinion in the comments we can discuss!

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

📣 What to Read After Watching: Nimona 🎞️

🩷 I stumbled upon She-Ra and the Princesses of Power from creator, showrunner, and executive producer ND Stevenson in 2018 and never looked back. It was one of the few projects, let alone animations, I ever watched that so blatantly flipped the script by highlighting inclusivity without needing to say it outright. Queerness was simply a way of human existence; representation mattered but didn't need to be outrightly defined. Again, ND Stevenson has flipped the script, this time by bringing his webcomic from page to screen. The story became an outlet for Stevenson to express his own nonconforming gender identity. The shape-shifting title character, Nimona, is a stunning example of unapologetic transness and gender fluidity, again, without needing to say it outright. If you haven't watched it yet, Nimona is now available on Netflix, with the original comic available online and in stores.

🩷 If you HAVE seen it and adored Nimonia's punk-pop chaos, don't worry; there's plenty more where that came from! Here are a few options you should consider reading after watching Nimona!

🩷 The Girl From the Sea by Molly Knox Ostertag 🩷 Mooncakes by Suzanne Walker 🩷 CosmoKnights by Hannah Templer 🩷 The Night Eaters by Marjorie Liu 🩷 Lumberjanes by Shannon Watters, Grace Ellis, Gus Allen, and ND Stevenson 🩷 Save Yourself! by Bones Leopard 🩷 Kim Reaper by Sarah Graley 🩷 Moonstruck by Grace Ellis and Shae Beagle 🩷 Snapdragon by Kat Leyh

[syuga-s]

you're my home, so take me there

w.c. 7k pairing. time skip!hanamaki takahiro x fem!reader genre. filthy friends to lovers 👅 a/n. NSFW MDNI !!! if you can't tell who's my favorite boy in haikyuu then i don't know what to tell you, smut!, porn with a little plot, THEY LOVE EACH OTHER YOUR HONOR, mentions of wine, implied vacations with the seijoh four, fluff at times, not exactly cheating but you're going out with Kita in this onE AANNDDD, idk it's hot

The sultry evening air enveloped you in a warm, sticky embrace, heavy with the heady fragrance of tropical blooms. The moonlit terrace of the rented villa was the perfect setting for a relaxing night with your longtime friend, Makki. As you sat side by side, you could feel the stress and worries of your daily lives melting away under the gentle caress of the warm breeze.

The soft rustle of palm fronds provided a soothing soundtrack to your quiet conversation, punctuated only by the occasional chirping of crickets and distant laughter from neighboring villas. This was a moment to savor, a peaceful escape from the chaos of the outside world.

As the other guys drifted off to sleep, leaving only the two of you under the tranquil gaze of the moon, Makki's deep voice cut through the stillness. His eyes, bright with the reflected light, held a warmth that mirrored the balmy summer night. 

The gentle rustle of leaves and chirping of crickets provided a soothing soundtrack to his words. “I'm glad we came,” he said, his genuine smile spreading across his lips like a sunrise. "It's been too long since I've had the chance to spend time with you." A cool breeze carried the scent of the sea, adding to the serene atmosphere of the moment.

You smiled and nodded, trying to hide the disappointment of not being able to spend more time with your close friend Makki. 

"So, how are things going between you and Kita?" he asked, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

As soon as he brought up Kita, your heart sank. You knew he couldn't resist prying into your love life, and you didn't know how much longer you could dodge the question without revealing the truth.

Your mind raced as you tried to come up with a response that wouldn't give away the complicated and confusing feelings you had for Kita. "Oh, um…" you began with a sigh, knowing that there was not an answer you could give without betraying your true emotions.

Makki, ever the persistent one, playfully nudged you with a gentle touch. His eyes sparkled with curiosity as he urged you to open up. "Come on, spill the details," he teased, his voice laced with genuine interest.

You hesitated, unsure of how to articulate the complex emotions swirling within you. Finally, you managed to utter, "We're... good." But there was a hint of vagueness in your admission.

Makki's smile faltered slightly. "Just good?" he prodded, sensing that there was more to the story.

You took a deep breath and tried to put your feelings into words. "Well, yeah," you began, the words tumbling out in a rush. "It's just that we've not had any real conversations about where things are headed."

Makki raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. "So you haven't told him how you feel yet?" he surmised, his voice tinged with understanding.

A sense of vulnerability washed over you as you nodded.

"More like he hasn't told me what we are yet," you confessed, feeling exposed in front of Makki. "And I don't want to be the one to bring it up."

Makki's eyes flickered with a mix of sympathy and amusement as he regarded you, understanding the complexities of your situation. His gentle tone encouraged you to search deeper into your thoughts.

As Makki's suggestion of you being the one to bring up that conversation, hung in the air, you scoffed at the idea that Kita might be waiting for you to take the lead in defining your relationship. The notion seemed absurd and almost comical in the mid all of your uncertainty. However, beneath your dismissive facade, a seed of doubt took root, whispering about missed opportunities and the lot of possibilities.

"Maybe because I don't know if he truly likes me or if he just finds me physically attractive," you mumbled, the thought suddenly occurring to you. "He never shows any genuine interest in me beyond my body."

A scowl tugged at your lips as you pushed away memories of your most intimate moments together. "He could easily be with anyone else for all he cares," you added, the sting of your own rejection sharpening your words.

The silence between you and Makki was so heavy that it felt like he had fallen asleep. But then, in a sudden burst of candor, he spoke up.

"That sounds familiar," he admitted. Your brow furrowed in confusion. "Remember when I was dating that girl from Hawaii? What was her name again?" A chuckle escaped your lips as a vivid memory flooded your mind.

"Marie," you replied with a grin. "The one who adored everything French and pretended she could speak it." He joined in on your laughter.

"Yeah, Marie. She used to say things like, 'Oh Hiro I love your accent,' or, 'Can I have some of that chocolat cake please?'" He mimicked her exaggerated intonation, causing you to laugh even harder at the ridiculousness of it all.

As the moon peeked out from behind a cloud, its soft light illuminated his face and playful demeanor on the terrace. He shrugged off his shirt and the warm night air caressed his bare skin as he settled back into his shorts. You couldn't help but protest, your eyes flickering away from the alluring sight before you. 

With a smirk, he flexed his biceps and teased you while enjoying the playful banter. "Put a shirt on, Makki," you pleaded, trying to resist his teasing.

"What's wrong? Can't handle the view?" he quipped, the moonlight sparkled in his mischievous eyes. "Don't worry, I'll keep it PG-13," he reassured with a wave of his hand.

"Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing for you to relax next to him.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes in mock exasperation as his words washed over you, laced with subtle suggestions. His smooth voice and charming smile were like a siren's call, drawing you in despite your best efforts to resist.

"I'm just saying," he persisted, undeterred by your dismissive response. "If you're not interested, I'm sure there are plenty of others who would be."

Your cheeks flushed at the implication and you turned away, trying to regain your composure. But the memory of his touch lingered on your skin, making it hard to resist his advances.

As he urged you to stay with him, his words mingled with the gentle breeze that wrapped around both of you. The weight of his persuasion hung in the air, tempting you to give in to the desire that simmered just beneath the surface.

But as you stood on the brink of surrender, doubt wormed its way into your mind, casting shadows over your resolve. You hesitated, torn between the excitement of his closeness and the indecision of your own desires.

"Are you sure about this?" you asked, your voice trembling with doubt.

His reassuring tone mingled with the cool night air as he responded, "Of course. It's completely normal. Besides, you really don't need that shirt right now" 

In a single moment, he lured you into his web of persuasion and you felt yourself surrendering to his will. With a heavy sigh, you stripped away your clothes and sank onto a lounge chair beside him, gazing up at the endless expanse of stars above. 

The cool night air brushed against your bare skin, a reminder of the freedom that awaited beyond the constraints of societal expectations. "Was that so difficult?" he taunted playfully, his laughter mingling with the rustle of palm fronds in the breeze.

"Shut up," you grumbled half-heartedly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. 

His warm gaze enveloped you, a silent acknowledgment of your newfound liberation. Like a phoenix rising from its ashes, basking in the sensation of self-acceptance, shedding the weight of societal norms with each passing moment. 

"But really, why are you so afraid to show your body around me?" he prodded gently, genuine concern coloring his curious tone. 

"I'm not," you denied weakly, though your flushed cheeks gave away your true feelings. In this moment of raw intimacy, a whirl of conflicting emotions swirled within you. Yet amidst the chaos, a sense of calm washed over you like a soothing balm.

As you stood there illuminated by the moon's gentle glow, it dawned on you that the lines between friendship and something more had blurred beyond recognition. And in that brief moment of vulnerability, you found solace in his comforting presence—a reminder that home wasn't just a physical place but also a state of mind; a sense of belonging that surpassed all your limits.

"Are you finally going to gather the courage to tell him?" his voice pierced through the eerie stillness, echoing the burning question that tormented your soul.

"I-I guess I have no choice," you conceded, his words weighing on your heart like a leaden anchor.

"About time. I'm tired of watching you two dance around each other," he remarked, exasperation seeping into his tone.

"Thanks for the support," you deadpanned, shooting him an annoyed glance as a wry smile tugged at your lips.

"Anytime," he chuckled, his laughter bouncing in your ears as he flashed you a cheeky grin.

"But seriously, I'm genuinely happy for you," he added, his expression softening with sincere affection.

As the night went on, the headiness of the wine enveloped you in a warm haze, blurring the edges of your inhibitions. Each sip brought a sense of weightlessness and calm, washing away the burdens of the day like a gentle tide.

"How are you feeling now? More relaxed?" he asked, cutting through the fog of your thoughts with his sharp voice.

"Definitely more than just relaxed," you admitted with a soft smile playing on your lips.

"You know that this isn't going anywhere, right?" he declared with a mischievous glint in his eye as he swiftly removed your shirt, leaving it abandoned among the scattered remnants of your inhibitions.

"We can put that away later in your room," he suggested, tossing the garment aside without a care. "Perfect," he remarked with satisfaction, his hand resting on your thigh in a silent display of intimacy.

His words hung in the air like a guillotine, slicing through the thin veneer of your composure. The intensity of his gaze bore into you like hot coals, searing your soul with its relentless probing. A gnawing unease gripped at your resolve, threatening to unravel the carefully constructed walls around your heart.

"I won't talk to Shinsuke, I don't think I—" you circled back to the prior subject.

"Why not?" he persisted, his voice gentle yet insistent as he pushed for answers that you were not ready to give. You felt exposed, vulnerable under his unwavering scrutiny.

"I can't," you whispered, a tremor of fear laced with regret trembling in your voice.

His arm found its way to your shoulder, offering silent comfort and support during your turmoil. But even that was not enough to quell the rising tide of uncertainty within you.

Hours passed in a blur of laughter and confessions, but the weight of his unspoken question still lingered between you. As the night wore on and the wine bottle emptied, you found yourself shedding inhibitions and basking in the warmth of his presence.

But when it was time to part ways, the promise of tomorrow weighed heavy on your mind.

Alone in the silence of your room, the moonlight casting eerie shadows on the walls, you shed all pretenses and allowed yourself to be consumed by thoughts of Makki.

A soft knock at the door shattered the stillness, sending a jolt of anticipation through your veins. "Who is it?" you called out, barely able to contain the excitement in your voice.

The voice that responded was deep and resonant, but it carried a hint of familiarity that sent a thrill through your body. It was Makki, using the nickname only he knew you by. You stood with bated breath, waiting for him to enter and shatter or fulfill all your hopes and fears. The anticipation hung heavy in the air as if time itself had slowed down in this moment of possibility. 

Every sound seemed amplified - the creak of the door opening, the rustle of fabric as he stepped inside, the thud of his weight on the floor. Your heart beat faster, unsure of what was about to happen, but unable to resist the pull towards him.

You clutched the soft, silky bedsheet to your chest, a rush of anticipation mingling with a hint of apprehension as you awaited his arrival. The room seemed to shrink in size, the walls closing in around you as the seconds stretched into eternity. Every creak and rustle of fabric seemed amplified, making your heart race even faster.

“Excuse me? Are you sleeping here too?” Your voice broke through the silence, pulling yourself from the depths of your own thoughts. You turned to see him standing beside the bed, tall and confident, his presence filling the room.

“Me? Of course, didn’t you know?” he replied casually, his words laced with an air of nonchalance that belied the tension crackling beside you.

"Know what?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of confusion.

"That I'm staying here," he clarified, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Here, as in my room?" you repeated a note of disbelief creeping into your voice.

"Yes, why not?" he shrugged, as if the idea of sharing your space was the most natural thing in the world. Your mind reeled at the thought of him sleeping in your bed.

"Well, I thought maybe you would want your own bed," you mumbled, feeling suddenly awkward.

"What's wrong with sharing a bed?" he countered, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion. You bit your lip nervously, unsure how to respond.

"Nothing! Nothing is wrong with sharing a bed!" you hastily assured him, wishing you could erase the words the second they left your mouth. "But..."

“I was not aware of this. Should I go to the sofa?” you offered tentatively, trying to hide your inner turmoil. The prospect of his presence so close to yours sent a jolt of nervous energy coursing through your veins.

“The sofa? No! Don’t worry, stay with me. It’s just me, Makki,” he reassured his words a soothing balm easing your worries.

“I sleep on this side, you sleep there on that side and we’ll have no problems,” he continued, his voice tinged with an underlying confidence that left no room for argument. You nodded, your mind still racing with conflicting thoughts.

“Sure…” you trailed off, trying to push away the nagging doubts in your mind.

It’s just that… what if things get awkward? What if I can’t sleep? What if… 

“Are you gonna sleep naked too?” you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized how forward and vulnerable your question sounded. But Makki simply chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Huh?" he responded to your question, his eyebrow quirking up in curiosity.

"Naked. Are you going to sleep naked?" you repeated, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the boldness of your inquiry.

"Well yeah, how else am I supposed to sleep?" he replied nonchalantly, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You couldn't believe how casual he was being about this conversation. "Right, why did I even ask..." you muttered, scolding yourself for your lack of composure.

"Well, how else does one sleep? I'm not like you, I mean those," he gestured towards your bralette with a smirk, "must be uncomfortable and bad for your chest."

"Actually, they provide more support and can help prevent sagging," you countered, trying to justify your choice of undergarments.

"You have nice tits," he stated matter-of-factly as if it were a simple fact of life.

You felt a rush of heat flood your face at his comment. "Thanks?" you replied awkwardly.

"So... shall I take them off for you?" he asked mischievously, his eyes sparkling with playful intent.

"Yes. I mean... No! No. I'll do it myself," you stammered, flustered by his forwardness.

"Okay then," he said with a chuckle, leaning back against the pillows and watching as you quickly removed your bra and tossed it onto the nightstand.

"There, happy now?" you asked with a hint of defensiveness in your tone, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"Very. And now you're officially a 'bad girl'," he whispered back huskily, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine.

"I don't think so..." you mumbled under your breath, unsure of how to respond.

"Oh, but you are," he insisted with a smirk, his hand beginning to trail down your collarbones towards your chest.

"What do you mean?" you demanded, feeling a mix of indignation and excitement at his touch.

"You didn't tell me to stop, did you? In fact, you told me to continue and even took off your own clothes," he reminded you with a raised eyebrow and a playful grin.

"But... " you started to say, the heat of shame flooding your face once more.

"Don't tell me you want to put that back on?" he teased, leaning in closer until his warm breath tickled your ear.

"Not exactly. I mean..." you trailed off, unable to form a coherent response.

He chuckled at your flustered state but continued to trace gentle patterns on your skin with his fingertips, sending shivers of pleasure through you.

"What the hell are you doing?" you laughed nervously, turning slightly so that you could see him better.

"Nothing," he replied innocently, his eyes twinkling mischievousy. "But I was wondering..."

"Wondering what?" you challenged, trying to catch your breath as his hand moved lower towards your waist.

"Well, nothing really," he answered nonchalantly, his grin growing wider. "Just curious about something."

"About what?" you asked impatiently, feeling his fingers dance dangerously close to your most intimate area.

"Oh come on, you know what I'm talking about," he said teasingly, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Oh God, are you really going to do this now? Of all times?" you exclaimed with wide eyes and a nervous laugh.

"Hey, a man has to find some fun somehow," he shot back with a shrug before playfully tickling your sides and making you squirm beneath him.

"Stop!" you gasped between giggles, trying to push his hands away.

"You're very touchy, aren't you?" you remarked. He was clearly enjoying your reactions.

"We're just having fun, aren't we?" he added, his fingers now tracing featherlight patterns on your bare skin.

"Naked and touchy," you retorted with a playful pout, feeling the heat between your bodies growing more intense.

With one swift movement of his legs, he pulled the bedsheet down past your waist, leaving you fully exposed once again.

"I thought you said you weren't going to look," you pouted, feeling both embarrassed and aroused.

"Did I say that? No, I don't believe I did," he replied with a teasing glint in his eye.

"Well then," you challenged, feeling empowered by his gaze. "If you're going to look, I get to do whatever I want."

"Have fun with me then," he invited playfully, his hand moving higher towards your chest as he continued to explore every inch of your body with his eyes.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" you asked suddenly, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of being intimate with someone who was already in a relationship.

He shrugged nonchalantly.

"No, not really," he admitted with a sheepish grin. But as he spoke, his eyes darkened with an intense desire that sent shivers down your spine.

"But, I'm not opposed to the idea," he added, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as his hand trailed up your bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

"Interesting," you mused, trying to keep your composure and hide the effect his touch was having on you. But his gaze lingered on your exposed skin, making it hard for you to focus.

"So, are you going to show me the goods or not?" His voice was low and seductive, causing a fire to ignite within you.

"Show you 'the goods'? Are you twelve?" You couldn't resist teasing back, your own lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“Don’t you have someone waiting for you back home?” you asked boldly now, turning to face him and resting on your arm. You could see the hunger burning in his eyes and it only fueled your desire.

"Why would you think that?" His large smile mirrored yours, but there was an intensity behind it that betrayed his playful facade.

“Your face tells me you have a few chicks here and there.” Your words were like a challenge, daring him to be honest with you.

“My face? My face tells you all that?” he questioned, tilting his head in confusion. "Come on now, we've always been good friends. You can tell me the truth," you urged, his hands still wandering over your body without reservation.

"Oh well, you could say that." His own admission only seemed to excite you more.

“With all your open-mindedness and talk of threesomes all the way through college, I would've sworn you always had someone waiting for you back home.” The words slipped out before you could stop yourself. But instead of getting defensive, he only chuckled and drew closer to you.

“Threesomes? I do like them… but never in my life. And it’s been a while since I had a girlfriend actually.” His words were like a confession, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

He pinched your waist once again, his touch sending sparks through your body. “Are you always thinking about me when you contemplate the idea of threesomes?,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear.

"What do you mean? It's normal for us to talk about that stuff, right?" You tried to play it cool, but inside your heart was racing with excitement and anticipation.

"Don't change the subject Makki, you're telling me there's no one at home... I call bullshit." You called out his bluff, your voice low and seductive as he continued to explore your body with his hands and lips.

“You know that’s not me. But I'd do whatever to make you laugh.” He confessed.

You tried to maintain your playful facade, but the intensity between the two of you was becoming too much to ignore.

“So, you’re not a player?” You asked, turning away from him now in an attempt to regain control of your emotions.

“Nope, not a player. Never have been.” His words were followed by the feeling of him pressing up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You turned again to face him, unable to resist the pull towards him any longer. And all he could do was get closer to you, his lips crashing onto yours in an intense kiss that left you breathless. “Yeah, right,” you managed to say between kisses. "Thank god you didn’t lie to my face."

"Don't you dare call me a liar," he growled, his hands exploring every inch of your body in a way that made it hard for you to think straight. "Not today, especially after such a nice little moment together." 

His words were filled with both desire and warning, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as his touch sent waves of pleasure through your body.

"Don't tempt me," you whispered, your own hands running through his hair as you gave in completely to the intensity between the two of you.

His words were a low growl against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as you felt his hot breath near your neck. You could practically feel the intensity of his gaze as he spoke, warning you not to provoke him any further. But even as his grip tightened and he whispered soothingly in your ear, his fingertips still trailed dangerously along the curves of your body.

"Please," you pleaded, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

His grasp tightened even more, causing a sharp pain to shoot through your waist. "Why would you call me a liar?" he demanded, his dark eyes piercing into yours.

Your back arched instinctively as he pressed closer, his whole body hovering over you like a predator ready to pounce. "It's so obvious, Makki," you retorted, fighting back the urge to give in to his teasing game.

"Oh really? Then tell me how," he challenged, a sly smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

"It's written all over your face," you shot back with an eye roll.

"If I was lying, I wouldn't hesitate to take what I want from you," he breathed against your skin, making your heart race.

"W-What are you talking about?" you stammered, feeling a heat creeping up your cheeks.

"You know exactly what I mean," he whispered huskily, drawing a shuddering gasp from your lips as his mouth grazed along the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Are you complaining?" he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"N-No," you admitted, struggling to keep yourself composed under his intense gaze.

"Good," he murmured before continuing. "Now, where were we?"

"I think you were telling me about all the girls you've had," you prompted, a teasing edge to your voice.

"Ah, yes," he chuckled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along the dip of your waist.

"Well, there was this one girl, I met her like 14 years ago, she was gorgeous since then," he began, his tone wistful.

"She had these amazing curves," he continued, his hands skimming along the swell of your hips.

"And her ass," he groaned, his grip tightening. "Fuck, her ass," he repeated, this time with a hint of awe in his voice.

You asked. "What happened with her?"

"She told me she was falling in love with me and me being the ass I am, didn't know what to do and I never said anything back."

"She still acts as if nothing happened after she told me that but I've never stopped thinking about her and how we could be together right now if hadn't been so stupid back then."

"I don't want to sound arrogant, but I've never met another woman who compared to her. I know she has a boyfriend and everything, but for some reason, I keep on dreaming about her."

When he revealed that she had confessed her love to him and he had foolishly let her slip away, you couldn't help but wonder if he was talking about you.

"You never stopped thinking about her?" you asked softly, unable to hide the hope in your voice.

"Never," he replied, his fingers trailing along your body with such tenderness that it made your heart ache.

"I can't help but dream about what my life could be with her," he admitted, his voice laced with regret.

You couldn't stop yourself from leaning into him, wanting to soothe the pain in his words. "I don't think you're being arrogant at all," you whispered, feeling a sense of warmth and familiarity between the two of you.

He pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all he saw was sincerity and understanding shining back at him.

"Thank you," he said with a genuine smile before leaning in to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

As his arms wrapped around you and pulled you closer, you knew that this intense moment was just the beginning of something even more powerful between the two of you.

He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your body and his lips hovering near your ear. 

Inhaling deeply, you felt your breath become ragged as his pant sent shivers down your spine. "Maybe you should have told her all that way sooner," you murmured.

Confused, he turned to look at you. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, maybe she still thinks about you too, and wants you to tell her," you explained to him, trying to ease the worry in his eyes. 

"But, she has a boyfriend," he said as if you needed a reminder.

"He's not a ‘boyfriend’, Makki," you told him earnestly. 

"But haven't you two been together for a while?" 

"Kinda," you admitted, unsure of where this conversation was heading. "What does that have to do with anything?" 

"It has everything to do with it," he replied cryptically. 

"Remember when we were sitting on the terrace together?”—"the night you told me you were falling in love with me?" he recalled slowly. 

"Of course I do," you confirmed, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"You took my hand without saying anything," you continued, remembering the sweet yet nerve-wracking moment. "And held it," he added quietly. "Then I took a deep breath and pulled away." 

"Did you still think I was just playing around back then?" 

"No, not really," you answered softly. "I always saw something different in you compared to other guys."

He chuckled teasingly. "Like how I was always carrying your things or getting in trouble just to make you laugh?” 

"Yeah, stuff like that," you replied with a fond smile.

"See? So if I grabbed you like this and was really the player you claim I am now, I would actually do it," he joked playfully. You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, rolling your eyes at his exaggerated approach.

You suddenly felt a gentle touch on your leg and looked down to see his hand gently caressing the skin of your thigh. Meeting his gaze, you saw the mischievous glint in his eyes as he watched the movement of his own hand. You were surprised by his boldness, but then again, it was just like him to playfully tease and flirt with you. 

Your hands explored each other's bodies beneath the sheets, tracing over familiar contours and discovering new territories. The playful teasing of earlier gave way to a desperate hunger, the years of unspoken desire finally reaching their boiling point.

Nothing had to be discarded as you were already stripped down to your bare skin. The cool air kissed your heated flesh, intensifying every touch. The air in the room felt charged, heavy with a tension that crackled between you and him. Your eyes locked on his, willing him to take this seriously.

He was not a player. He was a tease. And he was a man who clearly wanted you. His eyes roamed over your body, his desire evident in the way he licked his lips and ran a hand through his tousled hair.

"May I continue?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

Your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, unable to resist the pull of his charisma.

"Good," he murmured, leaning closer until his lips were brushing against your ear. 

"Just relax," he whispered, his touch trailing along your hip before moving up to caress your cheek. "I've always enjoyed our late-night conversations," he said softly. "There's something about the stillness of the night that makes it easier to open up."

A soft blush rose on your cheeks as you met his gaze. "Yeah," you said quietly. "It's like we can be completely ourselves with no one else around."

He smiled warmly, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along your jawline. "And who are you when no one else is watching?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity and longing.

In that moment, you felt yourself opening up to him. His touch awakened something inside of you, making you feel more alive than ever before. As if he had opened a door to a new world where there were no boundaries and nothing was forbidden.

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of boldness coursing through your veins. "I'm the kind of person who would rather show you than tell you," you confessed, a shy smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

"Then show me," he urged desire burning in his dark eyes.

You bit your lip, feeling a rush of nerves and excitement. This wasn't like you, being so forward and bold, but there was something about him that made you want to take risks.

Leaning in, you captured his lips in a passionate kiss that set your senses on fire.

"God, you're so hot," he moaned, his hands eagerly exploring every inch of your skin.

"Shut up," you laughed, the sound breathless and filled with joy.

The kiss was everything you had imagined and more – sweet yet searing hot, gentle yet full of raw passion. His lips moved against yours in a slow dance, each touch igniting a fire within you.

His hands were everywhere, teasing and caressing your body with feather-like touches that left you craving for more.

Your heart raced as your bodies pressed together, your desire for him growing with every passing moment. You needed to feel his hands on your skin, hear his voice whispering sweet nothings in your ear, and lose yourself in the blissful pleasure of being with him.

At this moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you. And you couldn't get enough.

With every touch, your skin ignited in flames, a desperate hunger for each other consuming you both. The years of unspoken desire finally reached their breaking point as you devoured each other beneath the sheets, exploring every inch of each other's bodies with a ferocity that left nothing untouched.

You were bare and vulnerable to the cool air that kissed your heated flesh. His hands roamed over your body, igniting a trail of electric sensations that pulsed through your veins.

"I was talking about you earlier," he confessed between kisses, his gaze intense and filled with longing.

"Me?" You feigned innocence, playing along.

"Yes, you," he confirmed with a soft smile.

"I've always thought you were stunning," he declared, his eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts.

"Even when we were younger," he added with a distant look in his eyes.

"And what are we waiting for?" You teased, a coy smile playing on your lips.

"For you to leave that guy who can't seem to make up his mind about you."

"And are you sure about this? About us?" You relented, a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Yes," he affirmed with determination.

"What's on your mind right now?" You asked him with a playful smile.

"How badly I want to fuck you," he growled, his voice low and husky.

"Is that a promise?"

"Absolutely," he vowed, his gaze burning with fiery intensity.

"Then prove it," you challenged with a wicked grin.

He rolled you onto your back, pressing his body against yours as he deepened the kiss. Your senses were overwhelmed by the intoxicating scent of his skin and the delicious taste of his lips.

His hand traveled lower, teasing and tantalizing every inch of your body until it found its way between your thighs. A gasp escaped your lips as his fingers traced over your slick folds, igniting a fire within you with every stroke.

As his fingers plunged inside you, he groaned against your mouth—a symphony of pleasure and longing that sent vibrations straight to your core. You arched your hips in response, silently begging for more.

And he didn't disappoint, moving his fingers faster and deeper until you were panting and desperate for release. But he didn't stop there. No, he pulled away, leaving you yearning for more.

"Did this just come to your mind because you're drunk and horny?" You taunted.

"No, I was never drunk," he replied with a smirk.

He grinned, his eyes filled with mischief and desire. You matched his gaze, your lips curling into a challenging smirk as you playfully questioned if he was still horny. With a low purr, he confirmed that he definitely was.

Unable to resist any longer, you reached between you and wrapped your hand around his hardened length. He shuddered at the touch, his breath hitching as you stroked him slowly from base to tip.

Moaning, he tore himself away from your kiss to trail hot open-mouthed kisses down your neck and collarbone. His lips worshipped every inch of bare skin with fervent devotion until they reached your breasts, his tongue flicking over your hardened nipples.

"More," you begged, desperate for more pleasure.

"Anything," he promised, trailing kisses lower. "Everything for you," he swore as he reached your navel, his tongue swirling teasingly around it.

"Makki..." you moaned out his name as the sensations became too much to bear. But instead of stopping, he continued on, determined to bring you to the brink of ecstasy.

"Shh," he soothed as he moved lower, his breath warm against your skin. "Let me take care of you."

"Please," you whimpered, trembling with anticipation.

"As you wish," he acquiesced before prodding into you with his talented tongue.

You cried out in pleasure, your hands gripping tightly onto his hair as he expertly brought you closer and closer to release. Each touch sent electricity through your body until finally, you were reaching the peak.

"Quiet baby," he warned before ramping up the speed and intensity of his movements. "Come for me."

You moaned in agreement, arching off the bed as waves of pleasure washed over you. "I can't take anymore," you pleaded, but instead of stopping, Makki only went faster, driving you to the edge of ecstasy.

He pulled his lips away from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he spoke. "Not yet," he growled, his deep voice echoing through the room. He shifted his body above you and returned to your lips with a different plan of attack.

As his tongue darted into your mouth, you could taste the faint hint of mint toothpaste and yourself on his mouth. It sent shivers down your spine and made your heart race.

"You taste so good," he moaned between kisses, his hands roaming over your body. His fingers found their way to your breast, tracing patterns on your skin that sent electricity coursing through you.

"Please," you cried out, struggling to catch your breath as he kissed a trail down your neck. "Hiro..."

But instead of stopping, he went faster, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. "No, I'm not done yet," he whispered against your skin, his teeth nipping at your earlobe.

You clenched your teeth, trying to hold yourself together as he brought you to the edge once again. This time, he didn't stop. He held you there, suspended in a haze of pleasure and desire until you thought you might burst.

And just when you thought you couldn't take it any longer, he stopped. Your eyes fluttered open to see him looking down at you with a primal intensity in his eyes.

"What are you doing?" you asked, still lost in the fog of ecstasy.

"We're not finished," he replied firmly, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek. "You're mine, and I'm not done with you."

With a sense of urgency, he positioned himself between your legs and pushed forward, filling you completely in one smooth motion. The sensation was almost overwhelming – a mix of pleasure and pain that made every nerve ending in your body come alive.

He waited for a moment, allowing you to adjust to the exquisite sensation of being joined so intimately. And then, with a primal groan, he set a slow, languid pace.

Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, and you could see the desire burning in his eyes as he took you higher and higher. And then, as if he couldn't wait any longer, he picked up the pace – each movement more intense than the last.

"You feel so good," he grunted, his hips rocking against yours with a force that threatened to drive you over the edge. "So fucking perfect."

"Deeper," you begged, your voice filled with desperation. "I want all of you."

He chuckled darkly, his body trembling with exertion as he slammed into you over and over again. "Is that so?" he growled, his voice dripping with primal lust. "You want all of me?"

"Please," you gasped, struggling to keep up with his increasingly frantic pace. "Fuck me like I’m yours."

His touch was possessive and gentle all at once, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You were completely lost in the moment – consumed by the heat and intensity of him.

He reached behind him and grabbed hold of the headboard, using it as leverage as he pounded into you with a relentless rhythm. It was all too much – too much sensation, too much light, too much desire.

It felt like he was reading your mind – fulfilling every fantasy and dream you had ever had. If he kept this up, you would never want anything else. He owned you completely, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

He was going to take everything from you, and in return, he would give you everything you ever wanted. The anticipation bubbled inside you as his hands roamed over your body, igniting every nerve with fiery need.

"Yes!" you screamed, your voice bouncing off the walls of his bedroom.

"Please don't stop Hiro."

"Whatever you want, princess," he panted, his movements becoming more frenzied as desire consumed him.

"Fuck, I'm close," he warned, his rhythm faltering under the intensity of his passion.

In response, you arched your back and urged him on, your nails digging into his shoulders as waves of pleasure pulsed through your body.

"Come inside me," you pleaded, aching for the sensation of him filling you completely. "I want to feel your cum inside me."

With a guttural groan, he gave in to your request, releasing himself deep inside you as you cried out in ecstasy.

As he collapsed beside you, you wrapped your arms around him and breathed heavily against his chest, basking in the afterglow of your shared passion.

But then a sudden thought hit you and you whispered softly, "Hiro?"

His eyes met yours with tenderness and without hesitation, he declared, "God I'm in love with you."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you playfully teased, "You're not my usual type."

With a laugh and a kiss on your forehead, he responded, "I'll make sure to change that."

"Round two?" you asked with a mischievous glint in your eye.

"Definitely," he agreed eagerly, already feeling the familiar stirrings of desire within him once again.

"I can't wait to see what else you have in store for me," you declared playfully.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard," he promised, his cock already growing hard once more.

"Promises, promises," you taunted with a playful smirk.

You couldn't help but laugh as you got off the bed and made your way to the bathroom. As you cleaned up, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction and happiness that radiated from within you. 

You knew that Makki would make the perfect partner for you. He was attentive, loving, and passionate – everything you could ever want in a man. 

As you walked back into the bedroom, you couldn't help but notice the way he was watching you. There was a look in his eyes that made your heart flutter – a mix of love, desire, and a hint of possession.

His voice dripped with confidence as his lips curved upwards, revealing a small dimple on his cheek. "Are you ready to get your world rocked again?" he teased, playfully raising an eyebrow.

You couldn't help but laugh and feel a shiver run down your spine at the thought of what your life with Makki would be from now on. You knew that he wasn't one to hold back, and you trusted him completely.

[frownyalfred]

i feel like fan works include a lot of clark and bruce meeting or interacting at a gala. is this something that actually happens a lot in comics? i can't think of any time this has actually happened in canon other than that one time in batman v superman

I don't think they meet for the first time at a ton of galas other than in BVS. There are several interactions that happen at galas in comics.

I think galas provide a very convenient and compelling vehicle for fic writers to create first/subsequent meetings. In no specific order:

they have to stick to their secret identities because they're being observed, which creates an interesting, if forced, scenario.

lots of room for OCs or in-universe characters to be mixed and matched depending on the situation at hand. oh you want Clark to be jealous of Bruce? let's have some models hanging off his arm. oh, this is about Bruce hiding injuries? let's have some random "friend" from polo come and whack him on the arm.

it's a somewhat plausible situation in which the press and the elite would, technically, be rubbing elbows. (as someone who attends galas occasionally I have some notes about how this is sometimes written, but it's usually plausible!) So Clark Kent might never see Bruce Wayne up close and in person if not in this capacity, at this event.

they allow for comparisons to be drawn. both Bruce and Clark can be shown acting in different capacities, identities, personas, etc than normal. they are both masters of their own respective games, and a gala is a great playing field to demonstrate this.

breaking the "rules" in this setting feels particularly egregious, and therefore desperate. does one of them truly feel a certain way they can't hide anymore? do they have some sort of intel that can't wait? when they meet up at a gala and pierce that invisible barrier between them, readers realize it's a big deal.

identity porn is 10x as compelling with an audience. "I know something no one else knows" is a powerful thought.

They have to get dressed up :)

Galas are temporary, isolated events with clearly defined beginnings, ends, etc.

Gotham galas are known breeding grounds for chaos and random attacks.

Any accidental media exposure at a gala has the potential to make the tabloids/gossip rags and create greater interest in a certain pairing, occurrence, etc. If you're setting up a media push (cough cough, ASOH) that's a great place to do it.

As I noted above, I have some thoughts on how galas/reporters interact irl. I actually think the BVS gala scene was a really good example of that being a little more grounded -- Clark was invited on a press pass specifically to cover the literary (?) foundation. He was there mingling with guests specifically assigned questions (that were probably pre-approved by the foundation/hosts) and approached Bruce Wayne, who expected to give a canned quote to the random reporter, only for Clark to go off the rails and ask about Batman.

[clownfishbites]

Ok it’s time for the St Augustine Joker meta. Sorry if it got a bit long I just have a lot of thoughts.

I find it so interesting that he would bring up St Augustine in that moment. I wasn’t a huge fan of the run in general but I thought it had its merits and this bit was one of them because I’m a sucker for batjokes that is also religious fanaticism.

For St Augustine, ‘grace’ in this sense is not something that needs to be found or earned, the Catholic doctrine states that it is given freely, a gift from God to mankind.

Batman gives Joker grace when nobody in the entire world will, I mentioned it a bit in my last meta but think Batman: Cacophony, Batman: It's Joker time, Batman: Devil's Advocate and literally every time he doesn't kill him, or protects him from harm when nobody else would. He is giving him grace that does not have to be earned, it's a benevolent gift from the divine. Or at least that's how Joker is seeing it, a rationalisation for why Batman spares him when nobody else would.

St Augustine tells God that "it is only by Your grace and mercy that You have melted away the ice of my evil". St Augustine needs God in the same way Joker needs Batman, to act in opposition to his 'evil', to be worshipped with the intention of being the gravity that keeps him on Earth, or in his own words, the compass pointing true north.

I'm not going to get too carried away but I think it's a pretty interesting comparison that's existing here between St Augustine and God, and Joker and Batman.

"head towards God and remember, everything else is chaos"

If Batman is the entity that is salvation, the thing to be drawn to- he isn't just the opposite force, but the only other thing in existence, because Joker defines himself as chaos. There is Divinity and Chaos and that is all. It's a nice lens on Joker's perspective that every other living thing is a prop in his pursuit of Batman's love and attention.

Religion is a choice, but how could Joker pick any other divinity, when he freely acknowledges that Batman is his creator. One of St Augustine's concepts surrounding human creation is that of original sin- that being that everybody is born with sin, born tainted ever since Adam and Eve were expelled from the garden of Eden.

But if everyone is born tainted, lives tainted and there is no real assurance of redemption, what actually is the point in trying to be good, to be a virtuous person, if someone like the Joker can just come into the church and take your life. Or from the pov of the Joker what is the point in any of it if we are born ruined.

We return to the idea that Joker sees himself as beyond salvation in the traditional sense, he's in a sunk cost fallacy but with being evil. But just to push this to it's limit, his very existence shakes faith in a creator that is all good,

Where is the grace of God in a world that allowed him to exist?

In the absence of divine light and a creator that loves him, he desperately seeks the opposite, divine darkness and a creator that hates him. But Joker loves him no less for it because Batman is all that exists in his world.

"head towards love and everything else is chaos"

Here he's changed the words of St Augustine, altering it from following God to following love, and he says this while heading towards Batman which is...basically the entire point of this, Batman is his love, Batman is his divinity.

But even Batman has to devote himself to an idea bigger than himself, and he can only stand in opposition, his crusade would be over if he truly cleansed Gotham of all evil- OR, as Joker suggests in this comic, if he became happy. If he didn't have to exist in opposition, if the misery that fuelled his crusade was taken away

Joker can only stand in opposition too- we know this because we see how completely he crumbles apart when his opposition is removed.

Batman functionally exists as half of a whole, in his own way Joker's speech is confronting this reality, albeit in a much more roundabout way than he explains it to Selina.

And this is why neither of them can ever truly escape this cycle, their aspect of devotion would die the moment the other was removed from the equation, and with it divinity and chaos would cease to exist, and so would the world.

I love cosmic batjokes.

[starleska]

Have you ever read the Twelve and Toymaker comic? It gives a few more interesting looks into how the Toymaker thinks that aren’t touched on in the novelisation. Most interestingly (and the main focus of the comic) is that the Toymaker is terrified of the universe outside of the Toyroom — which seems to be defined by its walls, in the novelisation the Toymaker puts particular emphasis on the walls with the candy-striped wallpaper lined with dolls — because it has no walls and because he doesn’t (didn’t? He does in the Giggle) have much control of it.

(‘‘The Toyroom is growing old, Doctor. So ancient that it no longer functions, as either prison or playground. The barriers between the Toyroom and the wider universe are growing thin, and it is this that has allowed you to wrest control of the toys, as my power wanes. Soon, there will be no Toyroom and I shall be loose in a wild, unforgiving universe, a cosmos with no walls. I can hardly conceive of such infinite horror.’’)

(‘‘You’ve given a madman access to the entire universe! With that sort of power, think what he’ll do!’’ ‘‘That’s just it, Clara, he doesn’t want the universe. Didn’t you hear him? He’s terrified of it. He can’t bear the thought of losing his control. He needs his safety net.’’)

And that he doesn’t tend to accept help unless he thinks he’s won it.

(‘‘So you’re just giving him the TARDIS?’’ ‘‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m building a new Toyroom!’’ ‘‘Inside the TARDIS!’’ ‘‘Precisely! I had to let him think he’d won. He’d never accept my help otherwise.’’)

And THESE PANELS lives in my head

(‘‘I had to help him, Clara. Can you understand?’’ ‘‘Let me see... a lonely God, drifting through space and time in his magical toy box? Yeah, I think I understand, Doctor, all too well.’’)

The EU tends to give the Toymaker more than his actual TV appearances (mmmm his rambles about being alone in the void and the cold in the novelisation). I need to dissect him and study him in detail so bad

hello love!!! oh my goodness thank you for sending this my way, because i haven't read this comic yet but the sections you've sent me have absolutely broken my heart 💔 what an interesting look into the Toymaker's psyche…it makes perfect sense. when you're a trauma survivor of any kind, especially if you grew up in a traumatic environment, the control you're able to have over that environment (no matter how minimal) is often all that keeps you together…you have to find comfort in that there and whatever small safe space you can carve out for yourself to survive. this has given me a lot to think about, because i wrote the Toymaker with what i think was the canonisation given when he spoke to the Sixth Doctor; that the Toymaker created his Toyroom after a very long time of aimlessly using his powers, when he didn't have a concept of gameplay. there seems to be some contention about whether or not the Toymaker is the creator of the majority of older games in the universe/the concept of games (The Giggle seems to allude to that?), or if he was inspired by other beings who created the games first. i like to think it's a bit of both; that he is the originator of many early games and gameplay rules, but it was the barriers between the voidspace (and his Toyroom) which let in the ideas from other beings 👀 the idea that the Toyroom is the Toymaker's island of safety against a universe which fundamentally doesn't make sense to him is so distressing 😭💖 i think a lot of us who've gone through difficult things can relate to that experience…of having your safe place slowly eroded as circumstances change and you grow older. but it makes sense!!! if he had no one, and the only thing he could cling to were the rules of his games (seemingly the only thing which brings him joy), the inherent chaos of the universe would be terrifying to him. no matter how much he tries to make it so, the universe just isn't a game with rules that can allow him to win: it's random, and brutal. is it any wonder that he has such tantrums when he loses, or when he perceives someone to be cheating? it isn't just that he's upset about losing or bad sportsmanship...it's the literal fabric of his entire worldview being torn apart. oh lord the bit about him not accepting help unless he thinks he's won it…how familiar does that sound to those of us who were traumatised early on? needing to 'earn' things like affection, shelter, food, etc. by working twice as hard, because we feel we don't deserve it inherently...the fact that the Doctor shows the Toymaker such compassion even though the Toymaker is such a dangerous, destructive entity is a real credit to their character. i really appreciate The Giggle replicating that and showing how the Doctor empathises with the Toymaker's terror by offering to play with him...i wish we'd had more time to explore the 'vastness that will never cease'. i don't think that good or bad mean nothing to the Toymaker...i think he's petrified of it. suddenly we understand why he's so boastful about his abilities, like an arrogant child...he's asserting himself against the universe as the only safety he's ever known crumbles. god. my heart hurts - that image of him sitting with the dolls of himself and the Doctor is killing me. i am going to go and read this comic and cry now, thank you so much 😭💖 yes please do!!!! your insight into the Toymaker is fantastic and i'd love to see more character studies of him 😭💖

[izunias-meme-hole]

Since you've been rebloging this clown like crazy, who are your favorite Jokers?

Oh no... how could I ever choose?

Anyway.

Number 10. Brave And The Bold - A Silver Age inspired Joker with the Golden Age design and genuine menace. A pretty good combo if you ask me!

Number 9. 1966/Caesar Romero - He's the most iconic of the purely campy Jokers, and honestly he's just fun. I know that's not a heavy reason to like this iteration of the character, but it's true.

Number 8. Gotham - The Valeska Twins share a spot, purely because Cameron Monaghan's performance as them was so great. First there was Jerome, who was originally supposed to be a one-off possible Joker, and remained that way throughout the entire show even as he became somewhat of a Proto-Joker that was simultaneously heinous and fun. Though near the end of the show's 4th season, Jerome dies, but his twin brother Jeremiah ends up getting infected with an insanity gas that his brother cooked up, turning Jeremiah into a Golden Age inspired Proto-Joker who slowly evolves into the clown that we're more familiar with.

Number 7. The Batman 2004 - This clown offers almost everything you'd want, but they're all packed within an extremely different exterior! His bare feet, dreads that resemble a jesters hat, Kevin Michael Richardson voicing him, and just how athletic and animalistic he is make this Joker unique, even if what he brings to the table is still pure fun mixed with genuine heinousness and a bat obsession.

Number 6. Arkhamverse - Despite having that shit final boss and his bad habit of constantly overshadowing other villains, Joker in these games is an absolute blast to see and hear. Doesn't matter that he's a big bad, a secondary antagonist, or just "flirting with Batsy", he's great. It also helps that both Mark Hamill and Troy Baker do a phenomenal job at bringing him to life.

Number 5. Golden Age - Ah, Original!Joker my beloved. A scary as shit cunning sociopath with a haunting grin, clownish exterior, and a nice purple suit who just came outta nowhere. Plain, simple, yet very effective at the time.

Number 4. Nolanverse/Heath Ledger - I swear to god Heath Ledger's take on Joker is the definition of "don't judge a book by its cover" because while he kinda spawned more cringeworthy and edgier Jokers (Lookin' at the New 52 & Leto), he also manages to distill the essence of the character perfectly. He's colorful yet subtle, funny yet terrifying, arrogant yet self-deprecating, brilliant yet insane, motivated to cause chaos yet feeling the need to justify that chaos to the rest of the world, hates Batman yet loves him, and he just simply exists.

Number 3. Batman 1989/Jack Nicholson - Perfect casting, perfect costume, feels like he leapt straight outta the comics and onto the big screen, and he has a near perfect origin. If only he wasn't responsible for the death of the Waynes. Still he's a phenomenal elseworlds Joker and an ICON.

Number 2. BTAS/DCAU - Forever the definitive Joker adaptation. Mark Hamill's voice was perfect for the clown, his designs are iconic, his origin being a perfect blend between "we know what he's about" and "we don't know shit," he's still funny yet terrifying, he's a chaotic artist, his toxic dynamic with Harley Quinn was perfect (which is funny since Quinn was invented FOR BTAS), his death and actual defeat were cathartic, and overall this was the Definitive Joker.

Number 1. Post-Crisis Comics - We got Joker's Five-Way Revenge, Laughing Fish, Dreadful Birthday Joker, The Killing Joke, and A Death In The Family out of this iteration of the character, all of which pretty much came to define The Joker in one way or another, for better or worse. Out of all of the reboots of DC's universe, Post-Crisis had the best Comic!Joker, and in all honestly just the best Joker in general.

[couch-house]

I figure now that we r in round 3, it would be a good time to expand on dog's deal specifically by explaining his context--bc he's very much defined by that + his story purpose, rather than his concept on its own! Welcome To My Beepo House.

tl;dr i made dog to be a friend-haver and a friend-maker and specifically be a friend for super :) a vote 4 dog in @sonic-oc-showdown is a vote for FRIENDS!

For beginner's context: for just under half the run of Fleetway Sonic the Comic, twisted evil killer Super Sonic is separated from Sonic physically, loses his chaos powers that compel him to violence, and ends up destitute in Metropolis Zone until a couple of minor characters take him in to live + work with them at the jazz cafe the Groovy Train. everyone say hi ebony and pyjamas :) I love the tension between this trio in how they approach the conflict of super sonic Being There, but ebony and pyjamas are also both adults and I see them as having more parental/grandparental relationships with him rather than real equal friends. so that's where dog and bebe come in :)

this is part of a canon divergence au that keeps the groovy train dynamic largely in place, rather than ending it with the comic. in the canon ending, ebony casts a spell that merges super and sonic back into the same body. sonic conquers super and things are alright for the end of the story. okay well i dont like that so </3 instead in this au, ebony hides super by merging him into *herself.* they struggle to live together for a bit until a minor villain (lord sidewinder) comes in and separates them, once again trying to harness super's power for himself. well he fails and they kick his ass and such. after this, the conflict between super and ebony expands from some of the canon conflict + the new merger conflict annnd now he can go make new friends at the skate park :) by doing what he does best: being sad and wet and pathetic until someone with a big heart tries to help him out.

i've been developing dog and bebe with the intent to make a nice balanced group between them: bebe is the Instigator, the Active member of the group, the hero-like, the leader. she's competitive, she's right, and she knows it! super's the rookie with crazy power, he's a fish-out-of-water most times but when it comes to a real fight he can be a heavy-hitter. he's cautious and deferential (canon low self-esteem behaviors), but he's coming into his own with the help of those around him. and doggy my special guy doggy is the mediator: she's the wingman and cheerleader, she's the helping hand that keeps everyone's heads cool. she's the first to trust and the first to forgive. she's a capybara: everyone's friend :)

ofc i hope dog's deal on his own is interesting enough to people! what if there was a capybara and he was nice and also silly :) but it feels so wrong to separate her from super... that's her buddy that's the reason i made her. my au characterizaiton of super doesn't get to happen from only knowing an older woman who believes he can do no wrong ever and an even older woman who doesn't quite trust him not to do wrong. he's gotta have a friend who doesn't care about all that super sonic stuff--in fact thinks super is just lying about most of it (that's okay, sometimes people need to lie about their lives and it doesn't make them bad or anything). someone who is willing to meet him without any of that baggage and openly invite him into friendship and a safer life :)

[chaosdefinedcomic]

I have returned with yet more cliffhanging fruit! Comics take forever guys, I am sorry for my steady crawl.

<<Previous Next>> (TBA) Start

[ludinusdaleth]

the final issue of artagan's comic run ending in him being made mortal (at least for the time being; and once again i dont know the exact timeline beyond post-c2) is so fascinating because i dont think in any other context id be so.... for it. the trope of someone beyond human turning normal is almost downright offensive to me as a monsterfucker and yet for artagan his slide into it is the defining, most beautiful thing about him, and i think thats a testament to how well matt has portrayed him.

for arti to be so defined by the nature vs nurture of an archfey, how he is aloof & absolute chaos incarnate yet keeps finding himself caring for mortals, and matt even saying that post-travelercon he had found himself closer to mortality than he ever did to godhood.... i mean, it was going to come to this eventually, wasnt it? sammanar & elmenore never needed to strip him of his powers; he was waning anyway. he's currently panicked because he was spoiled having power & therefore easy escape from consequence, but the idea of being all-powerful was incompatible to him. he was alright with that slow decline as long as there was still whimsy & his best friend out there for him to find joy in. he chose exandria's wonder over the feywilds every time. he chose mortals over his archfey brethren every time.

i think the most ultimate trait of artagan that is so fundamentally endearing to me is that he is a trickster god to his bones, and yet unlike other portrayals of this archetype that focus on the thrill of the god part, he cares about the trickster so much more. and, even more importantly, he cares. by all rights in all current & ancient stories, his nature should have led to apocalyptic proportions of selfishness, and while he expresses many traits close to that, he is opposite to it, being defined by love even if it means he has to face consequence. and so of course he shatters the trickster god; the universe, the fey courts, cant process that someone like him is more than what he was taught to be. and that more, is in a way, the simple less.

[scarlet--wiccan]

Is chaos magic like. “Raw” or “undomesticated”magic (if that makes sense)? More wild/untamed compared to what Dr strange/etc does? I’m legitimately unsure if that’s something that’s canon (or at least suggested) or some kind of headcanon that snuck up on me. Also: are there any other casters who prominently use chaos magic? does Natalya?

No, that is not a description that has ever been clearly or consistently applied to chaos magic in the Marvel universe. This notion of low magic vs. high magic-- or "wild" and "undomesticated," as you put it, vs. elevated or sophisticated-- is not uncommon in fantasy, and sometimes, in real-life occult traditions. I find that it often carries racist connotations, and given how often Wanda is the only woman of color in a room of magic characters, I'd prefer to avoid playing into that concept here. Wanda's mastery of witchcraft, and specifically, chaos magic, has, at times, been described as amateur or undirected, but that's literally because she lacked experience. She' was on a learning curve from the 70s to the late-90s. She's long-since graduated from that stage.

I've written about the varying depictions of chaos magic and its properties before. [x] [x] In contemporary comics, we understand chaos to be a primordial, naturally occurring, universal force and a foundational element of seemingly all magic. Typically, it appears to be volatile and difficult to control. In older comics, it was associated solely with Chthon and the Darkhold, and was primarily characterized as dark, spooky, and kind of underworldy-- literally "chthonic". In the 80s and 90s, as Wanda learns more about her powers, she comes to understand that chaos magic, besides twisting probabilities, can transcend many boundaries that other forms of magic cannot.

Most recently, I think a distinction is beginning to form between Chthon as a god of chaos, and the magics he wrought, and chaos as a primordial force or magical element. Although Wanda recieved her powers from Chthon, and as a result, has always been vulnerable to him, it is probably most accurate to say that they both have the same elemental affinity. She's tapped into the same force that he embodies.

In comparison to Doctor Strange, it's not a question of refinement, just a difference of origin. The sorceries Stephen practices are largely derived from the teachings of the Vishanti, specifically Agamotto, the son of the Elder Goddess Oshtur. There's a whole saga and mythology there, just as there's a whole saga and mythology of how the Darkhold was written. Broadly speaking, most of the mythical or cosmological concepts in the concepts are not competing in a hierarchy, they're just operating in different lanes, and I think that's important to remember.

Billy's powers are also defined as chaos magic, and he inherited them directly from Wanda.Besides him, though, there aren't any characters who have a natural affinity for chaos magic in the same way that Wanda does. She received that power as a result of Chthon's interference, so it wasn't a part of her magical lineage. Natalya was a witch, and by all accounts a formidable one, but chaos magic was not one of her abilities. If you're questioning why or how Billy inherited that power, unfortunately, there are no clear answers. We do know that Chthon specially altered Wanda's "mutation" to act as a conduit for chaos magic, so it's likely that Billy inherited this trait and gained access to chaos magic without Chthon's direct interference.

So, who else can use it? As Chthon's daughter, Victoria Montessi has a natural affinity for his power. She's sensitive to the Darkhold's magic and is one of the few people who can handle it without being corrupted, but the text never explicitly describes her as a chaos magic wielder. In Mighty Avengers (2007), Chthon was able to possess Pietro in the same way he previously possessed Wanda, implying that Pietro has a similar affinity, although this has never been explored further.

The text has never been entirely clear as to whether or not the spells and such written in the Darkhold are technically chaos magic in the same way as Chthon or Wanda's personal powers. But the Darkhold has been trafficked all over the world and given rise to several cults. Notable sorcerers throughout history, such as Morgan Le Fay, have used it, and many monster and demons have been born from it, or from Chthon himself. Modred the Mystic is a longtime devotee of Chthon and once transformed himself into a living Darkhold, of sorts.

In the Contest of Chaos event, Agatha stole Chthon's heart and was using it to craft a new version of the Darkhold. She also demonstrated to ability to channel, direct, and harvest Earth's naturally occurring chaos magic. So while she doesn't have an innate affinity for this power, the way Wanda does, with skill, cunning, and the right materials, she was able to wield it. In the end, she succeeded in creating a new Darkhold, but it took on a life of its own in the form of an adolescent boy. The child-- who, frustratingly, is still unnamed-- has cast several spells that were presumably written in one or both versions of the book. Is that "chaos magic"? It might not be the same as what Wanda does, but I have to imagine that it counts.

[theolivebranchreview]

Two Sides of the Same Damaged Coin

by @regisacosta

*Spoiler Warning for Mad Men and The Sopranos*

The beautiful thing about staring at a train wreck, especially when you get the feeling that you can’t look away, is that you get to do it from a distance.

If there are two characters that embody a broken, yet captivating, pathetic, yet arrogant charm, it’s the television antiheroes Don Draper and Tony Soprano. Not only do they stand above as towering figures of deep-seated dysfunction but it is their misguided ideals of charisma and antiquated masculinity that make them a fascinating character study in why we love to return to these shows years after they have left the airwaves. 

Beneath the stained veneers of success and power, we find two profoundly broken individuals, scarred by deeply buried wounds and an ongoing fear of rejection. Their charm, a flimsy mask for their pain, a desperate attempt to fill the void left by the women who were supposed to love them most. As we follow their journeys, we are confronted not just with the compelling drama of their lives, but also with the uncomfortable truth of their fundamental flaws and the pity they inspire. 

Draper and Soprano, for all their machismo and charisma, are ultimately pathetic figures, trapped in a cycle of dysfunction and are unable to escape the shadows of their past. Through their stories, we are forced to grapple with the complex nature of masculinity, the rippling effects that the events of the past can have on the present, and the ways in which society’s expectations can both elevate and diminish the human experience. It’s a testament to the power of these characters that we find ourselves drawn back to their stories, even as we recognize the tragedy of their lives.

It All Has to Start Somewhere

The rejection from their mothers serves as a foundational undercurrent in both Don’s and Tony’s lives, influencing their actions and relationships in profound ways. For Don Draper, the absence of maternal warmth is rooted in his biological mother’s early death during childbirth – confounded by what Don imagines to be an almost comically tragic and vitriolic greeting into this planet by her – and his upbringing by a cold, abusive stepmother, Abigail. This profound lack of motherly affection is foundational to understanding Don’s detachment and difficulty in forming genuine, enduring relationships. If Don’s maternal relationships were defined by absence, Tony’s, in contrast, were defined by presence. An ever-present and domineering figure, even after her lifetime, Livia Soprano’s impact and influence on both Tony’s personal and professional life reverberated throughout the series. Tony not only invites chaos into his life but seems to crave it, mirroring the tumultuous nature of Livia’s ‘love.'”

Don’s pursuit of shallow connections is further manifested through his string of affairs, where each relationship serves more as a distraction from his inner turmoil rather than anything really meaningful. His carefully curated persona of Don Draper, the epitome of 20th Century American success, masks his true identity—Dick Whitman—a man he is continually at odds with. Don Draper is calm, clean and collected. He lives in Ossining. Dick Whitman is tormented, messy and emotional. He gets blackout drunk and punches pastors. Don Draper, despite his professional triumphs, is haunted by an internal emptiness—a void that no amount of acclaim or wealth can ever fill. In fact, at times he even seems to resent it – hiding behind his love for the creative aspect of advertising, earnest as that may be. As he drifts further away from his manufactured ideal of what Donald Draper should be, his façade begins to crumble, revealing the fractures within his persona. One of the reasons Don is so easy to crack is because he’s not built on anything of substance.

Similarly, Tony Soprano’s experiences are indelibly marked by his mother Livia’s incessant coldness and the contradictory ways in which he perceives and interacts with her. Tony often describes Livia as both a large and imposing figure, frequently dropping whatever he’s doing to tend to her needs and engaging with her in the way a child might, with his tone of voice shifting to a more submissive cadence when speaking to her. Yet, in the same breath, he also refers to her as “this little old lady,” revealing the complex and conflicting nature of their relationship. It is with a similar sense of uncertainty and self-doubt that Tony approaches most other aspects of this life – with one both foot in and one foot out. He’s a dedicated family man that can never be a devoted husband. He swore an oath of secrecy but opens up to a complete stranger in an office building every week. He’s a hardened criminal that loses sleep over ducks.

The Impact on Their Worlds

The maternal shadows that loom over Don and Tony color their relationships, particularly with women, and dictate their engagements with society at large. Don, living a dual life as a con man and an ad executive, utilizes his charm as a strategic tool against true intimacy.

His engagements often follow a pattern: a compelling attraction, followed by a calculated emotional withdrawal once the relationship deepens, exemplified in his turbulent relationships with women like Rachel Menken and Sylvia Rosen.

He only likes the beginning of things.

This pattern underscores his deep-seated fear of genuine connection, rooted in the abandonment ,the neglect, and the rejection that he experienced in his youth.

Tony Soprano, inhabiting a more overtly brutal realm, wields his charm within the confines of his OC ties. His environment not only allows but often rewards emotional volatility. His raw, unfiltered emotional outbursts, from explosive anger to profound vulnerability, significantly impact his leadership within the DiMeo crime family and his domestic life. Episodes like “Whitecaps,” where Tony’s rage culminates in a destructive altercation with Carmela, highlight how his emotional instability, fostered by maternal manipulation, permeates and dictates his closest relationships. The things that make him a god-awful husband make him an (arguably) competent mob boss.

Both men are actors on their respective stages, performing roles that demand a disconnection from their true selves, a protective mechanism instilled by early maternal rejections. This constant role-playing extends beyond personal interactions, affecting their broader societal engagements. For Don, his crafted persona of a successful ad man both critiques and perpetuates the idealized post-war American masculinity—a facade that often leads to personal turmoil and self-loathing, as seen in moments of introspection throughout the series.

The psychological realism of these characters adds a layer of complexity to their narratives. Both Don and Tony grapple with their identities, the dissonance between their public facades and private fears creating a psychological burden that is palpable in their moments of solitude and distress. Tony’s panic attacks and Don’s frequent flashbacks to his troubled childhood are manifestations of this ongoing inner conflict, a battle between the men they present to the world and the broken boys they hide within.

Moreover, the impact of their behaviors on others forms a crucial part of their stories. Their children, in particular, absorb the lessons of their fathers’ duplicities. Coincidentally, both men, as a consequence of their harsh upbringing, possess an aversion to violence within their child rearing practices – though Don more vocally (and in practice) than Tony. For instance, AJ and Meadow Soprano navigate their father’s criminal life and emotional unpredictability, shaping their worldview and moral compass. Similarly, Sally Draper grows increasingly aware and critical of Don’s inconsistencies and indiscretions, which influence her burgeoning sense of identity and ethics, a poignant reminder of the far-reaching consequences of parental dysfunction. And Bobby…well Bobby is going to grow up will all types of identity crises.

Shifting Power Dynamics and Elusive Control

The relationships between Don Draper and Peggy Olson and Tony Soprano and Christopher Moltisanti offer compelling explorations of mentorship, power dynamics, and the challenges of navigating the gray areas of personal and professional boundaries. What begins as indifference evolves into a mentor-mentee relationship, morphing into a complex father-daughter bond, with Don serving as both a guiding force and a source of emotional support – at least within the scope of what he is able to provide…a heavy pour of Canadian Club and a daytime trip to the movies. However, as their co-dependency and emotional entanglement evolved, so did their sentiments of hostility and resentment, particularly when Peggy felt as though Don’s ego was getting in the way of both her professional and romantic advancements (by way of Ted Chaough).

Throughout the series, Peggy’s deliberate naiveté, a narrative choice by the writers to withhold information from her, adds an additional layer of complexity to their relationship. As the series progresses, their bond oscillates between periods of estrangement and reconciliation, with Peggy alternating between taking on the role of child in need of guidance, adversary in need of some distance, and responsible adult daughter caring for her troubled father. It is only in their final scene together that the true depth of their connection is fully revealed, as Peggy’s naiveté falls away and she sees Don for who he truly is – a broken man in need of redemption. However, even during that painfully expensive transcontinental phone call, much like a father talking to his child, Don is still fairly withholding while trying to be forthcoming. Don, the master of his craft, gives the client just enough of a taste to want more. He doesn’t uncharacteristically tell her “I’m Dick Whitman and I feel unfulfilled with the choices I’ve made”. He gives her the eerie half-truth: I took a man’s name and made nothing of it.

But why does he do this? An inability to get all of these complex emotions out to arguably one of the last people in his life who will listen? Was this an attempt to protect her from fully knowing that ugly truth about his true identity? Was he just protecting himself? Well, that is the mastery of not only that final episode but also the dynamic between Don and Peggy. It could be all of those reasons and more importantly, it doesn’t really matter.

In “The Sopranos,” the relationship between Tony Soprano and Christopher Moltisanti is a multifaceted exploration of the complexities of family ties, professional ambition, and personal identity within the context of the DiMeo crime family. As Tony’s nephew and protégé, Christopher is caught in a constant struggle between his desire for recognition and advancement within the organization and his resentment of Tony’s control over his life and career.

On one hand, Christopher’s familial connection to Tony provides him with opportunities and privileges that other members of the crime family do not have. He is given high-profile assignments and is often protected by Tony’s influence, allowing him to rise through the ranks more quickly than his peers. However, this favoritism also breeds resentment among other members of the organization, who view Christopher as undeserving of his status and see his success as a result of nepotism rather than merit.

Simultaneously, Christopher’s relationship with Tony is marked by a deep-seated desire for approval and validation that is often marred by an undercurrent of resentment and frustration. Throughout the series, Christopher will occasionally have a difficult time reconciling whether he wants to model his life after his Uncle Tony or rebel against it. Having grown up without a strong father figure, Christopher looks to Tony as a surrogate parent and seeks his praise and acceptance. However, even this dynamic is poorly defined for them, as they will casually alternate between a father/son, mentor/mentee, older cousin/younger cousin, and even sexual rival dynamic. This loosely defined emotional dependency creates a power imbalance in their relationship, with Christopher often compromising his own desires and values in order to please Tony and maintain his favor.

On some level, Tony is cognizant of the fluidity of their relationship and is often able to manipulate that. That is also another point where the dynamics between Tony/Christopher and Don/Peggy intersect. The points in both shows where each respective relationships comes to a head are moments when the domineering figures feel their control slipping. For Don, it was when he quite literally loses his power over Peggy when she chooses to leave the agency. For Tony, we see this theme throughout the series by way of Christopher’s love affair with the film industry (which is highly allegorical to the wave of wiseguys flipping in the 80’s and 90’s), as well as his drug addiction. In fact, it will be Christopher’s battle with substance abuse that will be the ultimate death knell for their relationship.

The tragic conclusion of their relationship – with Tony choosing to end Christopher’s life after a devastating car accident – stands in stark contrast to the more hopeful resolution of Don and Peggy’s relationship in “Mad Men.” While Don is able to once again protect himself in the way that he knows best, Tony too is forced to use the only card he had left in his deck when realizing that he truly had lost control over his nephew. He did not kill Christopher out of anger or out of mercy. He killed him because he realized that no matter what he did, there was going to be something that was going to have more control over Christopher’s life than he would so in one final attempt to reclaim that power, he quite literally took it back with his own hands.

Wrapping Things Up

In the end, the stories of Don Draper and Tony Soprano serve as powerful reminders of the enduring impact of that our core relationships -or the lack thereof- can have on us, the complexities of the human psyche, and the masks we wear to navigate the world. Through their journeys, we are forced to confront the uncomfortable truths about the human condition, the fragility of our identities, and the ways in which our past shapes our present.

While their paths diverge in their final moments – Don finding a glimmer of hope in his connection with Peggy, and Tony truly letting go of his last shred of humanity– both characters leave an undeniable mark on our cultural landscape. They embody the antihero narrative that defined nearly twenty years of television, inviting us to grapple with the moral ambiguities, the shades of gray, and the unresolved questions that define our own lives.

The enduring legacy of “Mad Men” and “The Sopranos” lies not only in their groundbreaking storytelling and unforgettable performances but in the way they hold a mirror up to society, reflecting back to us the hopes, fears, and contradictions that reside within us all. Sure, you or I probably won’t kill our nephews or steal another man’s name but those are things that happen so obviously someone’s out there doing it.

In the end, their stories are not just entertainment, but invitations to empathy, self-reflection, and a deeper understanding of the human condition. They remind us that, even in the face of profound suffering and darkness, there is always the potential for growth, for change, and for redemption. But maybe sometimes the screen just cuts to a Coke commercial.

And sometimes it just cuts to black altogether.

[physalian]

Could you make a post about a character slowly losing their humanity while trying to hold onto it? It's a main theme in my current WIP and I cannot for the life of me figure out how to go about it.

Losing their humanity like “The Fly” or “Metamorphosis” where it’s a curse/transformation/sickness, and is both quite literal and mental? Or losing their humanity as in, a character has done unspeakable things and is spiraling into psychopathy?

There’s so many directions you could go here depending on what your genre, rating, and tone is. First, you have to define what humanity means to you as an author and what it means to your world and your characters. Murder might be the worst crime in one novel, and a casual occurrence in another. So, at what point is your character no longer “human”?

This is incredibly specific to your story and advice here is definitely not ‘one size fits all’ so I’ll do my best and I’ll use a very popular movie to back me up: The Dark Knight.

Harvey Dent goes from saint to savage in less than 3 hours, about… I think three weeks maybe in-universe? The movie pulls this off in a few ways:

Right off the bat, there’s hints that this character has a loose circuit somewhere. Comics fans know he becomes Two Face, but layman audiences are still thrown a bone with Harvey’s rather quick rise to prominence in infamously-crime-ridden Gotham. So, he’s not starting as Mr. Rodgers.

Harvey’s job puts immense pressure on him to perform with a lot to lose if he fails. This makes his room for error to avoid catastrophe very narrow and raises the stakes for every action he takes. In essence, any one mistake can be devastating, making catastrophe more believable in the story.

When he starts losing, he loses a lot very quickly. Harvey is bombarded with the mob gremlins trying to escape the law, the Joker running around blowing up holes in the justice system and raining chaos everywhere, his wishy-washy girlfriend who’s hesitant to accept his proposal, and increasing pressure to hand over his hero, Batman, to a maniac, to stop the murders, and he can’t do much of anything about it. Even with small victories, it’s one step forward and three steps back and he’s being fundamentally and existentially thwarted at every turn.

He’s desperate, afraid, and powerful, three *very* bad traits in combination. His slippery slide into madness gets a little steeper when he kidnaps a criminal and screams through an interrogation, then it drops off a cliff when Rachel dies instead of him in a so-called game of chance.

“Chance” here, and Harvey’s ability and presumption of control, is his whole identity. He’s Two-Face. He’s got a double-headed coin to rig his bets. When Rachel dies, he’s lost control over everything, and he just shatters. She dies and he lives and he abandons his core values to embrace Joker’s vision of absolute anarchy, because what’s the point in trying to fight fate?

All of this works despite this monster of a plot, where he’s not even the main villain, because he had so far to fall, and the world of Batman lends itself to insanity coming on quickly. Joker even says that “madness is like gravity, all you need is a little push”.

So without having any details on your WIP I’d have this to say:

Figure out what moral code or person or object your character holds most central to their identity

Circle the drain of destroying it, forcing the character to grow desperate enough to protect it, going to ends they normally wouldn’t with the best of intentions

Destroy that thing

Let them crumble in the aftermath as they can no longer reconcile their core beliefs with the world they live in, and lash out as the wounded animal they’ve become

[vikintor]

Still playing as the Githgang comic characters

Playing with both Jez'rathki and Draa'zvir in my current BG3 party because why not. (Actually my entire party is Githyanki only, other characters stay mostly at camp.)

After a long day spreading chaos, Jez'rathki only sleeps after receiving her forehead kisses while Draa'zvir keep trying to make a guy kick his goddess.

Since I'm not working on the Githgang comic I wanted to at least play with their main characters, a more fun way to define their personalities I guess.