#he can very well even if he is evil incarnate

[cartoonsforlife]

Surely.

[kiyomitakada]

impromptu meta at 2 — oh wait 1 in the morning thank you daylight saving time

the thing about light yagami is that we all know he is repression incarnate. and we also know that kira was born out of his desperate need to justify sort-of-accidentally killing two people. and so therefore kira isn't what light's repressing, not at the outset; kira is an extension of his repression.

and the death note and his need to hide it very quickly takes over light's life. so it's easy to say that light is light yagami on the outside and kira on the inside, and maybe light feels that way. but. kira is just as much a persona as light yagami. a more hidden persona, but still not the real him, whoever that is.

and the thing is that no one sees past that. ever. most people obviously fall for the charming boy act, but even the detectives — L, near, mello — god, even ryuk stops at part two. i think a lot about how L set up the mock execution because he thought that kira would have killed his own father if necessary. can you see light doing that? eighteen-year-old light yagami who said "if anything happens to you, dad — i'll see that kira gets the death penalty. i swear it."? remember when ryuk laughs at how good an actor he is afterwards and light doesn't look at him?

light never thinks kira is evil. even in yotsuba arc he acknowledges that they think very similarly, just that kira has gone too far. (ha, ha.) for all of death note light yagami is light yagami, who says if kira wins then kira is good, who has convinced himself he is doing the right thing. he gets frustrated when other people don't perceive him the same way — lind l tailor, misa killing police chiefs while pretending to be kira — but the anger has nowhere to go other than murdering more people.

light yagami is kira is light yagami. but L, ryuk, everyone doesn't manage to see through kira in the end.

and after L dies, well. no one will ever measure up to L, in light's eyes. he almost idolizes him in the weirdest way possible. so maybe, he thinks, if the only person in the world who could ever possibly see all of him (this isn't true, it's just what light believes) thought he was just a murderer, then maybe —

i think he hollows himself out in the second arc. in the anime he seriously considers killing sayu; in the manga he never does that but justifies his unwillingness to himself by saying that this way soichiro and light won't come under suspicion (they weren't going to in the first place). light doesn't really have a sense of self. L said he was evil and of course L is wrong — was wrong — will always be wrong — but isn't it easy to play into that stereotypically evil image of himself? especially after soichiro, his last moral compass, dies: isn't it easy to nullify misa's memories, to say she's not intelligent enough to be my partner, to kill kiyomi in the most painful way possible?

("light would have done the same things in the first arc!" sure. but not with that much callousness.)

it's just. it's tragic, you know? light has always pretended to be nicer than he is but he isn't the cold any-means-necessary person they thought kira was either. he is constantly playing someone he thinks he is but he can never escape being light, in the end.

does this make any sense do i sound insane

[laura1633]

this championship "battle" is so silly bc lando does not have a single "he is HIM" race meanwhile max has like 40 (brazil 2016 my beloved). if anything lando's most famous race is sochi 2021 and uh. well.

I have had a few asks about Lando so I thought I would answer one with my opinion. I am going to answer this under the cut so that anyone who wants to avoid this can do so.

I also know that I have some mutuals and people who follow this blog who like Lando a lot so I apologise. I totally get if you want to unfollow as I think it's really important to curate your online experience <3

In my personal opinion (as a Max supporter) Lando has not done anything this season that would mean he deserves to become world champion. That may sound harsh but he has had the fastest car for most of the season and has not capitalised on that at all. He has achieved his first race wins and good for him but he just hasn't put what I would consider to be a championship winning run together.

He also seems very put out by the fact that Max is fighting him on the limit. This is a championship battle! If Max had driven Lando straight into a barrier that would be different but running someone wide happens, you get a penalty and you move on! I do not like the narrative being pushed out every time they go hard racing, it's as if Max is evil incarnate and Lando is some innocent bystander to what is happening. (A narrative mostly drive by British media and senior figures at Mclaren)

Max on the other hand made the absolute most of the first few races where he had the fastest car and then continued to win races with a slower car. If the Red Bull had even a bit of pace then there wouldn't be a battle at all - look at Austin where the Red Bull was not fastest but had a fighting chance - Max extended his lead!

I'm not saying this is a train wreck season from Lando, he's been on the podium pretty consistently, I am just saying that with the car he has he should have more race victories.

This is probably very mean to say but it essentially took him having a car capable of winning a championship to win his first race 😬. Whereas, as you have pointed out anon, Max has so many amazing races before he even got his hands on a dominant car.

If Max loses the championship it will be down to the RB20 dropping off a cliff rather than Lando putting in a fantastic performance. That is why I hate the way it is being framed as this great underdog story of Lando chasing Max and reducing his lead - there should not be a lead to begin with!! Max is the underdog here make no mistake about that! It's just that he is a massively talented underdog.

Anyway, I am trying not to hate too much because Lando is getting a lot of hate online already but I have always tried to give Lando a lot of leeway in interviews as I think he is quite uncomfortable when answering questions but there have been a few moments this season where he has done or said something I have found very irritating. Himself and Max are still friendly (or at least as far as I know) but that doesn't stop me being annoyed by certain things 😂

Sorry to rant under your ask anon, its just I have had a few questions about Lando so I thought I would put my opinion in one post rather than fill my page up with anti posts <3

But in short - Max is just that guy, the main character, a generational talent - putting in amazing performances season after season.

[animentality]

Ahhhhh insane with the idea that the Dark Urge was forced to kill their parents, the people they loved most in the world, at a very young age, and this was only the first stage in what would be a constantly evolving notion of love and relationship with themselves.

First was grief. Regret. Feeling ashamed and monstrous and wicked. Crying at night because they had loved their parents and now they were gone, and it was their fault. Directly. That's a lot for a kid to handle.

But with Scleritas whispering in their ear, and the threat of Bhaal hanging over their head, the grief becomes fear. Terror, that it might happen again. They stay away from people they knew before, kids or adults who knew them in Baldur's Gate. Maybe they can't resist the urge but they can at least ensure they don't hurt anyone they love. Maybe they can control themselves. Maybe they can keep their wretched body still. Maybe they will not be the instrument of pure death and chaos and evil incarnate.

But then the only companionship they have is Scleritas Fel, and he's a wicked little creature, constantly bringing the worst out of them. And as time passes and they live their life in isolation, that terror starts to fade, as do memories of love and friendship and kindness. And the urge is impossible to totally ignore. So where before they felt intense guilt or fear, now there's no feeling at all. And since they're so distant from other living beings, people start looking like meat puppets to them. Empty dolls of blood and viscera and mucus. No longer the feeling of home, but carcasses in the making.

And you know, I don't think leading the Temple of Bhaal would help. I can see the Dark Urge completely forgetting about their old life, and the warm feelings of intimacy and affection. How long can you go through life feeling afraid or numb? Maybe the only joy they could find was in embracing their urge. In dedicating their life to Daddy, to the point where they had a crippling fear of disappointing him. If they couldn't be happy, then they could at least be perfect. They could at least have purpose. They were once afraid of how monstrous they could be. Now, they aren't.

But then.

they meet Gortash.

and it's like... well.

Durgetash is, at its core, love spun on its edge and ripped open with fangs.

It is two vicious creatures, being soft with one another, but not soft like the fur of a puppy or the heads of dandelions, but soft like carrion, like the lining of a coffin, like the whisper of the morgue.

But it is still love.

And how would the Dark Urge react? Well, unloved beast that they are, I would imagine it would sneak up on them. Neither they, nor Gortash, seem as though they have even an ounce of love or compassion in their bodies. So they can be at ease with one another, surely? Nothing about Gortash is soft or gentle the way they vaguely remember love being. So they think they're safe.

And that was a mistake. Because they haven't felt safe since they were a child. So he became their first step backwards. After years of constantly moving forward (because if they stop moving, they fear that they might die).

And it gets worse, because the more they admire him, the more they enjoy their time together, the stronger their alliance becomes... the more dangerous it feels.

Hence the prayer of forgiveness.

The Dark Urge would have to reassure father that they were still strong and obedient. They would tell him that it wasn't love, because they are not capable of it, not anymore. Gortash is just... an ally. Just an asset. A pawn, like everyone else. A meat sack.

But they're lying.

Gortash was the first crack in their armor. They had no one for so long. They needed him. Wanted him. Could only be with him at all because he had the same goals as them, and they could use them as an excuse, a shield, against the idea that they were in love or attached.

And then we get to the amnesia... the reset... the rebirth. And...

The Dark Urge starts again. They unlearned all of their pain, their agony, their sadomasochism. They find friends. And lovers. And they find comrades in arms. They find a hero within themselves, one that could not live alongside the evil built into their very blood.

And they embrace love, even though it means death.

Even if it means being obliterated, they welcome the end of all things, over returning to the loneliness of before.

And it's lovely. It's a fascinating idea to me, the dark urge and their relationship with love.

I am obsessed with the idea of a character who is not saved by love, but destroyed by it.

Someone who cannot embrace love and become stronger like all the other protagonists of the world. Someone who does the exact opposite. They want to love, but have learned it will only hurt those who could love a wretched creature like themselves. And it will only break them in the end.

But when given the chance to start all over... this time, they are not alone. This time, they have the strength to do what is necessary. The bonds that hold them together just as they pull them apart.

Friends, I'm sorry for the rambling.

But I love the potential of the Dark Urge as a character.

[rinhaler]

Get Your Passport, 'Cause We Runnin' Off

CHAPTER SUMMARY : the day of the big trip has arrived, and you're stuck with your bully for the whole ride there. maybe he'll be nice for a change...

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, PG chapter tbh, daddy kink mention??, attempted/thwarted bullying.

WORDS : 3.9k

notes : every friday was a funny joke right guys? right?

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“Are you sure you don’t need a ride tomorrow?” Gojo queries as he helps fill your fridge and cupboards with food he picked up for you. It's his way of an apology without actually saying the pivotal words. He told Yuuji he’d look out for you, and he will keep his promise. A few groceries are bound to make him look good in both your eyes and the eyes of your boyfriend.

“Yeah I’m sure. Toji is picking me up from here and then there’s a coach to take us out of town for our field trip.” you inform him.

He offers a smirk and silences himself as he continues to empty the bags. It's a devious look, and you know he has something to say. You aren't sure if you even want to know, but there's just something so irritating about Satoru Gojo that makes you think you'll die if you don’t pry whatever it is out of him.

“Could the reason that you’re declining my offer be that I don’t have what Toji has?” he wonders. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion; hoping it will prompt him to continue. “I mean, Toji has a perfect doppelgänger, right? A mini me, closer to your age.”

“What are you implying, Gojo?” you speak, an accusatory tone bleaching your words.

“Do you… like Megumi?” he inquires.

You wish you never asked.

You can’t help but scoff at that. He couldn’t have found a more inappropriate tree to bark up. Like Megumi? You can barely even stomach looking at him. He’s evil incarnate and, quite frankly, you hate him. You’ve tried being nice to him. You’ve tried being cordial. There isn’t much you haven’t tried to make your life easier when it comes to Megumi, nothing works. So liking him is completely out of the question.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” you laugh, helping him with the last of the shopping so that you can shoo him out quicker. He watches you frantically pick everything up and put it away, he can tell what you’re doing.

Did he touch a nerve?

“I’m with Yuuji,” you halt, a revolted look in your eye informing him of your now soured mood. “I mean, are you… stupid? Megumi has been bullying me since he moved into my art class, actually. So, maybe you should—”

“Alright, alright. No need to get defensive.” he snickers, pulling a lollipop out of his jacket pocket to suckle on as he heads towards the exit.

“I’m not being defensive. You’re being annoying.”

“Yeah? Well why is it that you’d rather take a ride with Papaguro over me. Is it him you like?” he pushes. It’s like he’s trying to make you snap.

“I. Have. A. Boyfriend!” you remind him, yet again, “Toji is hot, yes, in a friend’s dad calling you kiddo type of way. I guess. But he’s just that, a dad. He treats me like his own kid, and I have no interest in him passed being friends.” you explain, hoping to satiate Gojo’s curiosity enough to make him drop the subject.

“Do you call Yuuji daddy when you fuck? Giving off major kink vibes right now, sweetheart.”

“Get out.” you demand.

“Huh? Wait I was just—”

“Out! Gojo, out! You’re done. Get out of my house.” you tell him with a completely straight face. He holds his hands up in surrender as he makes his way towards your front door to leave. You’ve never met anyone as insufferable as Gojo in your life. Not even Megumi is as bad as him. You watch him from your door as you see him walk towards his car. When he opens the door, you decide to offer him some parting words. “Toji doesn’t like you very much, it’s like he doesn’t trust you. And I’m not sure if I do either.”

“Do you know what Toji did to his own kid? Abandoning him after his mother died?” he questions.

“Yeah. I do.”

“And you trust that guy and not me? Tch.” he sits behind the wheel and starts up his car. “Thought you were smarter than that, babe. I’ll see you around.”

The wait for Toji to pick you up is nauseating. It’s your first ride with both him and Megumi in the car. The younger Fushiguro had opted to catch a ride into school with his sister when he heard the news of Toji becoming your new chauffer. But with Tsumiki at work and zero desire to risk taking the bus and missing the coach, his dad became the safest option.

He sits in the back, much to your surprise, giving him the freedom to manspread across the backseat. Toji couldn’t coax many words out of you, your nerves were shot. Of course you said good morning and told him that you were doing okay, but that was as much as he could get.

“Be nice to her today, shit head.” Toji orders. He laughs when he feels Megumi kick the back of his seat in protest.

You shake it off. Everything. His voice, Megumi’s defiance. It all crumbles away as you look out of the window and pretend you’re a cloud.

“Looks like rain…” you sigh. They both hear you, but neither of them comments. The sky couldn’t be bluer and the sun is blaring down. Even the sidewalks are hot to the touch if you were to walk on them with bare feet.

“I’m serious Megumi. No funny shit today, best behaviour.”

“Tell him I’ve been nice to you so he shuts his fucking mouth. I’ve not been giving you any shit, have I?” Megumi speaks, kicking the back of your seat, eagerly awaiting a response. You sigh, and smile. But why should you keep covering for him? Today is going to be hellish whether he leaves you alone or not.

May as well get him in trouble with his darling dad.

“Are you counting when you locked us in the bathroom together? Or the other day when you when you called me an entitled bitch? Besides that, no. You’ve been so lovely to me ‘Gumi.” you hum, continuing to look out of the window.

The argument that breaks out between them goes completely over your head. The only thing on your mind is the sky. You wonder what colour the sky is where Yuuji is right now. Will he look at it and think of you, too? What is the sky like for him? Are you even on his mind? You wish he’d call, you long to hear his voice.

“Little bastard. I know you’re stupid, but I’m wonderin’ now if you’re fuckin’ deaf too. Because I’m sure I’ve told you to quit picking on her.” Toji scolds.

“I’ve done worse. Snitch.” he mutters under his breath.

“Listen to me, Megumi. Leave her the fuck alone. I won’t tell you again. She hasn’t done shit to you so stop making her life difficult for no God damn reason. Thought Yuuji was your friend, so what the fuck is all this for?” Toji continues as he keeps looking in the mirror so that he can stare at his son. It goes ignored as Megumi slumps back into himself and plays his music through his headphones loud enough to deafen the world around him. “Why didn’t you tell me about all that shit he did, princess?” he asks. You shrug your shoulders, ignoring him similarly to how Megumi was.

What a pair of brats.

He lets you both out of the car and stops you both from going anywhere before he says what he needs to say.

“You. Best fuckin’ behaviour or I’ll kick the shit out of you when you get home.” he warns his son as he ruffles his hair. He leaves right after that, heading in the direction of the coach eager to get a good seat. “And you, princess, call me if anything happens. I’ve got a meeting later but other than that I’m free. I’ll drive down to wherever the fuck you’re going and pick you up myself if he acts up.”

“I’ll be fine, Toji. Enjoy your day.”

“Yeah, you too.” he smiles, “Have a safe trip, kiddo.”

You feel yourself smiling and blood rushing to your face at the new nickname he’s bestowed upon you. It wouldn’t have made you as giddy if not for your meaningless conversation with Gojo.

Kiddo, huh? How embarrassing.

Maybe he was right about you having a daddy kink, after all.

You’ll have to let Yuuji know when you speak to him.

The coach is full of students and teachers, and most of the best seats are taken. Though, you do manage to find two unoccupied seats together, you manage to snag them before anyone else does.

Megumi is a few rows ahead of you on the opposite side of the bus; you catch him looking over his shoulders a few times at you. A furious deathly glare in his eyes, clearly still bitter over you ratting him out to Toji this morning.

He’s sitting alone, too, like he often does.

It surprises you that the mean girls of your class aren’t fawning over him.

And almost as if you summoned them, you feel a tug on your hair from behind. The redhead. The blonde traps you in by the window as she takes a seat beside you. Your heart is racing.

You’re sick of this.

Sick of them.

Sick of everything.

And having these two harass you the entire way is going to make this an even longer journey than it already is.

“Maybe we could ditch the group and have some cocktails.” the redhead jokes from behind you. “We had a great time last time we all got drunk together, right?” she snickers, earning a laugh from her friend in the process.

They become stiff and polite in an instant, and you don't even notice. You're too focused on using the window as your escape once more, imagining yourself as a drifting cloud with the hope it'll help you drown out their cruel words for the rest of the journey.

You gasp when you feel fingers digging into the fat of your underarm, gripping harshly enough to make you yelp.

“Get off me!” you shout.

You assume it's one of the girls trying to hurt you.

But you're wrong. Very wrong.

It's Megumi.

Is he trying to rescue you?

He tilts his head in the direction of the seats he's sitting in, telling you that he wants you to come with him. Noting that Megumi often chose words over actions, you decide he was the lesser of two evils and go with him. You pick up his backpack that he used to save your seat and get yourself comfortable beside the window.

“Is there a reason that you two keep bugging her? I asked you for one favour that you couldn’t even fucking follow. Are you trying to make up for it?” Megumi wonders. He speaks in hushed tones, but it’s still loud enough for you to hear.

“We’re doing it for you, babe! We know you hate her, and—”

“I’m not gonna fuck either of you, y’know? I was using you. And I didn’t fucking ask you to do anything for me after the club. Leave me and leave her alone.”

They both look at you with disdain. You can’t help but laugh, quickly covering your mouth and looking out of the window to disguise it. Their expressions are too funny not to laugh at.

They're acting as if you casted some witchcraft over Megumi to make him turn on them. If they had any common sense, they’d realise he is just an asshole who uses people to get what he wants. His thigh rests against yours when he sits back down. It’s nice, for some reason, feeling caged in by someone as threatening as Megumi.

He’s done this before in a way that sent fear directly to your heart. He did it to intimidate you.

But this… is different. It’s protective.

His head rests back against the tall back of the coach seats as he listens to his music. His head lolls to the side, and for whatever reason he decides to open his eyes.

And, of course, he’s greeted to the sight of the girls. His eyes roll and he proceeds to flip them off, clearly done with entertaining them for a second longer.

“Why did you do that, Megumi?” you ask, genuinely curious as to why he decided to save you from them.

“Shut up. Listenin’ to my music.” he hisses back.

You shrug your shoulders, knowing it’s best not to push him. You reach down to pick up your sturdy tote bag and pull out a colour by numbers book and a pack of felt tip pens.

You hear him scoff when you pull down the tray on the back of the seat in front of you so that you can start to colour in. It goes over your head, though, instead of making a biting remark you simply flip him off with a smile.

You hear him clear his throat and turn his body away from you. His eyes flutter closed, and you can only assume he’s trying to nap. It’s fair enough, you think, the coach trip is three hours long. Maybe he didn’t get much sleep last night.

He grunts as he turns back to face you. Though he seems a little disoriented. Does he realise he fell asleep? He’d been lightly snoring for ten minutes.

He looks down at your colouring book, grunting in disapproval as you continue doing your best to remain within the black lines.

“God I fucking hate you.” he mutters.

“Excuse me? You’re the one who dragged me over here!” you snap back.

“Yeah, that was before I knew you were the type of person to colour things in wrong. Why is the fucking dolphin purple?” he laughs a little as he speaks, clearly amused with himself as he berates your colouring skills.

“I like purple. It’s cute!”

“Give me a page, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Huh?”

“Give me a page.”

“You want me to rip out a page of my brand new—”

“I’m bored! Give me one to colour in properly.” he demands.

You flip through the pages heading towards the back. There are a few pages you want to do yourself, so you refrain from tearing them. He studies your face and the changes in expression as you see pages you like and want to keep for yourself. Until finally, you find a page with a lion in the wild. It’s so cute, you almost don’t want to give him it. But before you can change your mind, he snatches the book out of your hand and tears it out carefully himself.

“Hey!” you object, but it’s too late.

“Shut up. You’d only ruin it anyway. You know lions aren’t green, right?”

“You shut up.” you moan at him, returning to the page you’d been colouring and dipping your fingers into your pack of felt tips to get another pen. You barely blink before they’re missing from your hands and have been stolen by Megumi as he fishes around looking for a colour he needs. “Those are mine!”

“Heard of sharing?” he responds.

“You’re meant to ask if you can share.” you inform him. “You are the worst art student I’ve ever met. Don’t you have anything of your own?”

“Just shut up and colour your stupid purple dolphin, princess. Be a good girl and share your pens.” he teases as he begins to fill in the lions fur in a golden yellow.

You cannot stand how easily he can get into your head. Because now you are second guessing yourself and your decision. Maybe a purple dolphin wasn’t the brightest idea. But you do like purple! It takes more than a moment to calm the storm in your mind as you battle against his words and your feelings.

There are tons of artists who used colour ‘incorrectly’. Henri Matisse’s Femme au Chapeau springs to mind in a vividly clear image. You decide that you won’t stop there. Every single colour you are about to choose will be ‘wrong’. Why not make the sea pink and the trees blue? Maybe the sand will be red and the sky yellow? It’s your God damn colouring book that you paid for with your own money.

Colouring alone passes an entire hour. Megumi can’t believe his eyes when you show him your finished page. You have a prideful look on your face. And he nods. Is that… approval?

“I actually don’t hate it.” he tells you.

“Thanks. I think?”

He presents his own, looking slightly disappointed in comparison to yours. It’s wrong, but so very right. It’s fun and exciting to look at. His, on the other hand, is boring. It’s how it should be, but it isn’t as entertaining as yours.

“Give me another one, I wanna make it like yours.” he demands.

“A please wouldn’t hurt once in a while.”

He takes your book from you, looking for a page he’d like to colour in. His fingers hover over an elephant you had your eye on. You’re begging that he doesn’t tear it to colour in himself. You scrunch your eyes as you prepare to hear the all too recognisable sound of paper ripping. But instead, a simple ‘tch’ leaves his lips as he flips the page.

“Please may I take this page?” he asks, pointing at a bear in the woods. You nod, grateful that you have the elephant all to yourself. You both get to work, and you are both filled with glee as he begins to colour the friendly brown bear in a sky blue colour. You decide to colour your elephant red, although you regret it almost instantly. You hope you’ll be able to fix it.

“So, you still haven’t told me why you saved me from those girls.” you remind him, prodding for information as to why he decided to be your knight in shining armour.

“So?”

“Why did you rescue me?” you bluntly ask.

“Why did you rat me out to my dad this morning?” he questions back. It steals your breath for a moment, you have no idea what to say.

Why did you do it? You’re just mad at the world, you suppose. He hadn’t actually done anything particularly awful. Nothing to scare you or force a lump in your throat, so you had no reason to tell Toji. But you did. You’re suffering without Yuuji. Why should you be the only miserable one?

“Why did you call me ‘Gumi?” he torments with a sinister smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry about this morning. And, thank you for saving me. It’s been tough since Yuuji left, and—”

“I don’t care.” he tells you, pulling his headphones back over his ears as he starts to colour again. You shrug, assuming you won’t hear from him again until he finishes his up-and-coming masterpiece. “You piss me off, y’know?”

“Feelings mutual, trust me.”

“Listen. I’ve never had a friendship with a girl before. I just sleep with ‘em, normally. But you’re not a dumb cunt on legs like the rest. I wanted to try with you, for Yuuji, but you’re so fucking nosy.” he informs you.

“You’re disgusting. You’d known me all of two minutes and decided I was a good for nothing whore. I didn’t do anything to deserve any of the things you did to me.” you tell him, doing your best to keep your volume lowered so nobody around would be able to hear you.

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t like talking about my personal life with anyone and you just… you know. Anyway. My dad’s a selfish asshole but he’s trying, and that’s because of you. So I suppose I should be thanking you for that, at least. And he wants me to be nice to you, so that’s why I saved you. I’m sure if you grew a fucking backbone you’d be able to handle them yourself.”

“I used to have a backbone until you started bullying me and destroyed my confidence.” you whined at him, earning a chuckle.

“I said I’m done with you, with that. I don’t know why I’m so desperately craving Toji’s approval but here we are. I can’t help but hate you, but I’ll have your back when it comes to those two. And… if I’m mean, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Shut up.”

“If my dad likes you there must be something off about you. He’s shady. Dangerous.” Megumi tells you. You shake your head, dismissing him.

“Toji is a big teddy bear. He doesn’t scare me, but you do.” you hum. “You’re fucked up and you know it. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you and I’m sure it won’t be long before you’re making my life hell again.”

“Teddy bear? Ugh. You’re not fucking him, are you? My dad?” he fake gags as he thinks about it a little longer than he intended.

“Why do people keep asking if I have a crush on your dad?” you whisper to yourself. But, you’re a fool, because of course Megumi heard you. He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your accidental statement. “Gojo.”

“Fuck sake, those two. Ignore him, they’ll both do anything to one up each other.” Megumi huffs, a disapproving shake of his head punctuating his statement.

“So you go way back with Gojo too, like Yuuji? How do you know him?”

“See, nosy.” he scoffs. “A story for another day, maybe. Or just ask your new best friend Toji when we next carpool.” he mocks you, finally blocking you out with his headphones again as he pours all of his focus into his bear colouring.

It’s such a small world.

How have you found yourself falling into this tight knit circle of family and friends who all seem to know each other? It’s crazy that they are all so close and yet so far.

Megumi and Toji are father and son but they are practically worlds apart in terms of closeness. Yuuji hates Megumi like he thought he never could. The Fushiguro’s are both related to your ex Naoya. And Toji, Yuuji and Megumi all have a connection to Gojo.

Megumi mentioned that Toji is shady and dangerous, but you don’t get that vibe from him at all.

Gojo on the other hand has an incredibly seedy aura about him. He’s sweet to you, sure, but why? Just because Yuuji told him to be? Is anyone really that nice? It’s like he’s going above and beyond to make both you and Yuuji happy. You can’t tell how Megumi feels about the white haired menace, but you know that Toji loathes him.

Why?

What the fuck is going on with the men in your life?

© 2022 fuwushiguro | © 2024 rinhaler

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi, one more question!

I read Tomarry fan fiction with time travel, and when they write that Harry is taking Tom from the orphanage, for some reason they write that Harry expects that if he gives the love and care that he was deprived of, then Tom will become a different person. That is, Harry projects himself onto Tom and expects the same reaction from him that Harry himself would have had if he had been taken away from the Dursleys. And also, I do not understand the authors themselves believe that if you give a child (Tom) everything he wants and do not limit him at least somehow, that he will grow up to be a morally better person? Or do they think that Harry is so narrow-minded and does not understand that punishments and rewards are needed for proper upbringing? That it's not enough to just say "don't do this because it's wrong for a moral reason", but to provide a logical explanation that would be based on logic and pragmatism, which would sound clearer to Tom? What do you think about it?

Anyone could write whatever they want, and I'm not going to diss any specific fics or authors. Personally, I'm not the biggest fan of Harry going back in time to raise Tom fics because it's just not to my personal taste. So, this isn't the kind of scenario I really think about for Harry's and Tom's characters.

In general, though, I think Harry understands Tom and how he thinks more than fanon often gives him credit for. I also think Tom isn't as evil incarnate as some fanon paints him as. I don't think he's super moral, but I don't think he is especially cruel either.

Like, Tom doesn't do immoral things because he doesn't know what's good and what's evil, he is an intelligent capable adult — he knows very well what he's doing is evil, he just doesn't mind doing evil if he thinks it's necessary.

And he has morals. He regrets needing to kill Snape, he dislikes unnecessary death and bloodshed and actively avoids it in the first war. He doesn't want to kill students in the battle of Hogwarts and calls a ceasefire to let them regroup and treat their injuries to the detriment of his own side. He hates cowardice and treachery. He derides Wormtail because he betrayed his friends, yes, that betrayal helped Voldemort, but Voldemort despises cowardly traitors as a rule and his morals are important to him. He hates pretentious purebloods and he shows this contempt in how he treats his followers. Tom has a moral core all on its own with his shitty upbringing, it's just, kinda messed up and he's a practicality-over-morality kind of person most of the time. I'm saying most because he doesn't allow himself to cheat when trying to kill Harry. He just has to kill Harry properly, in a fair duel, because of his own morals and ideals. I also think Tom would be insulted by the concept of cheating at school, for example.

I mentioned in the past the fact Voldemort's favorite spell is the killing curse kinda shows that he has some twisted sense of morality. I mean, in a world where you can burn and cut and torture people with magic there are so many cruel and painful ways to kill someone, and yet, Voldemort's go-to spell, when he isn't making a point or torturing someone for a specific reason, is Avada Kedavra. The Killing Curse is a painless death, even Voldemort considers it a merciful death. It's quick and painless and efficient. This is the death he gave James and Lily because he respected them and didn't want them to suffer unnecessarily. This is the death he chooses for anyone he doesn't have a specific reason to torture because he is against what he deems as unnecessary cruelty. Snape's death is the only real death that is unnecessarily cruel but I think it has more to do with JKR needing a way for Snape to get Harry the information he needs rather than be accurate to Voldemort's character as he was shown thus far.

Like, he has some weird sense of morality, and even with the evil things he does, like murder, he knows they are bad and he does so anyway. Sometimes, he does so regretfully, in the most merciful way he can, and other times, when he hates someone, he relishes in it. It's not about not understanding good and evil or not knowing what morals are, it's about caring about morals less than about whatever goal he wants to accomplish, and sometimes that goal is to humiliate the crap out of Lucius Malfoy, or to showcase how great he is and be dramatic about it. But the fact he has his twisted morals and considers himself merciful is part of what makes him so interesting to me.

[neyafromfrance95]

I really don’t understand why people are so divided on Celeborn. Like he’s always just been there and I never expected TROP to change that. Sure he’s boring but I can acknowledge that for Galadriel he makes sense and that she does love him. It doesn’t effect the intrigue of her relationship with Sauron which already existed well before TROP. It’s just that the show was smart enough to realize that and flesh it out. I think some fans have a provincial view on love and don’t understand that various layers of it can exist without detracting from the other. I can believe that Galadriel is in love and happy with Celebron and STILL feels a cosmic soul connection to Sauron. I think the writers understand that this is the meat of this adaptation because there’s a reason certain tropes are classics; the whole dark/light, good/evil push and pull. On a different note it also makes me wonder why people feel the need to whitewash Sauron’s character as this man who wants to try to be ‘good’ in order to ship him and Galadriel. I think s2 makes it very clear that he is at his core a dark and evil entity who at the very most finds human morality an interesting curiosity and warps ideas of goodness for his own gain. And monsters can still feel love, like I think he definitely feels connected to Galadriel and will only ever feel as deeply as he is capable for another being, for her. But because he is what he is, he has no problem manipulating her for what he thinks is best for her and ultimately what serves himself. They are on totally different ends in how they perceive the world and yet they see each other so clearly. This is what makes it interesting for me at least. Anyway let me stop rambling now lol

yeah, i agree.

i see celeborn as this emotional support husband who (unlike many other male characters in lotr) doesn't "dominate" his wife and is rather her follower. there is a good malewife potential for him, lol. and he is pretty much just a background "husband" character, not taking away the spotlight from galadriel.

and yes, just bc galadriel ends up married to celeborn and they might have a nice soft relationship doesn't mean that she doesn't have a far more special and deep connection with sauron, more passionate and poetic even.

but the reason why they can't be together and the whole tragic beauty of sauron x galadriel is that her gaze is fixed on the light while he is the darkness incarnate. and the fact that sauron is this irredeemable evil yet still loves galadriel and her only but in his own twisted way is what makes it more fascinating!

i wish we could allow female characters to have complicated, complex and flawed relationships instead of trying to limit them to the simple wholesome and easily digestible ones.

that being said, i don't really think it's gonna be interesting to focus on galadriel's relationship with celeborn in trop. we know their story already, we've seen them together in other media. this is the story of galadriel x sauron and taking the focus away from this relationship by introducing celeborn would be far from compelling or satisfying development. that's the reason i don't really want to see him until the end of the show.

(also, again, the reason for celeborn demand and discourse is that a lot of incelbros want galadriel to be this tame wifey and they think celeborn is going to come and take away her sword, and a lot of moralists want us to stop shipping "taboo" ships such as sauron x galadriel.)

[colormepurplex2]

The Demon Is In The Details | Sweet, Sweet Soul

↳ Demon!Jimin x Human!f.Reader ⤜ Crossroads Demon AU, Accidental Enthrallment ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 9,928 ⚠️ Crass language, soul sucking, dick piercing, cock sucking, kissing, biting, mild nipple play/biting/there is blood involved, blood drinking, face fucking, hair pulling, choking, body worship, enthrallment/instant infatuation, begging, vaginal sex, creampie, cum play/eating, insatiable lust, lost soul, demon metamorphosis

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You’re not sure what you expected—but, a lavish bedroom complete with a four-poster bed and sitting area with plush upholstered furniture wasn’t it. It all feels so…human. You can almost pretend like you are just on an extended vacation, staying at some ritzy hotel.

“So, this is where demons live, huh?” You try not to let too much sarcasm thread into your words. “Was expecting more fire and brimstone and less velvet and lace,” you say, plucking at the lacy fringe of the canopy drapes that are pulled back on the bed.

The demon sniffs, his chin turning up in mild indignation. “Fire and brimstone? What utter nonsense,” he mutters, but you can tell he’s just sure to be loud enough for you to hear.

That prickles a bit. It’s not like you’re precisely well-versed on the whole demon thing. Are you supposed to know that demons enjoy the lap of luxury instead of broiling in sulfuric pits of steaming sludge? Everything you’ve ever read, heard, or been taught hinges on the idea that demons are hellish monsters that dwell in Hell. And considering Hell is supposed to be a place of fire and brimstone, well, put two and two together, and you don’t think your assumption is a stretch.

“Is this even Hell?” you ask.

Red eyes cut your way, and the demon’s top lip curls in disgust. “This is a hell, yes.”

“A hell?”

“Mm,” he hums lightly in acknowledgement. “One of many.”

Many? Interesting. “Like the different circles?”

The demon sighs, his red eyes rolling in annoyance. “Whatever it is you think you may know, forget it. There are no ‘circles’, no pits—unless you count the sanguine pits, but you probably don’t want to go there,” his top teeth sink into his bottom lip for a moment, his eyes turning mischievous, “or maybe you do. Another day, perhaps. Anyway, this is the…Inferna is the best human word to use to describe it. But, you may call it home, considering that is exactly what it is now; your home.” He chuckles, but you think it’s a poor joke.

“Home. Okay, sure, very funny.” The sarcasm helps to bolster your mood a bit, knowing that you can still spit words with at least a little venom.

That’s all you’ve been able to think about since the understanding of what was happening dawned on you. The fear of not being able to think for yourself, that your free will and ability to think would be stripped from you, and you’d become nothing more than some mindless demon slut.

The fact you’re able to hold this conversation is promising. But you are curious. With the deal settled between this demon and Dominique, you feel like you’ve been put in an ambiguous limbo of sorts. Dominique’s deal included you, but as she said, it wasn’t your own deal.

So, do you even have a deal with this demon? But, before you can express your curiosity further, a loud knock echoes from the double doors on the other side of the sitting area that you hadn’t noticed before.

“This should be fun,” the demon says, and it almost seems like he’s…pouting? “Come in.”

The doors swing open on a blast of hot air. Clouds of grey-blue smoke curl through the space before dissipating and revealing what you can only describe as evil incarnate. At least, that’s the feeling you get, like happiness and joy can not exist in the presence of this being. Your energy immediately wanes, so much so that it makes your knees weak.

Pitch-colored eyes set in an angular face framed by thick, inky hair give way to taught lips drawn in a severe line. His body is hidden by the billowing folds of a robe that seems made of gossamer and iron, with its constant shifting in the room's ambient lighting.

A voice as deep as the darkest chasm in the ocean and just as cold hisses through the room. “What have we here? A pet?”

“Dark Lord,” the demon at your side says, bending at the waist and bowing deeply. He straightens, casting a quick glance in your direction. “A pleasant mistake is all, My Lord. A soul come to me by the blundering of a supposed friend.”

“More fiend than a friend, it seems, if the result is this.” A smirk curls the pale pink lips of the man—demon?—standing in the doorway.

You want to jump to Dominique’s defense and argue that she’s not the fiend here, but a scathing look from the male at your side silences anything you might have mustered in protest. The look on his face says opening your mouth is probably the last thing you want to do right now. Whoever this ‘Dark Lord’ is, even the demon laying claim to your soul is intimidated by him.

“Very well,” the newcomer says before sucking in a deep, drawing breath as if scenting the very air around him. “Yes, yes, I think she’ll do well. A strong spirit, but not so strong that she won’t break. Perhaps…you might find it in you to share.”

“Share?” The word is gritted out between clamped teeth, stilted and forced. “Of course, if that is what you desire.”

“Please, Jimin, I aim only to tease you,” the being chuckles, wafting a hand complete with blackened nails and spidery purple veins. The billowing robes bend and sway with the act, stirring long shadows along the walls to either side of the doors. “Keep the little mouse. Enjoy the luxury of a pure soul for once. You’ve earned it.”

With that, he turns to leave, vanishing in a swirl of grey that disappears as the doors swing closed once more. Even though he’s gone, there is one thing that he left behind. A word. Or more so, a name.

Jimin.

“So, Jimin, huh?”

A low growl rumbles from the demon before his ruby eyes slice your way. “You will not use that name.”

Despite your lack of belief in demons and all the abracadabra nonsense prior to this, you’ve read enough to know there can be power behind knowing a demon’s name. However, you’re not sure how much power there is. But you’re willing to find out.

“What’s the matter, Jimin—” you twist the name with emphasis, “—don’t like it when someone might have power over you, Jimin? It is a taste of your own medicine, perhaps, Jimin?”

You part your lips, tongue poised to continue your taunting tirade, but in a flash, a warm, rigid hand is clamped over your mouth. Fire burns in the deep recesses of Jimin’s eyes. It's not just a pseudo-flame trick of the light, either. Real flames dance within the blood-colored irises. They undulate and grow brighter with each rise and fall of his chest until you’re certain smoke is going to start pouring out of his ears at any moment.

“You know, I thought I quite enjoyed your fiery spirit. But now, I’m not so sure. Maybe just a little tweak, a little taste, and you’ll…be…just…right.” As he says the words, drawn out and slow, you feel a little tug in the center of your chest.

The feeling starts out light, barely a string’s caress between your breasts. But gradually, it turns into a thick line of yarn that you’d swear was slowly unraveling your soul the way it would from a skein. There is an ebbing clarity, a fleeting thought that this is something you’re certain you should be resisting.

But you can’t seem to tear yourself away from staring into those flaming depths. Simply a moth drawn to the flame, heedless of the blaze threatening to engulf you.

His body presses against yours, hard and hot in contrast to your soft and freezing. The fact your body is chilled right to the bone only registers now. The trembling starts at the tips of your fingers and toes before your entire body shudders against his. Yet, you still can’t will yourself to look away.

“W-what are y-yo…you do-doing to…to me?”

The words sound hollow to your ears, thin and thready, like a weak pulse compared to the hammering of your heart that’s forcing your blood to woosh with staccato punches. The edges of your vision darken, and you struggle to blink or look away, to do anything to break the fevered contact.

“Perfect,” Jimin purrs, the sound registering the second before whatever is holding you in place diminishes, and you slump forward. Strong arms cradle your body, an arm sliding under the backs of your knees to lift you bridal style. Whereas your eyes wouldn’t close before, they now refuse to open. The darkness, such a contrast to the fire you were captured by before, makes your eyes ache and water. You can feel the trails of your tears cut through your hairline and blend with the perspiration gathering there.

Hot and cold. Light and dark. It’s hard to tell up from down at this point—warring emotions, seemingly endless confusion. You feel like you’re floating weightless in an abyss, though distinctly aware of how your body curls against smooth silk covering warm flesh.

With a sigh, you find the strength to open your eyes, meeting those crimson rings once more. Except, this time, there is no fear…no confusion…only peace, deeply rooted and infinitely spread through every fiber of your being.

You can see yourself reflected in those endless, vermillion depths. And what you see is…different; still you…but different—hungrier, a feral tinge that you know should frighten you.

😈😈😈

Jimin

The taste of your soul still lingers in Jimin’s mouth, making saliva pool under his tongue. It was the tiniest taste, just a sampling of what’s to come. But, fuck, if it didn’t make his cock hard and his chest ache from the restraint he used to hold himself from draining you completely dry while sucking the marrow right from your bones.

You are quite possibly the most exquisite creature he has ever laid eyes on, much less had the pleasure of savoring. His anger at Yoongi is quickly dissipating, replaced by the erotic thrum of the call of your soul. It beckons him to drink more, to devour you completely.

Jimin didn’t want to do this so soon. He’d intended to drag this out as much as possible, playing a game with his own constraint to see how long he could withstand your allure. This is Yoongi’s fault. If the Dark Lord hadn’t come in here sniffing around things that were not his, letting things as precious as names slip, Jimin wouldn’t have been so forced to jump the gun.

He had little choice in it, he’s sure. If you had continued to twist his name with your perfect lips, you would have indeed begun to wield the power behind it. With each additional drop of his name, he felt the knot forming at the base of his spine. The one that triggers his survival instincts and forces his hand.

Perhaps it’s for the best, he thinks, as he effortlessly carts your limp body over to the bed and lays you out. Your head lolls from side to side, eyes fluttering as they adjust to what Jimin knows must be an unpleasant ache deep in your psyche. It might be millennia since he became forsaken, but the memory of how it felt has not diminished.

Not that he’s going to let that happen to you. As it is, he’s undecided on how this is going to play out in the end. He has a deal with your friend that you will remain unharmed, and sucking out your soul until you become a demon doesn’t necessarily harm you. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but all together, not exactly harmful. Well, not to you physically, at least. That’s not saying much for you emotionally…spiritually.

Dominique should have been more precise in her demands—unharmed can mean anything. Though, he knows there could be room for argument that he was being deceptive. He shrugs to himself. He’s a demon…it’s to be expected. Words hold all the power. They are Jimin’s preferred weapon of choice for a reason. It’s why he’s so good at what he does, why Yoongi bestowed the crossroads task upon him all those centuries ago. Yes, if your so-called friend had truly cared, she should have been far more specific in her request and should have read between the lines before offering her blood and sealing your fate.

Jimin looks down on you from beside the bed as you slowly regain your senses. He has to adjust himself in his trousers, his arousal growing with each barely audible mewl that whimpers from your lips. If he were a lesser demon, he might not be able to keep himself from pouncing in your weakened state. As much as Jimin likes to dominate, he’d be curious to see what comes naturally now that a part of you resides in him.

“Mmm,” you moan softly.

Your eyes slide closed once more before finally popping open, wide and full of clarity. They find his, and what Jimin sees there has his whole body going taut with anticipation. You look like a feral wolf about to spring on an unsuspecting rabbit, and Jimin just so happens to be said rabbit. If you keep looking at him that way, perhaps he won’t mind being the prey for once.

“Whoa,” Jimin chuckles as you lurch upright in the bed, swinging an arm wildly in his direction, fingers hooked into claws. “Give yourself a minute.”

There is a thick, sultriness to your voice that wasn’t there before as you say, “I…I feel—I want…what did you do to me?” You bring the hand you swung at him up in front of your face, flipping it from front to back again and again as if somehow you’ll be able to physically see the change in yourself.

“Only what I’m entitled to.”

Your eyes snap to his, sharp and calculating. He’s intentionally cryptic, but he knows you can see straight through his deliberately obtuse response.

“Entitled to? The deal was for you not to harm me!” you snarl, teeth barred in his direction. Jimin decides it’s a cute look on you, like a stray kitten gearing up for a hissing match. Too bad for you, Jimin’s trained in the prowess of being a lion.

“You are unharmed,” he snaps back, eyes flashing.

You cringe, and Jimin almost wants to take it back. But that won’t do. No, not for what he has planned for you. As appealing as your defiance is…no, Jimin needs this far too much.

He realizes just how hungry he is.

Absolutely, ravenous. And he knows exactly what he wants to satiate the ache.

You mutter something under your breath, and if Jimin didn’t have the super hearing of a demon, he’d surely miss it. “Why am I so gods damned horny? Now is not the time to be jonesing for a joyride on a monster dick.”

“I think now is precisely the time to be, as you say, ‘jonesing for a joyride on a monster dick’.”

The surprise on your face is second only to the way your heart lurches in your chest, so intense that Jimin can distinctly hear the upbeat roar it launches into at his words. Both make Jimin feel powerful, in vastly different ways. Your lips form an enticing tiny opening as you gape at him, and the blood rushing through your body notches up the pulsing thrum he knows you can feel spiking through your clit now. The mere notion of riding a dick has your body primed and aching already.

“What did you say?”

“I merely repeated what you said. I don’t typically fuck on the first date, but seeing as how this isn’t a usual first…I think I can make an exception.”

In fact, Jimin is almost sure that if he doesn’t find himself in one of your holes in the next five minutes, he might make a fool of himself, similar to something a teenage human boy might experience. Typically, he doesn’t get to enjoy the tender confines of a human, not unless it’s part of the demon deal they make—which, thanks to the influx of paranormal romance stories out there, has increased somewhat in the last handful of decades.

The tip of your tongue pokes out and absently moves over the roundness of your bottom lip. “I don’t know if I understand what you’re saying.”

That’s cute; you trying to play it off like Jimin’s proclamation didn’t just create a wave pool in your panties. He can smell it, the light, tangy scent of your arousal. It blooms in the air as you shift to your knees on the bed; you’re unknowingly filling Jimin’s lungs with the smell of your dripping cunt.

He takes a deep, appreciative breath and allows a moment of tense silence to hang in the air between you. The thread snaps, thin as gauze. You’re on him in the next instant, one hand fisting in his hair and the other ripping at the buttons on his shirt. Your knees slide over the silk of the duvet as you simultaneously pull Jimin until his thighs knock the side of the bed and your front is pressed to his.

“Take your clothes off,” Jimin states, and you immediately stop your frantic groping of him and begin to shed your own clothes. “Bare yourself to me.” Jimin’s top lip quivers as his mouth forms around the commands, power bubbling in his veins as the small piece of you burns his insides; pain-laced pleasure threads through his every fiber, and he wants more.

Jimin follows your movements, watching as you strip off your long-sleeved shirt, tossing it aimlessly to the side before doing the same with your bra. You roll back onto your ass and kick your legs out in front of you across the bed and tear at the zipper and button on your jeans. It’s cute, the way you snarl and hiss at the offending denim as you wrestle it, along with your panties, down your legs. You finally kick free of them and, in the process, send a cloud of your heady arousal right into Jimin’s nose.

It’s enough to make him feral. The moment your last article of clothing falls to the floor, you splay yourself back on the bed, knees wide and arms extending above your head. Like a present, freshly unwrapped, and his to play with. Your hooded gaze meets his, like a challenge daring him to let his eyes drink their fill; and, oh boy, do they.

You are utterly divine. Jimin wants nothing more than to lick and kiss every inch of your striking skin, starting with the tender flesh behind your ear and ending with the points of your toes, mapping out your body like the temple that it is. Your nipples are tight peaks straining toward the ceiling, and your pussy lips are already slick and swollen with want; you paint the picture of perfect sexual carnality.

Jimin watches as your mouth tries to form his name. When it doesn’t come, a line forms between your brows, and you manage to gruff out a different word instead, “Demon.” It’s nowhere near as seductive as his name, but he’ll consider it a term of endearment all the same.

He chuckles, gripping your ankles and using a flex of strength to flip you around and position you on the bed just how he wants you. Your head hangs off the edge, hands raising in surprise to brace on his hips. Your chest rises and falls in quick succession, your breathing so harsh he can feel the thick exhale of your breath through the linen of his trousers.

“I’ll show you ‘demon’,” Jimin purrs seductively.

The button on his pants pops under his thumb, and the zipper slides down swiftly. Before Jimin can push them down, you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband of his pants and shoving them down. It’s an awkward angle for you; with your arms bent how they are, you only get them down his thighs. But, it’s enough. With a sway of his hips, Jimin gets his pants to drop to around his ankles.

He could use his power to disrobe instantly, but he finds this far more entertaining. Jimin revels in the slack-jawed look on your face as you take in his rigid length protruding in front of your face. The piercing in the tip glints in the ambient light, the first pearly string of his arousal already beaded and webbing along the silver ring.

Placing a thumb against your bottom lip, Jimin gently pries your jaw open until you’re stretched wide enough he can tease the tip of his cock inside. Your chest convulses, nostrils flaring as you continue to suck in greedy breaths through your nose, considering your mouth is growing fuller by the second as he continues to feed himself into the hot, wet confines. Using twin fistfuls of your violet hair, he holds you steady.

You swallow around him, the contracting of your throat sending tingles down Jimin’s spine and making his balls draw up as his whole body shudders. His control slips the tiniest bit, siphoning a sliver of your soul. It slams into him, causing him to jerk forward and drive even further into your throat, cutting off your air.

“Fuck!” Jimin roars, his eyes squeezing shut as he denies his body the release that nearly swept him away. This can’t be over yet; he’s just getting started.

😈😈😈

You gag, effectively choking on his cock as his pelvis presses flush against your chin, and you can feel his heavy balls crowd in close to your nose. There was a moment there, where you felt connected to him in a way that should scare you, but a different kind of fear quickly replaced that feeling. Panic looms heavy in your chest as your lungs protest the lack of air, but you can’t bring yourself to shove Jimin away.

It’s infuriating to be able to think his name but not be able to utter it aloud. “F-fuck you,” you rasp when he finally withdraws. Saliva strings from your parted lips to the glistening head and shaft of his cock, the tip heavily leaking pearlescent drops that mix with the glossy strands. His cloying taste lingers, and you want nothing more than to stretch your neck up and scoop those milky beads away with your tongue.

Every second since Jimin did whatever he did to you, you’ve barely had a hold on your desire to burrow into him, get beneath his skin, and pick away at his insides until you figure out how he ticks. You want to be inside of him and have him inside of you, anything to diminish what feels like a miles-deep trench between the two of you.

You’ve never felt such a visceral desire to fuck. It’s not that you’re a prude; if anything, you would consider yourself to have a healthy sexual appetite. However, this is different. This is you wholly and utterly wrecked, wanting Jimin in all possible ways.

“Oh, I plan to. But first—” Jimin teases, a wicked grin curling his plush lips. He forces you to watch upside down as he finishes disrobing. With each additional inch of flawless porcelain flesh he reveals, you grow wetter until you’re a whimpering, slick mess staring at his naked body, “—you’re going to choke on my cock some more while I taste that pussy.”

Jimin’s dirty words are like gasoline in your veins, and his hands slapping against the insides of your thighs to pry them open is the match. Heat boils beneath your skin, sweat beads and pools between your breasts, and glides down the slope of your neck to tickle your hairline.

Your mouth is open, and your tongue sticks out flat in welcome as Jimin juts his hips forward. The thick length of his cock slides past your lips, velvety smooth and tasting faintly of hot metal. His body molds along the front of yours, slick chest resting against your stomach.

The warm fan of his breath hits a second before the molten lick of his tongue slides from your clit to the cleft of your ass, his hands gripping the meat on the back of your thighs to raise your hips. Your scream at that initial contact is muffled by the thickness of his cock in your throat. Jimin buries himself in your esophagus, pistoning his hips in and out so relentlessly that you only manage tiny gasping breaths.

He doesn’t let up, pounding into your mouth with manic abandon. You have to brace your hands against his thighs, fingers digging into the muscles and nails leaving deep, crescent divots in the flesh. Sensations assault you from both ends as Jimin buries his face between your thighs.

Jimin feasts like a man—demon—starved. His tongue swirls, slides, and dips in intervals between his lips sucking and teeth dragging. Pleasure builds, starting at the base of your spine and moving up until even your tongue writhing on the underside of Jimin’s cock feels like a direct line to your clit.

“Mmf–uh!” you garble a moan that ramps into a shriek as your orgasm barrels through you.

“That’s right,” Jimin murmurs into the wet folds of your pussy, “cum all over my face and tongue, just like that.” He continues to lap at you, suckling and humming his delight.

He grunts and moans a litany of guttural words you can’t understand before emptying himself down your throat. Hips stuttering against your face, he throbs in your mouth, his piercing sliding along the roof of your mouth as he begins to pull out.

You lick your numb lips and work your aching jaw when Jimin fully withdraws from your mouth, but not before gripping the base of his swollen cock and tapping it against your tongue a few times, smearing his still-leaking arousal across your lips. You know you should feel mildly degraded, being used as a proverbial cum rag, but if anything, it turns you on even more.

“Fuck.” The word comes out like a whimper, your body clenching in the aftermath of one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever experienced.

Jimin chuckles, “I’m getting to that part.”

“What are you doing to me?” you ask breathlessly. It’s not a question you expect an answer to, more a rhetorical musing that drifts from your muddled brain. So, it surprises you when Jimin steps back and cradles your upside-down face between his hands, lifting your face until it’s inches from his.

His scarlet eyes have taken on a golden ring around the edges. They pulse in tandem with each of his breaths. “I’ve laid claim to you is what I’ve done. And before you even think about spouting off about the deal, being that you are to remain unharmed, you are. You can feel it, you know I’m speaking the truth. My claim on your soul has nothing to do with your well-being. If anything, you are now stronger and more resilient than you’ve ever been before.”

He’s right. You can feel it in your bones. Not just their additional strength but the way your muscles cling to them, and you’re sure they would neither snap nor tear no matter how far you bend them. You are no longer the delicate mortal you once were. And you’re not sure if you care, either.

If anything, the strength is addicting.

You. Want. More.

“More,” you tell Jimin. “I need more. Please.”

You’re pretty sure you would do anything at this point for another taste, another dose of whatever this is that’s now zinging beneath your skin. Jimin drops his hold on your face and stretches his arms in the air above his head, lithe body stretching in all its glory before you.

It’s rapturous watching the way his body moves. Wanting to see the vision of him properly, you roll over and push up onto your knees. Jimin slowly brings his arms back down, threading his fingers together in front of him and pushing his palms out. The distinct crack of his knuckles sends chills down your spine.

A predatory glint catches in his eyes, eliciting another visceral response from your body, this one of desire. Not caring how desperate you seem, you once again throw yourself at him, hands gripping and tugging until you’ve wrestled him on top of you on the bed. He lands in the valley between your thighs, and you wrap your legs around him, holding him in place.

“Tell me your name,” Jimin whispers in command, lips brushing over yours.

It forms on the tip of your tongue, your impulse to give him exactly what he wants. But, perhaps you’re not as far gone as you thought because you are able to resist this. Slowly, you shake your head, and a sly grin forms on your face.

“No.”

Jimin’s brow pinches and his top lip curls in what you’ve realized is a tell, indicating that his patience is thinning. You roll your hips against his, thrilled by how the action makes the line between his brows disappear, and his lips pop open with a soft grunt.

“You’re not the only one that’s clever here, Demon. If I can’t use your name, you won’t have mine.”

You can see the challenge in his eyes, the pure delight at the prospect of the battle ahead. “So be it, little mouse, but be warned: you’ll break long before I do.”

His mouth covers yours, silencing any protest you might have made to his statement. The vehement denial turns fleeting the instant his tongue presses between your lips and invades your mouth.

The tangy taste of your own arousal mixes with the intoxicating natural heat of the demon himself. He tastes like blood and ash but also like a crisp drink of water after days in the desert, both your salvation and your demise.

“Ah!” you yelp as Jimin fists a hand into your hair and cranes your head back, breaking the kiss and exposing the length of your neck to him.

“Pay close attention, pet. You don’t want to miss a second of this.” His words are murmured, so soft against your skin as he says them between open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat.

With every press of his mouth, his hips swivel in lazy circles that rub the thick shaft of his desire over your clit. It’s just enough pressure to drive you mad but not nearly enough to give you what you truly want.

Jimin takes first one nipple and then the other into the wet lock of his lips, lashing the pert tip with his tongue. The hand that was tugging your hair loosens, sliding down the side of your face before clasping around your neck like a five-fingered necklace.

You can feel the moment he begins to squeeze with his fingers and thumb, as they are so precisely placed on either side of your neck that they press against your jugulars. It creates a subtle pounding in your head, a lightheadedness that makes you hyper-aware of the way his teeth scrape over the tender flesh of your right breast before lightly piercing the skin.

A moan comes out in place of a scream as your body gives in to the depraved pleasure. This shouldn’t feel as good as it does, but it’s like Jimin is turning your entire body into one giant, throbbing erogenous zone. Pain is no longer something your body tries to pull away from. Instead, you find yourself arching your back so the points of his teeth pierce your flesh once more.

“F-fuck!” 

You can feel the heat of your blood pooling between your breasts for a moment before Jimin is lapping it up the same way he was licking at your pussy just moments ago. The sharp scent of hot copper punches the air when Jimin lifts his face and laughs, the sound dark and gravelly.

Peering down the slope of your nose the best you can, you catch a glimpse of his face before he dives back down to once again ravish the tight buds of your nipples. But that one glimpse is enough to paint a vivid picture of Jimin bathed in your blood, red eyes ringed in black, crimson smeared at the corners of his mouth, coating the tips of his teeth as he opened his mouth to laugh.

It does something to you, something primal and instinctive. Your body goes limp under him as your muscles coil before you snap. You throw your weight into him, shoving up with your hips and using the hold you have with your legs wrapped around him to your advantage. One moment, Jimin is buried between the mounds of your breasts, feasting on the tiny rivulets of crimson from his bites, and the next, he’s beneath you with a pleasant surprise on his bloody face.

“Look at you,” Jimin croons, his hands landing firmly on your hips. Using his hold, he undulates your hips, forcing the wet slit of your cunt to rub along the length of his dick, the ring in the tip catching on the hood of your clit with every pass. “You’re making a mess all over my cock.”

Bracing yourself on his chest, you let his hands encourage your hips with ease, luxuriating in the silky glide between your thighs. You’re relatively certain with just a few more minutes of this, and you could get yourself off, Jimin’s own pleasure be damned. But, it seems he picks up on that, and with a scoff, he uses his grip on your hips to force your body still.

“Don’t be an asshole!” you whine, digging your nails into the muscles of his chest. His dusky nipples stand out, and without thinking about it, you lean down and capture one between your teeth the same way he did yours. The skin pulls tight, and you love the sharp sound Jimin makes; something between a moan and a grunt.

A fist buries in your hair, and your head snaps back as Jimin wrenches you up, your teeth snicking free from his nipple. Black blood oozes from around the small rip in the bud, filling the hollow between his pecs and the notch at the base of his throat. The wound closes right before your eyes, sealing closed almost instantly. “Look at this mess. Clean it up,” Jimin growls low in his throat, the words barely above a whisper.

You immediately stick out your tongue, and with the grip on the back of your head, Jimin guides your mouth down to his chest. His blood is hot and thick, tasting strongly of rich spices, like the fiery notes of a mulled wine. You feel unhinged, so completely removed from who you were before Dom buried that little box in the woods. Maybe it’s delirium, and you’ve snapped, or perhaps this is just who you’ve always been…whatever it is, you can’t seem to stop.

Lips swollen and covered in demon blood, you leave a trail of macabre kisses up the length of Jimin’s neck before covering your mouth with his once again. The mix of your blood and his is heady and addicting, the perfect match of iron and spice.

“Why can’t I stop?” you whisper against Jimin’s lips, not giving him time to answer before you’re licking into his mouth again. “Why don’t I want to stop?”

😈😈😈

Jimin

You’re not the only one who doesn’t want to stop. It’s never been like this for Jimin before. He’s never once experienced something so raw and carnal. He is wholly and utterly fucked. Or, well, he will be in just…one…moment.

“Be a good girl and give us what we both want,” he commands you, using his grip on your hair to pull your lips off of his. “Ride my cock, and don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Jimin watches as you rear up, head cocked back because of his continued grip on your hair, reach between your thighs, and wrap your fingers around his rigid length. You stroke your hand up, thumb toying with the ring there, before sliding down. Continuing, you work your hand from root to tip a few more times until Jimin is sure he might explode.

The command to stop fucking around and start fucking him is on the tip of his tongue when you finally comply. You take him in one swift plummet, impaling yourself on his cock with a strangled cry that echoes through the room.

Cracks form in the dried blood around Jimin’s mouth. He can feel it pull and tug as his lips part with a groan. Your body moves over his, hips and tits bouncing. Loosening his hand in your hair, he slides it down at the same time he brings his other up. You fit perfectly in his hands, and the soft mounds of your breasts mold around his fingers as he squeezes them appreciatively.

“I can f-feel you so deep.” You’re mewling, panting and whining, the sounds a symphony of eroticism and pleasure to Jimin’s ears.

The bite marks on your chest have stopped bleeding, but Jimin still appreciates the way the dried crimson smears of his feasting look under his hands. Everything about your body drives him crazy and turns him into a barely-restrained animal.

The only reason he hasn’t shoved you face down on the bed and rutted you like a beast is because he wants to enjoy you a little bit longer before completely destroying you. He knows he would lose control of his abilities, gobbling down the rest of your soul in one gulp.

“Look at you, taking my cock so perfectly,” he grunts, digging his heels in and flexing his hips up as you drop down, forcing himself even deeper. You keen, increasing your pace as he continues to meet you stroke for stroke. Slipping his hands down, one latches on your hip, and the other presses to your lower belly, thumb finding your clit and swirling in precise circles.

“I, uh, fuck! I’m going to—”

The cresting of your orgasm cuts off your words. Your body shudders with the release, walls intensely contracting around his cock. Warmth floods Jimin’s body. He can feel every pulse of your body as if it’s begging for a reward.

Keeping his hold on you, he redoubles his effort, pistoning his hips into you at a manic pace. His thumb continues its assault on your clit, earning him delightful whimpers and moans from you.

“Give me another one. Fuck!” he grunts. Tears streak down your cheeks at the overstimulation, but your body gives him exactly what he wants by clamping down on his cock with your next orgasm.

Jimin can feel the way his tip pulses and his shaft grows engorged before his body succumbs to the pleasure, and he explodes, filling you so completely that torrents of cum leak from around his cock and string across his pelvis and your thighs.

The release rips his control to shreds and before Jimin can stop himself, he’s taking another hefty draft of your soul. It settles along the fibers of his being, coating his insides as thoroughly as he just coated yours.

There is no regret or remorse for the accidental slip. Jimin luxuriates in the euphoric aftermath. Post-soul sucking is nearly as good as post-orgasm, and he just so happened to experience both in the span of mere seconds. Reaching with one of his hands, he scoops a thick drop of cum up with his finger and lifts it to your mouth.

You don’t hesitate, wrapping your tongue around the offered digit. The moan you release is soft and sweet. Jimin drags you down, capturing your mouth once more in a devouring kiss.

He’s wholly and utterly satiated…for now.

He only hopes you’ll be as amiable to his new revelation because he’s finally made up his mind. Jimin plans to keep you…no matter what he has to do, no matter the words he’ll have to twist or who he will need to manipulate.

You will be his…

Forever.

😈😈😈

You try to resist Jimin as the weeks pass by, but your resolve is as formidable as wet paper. You’ve lost count of the times you’ve had him inside of you—welcomed him within the confines of your body and subsequently fed him slivers of your soul.

After a while, you begin to seek it out…hungry for his touch or rousing him with your lips around his cock, swallowing whatever he’ll give you. It’s unclear where the line was or when you crossed it, but here you are…lost in some in-between limbo.

You roll over, shoving away from Jimin’s naked body, and slide off the bed, his taste still clinging to your tongue. You’re still feeling the aftereffects of whatever just happened. Whatever it was, it wasn’t sex. At least, not regular sex. It was something…just something else.

Each time, it feels like a whole new experience. He shows you something you never thought possible and has you so wrung out you forget to question it. You can still feel him inside you, not just the phantom girth of his cock, but somewhere deeper. It’s like he’s permanently etched onto your bones now. As weird as that sounds, it’s exactly how it feels.

Crossing the expanse of his room, you stare at yourself in the mirror above an ornate chaise. You prod a finger beneath your eye, pulling the bottom lid down. No matter how much you poke and rub, the distinct red ring circling your pupil doesn’t go away.

From what little Jimin has told you over the weeks about what’s happening, you understand that you’re now a few pieces of your soul lighter. He assured you that you’re unharmed and as long as things go well, then when the deal with Dominique is complete, your soul will be restored…if you want it to be. Those were his exact—cryptic—words.

If you want it to be?

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask, not for the first time.

Jimin shrugs, not having to ask you what you mean because somehow he has this innate ability to just know what’s on your mind. His nonchalance as he lounges against a mound of pillows on the bed grates. He’s acting like a cat that’s gotten the cream…and you suppose, maybe he has.

“It means exactly what it means.”

Dropping your hand from your face, you turn and bracket your bare hips with your hands, eyes narrowing in his direction. His answers are nonanswers, and no matter how much you try to muster anger at him over it…it doesn’t come.

You’re frustrated, yes. But anger isn’t something you’re able to grasp right now for some reason, and that should make you even more angry…yet, it’s as if you’re incapable of mustering one ounce of vitriol.

“Why can’t I get mad at you?” you ask instead of pressing your previous question, hoping maybe he’ll afford you some semblance of an acceptable answer.

Jimin laughs softly. “Because you don’t want to. And before you open that pretty mouth of yours to tell me differently…think really hard about it, and you’ll see that I am right. You love being here. Dare I say you might even love me.”

Now you’re the one laughing, though it’s a bit more hollow than you intend. “That’s absurd.” You taste the lie on your tongue as soon as you say it. “Go to hell,” you mutter under your breath.

“Already here, sweetheart.” Jimin slinks off the bed, very reminiscent of the way a serpent moves, all smooth lines and sinuous fluidity. “You’ll find some new clothes in the chifferobe. Get dressed unless you want to go to your little rendezvous like that.” His eyes sweep your naked body, and you can feel the intensity at which they smolder.

To avoid potentially missing your meet up with Dom, you rip your gaze from his and approach the aforementioned wardrobe. Within, you find an entire arsenal of clothes, all in your sizes. That’s one thing you’ve grown to really enjoy: the pure magic of the endless possibilities. You can have anything you want as long as it doesn’t go against Jimin’s wants and desires.

 You may have put on a fashion show or two at the expense of Jimin’s powers. With a simple snap of his fingers, he'd manifest it for you no matter how ridiculous the garment. It’s helped to pass the time. Between the endless fucking and having nothing better to do, well…

It’s been a month since that fateful night with your best friend at the crossroads. A lot can happen in a month. A lot that you’d never have expected. The muttered assurances and pleas you made to one another before you left with Jimin linger in your mind. Her promise to find a way to free you, your unfailing belief and assurance that she would and could do it.

And now? Well, now…you’re not so sure. Should you want to escape your ten-year fate? Probably. Do you? The jury is still out. There is one thing you do know, though. Every day you spend here with Jimin is one more day you get to enjoy the power and grace of whatever connection there is between you. You get to lose yourself in the contours and planes of his impossibly immaculate body; whether it’s human or not, you’ve decided you don’t really care because it just feels too fucking good.

The red ring in your eyes is a small price to pay in the grand scheme of it all. Your fingers flick over some of the newer garments, taking in the sleek feel of silk and the soft brush of leather. Everything in here exudes sex. Something you might have once been embarrassed by, but not now.

Grabbing an off-the-shoulder emerald silk top, you pair it with a simple pair of black jeans. The thick-soled Docs you wore the night of the deal go on after you pull on a pair of socks. The lilac of your hair has remained despite the numerous times you’ve washed it over the last month. Jimin just chuckled and fingered a lock of your hair when you asked him about it, saying something about how much he likes the color on you.

You’ve chalked it up to a flex of his power. After the first week of oddities, you stopped questioning it. The bathing chamber connected to his room offers a variety of luxury products, none of them ever seem to run out. Jimin enjoys soaking in a bath, something you’ve done with him more than a handful of times after a rough but fun session. Sessions such as dirtying up his sheets—which are always pristine and clean once more with just a flick of his wrist.

That little taste of power may make you no longer eager to escape your situation. Who you were before, the responsibilities you held, the people in your life…they all seem like a dream now, hazy and unclear. With the exception of Dominique, of course.

You’re excited to see your friend, but that’s about as far as your enthusiasm goes. Sighing, you turn to face Jimin. Who, in the span of however long it took you to get ready, has cleaned the entire room and dressed himself in a suit similar to the one he wore the night you met him.

His black hair is mussed in a way that looks sexy, tendrils falling from the coif to frame his ruby-colored eyes. Eyes that you have lost yourself in countless times and that are starting to mirror your own. You watch as a cherry lollipop appears in his hand, the wrapper already gone. It shouldn’t be so seductive, the way he using his tongue to seat the candy past his teeth. But you’re desperately turned on by the display.

“Fuck you,” you gruff, knowing he’ll deny you if you proposition him for a quickie before the meeting because it’s never just a quickie with Jimin. No, he turns anything into a full-blown, hour-long experience. Not that you’re complaining.

“Don’t pout…or do. I like the way it makes your lips poke out.” Jimin gestures toward you with the lollipop. “I’ll make it up to you when we return, little mouse. Promise.” He pops the stick into his mouth once more and then holds out his hand to you, one eyebrow raising in silent command.

It doesn’t hurt, necessarily, sliding through the space between Jimin’s world and the other—the one you used to call home. Used to? You’re not sure when that became the distinction.

The moment your feet find the solid ground of the crossroads clearing, you anticipate a forlorn feeling or for an intense desire for salvation to slam into you. Only, it doesn’t come. But maybe seeing Dominique will be the key; unlock the floodgates or something.

She appears a few minutes later. The sound of her boots crunching through the underbrush draws your eyes to the two trees across the clearing through which you followed her just a month ago.

Dominique yells your name before breaking out into a run. Jimin squeezes your fingers where his hand is still wrapped around yours. In all the time you’ve been with him, you still haven’t given him your name. But, now…he knows.

Irritation colors your insides. You snatch your hand from his, earning a soft chuckle from him, and try to plaster on a smile as Dom closes the distance and throws her arms around your neck.

“Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods,” she chants, voice on the verge of hysterics. “Let me,” she begs, her hands sliding to your shoulders so she can hold you at arm's length. Her eyes sweep you from head to toe, clearly checking to make sure you’re unharmed.

“Not a hair out of place, I believe, is what you said,” Jimin says coyly. “Even the color is the same.”

Dominique ignores him, keeping her focus on you. “Your eyes,” she whispers. “What happened to your eyes?”

“Side effect of my time there.” You shrug. “I’m okay, Dom, really.”

When you were first taken, that would have felt like a lie. Now, however, it’s so far from that. You are okay—more than. You glance at Jimin over your shoulder, trying to gauge whether or not he’s listening. He’s absently twirling the lollipop's stick and humming softly, seemingly wholly tuned out.

Still, you let Dominique pull you further away. She pitches her voice low, pulling you in for another hug to disguise the fact she pushes her mouth close to your ear and whispers, “I’ve figured it out. Grann knows a way we can entrap the demon. All I need is his true name. Do you know it?”

You’ve been able to say it for the last two weeks now since Jimin lifted the demand for you not to use it, but for some reason, you don’t want to tell her, so it doesn’t feel like a betrayal. You subtly shake your head. “Sorry.”

“Fuck. Okay. I know you didn't ask for this, but you're handling this better than I thought you would. I mean, I was prepared for something like this for me, but you had no idea what would happen. Not that I think you’re handling it better than I would…I just, yeah, I’m glad you’re alive.”

Dominique pulls back a little so she can look into your eyes but still remain close. The skin around her eyes is darker, her hair a bit disheveled and the purple strands completely faded and washed out. She looks tired, exhausted, really. But what she just said sparks something in you, tickles a niggling you had in the back of your mind from a month ago that resurfaces now. She was prepared for something like this for herself? Interesting. Before you can think further on the matter, Dom sighs heavily, and your attention draws back to her tired expression.

You pause for a beat, waiting for the concern and love for your friend to come crashing down on you. Much like your anger, it doesn’t so much as tickle through your mind. If anything, you’re feeling restless and eager to finish up this meeting and return to Jimin’s quarters in the Obsidian Fortress. Quarters that, you realize now, feel more like home than Dominique’s arms do.

“Maybe I can try, though. For next time.” You try to offer her somewhat of a reassuring smile, but you’re not sure it lands. Her eyes flick over your face, searching…for what, you’re unsure. Whatever she finds there, though, must satisfy her enough that she nods.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers.

“I’ve missed you, too, Dom. You need to take care of yourself. Can’t rescue me if you can barely keep your feet.”

😈😈😈

Jimin

“...rescue me…”

Jimin admits he was barely paying attention. His own fault, really. But those two words ring in his ears as if you’d shouted them for the entire world to hear. He had really thought you were coming around, enjoying your time with him.

But this? You’re still maintaining some sort of fantasy where your little witchy friend comes to your rescue? Oh, that makes Jimin’s blood boil. How dare you. He’s done nothing but satisfy your every gods damned need and desire.

His plan for forever jumps right to the forefront of his mind. Apparently, he can’t continue to dawdle over this. It’s time to make his move, consequences be damned.

Jimin watches as you giggle and chat with your friend, completely unaware of the fury brewing a few feet away from you. He hopes you’re enjoying yourself because this will be the last time you ever do this again.

The hour drags by. But, when it’s finally time to say goodbye, it doesn’t take much effort on his part. If he hadn’t overheard the little bit of your conversation earlier, he’d almost think you were coming to him willingly—eager, even.

After the fifth time Jimin tasted your soul, he found it hard to read you. Your mind was closed to him; otherwise, he would shove right in and scour it for any morsel of information. Clearly, he’s coddled you too much. So unbecoming of a demon, and there’s only one way he can think to rectify his folly and move forward with his plan all at once…one way—or demon, more precisely—that can give him what he wants; the deal with Dominique be damned.

😈😈😈

It feels right, sliding your hand into Jimin’s. You give Dominique one final, half-hearted wave, and then your breath is stolen by the sensation of falling. It sweeps through your belly, and when you blink, you expect to see Jimin’s lavish room, but instead, you’re somewhere else, somewhere colder and more bleak.

“Where are we?” you ask.

“Jimin, what a pleasant surprise,” comes a dark, familiar voice behind you. Chills cascade down your spine, replacing the confusion from seconds before. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Jimin tightens his grip on your hand and turns, pulling you with him to face the same being from the first day you were brought to this realm. “I have a favor to ask.”

Coal-black eyes meet yours, and they widen in surprised delight. “My, my, Jimin, you’ve been busy, haven’t you? And yet, her soul is still mostly intact. Restraint and commitment, I’m impressed. What’s the favor?”

“I want to keep her.”

“Keep me?” you ask, startled by this revelation. 

Ignoring you, Jimin continues, “Forever. Dissolve my deal, make her mine in all ways.”

“Interesting,” the dark figure coos. “So very interesting.” With a swirl of dark fabric and smoke, he’s standing before you, so close you can see the purple-black pallor around his eyes and the fine points of his teeth as he smiles. “Mm, I’m intrigued. What’s brought about this request?”

Jimin opens his mouth but closes it again before clearing his throat and tightening his grip on your hand. “I’ve taken a liking to…her.”

“More than a liking, it seems,” Dark Lord chuckles. “Though, it doesn’t seem like you really need my interference. She seems willing enough.”

“What?” Jimin asks, finally looking at you for the first time since pulling you here. “But, I heard—”

“What she wanted the human to hear.”

A long, pale finger hooks under your chin and angles your head, tilting your face from side to side. “Yes, quite willing. Isn’t that so, kitten? Ah-ah, don’t lie to us.”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“If she’s a willing soul, then there is no need for protection. By that account, the deal is void,” he continues, slowly examining your face. “All you need to do is take it all…every drop of her willing soul.”

Without responding, Jimin whisks you away. You suddenly find yourself standing in the middle of Jimin’s room, with him standing right in front of you and his eyes boring into yours so intently.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask.

Jimin gathers you against his chest, arms banding around your waist. “Tell me he’s right.”

“He’s right, Jimin. I’m willing. I-I don’t know…what happened, or when…maybe you’ve manipulated me somehow, and this is all your doing—but, fuck, somehow he’s right.”

His reply is hesitant, uncertain, “You want to be with me?”

Instead of reassuring him once again, you turn the question back on him. “Only if you want to be with me. Tell me I’m more than just part of a demon deal, that I’m not some coveted prize that you’re going to toss away in ten years.”

“No, no, I’d never do that. Even if I had to force you, I’d have never let you go.” At least he has the sense to look sheepish at admitting he’d use force if necessary.

“Wouldn’t that have hurt you somehow, breaking the deal?” Worry creases your brow, even at the mere thought.

Jimin shrugs, pulling you impossibly closer. His warm breath fans over your face as he says, “What’s a few years of punishment in the sanguine pits for breaking a deal compared to an eternity with you?”

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at the crazy turn of events. “So, what now?” you ask, voice a little shaky at the sudden prospect of what he might say.

“Say it again,” he requests, breathy and fervent in his need to hear it once more, just to be sure.

It comes naturally now, saying precisely what you want.

“I’m willing.”

Jimin responds by cupping your face in his hands and slanting his mouth over yours. You recognize it the instant he starts to sip from your soul. With deep, long swallows, Jimin pulls at that little place inside you…and you let him.

You open yourself to him, accepting this as your fate. Maybe he truly did manipulate you and took away your free will all those weeks ago, but right now, in this moment, you can’t bring yourself to care. Because it feels right…this feels right.

“Sweet, sweet soul,” Jimin murmurs against your mouth. He’s greedy, tongue and lips working as he continues to taste you through the last few drops. “You’re now mine forever, little mouse.”

With eyes of vermillion and honey, you come alive…perhaps for the first time in your life.

All because your friend buried a box.

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SOME ILLEGIBLE RAMBLES AND REFLECTIONS: THE DEAD THREE

Finished my first/main playthrough of Baldur’s Gate 3, and it’s had me turning over all sorts of ideas tied to Dungeons and Dragons lore. A bunch happens to be about cosmology so I'm slapping together one post about the Dead Three and a follow-up about deities more generally. Buckle up if you decide to proceed dudes. This is chunky and opinion/interpretation heavy. CW for mention (not extensive) of graphic violence and sex crimes during discussion of Bhaal and Yeenoghu.

MYRKUL

I get that there are multiple death-affiliated deities in DnD. Our buddy Jergal is the end of all things and the original incarnation of the concept. Myrkul stands for the experience of dying, decay, necromancy, graves, bones, and the fear of mortality. Kelemvor rules over the dead. Orcus is a demon lord and quasi-deity of undeath. Could prob go on.

I've read many different incarnations of death over the years. To set the stage on my Myrkul read, it bears mentioning that Terry Pratchett's Death is probably my favorite. I don't have it in me to see death as something totally malicious. It's very natural, and I tend to imagine that if there were to be an incarnation embodying it this persona would have an intimate view of all the love and grief, vulnerability and intimacy, ugliness and solitude, etc. that mortals deal with. Death has witnessed the end every living being faces, from the dawn of creation until now. Even if it isn't consciously accessed at all moments, death is ancient and experienced and not likely to be shocked by what mortals are capable of anymore. Mortals are small. Uncountably numerous though we are we are far outnumbered by the unliving. What are lives next to planets, to stars? Here I'd argue against assigning value according to how big or small something is, how eternal or how brief, how simple or complex. Everything that is, is a universe unto itself and deserves the gravity of that. It is also very mundane at the same time. To me, death needs to be able to balance the preciousness and commonality of life, of existence, on the tip of its scythe. Death needs to be able to deal with the most depraved beings to exist, but also with every beloved pet put to sleep. Every lost child or parent. Everyone who dies surrounded by loved ones and everyone who dies alone.

Initially, even knowing Myrkul in particular had been a mortal necromancer and not of particular moral standing--I had mixed feelings about him being the evilest of evil skeletons. He worked it well, but the idea of any aspect of death (or any character tbh) being flat evil felt off to me. Especially with 'we're all the protagonists of our own stories' being at work. People don't often look at what actions they'd consider to be evil then go 'I'm going to make myself that on purpose'. Disregarding morality maybe, but being evil on purpose is weird.

So I looked into further lore about Myrkul. One spot that gave me pause was that Myrkul as death (rather than the adventurer Myrkul Bey al-Kursi he’d once been) revels in inspiring fear of death and driving home experiences of loss. From what I found he isn't focused on the name of the individual holding the office of death, but for the force itself being feared. He can be bribed, and he will allow for necromancy/resurrections--but the fear and gravity of death is a sacred thing to him. Disregarding that is a pretty good way to get onto Myrkul's shitlist. I want to take a moment to emphasize the importance of Myrkul focusing on his portfolio over his own ego. That is far from a given in the DnD pantheon, and like I said he's a former mortal himself. It wouldn't be out of the question for him to be a petty and insecure deity. He could have been the sort of guy where becoming a god of death by itself wasn't enough power. If Myrkul was a different person, he might have wanted people to stroke his ego and say how strong he is. He might have been someone who felt inadequate as a god without that affirmation. He could have (as a character) been unsatisfied and forever wanting/dependent upon the views of others to define himself. The fact that he DOES focus on death and decay as forces rather than himself is a big deal in reading him imo.

Anyway. Myrkul's emphasis on death as something feared got me thinking about what would cause a person to put such weight on death being understood in its negative aspect. It struck me that this is actually a very common and even important thing. You don't need to demonize death to see it, either. If you value life as sacred, the idea of life being treated as cheap or disposable is horrifying. When you love something dearly, the idea of that beloved thing being defaced is beyond outrage. It's a kind of sacrilege. People who kill as casually as breathing, who revel in the permanent destruction of someone else, become a source of horror. The absence of love creates a sort of cruelty that can't even perceive itself. And it's not uncommon for human beings in particular to partake in this. Humans dance on the graves of those they deem enemies not because they're relieved to be safe, but because they glory in the end of other lives. They don't recognize that anything of value was lost. There is no tragedy in death anymore. Every gentle moment, every vulnerability, every tragedy in their opponent's life is something to be crapped on and gloated over. There is no greater insult to life itself. Myrkul stands as a reminder that such behavior cannot stand. You can't treat life or death as cheap. To see something horrific and fail to realize the weight of its horror is itself a form of horror. The idea of a death that demands to be acknowledged for what it is, particularly by the living, imo actually denotes a level of care for life too. It might be harsh or ugly, but I don't know about evil. So while Myrkul is certainly flawed and often serves as an antagonist, I’d argue the function he performs is not only important but necessary.

And while it might vary between players, I found Aylin's enthusiastic executions and body defiling pretty uncomfortable. I understand she went through a lot and am fine with her as a character. But I think Myrkul's point stands if the audience feels even a moment of disquiet seeing her celebrate over the corpse of a broken person.

Some things are meant to be ugly.

BANE

Of the Dead Three I find Bane the most disturbing and dangerous tbh—but not for how Gortash invokes him. Way I see it, the other word for tyranny is authoritarianism on a macro-level, abuse on an individual level.

I’d argue that in life, we can only healthily control ourselves and our own individual actions/choices. We can try to persuade others or appeal to their judgment, but we can’t MAKE another person think or act how we wish. When folks attempt otherwise (individually or more broadly) it involves fear, force, deceit, or other forms of pressure. Coercion, enslavement. These fall under the umbrella of tyrannical practice to me. You treat another person as subhuman and strip them of agency.

We don’t live in a pure and ideal world. If a tyrannical person is committing crimes and denying others their free will through force, I wouldn’t call defense through force tyrannical as long as it wasn’t needlessly excessive. Power struggles exist. But the whole practice of using fear, force, deceit, or pressure to control another person is dangerous imo. They're to be utilized as little as possible.

In DnD I don’t think the fringe evil cults would be the ones most at risk for corruption by Bane. I don't think individuals or groups who prioritize self-indulgence would be most at risk, either. The most dangerous and frequent disciples of Bane imo would be within good alignment. This means followers of benevolent gods as well as the nations or groups that consider themselves to have righteous causes. ESPECIALLY those with chips on their shoulders.

When someone assumes they have and always will have the moral high ground, that they are incapable of committing injustice, that their end justifies whatever means, that it doesn’t count as abuse with the 'correct' target… that, to me, is where tyranny festers. The person convinced of their own moral infallibility is the one who sees no need for brakes and so cuts them without concern.

I’d argue everybody has a seed of tyranny in them that can be fed or starved. We feed that seed with our own indignation to become a tyrant victimizing others while still seeing ourselves as powerless. The person who first victimized you can still also be victimized by you. There isn’t a target that exists where finding joy in cruelty gets a pass.

Bane, I think, thrives on the idea that it's no problem if you're enforcing your will. Especially on people contemptible to you.

For DnD purposes, imagine you have zealous followers of idk Tyr. They are willing to do whatever it takes to enforce and spread their definition of justice. They believe in making examples of people at every opportunity. They torture, isolate, rob, and shame those they consider to be unjust or dangerous. If their victims are falsely accused—well. It’s for a noble purpose so the sacrifice is not in vain. And imagine Tyr abandons these followers as hypocrites. He no longer empowers clerics or paladins no matter how they cite scripture or brand ‘heretics’ with his symbols.

Bane doesn’t enter calling himself Bane, god of tyranny. Bane claims to follow a higher justice. Maybe he uses an avatar, maybe he chooses a Banite disciple, maybe he finds a true believer. But he argues that Tyr as an individual was never ultimately what those zealots stood for—it was justice itself. And if Tyr has turned traitor to his own portfolio, mortals need to go over his head to the core concept and implement that. Bane offers a name that suits his purposes and begins sourcing power to clerics and paladins instead. And throughout, as the zealots commit increased atrocities against those they deem dangerous or evil they fail to realize they’ve spiraled into evil alignment after all. They’d think they were either just as good as they’d always been OR BETTER. The compassion of Ilmater is spent on the depraved and corrupt as far as they’re concerned.

I think the real threat of Bane is that he should be 100% capable of corrupting an otherwise heroic party member if they aren’t wary of that capacity in themself. You suddenly find your friend who listened to your problems and supported you through awful shit mocking a person sobbing on the ground as they kick them. And that friend looks betrayed and hurt (or outraged) if you challenge their actions, because they think you should know exactly how disgusting this piece of shit is and how much they deserve the abuse. And even if you concede that individual case—it’s not the only one. The slights worthy of torment become smaller and smaller. A thought or word out of line betrays the ideology of an evil alignment, with the only solution being to beat thoughts and words out of the target until they can only repeat approved ideas back. And even then, it may not be enough.

If it was explicitly confirmed that the deity the zealot followed was Bane all along, the zealot might genuinely not believe it. They might get pissed at the very suggestion. What they do against the wicked isn’t tyranny after all. They’re righteous.

Denial doesn’t serve to disempower Bane in the least if tactics remain unchanged.

BHAAL

I’m holding off on more detailed Bhaal thoughts until I complete a dark urge run, but I’ve listened to lore on both him and the demon lord Yeenoghu recently—and I think there’s room for a really cool potential contrast.

Yeenoghu Lore

Providing this particular video link for the curious, as a way to help illustrate what I’m drawing from.

Yeenoghu holds the title as demon lord of slaughter. He glories in filth, rape, excessively graphic murder, torture, violence, and playing with corpses along the way. He’s meant to come across as a bestial, self-absorbed, remorseless desecrater. And when I say bestial, I want to draw attention to a particular IRL factoid that might be worth considering.

I love animals to bits. I don’t think animals generally contemplate morality the way humans do just due to cognitive differences and limitations. I also think it’s important to remember that humans are ALSO animals, so certain things umbrella’d under ‘human experience’ would probably apply to at least some animals too. If there are human altruists and human serial killers, we should be able to expect that animals likewise have some altruists and some serial killers within the scope of individual variation.

Cruelty is not exclusive to humans. Orcas will essentially torture smaller animals to death by flinging them into the air with their tails repeatedly like balls until repeated beatings and suffocation kill them. Dolphins commit rape and chew on live puffer fish to get high off the toxins. Chimpanzees are a horror unto themselves with cannibalism and mutilation and basically whatever atrocity they can commit. Wolves and cats sometimes hunt to excess just for the joy of it and don’t eat all they kill. Hannibal the swan (as a specific and notably homicidal individual) beat and drowned any other swans visiting his pond and showed his signet how to do it. I could go on. Some cases it might be a matter of the animal not having theory of mind to recognize that they are inflicting pain on another conscious creature. Other times, like with pissed off chimpanzees, they know EXACTLY what they’re doing and it’s on purpose to cause maximum suffering.

I think Yeenoghu should embody a little bit of both propensities. He’s just utterly self-absorbed and doesn’t give a fuck about the experiences or perspectives of other living things except insofar as they impact him.

Bhaal I want to research more like I said, but one thing I remember from my initial play through was finding a note from the Dark Urge to Orin.

Little sister, whatever in the Gray Wastes are we going to do with you? Bhaal will never care that you waste your time, posing your corpse-dollies. Bhaal doesn’t care whether you give him the corpse of a pauper or a king. At the end of the day, all Father wants is death in droves, death in numbers. To sap away the life of this dull world as swiftly and widely as we can. You plan, you plot, you prevaricate, and you waste his time. Bhaal doesn’t need us to think. He needs us to kill. You kill beautifully, and have talents in your shapes’ magics that I never will. But you do not understand Lord Bhaal. Perhaps it is a failing of your diluted blood, as a mere grandchild. I am his sole living pureblood. I will accept no challenge from you, until you show some damned respect.

To be honest this is interesting af to me because it positions Orin a bit more in-line with Yeenoghu’s modus operandi in some ways. But what sets apart the principles of Bhaal from Yeenoghu or Myrkul?

The Dark Urge suggests the goal of Bhaal is the extinction of all life, but to be honest I’m a bit skeptical. Seems like short term thinking. Even if Bhaal pulled that off, once it’s done there is no more murder or god of murder for that matter. If Bhaal is aiming for a cessation of existence and wants everyone else along for the ride maybe that’s what he’s after, but I dunno. That seems like something fans/players/loremasters would have touched on before.

I’d like to invite this possibility for foiling instead:

Life consumes other life by nature. Animals, plants, fungi, bacteria, so forth—it isn’t just a matter of philosophy. One life cannot exist without destroying another. We need to eat. If we don’t, we die well before reproduction enters the picture. But it’s more than that… you take a step, you kill countless tiny organisms you aren’t even aware of. You swat a fly. You hit something with your car. You move gracelessly or touch carelessly, and catastrophe ensues. Etcetera.

It is inevitable that your existence will mean the end for the life of another living thing. That’s just how it goes.

It could be interesting on a LOT of fronts (both as members of the dead three and as former adventuring companions) if Bhaal acted as a kind of philosophical opposite to Myrkul the way I previously described.

If the Dark Urge’s note is to be trusted, Bhaal has no interest in ritual or glorified death per se. Bhaal would be more about the mundanity that comes through the act of killing. Life is fragile as-is and often ended by accident. Killing in its most common form is thoughtless and unconscious. To Bhaal, if every life is a universe then the universe looks meaningless. There is no importance or fanfare to any of it. If one side is ‘everything matters, give weight to life and death’, Bhaal would be ‘nothing matters, we are not capable of affording reverence to every single life and death we encounter’. More specifically, the mass deaths Bhaal favors would be a kind of illustration of the uncaring and casual relationship living things have with killing other living things. The more casual and effortless it is, the more I’d imagine it serves Bhaal. Sadism and revelry miss the point—there is no hierarchy. Suffering is inconsequential. Fear is inconsequential. Instinct is inconsequential. To live is to kill by Bhaal’s logic.

It isn’t limited to murder in the sense of a member of one species killing a member of the same species. It’s more Bhaal is the god of killing. He’d gain power from murder too sure, but also hunting, harvesting, and butchering. With these interpretations in-mind, we can actually figure out how the Dead Three might have answered Jergal's question about what worth a mortal life holds. With the disclaimer this is very much conjecture. I think Myrkul would likely be "Each life is of infinite value and merits sacrificing everything for." That lends life a heavy weight and makes death a fearful force for all. It would also mesh with Ketheric as his chosen. Bane would lean into "That depends on a person's deeds", "The only life that matters is mine", or "Depends on the mortal". From those positions, the speaker argues for a hierarchy of life where some is more expendable than the rest. It's easier from that position to slide into adopting a role as judge and executioner, and from elevating yourself into a role of authority where other voices and experiences count less than your own. Bhaal I think is reflected in "Life’s only value is as currency. Doesn’t matter to me otherwise", "The only life that matters is mine", or "No one life is worth more than any other. We are equal." Bhaal has the implicit question in-turn: what is the blood-price of your own life? How much have you claimed in your own name to keep moving? It's kind of the belief that while "The only life that matters is mine" is Bhaal's answer, every other living thing should be answering the same way. There's more nuance than that of course, and likely truth falls somewhere in the middle. We aren't mentally capable of giving reverence to every death, but we can recognize in general terms and do our best case-by-case. We have a right to protect ourselves and what we love, but others share that right.

Feel free to offer different stances or thoughts though, and if you made it this far goddamn thank you for reading this monster.

[sonicjustbecause]

About Sonic

I never talked extensively about Sonic and what I think about him overall, despite him being my favourite (I see more Shadow as some mystical guy, alive certainly, yet somewhat more like a guide or a protector and Sonic's Shadow, but that's for another time as I talked about him a lot).

There is still this silly battle between Sonic fans on who is your favourite take of the character. The character has been inconsistent, in videogame too, even if we only take game/Japanese media (An example? Adventure Sonic is, at least the way I perceive him, mysterious and whimsical, joyful but slightly grumpy. Unleashed Sonic is calm, balanced, a bit quiet overall. The thing that remains consistent is that he is kind earthed and optimistic. Most of the time.

Even people who tell how Sonic is supposed to be interpret him very differently from each othes adn from the games, the way they make him talk or act in certain situation in their stories is not the same I see in videogames.

For Sonic unleashed I saw the whole cutscenes both in English and in Japanese, so...

Not that this bother me, as I previously said, since is a team who work on Sonic is normal different people have a different perception of the character, is based on our personal experiences. And in next years things will change over and over.

Let's talk about how is shown in various media, not necessarily Japanese since they influence each others (example the chili dogs).

SatAM, AoStH.

Aosth/SatAM Sonic was most likely the most mischievous incarnation of the character, since he apparently took joy to make fun of Eggman but also to the french coyote, Antoine, who is a sort of 'Luigi' in this show. I remember him as being creative, impatient, bold and very self confident, but not evil.

I didn't watch Sonic underground. It was aired in Italy but I don't know when. I can say nothing

OAV Sonic

Adventure Sonic and X Sonic traits start to appear here. This Sonic is aloof, whimsical and grumpy and not as joyful as we are used to see him. but is heart is ih the right place, of course.

Adventure Sonic

If I saw Sonic OVA only in latest years, I can say I played the two Adventure games early in the '00s. This Sonic feels to me as whimsical, elusive, mysterious (especially in Adventure 2, it is perceived as such especially by Shadow "Tell me, who are you?" and Sonic's answer is rather enigmatic, is also there you start to realize you know nothing about Sonic, where he comes from etc... you know the others better), still a bit grumpy yet way more joyful than the one from the OVA, a happy guy I would say.

In particular I loved the expressions in Sonic Adventure. Here come the folded ears you often see in Prime.

X Sonic

The most quiet of all. Elusive, still a bit whimsical and grumpy if you don't take him the right way, but this doesn't mean you lost him. Socially awkward and unaware of this, I think sometimes he is leaning in the Asperger territory sometimes. Joyful, optimistic, gentle, sometimes melodramatic and funny but he can get very serious when needed.

Archie Sonic

Archie Sonic is one I don't like much. He's self centered, most of his monologues tell how awesome he is, how good looking he is, how fast he is, well, 90% about himself and it go moldy soon. And can be a jerk toward his friends sometimes. Unlike other versions, he's never too serious.

Fleetway Sonic.

Unlike other sonic incarnation, Fleetway Sonic is a jerk, a bully, he constantly makes offensive jokes toward his friends, including Tails (in other media he is more protective toward Tails). He seems to care or express nice though only when his friends are not around. Is hard to read those comics. So far the worst Sonic

IDW Sonic

Not completely bad, not completely good. He got some traits from Archie Sonic. IDW Sonic seems to me the less sincere and less carefree of all. Like, Sonic we know is mostly feeling oriented. He can be thoughful when needed, but mostly he does what he feels is right rather than what he thinks is right. IDW Sonic is well known especially for his obsession of giving a second chance (and then a third, a four) to all his opponents. That is a thing Goku does and is fine because is true to himself. But Sonic is not like that. Sonic is not so merciful, he is a kind hearted character but there is still a red line and he tends to be wary toward those who don't deserve his trust, like Eggman. He forgives his enemies. After they show they're wort deserving forgiving, not before, unlike IDW Sonic. IDW Sonic is also cunning and can be manipulative, that's unique to this version. You can see the true sonic only when he is alone. Then he is more like himself, in his monologues about his friends, and how much he worries about them or appreciate them. Also his opinion of himself is not as high as the one we see in Archie comics. He is overall aloof.

Unleashed Sonic

This one is among the most gentle and down to Earth Sonic I've ever seen. He is slightly quiet and never a jerk. Instead he is fully supportive and encouraging toward his new friend Chip who is clumsy, despite being a god.

Frontiers Sonic

Sonic's personality changed again. He is still kind hearted, brave and strong. But compared tho before he is more mature, thoughful and slightly melancholic. He smiles less and I don't see his joyful exictment anymore. He just smiles when happy.

Boom Sonic

Sonic is usually elusive. Not in Sonic Boom. I perceived this incarnation as very playful and carefree, although an attention seeker.

Movie Sonic

Oh... this is one that goes through a character arc. He is shown to be a good hearted, hyperactive and lonely kid. He is very playful and talkative yet not gossipy. He talks alot just to not feel alone and took the bad habit. Once he found a family and some living being to talk with at times however, is shown he is not as sociable as you may assume by the way he lets his tongue run. He doesn't trust so easily people he meets the first time, as is shown with Tails and only later he feels more comfortable to have Tails around and opens up to him.

Prime Sonic

Another that goes into a character arc. Here he got new traits, like clumsiness, low attention span, affectionateness. And old ones like elusiveness. This Sonic is particularly interesting for some of his traits that are hard to spot. He clearly appears to be this impulsive, talkative (yet not gossipy), overconfident kid who trips on his feet and is deemed annoying (I personally don't find him annoying). He loves his friends and is ready to protect them but, before the prism shattering, is shown (and suggested by a conversation between his friends) that he also likes to spend time alone, without people around (here one trait that not many notice). Sonic is aware of his flaws and during his experience in the shatterverse he gets in touch with all of them, either the counterpart of his friends tell him or he realize his mistakes by his own. On the outside he is cheerful, a bit dimwitted sometimes, friendly. But as the serie goes forward, he is more, gloomy and pensive and he fully opens up only to Shadow and only later to the rest of his friends in the shatterspace (including Nine, who first sees through him). In the end of the serie is shown he is more considerate toward his friends and he hold some of his energies back.

What else? This is all what I can think of, I haven't played all the games. I may mention Sonic Cronicles, but there Sonic is the way you want him to be.

To me is hard to choose. As long as is not the one of Archie, IDW or Fleetway, I'm fine with all of them. My favourite might be Adventure Sonic and Prime Sonic.

[spacebabesuki]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) - Hellcheer

Eddie Munson|Chrissy Cunningham|Hellcheer Week 2024|Devil & Touch Starved - Day 6 @hellcheerweek

oneshot, songfic, word count: 3k

Summary: Christine Cunningham, a young and innocent nun at Hawkins Convent, is cherished for her purity—so holy that they even call her the new Virgin Mary. However, her faith is challenged when a delinquent named Eddie Munson—described by the priest as the very reincarnation of the devil—appears. “Oh, sweet angel, you think you’ll never sin, don't you? You just haven’t met me yet.”

Christine Cunningham, a young and innocent nun at Hawkins Convent, had taken her vows at eighteen, beloved by priests and admired for her purity—the sweet girl was so holy that they even called her the new Virgin Mary.

Her gentle nature was said to be so strong that even the devil himself could not tempt her from the path of holiness. Well, the problem was they just hadn’t counted on the fact that the devil had arrived.

No prison in Hawkins could hold him. So, they had sent him to the convent, hoping the word of God would redeem him and save him. They believed the devil was inside him.

His name? Eddie Munson...

When the priest attempted an exorcism, even he, the most respected priest in Indiana, gave up. Eddie Munson, with a devilish smile on his cold face, had laughed throughout the entire ordeal. His icy eyes and dark demeanor had suggested a future more sinister than any criminal's.

The city had been right when they labeled him a criminal: the devil himself incarnate.

Only Christine could save him.

For weeks, she had tried, but without success. He remained cold, evil, and malicious—capable of provoking even the calmest of nuns to anger. And anger is a sin. Despite her best efforts to remain on God's path, this man was leading her astray. With each passing day, the holiest nun in the world was beginning to falter.

The smoke clouds billowed from his mouth like a freight train cutting through a small town. He smoked, exhaling clouds of smoke through his parted lips. Dressed all in black, with a leather jacket, bracelets, and silver rings on each of his long fingers, he stared at her while holding the cigarette inside the church.

If sin were a person, it would definitely be him.

They had both been seated in the church confessional, doing this every day. She knelt, praying for him, while he sat back, his long legs spread out in black pants, and Eddie laughed quietly. She tried to focus, but she couldn’t. He kept watching her through the small opening in the confessional, grinning and blowing smoke just to make her pretty blonde hair, hidden by a black veil, flutter.

And she confessed that it was not the first time her eyes had lost focus as she looked at his belt, his long legs spread open... and then she blushed, closed her eyes, and prayed even more fervently.

In the beginning, she had thought she should only pray for him.

But God help her, because now she was praying for herself too.

He was obsessed with watching her, driving her to the edge, provoking her with his gaze and his words. She was his little amusement park in that fucking convent. And she, despite her angelic face, was like a piece of forbidden sin to him—he couldn’t take his eyes off her—the sweet, adorable nun.

The jokes he told from across the room were revolting and far too loud. And with each day he spent there, trying for salvation, people shook their heads, whispering "God help her," when she told them she was going to save him.

With a smirk, he taunted her, “But your good Lord doesn’t even need to lift a finger.”

The priest, concerned for the poor, sweet girl, advised her to give up, saying, “Sometimes, God’s plan isn’t for everyone.”

But she believed in the salvation of Eddie Munson’s tormented soul.

“I can fix him. No, really, I can,” she insisted. “And only I can.”

She was convinced this had been the hardest mission God could give her, and she accepted it with open arms, believing that He never gave burdens too heavy to bear.

She believed saving him, Eddie Munson, was her mission.

Dopamine surged through his brain every time he saw her in her nun’s habit, clutching her rosary.

“What a waste,” Eddie said, grinning. “A sweet thing like you, belonging to no one. If you could, you’d be mine.” He blew smoke into her face, pressing the cigarette back between his lips while she was still on her knees praying for him in the confessional. “If you ever give up this whole God thing, call me,” he winked, his lips making that teasing sound.

Every time she tried to focus on her prayers, her eyes drifted to his hands. Kneeling before God, praying for his soul, his intimidating presence loomed over her, moving back and forth as if her prayers meant nothing.

And now, every time she prayed, she remembered that one day Eddie approached her. She felt it—her eyes squeezed shut in fear, trembling. When she opened them, she found his heavy boots right in front of her. Kneeling before Eddie Munson, she swallowed hard and felt his touch—the touch of a man for the first time in her life. It was so... No! She forced herself to return to her prayers. But as she prayed, she felt the tip of his finger—a rough, calloused digit—gently tracing hearts on her rosy cheek.

So close, too close; he distracted her from her mission. She blushed, and he noticed, towering over her, always dressed in black, with tattoos of demons crawling up his skin.

That day, she learned there had been only one thing her religious mind couldn’t control with prayer in the world—the effects on her body.

“Oh, sweet thing,” he smiled, tilting her chin up with his finger and forcing her to look at him. She felt something stir in her heart and in her legs, keeping her awake at night since he arrived.

People always said that when the devil is near, you feel it, and he seduces you. She felt like she was sinning, her body betraying her mind.

He was magnetic, but she reminded herself: Lucifer was too.

Then, in a moment of panic, she stood up, abandoning her rosary mid-prayer for the first time in her life. She slammed the door and fled from him, rushing into her room. Concerned about the sin in her heart and the heat in her legs, she leaned against the door, breathing deeply—desperate and sweating—trying to rid her mind of impure thoughts.

She had avoided looking at him for days since it happened, and she hadn’t slept for nights. Yet, she still hadn’t given up on him; she was going to save his soul and then purify her own.

Every day, she saw him with his boots resting on the church pews, and he’d wink every time she passed by.

Now, she was here praying for him again in the confessional, trying to make the heat knot in her stomach disappear as she whispered prayers while holding her rosary.

(...)

Every day had been the same: from 9 to 10 AM, she prayed in the confessional, and in the afternoon, she prayed in his room. He admitted he had become obsessed with her, feeling anxious from 3 to 5 PM, eagerly awaiting the hour of prayer.

Fascinated by her innocence, he was determined to unravel the sweet nun. He could see it from a mile away—a perfect case for his unique skill set: sin. She wore a halo of the highest grade, and he wanted to take it from her.

And today, once again, it was time for prayer. He was lying on the bed, reading, when he glanced at the clock marking 3 PM. A second later, he heard the door open. She entered, head bowed, so beautiful it was almost a sin.

Eddie lifted an eyebrow; today, she wasn’t dressed in her long nun's habit that covered everything. Instead, she wore a white nightgown he had never seen before. She had asked the priest for permission to rest, feeling sick all day, but she wouldn’t give up—she had come to pray for him again.

In his mind, he even believed she had put on the white nightgown on purpose for him. She wanted to sin, but something held her back. He could see her stealing glances at him; he wasn’t stupid.

But this poor angel just needed a little help to sin.

The white nightgown clung to her form, revealing the curves of her body more than her usual garments. He caught sight of the crucifix hanging between her breasts—a sight that felt sinful. It looked so soft, so perfect, that it seemed a crime for someone built like her to be untouched.

“Hello there, pretty thing,” he chuckled, leaning back with his hands behind his head and his boots resting on the bed. “I missed you, sweetheart. I counted the minutes until I could see you again.”

She didn’t respond, her gaze still downcast. She wasn’t afraid of him; she was afraid of the sin. His voice was like honey—flirting, like a sin.

"You are a sinner; don't talk to me."

“Oh, sweet angel, you think you’ll never sin, don't you?” he taunted. “You just haven’t met me yet.”

She knelt at the foot of the bed, beginning her prayers, but soon lost her focus as he drew closer.

Then she heard his rough voice whisper, as if the devil were sitting on her shoulder. But he was standing next to her.

“Good girl, that’s right, come close,” he said, his tone sultry. “I’ll show you heaven if you’ll be my angel—all mine.”

He got off the bed and approached her. She faltered in her prayer, squeezing her eyes shut as sinful thoughts invaded her mind—thoughts of kneeling for him for a different reason.

She felt something new between her thighs at the sound of his voice, his words. It was wet, hot, burning—a longing that made her want to press her legs together. It felt like an emptiness yearning to be filled by the thing inside his belt.

No, this was sin. The worst kind of sin. Nothing had ever sparked these kinds of thoughts in her before. It was him—the devil.

Startled by the notion, she prayed to God for protection, gripping her rosary tighter and pleading for the devil not to take her.

And lead us not into temptation,  but deliver us from evil.  Amen.

He was getting closer, and she began praying faster, her heart racing. She could feel his scent enveloping her, intoxicating and overwhelming.

And lead us not into temptation,  but deliver us from evil.  Amen.

“God, help me,” she whispered, desperation creeping into her voice. Each breath she took seemed to pull her deeper into temptation, her senses betraying her as she fought to remain focused on her prayers.

Now, he was getting closer, closer, and she could hear his footsteps echoing in the small space. She didn’t want to open her eyes, desperate to resist the temptation that called to her like an angel’s song for paradise, but in this case, it was a hellish melody.

With each step, her heart raced faster, torn between her prayers and the longing that stirred deep within her.

And lead us not into temptation,  but deliver us from evil.  Amen.

Closer... His hand hovered near her, and she remembered the day he had touched her chin—his fingers so warm, sending shivers down her spine. He was so tall, looming over her, and when he looked at her, it felt as if he could see straight into her soul.

Both of them jumped when they noticed the priest watching from the window, witnessing everything. He stormed in, pulling Munson away and accusing him of being the devil who was corrupting his nun, purer than the Virgin Mary.

Christine gasped, taking deep breaths as the priest intervened, the divine presence preventing her from sinning. Yet her thoughts continued to betray her, and she couldn't comprehend where those dark ideas had come from.

It’s him. The devil.

Still, she kept praying not to succumb to temptation, even as the priest expressed his worries. “Trust me,” she replied firmly, “I can handle a dangerous man. No, really, I can.”

She left the room and knelt in the church, praying, “And lead us not into temptation.” She trembled, struggling to resist his gaze and to forget the thoughts that had invaded her mind earlier: his hands, his rough voice, the belt, his legs, his scent, his dark eyes, his tattoos, his hair. “Lord, help me,” she prayed. “Please, help me.”

As she prayed, she could hear what the priest was doing to him in the next room—the whip cracking against his back. With each strike, Eddie bled and laughed, the twisted enjoyment echoing through the walls. He was the devil himself, laughing even while being punished.

She listened intently for when it would stop. Finally, the priest emerged, leaving him alone, wounded and bloodied in the small prison bedroom where he slept.

And lead us not into temptation,  but deliver us from evil.  Amen. 

Her heart raced with compassion. Convincing herself it was an act of goodwill, she stood up and walked back to him. With each step toward his room, she prayed.

And lead us not into temptation,  but deliver us from evil.  Amen. 

She entered to find him leaning against the bed, his strong back streaked with red. In her hands, she held a basin of warm water and a cloth to tend to the wounds the priest had inflicted on him. Only a candle flickered and the crucifix hung on the wall.

Now, alone together in the room—like a prison containing only her and Eddie—the devil—she sat next to him on the bed and began to clean his wounds slowly and gently. He was too quiet, and she hoped that in his soft silence, she might finally save him. But, like the devil he was, he played a trick to lower her guard.

As the saying goes, devils love to corrupt angels.

As her soft, angelic hands glided over his bare back, he smiled without her seeing—a devilish smile—because he noticed she was here taking care of him without the priest knowing. And if she's here and came back, and isn’t scared of what almost happened before the priest entered, it’s because she’s nearly surrendering to sin.

She looked at the crucifix, praying softly as she cleaned the wounds on his strong back. His skin, his tall and muscular form, was so… enticing. She watched her own gentle hands tending to him while he leaned forward, wearing only jeans, quiet and vulnerable in her grasp. He had never been this soft and silent before.

As she cleaned his strong, broad back, her hands trembled with each brush against his skin. She had never been this close to a man before, and with every passing second, her heart raced.

But even she could no longer trust herself. Only God could save her. Yet perhaps God had abandoned her, leaving her alone with the devil.

She prayed,

And lead us not into temptation,  but deliver us from evil.  Amen. 

He turned to look at her, gently taking her soft hand and making her stop cleaning his back. She froze, her breath hitching in her throat. The more she felt her heartbeat quicken, the more her resolve weakened. Only then did she realize they were sitting together on the bed.

Her eyes betrayed her; she lowered her head and looked at him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt; his strong chest radiated heat. His tattoos and well-defined abdomen drew her gaze, and she could see the trail of soft hair leading down to where his belt concealed what she dared not imagine.

“Why do you keep fighting this?” he whispered, his voice low and inviting. The air between them crackled with an unspoken tension, and she felt the weight of his gaze, heavy and electric.

He was the devil incarnate, the only one who could stir forbidden desires within her. Like Lucifer himself, assembling his legion, she felt herself caught in the gravitational pull of his allure. She was the first to be drawn in, the first to feel the intoxicating thrill of surrendering to him.

As he leaned closer, his breath brushing against her skin, she could feel the weight of her resolve crumbling. “Join me,” he murmured, his eyes dark with promise.

Every word was a spell, wrapping around her heart and mind, tempting her to relinquish her innocence and step into the shadows.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

The cloth she had been using to clean him slipped from her fingers, and, succumbing to temptation, she let her soft, trembling fingers brush against his bare chest, feeling the skin of a man for the first time.

Oh no, this is wrong.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen.

This is...

And lead us not into temptation... but... oh... the... oh... devil...

Oh, poor girl, she failed her mission. She sinned.

Even God couldn’t save her when he pressed her against the wall, and they moaned into each other’s mouths. The rosary slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground. His hands slid beneath her nun’s veil, revealing her long, beautiful hair, as he tugged at the fabric of her white gown. She felt the strong, masculine body of a man rubbing against her for the first time.

She gasped into his mouth, fully surrendering, as his hands moved up her waist, lifting the sacred garment she had once believed untouchable. His hands roamed her body, reaching places she had vowed would never be touched.

He pressed her against the wall with such desire that the crucifix fell to the ground—a clear sign that she was now entirely in the hands of the devil.

She could not resist the devil.

"I can fix him—no, really, I can,

— Or maybe I can’t."

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

(I wish I could ask this in a video with GamingMagic13’s editing style, but I don’t have the energy for that.)

People say that, after Antibug, Chloé’s redeeming qualities started to show through throughout Seasons 2 and 3 because Thomas Astruc didn’t contribute to those episodes of those seasons as if he wasn’t on the writing team for every episode for those two seasons, including the ones showing Chloé’s redeeming qualities.

It’s not “Thomas left so the other writers started to make a redemption for Chloé, but then he came back and threw it all away”, it’s leaning more towards “Thomas, along with other writers, wanted to waste our time with Chloé pity parties for two seasons and trick people into feeling bad for her, which worked on plenty of reactors, and then yank the rug out from under them just for the sake of pulling a rug out from viewers” whether it’s the truth or not.

Also, do you get the feeling that, if people weren’t harassing Thomas and his family over Chloé’s “abandoned redemption”, Chloé wouldn’t have been made into evil incarnate to spite people?

Considering that the hiatus between Seasons 3 and 4 started towards the end of 2019, had to continue throughout 2020 due to the COVID pandemic with only the New York special to keep us busy in September 2020, and then finally ended shortly after 2021 started, that would have been plenty of time to rework scripts, because we know he was also on the writing team for every episode of Seasons 4 and 5 alongside 2 and 3, to made Chloé more and more unlikeable while propping up the male adults to spite Chloé fans, like several episodes of Teen Titans GO! and even this show are guilty of.

Whether all of this is true or not, I think it all lines up too well for too many other outcomes.

The "Thomas Astruc was able to completely rewrite the plans for this character and no one stopped him" take has always been a little wild to me especially since Chloe never showed meaningful improvement in canon. In fact, now that we've seen her story play out in all it's disappointing and time-wasting glory, you can even argue that Despair Bear was straight up telling you what we were in for since it's the same plot, just on a smaller scale.

As far as I know, there is no evidence for this "Chloe was rewritten" conspiracy. At the very least, no one has sent any my way on the multiple occasions when I've asked for it. Astruc is a credited writer for pretty much every episode involved in the Queen Bee arc and, while head writers have a good deal of power, they often don't have supreme power over their shows. This is especially true when it comes to kids shows since those have a lot of restrictions on what they can do. While I cannot speak French, I've been told that this class involves one of the writers talking about the multiple darker version of Chat Blanc that were rejected, leading to Chat Blanc being a season three episode instead of a season two episode like they originally planned.

These shows are products that are being sold to buyers who do have the power to reject the product and the writers work for a company. In most cases, they can be stopped!

There's also the fact that this is Astruc's career that we're talking about. You're arguing that he purposely messed with his reputation and screwed up the writing in the show that he's most well-known for in order to get back at online randos instead of just blocking them and moving on with his life. That's an insanely hard sell for me. Unintentional bad writing is a much easier explanation especially since he has nothing to gain from people disliking the Chloé stuff. This wasn't situation where Astruc needed to tank the show to get out of writing it. If Astruc left the project, then Miraculous would go on without him. While he came up with the initial idea, Zag owns the property.

Unless someone has hard evidence that Chloé was changed to spite fans, I am never going to buy into this conspiracy theory. Her bad writing is too in line with the show's other issues. Remember, this is the show that gave us Derision, everything about Lila, and Gabriel getting an 'ascends into the light with a smile' ending while his son sat the fight out and remains in the dark. Is Chloé really meaningfully worse than any of that?

I'd say no and, if you agree, then why do you think that she's so special? I've previously called her a canary in the coal mine and that's going to be my read until someone gives me evidence of something else. She was your warning sign that the writing was never going to be very good. I don't think she foretold just how bad it would get - that's why I kept watching - but her story showed that these writers were only good at short-form content and sucked at long-form content. In fact, Chloé's story is arguably better than a lot of the long-form stuff that the show gave us in season four and five. At least Chloé's story logically flowed together even if it was massively disapointing!

I also don't consider Chloé's season four and five writing downgrade to be all that telling because, once again, it's not unique to her. The class gets a similar downgrade in quality, going from "we'll help Marinette with her confession plans when she asks, but this isn't a major thing to us" to "we live for Adrienette and will make our own plans for Marinette to confess and force them on her/try to force Adrienette to kiss." It makes the entire class feels more shallow than ever.

Gabriel also gets a downgrade with his writing going more over-the-top than ever. We have things like him locking Adrien in a cell and using Adrien's amoks for no obvious reason even though Gabriel is supposed to get an ending where he dies totally at peace and ascends into the light. Totally nonsense choices just like the choice to make Marinette's inability to speak to Adrien because she's anxious into a full-out trauma response.

These are just a few of the many, many, many writing downgrades.

If you truly believe the Chloé conspiracy, then I'd strongly encourage you to watch at least the first of the videos I'm about to link and see if you notice similarities. I have all of them set to the specific, relevant timestamps in case you don't want to watch a massive video to see what I'm talking about because they all talk about more than the conspiracies that arose in these fandoms when the writing got "bad" (especially the last one. The conspiracy gets a very brief mention. I really only included it because I wanted three examples and just went with ones big enough that someone else had done research on the topic because it's not an area of fandom that I've ever waded into).

I'm linking these videos because I wanted to give you more than me just saying "this kind of thing happens all the time when media gets bad." Watching just a few minutes of each of these should give you the context you need assuming the timestamps work:

As you can hopefully see, the Chloé stuff is nothing new. So many pieces of media do something disappointing and then fans create conspiracies for why it happened, refusing to accept what is most likely to be the unfortunate truth: the writers thought they told a good story or, at the very least, they did the best they could within the confines they were working with be those confines monetary, temporal, and/or the limits of their own skills. That doesn't make the bad writing okay, you're fully valid in being upset, but there's also no need to create a conspiracy theory around it. It's probably not that deep. This shit happens all the time, especially in larger fandoms.

This is why I often give the advice of, "don't trust your mental health to stories that you have no control over." Is not that fandom isn't fun, I've just seen this shit before and I always feel bad for those who get involved with it. I've luckily never gone down the conspiracy rabbit hole, but I have gotten really upset when other fans continued to like a show that was bad, actually, and got a good deal of catharsis when most of the fandom woke up after the final was terrible. That still wasn't a good experience for me, though. It was not a healthy mindset to be waiting with baited breath for total strangers to agree with me that this random show was bad. I'm much better of bashing it with those who agree that it's bad, moving on when I'm no longer having fun, and letting those who like it be wrong (that is both a joke and real advice. Don't waste your time trying to change people's minds on something as insignificant as Miraculous. Just let them be wrong.)

[genopaint]

Doesn't get much fresher than this, here's week 50 that I JUST completed!!

Updated it to add today and yesterday's dragon, so it bleeds a little into Week 51. However, the rest of week 51 and week 52 will be combined together in one final post :)

As always you can follow me on twitter where they’re posted daily

And read more info on each of them below the cut

Daily Dragon #350 / #351 - Mega Charizard X & Mega Charizard Y

It's been irking me a little that the yearly Charizard kind of won't count for this challenge. But I figured I can still include my favorite Pokemon on a technicality!

I VERY rarely draw these mega evolutions. But they are both REALLY cool in my opinion. I like Y for being a little more simple and a little more fantasy looking, it has nice shapes. And I like X for being just so edgy and over the top and extra. Mega evolutions genuinely rule imo

Probably won't make it into the challenge but maybe next year I can draw Gigantimax Charizard and potentially even the Terestral Charizard. I've never drawn either of them... Cause they kinda suck imo lmao

Daily Dragon #352 - Snowdragon

A dragon made completely out of snow, stones, and small things the creator used as accessories! Most notably, within it are enchanted gems from a dragon's horde, allowing the Snowdragon to come to life!

This is a slightly less ambitious redraw this time lol. This is a dragon from maybe around 2014-2016ish?? I wanted to wait and see if it would snow irl so I could make a REAL Snowdragon. But it's becoming apparent to me that's not happening lol. So I just redrew this instead :)

Daily Dragon #353 - Damnation

“As there is life, I am death. As there is hope, I am despair. As there is light, I am darkness. I am true hatred incarnate, no power shall stand before me.”

This is Damnation, the Evil God Dragon! This was the big finale to my Monthly Dragon challenge in 2020! They're the grand final boss of your adventure, are you ready??

Here's his original design from 2020!

I tried to unify the color scheme a little bit more cause I thought all the red looked cool? I hope you agree!!

Also this is the other dragon I REALLY wanted to get done during this challenge! Alongside the Fruit Dragon, but they were so complicated I didn't think I'd get it done in time. But I cleaned up the design a bit and while it's hard to tell what's going on imo... Its cool enough

Daily Dragon #354 - Grey Greaver

One more anthro dragon before the challenge ends, why not? Grey works as a Bar Tender. He's very powerful and loves fighting, beating up people who cause problems in his bar!

Daily Dragon #355 - Gorosaur

Large and aggressive monsters that can release powerful blasts of electricity from their bodies! They can concentrate the power through beams from their mouth, or release it as a powerful blast from all over their bodies!

Daily Dragon #356 - Midgardsormr

A dragon I've been meaning to redraw LONG before this challenge. It's finally time to do some Dragalia Lost fanart once again :) This game was so cool and had some wonderful dragons. This was really fun to do!

When Dragalia Lost was just announced (so like 2018?) I drew Brunhilda and Midgardsormr cause I was SO excited for it, of course I was, it had dragons in it. So the redraw was between the two of them, but I went for Midgardsormr cause I have protagonist disease.

Here's how I drew him in 2018!! How time flies...

This game was really cool and I'm still sad it never got a proper console port or anything in Smash Bros. I never finished the story when the game closed so I should sit down and watch it soon. Listening to Cinderella Step while drawing this made me a little emotional lol

Daily Dragon #357 - Heartless Wyvern

I've done a couple of dragons from different RPG series. And it just felt appropriate to do one more that's been left off: Kingdom Hearts! This is my favorite Heartless, and I wanted to do it WAY earlier but really struggled with it until now

Well, to be honest, I still struggled with this a lot. Particularly the head and surprisingly thick meaty legs on these guys. But I think it came out alright. I hope you like it!

Also, this is the last fanart dragon of the Daily Dragon Challenge! Everything from here is original

Daily Dragon #358 - Silver Comet

That's it!! The last popularity poll dragon for the Daily Dragon Challenge! Thank you all SO much for voting not only this month, but every month this year!! Sit back and enjoy the last 8 days!!

Here's the results:

Silver Comet - 4 Votes Snow Dragon - 3 Votes Drupesaurus - 3 Votes Gaia the Dragon God - 2 Votes Grey Greaver - 2 Votes Polaris Dragon - 2 Votes Bahamuknight - 1 Vote Gorosaur - 1 Vote

I'm not surprised Comet ended up winning, but I am surprised with how much people seemed to love them when I posted their art a while back! Thank you for all the love!

He's my favorite of the month too. All the big redraw dragons were my favorite but he came out the best imo

Again thank you all SO much for indulging me and letting me do all this during throughout the year. I know I didn't get a ton of votes every month but I seriously appreciate everyone who participated in ANY of these polls, even if you just voted once.

Tomorrow begins the last 8 days of the year and the finale of the Daily Dragon Challenge. Thank you all so much for your support through this, it's been messy. But I hope you like the last 8 dragons :)

[shippyo]

honorable Life, my question is simple. what do you think of such an anomaly as... Kirby? he does not seem to be a regular member of his kind...

if ya all wanna know more of life click [here] !!💖

---------------------------------------

First of all, I have to correct you here, there are no anomalies, each being is alive and as natural as life myself, even if they seem like miracles, beings of an impossible nature or outside your common sense,they are all normal.

And...Kirby, yes, that child is so unique, well, ununique,the one you know is not the only one, because there are hundreds, thousands of them in so many worlds and yes... He is not like you or others of those that you consider "your species".

I am not sure if that is what happened in your universe,but it has almost always coincided that they were not born from other beings,no, like almost all beings that originate from the beginning of your universe,Kirby born from the pulse of life, a heart from the void that anything can come out of there, the heart that beats in me and you simply exist, many times more than one being of almost infinite capabilities comes out of there or... mere amoebas that after eons, will form species like you,and, each Kirby, each you, all different or non-existent, everything depends on that pulse of life that leads beings to exist,or not.

And...what do I really feel about him or.. her?

A lot, too much, I don't know why but... he is not the only one that makes me feel that way, other beings, yes, that also originated from the pulse of me,make me feel... maternal, Necrodeus even feel a deep care for them,even to those you consider most atrocious and the evil incarnate, I don't understand it.

But..

Maybe what was before me, if that was me, has to do with all this, although, I don't understand why the void, that pulse, beats so strongly inside me every time one of these new beings is born, I know that you are all part of me, but, they are like if...

No.

life shook her head

In any case, all the Kirbys that exist are almost always very sweet children, Morpho, my daughter has even tested one of them from time to time, their strength is comparable to their heart and it brings me happiness that in so many universes so complex and different, there is a Kirby to make the world smile.

@kirbyoctournament

[tobiasdrake]

Dragonball has a couple interesting redemptions to talk about. Like Piccolo Jr., where depending on how you interpret his character changes both whether he has any significant crimes to be redeemed of, and the exact moment where this redemption begins. If you hold the Jr. is a seperate individual from Piccolo Daimao, then the only crimes he ever really committed are Attempted Murder (Of Goku) and mass property damage. And if you hold that Piccolo Jr. Was born a demon and lost that demonic status through positive character development, then his redemption technically occurs before he spends any time with Gohan, because he can't have been a demon when he killed Goku and Raditz (As Dragonball establishes that those killed by demons don't go to the afterlife). That scenario really makes you remember that Piccolo Jr. was only 3 years old when he fought Goku. And that's just one possible reading of his character

Piccolo is a complicated entity. There are basically three, arguably four versions of the character - but they are ultimately different facets of the same guy.

There's the original Piccolo-Daimao/Great Demon King Piccolo, of course. What's interesting about Daimao is that he seemingly lacks moral agency.

Piccolo isn't a demon because of how evil he is. He's a demon because, metaphysically, he is a demon. This is not a turn of phrase. It is not a title. It is not a fanciful status you can attain by kicking enough puppies. It is a mythological being.

When the Nameless Namekian ascended to become God, he purged all corruption and wickedness from his heart, and that wickedness became the demon Piccolo. As a demon, Piccolo is literally evil incarnate. He can only know evil. He can only be evil. He is incapable of anything else.

This man has no true goals, desires, or ambitions. He's just evil. Because he is composed entirely of evil and can know nothing but evil. By circumstances of his existences, he's not even really a person; He is just evil.

Even his idea of world domination is just genocide in slow motion.

He wants to kill everything for maximum evilness. He has a 43-year plan for disseminating fear, anarchy, and violence around society before he finishes killing all life on this planet. This is not a three-dimensional human being. This is what you get when you put an abstract concept into a body. He is not physically capable of making moral choices.

The moment everything changes is, of course, when Goku presents a very compelling argument that he should get his shit together.

This is the moment that people often point to as evidence that the two Piccolos are different characters.

Moments before he spontaneously explodes for... honestly, no clear reason at all... Piccolo speaks to the egg he's reincarnating himself into. It's a weird thing for him to do if the egg contains his own soul or essence or what have you.

But. Well. Contain it, the egg does. Piccolo hatches from his own egg with full continuity of consciousness from his past self. He remembers his identity, he remembers Goku, he remembers God and their relationship, he even remembers the language of his home planet from long before he and God ever divided.

His identity, his personality, every scrap of knowledge he ever knew, is all intact in this new body. Piccolo identifies himself as the Piccolo-Daimao reborn.

Which God independently corroborates.

Piccolo never died; If he had, God would have died as well. God cannot exist if Piccolo-Daimao does not. This is how the metaphysics work.

An argument could be made that a reincarnation is not entirely the same being. It is nonetheless a new life, a new being. Avatar: The Last Airbender goes to great lengths to show how very different the reincarnations of a single person can be, as each incarnation is born as a blank slate.

But. Uh. Piccolo Jr. wasn't born as a blank slate. He was born with Piccolo's memories, identity, personality, ambitions, etc. fully intact. So trying to label him as a brand new person untethered from the old is ultimately splitting hairs.

However.

What he wasn't reborn as, is a demon. And that's where things get interesting.

Piccolo reincarnated himself into a new body, but that new body was a new body. In terms of personality and memory and identity, he woke up the same Daimao as before - but metaphysically, he woke up as a fully three-dimensional being, suddenly capable of choice and complexity and moral agency.

He hatched himself into a new Namekian being, rather than a demon spawn.

This new form of Piccolo still wanted to take over the world. Because that's what he wanted when he was a demon. Piccolo is a ball in motion from the time he hatches, continuing to pursue the agenda he had in place before his reincarnation gambit.

But. It's. Complicated now, because he can't just do evil for evil's sake. His goals have to make sense now. They have to be a thing that a person would want. Before he even meets Gohan, he's already softened up from Pure Evil Incarnate.

The Demon Lord of old didn't really want to rule the world. It was just a pretense for a slow and cruel genocide. But in this new state, suddenly he cares about his prospective empire. He's concerned now about the wellbeing of the people he would govern.

Eight years ago his "plans for this world" were for everyone to die. But here he is like "How dare this asshole try to kill my planet when I intend to rule it!?" He's getting confused about his own motivation because his original motivation was just "Do Evil".

In this form, Piccolo is self-aware now. And he's not happy about his place in the universe.

Before, he was acting on just... raw evilness. But now he's emotional. He's bitter. Cynical. Resentful of God. He can feel things now. And with the arrival of the Saiyans bearing down on him, Piccolo's thoughts have turned to his legacy.

People fixate on The Moment but it's the capstone of a point that had been hammered in and hammered in: That Piccolo is changing, that he's been changing since the moment he hatched from that egg. That he is even capable of change because he ceased to be a demon on that fateful day years ago.

It's on the shoulders of all of this groundwork that the fateful moment everyone remembers takes place.

From this point forward, Piccolo is unquestionably 100% a protagonist, though he's still a bit of an asshole.

The debatable transformation in his character comes from his assimilation of Nail.

While Piccolo and Nail's merger does have some fairly explicit effects on his character....

It's not super clear whether his developing sense of empathy for others is a result of it, or a consequence of the growth he's already undergone up to this point.

In either case, Piccolo's development ultimately brings him to his final transformation:

This last transformation is... unusual. In a sense, it devalues the redemptive journey Piccolo's been on up to this point. Despite Piccolo repeatedly insisting "I'M DRIVING, You're just going to be FOOD FOR ME," the new being that results from their joining is at once both Piccolo and God, and neither all the same.

He still answers to the name Piccolo for convenience's sake.

But he's different now. He's humble. Wise. A spiritual leader who offers reverence to the divine and guidance to the uncertain.

This is not the same man who gleefully spat in the face of God.

Look at him there, offering spiritual clarity. Piccolo would never.

This new version of Piccolo is effectively a brand new character, bearing some traits from both Piccolo and God. This is not a product of character development, but because they waved a magic wand and fused into a single guy. So it feels kinda cheap.

But at the same time, it's not. Because Piccolo's growth and development wasn't wasted. Indeed, it's that growth and development that brought him to this point; That made it possible for Piccolo and God to rejoin one another in the first place.

This final transformation is Piccolo's redemption; The culmination of a long journey that he's been on, from Pure Evil Incarnate to a three-dimensional man standing at the altar of God in his Temple in Heaven, seeking the ability to protect the people he loves.

The prodigal son finding his way home, to become himself again.

[measuringbliss]

Ultimate Spider-Man (2024) 8-10

So the artist is definitely taunting us right

Because... I mean...

...Anyway. Peter's duplicated mind is definitely not dangerous in any way. It can speak and has an evil smile.

Perfectly reliable. (I need to write smut.)

Actually I don't even need to write anything because the selfcest writes itself. But it's time to celebrate the kids' birthday, so Peter has no time to challenge his conception of his own sexuality. His trysts with Harry are already quite charged.

Then we have a flashback to three weeks ago, because the comics's pacing makes it awkward that way. Wouldn't have to do that if you had more pages, honey! Or if it wasn't per month. Remember, Iron Man arrived just as Peter and Harry were beating each other and testing their AI. Peter's is very lovely (as we've seen), and Harry's daddy issues incarnated since it's his own father. What a stupid choice.

I don't like how this Tony looks, but I'm glad to see the bisexuality is still present. Tony says the Maker returns "in a little over a year" (so probably after two years all in all, I thought it would only be one year but okay). Why does he return, actually? To get beat up? Because that's what's gonna happen.

Anyway, turns out Harry wasn't on the list of heroes who HAD to be eradicated. Peter was, but not Harry, because of course he wasn't. Wow, I bet their relationship will have no trouble whatsoever.

Peter gives Tony a chance, but Harry's fixated on the fact that Tony totally broke his suit's security. Because weakness. Because daddy issues.

Back at the kids' party, Ben tries to make Peter subtly understand that he and Jameson are an item.

He mostly fails. Anyway, the paper launches the following month (September, then). It took its time. And they want Peter there. He's not sure about it.

The party looks nice. I was finally able to play one of these dance things in Japan a few months ago and let me tell you, it's really hard. But it's fun.

Funny, that's what Ben said about Jameson.

I love this kid. He's great. Hope nothing happens to him because so far he's completely exceeded my expectations.

It's clear that the kid feels very lonely too (pretty sure that's shown in the early issues as well), but Jameson gifting him his autobiography is priceless. What a fascinating relationship. He published it himself! Fits with his autoentrepreneur thing.

Meanwhile, Fisk contacts the other gang leaders.

Yeah, still hot.

The leaders are clearly the minibosses. So beside Martin Li, we get Black Cat (Felicia's father), Mysterio (<3), Kraven, and... Mole Man. Alright. In the cliffhanger, Fisk says he wants to make a game out of his enemies... is he going to make them fight each other? It's not gonna be difficult then, Harry's one joke away from choking Peter. And I do not only mean sexually, although yes, that too.

Ish 9!

Ben and Jameson are not satisfied about their articles; too much about Spidey, not enough about the dark side of the Big Apple.

About some SPECTACULAR content?

Anyway, MJ explains that actually, It's Good, because they're very successful right now.

In his lab, Otto gives Harry a firmware upgrade. For Spidey, his solution is a costume change.

Peter confers with his AI that's totally not swallowing him up in his sleep.

Bingo.

Unfortunately for Otto, Peter is already in a fully committed relationship with his current suit. So Peter suggests the suit stays at PETER'S HOME TO PROTECT IT. SURELY NOTHING WRONG WILL HAPPEN. I need more conversations between these two. Give me more than crumbs!

Anyway, it's all so Tony can't track them down, which I find... kind of strange but alright. Peter doesn't seem too attached to the idea either.

I expected a black suit, I wanted to hate it, but not gonna lie... IT's kind of cool. But yeah it's really giving Sonyverse!Venom movies. I'm here for it!

Peter's... not into it. It's too *complete*.

He opts for a spandex suit. Booooring.

God Harry's really trying to make them a thing. Peter's bisexuality is still buried.

Meanwhile, Ben and Jameson investigate Stark/Stanne Industries. Sure.

Anyway, Black Cat arrives and fights our heroes.

Not very heterosexual, mister.

Eventually, Harry acts on instinct, spurred by his dad, and yeets BC out of the building. BC is almost dead.

Peter's *not* happy about it.

Okay, yandere.

Just kiss already argh

I'm very impressed with how much the book accomplishes in its short amount of pages but goddamnit everything here also deserves 5 times more exploration.

Oh, what the hell. Let's read ish 10 as well!

It's focused on Ben and Jameson's investigation, which I do not really care about. They get closer to Stark/Stanne Industries's acquisition, which leads them to Oscorp, so to Gwen, who gave them the money in the first place.

Her reaction?

Very understandable.

Later, Richard (the son) checkmates Peter, and MJ informs Ben that Gwen called her.

Oh, those shadows on Peter's shirt were not necessary.

Anyway, Gwen has a week until the story comes out. Ouch.

And when Harry enters the Paper's office, Ben drops the bombshell: they think either Harry or his wife are in the green suit. (Which leaves the question of Spidey open... They must have an inkling, surely.)

Harry's reaction?

Well, well, well...

They just keep on giving each other money for bets they made. Kind of golden.

Harry quickly gets tired of these gay ass old men, but he tells them about Oscorp's secret intel about a lot of stuff, and says that Peter says he can trust them. So they must now know he's Spidey.

KISS.

Anyway, finally, they publish their story...

"Photo by Peter Parker" and then published by a "Ben"... HMM. THAT SURE IS DIFFICULT TO FIGURE OUT.

That's it for today! See you, like, in December or January for the next few issues <3