A mutant Digimon which has digivolved in a very harsh environment and become very small as an Ultimate Digimon. However, it still has incredible destructive power. 

What I like about this thing and its whole fucked up mutant family is that they’re just literal interpretations of the very small sprites on a 90s virtual pet.  Like, most forms you can get on one of those tiny things is just a circle with limbs.  And while some of the early Digimon were given more detail when translated into fully drawn art, this one just stayed a circle with limbs.  And that set a precedent for a whole fucking genus of circles with limbs.  Amazing.

The Birth of Midas and His Golden Tongue

Please, mighty Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, hell, even Hestia, free me from this curse.


I am not a God, I am just a man, cursed with a siren’s tongue.

Every time I speak, destruction forms around me, every syllable that falls off of my lips creates a explosion.

Hurting everyone and everything I care about.

It already happened once, with Daniel. He didn’t deserve it. No one does.

He was killed by a fluke, by the destruction I create with my tongue. It’s always my fault.

So I left. Cursed my old gods for failing me and starting anew. New gods, new name, new job, new everything.

Everything except for my curse.

Next was the four. My loves. The most beautiful people in the world. When I finally die, when I get down into Hades’s domain, they better be in Elysium, or I don’t know what I’ll do.

They were collateral. I was supposed to die. It was supposed to be me.

I remember their names on my lips as I watched the explosion cover them and take them away. Away to your domain Hades and I know I’ve never asked for much but please, please.

Protect them.

First it was two, then it was one, then it was four. Now, it’s one. And it always will be.

The crew are like family, but when you are a siren - cursed so that anyone who hears your voice will die - family doesn’t last long.

I no longer care for you, gods. You, who gave me this cursed tongue. Did you think you were doing some good? Freeing the world of some greater evil? The only evil you were freeing was me.

I am done cursing my tongue. I am done screaming at gods that will never answer. It is time to put this curse into some good use.

I am being born anew, like I was years ago.

But this time there will be no friendships to ruin, no loves to burn, no more reveling in my mistakes.

I shall become feared.

The Golden Boy and his tongue of gold.


—  and all who hear my siren song shall never hear again (Midas by @fahchaus)


He wrote a letter and put it in the gray envelope.

He sent it to the post office by registered mail

In a letter he wrote that he is the new Lincoln.

He is waiting for his killer.

Every day, he lives his battle of Gettysburg.

It born in the self-destruction. 

AUTHOR : Przemysław Szawłowski

When my daughter died on the day she was born, a traditional definition of hope was sucked out of my body. I’m not saying I’m proud of this, but it just happened. For me, what became important was learning to breathe again in a way that used regular air. The word aspiration has a breathing sense to it. It dawned on me that we have to breathe and to find reasons to stay alive on our own terms. Sometimes that doesn’t come from what we’ve been told our whole lives.

I believe in art the way other people believe in God. I’m not trying to make a tricky sentence. It’s just true. I have found reasons to breathe again by living in communities of people who choose self-expression over self-destruction. It’s another way to form hope, without hierarchizing it so that you’re looking up toward a God, or someone smarter or more famous than you are. It’s a lateral definition of hope where you just need each other, and you need to stand up and not leave each other hanging.
-Lidia Yuknavitch, in a conversation