#the most self centered person in the world

[thedaythatwas]

on nagito komaeda and love

I just think it’s sort of funny that for a character whose (arguably) most well-recognized CG is this: 

komaeda’s narrative so heavily centers love. and I don’t just say this because I’ve had komahina brainrot for years (though this is true!!). even if you don’t care about komahina, it’s tough to deny komaeda is a walking tragedy in large part because of the role that love plays in his life. his characterization is driven by the way his luck has denied him love, and how he seeks it out regardless. in that sense, I think that without understanding komahina as at least one-sided, you miss out on one of the juiciest, most miserable pieces of komaeda’s character development.

tldr; a love-centered reading of komaeda makes sense, recognizing komahina as “a thing” in DR2 (whether you ship it or not) is pretty important to understanding how komaeda operates, and I’ll try to prove it right here under this page break!!

Part 1: Komaeda’s Love Life (or, his life without love)

I think it’s safe to assume that if you clicked here, you know about komaeda’s absurdly miserable, tumultuous childhood, but I’ll do a quick recap just in case! meteor kills his parents on a plane, he inherits a ton of money. he’s kidnapped by a serial killer, he finds a winning lottery ticket in the garbage bag he’s thrown out in. he’s diagnosed with terminal cancer and dementia, he gets into hope’s peak.

in his free time events, komaeda *explicitly* frames his luck cycle as something that takes away the people he loves. it only “takes action” against him after his relatives have died (for the sake of this essay, let’s assume that komaeda loved his parents, or would have at least been hurt by their passing). by way of other close connections… well, his wording here implies that by the time of his diagnosis, he didn’t really have anybody in his life. 

either komaeda didn’t allow himself to get close to anyone after the meteor incident, or he did, and they were taken away by his luck. at some point during his childhood, komaeda learned he should view himself as a death sentence.

so, how does this loss of love shape the komaeda we know? I’ll talk about this in terms of four of his defining (and connected!) traits in DR2 canon – the ones that really make his actions make sense: his self-loathing, his hope-seeking, his learned helplessness, and his certainty that his existence poses a threat to those around him. komaeda’s experience with loss makes him view himself as a source of death, which in turn fuels these tenets of his character. ultimately, his loss and the complexes that arise from it give him good incentive to push people away.

his self-loathing

komaeda hates himself. he views himself as worthless outside of his potential to serve as a “stepping stone” for the hope of the ultimates. he claims that this is driven by his beliefs around talent, which are in turn linked to the way his worldview rests on viewing hope as “absolute good.” the talentless (himself included) are only good for advancing the hope of the talented. still, his self-loathing is a bit more personal than that. take what he says and dig just below the surface, and it’s a clean cut trauma response all the way down. which leads us directly to…

his hope-seeking

komaeda is willing to do literally anything to serve hope. on the island, this (in short) means dying. this is where I prod at komaeda’s reasoning a bit more: komaeda’s willingness to act the way he does in canon also stems from his belief that his dying would be a net good for the world. his existence kills the people around him. his illness will kill him anyway. he has less than no value, and hope is invaluable. to go out for the sake of hope would give his wretched life purpose; it’s his dream come true.

and it’s no mystery why komaeda cares so much about hope: again, it’s a coping mechanism! komaeda’s belief that all bad luck is a necessary precursor for good luck and that hope will always triumph over despair is (as he himself says!) the only reason he’s managed to stay alive. I’ll say it again because I really can’t emphasize it enough – komaeda thinks that just by existing, he kills the people he loves. ouch!

learned helplessness / his existence as a threat

komaeda has, essentially, learned to submit to his luck cycle. all bad luck is good luck in the end – isn’t that amazing?! almost paradoxically, he’s hyper-vigilant about the negative impact his luck has on those around him. this is a tricky one. I make sense of it this way: komaeda’s perception of how much his luck impacts the people close to him isn’t inflated, like, at all. the supernatural way the world bends around komaeda to screw him over really does pose a danger to himself and others, and he takes measures to minimize that danger. his stated acceptance of his luck cycle is… well, again, he’s coping. 

if komaeda really thought that all bad luck is ultimately good luck, he wouldn’t try to protect his classmates from his bad luck. but, as we see in island mode, he does!

but really, who could blame komaeda for lying to himself? I’ll restate the facts. komaeda thinks that luck is absolute power. he says that he’s powerless against it. his luck has taken his family, and it’s left him with nothing but money that he doesn’t want. he’s certain he’s a curse, and there’s no end to that in sight: so long as komaeda exists, he’ll keep on losing – murdering – everything he loves. 

in the face of all of that despair, what can you do but abandon your self-esteem and pray for something good to come out of all of it? how else could somebody possibly survive carrying that burden, truly believing that load will never be lightened?

tldr; komaeda thinks his existence is a threat, and a big chunk of his personality is a frankensteined way of surviving the pain that comes with that. still, we should question how much of his worldview komaeda has really internalized without inner conflict. 

Part 2: Enter Hajime Hinata

we get some answers on that front when we see that despite the clear and obvious danger it poses, nagito komaeda still finds himself falling hard for hajime hinata. that’s really, really loud.

I’ll preface this part by saying that you don’t need to actively ship komahina to understand what I’m trying to get at here. this said, I’ll be recapping an argument you’ve almost definitely seen before: komahina is definitely “a thing” – at the very least as a one-sided thing. to this, I’ll add the (perhaps bold?) claim that without recognizing that much as true, you’re missing out on a big part of what makes komaeda so interesting.

komaeda’s FTEs make it abundantly clear that komaeda has feelings for hinata. apart from his famed failed love confession, the fact that komaeda is willing to allow hinata to get close enough to learn about his views on hope and luck is telling. 

(the smoking gun here hinges on trusting that komaeda was telling the truth during the time you spent with him; in so many words, that he only lied about lying. so, for the sake of argument, let’s assume this is true! there’s good proof for it, anyway.)

if you read his final FTE as komaeda flashing his soul to hinata and making a decision at the very last second to retreat, turning to old coping mechanisms to protect hinata from his luck, it’s sort of a komahina bombshell. that capitulation spells out for us that komaeda understands sharing his life experiences with hinata to be one of the most intimate things he could possibly do.

he recognizes the exact moment he lets hinata get too close – when his life story is finally told – and he does what he’s learned he needs to do to get them both out of that situation safely: he tries to make hinata hate him, and tells himself (and hinata!) that he did it for the sake of hope.

(and yet, komaeda let hinata approach him every FTE, knowing damn well that they were both playing with fire… very interesting.)

now, let’s say you don’t consider the FTEs to be integral to canon. I mean, you can really easily miss out on all of komaeda’s content if you choose not to hang out with him in chapter 1! so, for the skeptic, in the unskippable main story, komaeda tells hinata this:

komaeda cares about hinata despite everything. and I really, truly mean despite everything. at this point in the story, the fact that he still cares about hinata calls into question basically every single one of his core beliefs. he’s read his final dead room prize – not only does hinata not have a talent, we can presume that komaeda also knows hinata became ultimate despair along with the rest of them. 

hinata has continually sought out komaeda’s company, even though komaeda knows himself to be worthless at best, lethal at worst. komaeda was willing to let him get closer, even though he knows how dangerous that is for hinata. he can’t help but let hinata try to know him. 

isn’t he awful? to want what he knows he can’t have, even though that wanting has never done anything but cause pain? he’s really the lowest of the low, to love someone who destroyed the world, who makes him question the views that will allow him to do the only good thing he’s ever been able to do for it: to die for hope. 

and yet, it’s a nod to how incredibly capable of love komaeda is that he’s still willing to reach out for it, no matter how many times it’s burned him in the past, and how much it hurts him in the present to want it. he understands more than anyone that his feelings can only result in disaster. reading komaeda as someone who can’t help but go on loving anyway makes his story hurt so much worse. 

but, you miss a whole lot of that without an eye for komahina. seeing hinata as the eye of komaeda’s emotional hurricane (and keeping tabs on their connection accordingly) allows us to glimpse past the cracks in komaeda’s front. we see that komaeda’s worldview is less stable than he presents it as – hinata is where komaeda’s coping mechanisms, for better or worse, run up against a wall. that tends to be uncomfortable for a guy who’s just barely coping in the first place. then again, growth is supposed to be uncomfortable, isn’t it?

Part 3: The Future He Chooses

so, all of this considered, I think one of the most interesting ways you can flesh komaeda out post-canon is by asking how he’d find himself willing to accept love. whether that love is from hinata or the ultimates, whether it’s platonic or romantic, love is the thing that komaeda wants AND fears in equal measure more than anything. it’s the source of his self-loathing and his obsession with hope. it’s the reason he’s lived the way that he has for so long – lonely, and afraid of being anything but.

getting into a relationship wouldn’t solve komaeda’s problems for him, and that’s a good thing. it would force him to confront old ones, and probably create dozens of new issues for him, too. writing him through that makes for great character study!

hinata (or anyone else, for that matter) can’t love komaeda into loving himself, but he can give him a shoulder to cry on while he works through 22 years of fear and sorts through the wreckage of a worldview that’s long since stopped serving him. I don’t think his progress would be linear. but, I think that he could do it. komaeda learning to accept care is what his healing looks like. 

(well. and physically recovering from cancer and dementia. but that’s neither here nor there!)

a post-canon komaeda learning to love narrative is also in line with the themes of DR2. hinata leads the survivors out of the neo world program because he makes the decision to choose his own future, creating a new version of “hope” for himself and his classmates. likewise, komaeda can make the decision to save himself. that is, if he trusts himself enough to actually touch and hold the thing that he’s never been able to stop reaching out for, anyway.

after all, hinata is lucky too. (and if it turns out he isn’t… y'all like angst fics, right?)

(shoutout to @cynopter for looking this over and confirming that I'm not spouting nonsense <33 thank you for reading my thesis of the week <33)

[aevumisles]

As the blue moon reaches its apex...

A new wind flutters through a book, its pages pearlescent and empty. The light seeps in and scrawls across the surface like ink from a quill, for stories have been from the dawn of time, and so they would be told again and once more. Once upon a time, there was an Isle called Arcanus....

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

You have has lived in Arcanus your whole life. Perhaps you have good neighbors, good friends, and a closely-knit family. Or, perhaps your muse is a loner. A na'er do well, who slinks throughout Arcanus at their leisure, wreaking mischief and causing havoc.

Whatever the case, life is perfectly provincial, though never without the classical ups and downs of mundane life.

You never seem to get that internship you've been working hard for this past year. Your family always seems a bit too busy, or you end up missing all of your dates with who you just know is the perfect person.

Sometimes, you can't help but wonder if you're cursed.

THE CURSE.

The Echoes have been cursed to live in a world that never changes, and where time never moves forward. Aercon believe that the Echoes have lived in Arcanus Isle forever. Despite this, everyone can only remember up to one year in the past. Trying to remember past this results in a splitting headache that could Blip an Echo who attempts to remember too soon.

(SEE: "Breaking the Curse" below.)

The Plot:

Each Echo's Aercon Self should center around a key part of who they are. This could be a complete personality change to reflect a strongly held belief, or reversion into who they think they are.

But every good story has a source of conflict! Perhaps your Echo's story is a coming-of-age story! Only, no matter how they might strive to do good, they simply cannot muster the courage to do what they need to do. Or anything they want to do, actually.

Perhaps your muse's story is a romance. They fall in love easily... but they cannot seem to catch a break. If their dates don't bail on them, then they cheat, or perhaps they've fallen in love with someone else!

Whatever the case, your muse's happily ever after is always just out of their reach no matter how hard they try. Their efforts are thwarted at every turn, and it seems that they just cannot escape their horrible luck. Some days - most days, actually - it almost seems as though they aren't allowed to break the status quo, or have any hope of a happy ending at all...

Echoes:

Lose access to all powers and supernatural abilities, afflictions, and otherworldly knowledge and information.

Humanoid creatures may become fully human / mortal for the duration of the Blue Moon.

If a muse is anthropomorphic, they may take on a human form as if they have always been human. Should you choose for them to stay in their normal body, no one (including Aercon!) will bat an eye or consider this abnormal.

MORE IDEAS FOR CURSES:

Your muse is on top of the world. Famous. Beloved. But without their knowledge, they must comply with directives given if someone asks it of them with the word "please".

Your muse is a thief, and quite good at it! Only their adventures are dictated by a great debt they owe to another. (You may use Omerta Nostra and The Vices as you please.)

Unbeknownst to them, your muse is separated from their family member or loved one, and while it is possible to connect to them, their paths always seem to fall apart, and miscommunication runs amok just as soon as your muse begins to feel comfortable with them again.

Your muse is a humble person with a humble job and is overall fairly comfortable in their quaint little life. But every time they are asked to do something outside of their comfort zone, they always choose cowardice over action.

Your muse remembers everything. Thing is: they're the only one who has ever remembered, and no attempts to remind anyone else has ever gone anywhere for a whole year....

WHAT HAPPENS IF MY MUSE HAS JUST JOINED?

Your muse may also be effected by the curse! Aercon Personas believe they have lived in Arcanus their whole lives, even if they can all only remember (very vaguely) the past year, and their immediate circumstances. You're effectively making a character based off of your character! So have fun with it. :)

If you would like to refrain from participation, please see the FAQ below!

BREAKING THE CURSE.

Echoes can break the curse either by remembering their true lives, or through an act of good-will that breaks their curse.

REMEMBERING:

Echoes will experience severe cognizant dissonance upon their first attempt to truly remember. They will be aware that they can't remember anything, but the curse will allow them to accept this, and/or consider their True Self to be a myth, legend, or fairytale.

If the discrepancies continue to be brought up, they will begin to grow overwhelmed, and some may feel as if their whole life and personhood are complete lies. The possibility of a mental break is entirely possible at this point in time.

With further investigation and attempts to remember, the Echo will then experience a splitting migraine. One that could Blip an Echo who attempts to remember too soon.

An Echo with enough knowledge and willpower may be able to brute force their way through the migraine and regain their memories and all unlocked powers. However, this change will not effect other inhabitants of the Isle.

AN ACT OF GOODWILL:

PLEASE NOTE: that this method will require a few instances of pushing past your muse's personal curse. This may be implied, threaded out, or a combination of the two.

Echoes may help their friends with their stories!

If an Echo is pushed to break their own curse, then they will be on the path to remembering their True Self.

The world around the Echoes will do anything and everything it can to disallow the Echoes from making a positive change for themselves.

If an Echo's curse is a struggle with cowardice, then that Echo will feel even more inclined to act cowardly instead of with bravery. If an Echo is ripped apart from a loved one, it will seem as though the entire universe is setting up any and every scenario possible to keep them apart.

It is the act to be brave, or the endurance necessary to reunite that will break the curse, and allow the Echo the willpower to remember.

DO ALL MUSES HAVE TO PARTICIPATE?

It is recommended that you do! However, should your choose not to participate, your may start your threads taking place in-universe before the Blue Moon's arrival (February).

When the Blue Moon is finished, your muse may comment on it as someone who did remember their True Self, and found the situation uncanny, but was otherwise unaffected.

WHAT’S THE PARTICIPATION BONUS?

Aevum Isles awards 500 Emblems for participation in Blue Moon Events. 

HOW LONG DOES ACT I RUN FOR?

Act I of Untold Stories will run until February 8th, 2025. 

All threads started featuring Act I CAN be continued into Act II. 

You do not have to participate in both acts to count towards your activity, but both acts will only count towards a singular event participation.

Act II will be posted on February 8th.

I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION BUT IT’S NOT ON HERE.

Please let us know by asking your question in the Aevum Isles Masterlist’s Ask Box! 

Questions sent elsewhere (such as the Aevum Isles FAQ discord channel) will not be accepted, and instead Staff will ask to transfer your question to the Masterlist at this time.

You can find the Aevum Isles Event FAQ tag (HERE), the Untold Stories specific FAQ tag (HERE), and the general FAQ tag (HERE).

[shoechoe]

Diavolo: Personality, Themes, Motivations and Beliefs

(This is the first of a series of posts about Diavolo’s character, though they can be read in any order. The links to the rest are here.)

In this post, I will try to define Diavolo’s themes and character traits. This will be a mix of attempting to pinpoint authorial intent and personal interpretation.

Word Count: ~3600

Identity and Connection

Diavolo has a few major themes present in his character, but I have always believed that his most compelling one is the idea of identity and connection to other people.

How characters relate to each other is a major theme in Jojo as a whole. Vento Aureo in particular explores the concept of trust and connection being risky, but a worthy gamble; there's always a risk in putting your trust into someone, but as much as it can be someone's downfall, it's a fundamental part of life and can be your greatest strength. This is expressed in all of the cast, but especially in Giorno, the protagonist, whose ability to make friends and inspire others is constantly noted as his main strength.

Diavolo is arguably the series' most ideological "opposite" to this theme that it has ever written. Going beyond other villain characters who simply don't form desire for socialization like Tooru or hide their true selves from others like Kira, Diavolo sees any connection to others at all as a danger. As a result, he scrubs his identity and presence from the world completely and never lets a single person see his face or interact with him in any way.

Theoretically, I could criticize Diavolo's writing right here. Having nobody in his mafia know anything about his identity despite him being their Boss, a highly communication-necessary position, is absurd and realistically impossible. But for all my complaints of how shakily written Passione is, it's such a Jojo-level impossibility that I can suspend my disbelief. Instead, I find Diavolo’s self-erasure a fascinating character trait.

It’s important to note that we have no evidence Diavolo sought to erase himself because it was his only option. Bruno once insists that he did this because there are specific enemies he knows are already after him or something else specific to hide, but they find no evidence that this is the case. As of what we know, Diavolo is simply incapable of trust; even the slightest connection to anybody at all is a perceived threat to him, including any knowledge about him being in the open.

While there are also your regular themes of good vs. evil, this is what I'd argue is the boldest contrast Diavolo has to almost everyone else in the cast. While the others choose to trust, build connections, and find strength in allies, risking betrayal, Diavolo chooses to cut off anyone from reaching him before they have any potential to harm him.

---

Compassion

At first glance, Diavolo’s lack of sympathy towards others isn’t unique among Jojo villains. However, there are some differences between Diavolo’s value of people and, for example, DIO’s. While DIO is similarly self-centered, he understands other people very well, which he uses to charm and manipulate. In contrast, Diavolo also attempts to manipulate and convince his enemies into submission at several points, but they always fall flat.

Take, for example, when he attempts to demotivate Bruno during his reveal arc by convincing him that he’s too injured to continue fighting- to no avail.

Or at the end of the Risotto fight, where he asks Risotto to return his iron to him with promises of "dignity", which also doesn’t work.

Or the moment from the very final fight where he begs Bruno to let him have the Stand arrow, seemingly confused that he doesn’t see how he’s the only one “worthy” to be ruler.

I like to envision these moments as tied to his isolation and rejection of friendship. Diavolo, someone who has likely not communicated with others beyond threats and orders for years, both sees himself as an intrinsic ruler chosen by fate yet is utterly unable to understand other people.

In Diavolo’s first scene, he does not understand why Bruno cares about Trish enough to betray him after protecting her. Instead, his first assumption is that Bruno betrayed him simply due to craving power, a motivation more similar to his own.

Here, he displays an inability to sympathize with other people and their motives, particularly when they involve acting out of caring for other people. When he does attempt to understand the motives of others, he seems to draw on his own traits and beliefs. This can explain his bafflement as to how Bruno doesn’t see him as a worthy owner of the arrow; to him, he’s so obviously fit to rule that he can’t understand how other people don’t see the same way.

Diavolo also only expresses a semblance of “respect” for people who have power. He commends his enemies when they have impressive abilities and pose a challenge to him.

It is questionable if this trait is genuine or if it is simply an attempt at manipulation like his other attempts to convince his enemies to do what he wants, but it is a line he uses repeatedly. And fitting with his self-centered worldview, his first line of praise for others is their power because power is what he values most.

Diavolo values other people through traits he values in himself, the only point of view he understands is his own, and the selfless natures of the main cast are completely beyond his grasp. I do not think any of this is particularly a stand-out trait among Jojo villains, but in some sense, it is subtly unique.

Unlike the selfishness you see in DIO, Kira, or Kars, Diavolo’s selfishness results in scenes like the bizarre grovelling about how only he “deserves” the arrow and utter confusion that nobody else can see his deservedness. This results in the common perception of Diavolo as particularly “pathetic” compared to other villains, and it’s not hard to see why. I don’t think there are any other villains who are completely consumed by and, in some way, hindered by their own selfishness as much as Diavolo is.

---

Tangent About Dio and Diavolo

As a side note, beyond the obvious parallel drawn between their “God” and “Devil” naming schemes, I believe that a lot about Diavolo’s character is also meant to contrast Dio:

Dio creates a cult-like following around his charm and ability, while Diavolo relies on intimidation and impersonal detachment. Dio also has a noted startling amount of charm and worshipers while Diavolo is near-universally despised and all of his attempts to convince characters with words are ineffective. Dio is extroverted and charming while Diavolo hides and threatens.

Some of Vento Aureo’s story progression can be seen as an inverse to Stardust Crusaders: The Crusaders were attempting to track down DIO’s stand from their knowledge of his identity. Meanwhile, the first thing Bucciarati’s group learns about Diavolo is his Stand, where they then attempt to track down his identity.

Dio enjoys mind games and inspecting his enemies while Diavolo is brutally fast and efficient.

Also note the (often pointed-out) stair scenes with Polnareff:

This is sort of a background detail, but it is ultimately not explored enough to be a defining feature of Diavolo’s character. (You will notice this a lot with Diavolo; details will be suggested to you, but nothing is done with them in a way that’s conclusive or even very prominent, leading you to question if it was even intentional.)

---

“Results”

The most important and unique facet of Diavolo's ideology is his expressed belief that "effects" mean nothing in the face of their results. Essentially, he believes that the process of something doesn't matter as long as you get the "result" that you desire.

Beyond his monologues directly stating it, this is most obviously reflected in his Stand, King Crimson (literally having the ability to erase “effects” and leave only “results”) but it's also seen in other aspects of how he thinks and behaves.

He is brutally quick and efficient, wasting no time to cut straight to what he wants, like his murders being swift and sudden. As a result, despite having some of the lowest screentime, he has the highest major character kill count out of any main villain in the series.

He takes disgust in mindless hedonism with no material “result” to justify it, like when he finds Cioccolata and Secco’s simple sadistic enjoyment in torture to be incomprehensible- but he is still willing to utilize them when he needs to kill his traitors. (It is also notable that he takes such disgust in them despite doing things that are about on their level, just if they serve him a purpose- like his severe iron loss leading him to eat a live frog and drain a child of his blood while tying his mouth shut so he can’t scream.)

I also think this can be interpreted into his other behaviors. There is no point in the long-term work of gaining trust and having relationships when you can get the same “result” of raw power by cheating and intimidating your way to the top. There is no point in working to hide and keep your daughter safe when a more self-beneficial “result” is to simply kill her quickly and quietly.

This belief is directly challenged by the story, with his final punishment being related to it. When Abbacchio has his conversation with his murdered comrade, he’s told by him that when you only search for “results”, you will lose sight of the “truth”.

Then, Gold Experience Requiem- built as a direct counter to King Crimson and the only ability that can surpass it in the part- has the ability to remove the “results” to actions, leaving only the “effect”. As a direct callback to Abbacchio’s conversation, it echoes the sentiment “You will never reach the truth”.

Out of all the themes in Diavolo’s character, “effects” vs. “results” is the one that is probably the most cohesive (and probably the most intentional). I don’t dwell on this very much because I feel like it is very obvious and the fanbase is well aware of it, but it is a major overarching theme of the story.

---

False God

I think the most interesting way to view Diavolo’s character is that in his attempts to secure his power, he is fighting against the nature of being human itself.

For much of the story, Diavolo is seen by everyone as nothing but a faceless authority only known as “The Boss”, his looming presence and power being the overarching threat of his character. “The Boss” is his ideal state, and it is the one he is in at the beginning of the story; in a sense, he is the “status quo” that Giorno wants to change. This could be read as an imitation of a godlike status- impersonal and meant to be obeyed without question, his power being silent but constantly present throughout the country.

Jojo often expresses the idea that human identities are shaped by connections and relationships, most obvious in parts like Jojolion. Jojo’s other villains also commonly have themes of shedding humanity to attain a higher status, like Dio’s ascension to vampire-hood literally phrased as a “rejection of his humanity”. Though Diavolo is never shown to be literally inhuman, I like to read his goal of cutting himself off from all other humans as both a ruthless securing of his power and a similar kind of attempted humanity-severance.

Diavolo himself has very self-aggrandizing dialogue, describing in his monologues that his life will “never ebb” and that he is destined to rule. This may seem weird for a character not shown to be literally inhuman, but under the lens of Diavolo attempting to surpass humanity, this dialogue makes sense. He both sees himself and wants to be seen as godlike.

This works in tandem with the connections Diavolo has to an Antichrist-like narrative, which I’ll get into.

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Fate

This interpretation of a desire to shed humanity can also be tied over into his desire to control his own fate and belief that he was chosen to be above others.

Beyond its ability to blindside its enemies, the core reason why King Crimson is so powerful is that it grants Diavolo the ability to surpass his own fate. Naturally, this is something that Diavolo prides himself in, expressing a belief that he was “chosen” to rule.

There is some contradiction with reality here, though; he believes he was chosen by fate, but his ability is to cheat fate. He declares himself destined to rule, but he is constantly fighting to defy and alter his destiny.

Diavolo’s active disdain for the idea of being led by fate also coincides with his major desire for control. The strongest changes in Diavolo’s temperament occur when control slips from his grasp; when we first see him, expressing his dominance and power over Bruno during his very first encounter with King Crimson, he’s icily calm and composed.

Throughout the story, this is his default state- unless an enemy manages to gain some kind of upper-hand on him, where he will have a temporary burst of rage or panic.

This rage usually subsides when he regains the upper hand and becomes confident in his victory. It only becomes sustained rage at the very final fight, when he is completely cornered and defeated, where he’s yelling in a barely-masked panic.

This rage at loss of control leads to the common mischaracterization of Diavolo being a very angry character as a general rule, but this is not really true. This temperament is a branch of his larger desire for control and freedom from fate.

Considering the heavy connection between Jojo’s fatalistic and religious themes, an easy interpretation can be made with Diavolo’s goal to control his fate and a desire to surpass or attain the will of God. When he loses control, this is being taken from him.

This is also somewhat tied to his ultimate punishment at the hands of Gold Experience Requiem. Not only is his Stand destroyed, but he is unable to move or control anything in any way as he is killed over and over for eternity. (There’s also some situational irony in his previous expression of never dying- technically, he gets just that.)

---

Mortality

I’ve often seen theories that Diavolo is some representation of (or literally is) the Antichrist in disguise, and on some level, I think this makes sense. Diavolo created Passione and brought the lost souls in the country together before Giorno could, much like the Antichrist is prophesied to do in common Christian belief. Bruno’s belief and faith in Diavolo’s Passione as the justice in the world can be easily connected to the Antichrist being a false savior, alongside the Jesus narrative present with Giorno.

However, while his character can definitely be read as paralleling the Antichrist, I do not think Diavolo is actually any kind of supernatural entity. Among there being no evidence for that idea beyond his odd backstory, I find it far less compelling, especially considering his failed chase for higher power in the final fight with the Requiem arrow.

In the final fight, he chases after a final securing of his power that would give him true godlike abilities, only for that power to instead go to Giorno, the true savior. In this defeat, Diavolo proves that he is not chosen by fate to rule, nor will he ever receive the power of a god. His true mortal nature is finally exposed as he is doomed to be killed in humiliating ways for eternity.

The death loop is also where his aggressive secrecy about his identity and his rejection of allyship slips. He begins to cry out for help and yells “I am Diavolo!”

But nobody knows who “Diavolo” is, and nobody hears his cries. Just like he’s always wanted to achieve, he is completely and utterly alone, without anyone who knows or can help him, forever.

---

The Past

As Diavolo states himself, his biggest fear is his past. It is the major thing that he interprets his failures through and what drives his anxieties- and, in a way, it’s what causes his downfall. It is likely some intentional irony or weakness in King Crimson’s ability that it gives Diavolo the ability to escape his future pitfalls, but he is defenseless against things that have happened in his past.

Diavolo’s fear of the past is likely a big reason why “paranoia” is a trait commonly read into his character more than what was probably intended. Indeed, it is something that he is haunted by throughout the story, and you see his nervousness hiking as the protagonists uncover more and more about him. However, this still isn’t exactly depicted as unfounded or irrational- it’s what the protagonists explicitly hunt to find first to take him down, after all.

I would say that the past is a real, potent threat for Diavolo, but it is a beast he created himself. His attempts to erase it only make it come back to bite him harder. His most major attempt to overcome his past with his murder of Trish is ironically what leads to Bruno turning fully against him, leading to his defeat.

Diavolo’s past itself isn’t necessarily the inherent threat, something accentuated by how the actual events of his past are never shown; his inability to accept his past turned it into one.

The past is also an important theme with the rest of the main cast, as we are given backstories showing how they fell down into the path of being a socially outcast gangster. However, we are shown throughout how they develop past their despair and seemingly hopeless situations to end up doing a good deed and finding hope by saving Trish. They are ultimately able to make peace and move on; Diavolo cannot.

(The only exception to this is Fugo, who was initially planned to be a traitor but ended up simply leaving the group instead. I believe Fugo’s lack of a developed backstory in the manga was a part of this initial plan in that he did not “move on” from his past to do a good deed like the others did.)

---

Inevitability

The major roadblock to all of Diavolo’s motivations and the story’s slope down to his defeat is started by the existence of his daughter. She shakes the entire foundation of his perceived isolation; not only does she pose immediate danger to his anonymity, but her existence means he was never truly successful in severing his ties from the world at all.

Diavolo's attempted murder of Trish is the most personal example of his evil in the story. The reveal of his true plan functions like a twist, being the moment that completely breaks the characters' trust and loyalty to him. (He’s technically not a twist villain because we know Giorno was already planning on defeating him, but this is a major change in how we see his motivations and nature.)

Trish is the major person that “grounds” him throughout the story as an unbreakable connection and relationship. She is our first piece of evidence of Diavolo’s past and personhood, and therefore, what he wants to destroy the most. She is the biggest existing representation of everything he wants to destroy, yet can’t.

Trish being such a catastrophic existence to Diavolo is also, like his past being a danger, a beast that he created himself. His attempted murder of her is what finally turns the main cast decidedly against him; arguably, if he hadn't set out to erase himself in the first place, her existence would never have been such a life-ruining event for him.

---

Contradiction

One of my favorite themes to interpret into Diavolo’s character is a nature of confusion and contradiction.

His complete anonymity is very effective as intimidation for a main antagonist, but it is also fundamentally self-destructive, in a sense. He erases himself, destroying his relationships and his goodwill, to become untouchable.

Despite him having so much power, most members of Passione we see care very little about the Boss, if not actively dislike him. La Squadra betrays the Boss after years of resentment, Cioccolata and Secco plan to attempt it, and even Tiziano and Squalo, members of his elite guard, act more out of care for each other than to him.

The only kind of explicit attachment to the Boss that we see is through members viewing him as a symbol or an extension of Passione itself. The sense of betrayal Bruno feels at his discovery of the Boss selling drugs to children and the attempted murder of his daughter is not due to attachment to the Boss as an individual, but rather his false belief in the morality of Passione and his leadership.

Perhaps most importantly, as a stark contrast to the fun, personality-based characters of everyone else in part five, Diavolo is very hateable. It’s something you see all over the fanbase. He kills four widely popular characters with no remorse and his uncaring nature gives him the feeling of utter unlikability. The people who support the death loop as an appropriate end to his character largely defend it not on the proportionate severity of Diavolo’s actions, but on his personal unlikability as a character. Not only is he hated by the cast, he is hated by the audience.

This creates a contradiction. Despite thinking of himself as a king above all others, Diavolo lives life as a dangerous balancing act. What he does to prevent betrayal, being ruthless and cutting himself off from everyone, ironically sows more betrayal by causing resentment. He wants to be erased from the world, yet he wants power, something inherently attention-drawing.

Him being cold and impossible to reach does make it monumentally difficult to hunt him down, but it also means he has no true ally, only making hatred and betrayal more likely. He is both immensely powerful and threatening yet utterly pathetic. He is hated yet obeyed, and despite holding power over everyone, he also must fear everyone.

Contradiction is a theme I will progressively expand and elaborate more upon throughout this series of analysis because you can find it throughout most of his major character aspects. However, in isolation, this is where I think it is the most obvious.

---

I understand why people struggle to define Diavolo’s personality and themes in a cohesive way. What you choose to prioritize in his characterization is up to personal decision and it’s easy for people to read traits that were not actually intended or forgo his actual unique traits entirely. As a result, his character creates many vastly different opportunities for interpretation.

In my next post, I’m going to talk more specifically about what I think are the major flaws in his character writing.

[wannaeatramyeon]

I am gonna stop asking Gun scenario. As I felt your masterlist have enough of it and your fan probably need others lookism character scenario. LOL

So here. How would Goo react to his y/n wears his favorite female character cosplay.

It's not your fault Gun makes everyone weak at the knees. Thanks for the ask as always 💕

So... I took a little detour. This is extremely SFW. It's been about a decade since I last was into anime/manga. The first line of this is ME

Goo Kim x Reader: Cosplay

Please note the image 👇

When Goo nonchalantly dropped you surprising him and dressing up as his favourite anime character would be hot, you panicked.

Who was it again? You enjoyed listening to his ramblings, but it's always been in one ear and out the other. And you knew how much it would irk him if he realised you weren't listening properly.

You tried a few times to gauge his reaction, mentioning a particular fan-favourite from one of the many shows he watches and was met with disgust at each suggestion.

Ok, fine. You would just have to get creative.

"... What's happening?" Goo opens his bedroom door and is suspicious at the sight of you looking a bit embarassed. He cocks his head in confusion.

"Erm... do you like it?" you ask, doing an awkward spin.

"It's... interesting, princess," the blonde is definitely bewildered. You've changed up your style, and you look beautiful as always but he felt like he was missing a trick.

"Do you not get what I'm supposed to be?" you huff, placing your hand on your hips.

"Wait... are you dressed up as someone?"

You nod, wondering if this is one of your best or cringiest ideas.

He takes in your legs, elongated by delicious skyscraper heels. You're dressed in a tailored blue designer suit, impeccably hugging your curves. A bright yellow cashmere tie sits enticingly between your breasts, and a familiar pair of glasses rests on your face.

...Your long raven hair was also bleached blonde.

"SWEETHEART?" Goo rushes over to you, gripping your shoulders and giving you a little shake of excitement, "Are you...?"

Maybe it's time to confess.

"Well... I forgot who your favourite character is," you comb your fingers through your hair nervously, "But! I think you would find this sexier."

You give a little giggle before the punchline, 'I'm you, just genderbent."

"Baby~" Goo croons, running his hands all over you, "My exquisite little honeybun~"

It was like looking in a very sexy and fun mirror.

Sure, he knew he was unbelievably beautiful as a man, maybe even the most perfect man that ever existed (an objective fact).

But as a woman? He always thought he would be gorgeous. Seeing you standing there confirmed it. You certainly did him justice.

"You. Are. So. Fucking. Perfect." he punctuates each word with a kiss.

He couldn't wait to ravish you, or himself, or herself. A little confusing but he wasn't going to complain.

God, Goo fucking loves you. When you're on the money, you're right. on. the. fucking. money. Who is sexier to Goo Kim than Goo Kim?

[bixels]

As cameras becomes more normalized (Sarah Bernhardt encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use cameras because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by manufacturing companies. I paint not because I want a painting but because I love the process of painting. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

if i have to explain to you that using a camera to take a picture is not the same as using generative ai to generate an image then you are a fucking moron.

[softwoodbird]

jets literally said his ‘most toxic trait’ is bad communication and that makes a lot of sense to me considering he keeps telling the media and fans that he and jamarr don’t stay in touch during the season (while we’re obviously expecting an opposite answer)

[lunawlw]

so all the talk about land back along with abolishing the police, down with capitalism, all cops being bastards, punching nazis, being gay doing crimes, and black lives matter was just a fucking lie from yall huh

[jvzebel-x]

"The impulse toward chaos was one he knew. It ran hand in hand with the desire for violence to be done to him. To destroy him because he was not worth saving."

x. "The Vanished Queen", Lisbeth Campbell

[supercantaloupe]

“but sasha you just spent like the past hour complaining about having to talk to other people in french why would you want to go back to europe” easy. i don’t speak german or italian or spanish. and the awkwardness of being an english speaker in austria or italy or wherever is far better than trying to speak subpar french to a french person

[haarute]

i know that this is like a thing for everyone on some level, but i feel so genuinely distressed and paranoid thinking about what image of me people have in their minds and i can't move on past that

[enchantedephiphany]

I get mad at dad bc of our past... but. Mom and i were arguing about trump (she is voting for him bc he's Republican but doesn't like him as a person) and bc lots of ppl around me are like this (some really pro trump ppl also) sometimes i think im the crazy one. Being in isolation and just seeing things from the internet... i cant always trust my own mind

But then dad comes up and says "trump is off his rocker" and I'm like i forgive you for everything thank you for taking my side and showing I'm not the only one around who isnt trumpcrazy

[torpublishinggroup]

Celebrate Pride with Tor Publishing Group!

Rakesfall by @adamantine

They met as children in the middle of the Sri Lankan civil war. Later, in a demon-haunted wood, an act of violence linked them and propelled their souls on a journey through the ages. As they reincarnate ever deeper into the future, a truth emerges: Some stories take more than one lifetime to tell.

Running Close to the Wind by @ariaste

In this queer pirate fantasy, Avra Helvaçi has accidentally stolen the single most expensive secret in the world. To avoid capture, he flees to the open sea, where only his on-again, off-again ex aka pirate Captain Teveri az-Ḥaffār can help him survive, profit, and become a legend.

Cuckoo by Gretchen Felker-Martin

Something evil is buried deep in the desert. It wants your body and wears your skin. Welcome to Camp Resolution, a queer conversion center where everyone leaves a different person. In 1995, seven queer teens were abandoned here by their parents, but survived. Sixteen years later, they’re scarred and broken, but back to face an evil that threatens the world. 

Kinning by Nisi Shawl

In this alternate history where barkcloth airships soar and former colonies claim freedom from imperialist tyrants, the identity of the island of Everfair still wavers. Victorious in the wake of the Great War, a new threat looms. Can Everfair continue to serve as a symbol of hope for anticolonial movements around the world, or will it fall to forces within and without? 

Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea by @rebeccathornewrites

Can one of the Queen’s private guard and the most powerful mage in existence leave their lives behind to settle down in their new bookshop that serves tea? This cozy fantasy is steeped in sapphic romance and nestled on the edge of dragon country. 

The Fragile Threads of Power by V. E. Schwab

Once there were four worlds, nestled like pages in a book, each pulsing with fantastical power and connected by a single city: London. After a desperate attempt to prevent corruption and ruin in the four Londons, there are only three. Now the worlds are going to collide anew—brought to a dangerous precipice by the discoveries of three remarkable magicians.

Now available in paperback!

The Archive Undying by @emcandon

This is a story about misplaced faith, complicated love, so much self-loathing, and yeah—giant robots. Plugged into his AI god when its apocalyptic corruption renders him unfortunately immortal, sad gay disaster Sunai takes a die-again-or-die-trying approach to things. Unending life’s tough when intimacy is somehow scarier even than either of the warring police states set on turning you into a weapon or the rogue undead mecha-fragment of your old god that wants to eat you. 

Now available in paperback!

The Bell in the Fog by Lev AC Rosen

A dazzling historical mystery that dives into the shadowy, closeted world of the Navy, emerging in the gay bars of the city. It’s a whirlpool of missing people, violent strangers, and scandalous photos in 1952 San Francisco. 

Now available in paperback!

Celebrate Pride with more titles from Tor Publishing Group here!

[mattnott]

𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

mattheo riddle x fem reader

SUMMARY: in wich mattheo knew that the best way to piss off his quidditch rival was to fuck his girlfriend. WORDS. 5K+. english is not my first language. N/A. literally edited this 3 times.

WARNINGS. smut, mdni, face slapping, rough sex, porn w// plot, pnv sex, fingering (f!receiving), aged up characters, hair pulling, unprotected sex, dirty talk, infidelity (reader cheats on her boyfriend), pussy slapping, spitting, making out.

masterlist -> navigation

It wasn’t that Mattheo hated him—no, hate wasn’t a strong enough word. It was more than that.

Mattheo despised him. The smug bastard had spent years turning Mattheo’s life into a personal hell. Every time they faced each other on the Quidditch pitch, he made it his mission to overshadow him, turning every match into a game—his game. It wasn’t enough to win; no, he had to humiliate.

Every cocky grin after a game, every pointed remark, every stupid joke that made the whole school laugh—it all stuck with Mattheo, eating away at him. It wasn’t just the humiliation; it was the way the bastard seemed to enjoy it, like making Mattheo miserable was his favorite pastime. And it worked. Every time he strutted off the pitch like he owned the place, Mattheo was left grinding his teeth.

Mattheo could handle a loss—hell, he wasn’t above admitting defeat when it was deserved. But losing to him? To someone who could barely hold his own on a good day? That was a different story.

It wasn’t about skill. It was never about the game with him. It was about making a show of it, rubbing it in like he’d actually earned it, like scraping out a win somehow made him untouchable. And that made Mattheo’s blood fucking boil.

Every time it happened, he could feel the humiliation sinking deeper. The bastard would parade around like a king, lapping up the attention, making sure everyone knew he’d won—even if it was by sheer dumb luck. It was humiliating, to say the least.

The idiot couldn’t just play the game. No, he had to make Mattheo feel small while standing on the podium, taking all the praise like he deserved it—like he actually earned it. But he didn’t. Merlin, he never fucking did.

He was average at everything he did. Most of the goals he scored were thanks to others guiding him like he was some damn toddler; the guy couldn’t even stay balanced on his broom without looking like he was going to fall off at any moment. It was embarrassing to watch. And Mattheo was sure he had heard it from a few of the players on his team that the idiot was late to practice almost every day.

He was overrated in every sense of the word. Yet, somehow nothing ever changed. Everything stayed exactly the same.

No matter how many times Mattheo outplayed him, no matter how many matches he dominated or goals he scored, the brainless bastard always ended up in the spotlight, receiving compliments that didn’t even belong to him. It was insane how the whole school fawned over him like he was some god.

The guy was an untouchable, an untouchable piece of shit, but still untouchable. Teachers, students, almost everyone seemed to worship his ass, and the more they praised him, the more power the idiot seemed to get and the more self-centered he acted, which only made Mattheo even more pissed off.

The idiot didn’t even work for it. Everything was handed to him, like the world decided he was going to be the best, and nothing could change that. They treated him like some fucking golden child, and he ate it up like it was his due.

And that infuriated Mattheo, because no matter how hard he worked, no matter how good he was, he never got the praise. He never got the recognition he deserved. Never got the praise he craved. It was always about his last name. Riddle. At the end of the day, he was just Voldemort’s son, a son of a monster, a reminder of a legacy soaked in fear.

People didn’t see him for who he was or what he’d accomplished—they only saw his bloodline, his father’s sins, the deaths that followed him.

He hated every fucking bit of it. His idiot rival was constantly showered with praise and compliments, while Mattheo was stuck with pitying stares, whispers of fear, and the way everyone treated him like a damn outcast. He wanted to beat him up.

But the worst part? It wasn’t the wins. It wasn’t the way the bastard walked around like he owned the fucking place. It wasn’t even how everyone seemed to kiss the ground he walked on. No, the worst part was that he had you.

You. His precious girlfriend.

It wasn’t just that he had you, no. It was the fact that Mattheo had noticed you long before your brainless boyfriend ever did. And truth be told, it was because Mattheo saw the things your boyfriend never cared enough to notice. He saw how you laughed with your stupid friends in the stands during the matches, how you cheered when someone scored a goal, too distracted to even notice if the person was from your own house.

Mattheo noticed the way your brows furrowed when you were confused in class, the small crease on your forehead that made you seem so real, so human. So easy to ruin. He saw how your lips curved into a smile whenever you talked about something you loved—something he was almost certain your boyfriend never even noticed.

The scumbag always too busy looking at himself to care about what you were saying, too caught up in his own reflection to actually listen to the things that made you you.

But Mattheo? Mattheo listened. He saw the way your voice changed, the rhythm of it when you spoke, how it picked up when you talked about things that mattered to you. The way your breath hitched when you were nervous, the way you fidgeted, the little shifts in your body when you got caught up in something exciting. 

Mattheo Riddle noticed every fucking thing about you. Every. Damn. Thing.

And how could he not? You were fucking irresistible to his eyes, like a fucking magnet drawing people to you, pulling them in, making them want you. And Mattheo wasn’t any different. He craved you. He craved you so much that every time you were in the same room, he had to hold his breath, trying to keep himself in check, or else his cock would tear right through his pants. 

He wanted you so fucking badly, it made him ache, but still, you weren’t his. You belonged to an idiot who couldn’t even know what to do with all that.

You were his trophy, his pretty little prize to show around like a fucking object, more like a shiny thing he could flaunt to boost his already inflated ego than an actual human being. And maybe that’s all you were to him—a thing to fuck and show off, but not someone to cherish. Just another accomplishment that his pathetic success brought him.

Mattheo was sick of it. It wasn’t just the way your bastard boyfriend treated you—no, that was long past the truth. It was the fucking audacity of him, thinking he deserved you at all. If he couldn’t even catch a damn Quaffle properly, how the hell could he know how to protect you? How could he possibly know how to fuck you properly?

He didn’t. And Mattheo couldn’t for the life of him understand how you could see anything in a guy like that.

Mattheo stormed through the corridors, his Quidditch uniform pulling tightly against his exhausted, sweaty body. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed, still seething after the match he had just won against your boyfriend. It had been an easy win—your boyfriend was a joke without anyone else carrying him—but the anger still burned inside him. He should’ve felt good about the victory, but all he could focus on was how much it pissed him off.

He knew exactly what the bastard of your boyfriend would do when he left the locker rooms. He knew. He’d come straight to you, expecting you to lift his spirits like you always did: riding his dick until he was completely satisfied, making you do all the work while the fucking idiot didn’t even move his hips.

But this time, Mattheo would be quicker. He’d find you faster, and unlike your boyfriend, he wasn’t going to treat you like some cheap consolation prize. No, he planned on using you as a victory prize, almost as valuable as the points his house had just won.

He had taken his win, so it was only fair to take his consolation prize, right?

He thought so, so that’s why he didn’t think twice before slamming his fist against the door, the sharp sound of wood cracking under his hand echoing through the quiet room while his palm smacked against the sturdy surface, the force enough to make the door rattle in its frame, and making you jump at the sudden noise, your heart racing in surprise. Before you could process what happened, the door swung open again, and there, standing in the doorway, was an angry Mattheo Riddle.

And for a moment neither of you spoke.

Nevertheless, you could feel his eyes on you, shamelessly scanning your body, and for a moment, you felt vulnerable, as if you were standing naked before him. Still, he didn’t look away; instead, he crossed his arms over his muscular chest, his gaze fixed on you, already calculating how to draw you into his plan.

Yet he couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips when he noticed the blush creeping across your cheeks and the way your eyes darted, desperate to avoid his. You looked so pretty, so easy to ruin.

“You’re waiting for him, aren’t you?” His voice cut through the silence, startling you. You blinked, your gaze stubbornly fixed on his strong chest. The way his sweat-soaked uniform clung to every muscle was distracting—too distracting, and you noticed his dark curls fell messily over those piercing brown eyes, and for a brief, shameful moment, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring.

What the hell are you doing? You scolded yourself, your cheeks growing more red this time with shame.

You cleared your throat, lifting your head slightly to meet Mattheo’s gaze. His brow already arched as you looked, a mocking smile playing on his lips as he watched you closely. He knew his plan was falling into place, and so was yours.

“Yeah.” You stood up, trying to keep your voice steady as you looked at him. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

Mattheo scoffed, knowing full well your boyfriend was probably sulking in the locker room, making a scene about his loss and fishing for sympathy. He took a step closer to you, and it took everything in you not to back away or, worse, lean towards him. “He’s coming, he’s coming,” you kept repeating to yourself, almost like a desperate reminder that you had a boyfriend.

“Sure he will, sweetheart,” he said, the mockery in his tone impossible to miss, his eyes raking over you from head to toe again, a pretty little thing like you waiting for an idiot who doesn’t even know how to use his dick—sad, really. “He’s so reliable, isn’t he? Always putting you first. Always showing up for you,” he added sarcastically, smirking even more as you swallowed, knowing he had hit a nerve.

Mattheo’s words hit you like a slap, but the worst part was how much truth they carried. You bristled, refusing to acknowledge your failed relationship, and narrowed your eyes at him. “That’s none of your fucking business, Riddle,” you hissed, gripping your wrists tightly as he took another step towards you.

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a smirk anything but friendly. “Isn’t it? I think it’s exactly my damn business.” His voice was calm—too calm—like he was savoring every second of making you realize the bastard was not all that. But even with that collected tone, you could still see the same anger in his eyes. 

“You’ve been letting him walk all over you for too long, haven’t you? Always waiting, always hoping he’ll finally see you… really see you.” He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking, his dark gaze still piercing into yours. “But he doesn’t, does he?”

You swallowed hard, the tightness in your chest making it difficult to breathe. You knew he was right; the frustration of always coming second to your boyfriend’s ego, of never feeling truly seen or satisfied, was frustrating. But you weren’t ready to admit it—not to him.

You knew who Mattheo was—the son of the dark lord and a top player on the Slytherin Quidditch team. But that didn’t matter to you, not when your boyfriend filled your head with his hate for him, always trying to be better than Mattheo, and deep down you knew he would never reach that goal. Your boyfriend had recognition but no real talent. He always hid his insecurities behind a false confidence and a big ego, caring only about himself and putting others down.

He was a piece of shit; you couldn’t deny it.

You lifted your chin, trying to stay calm and ignore how close Mattheo was getting, his gaze intense, like a predator eyeing its prey. “I don’t need you to tell me about my relationship.” You shot back, trying to hold your ground, though his words still gnawed at your mind. Yet Matthew wasn’t looking into your eyes. No, his attention was lower, fixed on the curve of your hips, like he was already claiming it as his prize.

He lifted his gaze from your curves, his smirk deepening as he seemed to enjoy the way you squirmed, desperately trying to defend a lost cause like your brainless idiot of a boyfriend. “You don’t, huh?” His voice dropping, growing darker. 

“Then why the hell are you still waiting for him? How long have you been sitting here, staring at that door like he’s gonna show up and treat you right… fuck you right?” He paused, letting the silence hang between you, thick and heavy. “You know he never will, at least not the way you want, sweetheart.”

You blinked, over and over, not realizing how he had moved closer until he was standing right in front of you, too caught up in the way your heart seemed to race at his previous words, the way they sliced through your mind. You knew he was right; you were just a precious little thing for your boyfriend to show off, nothing more, and the bastard never knew how to properly use his dick on you.

Mattheo didn’t flinch, his eyes darkening as his smirk widened. He took another step toward you, finally stopping just in front of you, making your heart race, your knees almost buckling as you noticed his Quidditch uniform clung to his body with every movement.

“It’s the truth, and you know it,” he said, his voice low. “Every time he brushes you off, every time he acts like he’s too busy for you, too busy to actually care. But not me.” He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “I see you. I’ll use you how you deserve to be used, and I won’t make you feel invisible.”

You weren’t stupid; you knew the difference between Mattheo and your boyfriend. Even though both saw you as something to be conquered, at least Mattheo knew how to use his cock. The temptation was there, the promise of finally being noticed, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t because he cared.

It was all part of his plan, and you were falling deeper into his trap.

His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. The touch was light—almost innocent—but it sent a shiver down your spine, nonetheless. and you knew it wasn’t innocent at all. “Don’t,” you warned, your voice faltering as you tried to hold on to whatever little control you had left.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” he whispered, his hand moving to your neck as he brought his face closer to you once again, this time only a few centimeters from your neck, his lips just millimeters away. “Hmm?” he hummed, a provocation, you noticed, his calloused hand tightening slightly around your neck as he placed a light kiss on the spot, almost as if testing the territory.

Fuck, that was easier than he thought, and at this rate he was going to get hard in no time; he wanted to feel your pussy so much.

“Riddle,” you said, your voice trembling as you tried to sound firm, yet the way you were trying to stand betrayed you. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he shot back in a whisper, his mouth still close to your neck, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes bore into your face, craving for you to finally break, for him to finally claim you as a prize, to finally piss off your boyfriend and show you how a girl like you should be fucked. Yet, he knew he had to wait; wait until you were so absorbed in him that you wouldn’t want to turn back.

“Mattheo…” First name, good.

He chuckled, his breath coming against your neck, sending vibrations through your body. His left hand was now on your stomach, while his right rested at the back of your neck. “Tell me something, sweetheart. When was the last time he touched you like this?” he asked, his hand sliding down to your skirt, gently caressing your thigh.

You try to ignore the way your own body was responding to his touch, his breath, the traitorous wetness between your legs growing, making you feel a bit ashamed, as you knew he could feel.

“I—” you stopped, the words catching in your throat, your breathing growing heavier as his hand continued to caress your thigh and his mouth lingered on your neck, leaving small kisses on your sensitive spot. You were too lost in the sensation to even remember that your boyfriend could walk in at any moment.

Mattheo chuckled against your neck, gently pushing your legs further apart as he looked at you, noticing the way you trembled against his body. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction—not just from the sight but also from the realization that you were already so lost in his touch, there was just a little chance you’d turn back now.

You sighed visibly, your eyes remaining closed as you were too lost in the touch and embarrassment to even look at him. However, you couldn’t help but let out a small scream when, with a sudden movement, Mattheo pushed you against a small desk, positioning himself behind you. His hand still squeezed your neck, but this time lifting your chin slightly, holding you like a trophy.

“Such a needy girl,” Mattheo murmured in your ear, his groin pressed firmly against your ass, making you bite your lip as your cunt clenched at his words. “So needy already, and I’ve barely touched you,” he mocked, the hand that had been on your thigh now sliding to your stomach, his fingertips prodding you teasingly.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, your head spinning as he pressed his groin even more against you. Fucking bastard.

“Shhh,” he shushed you mockingly, almost chuckling as you kept your eyes closed, trying to curse him. “Don’t be so mean, sweetheart. I’m about to give you what that fucking bastard doesn’t have the balls to do,” he whispered in your ear, giving a small bite to the lobe of your ear as he did so.

You didn’t respond; instead, you pressed your clothed ass against his hips, making him groan as he felt his quidditch uniform tighten around his cock.

Mattheo continued to rock his hips against you, his right hand tightening its grip on your neck and tilting your chin up, exposing your face to the small window of the room. His fingers on your right hand pushed your skirt down, and before you realized it, both your skirt and panties were already at your heels, causing Mattheo’s smirk to widen even more as he saw how wet you were.

“You’re so wet already,” he chuckled against your ear, his fingers trailing down your lower stomach, almost reaching your already dripping cunt. “Such a desperate little thing you are,” he mocked you again, his hips pressing into your bare ass. “He doesn’t fuck you properly, does he?”

You held your breath at his provocation, a small part of your rationality returning after the truth he had spoken. Your nails dug into the desk in front of you as you tried to process what was happening, struggling not to look at Mattheo’s fingers still trailing along the lower part of your stomach.

For a moment, a part of your mind sobered, the image of your boyfriend flashing through your thoughts. A wave of hesitation threatened to take over, and you almost gave in to the doubt, but before you could pull back, Mattheo’s hand landed firmly against your pussy, the sound echoing through the room. The sharp sting caused you to gasp, but before you could even recover, his fingers slid deep inside you.

“Mattheo!” You moaned his name like a prayer, gasping for air as his other hand moved to your hair, pushing your head towards his shoulder as his finger continued to fill your wet cunt.

Mattheo chuckled, his hips pressing and rubbing against your ass as his fingers moved in and out of you without any delicacy, and he felt his cock getting harder as your pussy squeezed his fingers, making him imagine what it would be like when it was wrapped around his cock, squeezing it until he filled you with cum.

“That’s it.” Mattheo said in your ear, his grip on your hair tightening as his fingers thrust, making you moan and move your hips even more. “Such a pretty slut.” He moaned as well, feeling your bare ass rocking against his clothed cock.From the frantic movements of your hips, he knew you were close to your orgasm, which only made him more satisfied.

Holy shit, he barely touched you, and you were already a mess; your boyfriend was a joke.

“Oh my fucking God,” you moaned louder, the pain from his grip on your hair almost fading as his fingers hit your sensitive spot, making you clamp your legs together. “Mattheo!” You breathed out, your nails digging deeper into the wooden desk in front of you, and you bucked your hips against his clothed cock as your vision began to blur.

“Jus like that,” he groaned, moving his hips and fingers in the same ruthless rhythm, the wet sounds of your pussy muffled only by the sounds of your moans. “Cum,” he commanded, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he did. You moaned louder, your legs shaking as you obeyed his order.

Your eyes opened, and you looked down, trying to control your breathing, which only made you moan louder as you watched Mattheo’s cum-soaked fingers slip out of your pussy with a wet sound. Feeling his smirk against your ear, his hips now grinding slowly against your ass.

Mattheo looked at your state, the sweat sticking to his forehead and making his hair cling even more. His eyes fixed on his fingers for a few seconds, your essence evident on them. He should be satisfied right now, on cloud nine—but he wasn’t. Not yet.

His eyes scanned over you again, taking in your flushed cheeks, the marks on your shoulder, your tangled hair. You were a mess—a hot mess—but it still wasn’t enough. No, quite the opposite. You were a mess, but not a crying mess, and that’s exactly what he wanted. After all, you couldn’t be his trophy if you weren’t used the right way, could you?

Well, that’s what he thought.

His hand pulled your hair back further, which made you let out a sudden scream and widen your eyes, the previous adrenaline still present throughout your body, and although you were tired, your pussy throbbed even more with the sudden pull.

“What are you—...?”

“Do you really think this is over, pretty thing?” He asked, his voice filled with mockery as he pushed your hair even more, his other hand still soaked with your cum. “A slut like you needs more to be satisfied, especially if she’s not being fucked properly.” He groaned into your ear, and you almost moaned at the dirty words.

With a sudden movement, Mattheo turned you to face him, his hand still gripping your scalp, and sat you down on the wooden surface, spreading your legs so he could position himself between them.

You looked at him, your pussy blinking in anticipation as you watched the way his sweat made his Slytherin uniform stick to the defined muscles of his chest, and you couldn't help but bite your lip at the sight.

“Do you like what you see?” Mattheo asked, his grip on your hair still firm, his lips curling into a smirk as he saw you nod. “Such a pretty girl.” He paused, his eyes still fixed on your face. “Open your mouth.” His voice was firm, and you, too lost in your previous pleasure, obeyed him without hesitation.

Taking advantage of the opening, Mattheo brought his free hand to your mouth, his fingers covered in your cum, making contact with your tongue. Neither of you could control the moan as your tongue rolled around his fingers.

Mattheo stared at the scene for a few seconds, as if hypnotized by the sight. However, the hardness of his dick quickly snapped him back to reality, reminding him of what he needed from you. In an instant, he pulled his fingers from your tongue and used them to open your mouth. Before you could fully react, he took the opportunity to spit onto your tongue and pressed his lips to yours in a hungry kiss.

You both moaned into each other's mouths, your taste present as tongues and teeth collided eagerly, both of you wanting to take control of the battle that your mouths were trying to win at all costs.

Mattheo’s hand pulled your hair harder, taking control of the kiss as you moaned against his mouth. He mirrored your sound; however, while you were completely lost in the kiss, Matt had already pulled his waistband and boxers down to his heels, his hard cock exposed as he struggled to control himself, fighting the urge to fuck you right there.

Yet, he couldn’t control himself—not when your pussy looked so fucking pretty, not when the anger was still beating against his ribs, and not when he was still waiting to make the trophy completely his.

Mattheo gripped your hair even tighter, pulling you out of the kiss with surprising strength, making you moan in annoyance at the loss of contact. However, that moan quickly turned into one of pleasure when you felt another slap on your pussy, signaling for you to open your legs. This one was stronger, the wet sound reverberating through the walls. 

Yet, you obeyed quickly, spreading your legs to give Mattheo the opening he needed to finally enter you and claim the trophy he felt he deserved.

You looked at his dick anxiously, your sensitive cunt throbbing. Mattheo grabbed your leg, placing it over his shoulder, and without a single warning, he slid inside with a single thrust between your wet folds, and a loud moan escaped your lips at the sensation. "Fuck, you're so tight," Mattheo groaned, feeling your tight walls squeezing his cock as he thrust even harder.

Fuck, he was big—too big, or at least that’s what you kept telling yourself, since the only dick you were used to was your boyfriend’s. And, honestly, you sometimes wondered if it was just for decoration.

Mattheo’s grip on you tightens harder, his breath coming in low gasps and whimpers almost as loud and scandalous as yours as he continues to push his cock deep inside your soaked folds, making the sound reverberate through the stone walls of the room. The sound echoed through the stone walls of the room.

You didn’t hold back, moaning and whimpering as you moved your hips with him, too lost in the sensation to care about your boyfriend.

Mattheo knew exactly what he was doing, stealing you from that worthless piece of shit you called your boyfriend and claiming you like a damn trophy. The satisfaction of finally having his hands on you, feeling your body around his, was like a fucking victory prize for him, an intoxicating one.

Yet, you didn’t care that you were being used as a pawn, not when you were being filled and used like a slut by a cock that actually did its job.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You whimpered, moving your hips even harder, making Mattheo groan and moan loudly and mimicking your actions, moving his hips with the same roughness as you, thrusting even further inside you. Your arms behind you, resting on the table, and you could feel your leg getting sore on top of Mattheo’s shoulder. You didn't care, though, as you continued to dig your nails into the table, leaving a mark.

“That fucking idiot has a bitch like you and doesn’t fuck her the way she deserves,” he growled, anger visible in his voice, his dick still moving inside your desperate, wet cunt, your flesh almost shining. “Such a good fucking cunt,” he murmurs, gripping your leg even harder, the sound of your moans and whimpers only fueling his ego.

He wasn’t just fucking you, you notice; the son of a bitch was claiming you in ways your boyfriend could never even dream of.

Mattheo took your leg off his shoulder abruptly, slapping your thighs roughly and then moving them apart so he had more access to your soaked pussy that was proudly swallowing his fat cock, which made him increase his movements even more, his fingers gripping your waist as he moved inside you, his brown eyes focused on yours for a few seconds.

“Mattheo!” You continued moaning his name loudly, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. You were so lost in the sensation, so caught in his intense gaze, that you had to close your eyes, shutting them tightly as you tried to regain control.

But that only seemed to anger him even more, and without warning, he thrust even harder into you, and in the next instant, his hand came down, slapping your face with force; the sound echoed through the room, making your head snap to the side, the force leaving a mark on your skin. 

You moaned once more, opening your eyes and focusing on him again. Your pussy throbbed from the sudden contact on your cheek, and for a moment, you couldn't help but curse yourself under your breath, the sensation making you even hornier than before, your walls clenching even tighter around his cock.

“What a pretty little slut, squeezing my dick like this,” he moaned at the way your pussy tightened around him. “Look at your pathetic state,” he laughed through his nose, watching the red mark on your cheek. 

His hips slammed harder against yours, making you moan when you felt his dick hit your sensitive spot, and he mimicked the sound when he felt you tighten around him, letting him know you were close to orgasm. You looked at him completely as you rocked your hips against his, trying to ignore the burning sensation his hand left on your cheek.

He looked fucking glorious; the way his curls clung to his forehead made him look even more irresistible. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but notice how his muscled chest was still covered by his Quidditch jersey, and you couldn’t help but feel a little off, knowing that your boyfriend’s team lost to the house of the man who was fucking you right now.

The force in Mattheo's deep and rough thrusts increased, and you tried to use that to your advantage to try to take off the Slytherin jersey; however, when he noticed that your hands were going towards his uniform, Mattheo laughed dryly and brought his hand back to your hair, grabbing it and pulling you back, thrusting his dick harder into your pussy.

“No, no,” he forced a chuckle, trying to control a moan as he felt himself getting closer to his orgasm, the force on your scalp getting stronger. “I’m going to wear this fucking jersey until you cum.” He gave another deep thrust, and before you could even complain, he crashed your mouths in another bruising but sloppy kiss.

“Mattheo, please!” You moaned into his mouth, tears falling down your cheeks, making him smirk even more as he kissed you roughly and pressed his cock on your hole even more, satisfied that he was finally making you a crying mess and satisfied that you were so lost in the pleasure of his cock that you let him take you as a trophy, making you forget about your brainless boyfriend.

“Fuck, I’m close too, sweetheart.” He responded by thrusting even harder into your pussy, and not even ten seconds later you came moaning loudly against his lips, your pussy wetting his cock with your cum as you cried out.

Mattheo broke the kiss, moaning loudly, his goal accomplished. His mouth went towards your shoulder, biting the skin as he continued to thrust, guiding himself to orgasm. His hand tightened even more in your hair before finally cumming, filling your pussy with his release before taking it off you.

Both of you tried to control your breaths, your hearts still racing. Mattheo looked at you, his breathing still heavy, yet before you could come to your senses, he kneeled before you, his hand leaving your hair as he placed both of his hands on your thighs, looking at your expression, your eyes closed. 

He licked a small part of your mixed orgasms, causing him to groan against your folds. The two of you were so distracted that you didn’t even notice your boyfriend standing in the doorway, looking at the scene with his jaw clenched.

Mattheo finally looked up, and when he noticed his asshole rival looking at the scene angrily, he moved his face away from your pussy, smirking in your boyfriend’s direction, while both of your orgasms ran down his chin, falling onto his sports jersey, showing your boyfriend that Mattheo had fucked the way he was never capable of.

And when your boyfriend finally stormed off, Mattheo turned his attention back to your pussy, not even warning you about the unrequited appearance.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you,” he murmured against your pussy, enjoying his victory. Because, in the end, being a trophy was better than being a consolation prize, right?

And after all, Mattheo Riddle always took good care of his trophies, and you wouldn’t be the exception.

©mattnott 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝, 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎, 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔.

first time writing full pnv… how do we feel? sad tbh 😔

for @asvtrials @astrxq @bucksplum @earth4angels my favorite beta readers, i love you all!! 🫂

and for @leona-hawthorne who was the first to know about this idea, i love you! 💕

comments and reblogs are appreciated and help me a lot, so feel free to interact 🫶🏻

edited but not fully corrected.

[gowns]

...you need to accept the reality of being a person who writes books. Here’s how it works: After you publish a book, there is a reckoning. All of the emotions you suppressed and fought with writing alone suddenly rush in and crush you. If your book doesn’t sell, you feel sick. If it sells a ton, you’re also in for a scary ride. When your goal is to make art, to give a big piece of yourself to the world, to tell the truth, and — crucially! — to FACE THE TRUTH, then your goal is also to feel like a complete fucking idiot, to ask for way too much, to seem impetuous and enraged and self-centered and needy. You will stand up in a nearly empty room somewhere and you will read your book out loud and you will think “I am such a loser” — and you will also think “I deserve it all.”

Your most important job as an artist is to listen to that second voice — and believe it. [...]

I’ve been taking my gifts for granted for a long time now. That’s just what people do. It’s embarrassing to realize what an ingrate you are. But it’s also embarrassing to look at your gifts and acknowledge them in public and continue to push them into people’s faces, in spite of everything.

It’s embarrassing to be human.

Writing is a very public quest for love. It’s embarrassing to ask for love out in the open. It’s embarrassing to believe that someone will understand you eventually. It’s embarrassing to know that you’ll keep working hard to be loved, to share yourself, to show yourself, whether anyone is paying attention or not.

But listen to me: You write because you believe in it. You still believe, even now. You crave love, and that part of you isn’t humiliating. It’s sad and pure and true. It’s a gift. So stop telling yourself lies and repeating this world’s bad noises. No one smart measures quality on sales. No one enlightened reduces art to commerce. You are an artist. Fuck everybody. You deserve it all.

-- heather havrilesky, excerpt from ask polly dec 2024 - "i published a novel and no one cares"

[comicaurora]

So uhh. If you feel like talking about it. As someone who lives in the US, how are you being kind to yourself on this upsetting morning <3

Checked in with my loved ones first and foremost.

It's interesting. The vibe I've been getting from my circle is very different from 2016. Much less… dread and horror at a realignment of the understanding of what can and can't happen here, now, in this place and day and age. More "fuck, guys. again? whatever. enjoy your consequences, maybe you'll manage to learn something this time."

Frustration and anger is not the most positive feeling, or even the most fair one to express, but it is a protective one. It hurts a lot less than most alternatives.

And it's quite a shift. It was earthshattering back then. How could this have been allowed to happen? Why couldn't it be stopped? Why couldn't we stop it? Why couldn't I stop it? Why couldn't everyone see what this meant? Why couldn't I make them understand? Did they really not care? What did that mean about humanity as a whole? Were we so thoughtless? How could anyone be trusted?

It seems… much less earthshattering to see it happen twice. Disappointing, sure. Frustrating. But nowhere near as devastating as the first time I saw it unfold. We already knew it could happen. I've already had time to digest the implications. Now I'm just freshly disappointed.

It also feels less indicative of Crushing Truths Of Reality this time. We've seen shit get bad. We've also seen shit get better from here! We know both outcomes are possible, even inevitable. We know hoping for a better future is always worthwhile. This isn't the apocalypse. It's an unremarkably bad turn of events brought on by unremarkably self-centered well-documented human impulses. It's utterly mundane in its unpleasantness. It doesn't need to be dignified with despair.

A democratic election, no matter the outcome or the side we're on, makes us all acutely aware of how outnumbered we are by people whose worldviews and priorities are demonstrably incomprehensible to us. And the first time you get outnumbered, it's a shock. Defeat is haunting. It didn't matter how badly you wanted it; by the very function of democracy, you do not have the power to override greater numbers. (insert electoral college caveat here)

The second time through, I find myself focusing on a different facet that has dramatically reduced the amount of spiralling I'm doing. I don't expect this to work for everyone, but for me specifically, it helped to crystallize a few thoughts:

You don't have the power to control anyone else. You don't. You can't share your worldview and your revelations with them. You can't make them think or understand anything. You can lay it all out for them, but you can't make them listen, and you can't make it click. A mentor can't make their student learn a lesson; that's why teaching is so complicated and hard. An active choice must be made by the person to enable themselves to understand, and they must put the pieces together in their own mind before it makes sense to them, and the pieces must have been presented in a way that makes sense to them in the first place. Lead a horse to water, can't make them drink.

These elections highlight a disconnect in what different groups of people care about; and no matter how clearly you explain yourself or how passionately you perform, caring cannot be forced on someone. Understanding and connection cannot be forced. You cannot make anything or anyone matter to someone. They have to choose to see how it matters in order to internalize it. If they choose not to, that is not your failing. You couldn't have made them do it by just Explaining Better. They are not your responsibility. They make their own choices. You can't reach inside their head and connect the dots for them.

I'm a storyteller. I make stories and put them out into the world. I hope people get something good out of them, but I have no control over what that something is. I want people to be thoughtful and kind and compassionate and hopeful and see themselves reflected in stranges, no matter their differences. I can craft stories that I hope encourage this. But that is the extent of my ability and the extent of my responsibility. I control no-one's actions but my own, and so while I am not having the best day, I am at least content that I am doing what I can, and I am not shattering myself against impossibilities trying to control the things I can't.

Sometimes, people make decisions that I think are really bad. I can't make that not happen. All I can do is try to make decisions that will result in things I think are good. Today, that means checking in on people, and not assigning too much dramatic narrative weight to an ultimately mundane set of unremarkable bad decisions outside of my control. We'll take life as it comes and help each other out when and how we can. Everything else is out of our hands.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader

As much as you'd like to spend the rest of your life secluded away from the world, you need money. Conveniently enough, a new detective agency in town is hiring, and the salary is ridiculously good. The catch? Oh, you'll see once you sign the contract right...here. Congratulations! You've sealed a lifetime bond with their one and only employee, a demon from the depths of Hell!

Content: female reader, monster romance, dark humor, perverted goat demon yandere, based on ‘Yondemasuyo, Azazel-San’

[Part 2] [Monster masterlist]

There’s still enough time to go back, you think. It’s loud and crowded and you’d rather be home. The temptation is beginning to creep its tendrils over your mind, so you quickly pull out your phone and check your bank account. The numbers remind you why you’re here in the first place: if you don’t get a job soon, you’ll run out of savings.

Come on, it can’t be that bad. In fact, it’s the best offer you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Minimal interaction with humans, short hours, and absurdly good pay. A new detective agency opened in your town and they’re looking for an assistant. A regular person would most likely be put off by such shady circumstances. There must be a catch, but you couldn’t care less either way. What are they going to do, kill you? Sell your organs on the black market? They’d spare you the time to plan your own demise.

You climb the stairs and knock on the door. A deep voice tells you to enter, and you sheepishly make your entrance. The office is rather small and somewhat cramped, with stacks of papers scattered over the floor. Behind the desk sits a man – maybe in his thirties? – with messy black hair, sunken eyes, and an irked expression. Is this the detective? He looks like an angry thug. Not that you’re one to judge, given your overall gloomy aura that deters passersby with ease.

“Yes?” he asks curtly, not even looking up from his book.

“I’m here for the job offer. The assistant role?”

“Ah, yeah. Completely forgot about that.” He rummages through his drawer and pulls out a sheet of paper, slapping it on the desk. “Here’s the details. Same as in the ad. Here’s where you sign. Do you have questions?”

“Hmm, I guess not.” You hum, indifferent, and scribble your name.

The man finally glances at you, faint intrigue on his face.

“This went unexpectedly smoothly. What if it was a scam?”

“Then what?” You stare him in the eye with a flaccid smile. “There’s nothing to take from me. If it is a scam indeed, you’ll be the one disappointed in the end.”

His eyes narrow in an eerie grin, and he stands up.

“Perfect match.”

“Excuse me?”

He walks towards a secondary room and waits for you to follow him. Once you’ve joined, he turns on the lights, and you immediately notice a strange seal painted on the floor: Geometric symbols resembling a pentagram, surrounded by words in a language you don’t understand. You’re carefully observing the strange sight, so entranced that you don’t sense the detective lifting your hand and casually piercing your finger with a small scalpel.

Before you can react to the sudden attack, he presses your hand onto the contract you’d signed earlier. You wince in pain and swiftly pull your hand away, glaring at the man.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you demand angrily.

“I thought I’d already introduce you to the main tool we use to solve our cases.”

The sigil on the ground begins to glow and the edges move in a circular motion. A black ooze erupts from the center, rapidly expanding outwards. You glue yourself to the wall for safety, unsure of what is happening.

A clawed hand emerges from the cursed muck, grabbing onto the edges for support. Within seconds, a creature crawls its way out. A humanoid figure with curled horns and long locks, its body ending with goat hooves instead of legs, stands up and stretches before your terrified self. You tighten your jaw in anticipation.

“You always summon me during my best naps, damn it!” the demon barks.

The detective approaches the monster, completely unconcerned, and slaps its horns nonchalantly, earning a groan from the demon.

“Skip the unnecessary whining. This is our new assistant and your owner as of now.” He explains, dangling the contract before the horned creature and pointing a finger in your direction.

“The fuck? You said you’d end the deal if I completed that mission. You lied to me, you-!” the beast finally notices your presence and abruptly stops. “Well then, what do we have here?”

A wide, perverted smile replaces his frown, sharp fangs glistening with malice.

“Aren’t you a miserable one! You reek of apathy”, the demon exclaims, clacking his hooves in your direction. “Boy oh boy, I could just eat you up! Tell me your name.”

You open your mouth, but no sound comes out. You wonder if this is some bizarre dream after all. The demon clamps your lips back shut.

“Tempting offer, but I don’t need head right now. Save the gesture for later, alright? Let’s try again: Name!”

Your brows furrow in disbelief at his crass insolence.

“I-it’s (Y/N).” you finally manage to blurt out.

He strokes your head lovingly, as if he’s praising some house pet.

“Good girl. You can call me Zzy.”

For a moment, you completely forgot about the detective being in the same room. He places the demon under a firm hold and shoves him away from you, then hands you a thick, leathered book.

“This is his grimoire. Read it once you’re home. First day is tomorrow unless you need more time.”

“Tomorrow is fine”, you answer in a daze, fumbling to find the exit and ignoring the horned monster waving at you enthusiastically.

You’re lying in bed, still a little shaken from the events you witnessed earlier today. A detective agency that uses a demon to solve matters, and you’ve just been coerced into selling your soul for a lifetime bond with him. You sigh in exhaustion. At least the pay is good, you tell yourself as you trace your fingers over the old text of the grimoire:

“Great President of Hell, ruling three legions of demons. Brings insanity or great sorrow to any person the conjurer wishes. Feeds on sadness and fear. Causes people to end their life.”

Hard to believe that depraved buffoon holds such power. Although it does explain, at least, why the detective was eager to use you as a replacement. Or why the demon showed such intense interest.

“Who’s a buffoon?”

The voice is so close that you feel its hot breath on your ear. You scream and jump back in panic, tumbling out of the bed and scrambling onto the floor. You rub your eyes just to make sure: the half-goat creature is lounging under your sheets, gazing at you with a bored expression.

“Christ! I thought you’re not allowed to leave the office?” you inquire, baffled.

“That’s why I snuck this in your pocket!” he says as he procures a small coin. “I can track down cursed items. Hehe~”

As if remembering a vital detail, he throws himself up and joins you on the ground:

“Oh, but don’t tell Mr. Detective about it, or he’ll feed me to the dogs. It’s our secret.” he pleads, hands put together in a praying gesture.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I figured it’d be useful if we got to know each other as soon as possible, seeing as we’ll be working together from now on.”

“And it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“Well…I also got really horny thinking of you and decided to just visit instead. How about a quick fuck?”

“Absolutely not. Eat a raw potato or something.”

“Don’t be like that! At least let me touch your boobs. Help a partner out, eh?”

Perhaps being scammed was not the worst-case scenario. You slap the demon’s groping fingers away and return to your previous spot in bed. It will be a long night.