#no contact is deliberate and sinister

[thevirgodoll]

hey girl,

respect yourself enough to walk away. go where you are loved, where you are cherished. go to people that wouldn’t even allow you to walk away in the first place.

you are being treated less than your value when you were out of their price range when you met them. something that is valuable would be protected and claimed. you never leave your valuables out where they can be taken. and trust me, they know you’re valuable.

they’re breaking your heart to make you question your value. they’re treating you like trash when they’d never accept that same treatment. they’re building you up, and breaking you down. meanwhile, they’re questioning their own self worth and self concept. it’s all a projection.

and come on, do you really think he is conveniently hurting you or ignoring you because he’s simply misguided or avoidant? no, he just isn’t a real man. stop making excuses for him.

when he turned his back on you, he made the decision to go towards a low value lifestyle. it’s easier to stay the same, than have a woman who will push him to grow. you can check majority of the boxes, but if he isn’t ready for you and doesn’t want to be, he will never be ready. why wait on a message that will never come?

y’all have to remember people make conscious decisions in the long run regarding who they will deal with, and who they won’t. y’all also have to remember if someone loves you enough, they WILL do their damndest to change. regardless of external factors. if he respected the fact that the dynamic is an honor, a privilege, a blessing, he would do anything to keep it. nothing would stop him.

if you were valued in this connection, you’d know it. walk away. let God use you as a lesson of how you never know what you have until it’s gone. never let anyone fumble you more than once.

keep praying, keep trying, keep staying pure hearted and genuine. be open to change and take this time to grow deeper in your spirituality. choose God because God chose you first. don’t ever let anyone treat you less than what GOD would treat you. you are worth more. choose yourself. and above all, never let anyone tell you that you aren’t worthy of being chosen.

[simplygojo]

Let's Play A Game...

Prompt: “Lets play a game; don’t get caught”

Authors Note: I have not written something like this in a WHILE. This was requested/suggested on one of the prompt lists I reblogged by @smsm22. Thank you for requesting thissss, I needed a little push so I hope you like it.

I did struggle a bit but I think this is a good little blurb to re-introduce me to writing smut, haha!!! I am sorry because I do feel like this could be better, but this is the best I can do right now, I will improve on my smut writing asap, 🫡 .

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x f/reader

Word Count : 1K

Warnings : 18+ ONLY!! Power Dynamics, Smut

The cursed energy in the air was suffocating, thick and dark as Ryomen Sukuna’s voice echoed through the shadowed temple halls. You could feel him before you even saw him—his presence coiling around you like a predator toying with prey.

“Let’s play a game,” Sukuna’s voice slithered into the silence, his tone dripping with amusement. His form materialized from the darkness, crimson eyes glowing with a sinister light. A mocking grin curled his lips as he stalked forward, each step slow, deliberate. “The rules are simple: don’t get caught.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering in your chest. You never thought this was a situation you’d be in. You had heard about the king of curses before, but never thought you’d be this involved. 

The sheer intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, but instinct kicked in—survival. You forced your feet to move, bolting down the stone corridor of his own domain, your movements frantic but silent. You knew this game was stacked against you. Outrunning Ryomen Sukuna was impossible, but if you could just buy a little time…

His laughter, low and cold, echoed through the empty halls. “You can run, little one,” he mocked, “but you can’t hide from me.”

The shadows swallowed you as you darted into an alcove, pressing yourself against the rough stone wall. Your heart pounded against your ribs, each breath shallow, controlled. You couldn’t let him hear you—couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how terrified you were.

For a moment, everything was still. Too still.

And then his voice, dark and taunting, broke the silence. “Found you.”

Before you could even register the movement, Sukuna’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around both your wrists like iron. He yanked you from your hiding spot with terrifying ease, slamming you back against the wall, a satisfied grin creeping onto his face. You barely had time to gasp before his body was pressed against yours; his eyes roved over you like a predator savouring its catch. “Hmmmmm…” he growled, “You’re one of the better-looking ones…”

Sukuna’s hand slid to your throat, his grip firm but teasing, his thumb brushing your pulse point. You were completely vulnerable. He leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek as he growled, “You really thought you could run from me? How pathetic.”

His lips ghosted along your jaw, the contact sending a shiver down your spine despite the overwhelming heat radiating from him. He chuckled darkly at your reaction, his hand sliding down to your waistband and yanking down your pretty panties with force. His hold on your wrists was unbreakable as his free hand explored your thighs and travelled back up to your clothed breasts. 

There was no space left between your bodies now—just the overwhelming presence of Sukuna and the electric tension sparking between you. 

And the worst part was—you liked it.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, his voice low, leaking with satisfaction. “Good.”

Sukuna’s lips found the side of your neck, his mouth rough and possessive as he pressed open-mouthed kisses against your skin, his teeth grazing dangerously as you let out a loud gasp, practically hanging from your wrists in front of him as he watched your squirm. His other hand trailed up your side, fingers tracing over the fabric of your clothes, teasing but commanding. Each touch, every brush of his skin against yours, sent waves of heat pooling in your stomach.

“You look scared,” he taunted, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hand gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “And yet…” He leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours. “You’ve stayed still here, just for me. What a good girl you are.”

The space between you vanished as Sukuna’s mouth crashed against yours, his kiss aggressive, consuming. His lips moved with a dominating hunger, his teeth biting at your bottom lip with a growl of satisfaction. The kiss was punishing, meant to remind you of exactly who was in control, and yet it left you breathless, your body betraying the fear coursing through you.

His hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your skin as if marking you as his. The air crackled with cursed energy, and with each kiss, each rough touch, Sukuna made it clear—there was no escape. You lost.

Sukuna pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “You’re mine now, whether you like it or not,” he purred, voice dripping with arrogance. His hand slid under your shirt, fingers cold against your heated skin, tracing slow, deliberate patterns along your stomach before moving down toward your soaked pussy. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re trembling.” He said, shoving his long fingers deep into you, absolutely giddy watching your reaction. 

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your body reacting to him in ways you didn’t fully understand. His mouth was back on your body, kissing and biting it while still under his iron grip above your head. His grip was harsh; you could feel his power reverberating through your skin with every touch, every bite. You could tell how much he reveled watching you fight your natural instincts and surrender your precious body to him.

“Let’s see how much you can take,” Sukuna whispered darkly against your skin, his lips trailing down to your collarbone as he removed his fingers from your dripping cunt, positioning himself to fully enter you. He chuckled, low and threatening, his teeth scraping against your skin as he kissed the base of your throat. “You’ve already lost.”

---

Author's Note II: Just a short blurb for this one, I am still getting used to not writing academic papers lol. Always open to feedback :)

[mothiir]

eyes full of stars

the reader is a diplomat working with roboute guilliman to try and broker peace with the local craftworld, and she has a somewhat strange moment with one of her aeldari counterparts.

cw: finger sucking and lewd thoughts.

—

“Hush,” Taleath says, fingertips coming up to rest on your mouth, and you lapse into silence at once, completely thrown by the unexpected contact. “The actions of Cato Sicarius have no bearing on your life, nor on mine. His tumultuous emotions are his own storm to bear, and their rain will only chill you if you get too close — which, as you are uncommonly intelligent for your kind, you will not.”

He keeps his gauntleted fingers resting on your lips, the metal chilly against your skin, smoother than silk. You are very rarely lost for words — it is, after all, an integral part of your job as diplomat — but the physical contact has shaken you. Aeldari do not touch humans, unless at war, or under considerable duress; Taleath’s actions, to another Aeldari, would be obscene as a human bearing his genitalia at a conference table.

The corners of his smile curl up into a smile, and your cheeks burn: in your confusion, you momentarily forgot that your companion can read minds. And then, you recall that Aeldari are at great pains to state how they must shield themselves from the ‘brutish, ugly, loud wailing animal thoughts’ that humans emit almost constantly. And then you realise that if he read your thoughts, it was because he did so deliberately, and —

“It is far more complicated than that,” Taleath says mildly. “A mind is not a book to be opened at leisure and perused. And yet I understand your meaning — you cannot help the limitations of your language, after all.”

You are in one of the many libraries aboard the Macragge’s Honour: this is one of the smaller ones, designed to house books on cartography that are more works of art than useful tomes. It is rarely visited, because despite Roboute Guilliman’s best efforts to encourage a variety of interests in his sons, most Astartes prefer to study strategy or to read great historical epics, rather than study stylised images of long-vanished constellations. You, however, adore it here. It is a circular room, the shelves coveringthe walls, the ceiling painted deep rich navy blue, with stars picked out in shining gold. There is one window, circular and high, that shows the endless void of space beyond. It feels like a fairytale room, something plucked fresh from a different, gentler time, when space was full of promise, and the shadows held nothing more sinister than cobwebs.

“I appreciate that my language is limited to your ears but —“ You are normally very good at countering Taleath’s arrogant asides with a witty riposte. Sometimes, you wonder if he riles you up intentionally, simply because it amuses him to see you frustrated — certainly his teasing has led to some serious issues of your own, long nights practicing hiding your thoughts, wondering if that would even work. Your a celebrated diplomat, pride of the Ultramarines, reporting to the Primarch himself — and yet a pointy-faced smirking knife-ear has you thinking things. Heretical, shameful things.

Taleath lifts the gauntlet to his own face, and — tentatively, delicately, like a cat trying a new food it is unsure of — runs the tip of his tongue along the tips of his fingers.

He makes a strange, bird like chirrup. You’ve studied Aeldari vocalisations, but in that moment everything you have ever learned about them seems to have exited your head via your ears. With the same effortless, leisurely grace that he does everything, Taleath shucks his gauntlets off, setting them down on the desk beside him. Then, with a tremendous amount of care, he removes the silk gloves beneath, revealing a pair of pale, spidery hands.

Imperial propaganda describes all Aeldari as scrawny anaemic mutants, with limbs stretched to ridiculous disproportionate lengths. The decidedly heretical texts you studied as part of your diplomatic education waxed lyrical about their ethereal inhuman beauty and grace. The truth is somewhere in the middle. Some bits of Taleath are disconcerting to say the least: he moves too swiftly for your eyes to track, giving him the uncanny appearance of a glitching cartoon come to life. His expressions are almost-human-but-not-quite; something about his smile seems to suggest that he knows exactly when the world will end. His hands remind you of knives. And yet there is an uncanny beauty to him, like a glacier viewed under moonlight, or a distant star burning in the black flank of night.

“Come here please,” he says, and you — knowing better, knowing so much better — obey. It has been months of negotiation with Iyanden, in which you have built up a civil relationship with Taleath (not friendship; you have to remember that; it is what your training drilled into you. Aeldari are not to be trusted; they play games with human lives, and even the kindest knife-ear will gut you like a fish if it is to their advantage).

You are allies only because of the mutual peril you face, from a galaxy that would see you burn, from factions who care little for the petty squabbles of xenos and human — what is the point of humanity’s supremacy, or Aeldari arrogance, if Chaos eats you all?

And yet. And yet. You stop one pace from Taleath, heart thrumming like the wings of a held bird, and the Aeldari reaches for you. His palm presses against the small of your back, urging you forwards that last little bit, so his robes brush against your bare arms. He’s so much taller than you; you have to crane your neck to look him in the face, even as he bends over.

His thumb runs across your lower lip. You always thought Aeldari would be colder than humans, their skin as chilly and perfect as ceramic, but his flesh is fever-hot. He rubs the digit back and forth until you open your mouth, your eyes fixed on him the whole time. His breathing is still slow and calm, and part of you resents him for that — so you rebel in what small way you can. You part your lips, but you don’t chase after his thumb with your tongue like a dog begging for a treat. Instead, you wait — wait so long that it starts to feel vaguely ridiculous, that you are just starting there open-mouthed and panting — and then — oh —

He slips two fingers into your mouth, sliding them first along the blunt edges of your teeth, then onto your tongue. He’s curious, explorative, stroking over the slick muscle, before prodding delicately at the roof of your mouth, where textured skin gives way to your soft palette. You try very hard not to gag as he pushes deeper, rubbing at the velvety insides of your cheeks, bulging them outwards. He utters that bird like chirrup again, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. He looks utterly transfixed on you.

It’s just a trick, you tell yourself, it’s what they do, it’s what they do —

“Do not insult me,” he says, his voice lower. Rougher. “I would not need to resort to such — such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to, if —“

You hollow your cheeks and suck, drool starting to gather at the corner of your mouth. Taleath’s breath catches, and you feel an absurd swell of power.

“Don’t read my mind,” you say, the words coming out in a slurry of sound and drool around his fingers. “Jush — keep doing this —“

You start to move your head, keeping your hands loose at your sides despite the overwhelming desire to grab his wrist, to encourage him to keep going, to fuck your throat with his fingers, to prepare you to take —

Taleath chirrups again; this time the sound fades into a constant burbling coo. He pulls you closer, hand splayed on the small of your back, pulling his fingers out of your mouth — and this time you do chase after them, saliva strung between his fingers and your lips.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, half to himself, the words blurred and distorted by the constant vibrato coo. You lick at his knuckles, dopey with passion. All that time fighting down your absurd schoolgirl crush — all that time wasted. “You are human,” he continues, his voice strained. You kiss his palm.

“Yes. And you want me,” you sing-song — only for the world to blur as Taleath moves with a warrior’s swiftness, his hand sliding down to cup your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you into the wall. Bookshelves dig into your spine as he wrenches your head to the side, your hair pulled taut, your scalp singing pain. His teeth graze your jugular, his body presses between your eagerly spreading thighs and —

Then he’s gone. You collapse to the ground in a heap, panting for breath, reeling. Taleath stands on the other side of the library, clinging to his gauntlets like a safety blanket as he stares at you with open, flagrant hunger. Prey-animal fear sparks up your spine, even as your cunt slicks with arousal.

“Taleath —“

“No. Stay there.”

His mouth is red. Why is his mouth red? You suddenly become aware of an ache in your neck, of warmth on your collarbone. You reach up, and your fingers brush a deep bite mark. Taleath licks his lips clean as you probe the damage carefully.

“I — I hope this is not a diplomatic incident,” you say, attempting levity, and he offers you a thin smile. It sits oddly on his face; at odds with the ravenous look in his dark eyes.

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh,” you say, wondering if this is when Taleath will treat you to yet another lecture on the shortcomings of your species.

“Not often. Not usually. I do not want you to be hurt,” he says.

“I’m fine. It barely stings — it will heal up soon enough,” you say, holding up your bloodied fingers. Taleath licks his lips.

“You do not understand. I do not want you to be hurt by anyone who is not me.”

You know you should retreat; every instinct screams at you too. But even if Taleath was not standing in the only exit, you wouldn’t attempt to flee.

”You…you want to hurt me?”

“Typical human — reducing complex feelings to such banal sentiments,” he says, like you weren’t just parroting his own words back. “I want to consume you. I want to own you. I want every cell in your body to remember my name.”

You — you should not find this attractive. You really should not. And yet all your life you have been told that you serve a greater purpose; that your duty is to others. You have never had anyone look at you with such naked desire and tell you that it is you they want — you alone.

Aeldari lie, you tell yourself. Aeldari lie.

“I would not lie to you, you stupid little prey-thing,” he snaps, and this time it isn’t just his voice; his accent changes, sliding from the polished vowels of an Aeldari into something more jagged, something that you don’t recognise. He visibly gathers himself, and when he speaks again it’s with the voice you are used to: “I mean — human. Girl-child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are more than five hundred years my junior — hush. I — I need to go. And meditate. And — and think on things. And meditate. And you need to go and stop bleeding before I do something that we both regret.”

With that, he vanishes, leaving nothing but the throb of arousal between your thighs, and his teeth marks carved into your throat.

[highonmarvel]

The Other Side

Searching for your Stephen, you find another, and he won’t let you go this time.

An entry for Day 4 of the exciting @sintember challenge!

Prompt: The Other Side, ft Sinister Dr Strange of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022).

Warnings: DUB-CON!, possessive behaviour, developing Stockholm Syndrome. 18+! [And I haven’t watched Dr Strange in so long, please pretend I know what I’m doing.]

You had lost Stephen and America, and you were now left in a crumbling world, a universe broken, with no way to get home. Based on the wrecked state of the world, you thought there wasn’t a Dr Strange here, that he had been defeated and his opponent left ruin. Though he wasn’t your Stephen, the thought still deeply upset you, that Stephen could be defeated, and maybe yours would be.

You push open the door of the Sanctum, you want to call out to him but you know there’s no point. The heavy door falls shut behind you. All the antiques and strange paintings and ornaments that once decorated the foyer have been shattered, some are deteriorating, and a dark mist floats through the cold temple, enveloping you, nearly strangling you, you feel.

Upstairs. You know you have to head to the Window of the Worlds.

You walk to the window, engraved with the Seal of Vishanti. It’s cracked, black lines not belong to the symbol run in all directions across the glass, that has a purple tint, nearly a faint violet glow. You want to touch it, when you hear your name whispered.

You spin, and there stands Stephen. Not your Stephen. This Stephen is… different: he looks older, streaks of grey paint his dark hair, with sunken eyes.

“Stephen!” you call, taking a step forward, “Or, Dr Strange, I need your help, please.”

“You’re here,” he murmurs, slowly walking towards you.

“I- I am,” you sputter, a little confused and off put by his trance-like demeanour, as his curious eyes never leave you, “I lost Stephen—my Stephen—and I need to get back.”

“I am your Stephen.” his voice is so low, so low you wouldn’t have heard it were you even a notch below the level of hyper-awareness he’s activated in you.

He steps into the light, and you gasp and take a step back. Visually, he’s not much different to the average person, but his eyes are dark, a familiar blue you once knew sealed up in an endless black; you can’t read them as he continues to walk towards you. You still.

He stops in front of you, and raises shaky hands to cup your face, his lips parted slightly as his foreign dark gaze analyses every inch of your face. His fingers are cold, ice cold, so cold they burn, like dry ice; you wince at the contact but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“No,” you whisper, “No, I’m not yours, and you’re not my…”

You raise your hands to gently grasp his wrists, and freeze when you see it. His fingertips are darkened, stained with a black so profound, so dangerous in sheer aura that you know what it’s from.

“Stephen?”

He’s been tampering with the Dark Hold, the book of sins so evil you barely know of it, just the name elicits chills; Stephen, your Stephen, barely discussed it, he never did until he found out about the Scarlet Witch’s use, and even still he said very little; you got the feeling that though his knowledge seemed limitless, he knew little here, and very deliberately he kept himself in the dark, because if he knew, he’d indulge.

And indulge he has, this sinister Stephen holding your face gently in his hands, as if these hands haven’t caused unfathomable destruction. You should have known—you knew—that Dr Strange could not be defeated. He wasn’t conquered, never could he be: he conquered.

“That’s me,” he smiles and reassures you. Though his eyes and fingers are stained, that boyish smile you know to be yours is the same as ever.

“What did you do?” is all you can muster in a shaky breath, a tear slipping down your cheek, he watches it fall.

“I did what was necessary, and you…” he strains his voice to prevent himself from choking on his words and he smooths a calloused finger over your skin, wiping away the single tear that had spilt, “You were gone.”

His eyes soften, and, despite the cold of his hands, they’re warm, his eyes, his body too, you notice, noting he’s much closer to you than you realised, and definitely too close for comfort. You don’t even know if you can call him insane, mad with power, and furthermore, you can’t tell what he meant by…

A cold hand snakes over your shoulder and his fingers grasps the back of your neck, pulling you towards him. When he kisses you, you stiffen, but, really, for barely a second, because his lips, they feel so familiar. This man is like your Stephen, you can feel it, but you see a different image; he’s like your Stephen if he had no self control, or even just a little less than he has now.

The thought hits you: you could never deny Stephen. Even if you could, say, by the grace of some higher power, even if you could walk away, Stephen always gets what he wants. There isn’t even a higher power you can turn to: there is no power higher than Stephen.

“You’ve come back to me.”

What can you even say? You’re sure he isn’t delusional, you’re sure he knows you’re not his, and you’re sure he doesn’t care. You nearly resign to your fate, but the thought burns you so hot you hurriedly blurt out,

“What happened to her?”

To you. Did he…?

He doesn’t answer, he stays gazing into your eyes, a sombre-looking but relieved smile on his face, like he’s reconciling the fact that he was wrong; he’s never wrong, but he never thought he would see you again. He simply repeats, “You’ve come back to me.”

“Stephen, no,” you state, firmly, yanking his hands off your face and holding his wrists down between you two. He seems mildly shocked, you’re sure he would have been able to overpower you if he you didn’t catch him slightly off guard. But no, you should know you could never be apart from him, whether you want to or not.

Magic ropes wrap around your wrists, tying a knot and pulling them close together, so tight you wouldn’t be surprised if they sliced your hands off. Stephen’s magic is golden, pure, this man—you don’t even want to call him Stephen—his magic is corrupt; purple, with black shadows swirling the violet pulses emitting from the shapes he draws.

You panic, forcing your head down to look at your bound wrists and then snapping your head back up to him. You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a shrill little squeal as you’re lifted a few centimetres off the ground. The same purple and black vines wrap around your ankles, forcing them together.

You notice this is the first time you’ve been above him, floating just high enough for him to have to raise his chin to study you. You always thought this would give you some kind of dominance (fleeting and artificial as it may be), to be over him, but no, you never stood a fucking chance.

You barely struggle, afraid that if you shift around too much you’ll drop to the ground, so all you can do is be still as he circles you, examining you. Another thing; he doesn’t seem to just look at you, he studies you, like looking for flaws in a sculpture. What happens if he finds them?

“You know,” he finally speaks after several minutes of inspecting you, “All this…” he turns you towards the window. There’s a rift in the sky, with seemingly everything in it, everything in existence, it’s overwhelming, “I did for you, honey.”

He’s lying, he must be; though you can imagine yourself getting a little carried away now and then, in no universe could you ever see a version of yourself prepared to bring about mass destruction, the ends of literally infinite lives, no; you may be imperfect, but the collapse of an entire universe? He’s either lying or being intentionally ambiguous. Maybe he’s not lying, just misleading.

“You didn’t; you did it for her,” you half-lie; while it’s true he could only have done this for a different version of you, you doubt she would have authorised that, but you use her as sort of a scapegoat anyway.

He flicks his fingers and you spin to face him. He lowers you just enough so you’re at eye level, and despite your best efforts, you genuinely can not read his gaze; you can’t find any hint of what he may be feeling, it’s just a void, but it’s not, it’s not a void; you know there’s something there, something you’re missing.

You’re sure he’s going to say something, maybe continue his little game of pretending you’re his, but just as you anticipate the opening of his mouth, you violently spin again, this time towards the door, with a shriek. He walks in front you, and you follow behind, like you’re being pulled by a rope, like a dog on a leash who’s trying to play with something when the owner is fed up and wants to go home.

His bedroom door slams shut behind you and you’re lowered onto bed with a gentleness the human touch could never give, his magic softly laying you like you’re the most precious thing, and based on the look he’s giving you, you damn well might be.

Your soft rest hazes your mind for a moment, but you’re snapped back to the cold of the Sanctum when you feel him hover over you.

“I’ve missed you…” he whispers.

You don’t know when your pants came off, but you feel him run a practiced finger over your clothed slit. Oh, God, he feels exactly like your Stephen; the foreignness of his eyes and slight change in demeanour don’t seem to mean anything when he still feels exactly the same, it’s fucking with your mind.

You love your Stephen, more than anything, and you know this isn’t him. You try to push him off but when he slips a finger inside of you, you can’t help the shudder that vibrates through you.

Can I get Stockholm Syndrome so easy? you wonder to yourself, more berate yourself, as you try desperately to ignore the feeling of his fingers inside of you, moving in and out just the way you like, he knows what you like, he knows your body just the way Stephen does.

Because he is Stephen.

۞

[sounknownvoid]

Sam's "puppy dog eyes" are just him,hurt or ashamed - vulnerable?

We all know (&love) sammy's "puppy dog eyes" - & thanks to dean, we've been told of its amazing powers of persuasion and influence on people... I mean look at the evidence:

How could you possibly say no to this face?... I certainly couldn't ...but maybe that's the point - hear me out..

In "Scarecrow", Dean waxes lyrical about how his brother could give you this "look" and people would just "buy into" whatever it was he was saying at the time...

Elsewhere too, it's remarked upon, by Dean, about how no one can resist the power of the "puppy dog eyes" - thing that strikes me though is the language used - its almost framed like its a "manipulative tactic", something that Sam deliberately uses to his advantage somehow and is a weapon in his personal arsenal to disarm and influence people....ie "mere mortals" - the language is almost ominous and sinister...from dean.

Similarly when he talks about how sam is the one more easily able to coax whoever they're interviewing on cases to trust them, persuade them gently with his demeanour to divulge information that they'd perhaps otherwise not have shared...again framed almost like a "secret power" of Sam's....by Dean.

But then, watch the actual show and the actual times those 'puppy dog eyes' are shown by sam - he'd usually hurt or bewildered or ashamed and guilty and scared - yes, even soulless sam coz y'know he was still an actual person... if it IS a tactic it usually seems to be to try and get other person to stop hurting him or to show that he's hurting (the point of facial expressions) in hope the said person will stop - which BTW, note how he blanks in later seasons instead and stops showing his vulnerability any more?...

and whenever he's been able to convince people to share information and to trust them - it's been because he employed EMPATHY n understanding and cared about the situations these "normal" people found themselves in...ie he simply treated these folks as normal human beings caught in a bad situation and showed them some consideration,thoughtfulness amd kindness.....and that's all.

Contrast to whenever dean has been on his own (or when soulless with him instead) - he has a hard edge to him and gives off some pretty angst n downright scary vibes- not too mention, he's usually pretty suspicious or scoffing at the "civvies" in his demeanour - prolonged contact with sam has taught him to moderate himself/his approach but it's not his "natural" state with folks...

And that brings me to the point I'm trying to make on this post...

What if dean, struggling with his own "complex feelings" and being unable to ever deny sam anything coz of his own love n conditioning reads Sam's wounded look as a manipulation- a way to explain away his own "weakness" ( coz remember in john & dean's world vulnerability & love is a weakness is not what a "man" does) - ie "sammy made me do it with his bewitching eyes" instead of "I love my brother so much I can't deny him anything" is more palatable to dean.... and also, because his feelings frightened him and he's scared of the (perceived) hold sam has on him - he thinks sam MUST know of his effect on dean and MUST be using it on purpose....because conflict/threat&it's defusal & disarmament of said threat or weaponising their tools/themselves, is what they do.

And then, to further justify it to himself, he points to the interviews with civilians and how sam is able to persuade them too - so it's not just him, samm DOES have these "powers of persuasion"-bordering on ahem, the supernatural...but it's just sam being a decent human to these folks...

Just like everything else Sam's been blamed for or, something ominous being made of something he does or is - maybe those "famous" puppy-dog eyes of his are just sam looking actually, genuinely hurt,wounded,betrayed? - but it's so much easier to deflect and dismiss as a manipulative tactic so that no reparations or even acknowledgements need to be made and so no accountability required to be taken - which is after all, "dean special power"?....

it strikes me everytime, how much of our views of sam are molded and informed by dean's POV in the narrative of supernatural....

I'm beginning to wonder if we've ever actually seen sam as he was in the story at all - from an objective standpoint, let alone his own POV (which I'm sure would be far darker of himself and also inaccurate?)...

[serotonins-stuff]

I will KILL to have more karma content from u literally 🤗🤗

♡︎Playfighing bf! karma +scenario

Going easy on you? Not a chance.

He's going to tackle you, sit on you, trip you- man is an absolute menace.

Will smile when you try to tackle him and he'll hold your wrists and smirk down at you.

WILL NOT STOP TEASING!!

" C'mon, I'm standing still baby, attack me."

As soon as you rush towards him he dodges you. Pinning your arms behind your back and kissing your neck while you struggle to be free.

Will shamelessly start flirting with you.

"You're so cute when you're sweaty"

You be out of breath, huffing and heaving while he's flawlessly not even bothered. Dodging every move like it's nothing.

This mf will start giving you tips during the fight.

"Your footing is off babe, try a different stance."

Smiling through the whole thing.

That is until you manage to pin him to the ground and he's genuinely shocked. Like actually flabbergasted that you even managed to lay a finger on him.

------

"Looks like you got me princess" he tries to move but still can't get up. His was way stronger than you, so how were you pinning him down like this?

His face went pale when he saw your expression.

You held the same sinister smile he does, placing your hand to his sides to prepare for an attack.

"Wait hold on now let's talk about this" he raised his hands in defeat, smiling nervously.

Then you started tickling him, and it was over. He squirmed and cackled under you, attempting to pry your hands off but it was no use.

When he saw his chance he swiftly changed positions. Pinning your hands above you so that he would be on top and have all the control.

Now it was your turn to panic while he deliberately raised his arms to your sides just like you had done. You flinched when his finger made contact with your stomach.

"Looks like someone is sensitive" he smirked, and proceed to attack your sides with a series of tickles.

"Karma- s-sto-p" you squirmed under him, laughing so hard that tears formed I'm your eyes.

"Oh has my princes had enough?" he cooed and lifted you princess style.

"You're a menace you know that?" You poked his cheek, and he put your finger in between his teeth.

"I'm your menace"

--------

A/n

This is the first request I've received, and I cannot explain how happy I am rn.

Thank you so much to everyone for the love and support!

Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

Requests are open.

[random-ideas-artblog]

Just finished watching the first detective Conan movie!

So I just finished it, and I was taking notes as I went through. I’m just going to post them below. It’s pretty rough because I typed while watching so these are real time thoughts. Overall I enjoyed it though.

Conan’s adorable when he gets the letter (blushing is cute)

Can’t believe the dork forgot his own birthday but remembered some Holmes trivia instead lol 

Ran is a such a sweetheart omg 

Mori really read through the dudes whole Wikipedia page lmao

Never mind I mean biography I forgot this was like 1997

Does this dude have OCD is that supposed to be the implication 

Garden party is cool but where are the bombs and skyscrapers what I sup 

Damn he can cook wow

I feel like the do everything myself is going to be Important

Ok he’s kind of sinister know idk why  

Yo why is he so interested in this teenage girls love life??? 

Conan you are so screwed 

Oh ok I see where the bomb and skyscraper are coming into play now 

Grudge against the architect maybe 

Wow that was a big explosion

Ok this whole situation is very weird why is he helping Conan 

What is the cat the fucking bomb???

There better not be any cat death in this movie I will cry 

How did the old woman not notice the bomb???

That old woman and driver are having very tame reactions to this insane kid 

Oops and he’s passed out. In the hospital too uh oh

Aw that cute Kogoro is by his bedside 

Wow Conan without the glasses really looks like a  shinichi copy  how has no one noticed 

You can’t use phones in hospitals what is this common knowledge I never learned 

Ok this looks really bad for Shinichi I pity him a bit lol now Kogoro things he’s scum 

Ok I have a theory: For whatever reason  architect is bombing stuff for an unknown reason. The guy shown has a beard but that’s probably just a disguise, architect said he likes to do things himself so that’s why I think it’s him. He doesn’t what there to be casualties or just wants someone to stop him.That’s why Shinichi was contacted he’s a well known detective. The password thing was a test for Mori to see if he can replace shinichi, but Conan figured it out and got a tour of the gallery. Which, COINCIDENTALLY, has buildings that have been bombed before (the mansion) and will be bombed (presumably the skyscraper based on info so far). It’s a deliberate clue. That’s also why the bomber is accepting Conan as a legitimate detective because he passed the test, but also giving hints because this js a kid he doesn’t want to kill him. It’s also just occurred to me that the architect was implied to have severe OCD or perfectionism. He could be bombing past builds because he thinks there’s some thing wrong with them and can’t stand to have their design be under his name. Something like that idk. I’m only 36 minutes in so we’ll see

Wait a minute maybe the reason architect was interested in the birthday date was because he wanted to know when and where Shinichi would be so he could plan the bombing around his schedule! Ran provided practically all the details too 

That’s cute the kids drew a picture (I know it’s a suspect but still)

He’s happy with it??? Damn Conan can’t draw at all 

That was a lot of damage to the car wow 

Rare Kudo shinichi appearance I missed you!!! Conan’s cute but shinichi as himself looks pretty cool haha 

Damn that’s a strong father son bond 

Laughing then hating that’s kinda of funny

Genta is going to shout out the word bombs isn’t he

…I knew it 

Wait no ones noticed these kids screaming bomb on the train?

I am so confused by the motivation pretty sure this means my theories are wrong damn 

Sick burn Ran lol 

Wow this whole diverting sequence is seriously dramatic and I love it 

Poor Ran she’s getting stood up 

The bridge! The architect doesn’t want to blow up that bridge because he’s actually happy with that work! That would fit with my previous theory 

Ok shiratori is being kind of suspicious. Kinda confirms my theory tho 

Conan dude that suggestion was not subtle at all  

Ok now what Mori has said it’s someone else I’m more convinced than ever it’s the architect 

Ok there’s a lot of emphasis being placed on him lighting the pipe same as the beginning 

Ok did the dad steal his kids designs or did he steal his dad’s?? Probably the latter 

Was I actually on to something with the pipe????

Uh new theory he’d bombing all the architecture that doesn’t fit the New Tama symmetrical city to try and get the building approved after the Mayors arrest 

Just saw the architect has a painting of a horse above the fireplace I don’t know why that’s amusing to me 

Mori you are so wrong it’s funny as hell 

That reaction was funny as hell 

It’s kind of creepy how the architect is just standing and staring down 

Go after him Shiratori hell yeah 

So the skyscraper in the tile only shows up in the last 20 minutes 

I was actually right with my theory?? Kind of. I got the reason he wanted Kudo to take the case wrong(it was revenge) but the motivation behind the bombing and who was bombing them was correct. 

Ok but now that it’s been proven it had nothing to do with the case, why was he so interested in the date it’s a little bit creepy ngl 

Oh damn the bombs actually went off that’s a lot of power 

Ok wow this dude is an asshole 

Wait he wanted to know about the date so he could plant a huge bomb that would kill Ran and Shinichi wtf 

Ok Ran is taking this very well wow she’s cool 

I wonder what everyone else in the lobby is thinking right now 

Wait did they do it wrong. Wait nvm that’s someplace else 

Seeing Kogoro so worried about Ran is kind of heartwarming, although the circumstances aren’t great 

Oh god it’s the classic red wire blue wire 

My bet is on red wire. It’s Ran’s favorite color and the couples lucky color for the month 

Bruh wtf is with this edgy commentary from the architect about love you’re such a loser Christ.I’m getting a bit heated haha 😅

Not the happy Birthday this is really sad 

We’ll be together when we die??? What the hell this is depressing but kinda sweet 

I just realized I started off a bunch of my comments with ok so. It’s not important or anything I just noticed that while reading through. I’d give this movie a 7/10. There were some interesting parts and it was fun theorizing but there are still some things I’m confused about. Why did he accept Conan as a detective? Why did he provide clues to the bombs??? If the motive was revenge wouldn’t it be better to have Shinichi fail? Maybe I missed something idk.

[justice-forever]

Hyperion By Green-Mamba

Real Name: Mark Milton

First Appearance: The Avengers #69 (October 1969)

As sure as the sun rose in the West did Earth's greatest hero, the Hyperion, rise to defeat evil.

An extraterrestrial, he was sent to Earth from his doomed home planet as an infant named Zhib-Ran, the last member of his species, their final hope. There, he was found by his new Father, who named him Mark and raised him to be the best man he could be, while coming to terms with his alien power to absorb the energy of the sun, granting him unfathomable strength and superhuman abilities.

Taking the title Hyperion, he used these powers to fight for truth, justice, and the American way, and together with like minded heroes he formed the Squadron Supreme, a league of the bravest and boldest men and women on the planet.

Headquartered in America's capital on the West coast, they were Washington DC's finest heroes.

But over time, Mark felt that the Squadron was not doing enough to help their fellow man.

Supervillains they could put a stop to, but disease, natural disasters, poverty, hunger... these were out of their reach. Thus began the Utopia Project.

Lead by Mark, the Squadron agreed to take over the United States government by force and take the reins.

Forcibly reprogramming supervillains, wealth redistribution, and vast humanitarian efforts the world over were now all within their control.

But natural disasters across the globe were getting worse, not better, and there seemed to be no recourse.

It was not until the Squadron's greatest scientific mind, Thomas Thompson, made a breakthrough discovery did they have any clue to the worsening situation.

They were not the only Earth.

Theirs was an exact mirror image of another, a counter-Earth, inhabiting the orbital plane but phase shifted in such a way the two could never touch or see each other.

Something of infinite power had separated the two Earths in the long ancient past but also anchored them together, and it was gone now.

And it would be up to the Squadron Supreme to make first contact with their neighboring world.

So basically rather than from another universe, the Squadron Supreme come from Counter-Earth here.

The Squadron Supreme are a fun part of the Marvel universe, a really earnest pastiche of the Justice League, not mean spirited like some of the cross company parodies can be, and they've managed to remain relevant in many different incarnations throughout the years.

And obviously, if I am going to touch on the Squadron Supreme, that means Hyperion has to be the first to appear. I kept his same basic origin the same (which is... basically Superman's), though I'm not sure if he is an Eternal or whatever here like in the comics.

I'm leaving what he actually is unanswered for now.

My big change came from reimagining the Squadron Supreme as coming from Counter-Earth, which, while phase shifted out of Earth's view and touch, is technically in the same universe.

I left some clues to it being mirrored in my bio, with the sun rising in the West and what not.

Oh, and that "first appearance" listed there is actually the cosmic construct Hyperion that appeared in the Squadron Sinister, not the Mark Milton Squadron Supreme Hyperion that appeared two years later--but I did include a reference to the original Hyperion with his alien name of "Zhib-Ran," so you could consider this to be a combination of both versions.

For his design, I basically, uh, drew Superman? And then colored him like Hyperion? More or less.

I had originally based him on his black and gold color from Hickman's Avengers run, but eventually settled for his classic red and gold colors.

I deliberately tried to make him as a straightforward superhero, no reimagining his cape to be coat or civilian clothes or anything like that, the Squadron Supreme are just fantastical superheroes to kind of deliberately play against my (relatively) more grounded universe. I did decided to get rid of the outdated atom design for his chest emblem and switch it up to the astronomical symbol for the sun, you know, cause that's where he gets his power from.

This one had to be uploaded a little later in the day due to me being busier today than I had anticipated.

Thanks for your patience.

[inscrutable-shadow]

Mediwhump May Day 6 - Poisoning (Alt Prompt)

@mediwhumpmay

This is the generic modern AU for Five Card Draw. The Doctor is often called upon to work with other medical professionals on research, and they use the name Rowan Fairbank for non-criminal dealings. Also, just a PSA: don't fuck with people's food! It's illegal, immoral, and not just a prank, you don't always know a person's full medical history and even if you do it's not worth fucking around and finding out.

The Doctor could almost always tell when their colleagues were talking about them behind their back. Not least because it was a near-constant phenomenon, but also because when a person is used to being stared at upon entering a room, when everyone is deliberately avoiding eye contact with you, it’s quite noticeable. They wouldn’t confront anyone over it. It wasn’t worth it and any opportunity to avoid a social interaction was greatly appreciated.

Today, though, there was a sinister edge to the attention. They’d dealt with the criminal underworld long enough to gain an intuition for when other people were conspiring against them, and this feeling was not at all subtle. Best to just top-up their thermos with coffee, shove a scone in their mouth, and get out of the break room. They hated working on this project. Everyone treated them as if their achievements had been bought for them and they didn’t deserve to be there, but taking the assignment seriously had them accused of being a “stick in the mud.” “Hi, Rowan!” The words were cheery, but the voice was dripping with condescension. The Doctor closed their eyes for a moment, taking a steadying breath, then turned to attempt a smile at the person speaking to them: Dr Rose Gallagher, a pulmonologist.

“Good afternoon, Rose.” They tried to go back to their coffee, hoping she would just go away.

She did not. “How’s your coffee? Still no sugar?”

“No, I drink too much to put sugar in, it would be even more unhealthy…” There was enough sugar in the energy drinks, anyhow.

The gaggle of (fully grown, adult) doctors at the other end of the room found this incredibly amusing. “And the gluten-free scones? Those good too?” Wait. That emphasis… Had they…? The Doctor nearly choked on the pastry.

“They are… fine… I am not exactly hungry…” They really weren’t. Their stomach had sunk at the thought that something in the breakroom had been tainted. One would think it would be ridiculous for some of the leading medical minds in the country to do something as awful as intentionally cross-contaminate gluten-free items, but not only were several of the doctors on this placement considerably dumber than their accolades would suggest, they seemed perfectly willing to set aside any question of ethics in the harassment of someone who was different.

The exposure had already occurred. Nothing to be done about it now but scare the living daylights out of their abusers, which would make a very long forty-eight hours worth it. “Surely you are aware of the potential long-term effects of gluten exposure for a celiac patient? Unlikely to kill, yes, but lifelong damage is almost a certainty. My case is particularly severe and quite well managed; it is often five or more years between exposures. My being forced to take two or three days off will delay the project enough for Doctor Pryor to be quite displeased, no?”

“Oh, come on, Rowan, nobody really believes that.” The Doctor didn’t know this man’s name; he was on one of the engineering teams and they were almost exclusively working with pharmaceuticals. “It’s a convenient excuse for having your own coffeepot and no one ever seeing you eat, you owe me thirty, by the way,” he leaned over to Zoster, a neurologist, “but that’s all it is, an excuse for Doctor Pryor to coddle you. You’re completely normal behind that stick up your ass and this proves it. You’re fine.”

“It is not like an allergy. Did you even pass medical school? The small intestine causes the issue. Ridiculous. I could have your licenses for this.” They should have their licenses for this, but it was an empty threat. Too much work and it would only further turn everyone against them. Nothing about their demeanour implied they were anything less than deadly serious, though.

This caused a murmur of uncertainty among the group. “You… can’t prove anything. Maybe the kitchen made a mistake.”

Oh, this was fun. “No? Did you fail to notice the security camera in the corner?” They indicated with their coffee cup, then took a sip. If it was also tainted, well, it couldn’t get worse, could it? “That’s live-feed, you know. It will show someone touching my food items. Also, you did just admit to it. Doctor Pryor has me under audio surveillance to ensure I do not… antagonise my colleagues. I turn in the recordings daily, but I could perhaps be convinced to alter them.” That last bit wasn’t true, but only the Doctor knew that. “Rowan, be reasonable. It was just a prank!”

“I did not find it amusing.”

“...What do you want? Cash?”

They laughed. “Certainly not. Though I do think I just found five lovely volunteers to do all of my cultures for the next several weeks. There are plenty of other menial tasks it seems I will also be converting into free time, but for now, I shall continue my break.” Or rather, take the afternoon off. They left the room, not bothering to eavesdrop on the urgent whispers they left behind.

Two days of cramping and brain fog. Fantastic. They were never going to take an assignment like this again.

taglist: @i-eat-worlds

[budddywells]

for: @rafacarreno

where: somewhere in the 'burbs, around 3am

He doesn't know how he got here.

Not physically, he knew exactly how he found himself sat on a curb in a street that felt like a suburban liminal space, pulling a drag from the only cigarette that had survived in the box in his back pocket when he connected with the edge of a marble kitchen island due to a deliberate shove from one angry looking stock broker.

( That was an easy enough thread to follow: stripping at a bachelorette party was fine, going home with the bride who's husband wasn't away on business as expected was where it got messy. )

What he had a hard time discerning was how he got here in a bigger sense. Existentially, it was difficult to discern an exact moment in time that he could point to and say that's where life had went from trucking along to hard then to straight out of his control.

The last two years had put him through the ringer, and it seemed that was now what he did to everyone else around him, intentional or not.

In the scuffle with the now unhappy groom, his phone had fallen victim to the deliberate way it had been thrown to the ground and smashed for good measure, leaving him to try and figure out how the hell he was supposed to get home without the ease of an app.

The kindness of the drunken Samaritan that had spilled out of a taxi with her husband in tow (returning from what he assumed was some sort of PTA gone wild evening out) had started and stopped at letting him use her phone as long as he didn't loiter on her perfectly maintained lawn.

There was only one number he knew off by heart, and that was down to the owner being the kind of consistent he's not sure existed in folks these days. His number never changed, it was the same one that Buddy used to prank call with his friends as a teen on an odd Friday night when he thought that shit was funny just to see if he could get a rise out of him.

It was the same set of digits he had scribbled on the back of a bar mat and offered as a resource when he found himself in conversation with a kid that was too young to be in the same bar as him, and the only number that came to mind when he had been told by HR to provide an emergency contact for his file when he had been working at the bank.

Despite all the ways Buddy had tried to prove his reliability as something alternate, something more sinister -- a facade, an illusion, a kind of long-con before he showed some true colours that were more in line with everyone else in his life that let him down -- Rafael always showed up.

So, he stretched his legs out in front of him, finished off his cigarette and ignored how the ache just under his eye from where a fist had connected with it got more gnawing as the warmth of the whiskey he had been drinking tempered off as he inched closer to sobriety and he waited.

[bootlickerhawks]

Twice/Hawks Anon: At first I thought Power feared Makima because the latter could jeopardize her chances of recovering Meowy. However, even after getting her cat back, Power still sweats when Makima addresses her and avoids eye contact when she can. Perhaps Power’s devil senses can detect something sinister about Makima. I

also wonder if Makima grouping Denji with Aki & Power of all people was deliberate. When Denji asked whether Makima was a good person early on, Aki immediately shut down his doubts. Power, on the other hand, is clearly apprehensive toward Makima. However, Power shocked Denji with her unhygienic, deceptive, wild, & immature behavior. Aki, in contrast, acts more rational and responsible. Thus, in pairing them, Makima suggests that those who doubt her goodwill are ludicrous and childish while those who believe in her are reasonable and mature. Though Himeno expresses dislike toward Makima, she inadvertently advances Makima’s agenda in ruining Denji’s first kiss. In now associating Himeno with a putrid memory, Denji probably won’t take Himeno’s word for anything, let alone supposed slander toward his beloved Makima.

[writer59january13]

Damn them computer hackers...

nothing but persistent

pesky sniveling, snot nosed beastie boy buggers. Data breach conundrum with Gmail rectified... courtesy MacKeeper computer technicians in tandem with the geek inside me, who finally resolved elusive quandary that befuddled and frustrated yours truly, yet would probably be a no brainer for generic kindergartner. Orders of protestation barked back from artificial intelligence machine smartass Macbook Pro laptop, informing stymied ordinary sleepy joe - biden his time trying in vain to contact Google representative. Left to my own devices plus praying to the god of technology Vishwakarma, whereby a thunderbolt appeared out of the blue struck me upside the head jump/kick started problem solving creative juices. Picture the general scenario such that I could see

clearly within mind's eye raw binary bits of personal information snapped up for sinister purposes) after familiarity with MacKeeper transpired, and kudos to the brain children (before parturition little Einsteins trained in utero while he/she they/them listened to Mozart), who birthed

said utility computer program to maintain ideal free and clear functionality, operationality, and uni-directionality of sophisticated electronic machine to detect, quarantine or purge malicious software when necessary if the life of the expectant mother or other type of end user at risk. After bundle of joy exits cervix, he/she they/them burbles fluent binary, octal, hexadecimal, et cetera before nursing courtesy re milk of human kindness suckling buzzfeeds babe essential nutrients to fend off nasty and brutish microscopic manifold germs empowering immune system of newborn with vital defenses against deleterious organisms analogous to top notch military trained to stop enemy in their trax. Similar to taking preventive measures such as getting inoculated or taking antibiotics if body affected by an insidious illness causing pathogen, a legion of danger exists (rather flows) within the webbed wide world of a stand alone computing machine or a linkedin network system analogous to vulnerable damage causing living entity, (whether animal or plant) wreaking havoc within cellular level, which worse case scenario spells demise of corporeal entity or in the case of flora, flowers nipped in the bud before they get a chance to blossom, which irksome blight, a pitiful sight for sore eyes or lamentation

(more likely anger or rage against the machine) currently infected with deliberately delivered malware intended to sabotage important data as happened to many unsuspecting netizens (including yours truly), whose divine intervention courtesy MacKeeper application provided ways and means to remedy implacable stealth perpetrated, especially black hat, gray hat, green hat or elite hackers to mention a small

number of cyber marauders hell bent causing woebegone

agitation, brutalization, cannibalization, desperation,

eradication, infiltration, ruination of blood, sweat and tears regarding creation of supposedly air tight

vacuum packed system.

[serephinastardust]

The Book I'm writing, 1st attempt b4 I got it titled- Chapter 15

As they approached the campsite, the commotion became more audible. Selene's voice rose above the others, casting Odessa in a sinister light. "I told you she was no good! A thief in our midst. We should've left her in that wretched meadow where she belongs!"

Odessa's eyes flickered toward Seraphina, acknowledging the absurdity of the situation. Meanwhile, the camp was in chaos. Leon was visibly distressed, Kael agitated, and even Xander seemed perturbed by the unexpected disappearance of their seemingly harmless companion. Selene continued her tirade, adding more fuel to the fire.

Seraphina whispered to Odessa, her tone laced with amusement, "Looks like your friends are quite concerned about your well-being. Little do they know what an act you're putting on, my plain friend."

Odessa, still playing her part, cast a glance at Seraphina, silently wondering how this unexpected turn of events could be exploited to her advantage.

Odessa and Seraphina lingered at the edge of the campsite, far enough away to remain unnoticed, yet close enough to observe the unfolding drama. The campfire cast flickering shadows on the tense faces of the group. Selene's accusations echoed in the night air, creating an atmosphere charged with suspicion and unease.

As the group debated Odessa's disappearance, Seraphina leaned in and whispered, "Plan B, my dear. Let them fret a little longer. It will make your grand return all the more dramatic."

Odessa's eyes betrayed no emotion as she continued to survey the scene. She was formulating a mental checklist of the key players and their emotional states. Leon, concerned and protective; Kael, annoyed and distrustful; Xander, his expression revealing a mix of irritation and curiosity. It was a delicate dance, and Odessa was determined to lead.

Meanwhile, Seraphina couldn't help but revel in the chaos she had subtly orchestrated. She smirked at the unfolding drama, confident that her manipulation would yield results in their favor.

Odessa took a moment to adjust her appearance before reentering the campsite. With a few quick, deliberate movements, she transformed her disheveled disguise into that of a lost wanderer. She shook out her hair, allowing it to cascade around her face in a disarrayed but purposeful manner.

Her clothing, previously arranged for stealth and practicality, was now shifted to create a more innocent, unassuming impression. She tugged at the fabric, ensuring it hung loosely and giving the appearance of someone who had been wandering aimlessly through the meadow.

As the chaos continued to unfold in the campsite, Odessa took a step forward, catching Seraphina's attention. The moonlight played on Odessa's face, revealing her disguised features. With a subtle nod, Odessa conveyed to Seraphina that it was time for her to improvise.

"Stay here and watch," Odessa whispered to Seraphina, her voice barely audible over the murmur of the group. "When I give you the signal, play along."

As she approached the campsite, she adopted a slightly hunched posture, as though fatigue weighed heavily on her shoulders. She strategically smeared a bit of dirt on her cheek, adding to the illusion of someone who had spent hours navigating the unfamiliar terrain.

Seraphina raised an eyebrow, intrigued by Odessa's bold move. Odessa turned away, approaching the group with a casual saunter. She intentionally avoided eye contact with Xander, playing the part of a wanderer who had lost her way.

Kael and Leon spotted her first, their expressions shifting from worry to relief. Leon rushed forward, his concern evident in his voice. "Essa, where have you been? We've been searching for you!"

Odessa maintained her composed facade, her eyes scanning the campsite. "Oh, you know, just exploring the meadow. Got a bit turned around. Didn't realize I wandered so far."

Kael frowned, still skeptical, but Leon, always eager to help, offered her a hand. "Come on, let's get you back to the campfire. Everyone was worried."

Selene approached Odessa with a flurry of questions, her words pouring out like a waterfall of accusations. "So, Odessa, you've been plotting all along, haven't you? A secret alliance, a clandestine scheme to manipulate us all. What's your endgame?"

Odessa, maintaining her role as the lost wanderer, responded with a steadfast silence. Selene's enthusiasm only grew as she spun a web of intrigue around Odessa. "I can see it now – you've been playing us like puppets, orchestrating events from the shadows. The stolen glances, the mysterious disappearances – it all makes sense!"

The accusations became more elaborate and specific, with Selene crafting a narrative that mirrored the recent events. "You convinced Seraphina to join your cause, didn't you? What are you really after?"

Odessa's response remained an unwavering silence, her expression revealing nothing. Selene, fueled by her own creativity, continued to pile on the speculative details. "You wanted to distract us, make us believe you were just a helpless wanderer. But I see through your act, Odessa. You're the puppet master pulling the strings!"

As Selene delved deeper into her imaginary plot, Xander's cold gaze fell upon her. Selene, now unsure of her own narrative, faltered in the face of Odessa's silent composure. "You can't stay silent forever, Odessa. We'll find out the truth," Selene declared before retreating, her confidence shaken by the mysterious wanderer's unyielding silence.

Odessa found herself unexpectedly face to face with Xander, her heart quickening at the sudden turn of events. She met his penetrating gaze with a deliberate calm, a façade that masked the inner chaos. Selene's abrupt movement had inadvertently placed her in the direct line of Xander's scrutiny.

Internally, Odessa willed herself to remain composed, drawing upon the art of deception she had mastered over the years. "Stay calm," she whispered to herself, suppressing the flutter of nerves. "You are just a wanderer who lost her way. Nothing more."

As Xander's cold gaze bore into her, she began to weave a narrative, each word calculated to reinforce her innocence. "Prince Xander," she began, her voice steady, "I found myself disoriented in the meadow, wandering too far from the group. The vastness of this place led me astray, and for a while, I couldn't hear your calls."

Odessa continued with a carefully crafted tale of confusion and the eventual rediscovery of the group's voices. "I assure you, my lord, my intentions were never malicious. I am merely a lost soul, seeking her way back to familiar grounds."

The air hung heavy with tension as Odessa awaited Xander's response. The delicate balance between truth and deception rested on the edge of his judgment. She maintained her outward composure, all the while acutely aware of the precarious nature of the narrative she had spun.

In the moonlit silence of the campsite, Odessa's heart pounded in her chest as she approached Xander, her every movement a carefully choreographed dance of innocence. She kept her gaze fixed on him, willing her eyes to betray nothing but wide-eyed sincerity. The amulet Seraphina had given her nestled against her skin, a tangible reminder of the risky plan she was about to set in motion.

As Odessa drew closer, Xander's expression shifted from confusion to mild surprise. Her faux-trip, a calculated misstep, worked like a charm. Their bodies collided, sending them both sprawling to the ground. In the blink of an eye, the entire camp fell silent, everyone's attention drawn to the unexpected spectacle unfolding before them.

Time seemed to stretch as Odessa and Xander found themselves entwined on the forest floor. In that suspended moment, she seized the opportunity, pressing her lips to his. The spark that surged between them was undeniable, a fleeting connection that left Odessa momentarily breathless. It was a calculated risk, a gambit she had not entirely anticipated.

The camp, now plunged into an almost magical hush, watched the scene unfold with collective astonishment. Odessa's heart raced not only from the audacity of her actions but also from the strange energy that seemed to crackle in the air. For a moment, everything hung in delicate balance.

Then, as if the universe itself had granted her a momentary respite, Odessa snapped back to reality. The spark of connection faded, replaced by a sense of disorientation. As the camp around them slowly stirred back to life, Odessa felt a renewed urgency. With a single, focused thought, she activated the moon shadow amulet.

The moment Odessa activated the moon shadow amulet, an alternate reality unfurled around her—a vivid illusion where she and Xander were still locked in a passionate kiss. The deceptive glamour seemed to envelop them, and even Xander, lost in the illusion, believed in the reality that wasn't. In this mirage, time lingered on the precipice of the stolen kiss.

Seizing the opportunity, Odessa deftly navigated the illusory landscape, her focus unwavering on the sealed lunar ember blossom. She moved with a purpose, the locket at her neck glinting as she carefully stowed away the precious flower. In this ephemeral reality, she achieved her clandestine goal, hidden from the prying eyes of both friend and foe.

The illusion persisted, capturing a stolen moment of intimacy between Odessa and the unsuspecting Xander. The camp, caught in the visual enchantment, watched the scene unfold with wide-eyed fascination. It was a tableau of illusion, a carefully crafted diversion within the moonlit tapestry.

Kael's attempt to speak resulted in a broken, "Wha—what in the—"

Leon, equally perplexed, managed only a fragmented, "I th—th-this can't be—"

Selene's disapproval manifested in a series of high-pitched screeches, each one a discordant note in the bizarre symphony that unfolded.

Amidst the chaotic sounds, Seraphina's voice wavered as she muttered, "Sto—stop this," her words a fragmented plea.

In the midst of the confusion, the illusory kiss continued, leaving the observers trapped in a surreal moment where communication faltered, and reality seemed to unravel.

As the illusion reached its zenith, Odessa allowed it to break with deliberate precision. The kiss, so vivid just moments ago, dissipated into the night. With a swift, apologetic retreat, she disentangled herself from Xander, a blush tinting her cheeks as she feigned embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with faux shame. "I didn't mean to... I just got lost in the moment." Her hands clasped together in a contrite gesture, Odessa turned the attention away from the illusionary kiss, clapping her hands above her head.

Seraphina, with a sly smile, approached the group. "Ah, Crown Prince Xander, what a peculiar situation we find ourselves in."

Xander, still recovering from the unexpected kiss, nodded but maintained a regal composure. "Seraphina Vossheart, to what do we owe this visit?"

Seraphina continued, her words dripping with subtle mockery. "It's been quite some time since I visited the Azure Empire. I must admit, the sight of a plain companion stealing a kiss from a prince is a rare entertainment. The Azure Empire is full of surprises, wouldn't you agree, Crown Prince?"

Xander maintained his calm demeanor, responding with a measured tone. "Indeed, Lady Seraphina. The Azure Empire is a place of unpredictability."

While Seraphina and Xander exchanged pleasantries, the tension in the air thickened. Odessa, sensing an opportunity to escape, started inching away from the campsite, her movements carefully calculated to avoid detection.

The night erupted in chaos as Seraphina's voice clashed with the whispers of conflict. The Azure Empire meadow, once bathed in the tranquil glow of the full moon, became a stage for confrontation. Seraphina's accusations echoed through the air, charging the atmosphere with a mix of anger and frustration.

As the confrontation escalated, Odessa seized the opportune moment, her agile form weaving through the shadows as the skirmish between Seraphina's elders and the group erupted. The urgency in Seraphina's tone and the chaos unfolding behind her only fueled Odessa's determination to reach Umbral Haven unscathed.

With each calculated step, Odessa navigated the uneven terrain, her mental map serving as a guide through the dark meadow. The sounds of clashing cultivators and the distant echoes of Seraphina's accusations resonated, urging her to quicken her pace.

The revelation of the Fallen Star Court lingered in Odessa's mind, adding an additional layer of mystery to the unfolding events. The meadow, once a place of serenity, now crackled with energy as the confrontation intensified.

Bolting through the night, Odessa focused on a singular goal—reaching the sanctuary of Umbral Haven before the ripples of the conflict caught up with her.

[esglatestmarketnews]

U.S. Ophthalmic Devices—a Deep-dive on the Patient Population based on Gender and Age Groups

The burgeoning aging population and a surge in obesity & diabetic cases have put the spotlight on advanced ophthalmic devices. The National Institute on Aging (NIA) estimates the geriatric population to reach 72 million by 2030, while the WHO suggests around 422 million people are living with diabetes. These trends imply the prevalence of vision impairment and blindness due to diabetic retinopathy, cataracts, glaucoma, age-related macular degeneration and vitreo-retinal disorders. Besides, the onset of the COVID-19 outbreak led to increased screen time, spurring the demand for eye examinations. 

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The demand for minimally invasive surgeries, including multi-wavelength diabetic retinopathy treatment and LASIK surgery.

Trend for ophthalmic devices across hospitals and eye clinics. 

Early detection and treatment of eye diseases to help prevent vision loss. 

Significance of adults receiving eye exams: The American Academy of Ophthalmology mentions that over 22 million adults grapple with vision impairment, and 61 million U.S. adults are at a high risk of vision loss. 

The influence of AI as well as the impact of campaigns and programs.

Get your copy or request for a free sample of the report “U.S. Ophthalmic Patient Population Statistics Study Report”, compiled and published by Grand View Research.

Attribute

U.S. Ophthalmic Patient Population (2022)

Age Groups

Gender

Glass Vs Contact Lenses

Single Vision Vs Multifocal

Number of LASIK surgeries

Ethnicity

Population wearing glasses

% of people that wear glasses for Single Vision Vs Multifocal

Number of people wearing bifocal, trifocal, and progressive lenses

% of the population that has an oculus dexter and oculus sinister measurement between -6 and +6 in the prescription)

Get more insights from our in-depth market intelligence report “Ophthalmic Devices Market Analysis By Product (Optical Coherence Tomography, Ophthalmic Ultrasound), By Application (Cataract, Glaucoma), By End Use (Hospitals and Eye Clinics) And Segment Forecasts, 2022 – 2030.”

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[stanislawkowalski]

The cold kiss of metal against Luka’s skin ignited a thrill deep within him, a shiver of anticipation curling through his veins like smoke. The danger, the sharp edge of their interaction, was a blade that cut both ways, and Luka revealed in the sensation. Fear, in this twisted dance, was a mere illusion—a mask he wore with the practiced ease of a master performer.

His gaze, locked onto Willard’s, sparkled with a dark, almost wicked amusement. He had indeed stepped into the den, laid himself bare like a sacrifice on an altar of shadows, but there was a deeper truth beneath the surface. This was not surrender; it was strategy, an intricate web of intention spun from the finest silken threads of his cunning.

As the gun pressed against his lips, a challenge wrapped in cold steel, Luka leaned forward, letting his breath caress the barrel in a soft whisper of contact. The touch was delicate, deliberate, like the first brushstroke on a canvas destined to capture something darkly beautiful. His tongue flicked out, a brief taste of the danger he courted, before his voice, smooth as velvet, slipped into the charged air.

“Your den, my den—does it really matter, Willard?” His words held the playfulness of a cat toying with a mouse, yet beneath them lurked something far more sinister. “We’re both creatures of the night, are we not? Both eager to taste the forbidden, to dance on the edge of ruin. But sharing the spotlight—now that’s an offer I find intriguing.”

A pause lingered, thick with the weight of unspoken promises, the silence between them vibrating with tension. Luka savoured it, the delicate balance of power teetering between them, before continuing. “Intimacy, you say? So vague. I wonder, though—what does intimacy mean to a man like you? Is it this?” His lips closed around the barrel, the action a challenge wrapped in a veil of feigned submission, his eyes never leaving Willard’s.

Time seemed to stretch, a fragile thread pulled taut, before Luka slowly withdrew, a small smile curving his lips, the gesture laced with dark satisfaction.

“As for fear,” Luka’s voice was a murmur, the mock innocence in his tone a carefully honed weapon, “I find it such a useless emotion. After all, isn’t it far more exciting to explore the unknown, to see how far we can push each other before one of us breaks?” His hand, graceful as a whisper, slid up to meet Willard’s, fingers brushing against the man’s in a touch that was both intimate and commanding.

“But then, perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself,” Luka mused, his head tilting slightly as if caught in a moment of contemplation. “Perhaps you prefer a slower game, one where we peel back the layers bit by bit, until there’s nothing left but raw truth. Or perhaps you like the idea of taking it all at once—forcing me to reveal everything in a single, devastating moment. The choice, dear Willard, is entirely yours.”

Luka’s fingers trailed down the length of the gun, a slow, deliberate caress that mirrored the calculated rhythm of his words. “But remember—whatever you take from me, I’ll take something in return. That’s the nature of our little game, isn’t it? A give and take, a dance on the edge, where pleasure and pain become one.”

He continued to admire the other's form, how he had displayed himself on the bed for him to find. However, it was not the naked form what intrigued him most (sure it did a lot for him) but Luka's words that is what truly piqued his interest.

"From where I stand, it's quite the opposite. You've made your way into my den, displayed yourself as a feast on my 'table' and are looking so eager to be enjoyed by me. Your domain is very much looking like my domain right now but I don't mind sharing the spotlight with someone as promising as you." The gun he had lowered before was once more brought up. The cold metal of the gun was trailed along Luka's torso. Finger not on the trigger but barrel pointing right at the youth's body.

"I would very much appreciate you opening your mind and darkest secrets to me but why the rush? For now let's keep it intimate, shall we?" The barrel of the gun was brought up to Luka's mouth, the intention was very clear. Instead of blowing Willard off, he wanted the other to take the gun in his mouth. "Not scared I might pull the trigger, are you?"

His voice had sounded mostly humored throughout the whole interaction, which is why it was impossible to read Willard's true intend with his home intruder.

[noface-phantom7]

Possession: 3 Things Dr. Bright is NOT Allowed to Do

A Case of SCP-963: Immortality / Dr. Jack Bright

Based on Things Dr. Bright Is Not Allowed To Do At The Foundation (287)

No. 9. SCP-963 is not to be used for recreational or procreational purposes.

Incident Report 963 - BRIGHT - 009

Date: [REDACTED]

Description: Dr. Jack Bright was caught using SCP-963 and have transferred his consciousness into MTF-Lambda-2 Operatives; Agent Chris Kennedy, Agent Leon Muller, and Agent Jake Redfield, pictured below, in order to engage in certain sexual recreational activity with himself in three separate vessels.

(From left to right: Jake Redfield, Leon Muller, Chris Kennedy, all controlled by Dr. Bright}

Dr. Jack Bright’s account:

While I do hate the fact that this medallion keeps my consciousness, and renders me immortal; I suppose there’s a perk with it letting me be able to transfer my consciousness into other bodies, and even in multiple hosts at once, provided that I’ve let it have contact with a host for the required amount of days—and that is, I could just get anyone to have ‘fun’ with me whenever I wanted to! I mean, I’m not really picky, but something about the Lambda trio’s (Kennedy, Muller, and Redfield) dynamic gave me the idea that “Hey! They’re all equally hot, what if I had a couple nights of fun in their bodies?”

And so there I was, plotting, it took very long though. First thing I did was create a non-anomalous replica of 963 of course, and it worked! I had the fake thing with me the entire time, meanwhile I slipped the real one in Chris’ pocket. As soon as he touched it, I felt myself in control of his body (whilst still in control of my ‘current’ body). I admit it was still a little jarring controlling multiple bodies at once, I couldn’t help but savor every moment of it—especially since Chris was my favorite among them. It took so long to embed my soul permanently inside him though, but I guess it was still fun using his huge body to screw other men in his team, there’s really so much of a difference doing anal with military men, don’t you think? Especially since Chris was hung too and I had full control of that tool.

Leon was next, he’s a little less bulkier than Chris and the change was a little disorienting at first. But I guess it was pretty hot getting the others ram my tight [EXPLETIVE]. Especially when I was piloting both Chris and Leon’s body? It was heaven feeling my own massive [EXPLETIVE] drilled inside my [EXPLETIVE]. That was really fun, to be honest. And hot. I think I railed myself almost every night using both of their bodies.

Last one was Jake, he’s a cross between the two of them—which was perfect, he complements Chris and Leon, and it was the perfect threesome. If using just Chris and Leon was heaven, this was something higher. My only question was, was I really having sex with the three of them, or was it technically masturbation? Anyway, I wouldn’t know, they found me out just after a week of having control of the three of them. It’s all Clef’s fault.

No. 124 Dr. Bright is not allowed to tell future hosts that "You are about to become very Bright".

And he can't tell anyone that "Possession is nine-tenths of the law"

Formal Complaint on 963 - BRIGHT No. 124 - 1

Date: [REDACTED]

Description: Numerous D - Classes and Junior Researcher Dr. Winters✝ filed a complaint of ‘creepy’ and ‘sinister’ behavior of Dr. Jack Bright casually walking around Site-17 designating them as future hosts, punctuating it by telling them “You are about to become very Bright” which have reportedly caused discomfort on the receiving end. Dr. Bright was also seen deliberately causing fatal ‘accidents’ on himself in order to switch hosts at an alarming rate ‘for fun’. Two incidents were recorded and filed with this complaint, concerning the late D-0804 ‘Karl’ and late Dr. Nathan Winters.

Dr. Jack Bright’s account on D-0804 Incident:

(Dr. Bright before workout using D-0804’s body)

What? Am I not allowed to change hosts whenever I encounter breaches? Come on people, The least you could let me do is to let me pick my next body! Let me customize! Karl just happened to be the next most suitable vessel, and he’s a hunk too, and I want his body. What joke? Oh, am I not allowed to make puns now? I literally just told him that because it was funny, he was going to become ‘Bright’ once I owned his skin. Where’s your humor?

Anyway, yeah okay I did purposefully let 173 snap my neck so I could expedite the process of me getting into this gorgeous gorgeous piece of meat. I want to be a head-turner in the site, you know? And the best course for that was to get this body. I might say too, I’ve definitely spent quite ‘some’ time exploring it. I think I shot more than a month’s worth of [EXPLETIVE] the first time I [EXPLETIVE] off in that body. Before I was reprimanded of course. At least let me have my fun!

Dr. Jack Bright’s account of the Winters Incident:

(Dr. Bright inside the body of Dr. Winters✝)

Killjoys. I was just having fun!—again, where’s the humor? First, I’m banned calling my future vessels as Bright, now I can’t make some law joke? Plus, wouldn’t it be great to transfer me, in all my glory and smarts, inside the body of Nathan? I mean, he’s just a junior researcher—I want at least a young body like his. He’s not doing well either, he sucks at this job, of course I could make him better. I mean, my brain and expertise in his body? Just perfect. Actually, you can’t stop me now that I’m inside him.

He’s just wasting so much potential in this vessel, I mean, I know how to use it much better than him too. If Karl’s body was an eye-catcher, this one is too—even better because they won’t look at me like some rugged man, and I’ve already scored some guys using Nathan’s body, you see, and I’m actually heading off there now, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to end this report. I’m getting laid later too so…yeah.

No. 285 Dr. Bright is not allowed to transfer his consciousness into a YouTuber in order to make serious videos about himself or his family.

Incident Report 963 - BRIGHT - 285

Date: [REDACTED]

Description: Classified as a containment breach; Dr. Jack Bright sent the SCP-963 medallion with his consciousness to YouTuber ‘Andrew Neighbors’, due to unclear reasons; possibly as a form of a sick ‘joke’ or by Dr. Alto Clef’s taunting. Main purpose remain unknown (though he claims the reason was, he wanted to test out the YouTuber’s body), not divulged by Dr. Bright, but joked about using the influencer’s YouTube to talk about SCPs and his ‘special’ family. However, Dr. Bright did not push through, and the amulet was retrieved once a copy of his consciousness had been embedded into Andrew so as to not arouse suspicions if he were left to become an empty husk.

Dr. Jack Bright’s account:

(Dr. Bright utilizing Andrew Neighbors’ body in the gym, mocking text to Dr. Alto Clef)

What? Andrew’s hot, I watch his videos all the time—so I wanted to have a taste of his life and that body of course. Yes, I know it’s a security breach, but there was no way anyone would find out…unless of course, while inside his body, I post something about the foundation, hmm? How about my family history? That would be quite a tale! Okay, just kidding. Come on, I’ve been cooped up in this facility for a long while, and the bodies you’ve been giving me are…declining in quality. Come on! I haven’t been in any good body since I died wearing Nathan’s nearly two years ago!

Anyway, want to know how much fun it was to be Andrew? Well of course since he’s a doctor too, and has a good following on social media, it was easy to get anyone, you know? So that one night, I was able to gather about less than ten of us. I figured a threesome wasn’t going to cut it, so I thought, why not have more? I could last more than four rounds in Andrew’s body anyway, so that night we had an [EXPLETIVE] [DATA EXPUNGED, SENSITIVE].

So yeah, that was the best night I’ve had in a long time. And yeah, I know there are repercussions for what I did, but whatever. I had fun in that body anyway—actually no, you can’t terminate him, that would catch attention. So I suggest let’s just let that copy of my consciousness stay there and act like him. That way we won’t have a problem, and I’ll still have my fun, so I wouldn’t need to breach again. Alright? Capisce? Capisce.

(Dr. Bright / Andrew Neighbors at [REDACTED] Park, having fully adjusted)