#it's like. he designed himself to always submit into wHAT- WHAT WHO SAID THAT

[andaniellight]

I've finally reached the point where I can list down Son Sukku's signature acting choices/gestures habit thingy but the most subtle habit that I just can't get out of my head because how important it is to me is that if I had a nickel for every time Son Sukku softened his voice and facial expression to address genuine and pure respect to other male characters that his own character thinks they deserve it, I'd have two (2 ✌🏼) nickels. One happened in Designated Survivor 60 Days, and the other in D.P. season 2. Which isn't a lot, but it truly never failed to warm my heart that it happened twice. Okay?

[fratttymatty]

Influenced

(All characters are 18+)

Elliot Turner had always been the kind of guy who thought three steps ahead. He was clever, witty, the kind of kid who spent his time buried in books and online articles about philosophy, science, and the complexities of human nature. At 18, he was getting ready to graduate from his small town in England, a place where he knew everyone but had always felt like an outsider. Being gay wasn’t the issue; he’d come out years ago and had the support of his best friends. But it was the rest of his life that always felt a little... off. His intellect set him apart from others. It made him feel different—and sometimes, alone.

Lately, though, Elliot couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe he was tired of being the smart, introspective guy. He envied those people—those influencers, effortlessly cool, living these perfect, carefree lives. He’d always thought they were shallow, superficial. But now? The idea of shedding his complex self and becoming someone who just fit in seemed more and more tempting.

Then, one day, he saw an ad pop up on his screen. “Want to become who you were always meant to be? Unlock your true potential with the Perfect Persona Transformation!” It promised something extraordinary: a complete transformation into the person of your dreams. The ad had a picture of a glowing, confident guy with perfect teeth and an even more perfect smile. It was tempting, irresistible in its simplicity.

Elliot wasn’t someone who typically fell for gimmicks, but lately, he felt desperate for change. He clicked the link without thinking.

The process was straightforward—too straightforward. Fill out a form with some vague questions about your goals, desires, and personality. He answered quickly, not really caring about the specifics. He was after a life that wasn’t so... complicated.

He clicked "Submit." Paid with his card. And within minutes, he received an email with a link to begin the transformation.

What did he have to lose? Maybe it was a self-help app, maybe some guided meditation, but he was curious now. So, he clicked.

The transformation came fast.

It started with a tingling, a pulse of static electricity that crawled beneath his skin. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, like his body was being rewired from the inside out. His fingers twitched, his chest constricted, and before he could process what was happening, the world around him went white.

When the whiteness cleared, he wasn’t Elliot Turner anymore.

The first thing he noticed was his body—taller, broader, with wide, muscular shoulders and smooth, golden skin. He was... beautiful. His reflection in the mirror was almost too perfect to believe. He ran his hand through his hair and immediately felt it part perfectly down the middle, a tousled, effortlessly styled middle part that framed his face like he was straight off a magazine cover. It was exactly the kind of hair that made people want to touch it.

He stared at himself. His face was chiseled now—strong jawline, sharp cheekbones, lips that looked like they were made for smirking. The kind of face that made people stop and stare.

“Okay,” he muttered, his voice sounding lower, more assured. It had a hint of an accent, Swedish, maybe? And when he looked down at his phone, it wasn’t his old phone. It was new, sleek, almost too shiny, and filled with notifications.

His name wasn’t Elliot anymore.

“Lukas... Vikström?” he said aloud, his lips forming the name like it was part of a new persona that fit him perfectly. Lukas Vikström. Lukas. It rolled off his tongue effortlessly, like it had always been him.

The memories hit him, flooding his mind like a storm. His old life, his real life, seemed so far away now. He was Lukas Vikström, a popular 18-year-old influencer from Stockholm. He was carefree, charming, the kind of guy who posted selfies in designer clothes, surrounded by beautiful people at parties, on yachts, in the best clubs.

He didn’t question it. He didn’t need to. His new life was easy. The weight of his old self, the thinking, the analyzing, the searching for meaning—it was all gone. All that mattered now was looking good, feeling good, and being admired.

The notifications on his phone were endless. Brand deals, new followers, dozens of new comments saying, "Lukas, you're perfect!" "Goals!" "I want to be you!"

He felt something warm spread through his chest. Pride? Maybe. But it felt more like... freedom.

The next morning at school, Lukas walked down the hall, effortlessly gliding through crowds of students. The whole school practically stopped to stare as he passed, everyone whispering about him, wanting to get close.

“Lukas, you’re the best! Let’s take a selfie!” someone shouted.

He grinned. His old self—Elliot—would have rolled his eyes, maybe even scoffed at the idea of taking selfies like it was beneath him. But Lukas? He didn’t even think twice. He struck a pose, effortlessly pulling a perfect, playful smile for the camera, like he'd done it a thousand times before.

He checked his Instagram as he walked, seeing his latest post racking up thousands of likes in a matter of minutes. He didn’t need to think about captions anymore—he just knew what people wanted to hear. A picture of him looking effortlessly perfect, his tousled hair falling just right, his grin radiating the kind of carefree energy people craved.

"Feeling amazing today, guys," he typed, his fingers moving quickly, instinctively. "Hope you’re all living your best life! Be happy, be hot, and don’t let anything hold you back! Love you all ❤️"

And that was it. Lukas Vikström didn’t care about deep thoughts or complicated ideas. He was who everyone wanted to be, and that was enough.

As he walked into his next class, Lukas was already thinking about what brand deal he’d sign next, what he’d post later, who would tag him in their story. It was a game now, and Lukas was playing it better than anyone.

Then came Sofia.

Sofia Johansson was the kind of girl everyone talked about. Her Instagram was practically a shrine to fashion, perfect selfies, and vacay pictures. Blonde, tan, and impossibly beautiful, she made her living out of posting sponsored content for beauty brands and posing at luxury events. But, like many influencers, she was... a bit ditzy.

Her captions were short, often full of emojis and half-thoughts. “Chillin’ at the beach with my fave bikini 💖🌴” or “Can’t believe how amazing this pizza is!!! 🍕😍 #sponsored.”

But despite her ditzy ways, Sofia had a magnetic charm. She didn’t need to be deep. People adored her for it.

The first time Lukas met Sofia, he was at a party—of course, it was a glamorous influencer event. There she was, draped in a designer dress that seemed to sparkle even more than her smile, her hair a perfect cascade of waves. When their eyes met, Lukas felt something stir inside him, something that wasn’t just admiration for her beauty.

She flashed him a playful grin, tilting her head like she was trying to figure him out. “You’re Lukas Vikström, right?” she asked, with a hint of excitement in her voice.

He nodded, offering his most charming smile. “Yeah. And you must be Sofia Johansson.”

“Oh my god, yes! I love your Instagram. You’re, like, totally goals 😍. We should totally collab sometime!” she said, practically bouncing with energy.

Sofia was everything Lukas now wanted—effortlessly glamorous, always in the spotlight, and completely free from any complicated thoughts. She was living in the moment, with no care for deeper meanings. And, to Lukas, that seemed perfect.

Within a week, they were an inseparable duo. Lukas would post pictures of them together, each shot more polished than the last—at parties, at luxury resorts, in the best clubs. Sofia was just as carefree as he was now, matching his vibe perfectly. They were a power couple—beautiful, sought after, adored by millions.

Her ditzy, bubbly personality fit perfectly into Lukas’s new world. They spent hours taking selfies together, posting stories, and planning brand deals. At first, Lukas had thought she might be a bit too... air-headed for him. But he quickly realized—she was perfect. She didn’t question anything. She didn’t think deeply about anything. She just enjoyed life.

And so did Lukas now.

By the time school ended for the day, Lukas was more than just the guy everyone talked about. He was the guy everyone wanted to be.

And as he and Sofia posed for yet another selfie, Lukas couldn’t help but smile.

This was it. This was his life now. The life he was always meant to have. Carefree. Perfect. Hot.

And he wasn’t about to change it for anything.

[demensrage]

j for just make me a mess ⚊ • . with chrollo lucilfer

summary: after a successful robbery, the leader of the phantom troupe must reward his wife for having been the essential key to the success of the organization, what better reward than submitting to her.

cw: established relationship, switch!reader, switch!chrollo, nipple play, slight orgasm denial, face riding, choking kink.

word count: 6k

© demensrage 2024. do not plagiarize, copy, repost, feed to ai, or translate my works to any other platforms.

You had been essential to the success of the Phantom Troupe last heist, so much so that the atmosphere in that mansion, now their new hideout, overflowed with euphoria and celebration. The expensive crystal chandeliers and fine paintings adorned the space like a perfect reflection of the success achieved, and every corner of the house seemed to whisper temptations of power and conquest.

Being with the leader granted you more than privileges; you were untouchable, and the other members knew it well. It took just a suggestive glance and a mischievous smile for Chrollo, always accommodating when it came to your whims, to grant you ownership of that opulent loot.

Chrollo's eyes watched you, intense and dark, as if he sensed that your desire for material things was merely an extension of the deeper, darker desires he himself awakened in you. In a slow movement, you approached the central chandelier, brushing the tips of your fingers against the crystals reflecting the flickering lights. You knew he was smiling behind you, delighted by how you immersed yourself in luxury, possessing it as if it had belonged to you forever.

"Everything you desire is yours," Chrollo whispered, and his words were more than a mere statement. They were a promise, a sweet threat, an inevitable decree that in that mansion, just like in your life, he wanted you as captive to his desires as you were to your own.

You turned to look at him, the air between you charged with electrifying tension. His gaze focused on your skin, where the spider tattoo began on your shoulder, its legs extending elegantly toward your neck, a symbol of loyalty and connection. The number zero was more than just a design; it was an emblem you shared with him, a mark of belonging that bound you to Chrollo in a profound and unique way.

He smiled, his expression reflecting both pride and desire. "You are part of the Brigade," he said, his voice soft yet firm, "like me. Always."

The heat of his gaze enveloped you, and in that moment, you understood that the tattoo represented not just your connection to him, but also to the power you both possessed. It was a reminder that, although you were his wife, you were also a force to be reckoned with.

You leaned closer, brushing your fingers across his chest, challenging his personal space, a game you both knew well. "And you, my love," you replied in a seductive tone, "are the one who makes this spider feel so alive."

Chrollo's smile widened, and a spark of approval shone in his eyes. He knew you were not just his wife; you were his equal, and together, nothing in this world could stop you.

You took his hand, pulling him toward the main room with an air of determination and mischief. Chrollo followed obediently, the trust between you palpable in every step you took. As you crossed the threshold, you closed the door behind you, and before he could utter a word, you kissed him fervently.

Your lips met his in a voracious movement, a clash of desires igniting the spark between you. You knew you had plans for that night; the thought of taking advantage of him made you smile internally. Each encounter was a seductive dance, a mutual surrender where he always seemed to lose himself in you, but this time was different.

The intensity of his kiss made you forget the outside world. Chrollo held you firmly, his hands exploring every inch of your body as if he wanted to etch your form into his memory. Yet, there was always something in the air, a challenge, a silent promise that this night would be special.

It was hard to recall a moment when he hadn't left you sprawled on the bed, feeling completely overwhelmed by pleasure. The moans and whispers became a private symphony between you, a language that only the two of you understood. In that instant, you wished time would stand still, that every second would stretch as you explored the limits of your connection, each kiss and caress more intense than the last.

With a mischievous smile, you pulled away slightly, looking into his eyes, challenging him to take you to a new level of delight, knowing that no matter how many times he made you feel this way, there was always more to discover together.

"Tonight, I lead," you whispered against his ear, letting your words slide like a gentle provocation. The warmth of your breath sent a shiver down his spine, and Chrollo stood still, anticipating what was to come.

You moved closer, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites along his jawline, feeling how his skin reacted to each caress. As you descended toward his neck, you reveled in the taste of his skin, enjoying the contrast between his firmness and the softness of your lips. The way his breathing grew heavier told you that every move you made excited him, and that only increased your confidence.

Chrollo, always so controlled, now allowed himself to be swept away by your dominance, like a warrior surrendering to his conqueror. You knew this night was yours, and that filled you with power. Every kiss and bite you left on his skin was a reminder of your victory, a small trophy for allowing the Troupe to succeed in its last heist.

You gripped the headboard of the bed as you moved your hips in a hypnotic rhythm, feeling the tension in the air. Chrollo was completely at your mercy, his face between your thighs, and he couldn’t help but lose himself in the delight you offered him. Every movement of yours plunged him into a maelstrom of repressed desires, and the way you rode him left him eager, wishing he could touch you, but he was restricted by the restraints you had placed on his hands.

You knew he was trying to suppress his strength, controlling himself so he wouldn’t break the restraints and drag you into a fight where you both knew you would lose control. But that was precisely what you were after: to have him completely at your disposal, allowing him to enjoy you without the ability to influence the game.

The pressure of his breath on your skin sent shivers down your spine, and every time you moved your hips, his mouth moved in a desperate attempt to get closer to you, as if he wanted to devour you. “You can only eat me,” you reminded him, smirking as you looked into his eyes, bright with desire.

His gaze answered you with a mix of defiance and surrender, an eloquent silence that said he was willing to accept any conditions you imposed on him. Chrollo was a master in the art of patience, but tonight, being restrained and subdued by your will, it was as if he was on the verge of exploding, the tension building between you palpably electric.

With every move you made, every back and forth, you knew you were pushing him to the edge. And as he gave himself over to the pleasure of just being able to kiss you, lick you, and devour you with his gaze, you felt in control, a power that fueled both your desire and his.

Chrollo sucked hard, his lips wrapped around your clit, reveling in the moans that escaped your lips. Every sound you made became his driving force, pushing him to give you the pleasure you so desperately needed and that he so desired. You let yourself go, feeling the tension building in your abdomen, a torrent of sensations threatening to overflow.

With one hand, you brought your palm to his hair, squeezing it tightly, directing his attention to what made you most enjoy it. He responded to your touch with renewed intensity, knowing that each tug was a silent command, a warning that he should intensify his devotion to you.

“Be a good husband and make me come,” you commanded, the tone of your voice a mix of authority and desire. You continued to rock your hips back and forth, creating a rhythm that made him work harder. You knew you were keeping him on the edge of madness; his dedication and surrender were unwavering.

Chrollo threw himself into the task, his lips and tongue exploring every corner, every fiber of your being, searching for that response you desired. His eyes lifted to you, and in them was a mix of admiration and need, a reflection of the desire you shared. You liked the control you had over him, and the way his body reacted to your every move gave you a satisfaction you couldn’t ignore.

The waves of pleasure began to intensify, and the outside world faded away, leaving only the heat of his mouth and your growing desire. With every lick, every suck, you came closer to climax, the echo of your moans intertwining with Chrollo’s desperation to please you. You knew that, tonight, you would be the one to take both of them to new heights.

You pressed your thighs against his face as you orgasmed, a torrent of sensations that tore through you like lightning. The moans that had previously escaped your lips transformed into a scream of pleasure that filled the room, echoing off the walls as your climax consumed you completely.

Chrollo, trapped between your legs, showed no intention of backing down. His tongue and lips worked tirelessly, taking you further than you thought possible. The pressure of your thighs on his face was a mix of control and surrender, and as the wave of pleasure swept you away, his breathing became deeper, almost as if he too was reaching a point of no return.

The intensity of the moment engulfed you, and every contraction of your body was a sign that you were nearing the end, a point where pleasure and release came together in an explosion of ecstasy. Chrollo, feeling your body respond to his ministrations, intensified his movements, his devotion evident in every caress, every suck, as if he was determined to take you even further.

Finally, as the climax reached its peak, you felt your entire being fill with overflowing euphoria, your mind clouded by the intensity of the moment. You closed your eyes and let yourself fall, clinging to his hair tighter as the spasms of pleasure took hold of you. As the wave of pleasure began to dissipate, you opened your eyes to find Chrollo’s intense gaze fixed on you, a mix of satisfaction and longing in his expression.

You lowered yourself from his mouth, crawling up his body and capturing his mouth in an effervescent kiss that ignited the spark of passion again. The intensity of his lips on yours caused a moan to escape your throat, a sound that spoke of how much you wanted him. Chrollo clenched the fabric of the bed tightly, fighting the urge to break the bonds that kept him restrained.

You tasted yourself on his mouth, letting the mix of saliva and desire flow between you, an exchange that only increased the tension between the two of you. “If you break the ropes, there’s no sex for you,” you threatened him, a glint of mischief in your eyes as you took his cock in your hands. The pressure you exerted brought him some relief, and his breathing became deeper, his desire palpable in the air.

Chrollo looked at you, the internal struggle reflected in his eyes. The promise of pleasure and the threat of deprivation intertwined in a game that only the two of you could understand. His body tensed under your touch, and you could feel his desire rising, eager for release, but also eager to play along.

“You are a dangerous woman,” he said in a low whisper, a crooked smile playing on his lips. But there was a glint in his gaze, one that showed he was more than willing to obey your commands, to give himself over completely to whatever you decided.

With a gentle movement, you decided to increase the tension between you. You pulled back slightly, holding his hardness in your hands, and looked into his eyes, daring him to resist. “Are you going to behave, or should I make this even harder for you?”

You moved your hands up and down in a cruelly slow manner, enjoying every passing second as you watched Chrollo’s internal struggle. The way his body responded to your touch, tense and eager, was a delight that only increased your desire to control him.

“Are you going to behave?” you asked, letting the tension in the air grow. His eyes, dark and deep, shone with a mix of desire and frustration as he tried to maintain his composure. You could feel the need in his gaze, the longing to break free from the bonds that kept him restrained.

Chrollo inhaled deeply, trying to control his breathing. “You know I can’t resist,” he admitted, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. The sincerity of his words echoed in the air, and it made you smile. You knew he was caught between the desire to obey you and the need to take control.

With every movement, your hands sliding slowly and deliberately, you kept him on the edge of desperation. You could see his body twitch, how he struggled not to break the ropes that held him at your mercy. It was a dangerous game, one you both enjoyed, where every touch was a promise of what was to come, and every whisper, a challenge to his self-control.

“Give me a reason to keep going like this,” you challenged, the sweetness of your voice contrasting with the intensity of the moment. The answer you sought was written in his expression, in the way his breathing quickened and his body moved towards you, seeking more of you. But you wanted him to say it, to give himself over completely to your will.

Chrollo bit his lip, desire and frustration clearly visible on his face. “You’re the reason,” he said, his voice a murmur laden with intensity. “There’s nothing I want more than you right now.”

That answer made you smile, a flash of satisfaction crossing your face. You knew you had touched his weak spot, and that knowledge only increased your power over him. You moved your hands once more, slowly moving up to his base and stopping just before he climaxed. The way his body reacted, trembling and yearning, gave you a feeling of dominance you couldn’t ignore.

“So what will you do to prove it?” you asked, leaning in close to whisper those words directly into his ear. The closeness allowed you to bask in his warmth, in the scent emanating from his skin, while keeping him on the edge of desperation.

“I’ll do anything,” Chrollo replied, his eyes locked on yours, full of determination. “But I need more than this. I need you to let me take you.”

“Is that all? Just a little petting and that’s it?” The mockery in your voice made him frown, but it also gave him a new surge of defiance. You knew he wanted more, and you intended to keep him in this power game. “Come on, show me how you’re capable of being a good husband. I want to see that dedication.”

You moved your hands once more, faster this time, eliciting an immediate response from his body. His breathing became more erratic, and you could feel the tension building in the air between you. Chrollo bit his lip, his eyes closed for a moment as he tried to control the surge of pleasure that washed over him.

“You’re cruel,” he said, voice cracking, though his tone was not one of reproach, but acceptance. “But I will. I promise that when you release me, I will take you to the limits of what we can achieve together.”

The promise in his words was an echo of your own desire, and it only made the anticipation grow in your chest. “Then, you’ll just have to be patient,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him once more, letting the chemistry between you intensify. “Tonight, you are my plaything, and I will decide when you will be released.”

You stopped your movements, slowly moving down to kiss his neck, leaving a mark of your possession with a small bite that made a shiver run through his body. The way he reacted to your touch made you smile; You knew he had the willpower of a leader, but in those moments, he was completely at your mercy.

You continued your descent, leaving a trail of hot kisses down his torso, enjoying the taste of his skin and the heat emanating from him. Reaching one of his nipples, you took it into your mouth with a mix of sweetness and ferocity, alternating between sucking and small bites.

Chrollo let out a moan, his body arching slightly towards you, seeking more of the attention you were giving him. His reaction turned you on even more, and the way your movements were connected to his pleasure made you feel powerful and desired. You could see how he struggled to contain himself, his jaw clenched and his gaze fixed on you, unable to take his eyes off what you were doing.

“So this is what you want, is it?” you whispered in a playful tone, as you kept his nipple between your lips, playing with it. The smile that formed on your face only intensified the need in his eyes.

“You are insatiable,” Chrollo replied, his voice cracking as he tried to control his desire. “But this is only the beginning. You can’t leave me like this.”

“Of course I can,” you replied, letting out a soft laugh as your eyes sparkled with mischief. The confidence in your voice was a challenge, a provocation that goaded him into reacting. You knew he was on edge, wanting you to push him past his limit, but you also enjoyed the control you had at the moment.

You lowered your gaze, enjoying the effect you had on him. “If you want me to continue, you’ll have to make an effort,” you said, moving back to his torso, letting your lips explore him with devotion. Each kiss a reminder of what he could get if he met your expectations, as you continued to play with his desire.

“What would you like me to do?” Chrollo asked, his voice low and heavy with need. You could see frustration starting to mix with his desire, and it only increased your satisfaction. “Tell me, and I’ll do whatever you ask.”

You laughed softly, enjoying his surrender. “No, love. Tonight you’re just going to receive,” you told him, looking into his eyes with an intensity that made it clear that your decisions were the ones that ruled. “I want you to focus on what you feel. No interruptions, no complaints. Just you and me.”

With that message clear, you began to leave a series of wet kisses down his abdomen, working your way down with deliberate intent. Your tongue drew patterns on his skin, tasting every part of him as you continued to enjoy complete control over his pleasure. Chrollo, who had been so confident and dominant before, was now completely at your mercy, and the revelation of his vulnerability only intensified the desire you felt for him.

“Get ready,” you murmured, before continuing to move down, enjoying the lead up to what was to come, each move a step further in the game you two had begun.

You took him in your hands once more, feeling the warmth of his skin against your fingers. With a playful movement, you left a small kitten lick over the tip, enjoying the way his body instantly reacted. His eyes widened, and a mix of surprise and desire flashed in them as you looked up at him with a mischievous expression.

“You like this?” You asked softly, your gaze locked on his. You knew he was desperate for more, and this moment of torture only served to intensify his need. The way he struggled to stay in control, how his breathing became more labored, was music to your ears.

Every soft lick you gave, every little touch you made was designed to prolong his pleasure and make him even more eager. You knew exactly how to play your cards, and seeing the frustration on his face only heightened your excitement.

“Just a little more,” you whispered, as you leaned a little closer, your lips caressing his skin gently. You could see how his body responded to every movement, desire building as you kept him right on the edge. “Just a little patience and I promise I’ll reward you.”

Your intention was to make him feel what it meant to be your plaything, and the power you had over him only made everything more electrifying. Chrollo tried to control himself, but you knew that every second that passed brought him closer to a point of no return. With a smile on your face, you prepared to continue your little torture, enjoying the way you drove him to the edge of madness.

He moved his hips desperately, trying to get deeper into your mouth, but you refused, pulling away with a nimble, playful movement. His frustration was palpable, his body tense and eager for what he couldn’t reach. The way his eyes burned with desire only added to your satisfaction, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched him struggle with his own impatience.

“Do you want more?” you asked, leaning into him with a seductive tone of voice, letting the tension fill the air between you. “Then you’ll have to earn it.” The tease in your words was intentional, a challenge that only accentuated his desire for you.

You played with him again, your hands making gentle movements, but keeping the same distance as before. You could feel his breathing becoming more and more erratic, his body seeking the sense of relief you had the control to give him.

“There’s no rush, love. I want you to truly feel every moment.” The frustration on his face grew even more intense, but there was also a glint of admiration in his gaze, an acceptance of your dominance. “You’re cruel,” he said, his voice a whisper filled with desire. But the mix of frustration and desire only fueled the fire between you, and you enjoyed every second of that game.

With a mischievous smile, you moved a little closer, letting your lips caress his skin without committing. “Cruel? Maybe. But it’s a game we both enjoy.” With that line, you held your ground, allowing him to experience the desperation of his desire as you decided how much more you could take.

You decided to keep teasing him, keep teasing him. You moved your hands a little faster, feeling the tension build with each movement. You ground his hips into the bed, the feeling of his body responding to your touch filling you with power.

Chrollo began to moan, a deep, needy sound that echoed through the room. “God, please…” he gasped, his voice heavy with desperation. He pulled at the ropes that bound him, as if that would free him from the storm of pleasure you were providing him. Every moan was a reminder of your control over him, and the pride you felt in hearing it was indescribable.

“So you like this?” you asked, your voice a soft murmur that mingled with his moans. “Don’t worry, baby. I promise it’s just the beginning.” You watched as his body squirmed, searching for that moment of connection you kept just out of reach.

“Ahhh! No… don’t stop,” Chrollo exclaimed, his breathing becoming more labored. Every word that left his lips was an echo of his desire, and your heart filled with satisfaction. “I can’t take it…”

“Can’t take it? Do you like being my toy?” you asked with a smile, intensifying your movements as you looked into his eyes, enjoying the battle he fought between pleasure and the need to release himself.

“Yes! I’m yours… Just do it…” His voice was a whisper filled with surrender, and each word only reinforced the control you had over him. You knew you were driving him to the edge, and it filled you with an indescribable pride.

Chrollo continued to moan, each sound a testament to his surrender to you, as you kept your steady pace, enjoying the pleasure you shared in this power play.

“If only others saw you like this,” you said in a teasing tone, clicking your tongue in denial as you moved your hands faster. The pressure you exerted was delicious, a perfect blend of pleasure that you knew he loved.

“What would they say about you? Your little slut of a wife,” you added with a mischievous smile, enjoying how those words echoed in his mind. The way his eyes briefly closed, as if just thinking about it intensified his desire, only increased your satisfaction.

“Don’t say that!” Chrollo replied, though his voice was filled with pleasure, a contrast that made it clear that those words excited him. “I'm not… I'm not a slut…” But each sentence faded into a moan that made clear otherwise.

“You're not? Of course you are, baby,” you told him, as your movements became more intense, enjoying the control you had over him. “You're my slut, and I love it. Watching you like this, completely at my mercy… it's a beautiful sight.”

He moaned in response, his hips involuntarily moving towards you, seeking deeper contact. “Ahh, no… I can't…” The struggle between his pride and his desire was palpable, and watching him slowly give in filled you with deep satisfaction.

“Just let yourself go, love. No one has to know. You're mine tonight, and I promise I'll make you feel amazing,” you whispered, as you continued to play with him, enjoying the moment and the power you held in your hands.

With your other free hand, you began to massage his heavy balls, feeling them quiver under your expert touch. You knew he was close; the sheen of the tip with precum alone made your mouth water. Anticipation filled the air as you leaned into him, reveling in the power you held at that moment.

You took a tentative lick, tasting the sweetness of desire emanating from him. “Are you close, my love?” you asked, your voice soft and teasing. The way his eyes widened, filled with a mix of desire and desperation, only added to your arousal.

“Yes! God, yes!” Chrollo exclaimed, his voice cracking with the intensity of the pleasure. Every word that left his lips was an echo of his need, and you enjoyed the spectacle he put on. The struggle to maintain control was on the verge of crumbling, and the sight filled you with satisfaction.

“Do you want me to let you go?” you asked, increasing the pressure of your hands, enjoying the way his body writhed before you. “Or would you rather I keep you on the edge a little longer…”

“Please… no… I can’t… hold on any longer,” he panted, the need palpable in his voice. His body arched, seeking the release you had the power to give or deny him. And in that instant, you decided you wanted to enjoy a little more of his agony, of his total surrender.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you said with mock sorrow, pulling your hands away from him. The expression on his face turned from desire to confusion, and frustration began to take over his gaze. The way his body tensed, eager for your touch, only increased your amusement.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Don’t you like to play?” you asked in a playful tone, enjoying the way he moved his hips, trying to get closer to you again. The image of his desperation was a delight, and the power you had over him filled you with satisfaction.

“Please don’t leave me like this…” Chrollo pleaded, his voice cracking. His words were a song to your ego, and watching him squirm at your decision only increased your desire to keep him in that state of pleasurable agony.

“Maybe if you were a good husband and didn’t pull the strings…” you suggested, looking at his face with a mix of tenderness and defiance. “Maybe you could have what you so desire.”

He sighed, frustrated but still filled with desire. “I’ll do whatever you want… just don’t leave me like this.” His words were a plea, and you knew he had to give in to your will.

“So, tell me how much you want me, and maybe I’ll reconsider,” you challenged, enjoying the tension in the air, every second a mix of shared control and desire.

Chrollo looked at you, frustration and desire warring in his eyes. “I want you… I want you more than you can imagine,” he admitted, his voice shaking with need. The sincerity in his words was palpable, and you couldn’t help but smirk.

“Really? More than you want to release?” you asked, enjoying the game. The tension in the room was almost electric, and you knew you had him right where you wanted him.

“Yes, please… I’m willing to do whatever you want,” he pleaded, his body still trembling with the promise of the pleasure you had initiated.

“Perfect,” you said, moving back towards him, your hands seeking his skin. You began to massage his thighs, leaving a trail of kisses along his body, slowly moving closer to his center. “Because only you know what I want, don’t you?”

His eyes closed as he enjoyed your touch, and Chrollo let out a low moan. “Yes… yes I do. But… please… don’t leave me like this again,” he begged, the desperation clearly evident in his tone.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered, enjoying his vulnerability. “I’ll give you what you want, but first you must show me how grateful you are for it.” And so, you began to play again, your hands moving with the same slowness he had experienced before, enjoying every little moan that left his mouth.

“You’re a fucking demon,” Chrollo said, laughing through the gasps, as your touch began to intensify again. “I can’t believe you’re enjoying this.”

You looked into his eyes as you sat on top of him, feeling his body react to your touch. “You’ve already enjoyed yourself too much, my love; now it’s my turn,” you said with a mischievous smile, feeling the anticipation build between the two of you.

Gently, you began to slide down his length, enjoying the sensation that filled you as you settled in. The mix of pleasure and power enveloped you, and a moan of satisfaction escaped your lips as you felt him completely inside you. It was a perfect moment, the balance between the desired and the forbidden.

Chrollo closed his eyes, his head thrown back as he enjoyed the feeling of you moving on top of him. “God… you’re amazing,” he murmured, but it wasn’t enough; you wanted more.

You began to move up and down, setting a steady rhythm that allowed you to enjoy every inch of him. The friction was intoxicating, and you felt his every movement sync with yours, creating an intimate dance between the two of you.

“Just like that…” you whispered, letting out a moan as your hips moved harder. Waves of pleasure coursed through your body, and you clung to his chest as you increased your speed. Chrollo looked at you with a mix of adoration and need, his dark eyes fixed on you.

“You’re perfect,” he said, his voice husky as he gave himself over completely to the pleasure you were giving him. Each of his moans urged you on, to lose yourself in the moment. “Don’t stop…”

With a soft laugh, you moved harder, taking advantage of his submission and enjoying the feeling of control. “I have no intention of doing so, love,” you replied, letting the pleasure take over you.

Your hips moved faster, the need for both of you reaching a climax that seemed inevitable. With one of your hands, you found your way to his throat, squeezing lightly. The way his eyes widened, surprised but pleased, made you smile.

“You like it like this, baby?” you asked in a soft voice, as the pressure increased, keeping him on the edge of euphoria. Chrollo nodded, unable to form words, his ragged breathing telling you everything you needed to know.

The mix of pleasure and control filled you with euphoria, and as your movements became more intense, you felt his body react to every caress. “You’re mine,” you said in a possessive tone, enjoying his submission.

Chrollo let out a deep moan, his hips thrusting up to meet you. “Give me more… please…” he begged, his eyes fixed on you, filled with desire. The way he gave himself to you, without reservation, only fueled your desire to make him feel better and better.

“You were good for me, so you deserve to cum,” you said with a playful smile, feeling his body respond to your words. The intensity of the connection between you increased as you moved with more fervor, enjoying every second of it.

“Thank you…” Chrollo murmured, his voice shaking as you held him a little tighter on your throat. You could feel the pressure building inside him, and his surrender filled you with pride.

“Focus on the pleasure,” you ordered softly, increasing the speed of your movements. “I want you to feel every part of me.” His moans became louder, echoing in the room and fueling your desire to take him to the edge.

As you moved, you could see his body tense, the anticipation on his face only intensifying what you felt. “You’re close already, aren’t you?” you asked, enjoying the control you had over him.

“Yes… I can’t… anymore…” Chrollo admitted, his hips thrusting back into you, seeking that long-awaited climax.

“Then let yourself go, love. I want you to give yourself over completely,” you said in a seductive tone, enjoying the way he gave in to you. One last thrust, and you felt his body shudder, his pleasure erupting in a wave of satisfaction as he came, flooding you with shared sensations.

You could feel the spurts staining your rubbery walls, an intense sensation that made you moan as the pleasure built up inside you. Every pulse of his body, every drop of his release, only fueled your own desire. You moved your hips a little more, chasing your own orgasm, enjoying the connection between your bodies.

“That’s it, baby,” you whispered, squeezing his throat a little more as your movements became more frantic. “Let me feel you, I want all this pleasure to belong to me.” His eyes closed, enjoying the mix of control and desire you shared.

Chrollo moaned, his breathy sounds filling the room as you continued your dance. “Don’t stop…” he managed to say, his voice a whisper filled with need. Each time you tightened your grip on his throat, you felt his body react, bringing you closer to that climax you so longed for.

With one last thrust, you increased the speed and intensity of your movements, feeling the pleasure build up in your abdomen. “I’m going to…” you barely managed to say, feeling the wave of pleasure wash over you as you finally gave in, reaching your own orgasm.

The explosion of sensations was overwhelming, a torrent of pleasure enveloping your being.

Chrollo broke the ropes with ease, taking your hips and letting you fall beneath him. His gaze lit up with a predatory smile that sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s my turn now, baby, and I don’t think you can handle it,” he said, his voice soft but laden with dark desire. “But you’ll be a good whore for daddy.”

A shiver of anticipation ran through your body as you felt his weight on you. The way he looked at you, as if you were his prey, fueled the spark of lust burning within you.

“You really think that?” you challenged, though deep down you knew the night was just beginning. Chrollo leaned into you, his breath hot against your skin. “Yes, I do. I know you too well.”

With a swift movement, he caught you with one hand on your wrist, holding you in place as his hips pressed against yours. The mix of control and desire made you feel alive, completely at his mercy.

“I’m going to make you scream, baby,” he promised, his dark eyes shining with the intensity of his desire. It surprised you, but a part of you rejoiced in the promise of what was to come.

[lexosaurus]

Ghost Boy? In my college class? It's More Likely Than You Think

[ao3 link]

Warnings: None Words: 6,031

****

College was crazy. 

Okay?

There was absolutely no reason why college had to be as insane as it was.

Alright, maybe there was a reason. A reason called, "We have four years to make these students professionals in their chosen field, and some even less time than that."

Danny understood. He really, truly did. He knew that to work in his dream job at NASA, he needed to learn not just how to locate the constellations in the night sky, but also about subjects like chemistry, biology, calculus, physics—a lot of physics.

But seriously, when the hell was a guy supposed to sleep?

Last night's problem set only had five questions, theoretically. But it was run by a completely sadistic site that Vlad himself must have designed—that bastard—because while submitting a correct answer seemed to mark one of the five outlined stars in gold, the site also seemed to be more than happy to remove the gold star if he got a problem incorrect. 

Which meant that the theoretical five-questioned assignment ended up taking Danny many, many more questions than that. 

Just when he had thought the hell was over, he realized he still hadn't begun his paper for his mandatory freshman writing class. So then, he got the absolute pleasure of writing an essay about a stupid, Victorian-era play he didn't read regarding the symbolism of a hat as it related to...foreshadowing, or something. 

He didn't read it. He only signed up for this dumb writing seminar because the timing worked better on his schedule. He'd much rather be taking the writing class about horror novels. But unfortunately, that one happened during his mandatory physics course.

When it was all over and he finally caught sight of his pillow, he was pretty sure he’d shed a single tear. Did he remember sinking into the mattress? Closing his eyes, and drifting off?

No. He didn't. 

He was fucking tired.

But apparently, the universe did actually hate him because instead of being roused by his alarm the next morning, he was shaken by his ghost sense.

Oh yeah, apparently Skulker found his dorm.

Joy!

No seriously, fuck that guy. 

What the hell kind of sick weirdo wants to make a rug out of someone else's skin, anyway? Not to mention that Skulker had no conception of what a good time to hunt was, considering he seriously was trying to start chaos at five in the fucking morning.

Again, fuck that guy.

He only just barely had enough time to fly home, shower, hastily read over and submit his essay (he'd long since learned from high school that he couldn't trust himself that late at night to be coherent), and make a mad dash to his favorite bagel spot on the way to class.

However, the bagel guy—he had a name, Danny was almost sure—must have been under the weather today because, for some reason, he could not stop staring at Danny.

The instinct to run his hand over his face to check for post-fight ectoplasm splatters was a learned reaction at this point. But this time, he couldn't feel anything off. His skin was dry. Cold, like usual, but dry.

"Uh..." The bagel guy continued staring at him slack-jawed.

"Do I have something on my face?" 

That seemed to shake the bagel guy out of his stupor. He blinked, his eyes darting around to catch the eye of a few other customers who, for some reason, were giving Danny a really wide berth.

Did he smell or something? Had he forgotten to put his deodorant on?

Oh god, did his parents do something to make national news again? Did the news use a family photo when reporting the story or something? Why was everyone looking at him? Seriously, what the hell was going on today?

The bagel guy locked eyes with Danny once more, briefly, before darting back down to the register and handing Danny his change. "One everything bagel with cream cheese for the, uh—for—coming right up."

"Thanks," Danny said, trying to be as friendly as possible. Jazz always said that he shouldn't judge people for acting strange. That they could be going through something personal.

So, Danny shook it off. Maybe he missed a chunk of ectoplasm on his hair when he was showering. Skulker had nailed his shoulder pretty well. The green, ecto-infused smoothie he'd sipped that morning was working its magic to mend his skin, but who knew? Maybe a little bit of blood was leaking through his shirt. It wouldn't be the first time that happened, anyway.

Or the last.

Amazingly, he did get his bagel. But when the man handed it to Danny, his eyes were almost popping out of his skull. His heavily accented, "Ah, here is one—ah, your—your bagel," sounded especially halted today. 

But no. The big, gruff bagel guy wouldn't have stuttered. He wouldn't have been nervous to pass a bagel to a tired-looking college student either.

Danny must have misheard. 

He darted down the sidewalk. He was going to be late for class. And it was because of his internal panic that he didn't notice the girl with her nose buried in her cell phone at first. Not until she almost crashed into him, looked up, and nearly jumped out of her skin.

"HOLY SHIT!" she yelled, her hands flailing beside her. Her phone flew out from her fingers and clattered on the pavement.

"Sorry!" Danny scooped up her phone from the ground and handed it to her.

She stared at him as if he were completely insane, making no move to take the phone until Danny leaned forward a little closer and pointedly said, "Here."

Whether or not this girl was hungover or still drunk from whatever party she'd been at the night before, Danny did not have time to work around her brain. He was going to be late for class!

"Fuck," she said, eyes still glued on Danny. She did, however, finally reach out and gently take the offered cell phone.

Which was all he needed.

Mission accomplished, he whirled back around intending on continuing his fast-walk-nearly-run pace to the science building, but caught the eye of a biker who seemed to go into a similar trance as the bagel guy and ended up crashing straight into a parked car.

"Oh my god!" Danny darted over to the strewn biker. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine! Stay back!" the man yelled, struggling up and holding his hand out to block Danny from seeing his face.

Was this guy...cowering at him? Like he was some sort of ghost?

No, no. This was silly. Now Danny was just being paranoid.

"Just stay back!"

An oddly phrased demand, and a little biting at that, but the biker did just crash into a parked car because of Danny and that other girl—who was currently holding her phone up at Danny—so he guessed he could forgive this random dude for being a little snappish.

Danny didn't have time to dwell on this stranger anyway, because holy shit his class was starting in ten minutes and if Danny didn't get his ass to the room right now he was going to be screwed.

So with one more apology to the biker, and one more glance to the strange phone-obsessed girl, Danny adjusted the strap of his bag back over his shoulder and took off down the road.

Not literally took off. Though, he really wanted to jet through the air today. He'd had these urges to duck out of sight and fly to class before, but it never felt so compelling as right now. 

Unfortunately, the street was crowded as shit, and in between classes as it was, the building would likely be crowded too. Finding a discreet place to transform would probably take just as long as running to the classroom like his half-life depended on it. And so, the latter option it was.

Somehow, he managed to make it to class with five minutes to spare. Okay, maybe not somehow. Maybe he did risk using his flight to propel him forward a little bit. Could anyone blame him? 

College was crazy. And anyone who thought they saw a guy not quite touching the ground when he walked could have just as easily been sleep-deprived and were almost certainly hallucinating. Humans couldn't fly! Only ghosts could fly, and Danny Fenton was clearly a human college student just running to class.

Gaslight, gatekeep, ghostboss—or whatever the saying was.

Energy was buzzing in Danny’s veins, and he found it a little difficult to stay in his seat. An aftereffect of only barely using his flight powers, he was sure. His body got a taste of being airborne, and now it didn't want to return to the laws of gravity.

Danny could forgive his ghost core for that. Gravity could be very exhausting sometimes. Especially when he was in the middle of a ghost fight and his enemy was hurling him to the ground. But he was in a lecture, and it would look weird if this random college student was hovering over his seat, so Danny forced his butt onto the chair as he dropped his bag beside him.

Whispers fluttered around him, which wasn't too unusual. People often talked in pleading freak-out whispers to their friends after an especially grueling night of homework.

Danny was about to turn to his chemistry lecture buddy and do the same—because seriously, he was going to have nightmares over that damn assignment for weeks—when he realized that his chemistry buddy was not in his usual seat.

And then, a whisper caught the attention of his enhanced eardrum.

"...ghost..."

"...Phantom..."

Ah, that explained it. 

Oh yeah, it was all coming together now.

They must have been talking about the ghost fight from this morning, the one with Skulker. This city wasn't Amity Park, so the students here weren't exactly used to ghost attacks. Of course, the initial fight was probably very exciting for them.

And, well, his parents probably were on the news that morning, but likely only to be interviewed about the attack. Maybe they ended up rambling about ghostly habits and migration patterns or whatever other bullshit theories they’d been churning with recently.

So then, the bagel guy must have recognized Danny as a Fenton, a child of Jack and Maddie, the infamous, kooky ghost experts.

The effects of that realization were delayed, but when they finally hit, he felt like his brain was hit by a semi-truck. Because, shit. He didn't know if he could deal with his bagel guy knowing who he was. He was going to have to find a new bagel spot, wasn't he? 

Danny craned his neck over to the door. The lecture was supposed to be starting, but his chemistry buddy was nowhere to be found.

But then, to his immense relief that he wouldn't have to suffer through this lecture by himself, the door opened to reveal the tall, lanky form of Cameron, his chemistry buddy.

Danny eagerly moved his bag out of the way of Cam's seat, his woes of that fucking assignment hot on his lips, but before he could begin his trauma-dumping session, something strange happened.

Really, really strange.

As Cam began habitually walking over to his seat, he looked up, caught Danny's eye, and froze.

His mouth parted into a perfect 'o,' his eyes widened, and his eyebrows disappeared under his hairline. Then, he backed up, caught the bewildered expression of another student near him, and moved to another aisle.

Danny sat there too stunned to call out to Cam, though the intent was at the precipice of his being. Hurt stabbed his gut, and the social anxiety the A-List had trained his brain for in high school started creeping up his spine.

Did Danny do something wrong? 

Why had Cam moved away?

What did that look to the other kid mean?

He tried to think of a reason why Cam might have suddenly decided that Danny was a weirdo freak that should be avoided, but the only thing he remembered doing between yesterday and today was the two texts he'd sent at eleven last night complaining about the assignment. But surely, everyone had complained, right?

Or was the assignment genuinely effortless for everyone? And Danny was just an idiot who didn't understand some really simple concept, and now Cam had suddenly realized that he'd picked the wrong chemistry buddy to sit next to in class?

That must have been it.

Why else had he moved away?

Danny turned around, looking to the back of the lecture hall. But all he could see was a sea of faces all looking at him.

Okay, honestly, what the fuck was wrong with everyone today?

He whipped out his phone, paranoia striking through his gut like a spear. Maybe he'd accidentally revealed himself during the fight? But he checked Google, searching for Phantom's human identity, but all he got at the top of the search were old Reddit threads theorizing about which historical figure he could have been, and celebrity news sites spouting completely absurd clickbait-type theories about his past.

Is Danny Phantom Napoleon's son?

Could Danny Phantom be Related to George Washington?

New Theory Suggests Danny Phantom is Alexander the Great!

Yeah, like Danny was leading legions of ghosts around Europe anytime soon.

As Danny wracked his brain for what the hell he'd done to deserve the wrath of having his classmates stare at him like he was some sort of weird alien species and everyone was plotting on how to initiate first contact, the side door opened and the professor came darting in the hall with a stack of folders all but falling out of his hands and a muttering of breathy, "sorry, sorry," light on his lips.

The muttering broke out into jilted, uncomfortable laughter, and Danny still couldn't help the feeling that they were laughing at him. 

He tried to brush that off as just the remnants of his high school on him and keep his attention focused on his short, salt-and-pepper-haired professor who looked like he couldn't remember if he was going to a beach party or Burning Man today, and decided to dress for both. 

Yang put the manila folders down on the front table, miraculously without spilling any of the contents inside, set his bag down on the rolling chair beside him, and picked up a piece of chalk to face the board.

He held a hand up and began writing Chemistry 101 — Stoichiometry on the board.

Behind Danny, the snickers grew louder. 

Was there some inside joke that he just wasn't getting? Had his classmates prepared some sort of prank for the teacher today and Danny hadn't read the email? Was it April Fool's Day, even though logic and reasoning told Danny that it was only October?

"Sorry I was late, everyone," Yang began. "Now if you don't mind, I want to begin by going over a few problems from last night's assignment. I noticed a pattern in the problems everyone was getting wrong..."

Someone coughed rather obnoxiously behind him.

Danny felt ice begin to build in his stomach. 

"...so as you can see here, I noticed a lot of people forgot to calculate the used excess of iron to find the amount of excess reactants. Remember, guys, you can't just subtract the bigger and smaller masses in the problem..."

Another obnoxious cough. 

Yang didn't break stride. "...you have to actually convert it to moles and set up your mole ratio, and then convert back to grams. I mentioned this in class but it seemed like too many of you—"

"Professor Yang?" the impatient voice of Brittany, one of his classmates, said from behind.

The class broke out in a fit of whispers and giggles, this time not even trying to hide their restlessness.

"What is it?" Yang turned around, his chalk still hovering on the board.

And then he looked at Danny. His eyes bugged out like a cartoon, sticking out beyond the rims of his glasses. His jaw opened and closed like a fish, and he dropped the chalk on the floor.

Now, the class was roaring with noise.

Danny stared eye-to-eye with the professor for ten seconds or ten minutes. He didn't know which, and it didn't matter anyway, because then Yang's thin lips opened to exclaim a word that may as well have electrocuted him all over again:

"Phantom?" 

Confusion and panic hit Danny like a sledgehammer.

How did Yang know he was Phantom? Had he been revealed? Did everyone know he was Phantom?

And then he heard the whispers. 

"It's really him! It's Phantom!"

"Why is he here?"

"It's Phantom!"

No!

No!

How did everyone know his secret?

Danny had to stop this.

He had over four years of hiding his ghost half from his parents, the world, and most impressively, his parents. Over the years, he'd honed his ability at lying and using his silver tongue to smooth over situations with such practiced ease, he was expecting his Oscar in the mail any day now.

Which is why, like an utter pro, he jumped up from his seat and shouted, "It's a lie, I'm not a ghost!"

The room went silent, and then was launched into a frenzy.

"Phantom!"

"Is he delusional?"

"It's really him! It's Phantom!"

His panic was bordering on hysteria as it stampeded over him, beating his core so furiously that Danny thought it was going to jump through his ribcage.

He stood, his gloved hands held out in front of him as he began his best at pleading with the masses, but before he could grovel too much, Professor Yang's voice sliced through him like a knife, calling out, "Phantom! What are you doing in my class?"

Wait...

Gloved hand?

Danny looked at his hands again. They were gloved.

And glowing.

The relief was so heavy on his shoulders, his back, and every inch of his skin. It was also mortifying.

Because here he was, in his Chemistry 101 class not as Fenton, but as Phantom. 

"Holy shit," Danny muttered. 

What. The. Hell.

No, really.

What the hell?

How was this happening?

Had he really been so tired that he'd forgotten to change out of his Phantom form after Skulker's fight?

No, hang on—had he been walking around in his Phantom form all morning?

How had he not noticed?

Then all the memories came flying back to him at once. The bagel guy acting weird, staring at him like he wasn't sure if he should seriously give a ghost a bagel because "Do ghosts need to eat? Is human food poison?"

And then the girl. She hadn't screamed because she nearly crashed into a stranger, she screamed and threw her phone in the air because she'd nearly crashed into Phantom. And that's why she was recording him after, too. She was recording Phantom, a ghost that wasn't native to this college town.

Danny thought he'd die of cringe-fail right there because that meant she also recorded the biker crashing into a parked car and was probably uploading it to TikTok later. He was sure it would be trending in minutes.

That was, if she hadn't already uploaded it to Tiktok, and it wasn't already trending. His phone suddenly felt heavy in his pocket. 

He looked around at the faces of intrigue and excitement, feebly attempting to squash the anxiety that was currently tap dancing over his skin.  Okay, so his initial attempt at acting hadn't gone so well. That was okay; nobody could be perfect all the time. If he just channeled the inner cool and suave hero that he was, he could totally save the situation.

For sure.

He floated a few feet in the air. His legs felt awkward sprawled out, and he tried to form a ghost-tail, but somehow his sense of self was too strong for that today. No matter, to balance it out, he splayed his arms out wide and began doing jazz hands, saying, "It's me! Danny Phantom! Just here checking your classroom for ghosts!" 

There was a moment of collective pause before his brain caught up with what his mouth said, and then he scrambled, making a big show of ducking around the room to search for...ghosts, or something. He lowered to the floor to check under the auditorium chairs, flew to the front of the room to peek around the tables, and finally went up to the ceiling to glance around the four corners of the room.

Once he felt embarrassed enough, he stopped in the center of the room, puffed out his chest, and said, "Good news, citizens! There are no ghosts in this room!"

Whispers and mutters once again broke out from his classmates, along with a few giggles. In the front of the classroom, Yang's head was craned up to look at him, his expression showing pure bafflement. 

Okay, Danny was bombing this set. He was catching onto the vibe of the room, and had come to this very astute conclusion: there was no saving this. 

Time to abort the mission.

"Well, that will be all! Have a fun class learning about chemistry!" 

And then, without another word, he jetted through the wall and into the hallway of the building, turning invisible immediately. Fortunately, with classes having started several minutes ago, the corridors were mostly empty. Only a few stragglers remained, booking it down the halls and trying to duck inconspicuously into their classrooms. 

Danny cut around a corner of the hall where, thankfully, no one was standing. That didn't stop him from triple-checking over his shoulder (it was just the water fountain, Danny) before he let his ring wash over him.

Then, when he was sure he was human again this time, he ran down the hall and pushed open the auditorium door to his class which, by the looks of things, hadn't calmed down from their encounter yet.

The door hit the wall with a bang—oops, he thought he hadn't pushed so hard—and then every head was turned to him.

"Sorry!" Danny rubbed the back of his neck and gestured vaguely to the clock on the wall. "I lost track of time."

The room was...silent. Incredibly, confoundingly silent. 

That wasn't good.

On instinct, Danny glanced down again to make sure that he was wearing his red hoodie and blue jeans and not his Phantom black and white jumpsuit. He was, in fact, wearing the right clothes. And out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the glint of his black bangs.

So then, what the fuck?

Alright, there was no need to panic. He was human, his classmates were human, they'd just met Phantom, and now Danny was busting in the classroom late. It wouldn't be the first time he was late to class, anyway. Lots of students were late for chemistry! 

With his brain sufficiently pep-talked, he pointed as inconspicuously to his seat as he could and said, "I'll just...take my seat." 

No one responded, so he took that as his cue to begin his walk of shame up the steps of the auditorium aisles to his usual seat near the front, which was still amazingly void of students anywhere near it.

"Phantom?" a voice rang out from the spattering of students around the room.

Danny missed the next step and ate shit on the floor. His bag hit his back heavily, and he could have sworn his shoe nearly flew off his feet. He scrambled to stand, his hand missing the railing only once, before he managed to stand back proud and tall. Sort of. His backpack had slid off one shoulder, and his body was hunched forward and he tried to regain his breath because holy shit, it actually really hurt for his torso to land on the corner of the step.

He rubbed his sternum, sure it was going to bruise, and coughed out, "Uh—what?"

"Phantom!" the voice, now too familiar, repeated. "You're him. Phantom."

Danny glanced up, and dread not only slammed into him with the force of a semi, but also backed up and floored it into his soul again. And again.

Because that voice was none other than his Chem 101 buddy, Cam.

No, Danny was a magnificent actor. He surely could save this one.

What did people always say? Something about the third try being a charm?

He could really use a charm right now. Unfortunately, Murphy seemed keen on watching him suffer instead.

"No—no way! I'm not a ghost! I'm totally human, guys! See?" Danny said with quite a lot of conviction, waving his hands beside his body like some sort of circus display.

It was so conclusive of a performance, that Cam simply laughed. 

Shit. This was not how he wanted today to go at all.

"I can't believe I never put it together before! Did people really buy that in your hometown?" 

"What act? I'm not acting!" Danny insisted.

But his classmates, it seemed, were even less convinced. 

"Seriously, it's so obvious."

"How did no one notice?"

"They're literally the same person it's crazy."

"What? No! No we're not the same person!" Danny insisted, trying not to sound desperate and hopelessly failing. "He's my—uh—twin? Yeah, that. He's my twin."

"He's obviously not," a classmate said.

"He is. He died in the womb," Danny refuted.

"Okay, now you're just being ridiculous."

"Does it sound better or worse if I say that my mother drank ectoplasmic smoothies while she was pregnant and that's why he turned into a ghost?"

"Fenton!" Professor Yang called out.

Danny felt his blood turn so cold they started forming frost in his veins. 

And then, he refused to look down because he was pretty sure ice crystals were glueing his feet to the floor.

In his panic, he'd totally forgotten that this was, in fact, a classroom. With a professor. And not just any professor, his chemistry professor. As in, the guy that had the sole power of crushing all of Danny's dreams of working for NASA via the power of the curve.

Yang took a step back, colliding with the chalkboard behind him and smearing white dust all over his brightly-colored shirt. But he ignored this, instead finding it more pertinent to fold his arms and regard Danny with a look of pure incredulation. "Are you really Phantom?"

"What? No!" Danny said. However, as luck would have it, that gasping answer caused him to inhale the wrong way, and coughs shot up his throat to overtake his body.

And then like the valiant superhero he was, he began having a coughing fit. In front of his classmates.

He knew Sam and Tucker always called him a dork, but this was really unfair.

"You okay, Phantom?" one student asked.

Danny tried to argue, "I'm not Phantom," but unfortunately for him, he hadn't stopped coughing yet.

Taking his silence for a confirmation that he was in fact the elusive ghost known as Phantom, another classmate commented, "I didn't know Phantom breathed."

Not-so-quiet whispers and mutters broke out around the class at once discussing theories of his cardiovascular system.

All while Danny was doubled over, trying desperately to reclaim what little of his dignity was still left. As well as reclaim some of the oxygen that his body seemed more than willing to push away for some reason.

Seriously, was he out of karma yet? 

Okay, Universe, if this is your way getting back at me for reading the Cliffnotes of that book for the essay last night, I get it. Cheating is bad, blah blah blah. I'm very sorry in a deeply remorseful way, so can we please stop ruining my life now?

"...so he wouldn't need to breathe!" A classmate's voice had stepped above the rest.

"That's what I said!"

"Dude, he's literally fallen asleep on my floor once. I'm telling you he needs to breathe."

That voice must have been Cam's.

Danny took a deep breath, regaining control of his lungs. "Wait, guys!"

But it was too late. And, oh god, why were people now giggling over their phones? Had someone taken a video of him earlier? Was he trending online right now?

If this got back to Sam and Tucker, he was never going to live this down. 

"Okay, okay!" Yang's voice rose in volume. "Class, settle down!"

The class went silent.

"Alright, I know we are all curious to know about Fenton's secret double life—"

"I don't have a secret double life!"

"Sure you don't, Phantom," Cam said.

"—But please, we do actually have quite a bit of material to cover today, judging by the very impressive homework scores from last night. And, by the way, class, might I remind you all that my office hours are on Mondays and Wednesdays from two to four. I won't name names, but I'll just say that if you need to make it a point to come for some review, you know who you are."

Was Yang looking at him?

"Regardless, if Fenton is done screwing around with his ghost powers, we do need to get through the material sometime this year."

"But I'm not a ghost!" Danny protested.

"Dude, you're standing in a block of ice," a classmate argued. 

"Holy shit, he froze his legs to the floor!"

Danny felt frost on his cheeks. "The A/C system is broken! Everyone knows that!"

"The ice is glowing." 

"So? A lot of ice glows."

"Fenton, please." Yang had never sounded so disappointed in his life. "I'd expect anyone in this class to know that ice is made of which elements?"

Danny hated where this was going. "Hydrogen and oxygen."

"And please describe the bonds to me."

"The hydrogens have a double bond with the oxygen, and then there's two pairs of electrons leftover."

"What shape?" Yang pressed, pushing his wiry glasses up his nose.

"Bent."

"Good, thank you. So we have two hydrogen and one oxygen in an H20 molecule, yes? And so tell me, would that configuration with those two elements cause anything to glow?"

"Um, no." Danny had the sudden urge to die. "Water does not glow." 

"But, interestingly, ectoplasmic water does glow, correct? Because....?"

They'd touched over ecton science earlier in the semester. "Because ectons are larger and can sit closer to the nucleus which results in atoms fusing and due to the greater amounts of energy they emit, some this excess energy can be seen in our visible spectrum."

Yang smiled and then gestured to the seat devoid of any humans near it that Danny, previously Phantom, had been sitting in at the start of class. "Thank you, Mr. Phantom. Now, if we're all done dillydallying, we have some stoichiometry to go over."

It took Danny more than a second of the awkward silence that followed to realize that oh yeah, his feet were literally frozen in place.

"So..." He glanced around the room, meeting the expectant gazes of his classmates. "Just to be clear, none of you care that I might potentially be..."

A ghost?

Phantom?

Some sort of weird mutant hybrid thing?

"Danny, you're the only one making a big deal out of this," a classmate answered.

Danny guffawed.

"Yeah, it's whatever. You're dead, so what? We're all dead in college. You're not special."

"I have a biology lecture later right after this for my weed-out course and going to that is basically the same thing as dying, I'm pretty sure," Cam joined in.

Danny resisted the urge to smack his forehead with his open palm.

He turned back to Yang. "And if I were maybe the—uh—being that kind of has saved humanity from being invaded by ghosts give or take one or two times, would that maybe get me extra credit on the next test?"

"No."

Well, that was a brutally quick response.

Danny shrugged. "It was worth a shot." He reigned in on his core's fluttering, and the ice began to melt around his feet. 

He tried to ignore the obvious phone flipped his way as he did.

Shit, this was going to be all over social media later. How embarrassing. He could only hope that Tucker wouldn't find it. But who was he kidding? If he checked his phone, he bet he already had about sixteen messages from Tucker laughing at his misfortune.

Once he finished freeing himself from his ecto-ice like some ghost toddler, he began a very graceful and humiliating trek to his seat, complete with multiple instances of him bumping into chairs as he trudged down the row. When he finally reached his seat, it was just his luck that the rusty hinges let out an obnoxious creaking wail as he lowered himself down. He winced, hissing out apologies, but in the silent hall, the sounds of the withered metal were almost too much to bear.

It was for that reason that his entire body refused to unclench until the professor was well underway with his lecture about excess reactants and whatever else they were going to be quizzed on next week.

He tried his best to pay attention and not check his phone for the no doubt endless notifications. He'd already made his presence too obvious in this hall, anyway. Professor Yang would have been thoroughly annoyed if, after everything, Danny decided to spend the remainder of the class on his phone.

Miraculous as it was, he did manage to survive the lecture.  

After class when he finally was able to check his phone, he saw that the world was too focused on the viral posts about Phantom being spotted outside of Amity Park to give any attention to the little itty bitty post of Danny, in human form, frozen to his lecture hall floor.

As it turned out, that post only had two likes—one of them was Tucker—and one comment from a random user reading, "lol why phantom freeze that dweeby kid to the ground???"

Danny didn't resist the urge to facepalm this time, and in fact did it so hard he was surprised he didn't give himself a concussion.

Well.

At least his secret was safe.

****

"You really don't care that I'm Phantom, do you?" Danny asked, looking up from the barely clean dorm room floor that his back was currently stretched out against.

"No?" Cam glanced from his notebook. "Why?"

"Uh, I figured the whole part where I'm a part ghost would have been a little weird?"

Cam's thin brows shot up to his hairline. "You're only a part ghost?"

"Yeah? Why, what did you think?"

"Oh, I just figured you were legit dead or something."

Cam uttered those words with such nonchalance that Danny reacted immediately, shooting up from the floor so hard he accidentally switched into his Phantom form.

"You thought I was dead?" His voice echoed when he spoke, and his ghostly tail wiggled underneath him. 

Cam's pointed look and handwave were explanation enough.

"Okay, you know what? That's fair." Danny swiped his notebook off the floor and forced his adrenaline-spiked body back into human form. "That's actually super fair."

"Yeah I mean, being a ghost is sort of Phantom's whole shtick, anyway."

"Right but like...wait, you didn't even care that you thought I was a fully dead and deceased ghost taking college classes? And you still wanted to do homework with me tonight?"

Cam, once again, only gave a very lazy shrug. "Well, yeah. I just want to pass this class, dude, and we've already established that we should tag-team team this class instead of trying to rawdog it by ourselves."

"I mean...I guess?" Danny blinked at his friend, his mind reeling with astonishment. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Says the ghost-human person or whatever. Now, are we gonna finish this prelab assignment, or are you gonna keep having an existential crisis about your place in the Universe?" 

Danny slid back on the floor, propping his knees up to lay his notebook against. "No, you're right. We need to finish this prelab."

"Thank fucking god."

****

[read more of my stuff here]

[aramynx]

ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR

KATSUKI BAKUGO X READER

You and Katsuki have known each other since middle school, and have always notoriously been at each others' throats as naturally gifted students. Things take a frustrating turn when you both end up at UA, as those darned teenage hormones begin to run high…

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

previous • part 2 • part 3

“You look like a dork.” Katsuki said, glancing over at you as you walked out towards the training grounds.

It was your first time wearing your hero costumes and the excitement hadn’t quite had enough time to settle down- you were thrilled! Katsuki’s hero costume was just as intimidating as he had always said it would be, with comically large grenade-shaped gauntlets adorning his forearms, and some metal knee pads for some reason. What really puzzled you was the ‘headgear’ he was sporting.

“You seriously kept those in the design? I thought it was ‘vandalism’.” You giggled, pointing at the spiky plates portruding from the sides of his head, contrasting his ashy blonde hair with bright orange and black.

•

Over the summer you had gone to his house to see Mitsuki, who had invited you over to celebrate you, Katsuki, and Izuku getting into U.A, only to find him hiding away at his desk sketching out designs for his hero costume. All of them were quite similar, baggy trousers and a tank top, each with a different variation of accessories or items.

“The hell are you looking at?” He asked, staring up at you.

“Your costume designs, duh.” You responded, “What if you added something like this?”

You leaned over one of his rough sketches that he had seemingly discarded in favour of another and picked up a nearby pencil, drawing on the spiky head accessory.

“Stop vandalising my designs.” He had ‘shouted’ quietly, snatching the paper back from you and crumpling it up before he tossed it off of his desk, landing it in small bin beside his desk.

•

You smirked, knowing he had probably gone out of his way to pull it out once you and Izuku had gone home. Despite having initially drawn them on as a joke of sorts, they did turn out kind of cool; they blended well with his hair, at least! His sour expression formed a scowl again.

“Shut up. I just forgot to erase that part when I submitted it!” He defended, “You don’t have room to talk!”

You shrugged as Katsuki angrily pointed towards the ”X” designs adorning the sleeves of your costume.

•

You had been sketching out a design during one of your last days in middle school, keeping at it until classes were over for the day. Katsuki had come over and looked, saying that your design was lame, and scribbled some crosses onto the sleeves when you asked, “Well, what would you add then, smart guy?”

•

“I just thought they looked cool, Kats, no shame in that.” You smiled, “Does it make me look intimidating?”

“Of course it doesn’t, have you seen your damn face?!” He smirked mockingly, poking your cheek rather aggressively with his new rough gloves.

“Guess I’m just too cute to be all scary and intimidating, unlike somebody I know.” You responded, saying his hand away quickly before you jogged over to your newly formed friend group, leaving a scowling Katsuki behind.

He was starting to get frustrated with all your teasing; the way you knew exactly how to get under his skin no matter what he said to you- it was annoying and he hated that you were almost always right. Even though you had known each other for years, it was only recently that Katsuki noticed that you were… actually kind of…cute? He felt his cheeks tingle a little as he watched you run over to your friends, smiling brightly and bobbing up and down on your feet in excitement, the way you spun around to show off your costume to them- even stopping to draw attention to the crosses detailing the sleeves.

“Too damn cute.” Katsuki thought to himself, almost allowing a small smile to creep up onto his face before he shook himself out of it.

Having these thoughts all of a sudden was unusual- he had never looked at you like that before. Katsuki didn’t know what changed, but over the last few days he had started to see you differently, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t need this right now. What he needed was to focus on becoming the best hero he could be.

…Right?

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.* *.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

taglist: @sikuthealien

[hotvintagepoll]

Sid James (Hell Drivers, Carry On Camping, Carry On Doctor, Three Hats for Lisa, Bless This House)—Sid James has the kind of scrungly face that looks like a guy has spent his youth boxing but now breeds canaries. Yes, he became legendary as the kind of bloke who is always happy to eye up the ladies and pull a fast one on the system, but he could also do terrifying gangster and comforting dad who might grumble a bit but will always be there for his family.

Conrad Veidt (The Cabinet of Dr Caligari, The Man Who Laughs)— oh my god look at him in Caligari. I specifically said that he's from this because him as Cesare is just. MMMMM. he's so wet and sad and scrungly. and little. he's like a kitten left alone in a dark alley except he's also killed people (not his fault). something wrong with him (Cesare). as for Conrad himself. oh my god look at him... them big ole eyes and the walk of some fucking thing creature

This is round 2 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Sid James:

Conrad Veidt:

I mean just look at him. The wet cat energy. The ghostly eyes. He did the monster mash before anybody. Where would we be today without him, he even has one (1) song on spotify. I regularly forget he's dead and wonder what his next movie will be. He slays in any role. The Ultimate Skrunkle.

He's the ultimate scrungly to me, the basis for many of our scrungly guys today. he's so skinny and pale and he wears so much eye makeup

He was THE bisexual goth tumblr sexyman of early film. Seriously the old timey Tumblrinas would send him fanmail about wanting him to choke them. He inspired the designs for the Joker and Jafar,and was nicknamed the “Demon of the Silver Screen” for his horror roles. His first wife divorced him for crossdressing. Hitler sent him hate mail for speaking out about antisemitism. He really loved his wife and told the Germans to go fuck themselves when they threatened his job if he didn’t divorce her for being Jewish. Just look at me and tell me this guy isn’t scrungly he’s like a personification of the emo kid from Horton hears a who

[cw the below clip depicts assault/abduction and could be scary for some viewers]

[jasontoddweek2025]

Feature Post

Congratulations to everyone who did Jason Todd Week 2025! (We will also have a summer event, so look out for that!)

Here we have a list of works (fanart and fanfic) by some of the awesome creators who participated in this event. Levels of detail vary by what was submitted to the feedback form. Please check the tags for warnings!

Without further ado...

Lycanwing (@star-wars-lycanwing-bat, Star_Wars_Lycanwing_Bat on AO3) - Series

Road to Murder - On his way to murder the Joker, Jason questions his life's choices. (Drive)

Olive Branches - After a long day, all Jason wants is to go back to his apartment, but a little bird tries to get him to join in on family movie night. (Chronic Pain)

Monster - A half dragon kills Joker and reveals himself to Bruce. (Monster)

Isn't It Lovely, All Alone? - Jason is buried alive and he dies but the pit keeps bringing him back. (Grave, Buried Alive, Immortal Jason Todd)

Hello, Welcome Home - The aftermath of day 5 AKA The family cuddle pile. (Family)

Feline Therapy - Jason rescues a cat but what he doesn't know is that the cat is Tim. (Enemy to Caretaker)

Another Version of Me - Jason get triggered and Dick helps his brother realise that he is loved. (Return)

Birdie (@birdiedoesdc, a_alene on AO3) - Series

N.J.S.A. 39:3-10 - Drive

do you still wake up reaching for an empty space? - Chronic Pain

buried, banging at your door - Monster, League of Assassins

i'm gonna kill you if you don't beat me to it - Immortal Jason Todd

this live, throbbing age that brawls - Jason is a Literature Nerd

mechanically up all night, though - Red Hood and the Outlaws

i'd save a life if i thought it belonged to you - Lifeline

whenicarusflies (@whenicarusflies, whenicarusflies on AO3) - Series

We walked as tall as the skyline - Drive, Time Travel, The Batmobile Tires

when i take a breath I drown - Fear Toxin

How can I then return in happy plight? - League of Assassins

always and forever the last day alive - Grave, Buried Alive, Immortal Jason Todd

Family Problems - Family, No Capes AU

could you give me something for the pain - Enemy to Caretaker, Lifeline

you can't wake up, this is not a dream - Return, Outsider POV, Crime Alley

Chaos (Fic)/Lito (Art) (@freedom-of-speech333, Freedom_of_speech333 on AO3) - Series

The Loss of Tires (The Return of Hope) - The Batmobile Tires

Laughter Follows Me Back To Life - Joker

The Ghost of Who I Was/The Most of Who You Loved - Supernatural AU

I'm Still Here - Immortal Jason Todd

I'm Only Here For The Books - Jason is a Literature Nerd

You’re My Brother, After All - Enemy to Caretaker

The Life, Death, and Second Life of Jason Todd - Outsider POV

basalting (@basalting) - Series

late night drive - Drive

a good fuckin' day - Joker

cuckoo's egg - Supernatural AU

rest your weary heart - Grave

buy one, get one 50% off! - Family

don't think nothin' of it - Red Hood and the Outlaws - Implied Roy/Kori/Jason

it takes a village - Outsider POV, Crime Alley

Stormz (@stormz369) - Masterlist

Day 1 - Flashbacks to Jason's early years with Batman + Reader finding out he was killed. (Batmobile Tires) - x Reader

Day 2 - Reader helps Jason deal with a PTSD nightmare. (Joker) - x Reader

Day 3 - A civilian kid is afraid of Red Hood & Jason processes his feelings about it. (Monster) - x Reader

Day 4 - Jason + Reader at his grave. (Grave) - x Reader

Day 5 - Damian designs scar cover up tattoos for Jason (Family, Jason is a Literature Nerd) - x Reader

Lark Alliance (@snowberriesromanoff, lyricalark on AO3)

Day 7: come in she said i'll give you shelter from the storm - Jason Todd, the Narrows, and something like faith. A character study of Jason's pre-Robin years and the people who help him survive. (Crime Alley) - Selina Kyle/Holly Robinson

nursal1060 (@nursal1060writes, nursal1060 on AO3)

Day 2: The Pain Fades When We're Together - Chronic Pain - JayTim

salem (@worlds-okayest-fag, salemisntdead on AO3) - Series

Carry on my wayward son, there will be peace when you are done - Basically jason gets kidnapped by dick (not that he knows its dick lol). (Drive)

don’t need advice for my pain (it's making me more insecure) - Jason has a not fun night and wont ask for help. (Chronic Pain)

jason todd and the no good terrible very bad day - Supernatural AU

A minute from home (but so far from it) - Jason stuck in a time loop digging himself out of his grave over and over again. (Grave, Immortal Jason Todd)

ohana means family and family means nobody gets left behind (except tim) - Jason, Tim and Dick on a Batburger run for a family movie night, Dick and Jason argue about Disney movies and they accidentally leave Tim behind. (Family, No Capes AU)

And though I am crying and bleeding and barely breathing (youre killing me) - Absolute angst piece about Jason having a mental breakdown in his bathroom bc trauma. (Scars)

i don't believe in luck (against the sun we're the enemy) - Sentient Gotham AU where Jason is Gotham's chosen knight. (Outsider POV)

FaalThien (@faalthien, Faal on AO3)

Day 1 - Time Travel

Day 2 - Joker - JayDick

-

Day 4 - Immortal Jason

Day 5 - Monster, Jason is a Literature Nerd

Day 6 - Scars

Day 7 - Return

[dailydemonspotlight]

dude i fucking love your series so much, every time you post i get so excited i love learning even more about the demons in smt rahhhhh. anyways can you do lilith? i love like loveeeee her new design in vengeance and think she looks so cool :3.

Lilith - Day 76

Race: Night/Qadištu

Arcana: Devil

Alignment: Neutral-Chaos

July 22nd, 2024

Abrahamic mythology has a lot of rather infamous figures who lay on the more... 'evil' side of things, so to speak. Of course, we have demons like none other than Lucifer himself, to the demons of the Ars Goetia, to even more morally gray figures like Mastema. However, a character that is among the most interesting (and confusing) in the several variations of Abrahamic myth has to be Adam's first wife, a woman who refused to be subservient to her husband- the powerful turned-demon, Lilith.

First off, I just wanna say that I ADORE her redesign as a Qadištu in Vengeance. As someone who just started playing Vengeance for the first time, I love all of the Qadištu almost equally, but Lilith's redesign hits incredibly hard for someone who was already a massive fan of her original design. Her joining this quartet of demonesses is an incredibly nice idea, and I'm, again, a major fan of her redesign. Even though all of the Qadištu originate from Abrahamic mythology, Lilith is a notably obvious example, though of course, this isn't the only design she's had throughout the series. She's had several redesigns, being one of the most recurring demons throughout the series- whether it be her full tits-out design in SMT I, to the most recurring design, her classic look originating from the Playstation port of SMT I, to even her incredibly alien design in SMT IV. Of course, like a lot of recurring demons, she's also one of the most iconic figures in Abrahamic mythology, so why don't we get into that?

Lilith's existence is somewhat contested in scholarly circles, being never actually mentioned in most translations of the Bible- in the original text, Lilith is used as a word for 'creature of the night,' literally translated to 'Night Monster,' though some translations also translate it as screech owl. Most knowledge of her as Adam's first wife appears to be based on extrapolations, as well as what can be seen almost as a plot hole in the Book of Genesis, as two differing creation myths seem to connect back to the idea that there was an 'Eve before Eve,' or 'first Eve.' In the story, while God was presenting animals to Adam, it's said that he may have presented another human to him due to contradictory accounts of the biblical text. This seems to be where Lilith comes into the Bible, being commonly believed to be a woman who refused to submit to Adam, and as such, left the Garden of Eden after failing to satisfy Adam and believing herself to be equal to him. This led to Eve coming into being, a subservient being to Adam. Don't look at me, sexism was just... a thing back in the day.

After her escape, Lilith bore several children, though she was threatened by an angel that they would kill those children. After said children were, well, slaughtered, she grew furious and began to birth demon children known as Lilim... who probably deserve their own spotlight somewhere down the line. It turns out that the demons who began to replace her children were powerful enough to go toe-to-toe with the angels, and joined the demonic ranks somewhere down the line... I think. As revenge on top of this, Lilith also began to ruthlessly target children, apparently being responsible for stillbirths, and if one wasn't to circumcise their child if they were born a boy, she would invoke her wrath unto them as well. How? I dunno! But I guess that's why people are circumcised. How do these always eventually come back to screwing with the genitals? Whatever.

However, where Lilith herself came from is actually an ancient Sumerian text, where she's depicted as a succubus and demoness who first appears in the text 'Gilgamesh and the Huluppu Tree.' In the text, she appears as a demon who builds a house in the domain of a goddess of eroticism, right under the titular Huluppu tree. Gilgamesh, a grand hero depicted in many Abrahamic texts, appears and strikes down the house and Lilith herself for sullying the garden. This story paints her as a sort-of symbol of feminine rebellion, something which would be convenient and easy to extrapolate into being Adam's first wife. Given the connections between Sumer and most Abrahamic religions, it was easy to see the purported first wife of Adam before Eve being, well, Lilith! Recently, the few sources we have on Lilith, however, have been heavily disputed, but as one of the only origins I can work off of, I have to take what I can get.

Her scant references as 'Lilit' in the original Hebrew bible seem to have been what gave her life in the extrapolations, as even though she was referred to exactly once, her role in Sumerian mythology seemed to make a perfect connection to make her into Adam's first wife. Another source we can work off of for Lilith, past the Mesopotamian text, however, is that of an indisputable reference to her in none other than the Dead Sea Scrolls, being as follows.

And I, the Instructor, proclaim His glorious splendour so as to frighten and to te[rrify] all the spirits of the destroying angels, spirits of the bastards, demons, Lilith, howlers, and [desert dwellers] ... and those which fall upon men without warning to lead them astray from a spirit of understanding and to make their heart and their ... desolate during the present dominion of wickedness and predetermined time of humiliations for the sons of lig[ht], by the guilt of the ages of [those] smitten by iniquity – not for eternal destruction, [bu]t for an era of humiliation for transgression.

This does seem to show that Lilith is a part of Abrahamic mythology, though some sources, such as several Rabbi, claim her not to be. It's a very complicated topic overall, as almost everything around Lilith tends to be- her murky stories seem to be based primarily off of educated guesses, unfortunately. However, with her being mentioned in one of the oldest surviving sources for Biblical study, she does appear to be, well, around, so to speak. While still vague and obscure, she's definitely a force that appears to exist.

Now, with all of that out of the way, her depictions in SMT are incredibly varied, but I'd like to specifically point to her in SMT IV, being a tempter who brings Walter to her side. A lot more can be said of her depictions, but this DDS is growing rather long, so I'll have to cut it short. However, given her calling to Flynn and Walter to partake in the apple of knowledge, I love the allusion she gives to her role as Adam's first wife, and perhaps even being the tempter of Adam himself to eat the apple.

[phillipfancypants]

I wish I knew people irl who like Stormlight so i shall submit you all to my ramblings instead.

This song is so Kaladin coded and I feel like people more creative than me need to be aware of its existence.

My personal interpretation of the lyrics below the cut:

“There’s a voice that pulls me stumbling through a symphony // and the less of it I need the more I get” (the calling of honor and his need to do the right thing, even when it always ends up with him worse off than he started)

“Till I’m swept up by the shape of all the centuries // like an echo in the chambers of my chest” (his connection to the history of Roshar as a Knight Radiant)

“I think she fears I’ll be a servant to my history” (the “she” in this song reads very much as Syl to me. This is referring to every time Kal goes into a dark place when he thinks of all the people he’s lost)

“Or worse a slave to someone else’s misplaced doubts” (he’s often feeling he has to prove himself as worthy)

“And so I try to hard to kill what’s out to kill me// until I’m blind and hiding in the lion’s mouth” (he’s often blinded by his duty to protect himself and his companions that he ends up in over his head. This reads very much like book 1 to me with the bridge maneuvers)

“And the words she aches to hear pour through my canyon//and they’re singing in the caverns of my limbs” (the words are the ideals, also caverns makes me think of the chasms )

“And though I do my best to try to understand them // they only follow me like vultures in the end” (most of book 3&4 have Kaladin struggling to find and speak the fourth ideal. Also the symbolism of vultures being animals that prey on the dead. Kaldin’s 4th ideal is that there will be those he cannot protect, and the words follow him like vultures, surrounding those he’s lost)

“I once read that I should write something worth reading // or I should do something worth writing about” (these feel like the influence of Lirin and Dalinar on his life, Lirin wanting him to help people through the study of medicine and Dalinar encouraging him to join him in battles)

“As my ears they buzz like bees upon the ceiling//I start to pour a little more than I’m allowed” (all the feelings of what people want him to be and what he himself wants to be are overwhelming)

“I said our hearts know deeper seasons than our memories//she said this harvest might sustain us for a year” (this one is weird but I think it’s saying that the gut feelings of why you make the choices you do are more important that the logical reasons. Kaladin nearly breaks his oaths a couple of times doing what’s right, and Syl is telling him that this way of living isn’t sustainable for either of them)

“And of all the thousand ways the world could tempt me//I’ve never met a better fighter than her fear” (the world seems to be designed to make Kaladin give up, which is Syl’s biggest fear)

“So as I try to breathe the air that she is breathing//and we dance a lightless dance upon my floor” (idk I haven’t found a way to connect this yet other than that air and dance are often associated with Syl)

“I am yearning to tell her she’s all I’m needing//but I’m drowned out by all the noise outside the door” (the noise outside the door being all the directions Kal is being pulled in between his family, his squires, all of urithuru, his own depression, and everything else that I’m forgetting)

“Carried by the current of the morning//miles below the surface of the dawn” (Kaladin’s depression is like night, and the dawn is the light of being able to move on. Being miles below the surface, he knows a better world is up there, but it seems impossibly far)

“This is not the place that I was born in//that doesn’t mean it’s not the place where I belong” (he was raised a dark-eyed surgeon’s son and now is a soldier and a symbol of hope to his country. I love that the song ends with him coming to terms with his place in the grand scheme of things, and knowing that he is enough and he can protect those he loves)

[justplainwhump]

Mac

A short character intro of some sort, for the character that has lurked in the background of Adrian and Blanca's story since their very first chapter. The sixth guard dog.

[Pet Safety Masterlist]; this piece is referencing [Favor].

Content / warnings: BBU, (indirect) dehumanisation, captivity, briefly referenced/implied noncon.

In the nights in his cell - or kennel, rather, he didn't know why but there was a difference and it made his stomach uneasy - Mac had a lot of time for thoughts. And he used it. He thought about fights, about technique and strategies, about his opponents and their strengths and weaknesses. He thought about winning, about the feeling of triumph, and how stale it was. Like the tasteless, grayish mass that came from a dispenser in the kennel wall, a viscous nutri-shake, that fell into a stainless steel bowl welded to the floor. Victories in his fights were just the same. Bland, insipid, and utterly necessary to survive. 

Mac pulled down the lever and watched more of the nutri-shake fall into the bowl. Sometimes he thought about how long he'd have to hold it down until the room would be flooded. Sometimes he wondered, if the person he'd been before would've known how to calculate it. The pet he was now sure did not. He stared down at the food below him, let himself sink to his knees before he bowed down to eat it. He'd never been further from being a person.

He'd been allowed to eat at a table, real food, with taste and consistency, back at his owner's place. He'd had the others to talk to, Guards, like him. They hadn't been what people called *friends*, he wagered, at least he hadn't actually liked them, but they had existed together, shared a life and the dedication a common goal - to keep their master safe and satisfied. They hadn't been friends, but in lack of better terms, they'd been a pack.

Here, everyone like him was an adversary, who'd fight him to the death the next day or another. And those not like him were the ones who didn't care about if the others died, or Mac did.

It was exhausting. A feeling that wasn't going to bring him anywhere. That was why when Mac had time for thoughts, he didn't think too much about his pack. 

He thought about his owner.

—

Jack Donnell took great pride in his belongings, and that had always included his WRU-trained Guards. Six of them, all of the same height, featuring the same dark hair, same broad shoulders, same mannerisms. He employed a retired WRU Guard handler for some hours a week to make sure the Guards worked like one. He also bought the consulting services of a WRU Romantic Trainer - not for the Guards to be involved directly, but to make them part of intricate designed "scenes" that Mac learned to hate.

Jack wanted to be a ruler, a conqueror, and every once in a while he loved to dress his Pets up in accurate costumes, only to make them submit to him in every scenario possible.

Mac had endured. He'd been a good pet. Until the day a new business partner of Jack's had shown up with his Romantic.

Blanca.

Blanca was petite, with the sort of auburn hair that could look dark brown in one moment and light up like fire in another, with a seductive sway to her hips, full lips that curved into a knowing smile and clothes so tight they left nothing about her curves to the imagination.

Hot, Mac knew he was supposed to think. 

He didn't. 

Please spare her from this, he'd thought instead and closed his eyes. Prayed, almost. As if he knew, how to. 

As if there was a God who'd listen to a pet. No. Their only Gods were their owners.

And while her owner had all but fled the room and left his subject in the hand of another, Mac had stayed by the door, standing at attention, while he watched his master brutalize her.

It took hours.

And after Jack was done, he'd simply smiled to himself, sauntered towards Mac without another look at the broken figure of the Romantic behind him, and patted Mac's cheek. "Good boy," he'd said, and left. 

That moment had been the first in Mac's conscious life, that he'd felt something a Pet was never supposed to feel.

He'd felt hatred. Plain, pure, seething hatred, for the one man he was supposed to love. 

He'd felt it every day since.

-

--

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[docpiplup]

13th part of the bookscans of Al Andalus. Historical Figures, here's the previous part

Ibn Hafsun: the unredeemed rebel

There are historical figures whose lives go beyond what the most fantastic novel could be. This is the case of Ibn Hafsun, a rebel leader who, until the reign of Abd al-Rahman III, will keep the emirate and the Cordovan caliphate.

Muhammad I succeeded his father, Abd al-Rahman II, and since his accession to the throne the internal peace that al-Andalus had enjoyed until that time was broken. Toledo, with the help of Christian troops from the north, revolted, and after some initial successes, they were soundly defeated in the battle of Guazalete, with thousands of victims among the insurgents and his allies. The region of Mérida also rose under the command of Ibn Marwan al-Chillíquí, “the son of the Galician”, a muladí, to whom he submitted in first moment, and with which the emir will end up agreeing, maintaining this region a regime almost independent of Umayyad power. But it would be another muladí, the one who would raise the flag of rebellion in the mountainous areas from the south of al-Andalus, resisting the Cordoban forces for many years

Umar ben Hafsun was the son of a wealthy family. His father, a nobleman peasant, lived on the income provided by his possessions of Ronda. He was a muladí, let's say second generation, since his grandfather was the first convert to Islam in his family. They called him Cha'far al-Islamí, ““the new Muslim." Some Arab historians point out that the family descended directly from a Visigoth count, Alfonso.

Umar ben Hafsun was the eldest of two other brothers and always distinguished himself for having a very temperamental and impulsive character. One bad day he argued with a neighbor and the argument led to the impetuous young man killing him without mercy. Fearing the action of justice, his father, even disowning him, He sent a few of them to hide among the fragility of the mountains kilometers away from Ronda, in the same place where, years later, he would establish his headquarters. But that restless spirit was bored in those solitudes mountains and opted, in the company of some bandits, to carry out several blows by hand through the fields, until they captured him. It didn't come out at all badly, because the governor of Malaga, who knew nothing of the crime Ibn Hafsun had committed on the unfortunate neighbor, limited himself to giving him a sovereign beating.

In case things got worse, he decided to go to Africa. Once there he settled in the city of Tahart, where a compatriot who was tailor, took him as an apprentice. It was evident that the boy was not going to win life with the needle and fate wanted another Andalusian to pass through the workshop of tailor shop and struck up a conversation with Ibn Hafsun. They talked about the country and how, for a brave soul, it would be

easy to achieve great goals if he rose up in rebellion. -;You think, unhappy thing, that By handling the needle are you going to free yourself from misery? Go back to your country and wield the sword. You will be a fearsome adversary of the Umayyads and you will reign in a great nation. Something like that seems to have been said to him by the Andalusian traveler and it gave the tailor's apprentice something to think about. He decided to return home, take advantage of his father's protection. or take advantage of the protection of an uncle who was more tolerant than his father.

In the year 850 he returned and it was not difficult for him to gather around him a series of subjects who, like him, were willing to live outside the law. The environment was conducive to the designs of the future rebel. They frequented the southern districts the agitators and highwaymen, without the power center had enough strength to finish them off. Soon, he and his crew, established in an almost impregnable enclosure, perched on the heights of a rocky crag, the famous Bobastro, earned a reputation for daring and brave men, carrying out looting operations on the rich towns of the plain. So many blows of the hand ended up awakening the restlessness of Córdoba who sent an expedition under the command of one of the best generals of al-Andalus, Hashim ben Abd al-Aziz, who managed to get the rebel. Ibn Hafsun agreed to march to Córdoba and place himself at the service of the emir, and for a time, he belonged to the army, distinguishing himself in various actions of war, but that life of discipline on the one hand, and the limitations of citizen life for another, were not made for him. To this we must add the contempt that high court dignitaries felt for Muslims of recent conversion, which led to a discussion with the prefect of Córdoba. Ibn Hafsun fled to his Bobastro, in

those moments guarded by an Umayyad officer. He evicted him, he appropriated of his concubine and, as soon as his arrival was known, the crowd that had always accompanied him began to gather. Now, more than ever, he was determined to emancipate himself from Umayyad power and create an independent "principality".

They resumed the action, continued with the robberies and their good fortune made that several towns fell into their power: Auta, Mijas, Comares and perhaps the important stronghold of Archidona. Around the year 886 he helped another rebel like him that had become strong in Alhama, besieged by the Cordoban forces at command of the emir's son, al-Mundhir, who twice rejected the departure of the defenders of Alhama. But, after two months of siege, when the chances of success were in favor of Córdoba, al-Mundhir received the news of the death of his father and he had to leave to take over power, raising the siege of the city.

Al-Mundhir might have ended Ibn Hafsun's nightmare if he had not had such a short reign. Enterprising, brave and generous, the Umayyad prince died in just two years, in dramatic circumstances and so strange.

Meanwhile, Ibn Hafsun was making a name for himself, moving away from his image of robber. Now he was establishing himself as a politician and as a champion of the oppressed. Al-Mundhir was busy receiving the oath of allegiance and in thebcelebrations that were celebrated for his ascension to the emirate... and the rebel of Bobastro, a good orator, inflamed the spirits talk-

ing to free themselves from the oppressive yoke of the Umayyads, which overwhelmed them with taxes and despised all those who were not Arabs or Muslims always. His speech was very well received everywhere, especially among the muladíes, who saw in him their natural leader. There was no longer any talk other than Ibn Hafsun throughout the mountains, of his respect for women, of his sense of the justice that repressed any mischief or violence, of his respect for those who fought at his side. He had invented some military decorations, consisting of gold bracelets, which he gave to those who had fought with courage, in the middle of a solemn ceremony... He was already behaving like a true lord. At the same time, its area of influence was increasing, and his domains grew. He took Priego and reached Cabra. He took over the castle of Iznájar and left it in the hands of his supporters. It was becoming a real headache for the emirate.

Al-Mundhir went out to fight him a year after his accession to the throne. The Cordoban forces recovered the castle of Iznájar and the rebels wereb evicted towards Lucena, but these successes did not put an end to IbnvHafsun's activity. In the spring of 888 the emir, in person, besieged Archidona, captured the representative of Ibn Hafsun, another muladi, who ended up crucified among a pigband a dog. The city surrendered and its leaders ran the same luck, as well as other rebels faithful to the cause of Bobastro.

Al-Mundhir planned to deliver the final blow in the rebel's citadelband established his war camp at the foot of the imposing castle. Did the muladí got scared

seeing the Córdoban troops at the gates of his fortress, or did he believe that he would not have sufficient capacity to withstand a long siege? We will never know, but Ibn Hafsun entered into talks with the emir, promising to surrender whenever he and his family were offered privileged treatment in Córdoba. Al-Mundhir must have thought that this approach of his enemy was sincere and he wrote a letter in which he was promised immunity and total respect, sending it to him along with fifty mules to transport his belongings. But the temptation was stronger than the supposed good intentions of Ibn Hafsun. As the convoy ascended toward the steep Bobastro, the rebel who had arranged to stay with the emir, fled at night, caught up with the convoy and drove away the horsemen who accompanied him, requisitioned the cavalry and appropriated the gifts that al-Mundhir sent to the rebel's family.

Seeing himself mocked, the emir renewed the siege and swore not to move from there until he finished with Ibn Hafsun, but a few days later, al-Mundhir fell ill. made come from Córdoba to his brother Abd Allah to maintain the siege, but the arrival of the prince coincided with the death of the emir. The throne passed to Abd Allah, since the deceased had no children of age to succeed him. The emiral troops wanted continue the siege, burying al-Mundhir there, but Abd Allah did not seemed to agree with this idea, and in the end his opinion prevailed. He carried the body of his brother to take to Córdoba, and the siege of Bobastro was gotten up. The new emir requested Ibn Hafsun to refrain from harassing the funeral procession, and that his desire, as ruler, was to maintain good relations with him. Honored as an enemy to be reckoned with, the rebel

behaved like a gentleman respecting the troops who were retreating accompanying al-Mundhir's corpse.

Under Abd Allah, Ibn Hafsun's activity was incessant, making use of any means to maintain their domains, which extended from the south of Córdoba to the Mediterranean. It will not hesitate to put on, for short periods of times, in the service of the Umayyads, to later walk away without caring about sacrificing the hostages he has left with them. On other occasions he will ask for help from Muslims from North Africa... Many times he will be the winner and many times will be defeated. In 891 he suffered perhaps his most notorious defeat at the hands of Abd Allah, partly because some of the muladi's troops abandoned him. He lost the majority of the places that considered him as their lord and had to make a pact with Córdoba. The pact was maintained for a short time and in 892 it was already, again, in war footing, Re-conquering for him the squares of Archidona, Elvira and Jaén, to recover its former power, it only lacked the fortress of Poley and the population of Écija. However, in the six years that followed these rebel successes, Ibn Hafsun was more or less still, and even Elvira lost.

It seemed that, winning or losing, the emirate could never end that dissidence, but a personal decision by Ibn Hafsun was going to turn the situation. The rebel returned to the faith of his elders, he turned to Christianity and he had himself baptized with the name Samuel, while his wife took the name of Columba. The Mozarabs of Córdoba celebrated this decision in style, but among the muladíes, some sincere converts to Islam, they did not like it at all. Part of hisbfaithful turned their backs on him and refused

to obey him. This conversion had such an impact that even a pious Maghrebi warrior led a small troop of fighters for the faith who went to al-Andalus to fight the renegade.

He turns to the Christians, who do not trust him, and tries withbnewly established monarchies in North Africa... and of course keep going playing "cat and mouse" with the emiral troops. But the death of the emir Abd Allah and the ascension to the throne of his grandson, the future first caliph of al-Andalus, Abd al-Rahman III, will completely change this state of affairs. The failures of Ibn Hafsun were multiplying. Slowly but surely, Abd al-Rahman was recovering, one by one, the rebel strongholds that, day by day, were more isolated. Only his children remained by his side and were in charge of continuing maintaining the insurrection in the mountains of Córdoba and Málaga.

In 914 a cruel drought struck the entire country. Several epidemics were declared and famine appeared with its aftermath of countless deaths. Nor Abd al-Rahman III nor Ibn Hafsun were in a position to fight. Furthermore, the rebel was sick and seemed to have forgotten the care earthly, he only cared about being right with God, the God of the Christians, and locked up in the church of Bobastro, he dedicated himself to exercises of pity imploring the eternal salvation of his soul. His life was extinguished inbSeptember of the year 917, and he was buried as a Christian. His death saddened the Mozarabs and delighted the Muslims who celebrated it with actions of gratitudes.

Ibn Hafsun was never completely defeated and with a program of action and governmentbless erratic, perhaps he would have achieved great things. It cannot be denied that he was brave, audacious and reckless on many occasions and that Abd al-Rahman, sobgenerous with the defeated, he would have done well to respect their remains. When Ibn Hafsun died, he took control of Bobastro, he will have them unearthed and displayed in Córdoba as a trophy, in a gesture inappropriate for a character as great as him.

How did Bobastro end? Well, as was predictable. Ibn Hafsun left four sons and a woman. The eldest, Cha'far and his sister Argéntea, seemed to be Christians, while the other three, Sulayman, Abd al-Rahman and Hafs,bcontinued to be Muslims. Only Cha'far had inherited some of the spirit combative of his father, but the others would soon be fighting among themselves.

Cha'far, before the first victories of Abd al-Rahman III over the ancient strongholds who had belonged to Bobastro, requested a truce. It was granted and they waited events. Abd al-Rahman, the third son of Ibn Hafsun, was established in Ojén, when the Cordoban troops reduced it. He asked for forgiveness and was transferred to Córdoba where he ended up earning a living as a calligrapher.

Sulayman and Cha'far did not get along and the latter was murdered in Bobastro on October 30, 920, perhaps at the hands of his brother or at his instigation. Sulayman took up his position in Bobastro and Abd al-Rahman III continued to surround the stronghold through the capture of all the surrounding towns. In 927 he achieved to get rid of Sulayman

who died in an ambush. His corpse was decapitated and his head sent to Córdoba.

Only Hafs remained, who took possession of Bobastro for the fourth time, but without great hopes of being able to retain it for long. After six months of trying to resist, Hafs wrote to the monarch offering his surrender and the abandonment of that eagle's nest that was the fortress of Bobastro. In January 19, 928 the white flag of the Umayyads waved over those rocks. Hafs and the remaining members of his family were sent to Córdoba, but since they had surrendered without fighting they were not punished. Hafs was even able to enlist in the Umayyad army. Argéntea professed in a convent and, over time, she would become a martyr, condemned for apostasy and for insult the official religion.

It had taken Abd al-Rahman III ten years to take over Bobastro after the death of Ibn Hafsun. The peaceful conquest of this enclave of so much significance had an enormous impact throughout Spain, both in the Muslim as in the Christian and, also, in North Africa where the rebel was well known. Abd al-Rahman III wanted to set foot in that cursed place of rebellion, which had caused so many troubles to his predecessors and to him, and together with his son, Prince al-Hakam, who was only thirteen years old, ran, to the last corner of the Bobastro fortress, with the legitimate pride in having been its definitive conqueror. Andalusia remained completely pacified.

[minato-division03]

The sun was now starting to disappear from the horizon as the shade of numerous colors mixed in together at the time of dusk —And that was the same time Shirazuki household had been visited by some unexpected guest at her doorstep.

But when the ex-idol had gone out to check it up, she only found a package neatly wrapped in a beautiful piece of cloth hanging around the handle of the door instead of any sight of its sender.

Deciding to inspect it first for safety reasons, she cautiously unwrapped the parcel until she saw what had been sent to her residence.

First one she saw was a knitted scarf with the design of an adorable but insightful animal, the ‘Barn Owl’,

Next was a set of cute macarons which was actually the scented candles with a sweet and fruity mixed berries fragrance,

And last one was an elegant set of twelve necklaces in the theme of zodiac star signs,

Last but not least, there was a card written “Happy Birthday & Happy New Year!” submitted with the address from the people of Nara Division

—Somewhere in a car that was heading out of Minato ward—

“Really, you should put the birthday card outside of the furoshiki,”

the young(?) man with shades said as he just casually opened a can of tuna in his grasp, not even caring that he was in someone else’s car,

“or somewhere else more easier to see —Receiving something from the seemingly anonymous sender normally startles the person who used to be at the center of the limelight, you know?”

A cold glare was pointed to the speaker from the driver seat.

“I don’t wanna hear that from someone who almost caused a ruckus in Ms. Queen Card’s birthday the previous October,”

the much older man in his usual dark colored suit retorted with somewhat hostility in his tone.

“Aww~ Don’t talk about the water under the bridge, shall we?”

that enigmatic nonconformist shrugged in an unserious manner while he was savoring his quick supper.

“That queenie is already pretty smart on her own. I know she would know in a heartbeat that the little gift I added to Misaki’s thingies was more like a greeting toy than some real threat —Well, wouldn’t we all live for some excitement?”

As the shades he always oddly wore indoors and outdoors still covered all parts of his eyes, the older man couldn’t make a guess of what was actually in this shitty cat’s head.

Turning away from his troublesome accomplice, Chishio let out a long sigh as he fought down his own urge to pack this cat in some blank luggage and send it back to where he should belong. To be honest, maybe the reason why he often got disturbed by his antics was because it reminded him so much of himself when he was with his young master and the kids in his team.

…And he never understood what in the world had made Shūkaidō think that his earnest young master could replace him when the adoptive son of his was the troublesome person like THIS of all time.

Miku blew out the match and watched as the wick on her new candles that laid on top of some trays on her bedroom floor caught aflame. A small, delicate fire that allowed the mixed berry scents to fill her room.

Surrounding her on the floor was a ring of unscented candles.

With an exhale, she tilted her head back and closes her eyes, canceling out everything around her, including the owl scarf that rested on her shoulders. Cancelling the sound of her beautiful new With her nose, she breathed in the unfamiliar scent, her ears focused on the white noise that played on her computer and the light chimes from her new necklaces that hung on her jewelry altar, and zeroing in on the heat that rose from the candles around her.

“My circle is cast.”

Thank you for the gifts!

[bookofjin]

Annals of Emperor Wen of Zhou, Part 5 (ZS01)

[Yuwen Tai publicly denounces Gao Huan.]

At the time the Wei Emperor was just then making designs against Shenwu of Qi, and again dispatched to levy troops. Taizu therefore ordered the former Inspector of Qin province, Luo Chao, to be Great Chief Controller, and lead 1 000 light cavalry to proceed to Luo. Advanced the conferrals on Taizu to Combined Archer-Servant of the Masters of Writing and Great Acting Tribunal of Guanxi, the remaining offices and ennoblement like before. Taizu therefore transmitted a call to arms to the region's garrisons which said:

[I] have heard that yin and yang alternate in usage, growth and decline follow after each other, and if there is hundred-and-six, nothing is heard of three and five. When the august house initiated the succession, they moulded and fashioned the Green Growth, protected and calmed the Four Seas, and benevolently nurtured the ten thousand things. Turning to reach the Xiaochang era [525 – 528], difficulties and disturbance rose up again and again. Long and Ji were agitated and astir, Yan and He turned their heads to look behind their backs. Although the numinous mandate began again, and there was a time for washing away and settling, yet the followers of trouble-makers following that grew feathers and wings.

The traitorous subject Gao Huan, his capability and knowledge less than mediocre, set out from the lackeys and menials having scarcely heard of courtesy or righteousness, and straight-away, as the singular falcon or dog who would put his strength into military action, put on a brave face for kindness and favour, consequently he climbed in glory and honour. Incapable of utter sincerity and full steadfastness, he gave sole attention to and believed in perfidious deviation, and therefore urged Erzhu Rong to act in this way with usurpation and rebellion.

When Rong, due to monopolizing government, had submitted to execution, and [Erzhu] Shilong, due to malignant factions, made an outside rebellion, Huan persistently made vigorous effort, enabling him to gain the Imperial Capital. Again he urged the Tuwan boy [Erzhu Zhao?] to then be a cruel regicide, temporarily installed the Jianming [emperor] [530 – 531], to command Under Heaven, and made use of pushing forward the Putai [emperor] [531 - 532], intending to steal power and authority. Each ended up deposed and repudiated, and both were brutally murdered. Hence he declared to the troops North of the He, making using of chastising the Erzhu, and urgently passed along a petition with proposals, stating he would capture the slanderous traitors. He already has acted to depose and dismiss, and thereupon is about to usurp and regicide.

Since people's expectations have not yet changed, he fears the cauldrons and pots exchanging places, and therefore beseeches the imperial house, to compel indeed people's heart. Heaven just now gives to Wei, which surely will have a ruler, and to assist and support with sagely clarity is sincerely not Huan what gives his strength to. [?] Yet Huan blocks up troops and is at ease with cruelty, and consider himself as meritorious. He broadly spreads out belly and heart to straddle provinces and join up commanderies, among the keys to governing forbidden door none are not in his personal faction. He always acts with covetous cruelty,a yayu窫窳 as a living person[?]. And the old generals and famous subjects, upright people and straight gentlemen, constantly develops sores and bruises, every movement snaring them in entangling nets.

Formerly there was the General of Guards, Yi Lin, pure, chaste, tough, and resolute, one who belonged to the forbidden battalion[?], and the General of the Straight Chamber, Xianyu Kangren, loyal, bright, valiant, and outstanding, among the claws and teeth was he. Huan gathered them up and slaughtered them, not even making it heard in a memorial.

The Minister of Works, Gao Gan was in faction with him, they were always shadows and echoes of each other, and planned to imperil the altars of soil and grain. It was merely due to his perfidious aspirations he was not yet following, and fearing he would be the first to leak and drip, he therefore covertly informed the imperial court, causing Gao Gan to be killed, and only then wailed and replied to younger brother, claiming the Son of Heaven was constantly slaughtering.

Sun Teng and Ren Xiang are Huan's heart and spine, and both were sent to enter and live near the doorpost to wait for gaps and cracks in the state. When they perceived Huan's rebellious plans were about to issue out, they fled back home in succession. Huan more and more consoled and attended on them, and likewise nothing was put forth or reported on.

As such, when first Huan entered Luo, he basically had perfidious plans. Now his intimate Cai Jun has begun to shepherd He and Ji, and is lavishly being kind and supportive to them, so as to become the master of the Eastern Circuit.

Formerly the Great Chief Controller of Guanxi, the Duke of Qingshui, Heba Yue, his achievements and virtue plentiful and weighty, in rise and fall was someone to take refuge in. Huan was fond of chaos and happy with misfortune, and was deeply spiteful and venomous to him. He therefore furtively plotted with Houmochen Yue¤ his ruin and murder. [This?] field headquarters, due to receiving rules be in sole charge of campaigning, right then promptly chastised and slaughtered.

Huan knew his rebellious appearance had already been exposed, and bit by bit held close the battalions to resist. He thereupon dispatched Cai Jun oppose replacement, and ordered Dou Tai to assist him. He also dispatched Hou Jing and others, their stated direction Baima; Fu Shizhen and others to press straight on to the Stone Ford; Gao Longzhi, Pi Louzhao and others to station at and occupy Hu Pass; Han Gui's followers to hold close the multitudes at Puban. Hence he sent up a letter to the Son of Heaven, counting and discussing gains and losses, denigrating and defaming the Driving Carriage, and dominating and disrespecting the imperial court. Alleging those trifling contributions, he looks forward to this great treasure.

Gorges and ravines can overflow, but a mischievous mind cannot be fathomed. Sometimes he tells he will proceed straight to Jing and Chu and expand the border outwards. Sometimes he tells he will separately go to Yin and Luo, and capture those slanderous people. Sometimes he tells he intends to come and enter the Passes, and settle in battle with [this] field headquarters.

Now a sage clarifies and steers the cycles, Under Heaven is pure and unruffled, the hundred companions learn from each other, the Four Peripheries come together. People loyal and good [are?] who should be by the side of the ruler. And yet Huan's power and good fortune is for himself, giving birth this way to the steps of chaos. He joins together the Southern Basket [constellation] and points out deer as being horses. He bundles up and stores nefarious rebels to wait on our divine receptacle. If this can be endured, what cannot be tolerated!

This field headquarters to snap off and wash away firmament will personally accepted sacrificial meat, and with a honed host a million strong, and a thousand groups of horse archers, wrap up food and sit in armour, indeed the opponent is what we wait for, and that which is right-principled, to smash the flesh of this disgrace[?].

Furthermore there has again and again been written decrees, widely announced Under Heaven, declaring Huan a rebellious chaos-maker, and summoning troops to deliver the strike. Now [I] will immediately allot instructions to the generals and leaders, to respond to the moment and advance to chastise. Some will press on to his key points, some will assault his dens and dwellings, [like?] a lightning flashing or snake striking, fog gathering or the stars snaring. And Huan disobeys and burdens Heaven and Earth, the poison cloaking people and ghosts. To take advantage of this to sweep and cleanse away is easy as bowing down and picking up.

If Huan crosses the He to bit by bit pressure the Ancestral Temple, then [I] will allot instructions to the various generals to straight-away capture Bing province. This field headquarters will personally from the eastern camp entrance proceed in a flash to Yi and Luo. If he firms up his nests and caves, not daring to move out, [I] likewise will instruct the crowd of leaders, to go forward together along a hundred roads, to tear and rend apart the traitorous subjects and so apologize to Under Heaven.

Among his provinces, garrisons, commanderies, and counties, leading the land and common people, there are in some provinces and districts caps and crowns, in some achievements mediocre generations after generation. In both cases they ought to renounce rebellion and revert to obedience, and establish results at the army gates. The ordnances for ennoblement and rewards already have a separate framework.

Whoever among the hundred noble lords cannot make the effort!

[spiderpanic]

10. Believe in truth

To abandon facts is to abandon freedom. If nothing is true, then no one can criticize power, because there is no basis upon which to do so. If nothing is true, then all is spectacle. The biggest wallet pays for the most blending lights. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ You submit to tyranny when you renounce the difference between what you want to hear and what is actually the case. This renunciation of reality can feel natural and pleasant, but the result is your demise as an individual -and thus the collapse of any political system that depends upon individualism. As observers of totalitarianism such as Victor Klemperer noticed, truth dies in four modes.

The first mode is the open hostility to verifiable reality, which takes the form of presenting inventions and lies as if they were facts. In 2017, the American president averaged six lies a day. The next year it was 16, the following year 22. In 2020 he told on average about 27 lies a day. This figure is so high that it makes the correct assertions seem like unintended oversights on the path towards total fiction. Then came the Big Lie about an election, creating a fictional counterworld.

The second mode is shamanistic incantation. As Klemperer noted, the fascist style depends upon "endless repetition," designed to make the fictional plausible. The systematic use of nicknames such as "Sleepy Joe" displaced certain character traits that might more appropriately have been affixed to the president himself. Yet through blunt repetition over Twitter, a president managed the transformation of individuals into stereotypes that people then internalized. The Big Lie about elections was also repeated over and over. Followers did not want to believe that they could be deceived on such a scale, and took comfort in the repetition. The Big Lie created its own world, where anyone who pointed to simple truths was the enemy.

The next mode is magical thinking, or the open embrace of contradiction. A billionaire can pay neither taxes nor debts. Liberating the wealthy from taxes will not increase the national debt. Fighting corruption means selling the presidency for favors. A disease that kills hundreds of thousands will vanish. The winner gets fewer votes. The vote is always rigged, and you should vote for me anyway. Black people are taking the vote away from white people, although American history shows that the opposite has been the case.

Accepting untruth of this radical kind requires a blatant abandonment of reason. Klemperer's descriptions of losing friends in Germany in 1933 over the issue of magical thinking ring eerily true today. One of his former students implored him to "abandon yourself to your feelings, and you must always focus on the Fuhrer's greatness, rather than on the discomfort you are feeling at present." 12 years later, after all the atrocities, and at the end of a war that Germany had clearly lost, an amputated soldier told Klemperer That Hitler "has never lied yet. I believe in Hitler."

The final mode is misplaced faith. It involves the sort of self-defying claims a President made when he said that "I alone can solve it" or "I am your retribution." When Faith descends from heaven to Earth in this way, no room remains for the small truths of our individual discernment and experience. What terrified Klemperer was the way that this transition seemed permanent. Once truth had become oracular rather than factual, evidence was irrelevant. At the end of the war a worker told Klemperer that "understanding is useless, you have to have faith. I believe in the Fuhrer."

Eugene Ionesco, the great Romanian playwright, watched one friend after another slip away into the language of fascism in the 1930s. The experience became the basis for his 1959 absurdist play, 'Rhinoceros', in which those who fall prey to propaganda are transformed into giant horned beasts. Of his own personal experiences Ionesco wrote:

"University professors, students, intellectuals were turning Nazi, becoming Iron Guards, one after the other. At the beginning, certainly they were not Nazis. About 15 of us would get together to talk and to try to find arguments opposing theirs. It was not easy. ... From time to time, one of our friends said: "I don't agree with them, to be sure, but on certain points, nevertheless, I must admit, for example, the Jews...," etc. And this was a symptom. 3 weeks later, this person would become a Nazi. He was caught in the mechanism, he accepted everything, he became a rhinoceros. Towards the end, only three or four of us were still resisting."

Ionesco's aim was to help us see just how bizarre propaganda actually is, but how normal it seems to those who yield to it. By using the absurd image of the rhinoceros, Ionesco was trying to shock people into noticing the strangeness of what was actually happening.

The rhinoceri are roaming through our neurological savannas. We now find ourselves very much concerned with something we call "truth," And we tend to think that it's scorn of everyday facts and its construction of alternative realities is something new or postmodern. Yet there is little here that George Orwell did not capture seven decades ago in his notion of "double think." In its philosophy, post truth restores precisely the fascist attitude to truth -and that is why nothing in our own world would startle Klemperer or Ionesco.

Fascists despised the small truths of daily existence, Loved slogans that resonated like a new religion, and preferred creative myths to history or journalism. They used new media, which at the time was radio, to create a drumbeat of propaganda that aroused feelings before people had time to ascertain facts. And now, as then, many people confuse faith in a hugely flawed leader with the truth about the world we all share.

Post truth is pre-fascism

-On Tyranny (Timothy Snyder)

[strikersunindie]

14C for Lucas

gif meme @tcnebris

"Ohh you've improved, my big Priest." Lucas was in a rare mood to have his ass eaten out and teasing Danny like he was a top, so the other awoke with a body that rivaled even Udyr, with a cock to match the spirit's former cock length. Aside from Danny, all of Lucas's inner circle was caged, one of many signs from each that they have submitted their very physical bodies to the vessel. Danny was the only one of them that was free, but they understood why. The priest's devotion was so deep, so fierce, that its body listened to Lucas's desires without a need to speak them, changing each night to suit what the vessel would want before he even saw them. The others knew that with Danny having a body like this and a cock sticking straight out in the air with the thickness of a battering ram, they'd be involved more than this.

Ethan, Udyr, and Malcolm were all on their knees watching the scene. All caged and the nubs pushed out and resting on closed thighs. Each in various states of undress. All three becoming hornier and submissive for their priest's cock that helped break each of them with Lucas. They knew that Lucas would want a show, and thus were also riding on different plugs for each of them. Their hands playing with their nips or shoving a dildo in their mouths. Each wearing a collar and caged designed by the other defeated god, Hephaestus, who was busy creating more weaker ones for the lesser worshipers to wear.

Underneath Danny was the defeated god of war Ares. Lucas had known if he could defeat a god and obtain their power, his influence would grow exponentially. What he didn't know was how mad it could drive the former god. Ares was always desperate for an order, otherwise his mind would start wandering into how he was a mortal and remember the centuries of memories, which the brain couldn't handle anymore. So there was the former god underneath the rim chair eating out the priest's ass as well, though not as well.

"Go on. Use that power, Danny" goaded Lucas, giving permission for Danny to make the tongue bigger and taste even deeper into the vessel. The Priest's cock couldn't help but go from a few drops to a constant leak of his juices as the tongue dug deeper into Lucas. Both Vessel and Priest moaned in harmony, echoing in the minds of all the other men as they experienced an anal orgasm that sent pleasure up their bodies. While Lucas had no desire to be fucked by a cock, he did enjoy the clean feeling between his cheeks afterwards. His own cock was growing massive in its arousal, and it wasn't long before Lucas needed to relieve himself. So with a mental note, Danny helped Lucas turned around so he was facing the rest of the inner circle.

With only a moan as a warning, Lucas began pissing out a golden shower for all of them. While most covered Danny, each of the three men on their knees were hit and covered. All moaned and opened their mouths to catch as much as possible. Once Lucas was done, Danny's followed suit, coating all their faces and bodies in a golden piss as well, and now all were able to drink much more of it.

"Now I'm ready." Lucas got up and off Danny, the priest standing up with the cock bouncing up and down. There was Ares, face covered in sweat and hair as Danny had a hairy ass in this form. Lucas glanced down and chuckled at the former warrior reduced to a mindless pup. "Be a stool for me," he said. Even though Lucas could have sat on the rim chair himself, Ares had enough of a reward in his opinion. The former god immediately moved from underneath the rim chair and got on all fours, mind focused on being the best seat for his new God. Sitting down low meant Danny had to get on all fours for his ass to be at Lucas's height.

"Now witness as your Priest takes my holy Seed. Accept his connection so that you can feel his pleasure," he ordered. Danny had developed his own sort of reverse Empathy, allowing others to feel what he felt. Lucas rested his heavy cock on Danny's ass all while trailing his nails up and down them until Danny was settled in position. Then his hand wrapped around his cock and smacked that hole hard. Each impact also felt by the kneeling men, making moans and whimpers echo in the chamber.

Danny pulled forward far enough for the head of Lucas's cock to rest against the opening. Each member felt that pressure against their own, biting their lips and whimpering at the teasing. Danny was feeling his power over the others, wanting to participate in the foreplay as well. He was the priest after all, and had to test them even now. With a mental command, he released all three from their locked position on their knees, allowing them to take whatever pose they want for the imaginary cock against their holes.

Malcolm got up and mimicked the same one when he first met his loves and leaders. Standing up and bent over, mouth open even if nothing was there. Uydr got on all fours like the beast he was, sticking his ass up and head down as much as possible while still looking at the two strongest beings he ever witnessed, mouth open and tongue hanging out. Ethan however stayed in position, simply opening his mouth and pushing his ass more by arching his back just a bit more.

When Danny saw all three had their mouths open, he knew what they desired. It filled him with pride that they wanted to accept both of them. So with his abilities, he had each of them feel the weight of his meaty length against their lips, ready to match against the real one's movement.

Lucas knew all were ready, and with that, he pulled Danny onto his cock in a slow deliberate manner. As soon as the head pierced through that first ring of muscle, all four in front of Lucas moaned but then whined as they felt the mental cock on their lips pulled away. Udyr's tongue even tried looking for it, licking the air and ground in between moans. Lucas's cock had grown bigger than before while inside Danny, as if rearranging every organ just to accommodate the massive size. Danny might be well equipped to handle it, but the poor sluts in front were whining at the stretch in their holes, amazed that their priest could take it with such pleasure and knowing they'd all become useless cock whores if Lucas did that to them at their current level.

He held it for a few seconds before pushing Danny forward in a slow manner again. Their whimpers turned to muffled moans as now they felt their mouths getting filled with Danny's mental cock as well. Now they all knew why they opened their mouths like this. Lucas felt the understanding and sighed in pleasure. That was the only warning before Lucas began pulling and pushing Danny on and off his cock, using the massive muscle bear as if he were a tiny sexy toy. The rooms echoed with their sounds of pleasure.

While Lucas did not sync with the four men before him at a hundred percent, he could feel pleasure coming from everyone. It amplified his own and strengthened him as the only thought in their heads were how happy they were to serve. It took only a few more minutes before one by one, they all came from their respective dicks. Lucas did not however, nor did he stop fucking. His divine stamina meant he could keep going for much longer before he reached his first load.

An hour of this and even Danny was starting to tire. The three men had long since abandoned their poses, collapsed on the ground cuddled together covered in each others' cum. All still with open mouths and holes gaping themselves. Danny himself however was still in his position, playing with his nipples as his legs and feet had dried cum all over. He was holding a double bicep curl to flex his muscles for Lucas, knowing this helped Lucas get close to that edge. It also turned him on knowing that despite how far all three men on the ground had come, only Danny remained standing.

"Oh Danny," moaned Lucas as he felt that power trip and confidence from Danny. That was the tipping point as Lucas's sounds went beyond the chamber. Every man that had even glanced at Lucas's figure that day was suddenly overcome with pleasure and released a load no matter where they were. The inner circle moaned as they shot their last load together at the same time, shooting far enough to hit each other's faces.

As soon as Danny felt that first drop fill him, he cock hardened straight out and shot cum right at his hanging tits. His washboard abs he woke up with were pushed out, filled with Lucas's divine load to the point he was bloated. The vessel panted as he gripped Danny's muscle ass with his clawed fingers as some of his transformation began from the sheer divinity he felt in that moment.

"You were made for me," he praised before leaning closer and pressing a kiss on that drenched back. Lucas pulled himself back, knowing it was an unsaid order that Danny would clench and keep that load in there as best he could. Lucas held a hand up and a plug appeared. The perfect size to keep Danny's hole closed. "Clean my cock off. Then you can rehydrate our poor disciples there," he said with a chuckle as he leaned back against the wall while a hand lowered to scratch at Ares' hair, who was sweating from the exertion of being on all fours for an hour and holding position.

Even Danny was exhausted as he turned around to obey. However, seeing Lucas smiling down on him with that divine glow was enough to give him a second wind and dive onto Lucas's glistening cock to taste him. He'd piss on his disciples later, Lucas's cock was all that needed attention at the moment. Danny felt gratitude that this was his life now, grateful that his God chose him of all people to transform and keep.

[magic5ball]

A Letter to Mom (12)

Dear Mom,

Things have been busy now that the sun is up for 14 hours a day. So apologies for my recent lack of messages. Anyhow, the drinky-bird and I have been conducting research on spiders and while I always knew them to be fascinating creatures, the extent of their strangeness has exceeded my wildest expectations. Did you know their lungs are built of several little sheets, like a book or that species that build webs are a minority? Below I’ve written an essay justifying my new design. If possible, I would like your feedback before I submit it.

To all simians of the board: since the birth of our glorious company 500,000 years ago, we have sought not to be slaves to the genome, but to master it. And from those glorious beginnings, we have come far, to the literal edge of the universe. Who can forget the liberations of Venus and Jupiter from their despotic local rulers, or the acquisition of the local cosmos in a legal battle against the self-proclaimed ‘God’ himself? The crusades were great and lengthy, but what would our company- the ONE true company- in the cosmos be if our Glorious CEO did not continually take risks? It is this idealistic drive the One True Stock rising exponentially for the past half million years, reaching heights never before imagined. All that effort, and our CEO’s greatest challenge yet lies ahead, one he shall no doubt rise to the occasion to solve!

It is this challenge to which I propose a solution: a spider- an especially large one- whose webbing will connect multiple myriad dimensions together. Spider webbing is incredibly strong relative to size. Already it is used in the construction of bridges, skyscrapers, and to tidally lock strategic planets. It would be the perfect material to bind universes together. In addition, the spider’s multiple eyes will allow for the detection of these alternate universes, as their long, nimble legs will allow for the transverseing of said universes. Many spiders possess fur, which will no doubt insulate them in the void of space-time. And as with the tarantula, it will also make for a great projectile weapon to carry out our glorious CEO’s justice.

Dreaming big,

Kib Johnson