#Scarce Assets

[bitcoinversus]

MicroStrategy’s Michael Saylor Declares Bitcoin as the 'Universal Merger Partner'

In a recent interview with “Scarce Assets,” Michael Saylor emphasized Bitcoin’s critical role in revitalizing struggling companies. During the discussion, Saylor argued that Bitcoin is the “universal merger partner” and a key solution for “zombie companies” in the Russell 2000. His recommendation? Recapitalize these businesses using Bitcoin to ensure their survival. According to Saylor, Bitcoin…

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

1: LONGING

Masterlist > Chapter 2

Summary: You were born into HYDRA, it wasn't a choice you were offered. The Winter Soldier is thrust into your care and you realize there is more to him than meets the eye.

Pairing: Winter Soldier x HYDRA!reader, Bucky Barnes x HYDRA!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: SMUT: guided masturbation— If there is any more you find not listed here please be sure to let me know so I can add it.

Being born into a HYDRA legacy family was a burden you never asked to bear, a responsibility thrust upon you from the moment you took your first breath. Try as you might, you could never fully escape the dark shadow cast by your family's ties to the sinister organization, its tendrils snaking through every facet of society. No matter how hard you fought, HYDRA's grip was inescapable. As a child, you were shipped off to the HYDRA Preparatory Academy nestled deep in the Appalachian Mountains, where you were indoctrinated in the group's twisted ideology and forced to endure the bitterness of the unforgiving winters - a trial by fire meant to temper your resolve.

Yet, despite HYDRA's best efforts to mold you into a loyal, unquestioning soldier, your sympathetic and tender nature refused to be extinguished. This inherent compassion led you down an unlikely path, guiding you towards a nurturing profession that eventually landed you in the frozen tundra of Siberia. Here, you and two colleagues were tasked with attending to a single HYDRA asset, expected to provide the organization with your complete and unwavering dedication. It was a duty you were well-trained to fulfill, for you were the type who gave your all to every task, driven by an unyielding desire to do good in the world, one person at a time. No matter the personal cost, you would fulfill your obligations to the best of your abilities, driven by a sense of duty that spoke louder than the icy winds that howled outside your door.

You reported to Karpov. He was a ruthless man. He marched you into a room with a leather bound red book in his hand.

“Stay,” he barked at you.

Karpov's gravelly voice then laid bare your new mission; to cater to the asset's every need, to attend to the most minute details of the Winter Soldier's care. From the mundane tasks of washing and grooming him, to tending to his injuries or indulging his wildest desires, you were to be wholly devoted to his well being. The weight of this responsibility settled upon you as you silently nodded, your mind racing with the implications of this assignment.

Suddenly, the ominous sound of a door creaking open pierced the tense silence, and you felt your breath catch in your throat as the infamous Winter Soldier strode into the room, his heavy footfalls echoing with each step. Towering before you, the living embodiment of HYDRA's ruthless efficiency, you could scarcely believe that this legendary operative was now your charge. His history of unparalleled skill and merciless brutality was the stuff of whispered legends, and now you were tasked with catering to his every need. In that moment, the gravity of your mission became painfully clear, and you steeled your resolve, prepared to serve the asset with unwavering dedication.

He was your mission.

“Soldat has just been woken from the cryostasis chamber. Ensure he is ready for his mission in 24 hours.”

As you stood before the soldier, his vacant yet handsome features captivated you. His eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, seemed to gaze through you rather than at you, leaving you transfixed by the paradox of his striking appearance and unsettling detachment. You found yourself utterly enraptured, unable to look away from this enigmatic figure, your awe manifesting in a stunned silence. It was in this moment of captivation that Karpov, observing your reaction, must have mistaken your rapt fascination for fear. Sensing your unease, he swiftly moved to reassure you, his words cutting through the heavy silence that had enveloped the space between you. 

“He will not hurt you. He will comply,” he said before leaving you alone with the beast before you.

After a few moments of staring at Soldat, his gaze flicked down to meet yours. His ocean blue eyes seemed to soften slightly as they surveyed your form. They raked their way over your appearance with an emotion you couldn't quite identify. His face was still a blank slate but the pale blue windows into his soul betrayed the fire that blazed deep down inside him. 

“Soldat?” you whispered, unsure of how to address your new ward.

Immediately his attention was focused on your face, his gaze boring into yours. “Gotov soblyudat' (ready to comply).” His response was barely a breath.

You surveyed your charge with curiosity, walking around him slowly, taking in his appearance. From the way his unwashed hair stuck to his scalp and his unevenly trimmed bangs obscured his eyes like a sheepdog, down to his dirt covered boots. The higher powers of the agency hadn’t even seen it fit to grace the soldier with the dignity of clean clothes before they had placed him back into the stasis chamber. You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth and a quiet ‘tsk’ left your mouth before you looked back into his surprisingly handsome face. You had never been this close to an asset before and you were shocked by his natural beauty. There was an irresistible pull inside you and you found yourself reaching out to sweep the hair from his eyes, your thumb brushing over his well defined cheek smearing the black camouflage paint over his face.

“We need to get you cleaned up, Soldat.” You turned and made your way over to the dresser on the side of the room that you knew contained clean clothes and towels.

Despite your back being to the soldier, you could feel his stare following you around the room. He didn’t make a sound, just watching as you moved around collecting different items. Unbeknownst to you, the Winter Soldier was suffering from an internal quandary. For the first time in many years, his body was behaving in a way that hadn't been ordered, but it was still out of his control.

His attention was drawn to the unique features of your face, tracing the smooth curves of your waist, right down to the fullness of your ass in the tailored scrubs that hugged your figure in a rather erotic manner. It was always a conscious choice you made, dressing in a way that highlighted your assets. It helped you get noticed in a world full of sadistic, testosterone driven egomaniacs who otherwise wouldn’t lift a finger to help you or those in your care. Your form and bearing were definitely getting you noticed today, not that you’d had a chance to see it.

You handed him a towel and waited for him to move. But the soldier’s only move was to accept your offering, waiting on you for further instruction. The intensity of his stare was unnerving, almost like he could see into your soul. For a moment, you wondered who he had been before, before HYDRA had made him. There was a fire behind those blue eyes, maybe his dreams weren’t as empty as his conscience seemed to be. You lost yourself in contemplation for a moment, admiring the allure of his majestic form, seemingly unaware of the way his presence warmed your body.

“Soldat!” you exclaimed, shaking yourself out of your reverie. Suddenly you remembered the task at hand, not wanting to be caught slacking your duties on the first day of your assignment. “Go and take a shower.”

You watched him comply, traipsing into the adjoining room without closing the door, stopping short of the glass cubicle. He hesitated before stepping inside, fully clothed.

“Stop!” you cried with exasperation, following him without thinking. “You need to take off your clothes first.”

He looked at you with an unfathomable expression and you felt a pang of guilt for your tone. “Take off your clothes first,” you repeated in a more gentle voice. “Before you get in the shower.”

Slowly, Soldat held out the towel gripped in his titanium arm and you accepted. His stillness made you wonder if he even knew what to do next. Did he need more specific instruction? Or were you going to have to undress him yourself? The thought made you blush slightly. This had never come up in the job description. Not that you would object seeing him without clothing. Just as you opened your mouth, he brought his right hand up to his chest.

You watched him undo the fastenings on the vest covering his torso. His biceps bulged with his actions and you wondered if he felt the cold when he slept. It made your heart contract with an unexpected sadness.

Winter shed his layers one at a time as you watched with a burning curiosity. The leather around him unraveling to reveal his chiseled abs and lithe torso. The tiniest gasp escaped your lips as he undid the zipper on his pants, burying his thumbs under the seam to push them down. You averted your gaze as he pushed them to the floor unabashedly. He stood up, frowning with confusion at your reaction. Dignity wasn’t a luxury he had been offered for the last half century and he didn’t understand it.

Seeing you flush made him feel something foreign. It wasn't new, but it wasn't familiar. Like a dim distant memory of a life unlived. It awakened a part of him that they considered to be long dead. Passion. If you hadn’t turned away, you would have noticed how his body reacted to you. His impressive girth swelled and lengthened in response to your presence. Desire. But as he entered the shower, his arousal remained unseen by you. 

“Turn on the water,” you instructed. It finally occurred to you that maybe he needed more detailed instruction, like a complex computer programme. You’d seen how other handlers had kept soldiers as blank slates with electric stimulation targeted at the hippocampus. It suppressed their ability to recall memories and your Soldat had only just been wiped, immediately after being woken from stasis. It made sense that he was befuddled by his handler’s actions.

“Make sure the water isn’t too hot or too cold,” you added, listening for him to adjust the taps.

You closed your eyes, picturing his actions in your mind’s eye, resisting the urge to look over your shoulder to take a peek. It was the lack of change in sound that got your attention. The sound of water falling against his body didn’t seem to be changing in the way you expected of someone who was attempting to clean themselves. There was nothing else for you to do but to look.

If your life was a cartoon, your eyes would have been popping out of your head before falling to the floor and rolling around like golf balls. You wanted to trace the well defined contours of his toned back, eyes settling on where flesh met metal, following the branching scars that spread out like a mycelial network, leaching their poison into his sturdy form. You bit your lower lip to stop a soft whimper escaping when you finally dragged your eyes down to look at his firm ass.

Maybe he could sense the ferocity of your stare, or maybe he caught the soft sound of your stimulation, but he turned around to face you. And as he did so, you became aware of his soldier, standing tall and ready for attention. You were caught off guard by the gargantuan signs of his arousal, not having considered the man before you as anything other than an asset. But here he stood, before you, giving you a full view of his humanity, the passion that resided within. His state was more than just a mere physical response. The asset that you’d been assigned wasn’t just the empty shell of someone who had once been a man, there was still someone behind those cold blue eyes.

“Do you understand what you need to do, Soldat?” you asked, feeling flustered by the situation you had found yourself in.

He nodded and you took this as a cue for you to leave, turning to drape his towel over the nearest hook, you took a step towards the door. Except-

“Ostavat'sya.” (Stay)

There was such a raspiness to his voice, that it was a wonder you even understood the word. Your Russian wasn't as fluent as you would have liked it to be. There was definitely more behind those blue eyes than you had been led to believe. There was more to your job that you'd initially expected. Karpov’s words rang in your ears from earlier. The asset’s every need. The longer you spent with him, the more you noticed that he was coming to life. The emptiness you’d seen when he had stepped into the room had given way to something new, something intense. It was that intensity which drew you in, that made you seek out a connection, that made you feel bold. Bold enough to speak up.

You weren’t exactly shy, there was no room for that in HYDRA. But you were more reserved than the other men and women you’d trained with. You would often let your suitors come to you rather than seek them out. Today though, you were in control.

“Do you need some help with that, Soldat?” you purred.

The Winter Soldier didn’t answer but you saw the ways his eyes became darker, pupils dilated and his breath came faster with anticipation.

“What is it, Soldat? Are you expecting me to do that for you?”

He looked back at you, fire dancing in his eyes. His tongue slipped out of his mouth, ghosting over his stunning lips before giving you a hint of a smirk.

“Do you speak?” you demanded, accepting your dominating role.

“Da.” (yes)

“Do you speak English?” you wondered out loud. Your language skills were not quite as sharp as some of your others. Russian was not your strong suit.

“If you want me to.” The husky tone of his voice made you swoon and your core tingle.

“Is this what you want?”

“Yes.”

“Put your hand on it,” you commanded. 

With a firm, authoritative tone, you commanded him to comply, leaving him no choice but to obey. The moment his warm, calloused hand made contact with the sensitive skin of his shaft, a jolt of electric pleasure shot through him, igniting a burning desire within. Wrapping his fingers around his impressive, throbbing length, he could feel the blood pulsing through his veins as his breath quickened into short, shallow pants. The sensation was overwhelming, every nerve ending alight with sensation. He was rock hard now, aching to be touched, to be stimulated further. Your words had elicited a visceral reaction, and as you wondered what it would feel like to have that rigid, engorged member buried deep inside you, a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine. The very thought of him filling you, stretching you, driving you wild with ecstasy was enough to make your core throb with need. You yearned to find out firsthand just how incredible it would feel, to experience the full, throbbing weight of him inside your most intimate depths. 

“Squeeze.” You ordered and he complied. He would gladly obey you, he was under your spell. His hand tightened around himself, eliciting a low groan. The constriction made his hips jerked involuntarily, making his dick slide through his calloused digits. It was the most salacious sound you'd heard in a long time and you wondered if he would come right then. “Slowly,” you warned.

The blood flow to his cock seemed to have woken his brain as well and he started to take his own initiative. He slid a finger through the small bit of precum dripping from the slit and spread it over the head. You watched as he did as you instructed, running his fist up and down his slick cock.

“That's right. Up and down, loosen on up and tighten going down.”

Your mouth was practically watering, as you pushed away the urge to kneel down and take him into your own mouth. Your front teeth bit down on your lower lip to suppress a whimper as you watched his balls rise up with each stroke. You pondered for a moment before deciding that they needed their own attention. 

“Use your other hand.” You pointed in an instructive way. 

The soldier looked down to where your finger was aimed, at the shining titanium prosthetic they had mercilessly fused to his skin. He started lifting his metal palm as you asked, always ready to comply. But something in his face changed. It was subtle, but you could sense the disgust of what you had asked of him. What did he think of the gift that HYDRA had given him?

“No?”

He slowed his pumping to answer you. “Net… no.”

“Fine.” You had never been cruel. Your job was care. “Carry on.”

His eyes flicked back up to yours in an unasked question. Did he want something more? Did you dare ask for something you weren't sure you were ready for?

You watched your soldier, studying his expressions as he pleasured himself. Attention to detail had always been your strong point, reading the flickers of emotions on people's faces and how they told their untold stories, things they wished to keep undisclosed. It wasn’t just his face that told you that he was close to coming undone.

He had increased the speed of his movements, his eyes half closed, his spine arched and pelvis thrusted forwards into his hand, almost mindless in his lust and uncaring of his audience. His reckless abandon seemed to defy all your preconceptions for the Winter Soldier. Everything you had heard about him came down to control, and here he stood before you lost in an almost animalistic appetite with no thought or concern of judgment. You were taken aback by the vulnerability he showed in front of you, sharing this intimate part of him, you’d never seen any documentation of this sort of behavior from an asset before. It felt exhilarating and your body responded to it in kind.

You could feel your arousal pooling between your legs and you pushed your thighs together in an attempt to quell the feeling, only succeeding in creating a thrilling friction that sent a shock through your body. It was instinctive. You reached out, slipping a finger under the rugged ridge of his chin, gently tiling his face up towards yours. As his gaze met yours, his eyes widened, blazing with a mixture of lust and surprise. The blues of his irises had vanished completely, his eyes blackened completely by desire. A low guttural sound came from his throat. Then you understood, he wanted your permission to let go. So you gave it to him.

“Do it. Cum.”

You shivered as his eyes lost their focus, you watched as his cock throbbed expectantly. Your breath shuddered along with his as he made a mess, his cock spurting out what looked like a river of pent up seed, painting the tiles of the shabby bathroom. Your eyes widened as lewd moans fell off his lips in the most sinful manner as he pumped himself as the last and strongest wave of pleasure engulfed him. Goosebumps erupted across your flesh as a shiver traveled down your spine as you watched his jaw slacken and his member soften. He finally looked back up at you.

“Spasibo.” (Thank you) His hoarse voice was barely audible.

“That's quite a mess you've made, Soldat. I hope you aren't expecting me to clean you up.” You turned around and left him to his own devices. 

You tinkered around with his uniform, checking the fastening and leather harness that he usually wore. Waiting for him to return to you. You knew he would and he did. In silence, he followed your instructions, let you dry his hair and paint his face, finally tightening his belt. Just in time as Karpov unceremoniously stormed into the room.

“Soldat!” He pointed at the door, indicating for the asset to move out.

Your heart shattered into pieces, hearing the cruel tone he had used when addressing the Winter Soldier. Your instinctual response was to defend your asset, but you knew better than to go up against Karpov. He would only take your protest as an excuse to punish the soldier.

With one last look, he lowered his head and whispered. “Do svidaniya, Kotyonok.” (Goodbye, Kitten)

Masterlist > Chapter 2

[purplealmonds]

Finished this just in time for the new trailer drop! This is my Mononoke illustration featuring assorted merch from the anime, movie, and stage play! How many can you recognize? ⚖️👹

(Yes, please send answers in the replies! Answers, progress pics, artist commentary will be drafted on a separate post when I'm less tired) ⭐️ UPDATE 04/03/24: Abridged artist commentary is now available under the cut! For the full version, please see the Google Doc linked in the replies.

👁️Overview 

Late last year, I rather belatedly discovered Mononoke’s 15th anniversary came and went, and with it, an entire swath of new content to manically pore over. This is an illustration of the various Mononoke merchandise, props, and set dressing I discovered.

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🔎Scope

Some fun facts regarding the work that went into this illustration!

Not including research time, this project ran for roughly two months, consuming much of my waking hours outside of my full time and freelance jobs.

While the illustration does not depict all of my findings, it does feature over 120 unique props and set dressings!

The majority of the props and set dressing were modeled to varying degrees of detail in SketchUp.

To model prep, I often put together schematics on Photoshop or Illustrators. Some were created from scratch. Others were created with the liberal usage of the Photoshop transform and perspective warp function. 

The master file is 1.5GB. The dimensions are 6400x3600 at 300 dpi, and contains over 2,200 layers. 

Near the end of production, the master file became so unwieldy I created a separate working file. This way, I could create assets lag-free then import the layers into the master file. 

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Past this point is where most of the commentary cuts were made for the sake of brevity. Again, look in the replies for the Google Doc link containing the full version with a table of contents for easier navigation!

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🗳️3D Layout

As you can see, the backbone of this illustration is the 3D model. I spent perhaps 30-40% of my production time on this stage.

And this is the lit version. The lighting ultimately got downplayed in favor of showcasing the vibrant colors. I like how simple it looks though!

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🎬Production-Based Set Dressing

In addition to merchandise, I wanted to insert set dressing and props from the various Mononoke productions. 

🦊Kusuriuri

It’s odd to have a section dedicated just to him, but his unique appearance warrants it. His garb and overall appearance is an amalgam of the anime and movie. The original intent was ambiguity– kind of like the blue/black vs. yellow/white dress phenomena a few years back. But after doing the color flats, I rather liked how the rich, unaltered colored fit with the overall composition so it became more blatant. I’m surprised that nobody has commented on this since I published the illustration. Maybe because I didn’t feature him in a close-up?

🐈 kai ~Ayakashi~Bake Neko (2006)

Finding props iconic to this story arc (outside of the Kusuriuri’s tools of trade, of course) was somewhat difficult. While the environment was richly decorated, it mainly consisted of 2D artwork which I wasn’t keen on retracing. I opted to paint objects that characters interacted with or featured heavily in the show.

Salt Jar

Candlestick

Rat Trap

🦋Mononoke (2007)

The props fall into three distinct categories here: Kusuriuri’s tools and trinkets; things featured in the opening and ending credits; and objects iconic to each of the five story arcs in the series. I tried to keep most of them clustered on the tatami, but as space grew scarce some props trickled up onto the deck as well.

Medicine Box

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Mirror

Ring

Geta Sandal

Necklace

Paper Umbrella (Zashikiwarashi)

Daruma Dolls ( Zashikiwarashi)

Gunpowder Ball (Umi Bozu)

Smoking Pipe (Nopperabou)

Genjiko Blocks (Nue)

Train Ticket (Bake Neko)

Lantern (Anime OP)

Butterflies (Anime EP)

☂️Mononoke: Karakasa (2024)

Pretty slim pickings for the new movie since I only had the teaser, first trailer, and movie poster to reference from. Kusuriuri’s tools of trade were a given, but finding memorable and narratively significant objects was a tad troublesome.

Thankfully, the set dressing ended up (however subconsciously) strikingly similar to the movie’s environment design, down to the green tatami and multicolor shoji screen. I suppose at this point I was so immersed in Mononoke content that its aesthetics subconsciously informed my design choices! 

Exorcism Sword

Tenbin

Paper Talisman

Comb

Movie Poster

Butterfly (Custom design)

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🪭Official Merchandise

Goods related to canonical narratives and/or productions.

🎊15th Anniversary

Mononoke Shu - A light novel by Hideyui Niki & illustrated by 2964_KO

Whiskey Glass & Box

📖 Key Frame Art Books by Hashimoto Takashi

Ayakashi Key Art Frame Book (2010)

Key Frame Art Book vol.9 (2017)

📚Manga by Yaeko Ninagawa

Kai Ayakashi: Bake Neko Vol. 1-2

Kai Ayakashi: Mononoke Prequel

Mononoke Vol. 1-10

🎭Butai Mononoke

Bakeneko Pamphlet 

Zashikiwarashi Pamphlet

Zashikiwarashi Acrylic Standees

Zashikiwarashi Manegi

💿Physical Media

Official OST CD

DVD Box Set

Yokai Pattern Fabric

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Common Collab Merchandise

This category consists of goods that are generally more affordable and feature graphics from the source material with minimal alterations.

Amnibus

Wall Scrolls

Tenugui Fabric 

Shot Glasses

Minoyaki Bean Plates

ANIGA-TER

Stickers

Can Badges

Canvas Prints

Anique

Diorama Acrylic Stand

Acrylic Blocks

Challenge Kuji

Kusuriuri & Hyper Clocks

eeo Store Online

Folding Fan

Keychains

Can Badges

gj character G

Cushion

Acrylic Charms

Neo Gate

Satchels

Mini Badges

Mini Badges by Mame Shinoda

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High-End Collab Merchandise

Goods which derive motifs from the characters, props, and patterns from the production and transform them in an elevated manner through abstraction or usage of precious materials.

gj character G

Exorcism Sword Ring

Goodsmile

Kusuriuri Nendoroid Figurine

Folding Screen

Kusuriuri & Hyper Plush

Tote Bag

Kaya

Umbrella

Tenbin Kanzashi

Tabi Socks

Dress

Kotobukiya

Figurine

Mayla

Pump Heels

Kusuriuri & Hyper Hairpins

Tenbin Earrings

Hyper Earrings

Noitamina Apparel

Perfume

Tenbin Necklace

Folding Fan

Super Groupies

Purse

Wallet

Watch

Tsumuji Design

Exorcism Sword Necklace

Ofuda Bracelet

Useless Use Lab

Fragrance Set

Air Purifier

Three-Sided Mirror

[imjusthereformymindpalace]

Shigaraki One-Shot

hi everyone! it’s my first time posting on Tumblr, so please bear with me! this is just a short drabble(?) that wasn’t proofread and mainly just self-indulgent lol hope you all like it!!! :)

comment any suggestions! i wanna write more of tomura!!!

5 Things You Didn’t Know About Tomura (That You Learned Later On)

Shigaraki x AFAB reader!

1. He’s a sore loser

He doesn’t like losing in video games. He’ll throw the remote onto his bed, cursing, and get up to throw away his can of beer, leaving you to sit in his room for over five minutes. You can hear him cursing under his breath as he paces in the hallway outside of his room, ignoring Spinner’s advice and Dabi’s teasing. You can’t do much other than wait for him to come back and restart the level he initially lost.

He doesn’t like losing to heroes either. He’ll scream and scratch at himself, mumbling loudly of his failed plans, cursing the heroes for ruining his villainous schemes of destroying hero society. He’ll turn to Kurogiri, waiting for his direction to the escape warp. Once away from the scene and back at the hideout, he’ll kick the nearest item to him (a chair), and scratch wildly while ignoring the burning sensation of embarrassment on his face. He hates losing.

2. He loves sweets.

He won’t admit it. But he does enjoy the silky smooth taste of chocolate as it glides against his tongue. He’ll sneak pieces of hard candy while on standby during missions, leaving a trail of wrappers as evidence of his presence. He’ll keep enough in his pocket in case you ever ask him for one, or anyone in the League for that matter. But he won’t offer any first. He loves sweets too much after all.

3. He hates the idea of wearing glasses.

He’ll deny the fact that his vision isn’t as good as he thinks it is. After an appointment with the Doctor, he’ll come back to the base with a small case in his hand. When Toga asks about it, he’ll grumble that it’s none of her business and slam his bedroom door behind him. Sitting on his bed, he’ll open the case and grab the thin frames delicately so as to not disintegrate them. He’ll rest the center on the bridge of his nose and peer through the thick lens. Being able to see perfectly only increased his frustrations and it took every ounce of strength not to throw the case against the wall as he put the glasses away.

Hearing your quiet knocking, he’ll allow you entry and move to the side as you settle next to him on the bed. Wordlessly, you reach for the case, take out the glasses, and place them on his face, adjusting them until he’s no longer squinting at you. Seeing your smile as clear as day made the frustrations slightly less, but still. He hates wearing glasses.

4. He won’t ask for your attention.

He won’t ask you for it directly, no. He’ll mope around, coming up to you and asking what you’re doing. Regardless of your response, busy or otherwise, he’ll sit or stand next to you. He’ll watch what you’re doing and not say anything, just inching closer to you and pretending that he doesn’t notice you noticing what he’s doing.

At times, he’ll walk away for a couple minutes, with the excuse of getting a drink, only to come back empty-handed and lingering in your presence. He’ll start rambling to get your attention, whether that be about missions or his current level on a video game. When you finally get the hint and bring his chest against yours, you feel his breath steady in beat with yours as he sighs into the top of your head. He loves attention.

5. He loves you, he hates it. But he loves it more.

He appreciates that you’re an asset to the League. Your fighting skills are competent and your quirk has proven itself useful many times in battle. You’re able to hold your ground around other members of the League, Dabi especially. He doesn’t have to worry about a betrayal from your part, aware of your allegiance to the mission of destroying heroes.

He likes that you’re not picky when the League is scarce on food. He thinks it’s nice that you don’t care what you look like as you scarf down leftovers from nearly two days ago. He thinks your costume is neat, like one from a villain in a video game he used to play. He also likes what you look like under it. What you look like under him. The way you make him feel. He loves it.

And he hates it. The way you distract him from his goal of destroying. How your smile gives him hope, a concept so foreign to him that it makes him nauseous. He hates how aware he is of the mere countdown of societal destruction, and his role as the leader of such a movement. He hates it. But he loves it. He loves how you watch him with admiration as he fights the world’s top heroes.

He loves knowing you’re counting on him for a brighter future. He loves knowing that he’s the reason you’re standing down from the fight. He loves seeing you from far away, your midsection growing, solid proof of the legacy he plans to leave behind. Oh god, he loves it. He loves you.

[feverdreamjohnny]

The Epitaph of Anything Goes

I decided that this morning I would talk about The Museum of Anything Goes and the subject of lost media.

For the uninitiated, The Museum of Anything Goes is an obscure "game" released in 1995 by Wayzata Technologies, a company that is so far under the radar that I was unable to find any useful information about it outside of TMoAG.

All I could uncover is that they published a few multimedia projects (which are essentially lost now) alongside some asset discs (clipart, SFX, etc.). That's it.

The brains behind Wayzata are even more difficult to locate these days: there are only two main names credited inside of TMoAG - Michael Markowski and Maxwell S. Robertson.

The game alleges that Michael and Maxwell are well known in the art world, but any additional information about the duo is scarce beyond the confines of the museum. Attempting to search for either name online turns up plenty of rabbit holes - but none of them have anything to do with the Michael and Maxwell responsible for TMoAG.

This is particularly fascinating because it essentially means that TMoAG is the only accessible record of their lives. Before we dig any deeper into that statement, let me step back and actually address what this game is.

The Museum of Anything Goes is, by definition, a virtual art museum. Functionally it's a prerendered point-and-click adventure game where you can explore a bunch of multimedia exhibits that give the surface-level impression of a children's edutainment game, but once you start exploring further it reveals a side that firmly plants the game's feet into a haze of substance abuse and surreal humor.

Many exhibits are essentially just toying around with the astonishing new powers of CD-ROM. Everything has to make noise. Everything has to spin and flitter around. There's an air of genuine excitement for the medium, and I can't help but find it extremely charming.

The game also functions as a scrapbook, filled to the brim with photos of random trips to the zoo and snow-mobile rides with friends. At one point we even get insight into something as specific as Michael's one-year job as a tutor at a Chicago middle school, where he talks about how it opened his eyes to how poorly funded and mismanaged the school system is.

It's simultaneously quaint and chilling to see so much personal history packed into a world doomed to obscurity. As I explore the deeper parts of the museum, I contemplate if the creators are still alive today. It's a bit morbid, but imagine that - you create a single obscure game with your friend and it's all the world can see. TMoAG is currently the only surviving piece that gives any insight into who these two men were.

While many exhibits are lighthearted or nonsensical, there are occasional moments where the game dips into the eerie.

One exhibit has the player kill a man by dropping him from the sky, and after burying him you open the coffin to a video of a rotting pig carcass being put into an incinerator.

Other exhibits just feature simple 3D renders shifting around a dark screen while haunting groans play in the background.

While I would never refer to the game as "scary," its darker moments combined with the occasional mature subject matter definitely begs the question: Who is this game for?

You have to remember that this game came out long before the concept of "alt-games" had become codified in the digital space. Sure, unconventional digital art had been around before the advent of 256 colors, but TMoAG was being sold on disk as a game! It came out 2 years after DOOM hit shelves!

The trend of using the PC for entertainment was certainly on the upswing around that time, but It's not like TMoAG had a massive audience to find a niche in. With its mature themes it certainly wasn't suited for the kids market either, so who was it for?

At the end of the day, it's a moot question. We already know the target audience for The Museum of Anything Goes: Nobody. It doesn't have an audience because by its nature, TMoAG wasn't being made FOR someone, it was being made BY someone. It's a raw, unfiltered form of personal expression.

I think games like these are pivotal, because they question why people assume a game has to exist for the sake of being a consumable product. TMoAG certainly has the shape of a product: it features an intro cutscene, it has a tutorial, it features intuitive UX, it even has a map! These are all features that are solely integrated to provide comfort to an end-user. But once you actually wander around the museum for a bit, you realize how bizarrely its packaging fits its contents.

I think TMoAG is criminally underrated. It's not because its core content contains some earth-shaking truth, it's because the game defied all odds and cheated death.

How many thousands of other personal projects were deemed a little "too exotic" to be archived? How much history was lost these past 40 years as the digital space evolved and ate its old skin?

God knows how many other TMoAGs we'll never learn about because they weren't lucky enough to be preserved.

The Museum of Anything Goes isn't just some nonsensical art piece, it's a grave marker for so much lost media. Its existence is a reminder that some people's lives were fossilized, then macerated into nothing because a construction company built a skyscraper over them. The only evidence we have of those other games existing is this little fossil that somehow slipped out from under the skyscraper unscathed.

Even though so much has been lost, TMoAG survives as an epitaph.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Perzys Ānogār

16/12: In Nature & Deep Throating - Aemond Targaryen Word Count: 1.8k~ | Warnings: deep throating, face fucking, incest (reader is a strong!niece), dubcon, breath play

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

To be Rhaenyra Targaryen’s only daughter was a power only she possessed.

While the weight of being the heir to the Iron Throne fell to Jacaerys, the unbearable burden bearing down on him throughout his life, she was exempt. And only at the mercy of being mere minutes younger than her twin.

Sometimes she wonders. Had she been born first, would all this still have happened?

Probably, she mused.

And yet another question always followed. Would Rhaenyra have named her heir? Had she been the first born child, with her dark hair and blue eyes, conveniently matching those features of the former Commander of the City Watch, would her mother have fought so thoroughly for her birthright?

If that had been the case, the realm would never have allowed it.

A bastard and a woman? There’d be riots from Winterfell to the Reach.

She was grateful to be born second. Although, it made the situation no easier.

In his eyes, she was still a bastard. The daughter of his whore sister, who is still attempting to steal his brother’s throne by gathering banners from houses who once swore their loyalty to her mother, years before her birth.

Aemond Targaryen always had a strange relationship with his niece and nephews. Though for the nephews it was easy to identify. Full to the brim with hate, no doubt assisted by the fact Luke had taken Aemond’s eye not a decade before, and never for one moment missing an opportunity to remind them what they all were.

Strong bastards.

He saw his nephews like they were shit at the bottom of his shoe. Unworthy of the positions they were born into.

His relationship with her felt different. Almost to the point of being unexplainable.

When she was a child, though not friendly, there was a noticeable lack of pure animosity towards her compared to her brothers. Aemond would sometimes, though rare, make an effort. But most often, she was either dragged away by her mother, or he was, neither former-friends comfortable with allowing their most precious of children to co-exist like friends.

Like family.

It was only when she returned to King’s Landing, a decade older and brimming with womanly features and assets into her dresses that she noticed something was different about her Uncle. She scarcely believed it was him. Tall, lean and skilled with the sword despite his possession of only one eye. And she was ashamed to say it, but she felt her stomach flutter slightly at the sight of him, one lilac eye locked onto her, and a smirk tugging at his lips as he cocked his head the way he always did when he saw something amusing.

There was something different about seeing him when they were both grown. Something else about the way he observed her over the rim of his cup, and the way his eyelid on his one good eye hooded slightly over the colour of his iris.

It made her throat go dry.

As her head throbs, vision blurred as she stares at the stormy skies above, she feels like being in Storm’s End was a lifetime ago, though it had barely even been a few hours.

Aemond had prodded her, to see if she would bite. Had tried to whore himself out to Floris Baratheon, as she had done to Lord Borros, to attempt to win favour with their house by way of marriage, knowing he had lost his wife years prior.

And he had most of all, threatened to take something from her, something only she could give him, as payment for the debt Lucerys had made by slicing Aemond’s eye at Driftmark all those years ago.

Though he did not elaborate, she need not ask.

She felt her blood chill in her veins, her feet primed to run when Aemond broke into a walk towards her, bending to pluck the dagger he’d thrown to the floor. Her fingers clumsily wrapped around her own dagger at her side, being too slight for a sword, as her only protection.

She didn’t anticipate Aemond would be stupid enough to follow her. But then again, she was wrong about a lot of things when it came to her estranged Uncle.

Her muscles ached as she pulled herself to sit up, the wind nipping at the sensitive skin on her cheeks, pounded with raindrops that felt like ice. Hastily, she threw the chain that still connected her to her now-deceased dragon to the side, having been brought down through the skies still bound to the harness.

Vhagar had sliced through her dragon’s neck with her sharpened, old teeth. The poor thing was probably dead long before she hit the ground. Perhaps it was a mercy of sorts.

She felt her breath hot in her chest as she saw her dragon being licked by the lazy waves, its corpse half in the raging sea and half draped across the jagged rocks of whatever island they’d fallen to. Tears build behind her eyes at the sight. Her dragon had hatched in her cradle, and was therefore still small. Far too small against the likes of Vhagar.

She’s about to tell herself to not cry, to not let emotions run her like men often profile women to do, when she hears the distinct flap of Vhagar’s wings as she lands with a mighty thud on the other end of the island. So big, if she extended herself enough, she’d be nearly as big as.

The white flash of damp hair was the first thing she saw when Vhagar bowed her head to the ground, and his stoic, firm face, looking scornfully down at her in a way that stole the breath from her lungs.

Her shoes slid on the wet dirt with the rain pelting down as she moved to stand, her legs weakly unable to carry her weight. Her hands were coated with mud. But all she heard was the hammering of the storm and Aemond’s damp footsteps as they became ever louder.

She winced when she felt his icy, long fingers in her hair pulling her back. Without second thought she drew her dagger and span quickly, the blade whipping past his face, but barely missing him. Aemond, with a stoic, hard expression caught her wrist and twisted, using his body weight to push her to the floor on her back, with either of his legs aside to squeeze her in.

He pinned her wrists beside her head, one hand still grasping the dagger. And for a moment they simply looked at one another, with practised hateful expressions, completely out of breath and hair sticking uncomfortably to each of their faces.

Thunder rumbled loudly above.

“Not as fast with a blade as your brother, are you, zaldritsos?”

“Get off me.”

“After all that? I’d scarcely think about letting you go. You should know better. I am here to collect what I am owed.”

“It is not me who took your eye, or did he damage your memory as well?”

“Careful. Lady Strong. I'll cut out your pretty tongue.”

She watches him loom above her, his wavy damp hair hanging over his shoulders, with that self-assured cocky smile on his face. No matter how hard she fights against him, she's too weak, and even with full strength would still struggle.

There's a flicker of amusement that passes across his face. One that makes her stomach drop.

“I wonder how talented your tongue is, mandianna.”

She feels her lips crack as her mouth goes dry, the bluntness of what he'd said and the shift in the tension shocked her more than anything else.

“I am a maide-”

“Oh, I'm sure you are.”

“I am.”

He laughs lowly in his chest, “then what an honour it will be, for my cock to be the first.”

“I will cut out your other eye.”

“And how I would like to see you try.”

She gets one hand free, but the slap she gives him is pitiful, and he merely laughs, pinning both down again with one hand while his other unlaces his breeches.

“Such fire, dear niece”, he cooes, “I cannot wait to be warmed by their flames.”

His hand moves to her hair, gripping painfully and pulling her up to kneel before him, her chin held high as he rises to stand before her. She gasps with shock when he pushes his breeches over his hips and pulls his length free, hard and weeping with arousal, pressed firmly against his stomach.

A dull ache settles between her legs, a feeling she does not recognise. She can barely tear her eyes away from his member, she'd seen so few, but knows that the one before her is so impressive, that she wonders for a moment where he intends to put it where it would fit.

He taps the head of his cock against her lips, “I think I shall have your mouth first, then take what I am owed. What do you think, mandianna?”

She barely has time to reply, he pushes himself into her mouth quickly, not at all seeming to care about the squeak of shock she lets out, her throat closing around his length to gulp down air when she's unable to.

Her eyes squeeze shut as his cockhead hits the back of her throat, hearing Aemond moan as he stills for a moment, basking in the warmth of her mouth around him.

“Breathe…”

Hurried huffs of air leave through her nose, Aemond's cock forced down her throat so that air cannot pass. He stays still, not moving his hips an inch, with one hand still gripping her hair.

Aemond chuckles darkly, moving her head on him to create the smallest amount of friction, the hairs at the base of him pressed against her face.

“How does it feel? To have a real Targaryen inside you, hm?”

She only whines around him, unable to do much else.

“Look at me.”

Her teary eyes crack open, struggling to get all the air she needs through her nose alone. And when she meets his gaze, she feels the warmth between her thighs at the eroticism of the act, and knowing it's all so, so wrong.

His sole lilac eye shrinks as he smirks, “If your mother could see you now.

“If you are good, I may fuck a Targaryen babe into you. Then you might see what a real one looks like.”

He starts a calm, gentle pace as if savouring it. She closes her eyes, focussing on the feeling of his heavy length on her tongue, curling it upwards to massage the long vein that decorates the shaft.

Aemond's smile widens, as he saw one of her hands dip between her thighs, a moan of her own vibrating around his cock.

“Yes, you will make a fine wife, I think.”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[perlelune]

Tag, You’re It | Ethan Landry

Happy, carefree college days meet their abrupt end when every guy who approaches you mysteriously turns up dead.

Warnings: NON-CON, Stalking, Bimbo!Reader, Clueless Reader, Loss of Virginity, Incel Ethan, Cheerleader Reader, Skin Carving (w/knife), Canon Typical Slashing, Voyeurism, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Tapping your pencil against your notebook, you curb the yawn threatening to spill from your mouth. 

Half an ear is leant to Professor Atkins as he drones on about asset allocation and private equity.

Econ classes aren’t usually the peak of excitement, but even less so when you’re sleepy from texting your crush from the late hours of the night until the early morning. 

It’s probably unwise. Your GPA’s been slipping a little. But you can’t help it.

Each time you get a message from Connor, butterflies swarm in your belly. The sweetness of his messages from last night hasn’t fully sunk in. You get heady just thinking about it.

Anika bumps your shoulder to nudge you awake. You gasp and bat your lashes in surprise, eliciting a round of hearty laughs from the students around you. 

You shrink beneath your professor’s disapproving scowl and mouth 'sorry', your face warming as you dip your head.

Your attention returns to your book, the words printed on the page collapsing into each other a befuddling heap. You’ve still got no idea how you’ll pass this class. You were told it’s important so you took it. 

Humongous mistake.

It’s becoming tougher for you to keep up with more elaborate concepts. And Professor Atkins speaks so fast. 

Your mind spins at the amount of information after each class, your own notes making little sense to you.

As your thoughts clamor, the back of your neck tingles with a peculiar sensation. 

You whirl from your seat.

When your eyes drift to the back of the lecture hall, they grow saucer-wide. 

Some guy with a head of thick, inky curls and a boyish face lowers his head the second his gaze crosses yours.

Your mouth parts in surprise. 

He doesn’t look back up as you study him from your seat next to Anika and Mindy, fumbling with his pen as his throat bobs.

You turn away, pouting your lips in confusion. 

You don’t know him, but his face bears vague familiarity.

Then you begin to wonder…was he looking at you before? 

It sure seemed like it. But how odd. Is there something on your face? How would he even notice at this distance?

Returning your scarce attention to the class, you discard the ephemeral weirdness.

You slump in your chair and wait for your professor to be done, stealing glimpses at your phone as you hope for more texts from Connor. 

When he turns off the projector and dismisses everyone, you practically leap from your chair. 

Anika and Mindy trade light jokes about your obsession with your phone as you stroll down the hallways. 

Your back prickles and you turn, your gaze landing near the water fountain where that guy from before is chatting with Chad. 

Realization dawns over you. You’ve seen him hang around Chad a few times…but the two of you have never spoken. 

"Who’s that?" you ask Mindy, slanting your head sideways in the most inconspicuous way you can manage. 

She shakes her head in response. 

"Just that nerdy kid who’s rooming with my brother. He’s kind of made him his pet project. Why?"

So he’s Chad’s roommate. The familiarity makes sense now. Strangely though, you don’t think he’s uttered a word to you since the year began. 

"Ah, nothing," you dismiss. 

But Mindy doesn’t relent, letting go of her girlfriend’s hand to grab your shoulder. 

"He wasn’t weird to you, was he?" she says, glowering at Ethan from a distance.

A sigh leaves your lips. Mindy’s uniquely mistrustful of anyone new in the friend group. In fact, she even investigated Anika when they started dating. It speaks to the power of love that those two are still together despite Mindy’s suspicious nature. 

Though you surmise that considering everything she, her twin brother and Tara went through…it makes sense for new people to set her on edge.  She showed you her stabbing scar once, memorabilia of that awful night. She told you of the nightmares afterwards. 

Mindy’s the toughest, most badass girl you’ve ever met.

The fact that a glint of fear lingers in her brown orbs whenever she mentions it speaks volumes.

You shrug. 

"No, I think he was just looking at me. I’m just not sure why though."

Arching a brow, she chortles. 

"Oh, don’t worry about it." She leans over you to whisper. "Ethan’s probably never seen a girl up close before…if you catch my drift."

You soak in that information with a nod, heat rising in your cheeks at her implication. You’re not that experienced yourself, even if you try to carry yourself with confidence most of the time. 

Discreetly, you swipe another peek at him. He’s laughing at one of Chad’s jokes it appears. 

So curly-haired guy’s name is Ethan.

You make a mental note of it. He’s cute, in a puppy dog kind of way. Not your type though. You prefer your men a bit more…seasoned. 

Ethan’s got more than a few seasons to go before you look at him that way. 

Still, he seems nice and way more organized than you are, like he actually understood the gibberish pouring out of Professor Atkins’ mouth…words that might as well be a foreign language to you. 

A nerd, Mindy jested, as in a guy who’s probably way smarter than you. 

Potential life raft amidst the sea of confusing Econ concepts currently drowning you. 

Anika’s airy tone tugs you away from your inner ramblings. 

"You’re still coming to the OKB party, right?" 

A proud smile drags your lips skyward. "Yeah, I even bought a sexy nurse costume."

Anika cocks her head and squeezes your shoulder. 

"Babe, you have to walk away from the male gaze eventually, free yourself of the shackles of patriarchy."

You confine a laugh at the dramatic hand she spreads over her chest and Mindy’s approving nod. 

You chew on your bottom lip apologetically. "Yes but…Chad said Connor will be there and my boobs look great in that costume."

"Unbelievable," Anika huffs in surrender. 

Mindy beams at you, "As your friends…we support however slutty you want to dress."

"Thanks," you chuckle. 

More banter ensues and you smile at their antics. An idea surges in your head and you decide to let them know you’ll catch up with them later. 

You wave your friends goodbye and focus on your new mission.

When you pivot, your eyes dart about the hallway.

After gulping a deep breath, you take firm strides to the water fountain. 

"Hey," you chime once you’re in front of him.

It’s straight up comical the way his brown eyes bulge in astonishment, his thick brows grazing his hairline. You find yourself endeared as he steals glances around himself, as if uncertain you’re actually addressing him and not someone else. 

He points at his chest. "Y-You’re talking…to me?"

A sweet laugh unleashes from your lips. "Who else, silly?" You tilt your head, scrutinizing him. You note that he’s taller than you thought up close and that a few freckles spatter his face. You have to crane your head up a bit to look him in the eye. "Ethan, right?"

He searches your face before replying, that same disbelief painted on his features. "You know my name?"

"Yes. Mindy told me," you say honestly. 

You see no reason to pretend. He’s Chad’s roommate. You’re friends with Mindy and Anika. While you never got around to chatting with him before, he’s not a complete stranger. You’re part of the same friend group, after all.

"Mindy told you…about me?" A blend of awe and skepticism color his inflection. 

As he gapes at you, you elect to jump straight to your purpose. 

"Ethan…" When you step forward, your chest almost brushing his, Ethan’s Adam apple moves up and down. Pink dusts his cheeks. His eyes bounce as if he’s trying to not stare below your chin. You nibble on your bottom lip and hold his gaze. "I really don’t know how to ask this but, do you think I could borrow your notes? I really struggle w-"

"Yes. Of course. Yes."

His eager, instant reply broadens your smile. "Cool."

He scratches the back of his neck, hesitation coating the air before he blurts out, "I could even tutor you…" When your mouth parts in surprise, he rushes to add, "I mean, only if you want." Ethan’s eyes find the floor before meeting yours again, his face even more flushed than before. "I’m sure you’re so busy, with cheerleading and everything."

Your wide-eyed gaze rests upon him. 

"You know I cheer?"

He clears his throat. "I went to support Chad. I saw you…in passing." He mutters under his breath. "You looked so pretty in your uniform." As he gets a glimpse of your dumbfounded expression, Ethan waves his hand in front of himself defensively. "I swear I’m not a pervert or anything."

Tilting your head sideways, you blink at him.

You wonder why he’s so flustered when he did nothing wrong.

Cheerleaders are there for…well bring cheer. The looks you get in your tiny skirt and short top bear heavily on your skin during matches, but you’ve grown used to it. 

Guys look at girls wearing cute outfits all the time. You have no reason to make him feel bad for watching when it’s the very point of the eye-catching getup and choreography. 

"It’s okay. I believe you." Ethan’s shoulders slump when you reassure him. You shoot him a bright grin. "Let’s exchange socials."

Embarrassment creeps on his boyish features. 

"I…don’t really use social media."

"Oh. Numbers then?"

You save his contact under 'cute nerd Ethan', chuckling to yourself at the moniker. As you pivot to leave, you halt in your tracks.

"Hey, Ethan?" you call softly.

He straightens his back and swallows. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," you say.

You give him your sunniest, most sincere smile. He goes statue-still at the sight, eyes bulging, but no other word leaves his gaping mouth. 

There’s a pep in your step as you stroll away, relief fluttering through you. It gladdens you that you were right about Ethan.

He’s just a sweet guy. A nice guy. 

And now, not only did you just gain a tutor but possibly even a new friend. 

[lovelycleon]

After RE4 and saving the president's daughter, Leon became the government's greatest asset. The golden agent they could put on the front lines whenever they felt necessary.

And the demand for him on missions has grown so much that Leon barely had time for himself. Like we saw in Degeneration when he was tired all the time, taking work calls whatever downtime he had. Or in Infinite Darkness with him jumping from one mission to another without any break. Even later in Damnation where they interrupted his vacation, threw him into a country at war, only to cancel the mission midway hours later.

Leon's free time is not only scarce, but also mostly not respected by his bosses.

And that being said...

Leon managed to clear his heavy schedule that night so he could have dinner with Claire.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Do you still do alice in borderland requests? If so, then could I request yandere chishiya headcanons? Thanks!!

Yandere Chishiya Headcanons

Warnings: Unhealthy Behaviour, Yandere Behaviour, Obsession, Stalking, Manipulation, Descriptions of Violence and Death, Death, Minor Spoilers for Chishiya's Past, No Pronouns used for Reader except for 'You', etc.

This man acts, looks and feels like a cat; and by that, I mean he's sly, slick, and has little regard for anyone who doesn't benefit him.

All except for you, it would seem.

You were just another person who fell into the Beach's jurisdiction, plucked from the Borderlands and dropped into a thin veneer of humanity.

As expected, you grew to fear the Militants, the games, but you'd found yourself more or less adopted by a loose group of players who just wanted the same as you; to go home.

Chishiya was in the periphery of this group, existing only around the edges, never a centrepiece.

That, was, until he started to take notice of you.

It was harmless curiosity at first; a desire to know exactly who his associates were affiliating with.

After all, you weren't entirely forthcoming with details about yourself, often shifting the conversation to anything else when it included your personal life.

You didn't even have a name, having kept that private, too.

For all anyone was concerned, you could've been a myth - a mystery - with how elusive you were.

Not to mention your penchant for disappearing whenever someone turned their back on you for more than a second.

Unbeknownst to them, you just wanted to be alone, and by keeping information about yourself scarce, you reduced the risk of them becoming attached to you, and vice versa. Isolating yourself in your room seemed to help, too.

Chishiya watched you.

Whenever you were nearby, he had an eye on you, either his own or Kuina's, and would commit your every quirk and habit to memory, trying to find a weak point.

Or, that was what he told himself.

Over time, as he came to see how proficient you were in the games, he saw you as a valuable asset.

During games, he'd scan the area for you whenever he had a spare moment, and his mind wandered to your potential whereabouts - your condition - whenever you weren't in sight.

During one of these games, he couldn't seem to find you anywhere.

Soon enough, he found himself asking Kuina if she'd seen you.

"No," she told him, standing to her full height, the body next to her stripped of supplies. "Why? Something wrong?"

A scream rang out, and Chishiya's ears pricked, attention snapping to the source.

You bolted across the apartment complex on the floor below, pursued by someone - more so something - twice your size, wielding a sword.

Chishiya acted on pure adrenaline and instinct.

He vaguely heard Kuina call his name as he swung over the bannister, jumping onto the floor below and following you.

The behemoth tailed close behind, swinging his sword whenever he thought he could catch either you or Chishiya.

The sound of two sets of footsteps pursuing you forced you to push harder, run faster, eventually causing you to veer off into a room you thought would be safe.

It was little more than a dead end.

Spinning on your heel, you turned to leave the way you came, but you knew it was a futile attempt.

Two men ran in after you, one which you recognised form the Beach, the other a monster.

The smaller of the two grabbed you, pulling you aside as the giant swung his sword down upon you, almost severing you on the spot.

Weighed down with his own strength and withdrawing the sword, Chishiya took his chance.

He slipped a knife from the inside of his jacket and, before the man in the mask could begin to defend himself, plunged it into his ribs.

He didn't stop; he just kept tearing the knife into his middle, crippling him each time.

And you watched from the sidelines, curled up in the corner.

You slid to the ground and curled up.

The ordeal was over quicker than you'd expect.

Chishiya panted and looked over to you.

Seeing you shivering in the corner, he approached, keeping the knife out of your sight (and reach), offering his hand to you.

You took it, gingerly, and pulled yourself up.

With his hand still in yours, the silence of the room ringing in your ears, your body acted of its own accord.

You pulled him to you and pressed yourself into his chest.

Tears welled in your eyes and soaked into Chishiya's jacket.

He...didn't know what to do.

Initially he thought you were attacking him, ready to gut him with a concealed weapon.

But, the longer you remained tucked into his chest, sniffles becoming sobs, that possibility diminished.

His body knew what to do - what the human answer to your actions was - but his mind couldn't follow through.

And yet, the former won.

Slowly, cautiously, his arms found your middle and held you, not firm enough to keep you there, but tight enough that Chishiya could feel your fear.

It was in that second that, feeling you pressed tightly against him, he realised what human warmth felt like.

In all his years of training to be a doctor, he'd heard of this phenomenon (a phenomenon to him, a commonality for everyone else) yet had never experienced it.

He dared to look down at you as he cradled your shaking body in his arms.

Something washed over him. A feeling - a primal urge.

He couldn't place his finger on it, but he knew it was caused by you, by your cowering.

And yet, it was not a desire to see you suffer, nor to push you away. So what was it?

Kuina came running, speeding round the corner. Her eyes fell upon you and Chishiya before drifting over to the body.

She seemed more interested in what the two of you were doing, though Chishiya tried to discourage her with a dark glint in his eye.

Whatever she was going to say died in her throat, and she looked away, pretending never to have seen Chishiya in such a vulnerable position.

He looked down at you once more.

He knew you couldn't stay like this for long, even if he wanted to.

"What's your name?" he said, keeping his voice monotone as he fought to escape the haze you'd cast over him.

You sniffed, seemed to consider his question, then looked to him with wide, glassy eyes.

His heart jumped.

"(Y/N)."

After that, Chishiya became your unofficial protector of sorts.

Your "Guardian," as he referred to himself to Kuina.

He'd told her it was purely to gain your trust, to make you rely on him so that, when the time came, he could sacrifice you.

And yet, every time he tried thinking of ways he could use you, the memory of you flush against him, eyes red and cheeks sodden with tears, flashed in his mind.

Your warmth would encompass him - for a few seconds, no more - and he would be overcome with that feeling again.

He would never dare to confide in Kuina, nor himself about it.

He'd tried shoving that feeling down, putting it out of his mind.

Yet it always returned. And one night, it hit him.

The answer to his hypotheses.

He sat bolt upright in bed, looking dead ahead, as if he could see through the walls and saw you sleeping in your room.

It was protectiveness.

That feeling - that need - was the urge to protect you, to keep you out of harm's way.

From that moment on, you became the object of his obsession.

He understood that you were now his weakness, and so to protect himself, he needed to protect you.

He watches you as he did before he knew you.

Diverted your path when necessary - whenever Niragi was nearby, he'd steer you down another corridor under the pretense of needing to "Discuss the next game with you."

During these conversations, he'd learn a little more about you, though you remained guarded.

He wanted to be offended at your lack of willing, but he understood you too well to begrudge your way of thinking.

The two of you were quite similar in that regard.

You were an oyster of sorts; a shell on the outside, yet possessing a treasure within.

Chishiya would try pushing you a little more, trying to discern your interests, your hopes, your dreams, your life before the Borderlands.

Soon enough, Chishiya was not satisfied by your mere hallway meetings, instead requesting to meet you in private under the guise of keeping your conversations quiet, for there were "Eyes everywhere," according to him.

He wasn't wrong, which was what made it so easy for him to get you alone.

When you weren't talking about the games, your conversations would shift to a more personal tone.

You'd share very minimal information about yourself, and, though he didn't show it, Chishiya found himself hanging on your every word.

You actually shared some interests in common, like your literature preferences, your appreciation for Renaissance art, and your overall logical way of thinking.

Chishiya found these moments to be the most intimate ones he'd ever experienced, despite no physical contact being involved.

His eyes would drift to your arms, remembering how you'd clung to him that night when he'd rescued you.

And how he so desired to feel them around him again.

Not that he'd ever say this, of course.

He fantasizes about holding you a lot.

Considering how everything is so unstable in the Borderlands, the security you gave him, and the security he felt over you, made him feel safe. A commodity in the Borderlands.

He's started stealing some of your belongings, too.

Well, of the few you have.

He stole your pillow case and put it over his pillow so he can smell you when he's drifting off to sleep, imagining you there with him, calming him.

Considering all the pillow cases in the Beach were identical, you'd never be able to tell.

He gets a bit of a thrill out of you being so close to something of yours he's taken whenever you come over to his room.

Makes him feel alive in a way the games don't.

It makes him feel human; like he's discovering love for the first time.

One evening, he had the idea of purposely endangering you during the games just so he could swoop in and save you.

The idea was a fleeting fancy, nothing more. But it haunted him, watched him.

And he found himself enacting it.

And, sure enough, it worked.

During one particularly stressful game, you'd lost a key you needed to unlock a door and find a ticket, which would give you your escape.

The keys had been well hidden throughout the map, and when you'd found yours, you hoped and prayed the door it unlocked would actually have a ticket behind it.

Chishiya had finished a good ten minutes before you, and when your back had been turned, he'd swiped your key from the band of your swimsuit, pocketing it, disappearing behind a corner before you'd even realised what had happened.

And now he watched you panic, cry, and near give up as the timer counted down when you found your precious key gone.

He reveled in your distress, as ashamed as he'd be to say it. The fruits of his labour hung over him in his mind's eye; the feeling of you pressed tightly against him.

Chishiya appeared behind you like a phantom, presenting the key to you.

"Found this a few minutes ago; thought you'd have some use for it."

You near wept into his chest, just as you had done during your first meeting.

You were never in any real danger, Chishiya made sure of that.

But he needed to make you believe that you were so his plans would take full effect.

That evening, you barely left his side, sticking close to him.

You just needed some form of comfort, something to help you make sense of what had nearly happened.

This was the second time he'd saved you, protected you from death, and you weren't going to let him out of your sight.

That was far too close for your liking. Losing your key like that - you had no idea how you'd managed to do such a thing.

And Chishiya consoled you throughout the night, reveling in how you held his hand, cried into his shoulder, berated yourself for being so careless with the literal key to your survival.

His heart thrummed, and he near purred at the feeling of your skin on his as you rested your head on his shoulder, wrapped in his jacket.

He felt like he owned you.

And that's how Chishiya wanted you: dependent on him and him alone.

And now, with you sleeping at his side, nestled into his chest, he counted the infinite ways he could make that so - how he could keep you with him.

Forever.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Masterlist

Masterpost

[weenwrites]

Hello! What headcanons would you have for a bot that has the power to create energon after a freak lab accident back on Cybertron? They were also a mutual friend of Optimus and Megatron well before the war, and was thought to have died after they were abducted and went missing just before it took off.

Forward to the present, a ship crashes into Earth and it gives off a huge energon signal, prompting both sides to investigate the site further. That's when they find a stasis pod encased in energon, and inside is the missing bot, still alive and in deep sleep. When rescued, the bot has no idea a war ever took place, and wonders why their old friends look so tired all of a sudden. They turn down the Autobot or Decepticon badge when presented with it, as they feel those need to be earned.

As a bonus, their presence always has a calming effect to those around them. The others find themselves feeling at ease if even for a moment. If around Megatron, he isn't as angry as usual. If around Optimus, he feels more assured things will be okay. Interactions with Megatron and Optimus are strictly platonic.

Apologies for the rambling. I hope all of this makes sense lol

[ Please do not repost, plagiarize, or use my writing for AI! Translating my work with proper credit is acceptable, but please ask first! ]

Optimus

He explains all that has happened over the years you were absent, starting from the very day you went missing, to the destruction of their home planet, to where they are now on Earth. It's quite a lot to cover within the day, but he promises to answer any of your other questions to the best of his ability.

Afterward, he asks about where you had gone, and he explains that the authorities had investigated your disappearance, only to find no remains and ultimately conclude that you were dead. If it's still a sensitive topic for you, he won't push you to share or explain anything you don't want to, he's content enough with knowing that you were alive in the end.

He won't force you to choose a side, neither will he force you to stay at the base if you wish to go your own way, but he'll advise you that it will be difficult to survive on a foreign planet. The energon is scarce, the technology is primitive, and though the Autobots are fortunate that the U.S. Government is allowing them to stay, the leaders of other nations may not be so kind as to allow you within their borders if they discover your existence. Additionally, given that Megatron shares no resemblence to the Megatron you knew all those years ago, and your abilities would give the decepticons an incentive to seek you out for their own gain, it would be far safer for you to remain within the base rather than being on your own.

Yet even if you refuse, he won't force you to something you do not wish for yourself, and he'll grant you access to the base's private commlink line, in the event that you need any sort of assistance, and to keep in touch.

Megatron

He'll escort you back to the Nemesis and explain everything that has happened from his skewed point of view. Optimus Prime has changed over the years of warfare and he is no longer the archivist you once knew, Cybertron is now a wasteland and a husk of what it once was, and now both the Autobots and Decepticons have been stranded on earth.

He tries to insist that there's no need for you to earn the Decepticon badge! After all, when he was first realizing the cause, you were one of the first people he was thinking of recruiting into the Decepticons. Your ideals and aspirations align perfectly with the cause, not only that but you would be an invaluable asset for the Decepticons. So truly, being a Decepticon would be a perfect fit for you.

Even if you decline, he still offers you a habsuite aboard the Nemesis. He'll say that Earth is a hell for any cybertronian to live on, and the Decepticons are fortunate to have what little resources they have. In addition to the lack of resources, they must keep themselves concealed from the natives of the Earth! Why? He explains that they're a very young, primitive, and fragile species, they aren't ready to witness the cybertronian race. So truly, staying aboard the nemesis would be in your best interest.

The other bots aboard the Nemesis begin to notice the affect you have on him and everyone else, and regardless of whether he issues orders to make you feel welcomed, they're going to persuade you to stay (mostly for your ability though).

It probably won't take you long to realize that all of these friendly gestures are not due to your past friendship, but rather that having you on his side will grant him an unparalleled advantage over the Autobots. The Megatron you once knew has long since died over the thousands of years of war and slaughter. But on the other hand, as a familiar face and your former friend, perhaps you were blind to his true nature and his sly words swayed you. But either way, you sealed your fate the moment you joined him back to the Nemesis. He's going to make you work for the Decepticons, even if it takes a little forceful persuasion to make you cooperate.

[unknownimagineblog]

Just Say It // N.R

Warning(s): cursing, brief mentions of blood & gore, angst w/ a happy ending, long post

You were an anomaly to the team, mostly when it pertained to your abilities and their usage.

When working, rarely was it around the rest of the group. Rather, you’d be sent in after missions for reasons undisclosed to them, or sent alone altogether. If you were along with the team for a mission, it was hard to even entice you to speak.

The team wasn’t complaining about your presence tho, they were rather relieved you’d been around most of the time. Your proficiency in hand to hand combat rivaled that of Natasha’s, so you weren’t a hinderance to their mission, wether with them or away.

But another issue that cloaked you in mystery, was the fact you didn’t live at the compound like the rest of them, and rarely showed to any functions, events, or parties. Tony always extended an olive branch, yet you always denied him with a soft shake of your head.

Somehow, throughout your silent treatment, you got along well with two members of the team in particular.

Wanda was one of them, if outwardly appearance showed correctly. Anytime you were around, whether it be pre-mission planning or taking up space in the common room, you had always had an affliction to Wanda.

You’d sit down next to her with the warm smile you seemed to always bare, and she’d go on to tell you her activities that had transpired the past week. Sometimes she’d discuss her interests, and tried to prod at your own, but you only brushed her off with a wave of your hand.

Next was Natasha, although you were not as friendly to her as much as you were with Wanda. You’d always spar with her, and somehow give her a worthy opponent every time. With your soft smile, and kind eyes, you always lifted her off the mat after putting her on her ass.

And when you both weren’t sparring, you’d sit across the couch from her as she rewatched some spy movie for the millionth time. You never spoke up, and you never ruined the silence that always seemed to befall you both. In the beginning, Natasha felt uncomfortable about your silent presence, but now it had grown to be a constant. The movies never felt the same without you.

It made her wonder what Clint found so terrifying about you.

Clint always paled in your presence, and outright refused missions when you were involved. He’d go so far as to make his exit known whenever you arrived in the same room, and you looked almost sad to see him leave every time.

Natasha asked about it one night, turning the volume down on the TV in hopes that, maybe, you’d speak to her this one time. But you only shook your head, and the apologetic smile upon your face didn’t meet your eyes. You looked sad, and Natasha swore she watched tears well up in your eyes. She felt bad for even asking.

You had been scarce around the compound after that, much more than you were before. You did not linger after missions, and you no longer trained with the team. You’d give them a smile that never reached your eyes, then made your leave every time you had come into contact with them.

The next time Natasha had been around you was relieving, but questionable, considering the rather classified mission Fury had conscripted you both to do.

You both sat in the briefing room, minus the rest of the team, as Director Fury discussed your next mission. It was a recovery mission of a rather dangerous asset, and Fury was adamant on the retrieval of said asset be as easy as possible.

Quirking a brow in Natasha’s direction, Fury seemed to pick up on the question that hid within your gaze.

“She’s only a precautionary measure to ensure the safety of yourself, and the asset.” He said, and you were quick to push yourself from your chair. The stony glare on your face showed that you were not happy with this idea, and Natasha felt offended at the change in your demeanor.

“I know you work alone.” Fury said, not daunted by your uncharacteristic outburst. “But I assure you, she’s there if anything goes south. If the asset steps out of line in anyway, she will prioritize your safety over anything else.”

Fury seemed to turn to Natasha in a silent plea for support, but you were having none of it.

I do not need a guard dog. You signed aggressively, and Natasha was almost shocked to see you communicate with anyone so openly. You’d never signed to the team, and hadn’t even shown any indication that you even knew how.

Another issue came with the fact Natasha had no idea what you were signing to Fury. She had a basic knowledge of sign from what Clint had taught her, but nothing as advanced as you were using.

She almost felt left out of this squabble between you, and the Director.

“She will wear ear plugs throughout the duration of the mission.” Fury said, rubbing his temples to show his growing frustration. “Does that make you happy?”

You aggressively pushed the chair you had been occupying under the table, before slamming the door of the briefing room as you walked out.

“Is she that upset that I’m joining her on the mission?” Natasha spoke up a few moments after they had both been staring at the door in silence.

Fury sighed.

“If she was that upset about you joining her, she would’ve said it.” He said, before pointing toward the door. “Now go get your shit ready for the mission, you’re leaving now.”

—

The entire ride to the extraction point of the asset was silent, and you barely even acknowledged Natasha’s presence besides a few glances from the corner of your eye.

You were obviously upset from the way you kept sighing every time you looked at her, or the hunched way you sat in the copilot seat on the quinjet.

Natasha desperately wanted to discuss what happened in the briefing room, but the ear plugs within her ears caused every sound around her to be silent. Not even the quinjet could be heard, and it was almost unnerving.

She knew better than to question Fury on a precaution like ear protection, but it still left her with questions. What was so worth losing one of her greatest senses for? Why did you not have to wear them?

Finally, the jet landed in an open lot with various warehouses lining the perimeter.

Seemingly knowing the exact one the asset was within, you waved Natasha in the direction you had began walking toward. She followed at a slower pace, allowing herself to gain situational awareness with her vision, rather than relying on her hearing, or lack thereof.

Approaching the warehouse, Natasha noticed blood covering almost the entirety of the concrete floor and littered with corpses. She recognized the uniforms upon the mutilated bodies, and realized they were belonging to SHEILD agents.

Her hand moved to the gun holstered upon her thigh, but you caught her wrist to stop her. You shook your head, before trudging deeper in the darkness of the warehouse.

As both your eyes adjusted to the lack of light, there was a girl standing alone among the bodies. Like a grotesque centerpiece to the carnage.

The girl noticed your presence but before she could advance on your position, you opened your mouth to speak, causing the girl to stop in her tracks.

Natasha could not hear a single word coming from your mouth, and couldn’t exactly read your lips from standing next to you, but she knew you were speaking. It was daunting to see such a thing, and it seemed so out of character.

What the hell was going on?

You approached the girl, and when Natasha moved to follow, your jutted out your palm as an indication for her to stay behind. She felt uneasy about it, but listened to your instruction.

You continued to speak to the girl as you approached, if your jaw moving was any indication as Natasha was forced to stare at your back.

Minutes ticked by that felt like hours as your approached the mutant girl, and once you were within arms reach of her, the girl seemed to collapse into your arms. You hoisted up her unconscious form easily, and began to make your way back to the jet.

Even as Natasha piloted the quinjet back to the compound, the uneasy feeling had yet to leave her gut.

—

Upon returning, the recovered mutant asset was met with armored SHEILD agents anticipating her arrival. They took her unconscious body from your grasp before restraining her in a multitude of ways, and you watched from the jet as the carted her away.

Once the asset was out of sight with her cavalry of agents, Natasha was quick to rip the plugs from her ears. You turned to her with that warm smile upon your face again, but it fell the moment you noticed how tense she had become.

“What the hell was that?” Natasha said, and you seemed bewildered as you held up your hands in silent defense. She quickly slapped your hands down. “Don’t give me that, I know you can speak.”

You took a defensive step back, and your eyes glanced toward the door into the compound. The cogs of your brain started to turn, and Natasha noticed you were thinking of making a break for it. She then took a step to the left, ultimately blocking your exit.

You glared at her.

“Are you not going to answer me?” Natasha said, her tone still aggressive. She realized frustration began to tense at your muscles too, and she decided to see how far she could push this until your resolve for silence finally broke.

“Why is that murderous girl so worthy of you to speak to her, but not even the team? Not even me?” She spoke. Your frustrated glare turned questionable when you had realized her words, until you remembered you were upset with her sudden outburst, and your gaze became hostile again.

Your eyes were still glancing toward the door, calculating your possible escape even as she grew more aggressive toward you. Natasha realized she was going to have to push your frustration harder as she stepped into your personal space, practically chest to chest with you now.

“Seriously?” Natasha scoffed. She noticed the muscles of your jaw begin to tighten, but you made no effort to regain your personal space. Your eyes screwed shut, and you refused to even look at her anymore as she continued to assault you with questions.

“Did you think I was just going to let this go?” Natasha continued to chastise you, and you shook your head as your eyes remained shut. “Why have you never spoke to us?”

Your lips twitched, and Natasha froze as she watched you. She was hoping to hear you say something, but realized she had pressed you too far the moment she noticed the tears slipping down your cheeks.

Using her shoulder to shove her away, you retreated toward the doorway as you aggressively wiped the tears from your eyes.

Natasha watched the door slam shut behind you once again, and she felt guilt replace that uneasy feeling inside her. She realizes now she shouldn’t have chastised you as hard as she did, considering your desperation to even try to speak to her.

Then, without a sound Clint approached from behind her as she watched your retreat.

“She’s as silent as ever, I see.” Clint said, with a slight resentment in his tone, and his sudden presence caused Natasha to jump. He glanced her over, with a question on his brow. “She mess’ you up that bad?”

“What is that suppose to mean?” Natasha said, but Clint didn’t fail to notice her grow defensive once again.

“You mean to tell me she didn’t speak to you?” He asked, and now Natasha was growing confused all over again. “That’s not what that whole ordeal was about?”

“Great. Now you’re both being cryptic.” Natasha sighed, with a roll of her eyes. She shook her head, before sighing. “Why do you even despise her so much?”

“I don’t despise her.” Clint said, in a matter of fact tone that furthered Natasha’s sour mood. “I actually owe her our friendship, but it cost the friendship I had with her.”

“If you’re going to keep speaking in riddles, you might as well just shut up.”

“Natasha, I was going to kill you.” Clint said, with a heavy sigh as if the weight of that mission still sat upon his shoulders. “She’s the reason I didn’t release the arrow.”

—

He remembered the mission briefing, and how hesitant you had been to even participate in such an endeavor. Clint could see it on your face, especially when you glanced his way to see if he agreed with your uncertainties.

“Clint will deliver the killing blow.” Fury spoke, and you cringed at the idea. You were always the passive one in the friendship between you, and Clint. “And if he somehow misses-”

You raised a hand to stop Fury’s tangent, already knowing where it was going to go.

Even after the briefing was over you remained behind in silence, even as Fury had vacated the room. Clint stared at you in silence, and you could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“You don’t think we should do it.” Clint’s voice filled the air, and you sighed even hearing such words spoke aloud.

This is not right. You signed, and it was his turn to sigh.

“She’s dangerous.”

She’s a victim.

“We don’t know her intentions.”

Why not help her?

“Let’s just go, perform the mission, and leave it behind us.” He groaned, and rubbed his hand across his face. “That’s all we can do.”

Weeks passed from such conversation between you, and your closest friend. And now, you both sat atop a roof within a city you couldn’t pronounce to track the target you had been searching for.

She had only moved below the cover of night, and her head swiveled around herself as she walked through the alleyway. Clint pulled the string of his bow taught as he trained his aim upon her back, he released a steady breath in preparation to release the arrow.

That was, until you spoke up.

“Don’t shoot.” You said calmly, barely loud enough for him to hear you.

Clint’s body began to tingle with a warm feeling prickling at his skin, opposing the harsh cold air of the night upon the rooftop. He turned toward you with an absolute look of betrayal upon his face.

His body worked against every plea he had to complete the mission assigned to both of you, to release the arrow within his hand. But rather, Clint replaced the arrow within his quiver.

“Stop!” Clint plead, but his body made no effort to oppose your words. “She’s dangerous, we can’t allow her to live.”

“Look at her.” You said, and his head snapped in her direction. “She’s not much different from a scared kid.”

“More like a cornered animal.”

“Either way, I think she’d be a good agent for SHIELD.” You said, and he grit his teeth at the words he knew were about to leave your mouth. With a look of sympathy, you spoke again. “Go recruit her.”

Clint grit his teeth in attempted defiance, before his body forced himself to perform your words. You watched as he approached the red headed woman in the alleyway below, before turning away to make your way toward the extraction point.

You were happy to see Clint arrive awhile after you, with the red head in tow.

During the debrief of the mission, Fury was beyond furious with both of your performances during the mission, although you took all the blame. You had betrayed Clint’s trust, and had gone off mission with an unauthorized use of your power against a fellow agent.

You were lucky that the only thing destroyed after the mission was your close friendship with Clint, considering Fury had half a mind to toss you into a super human prison for your insubordination. The only thing riding on your freedom was the possibility that Natasha might become a true asset to SHIELD.

—

“If you betrayed the agency, she was going to be sent to a maximum security prison for life.” Clint said in summary of his story, with a heavy sigh. “She risked everything.”

Natasha shook her head, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the story shared. “Why’d you listen if you were so adamant on killing me?”

“You don’t get it do you?” Clint said, with confusion creasing his brow. “She has the power of absolute suggestion. Everything she says has to be enacted out by anyone who hears, no matter the circumstance.”

Everything that conspired had suddenly began to make more, and more sense. Like your oath of silence, and Fury mentioning you would’ve said that you didn’t want Natasha to join you.

Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to chase after you flooded within Natasha. She quickly apologized to Clint, before rushing through the door she saw you escape to only awhile ago.

“Where is she?” Natasha asked the few teammates within the common room. Wanda hadn’t even looked up from the book in her lap, but rather just lifted a hand to point down the hallway behind her. She could hear Natasha’s rushed footsteps fade as she continued to chase after you.

Finally, Natasha was able to see your retreating form down the hallway, and her steps began to pick up.

“Wait!” She called out to you, fearing that you were once again going to run away from the questions, from the team, from her.

Much to her surprise, you stopped before turning her way. There were still tear tracks stained across your cheeks, and Natasha suddenly felt overwhelmingly guilty. You had risked everything to allow Natasha to be here, a part of the greatest team of superheroes to exist, and as payment she had left you crying.

Rather than speaking, Natasha simply rushed forward to wrap you within a hug. You seemed overwhelmed by the sudden display of affection from the usually bristly assassin, and wondered just where this uncharacteristic outburst had come from.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled into your shoulder, and she felt you tense under her grasp. Pulling away, Natasha placed her hands upon our cheeks to wipe away the aftermath of your crying.

You continued to stare at her in confusion, before shaking your head as much as you were able as a silent way to tell her don’t be.

“I am.” Natasha pleaded with you. She felt tears prick at her eyes, as the feelings bubbling within her began to grow overwhelming. Leaning forward, she placed her forehead against your own as she closed her eyes.

“You we’re the only person who believed in me, who thought I deserved a second chance.” Natasha said, her voice wavering as she willed herself not to sob. “You risked everything, and looking back, even I think that was a stupid decision! I was a loaded gun just waiting for the perfect opportunity to go off, and we both would’ve faced the consequences of those actions.”

You looked at her, and if she opened her eyes, she’d see the soft smile that sat upon your face. You had begun crying with her, and she continued to rant about you.

“Why?” She asked you before a sob ripped through her chest. “What made you look at me, and think I deserved mercy? I was cold blooded, and ruthless.”

Rather than waiting for her to finish her rant, you silenced her yourself as you leaned against her to place a gentle kiss upon her lips. You sighed into the kiss, and you felt her tension melt into you.

Pulling away from you, she shook her head as fresh tears began to fall down her cheeks. You reached up to wipe them away, before tucking a stray red lock behind her ear.

“Because I love you, Natasha Romanoff.”

[dragonnan]

May Prompts 2024

May 10: "Choice"

What had that busybody old neighbor of hers called this? May December romance; that was it – with Martha decidedly in the winter category, grey tips and all. Oh, it certainly wasn’t anything actually romantic. At her age! And not with one, who’d scarcely looked out of short pants, the first time Martha had spotted him outside the club with that awful Jefferies person. She’d seen far too many, like him, given her husband’s line of business. She had nearly sighed and looked past this one, as well, except...

It was those eyes that had done it. Not stirring her to passion, goodness no. But that way he'd looked through her skin, all young and ancient, and saw the self she'd hidden under bright scarves and foundation; thick enough to hide the darkest bruise.

William, he'd called himself. Too skinny. That had been her first thought followed by “too young”... to be on his own and sleeping rough and buying drugs from those terrible dealers, who hadn't even the decency to offer clean needles, much less clean product. She'd, quite quickly, made the choice that he couldn't stay there and had arranged to provide a room above the club. It wasn't very quiet, sadly, but it was clean, off the street, and relatively safe. Little chance of harassment, from dangerous types, with David and Brass standing watch outside the doors below.

And maybe... maybe it was that posh voice... reminding her so much of the home that she hadn't seen in sixteen years.

The first time Martha had seen William cast aside that child-like aura had been after another one of Frank’s rages. He’d held a tissue against her split cheek and told her not to worry – that he’d take care of things. Far from soothing her his statement had frightened her. She knew Frank was involved in a good deal of terrible business. She also knew that he’d been married once before and that his previous spouse had died. Martha was a smart woman and hadn’t needed to be led to water to know there were bodies beneath the surface.

So, when Sherlock had gone out that evening – and remained out all night – Martha had been terrified.

However, when he’d returned, the following morning, several Miami police had been with him. It would be weeks before she’d gotten the entire story from him – enough time for the investigation to complete and to assure that she truly hadn’t known anything.

By the end of the trial, Frank had been extradited to Texas, where he would face the death penalty. Martha had divorced him and she had sold off the business and all of Frank’s assets.

It was William's testimony which had ensured the death penalty at the trial held months later – a period of time in which Martha had gone though tremendous life changes. In addition to selling the club, she she had also sold their massive home, and had purchased a smaller beach house in Ponte Vedra. William had gone with her to assist her in her move. She had invited him to stay on for a while, as her first boarder. Well, she hadn't felt right about leaving him on his own. He'd seemed the type to get into trouble without someone to look out for him.

The day they’d moved in, William had given her a small wrapped package. “A housewarming gift”, he’d said. Inside had been a necklace. It was gold, with a delicate, fleur de le pendant, and tiny amethyst stones.

“Oh, William, it’s lovely!”

“I nicked it from Frank’s safe the night they arrested him.” he’d said – then chuckled when she’d scoffed and slapped his arm.

When had things changed between them? Martha supposed the better question would be if they had ever changed – truly – or had always been that way from the start. First impressions aside there had been no great sea change; no sudden transition from barely acquaintances to motherly guardian. Her life with Frank had never allowed for even the concept of children. The conversation, in their early days of marriage, had been clipped short and final. But now, with William... It should have felt odd – thinking of him like a child when he was, at least technically, a grown man. But there was no shaking the affection she felt for the boy. They would sit for hours, at the beach, as the waves rolled up the sand and the sky went deep blue to hazy pink and orange. His long, skinny, fingers would gather beneath his chin and he would seem to be seeing nothing at all while she would page though a book or simply watch the people go by.

In the evenings she often enjoyed cooking – though she wasn’t his maid and insisted on his participation if he wanted to eat. And, oh, what a precious, awkward creature, he’d been. Once, she'd been preparing dinner, spaghetti, when he'd leaned over her shoulder with that endless, cat-like, curiosity of his. She'd batted him away with her fingers and he'd dodged backward – only to trip over one of the kitchen chairs and land on the linoleum in a tangle. He’d spent the rest of the evening locked away in the spare bedroom; obviously embarrassed. It hadn’t been until the following morning when, sheepishly, he’d emerged in time to help with breakfast.

Ah, but it couldn't have gone on forever and, far too soon, it was time for him to move on.

One evening, some months on, she'd been washing their few dishes from dinner. While rinsing soap suds from the plates, William had glided, silently, into the room. Without a word, he’d taken up station at her side to dry. It had only required minutes to wash up; after which they had simply remained there, watching the neighbor’s children playing outside her kitchen window. Finally he'd said, in a voice so small and sad, “I don’t want to go home.”

Martha had hugged him and he had clung to her, tightly, without saying anything more.

A week later he had been gone. She'd insisted he keep her contact information. He'd assured her it wouldn't be “deleted” though she'd stopped trying to understand his odd word choices long ago.

She'd watched him board his plane; bag filled with his favorite pastries, she'd insisted on preparing for him, while feeling so much like a mum sending her only child off to college.

She would not see him again for nearly a decade.

One morning, out of the blue, she'd received a call from a man introducing himself as “Sherlock Holmes' brother”. The reason behind her silence had been quickly deduced by him (as if she'd need anything more than that little eccentricity to confirm this man as family). In a stiff voice, he'd followed with, “you know him as William.”

He was needing a place to stay. This “Mycroft” would, of course, cover the majority of the cost.

Martha had told him he could very well keep his money. She would not allow another man to have a single quid to hold over her head.

And, of course, he could rent from her.

Of course he could.

She couldn't wait to see him.

When the movers had brought Will- Sherlock’s things to the flat, she had been delighted to discover he wouldn’t be moving in alone.

She had a good feeling about it. A very good feeling indeed.

She knew – had known from the first, really – that the best choice she had ever made was to take in that young, frightened boy, all those years ago.

With fresh excitement, that had not caught her so keenly in a decade, Martha grabbed her hoover and headed up the seventeen steps to the flat above. It was time to get ready, after all.

William was coming home.

Comment on AO3

[eksvaized]

Part ONE [ Next ]

Simon parks the car across the street from a bustling nightclub, carefully manoeuvring it into a vacant parking space. He leans back into the comfortable leather seat, enjoying the serenity that swallows him once he turns off the engine and tosses the keys onto the unoccupied passenger seat. Cracking open the window, he smells a gentle breeze that carries the faint scent of the city's nightlife.

As he reaches for his pack of cigarettes, his fingers twitch. With practised ease, he flicks open the lighter and ignites the end of the cigarette. Taking a long, deep drag, he feels the smoke fill his lungs. The familiar taste of nicotine lingers on his tongue, bringing comfort to his weary body and easing the tension in his shoulders. In the dimly lit interior of the car, Simon becomes a mere silhouette, blending seamlessly into the cold shadows; passersby, engrossed in their own affairs, scarcely spare him a passing glance.

His deep, dark eyes wander across the busy street, fixating on the rowdy individuals who continuously pour in and out of the nightclub. He has no intentions of going in. These kinds of establishments, where the music blares at an unbearable volume, the air is thick with perspiration and alcohol, and navigating through the crowd inevitably leads to frequent shoulder-to-shoulder encounters, do not appeal to him.

However, he had a keen interest in observing people and their behaviours. Simon finds himself particularly drawn to intoxicated women, who seem to be his preferred subjects of observation. He attentively analyses and judges their actions, paying particular attention to their clothing choices. He notes that many of them choose to dress in short skirts that barely cover their assets, revealing bare backs in flimsy blouses, and exposed cleavages, which guys gawk at without even bothering to disguise their stares.

Simon can't help but question their fashion choices, wondering how they can dress like that and expect not to be groped. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He tosses the cigarette out of the window and then lights another one, oblivious to the fact that a thick cloud of grey smoke has grown inside the car and that the pungent scent of tobacco is sticking to the leather upholstery.

Simon's attention is drawn to a group of men. They appear to be in high spirits, stumbling around, laughing boisterously, and playfully gesturing at people walking by. Suddenly, their focus shifts as they notice a woman with long legs, dressed in a skimpy red dress. She completely steals the spotlight, and one of them even whistles in appreciation, hoping the woman will stop and look at them.

Simon, unimpressed by their behaviour, and to be honest, slightly disgusted, can't help but roll his eyes in response.

His stakeout is growing increasingly tiresome and monotonous. A yawn, filled with drowsiness, escapes him as he sits in the car. His fingers lightly tap on the steering wheel twice before he scratches his chin. The thought of going home crosses his mind, as it is already late, and he knows he has to wake up early tomorrow. However, just as he turns on the engine, causing the car to emit a gentle hum, he takes a moment to stretch out his stiff back, which causes his gaze to land upon you.

As you stumble out of the club towards the solid brick wall, you feel its rough texture against your fingertips and lean against it for support. Simon watches you with piqued curiosity and notices you fumbling with your purse. You pull out a lighter. Intrigued, he pauses and lets his hands drop into his lap. Are you alone? You must be; five minutes pass and no one approaches you.

Before Simon can fully comprehend his actions, he swiftly exits the car and locks it. While fiddling with the keys, he crosses the street and approaches you from the back. You're utterly unaware of his presence. His eyes smoothly glide down the contours of your body. You are wearing a flowy black dress. The fabric hugs your body in all the right places. Your back is exposed. His fingers quiver, and he clenches his hands into tight fists, resisting the urge to caress your exposed skin. Unlike other women tonight, you have chosen practicality over fashionable heels, a decision that may prove to be in your best interest since, based on his observations, walking in a straight line seems to be a challenging feat for you.

You feel a gentle tap on your shoulder, causing you to wobble. Slowly, you turn around, your body never peeling away from the brick wall that is keeping you grounded. He wets his lips with his tongue, and a faint smile forms on his face when your eyes meet his gaze.

"Have a light?" He tilts his head, watching as your drowsy eyes shift towards his lips and the cigarette, which is wedged between his teeth.

You nod and fumble with your purse once again, handing him the lighter. You feel the warmth of his hand as your fingers graze against his while he takes it from your palm. A jolt of excitement runs down your spine, sending shivers through your entire body. The heat rushes to your cheeks, colouring your face a bright, rosy red.

"Having fun?" Simon asks, making you shrug.

"I guess," you reluctantly respond, your voice trailing off. You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing against your weary body. Leaning against the cool bricks, you close your heavy eyelids for a second. All you want to do is lay somewhere down, curl up and sleep until your head stops spinning. But instead, with a hint of curiosity, you return the question, "And what about you?"

"Not really. Came here to pick up a friend, but it seems like he ditched me." Simon is unsurprised when the lie comes effortlessly to him.

"Bummer." A giggle slips past your lips as you watch him smoke, the cigarette loosely dangling between his thumb and index finger.

He is tall, incredibly tall, towering above everyone, including you. When you speak with him, you find yourself tilting your head back to meet his gaze; otherwise, you are left staring at his chest. His dishevelled, dirty blonde hair adds to his rugged charm, and he absentmindedly runs his fingers through it every few seconds. His eyes dart around, never settling on anything or anyone for too long. But the moment you capture his gaze, you become spellbound by it.

You notice that his lips are moving, and you can hear the faint sound of his voice. However, you are too tired to make out his words that are buzzing over in your head. It is challenging to concentrate on the conversation. The desire to wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him consumes your thoughts. You know it's bold and maybe a little slutty and desperate, but you had no luck tonight with the guys inside the club. And, since you are drunk — you get a free pass tonight. You are allowed to make questionable choices, fully aware that you will probably regret them in the morning when the inevitable hangover sets in.

Simon notices that your head is floating in the clouds and that whatever he is saying is coming in your one ear and flying out of the other. He doesn't mind, though. He enjoys just being near you. But the more he stands, towering over your small frame, watching as your delicate fingers play with the loose thread on your dress, the more he begins to realise how foolish you are.

You are all alone. You came here without friends, and to make matters worse, you consumed an excessive amount of alcohol and now you find yourself engaged in a conversation with a complete stranger, who for all you could know is thinking about how to drag you away from the crowd and lure you into the dark alley, where he could bend you over, lift your dress and tear your panties off.

Could you be any more dumb and reckless? Yes. Yes, you absolutely can. Because when Simon offers to give you a ride, you take him on the offer without blinking twice, not even considering the possibility of him being a crazy serial killer.

As you collapse into the passenger seat, after telling him your address, you fail to notice that he is not driving you home. The car speeds through the unfamiliar streets, the blur of buildings and street signs barely registering in your mind.

Simon's heart races in his chest. His fingers nervously tap against the steering wheel as he firmly presses down on the gas pedal. His mind is a maelstrom of thoughts, swirling faster than he can make sense of them. On the surface, however, he maintains a cool and composed demeanour, appearing almost unaffected and disinterested.

"Did I already ask for your name?" you ask, turning to face him. "I believe I might have, but... I had way too many shots and drank, at the very least, three or four piña coladas, so I'm feeling a little woozy."

He glances at you.

"Simon."

"Simon." You repeat his name, letting each letter roll off your tongue slowly before you click your teeth; he wishes you would say it again, again and again. "I'm Y/N, in case I didn't introduce myself either."

A heavy silence settles in, creating a stillness that engulfs the car and swallows you. He turns on the heat and the warmth envelops your body, letting another wave of drowsiness wash over you, tempting you to succumb to slumber. However, you're determined to stay awake.

You muster all your energy to stay alert and engaged. In an effort to stave off the impending sleep, you decide to break the silence and start a conversation, hoping it would be enough for you to keep your eyes wide open.

However, just as you turn your gaze towards Simon, his hand swiftly rises, surprising you with its sudden movement. Instantly, his palm firmly presses against the side of your head. His fingers sink into your hair as he grasps a handful of it. The pain shoots through your body, causing you to let out a sharp yelp and instinctively recoil. Before you have a chance to demand him to let you go, he forcefully smashes your head against the cool glass.

As the excruciating pain surges through your body, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head, you find your consciousness slipping away. Your body slumps in the seat. A sinister smile curls on Simon's lips, and he accelerates the car. The sound of the engine drowning out all the traces of his dark intentions.

[zapreportsblog]

↱ ties that bind ↰

➘ summary : shoto discovers that his father has set him up into a arranged quirk marriage

➘ shoto todoroki x reader

Shoto Todoroki sat in his room, his thoughts as tumultuous as the storm outside. Rain hammered against the windowpanes, echoing the turmoil that raged within him. He had always known his father, Endeavor, was controlling and manipulative, but he had never imagined the extent to which his father would go to shape his life.

A letter lay before him, the contents of which had shaken him to his core. It had arrived earlier that day, delivered by a stern-faced messenger. As he unfolded the letter, the words within seemed like a cruel joke, a twisted scheme he could scarcely believe.

"Dear Shoto,

By now, you are aware of the extent of my expectations. It is with the utmost intention that I reveal a reality that will forge our legacy further. You are bound by a Quirk Marriage to (Y/N), a young woman with exceptional capabilities.

This union is not merely personal but strategic. (Y/N)'s quirk, one of reality warping, is an asset that aligns perfectly with our ambitions. I expect you to fulfill your duty as my heir and cooperate fully in the forging of this bond.

Endeavor."

Shoto's hands trembled as he reread the words, his chest tightening with anger and disbelief. He had heard whispers of forced marriages among powerful families, but he had never imagined he would be ensnared in one himself.

His father's quest for dominance was evident in this calculated move. To think that his father would so callously dictate his life, even down to his relationships, filled Shoto with an indignant rage he had never felt before.

Yet, despite his fury, a surge of curiosity tugged at his thoughts. Who was (Y/N)? What kind of person could his father manipulate into such a situation? Were they a willing participant, or were they as much a victim of Endeavor's machinations as he was?

As the rain continued to lash against the window, Shoto's mind raced with questions, uncertainties, and a burning desire to unearth the truth. The reality of his situation was laid bare before him, and he knew that whatever lay ahead, he would face it with a determination to forge his own path, free from the shackles of his father's control.

Determined to uncover more about the person who had been drawn into this unwanted union, Shoto grabbed his coat and headed out into the rain-drenched streets. He needed answers, and he wasn't going to wait any longer to find them.

As he arrived at the address provided in the letter, his heart pounded with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. The building before him was modest, its appearance contrasting sharply with the grandeur he was accustomed to. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

The door creaked open, revealing a young woman with (h/c) hair and eyes that shimmered with surprise. Her features held an air of innocence, but there was a depth to her gaze that caught Shoto off guard.

"Hello? Can I help you?" she asked, her voice soft and cautious.

Shoto cleared his throat, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions within him. "Are you (Y/N)?"

She nodded, her curiosity evident. "Yes, I am. Do we... know each other?"

Shoto hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "My name is Shoto Todoroki. I received a letter... from my father."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened in recognition, and her expression shifted from curiosity to understanding. "Ah, I see. So you're... the one."

Shoto raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "The one?"

She stepped aside, inviting him into her humble living space. "Please, come in. We have a lot to talk about."

As Shoto entered, he took in his surroundings—a small, cozy apartment with touches of personalization that reflected (Y/N)'s taste. They settled in the living room, and (Y/N) began to speak, her voice steady but tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

"(Y/N), (Y/N) (L/N), that's me," she began, "and yes, I am part of this quirk marriage, just like you. My quirk is reality warping, a power that I never asked for. Your father approached me with an offer—a partnership that, in his words, would benefit both of us and align with his ambitions."

Shoto's jaw tightened, his anger flaring anew as he listened to her recount the situation. "So, you're here against your will as well."

(Y/N) nodded, her gaze meeting his with a mix of resignation and defiance. "Yes. And I've spent my days wrestling with the reality that my life has been manipulated for someone else's gain. I didn't choose this path, just like you didn't."

Shoto's heart clenched at the weight of her words. Here before him was a young woman who had been entangled in the same web of control, a victim of Endeavor's ambitions just as he was. And yet, in her eyes, he saw a determination to break free, to reclaim her agency.

As their conversation continued, Shoto found himself drawn to (Y/N)'s strength and vulnerability, her willingness to share her story despite the pain it held. In that moment, they were two individuals bound by circumstances beyond their control, but they were also two individuals who had the potential to reshape their destinies.

As the rain continued to fall outside, (Y/N) and Shoto forged an unexpected connection—a connection that would lead them down a path of defiance, self-discovery, and, ultimately, the chance to break free from the chains of their forced union.

Over the next few weeks, Shoto and (Y/N) continued to meet in secret, their shared experiences creating a bond that neither of them had anticipated. The more they spoke, the clearer it became that they were kindred spirits, united by their determination to reclaim control over their lives.

As they wandered through the city one day, raindrops clinging to their umbrellas, (Y/N) shared her dreams and aspirations, painting a picture of a life she had envisioned for herself before her quirk marriage. Shoto listened intently, his heart softening as he saw the fire in her eyes, the same fire that burned within him.

"(Y/N)," Shoto began, his voice hesitant yet resolute, "I don't want to be a pawn in my father's game any longer. And I'm guessing you don't either."

(Y/N) nodded, her gaze unwavering. "You're right. We didn't choose this, but we can choose what comes next."

Shoto's lips curled into a determined smile. "I've been thinking. If we can't change the past, maybe we can change the future. We can find a way to break free from this quirk marriage, from our fathers' control."

(Y/N)'s eyes lit up, hope kindling within her. "You mean... defy them?"

Shoto nodded, his resolve unwavering. "Exactly. We can forge our own paths, on our terms. We have quirk powers that are uniquely ours, and we can use them to shape our destinies."

As they spoke, their determination grew, fueled by a shared purpose and a desire for agency. They hatched a plan, a risky one that involved revealing the truth behind their quirk marriage to the world, exposing the manipulative actions of their fathers. It was a move that carried immense risks but offered the promise of liberation.

Days turned into weeks as Shoto and (Y/N) meticulously planned their next steps, all the while nurturing their growing connection. Their discussions ranged from serious strategy to lighthearted banter, their shared moments a balance of support and camaraderie.

The day of their revelation arrived—a press conference that would shatter the façade created by their fathers and set them on a course towards self-determination. With the world watching, Shoto and (Y/N) stood side by side, their hands entwined, a visual representation of unity against the chains of manipulation.

"(Y/N), are you ready?" Shoto asked, his voice steady but his heart racing.

(Y/N) smiled, her grip on his hand firm. "Ready as I'll ever be. Together, we'll show them that we won't be defined by their plans."

As they stepped onto the stage, the cameras flashing around them, the weight of their actions hung in the air. They spoke with unwavering conviction, exposing the truth behind their quirk marriage, the lengths to which their fathers had gone to control their lives.

The press conference marked the beginning of a new chapter for Shoto and (Y/N), one defined by their own choices and aspirations. Their revelation sent shockwaves through society, challenging the norms and expectations that had once held them captive.

As the rain continued to fall, the two of them stood united, facing a future of uncertainty but also hope. And in that moment, amid the storm, they were not just two individuals, but a force that defied manipulation and embraced the power of their own wills.

[atomicwrite]

Hello is it possible if I can have the boys reacting to their s/o (gender neutral) being able to do chaos control without a chaos emerald thx

Sureee, tysm for your request! <3 <3

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💙 Triple S x GN!Reader Headcanons

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✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

⚠ Warnings: None

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ •• ✼

Sonic:

Sonic would be amazed and impressed by your ability to do Chaos Control without a Chaos Emerald.

He would ask you how you discovered your powers and if you've ever had any trouble controlling them.

Sonic would also be curious about how your powers work and would ask a lot of questions to try and understand them better.

He would be proud of you for having such a unique and powerful ability, and would love to train with you to see what kind of new moves and techniques you could develop together.

He would also be very protective of his partner, knowing that their unique ability could make them a target for those who seek power. He would always make sure they feel safe and supported.

Sonic would be more than willing to team up with his partner and use their combined abilities to take on any challenge that comes their way. He would see it as an opportunity for some epic adventures and thrilling battles.

Shadow:

Shadow would be surprised and intrigued by your ability to do Chaos Control without a Chaos Emerald, since he's the only one he knows who has this power.

He would likely ask you to show him your powers in action and would want to know every detail about how you discovered your powers and how you control them.

Shadow would be impressed by your abilities and would want to work with you to develop new techniques and strategies to use in battle.

He would be cautious, however, since he knows firsthand how dangerous Chaos Control can be if not used correctly.

Despite his competitive nature, Shadow is also very supportive and proud of you.

Shadow would see his partner's power as a valuable asset and would be more inclined to work with them closely in their battles against foes. He would trust their abilities and rely on them as a capable and formidable ally. He thinks you have a bright future ahead of you and encourages you to keep honing your skills.

Silver:

Silver would be excited and amazed to discover that you can do Chaos Control without a Chaos Emerald, since he comes from a future where Chaos Emeralds are extremely scarce.

He would ask you all sorts of questions about how you discovered your powers and how you control them.

Silver would be very supportive of your powers and would see them as a powerful tool in the fight to save the future.

Silver loves to watch you practice your chaos control, and he'll often offer tips and suggestions to help you improve.

He also thinks it's pretty cool that the two of you can use your chaos control abilities together to travel to new places and have all sorts of fun adventures.

Silver's kind-hearted nature would shine through as he showers his partner with affection and gratitude for their amazing ability. He would be unwavering in his support and would always stand by their side, ready to face any obstacle together.

[ahmafmohesn]

**A Daily Struggle**

In the heart of a war-torn region, a Palestinian family of seven faced an unrelenting struggle for survival. Having fled their home in the north due to the ongoing conflict, they relocated to the south in search of safety, only to find their new life fraught with its own set of challenges.

Every day, their existence revolved around one pressing issue: the escalating cost of basic necessities. To put food on the table, the family needed between $80 and $90 daily. The price of chicken, once an affordable staple, had skyrocketed to $10 per kilogram. For a family of seven, even one chicken was barely sufficient to meet their protein needs. Vegetables, essential for maintaining health, were no better. A kilogram of tomatoes cost over $15, a staggering amount in such dire circumstances.

The burden didn’t end with food. The cost of housing was another crushing challenge. Renting a small apartment or even a single room could easily surpass $2,000 a month. Even securing a piece of land for a tent was prohibitively expensive. With remittance fees reaching up to 25% and job opportunities scarce, financial relief was out of reach.

The young man of the family found his daily budget constrained to just $25, struggling to cover the most basic necessities. Each day felt longer and more grueling as the air grew increasingly polluted and the weight of the conflict seemed unbearable. With the war dragging on for over 11 months, the family had lost everything they once had, clinging to their resilience as their sole remaining asset.

In this relentless struggle for survival, their only hope was to seek help for purchasing essential food and cleaning supplies. Each day was a testament to their endurance, as they continued to face the harsh reality of their circumstances with unwavering patience

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