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chvoswxtch · 3 months

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Court baby i've waiting for this moment! I have this idea for a fic living rent free in my head. Its Frank x fem!reader. They were in a very cozy and confy moment when the snap happened and reader was blipped! You could write how Frank deald with those five years and with reader coming back. With a lot of angst moments and flufly and maybe spicy after she comes back. I would love if you accept this request! Thank you, I love you ❤️

i'm not gonna lie to you, the blip is my least favorite marvel storyline, but I love you so I put myself and frank through it just for you 🖤

I would say sorry that i'm about to emotionally wreck you but in my defense, you did ask for this so...enjoy or don't

warning: swearing, mentions of blood, violence, guns, & alcohol, heavy angst, very brief allusion to suicide (blink and you miss it) word count: 4.1k

the blip.

A split second. That’s how quickly Frank lost you. He turned his back for a second to refill his mug of coffee, and when he turned back around, you had vanished seemingly into thin air. At first he thought maybe you had gone back into the bedroom to grab a sweater or something. It had been a bit chilly in the kitchen, and you were always cold. But then a few seconds turned into a few minutes, and Frank didn’t hear any shuffling or soft footsteps. He didn’t hear anything at all. The crisp silence had an icy sense of dread trickling down his spine, and when he didn’t hear your sweet voice responding to his cautious calls of your name, he went into a full blown panic.

You were gone.

Year One.

This wasn’t happening again. It couldn’t be. There was no way he had survived losing Maria and the kids just to find you, to let your endless patience and irrevocable empathy fill the gaping void in his chest, only to lose you too. It had to be some kind of cruel joke. Frank didn’t consider himself a good man; he was well aware of and acquainted with his demons. But he didn’t deserve this.

Did he?

It was forty-eight hours before anyone even knew what happened. One giant asshole snapped his fingers, and half the universe’s population ceased to exist. Frank had stopped believing in God a lifetime ago, and he certainly didn’t believe in aliens or otherworldly creatures. He had seen first hand during his time in the Marines that mankind was the real monster. But it didn’t matter that he didn’t believe in it, because it happened, and not even the fucking Avengers could stop it. Hell, half of them were gone too.

Two weeks after the snap, news broke that Thanos had been killed, and that the Infinity Stones were destroyed, but the remaining members of the Avengers were trying to come up with a way to bring everyone back. For months Frank was glued to every news outlet, frantically waiting for even the smallest of updates. Anything was something. He refused to believe that the snap was permanent. The Avengers were going to find a way to bring everyone back. They had to.

Your pillowcase had stopped smelling like your shampoo, and Frank found himself using it and your body wash just to keep your scent on the sheets. He burned your favorite candles and read your favorite books. He wouldn’t stay gone longer than fifteen minutes in case you finally came home. He wanted to be there when you did. Frank kept himself busy with little projects around the house, things that you had mentioned changing or updating that he had promised he would get around to and never did. Frank swore to himself when you came home, things would be different.

He would take that trip you wanted to go on. He’d take you to the shelter to pick out a dog like you had been talking about. Maybe you two would finally start a family. Whatever you wanted, he’d give you. He’d find a way to give you the goddamn moon and every single star in the sky if you wanted them.

As soon as you came home.

But then a year went by, and nothing had changed. The anniversary of the snap came and went, and everyone seemed to give up hope on bringing everyone back, or they just decided to move on and accept that no one was coming back.

But Frank couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. He refused to believe you were really gone.

Year Two.

The worst part about the snap was that Frank couldn’t collect his vengeance in blood like he had with his family. The one who took you from him was already dead, and even if he hadn’t been, Frank had no way of reaching him. Thanos was a Titan, someone who was revered as a God to those that followed him, and Frank was just a man. A man poisoned with rage and an insatiable thirst for revenge. So, he did what he was good at. He punished. Even though half the universe’s population was gone, that didn’t mean there weren’t still monsters left on Earth.

Frank killed without mercy or prejudice. There was no sin too harmless for his wrath. His fists collided with skin and bone until there was nothing left but ivory fragments tainted crimson and torn flesh. He didn’t stop, not even when his destructive blows caused his own knuckles to crack. It had gotten to the point where he hardly reached for a gun anymore unless he absolutely had to. He preferred to use his hands or serrated steel. He wanted to inflict every ounce of pain that he felt inside on whoever was stupid enough to get in his way.

It was like he wasn’t even mentally present anymore. His conscience had been shut off somehow, and all that was left was a relentless killing machine. Whenever he ran out of targets in the city, he moved on to hunt in the next one, and the next one, and the next one. He lived primarily out of his van, or whatever dingy motel he came across on the road. He hadn’t stepped foot in your home in almost a year. He couldn’t. It was haunted by your memory, and he couldn’t desecrate the home you two had made together with what he had become.

You would be ashamed of him. You would be disgusted and horrified by the things he had done. That thought echoed in his head as he watched the water continue to run red while he stood under the weak spray of the shower head. He didn’t know what town or even what state he was in. He didn’t know what day of the week it was, or what month it was. He didn’t care. All he knew was that you were gone, and he had nothing left.

Nothing left but the white hot fury that infected his veins and had him seeking out blood like water in the desert.

Year Three.

Frank couldn’t visit you, not like he could Maria and the kids. He couldn’t even have the closure of burying you, because there wasn’t a body. There was no final resting place for you, and he didn’t think that was fucking fair. Today was your birthday, and Frank had been drowning himself in whiskey trying to dilute the painful memories that played in his head like a haunting home movie.

The angelic sound of your voice as you read him whatever book your nose was buried in that week, your fingers slipping through his dark tresses while he laid his head on your chest and listened in pure content. The feeling of your soft lips on his heated skin and delicate noises of pleasure as your bodies connected like they were made for each other. Your melodic laughter, the silkiness of your skin, slow dancing in the living room with the moon acting as a spotlight.

All the words he never said. All the promises he didn’t get to keep. All the dreams that wouldn’t come true.

Somehow Frank found himself in a church. He couldn’t remember the last time he stepped foot in one. Maybe it was Sunday school back when his parents still forced him to go. He had stumbled in, his heavy boots thudding along the aisle, the only other sound coming from the amber liquid sloshing around in the half empty bottle in his hand. He stopped when he got to the front, looking up at the stained glass depictions of angels, until his weary eyes landed on the savior that was nailed to the giant cross.

Frank glared at him for several minutes before hurling the half empty bottle right at the head of the statue, causing a firework explosion of shimmering shards of glass to rain over the altar and various candles that had been lit for loved ones that had passed on. His rough voice boomed throughout the empty space.

“You son of a bitch! Why didn’t you take me, huh? Why not me? She ain’t never done a goddamn thing wrong. I’m the one you want. I’m the one that deserves it. I’m the goddamn killer here, huh? I’m the fuckin’ Punisher. So you bring her back, and you take me!”

Frank started grabbing bibles from the pews and hurling them at the statue with all his strength. In his inebriated state, some of them flew right past the statue and knocked over other small figurines and candlesticks. He let out a guttural war cry every time he threw a new one, and by the time he ran out of steam, he was panting heavily, and tears had formed in his eyes.

Dropping to his knees, he looked up at the melancholic face of the statue that matched his own, and he did something he hadn’t done in years.

He prayed.

“Please. Please, just bring her back. I’ll take her place…I won’t fight…just…just bring her back. I’m beggin’ you…I’ll do whatever it takes, alright? Just…you can’t…you can’t do this to me again. You can’t. I may deserve it, but she don’t…okay so just…just…”

Frank was tired. Three years without you was too long. He hadn’t been able to find the peace that he had found after Maria and the kids. He spent a year waging war on everyone, and it did nothing. He spent the last few months drowning himself in booze, and it didn’t help. Nothing helped, and there was nothing to keep him going. You were gone, and you weren’t coming back, so what the hell was he still getting out of bed every morning for?

Reaching into the pocket of his coat, Frank pulled out a revolver and stared down at it. There was only one bullet in the chamber, and it wasn’t meant for anyone but him. If God wouldn’t bring you back, then he would go to you.

As soon as he cocked the hammer, a familiar voice sounded behind him.

“You don’t wanna do that, Frank.”

Turning his head to look over his shoulder, Frank squinted his blurry eyes before turning back around, shaking his head with a dry laugh.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Half the goddamn universe gets wiped out, and I get stuck with the fuckin’ altar boy.”

“Frank-”

“Mind your fuckin’ business, Red. Just cause there’s only one bullet in this chamber don’t mean I won’t handle your ass.”

Matt let out a deep exhale through his nose as he took a few cautious steps towards where Frank was on his knees in front of the altar.

“You’re drunk-”

“And you’re fuckin’ relentless. Go home.”

“Look, whoever you lost-”

“Whoever I lost? I lost everyone, Red!”

Matt didn’t flinch when Frank suddenly rose from his knees and stormed over towards him, his loud voice booming in the silence as they stood barely an inch apart. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly, his lips pursed as he grit his teeth.

“You think you’re the only one that’s lost everyone you’ve ever cared about, Frank?”

“Then what the hell are you waitin’ on, huh? You too much of a fuckin’ pussy to do it yourself, huh? That it? You need me to do it for you?”

Matt carefully reached out to place his hand on Frank’s arm, lowering the gun that was in his hand while he spoke in a calm voice.

“I don’t want to die, Frank. And I don’t think you want to either. You just want the pain to stop. But if you do this, it’s permanent, and you’ll never know if she came back.”

Frank shook his head and blew a puff of hot air out of his lips, his dark brows scrunching up in pure annoyance and frustration.

“She ain’t comin’ back-”

“You don’t know that. She’s not dead, Frank. She’s lost. Maybe she’s with Karen and Foggy. Frank, someone came down from another planet and wiped out half the universe. Is it so crazy to think that could be undone?”

The anger that was simmering inside Frank from Matt’s intrusion seemed to be burning through the alcohol in his system, and Matt’s question was igniting a tiny ember of hope that Frank wasn’t prepared to tend to. His body physically deflated as he dropped his head between his broad shoulders. There was a heavy tide of tears on his bottom lash line threatening to flood at any moment.

“Don’t do that.”

“You have to have faith, Frank-“

“I don’t, Red.”

“I do.”

Frank didn’t know when Matt managed to slip the revolver from his grasp, but he didn’t feel the weight of a permanent decision in his palm anymore. Matt had planted a tiny seed of hope, and what if’s were taking over Frank’s brain like wild ivy.

What if there was a chance you could come back? Matt had a point, you weren’t dead. Not really. Even if the probability of it happening was one in a million, didn’t Frank owe you the same unwavering patience you had always shown him?

“Look Frank, just…give me a year. One year to show you things can be different. If you still want to make that call in a year, I won’t stop you. I’ll leave you alone. But Frank…you’ve gotten through this once before. You can do this again. If not for yourself, just try for her.”

A year. A year was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Frank had already been without you for three years now.

What was one more?

Year Four.

Matt’s apartment was fucking obnoxious due to that goddamn billboard across the street, but it was better than the shitty motels Frank had been staying in. He still couldn’t step foot in the home he had shared with you. It had been three years now, and even though he wasn’t fully convinced you could come back, he couldn’t let it go. Everything that was you was there, and if he sold the house, that meant every trace of you and your existence was gone.

Matt had one rule for Frank staying with him; no killing. For a week, Frank lounged on the couch trying to figure out what to do with himself. He would start to read a book, but could never get more than a few pages because he remembered how much you loved to read, and then he would get stuck staring at the pages while memories of you played on loop in his head. There wasn’t a TV because Matt didn’t have use for one, and Frank didn’t care to watch anything anyway. It didn’t take long for Frank to go stir crazy. He had never been good at staying idle.

While Matt was out making the world a better place, Frank had managed to find a construction job. Busting down walls all day long allowed him to get his pent up anger out while not breaking Matt’s golden rule. Most days it felt like Frank was on autopilot. He woke up, went to the job site, smashed a sledgehammer through a wall until his hands bled, came home, tried to sleep, inevitably had a nightmare about losing you, and laid on the couch staring blankly up at the ceiling until the sun rose.

Every single day was a repeat of the last until they started to blur together. Frank didn’t speak to anyone at the job sites. He didn’t speak to anyone at all. Between Matt’s busy court schedule and his nightly patrols, they didn’t see each other often, and even when they were home at the same time, Frank still hardly spoke to him. He wasn’t sleeping, he barely ate, and on the days he had off, he didn’t leave the couch. He felt like a hollow shell of the man he used to be.

Matt knew what he was going through. Hell, he had been there himself after the second time he lost Elektra. He knew what it felt like to lose the person you loved most in this world, and that had happened to Frank twice now. He did his best to be patient, but after four months, he couldn’t take it anymore. Matt was fortunate that he’d had people that helped him combat his depression to find his way back to himself, but Frank didn’t have a soul in his corner.

Except for Matt.

And even though Frank wasn’t shy about not wanting Matt’s help, Matt didn’t care. Frank could be stubborn, but he didn’t have the energy or the drive to match Matt’s stubbornness, and Matt used that to his advantage. He was relentless in pushing Frank to participate in life again. He purposely antagonized Frank, even if it meant being reduced to a human punching bag, because that meant Frank was still in there somewhere.

Matt started small in getting him out of the apartment, like guilt tripping Frank into joining him on trips to the grocery store.

“You’re not gonna help your blind roommate get groceries? You know, a lot of items don’t come with braille labels. So when I die because I accidentally put bleach in my coffee instead of creamer, you have to say nice things about me at my funeral.”

“You don’t need labels, Red. You got that goddamn bloodhound nose. Would you stop lookin’ at me like that? Jesus fuckin’ Christ, fine. Get your fuckin’ jacket and let’s go.”

After a while, he even managed to get Frank to join him at Fogwell’s from time to time.

“No wonder you became a goddamn lawyer. All you know how to do is fuckin’ argue, makes sense you made a livin’ outta it.”

“I’m not arguing, Frank. If we got in the ring, you would lose. That’s a fact. You don’t know how to box, you just know how to run at people and slam them into things. And you’re too bulky to move as fast as me. None of that is an argument, it’s a simple observation.”

“Why don’t you observe your ass in that ring so I can shut you the fuck up, Red.”

The more time they spent together, and the more Frank put in an effort to move forward one step at a time, the less empty he felt. The nightmares still came every so often, and there were days where the weight of your absence was too much for him to bear, but for the first time in four years, he didn’t feel so hopeless.

He could think about you without breaking down. He could see something that reminded him of you, and it warmed his heart instead of ripping it out. He had finally reached a point where he had slowly crawled out of the deep pit of grief that he had been digging for the past four years.

As much as he hated to admit it, Matt had helped him find a semblance of peace.

Year Five.

The sound of a dog barking caught Frank’s attention. He pulled his head out from under the hood of his truck, looking over at the grey and white pitbull that was standing a few feet away from the front door of the house you and Frank had lived in together that he’d finally moved back into six months ago. He glanced between the front door and the dog with his thick brows furrowed.

“What is it, Daisy?”

The dog turned her head when she heard Frank’s voice, the movement so fast it made her long velvet ears flop. She turned her attention back to the door and continued to bark. Something inside had caught her attention. Eyeing the front door warily, Frank rubbed his grease stained hands off on a small rag and walked over towards where Daisy was, kneeling down beside her to gently scratch that spot between her ears that she loved.

“Hey, shh shh shh. C’mon now, what’s got you so worked up, huh? What do you think is inside, huh? You smellin’ that-”

The sound of the front door opening caught Frank’s attention, and he instantly snapped his head in the direction of it. All of a sudden, his warm brown eyes went wide, and time seemed to freeze in that very moment.

“Sweetheart?”

His quiet whisper was dripped in disbelief. There you were, looking exactly the same as the day you had vanished, looking between Frank and Daisy with an expression of surprise and perplexment.

“Frank?”

God, your voice. It had been five years since he had last heard it. That was all the confirmation he needed that this was real. You were real. You were really home.

Without wasting a second, Frank stood and ran over towards you, tears filling up his eyes as he wrapped his arms around your frame and hugged you as tightly as physically possible. His heart was thrashing against his ribcage, and he was terrified this was just a vivid dream, but then he inhaled the scent of your shampoo intermingled with your perfume, felt your hands gently pressing against his back, and heard your soft angelic laughter.

“Frankie…baby…you’re crushing me.”

Frank pulled back only slightly, bringing his large hands up to cup your face to study your features, taking in every single inch of you. He caught the way you frowned softly, looking up at him in pure concern when thick tears streamed down his cheeks. You lifted your hand to delicately brush them away with the featherlight touch of your fingers.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“You’re really here.”

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? Baby, why are you so upset?”

As you ran your hands through his long grown out curls, a crease of bewilderment nestled in between your brows when you took in his appearance.

“Wait…what happened to your hair? It was just short five seconds ago…and you didn’t have a beard. How…how did you do that? And when did we get a dog? Frank, what-”

Five seconds ago.

Is that all it was for you? Frank could see the visible disorientation on your delicate features, and he had a lot of questions of his own, but right now nothing mattered but you. He leaned in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, pouring every emotion he had felt in the past five years into it. He kissed you like the world could end at any moment, because for him it did the day you vanished.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead against yours and let out a deep exhale of relief.

“You…you were gone, sweetheart. You were gone a long time…a long goddamn time.”

“Gone? What-”

“I’ll explain everythin’, I promise. Just…just give me a minute, please. Just let me hold you for a minute, can you do that for me, baby? Please?”

Frank had always been able to read you like a book, and he could tell by the look in your eyes that you weren’t just confused. Hearing you had been gone for a long time infused you with a sense of panic and uncertainty. But you trusted Frank, and you knew whatever hard truth he was going to tell you, he wouldn’t let you go through it alone.

“Okay.”

As Frank embraced you again, you suddenly felt a pair of paws on your back. Glancing over your shoulder, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the happy dog wagging its tail while looking between you and Frank. Reaching down, you gently pet the side of her face with a soft smile.

“Hi there, precious.”

“Daisy.”

Glancing up at Frank, your lips parted slightly when Frank told you her name. A soft smile covered his lips, the first smile to do so in five years. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear slowly.

“You always said if we got a dog and it was a girl, you wanted to name her Daisy.”

Tears welled up along your bottom lash line as you looked up at Frank, a gentle smile covering your lips. After a moment, you glanced away from Frank to look at Daisy again, letting out a soft laugh.

“I’ve waited a long time to meet you, Daisy.”

Frank gave your waist a light squeeze, leaning in to press a soft lingering kiss to your cheek.

“And we’ve been waitin’ a long time for you. Welcome home, sweetheart.”

tags: @day-dreaming-goddess @kdogreads @heimtathurs @mars-rants-a-lot @casa-boiardi @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @hazallem @avencol @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @mattymurdock1021 @bubuslutty @ninejlovebot @purrrfect @pennylovey @firesunflamed @oscarisaacsleftknee @ameliaswife @Vane28282 @kmc1989 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042 @utterlynuts

#frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x reader #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle request #frank castle fic #the punisher #the punisher request #the punisher fic #matt murdock #daredevil

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dianagj-art · 1 year

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This boy is no loger living rent free on my head

I tried to make my writing legible but it got worse the more I wrote, so traslation of all my notes under the cut

Main notes:

"Leo" gets raised by Draxum to be his first warrior

Doesn't really like his new "brothers" but Draxum wants him to persude them into joining them

Hates humans

Draxum calls him Number One, as he is his #1 experiment, it gets over his head and he thinks way too high of himself

Draxum's big expectation of him drive him to always be pushing himself to meet very high standards (Draxum's and his own)

Very good fighter, Draxum has been training him since he was very little. Can and will kick anyone's ass

Raph and Donnie don't like nor trust him

Mikey loves him

Mikey is the one to suggest calling him Leonardo/Leo. He doesnt like it but they call him that anyways, Mikey out of love and Raph and Donnie just to annoy him at first, then out of love too

Has a "I have my shit together" mask always on, it slowly falls off as he grows more comfortable around his brothers.

Takes a long time for him to realize he is on the wrong side of things and he struggles to actuall leave Draxum and his old life behind

Other notes:

Full "armor" for when he is with Draxum

Down scaled outfit for when he starts to fall more confy with his brothers

Starts with katanas. Moves on to the odashi after Mystic Mayhem events

Mask closes like pro-wrestling masks

Scars! from training and missions (most are hidden) Doesn't like people knowing how much damage he've got

Draxum put a seed on his neck to grow vines from him if he even misbeheaves too much. Seed is hidden kinda inside his shell

#rottmnt #rottmnt separated au #rottmnt fanart #rise leo #doodles #sketches #dg art #dg fanart

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fuckyeahhistorycrushes · 9 days

Text

Tamara Wiszniewska (1919-1981) - Polish actress

Tamara Wiszniewska was born on December 19, 1919 in Dubno, Poland (now a region in western Ukraine) on the banks of the Ikva River. It was here that she spent her younger years during which she picked up dancing, which eventually led her to her career in film. In her 1981 obituary in the Democrat & Chronicle, it was reported that Tamara, at age 15, “Was a ballet dancer, when German film director Paul Wegener discovered her and gave her a role in the historical film, August der Starke (August the Strong)” which premiered in 1936. This German/Polish co-production is a biographical look into the life of Augustus II, ruler of Saxony and Poland-Lithuania from 1694-1733. Although Tamara played only a small role it marked her debut and eventual rise to fame within the Polish film industry.

Following her appearance in August der Starke, Tamara appeared in thirteen other films between 1936 and 1939, including Trójka Hultajska (The Trio Hultajska, 1937), Ordynat Michorowski (Ordinate Michorowski, 1937), and Kobiety nad Przepaścią (Women Over the Precipice, 1938). Wladyslaw (Walter) Mikosz, Tamara’s future husband, produced two of these films. In an interview, Tamara and Walter’s daughter, Irene, states that, "The two met because of their film careers, and were married [late that same year] in 1937".

Life for the Mikoszs was happy for a time. Tamara continued to pursue her acting career through 1938 and 1939 and had welcomed a new born daughter into the world alongside her husband, Wladyslaw. Unfortunately, these happy times did not last long as the Mikosz family experienced the rise of Nazi Germany and their occupation of Poland in 1939 during World War II. The following excerpt from an interview with Tamara in a 1974 Times Union tells how drastically their lives were changed:

"I always played a rich spoiled girl who had lovely clothes, and for a short time I lived that kind of life too. It was a short, beautiful life that ended when the Germans took over Poland in 1939. We were wealthy and the toast of the town then. We’d go to Prague and Vienna just to see an opera or to play in the casinos. When the Germans came, my intuition told me I should have something on me to exchange. I sewed my jewelry into my clothes. Later, it bought us passes to freedom and bread so we were never hungry."

The German occupation of Poland during World War II brought then “beautiful” life of the Mikosz family to an end. Gone were their illustrious careers in film and the rewards that such a life had brought to them. In a later interview, Irene mentioned that her mother "was preparing to sign a contract for a film career in Hollywood, but Hitler’s invasion of Poland derailed the plans". Sadly, Tamara’s last appearance on the silver screen was in 1939 prior to the invasion of Hitler’s Germany; she never again starred in any films.

Although her dreams had been crushed, Tamara and her family did not lose hope. They made the best of their current situation, and were able to survive by selling the fruits of their labors that they harvested during their days in the film industry; their lives had been consumed with a fight to survive rather than a dream to thrive. However, not being ones to live quiet lives, the Mikoszs volunteered for the Polish Underground, the exiled Polish government that fought to resist German occupation of Poland during World War II. As civilians with backgrounds in film, Tamara and Walter were most likely engaged in spreading Polish nationalistic and anti-German propaganda. Such efforts of the civilian branch of the Polish Underground was in support of what Jan Kamieński refers to as "small sabotage" in his book, Hidden in the Enemy's Sight: Resisting the Third Reich from Within: "In contrast of major sabotage, the idea of small sabotage was to remind the German occupiers of an enduring Polish presence, to ensure that they felt a constant sense of unease and generally undermine their self-confidence". While attending to these duties within the Underground, the Mikosz family was separated and shipped off to separate countries: Tamara and her daughter, Irene, to Czechoslovakia (where Tamara’s parents had been sent) and Walter to Bavaria. The family was not reunited until 1945, when they were sent to the same refugee camp in Bavaria. The Mikoszs remained in the Bavarian refugee camp until the year 1950, in which they emigrated to the United States of America. Tamara and Walter lived quiet lives in Rochester, NY after arriving from a war-torn Europe, and did so until they passed away.

Although they have long since passed away from this Earth, the stories of the Polish film star, Tamara, and her film-producer husband, Wladyslaw Mikosz, will live on so long as there are people around to tell it.

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b0g-b0y · 1 year

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König x m reader Requested @imcoughing

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Y/n was known for being social. It didn't matter who it was or what someone looked like y/n loved a good conversation.

And recently he found himself talking to König well, König was listening.” And then she told me that if she was a sunflower she would face me and not the sun. However, did you know that sunflowers die if they don’t face the sun? She was upset when I told her that. Anyway, do you have a favorite plant?” Y/n asked König, waiting for a response.” I like snapdragons.” König spoke. Y/n smiled at König before talking again. “My favorite is Venus Flytrap. There are different types of Venus flytrap, there so pretty for being something so corniverus. Did you know that they are mostly extinct in the USA they can be found in North and South Carolina. Sorry I’m rambling.” Y/n spoke. König slowly walked away waving a small bye.

Time after time y/n would come back to König. “König! Have you seen the news on the spinosaurus?” Y/n didn’t really get a reply but he continued.” Some paleontologists or something like that can make up their minds about if it’s aquatic or not, and they keep arguing about it. It’s literally a big crocodile. They also have similar skulls. Anyway I think it’s just stupid.”y/n said, his voice getting quite near the end. He’d noticed that König didn’t say anything back, he never really did. Was he bothered König, maybe König is too annoyed to utter a word back. This started to become a common thought to y/n. Eventually convincing himself that König didn’t want him around. So he stopped talking to the tall man.

König also started to notice that y/n would talk less and less to him. And he started to miss hearing y/n ramble about the things he liked or just the news. König loved listening to him and he missed it. The best he could do was push down all his anxiety’s and just ask what he did wrong, why did you stop talking to him, was it his fault? Königs brain couldn’t stop racing with thoughts as his feet carried him to find the man he was after, and eventually he did find him. König taped y/n's shoulder to get his attention. When y/n turned around to face König he had to take a deep breath before he could speak.”König”. Y/n said beating König before he could speak. It was now or never. “ y/n did I do something wrong?” Köing spoke. His eyes didn’t meet yours.” No you haven’t done anything wrong, why do you ask?” Y/n responded.Königs eyes finally met yours.” You stopped talking to me.” König said. “ I thought I annoyed you, you would never respond, it was me just talking though you didn’t like it, so I stopped.”y/n spoke. König couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief he didn’t do anything wrong, it was just a misunderstanding.” I actually love listening to what you have to say, I just don’t know what to say back.” König looked at y/n as he gave a small smile to him.

After their little talk things began to go back to normal. Y/n would continue to go to König to ramble about everything and anything. This time König would give his input into the conversation. But this time it was different. König found himself looking at y/n with love, he loved that man that stood in front of him and there was nothing he could do about it. He was scared y/n wouldn’t feel the same he was scared to lose what he had. However y/n started to feel the same way, he’d noticed that König looked at him with his eyes filled with love. But he couldn’t help but ponder on it for a few weeks, what if he was reading it the wrong way, then that would fuck every thing up. But hey you only live once.

Once again y/n and König found each other going for a walk. It was quite the birds and a small breeze could be heard before y/n decided to speak but not before letting out a small sigh.”König do you like men?” Y/n said, getting straight to the point.” Bitte? Ja I do what does that have to do wit-“ Before König could finish you spoke.” Good, go out with me?” Y/n spoke confidently. This stopped König in his tracks, he wasn’t expecting this to happen, especially not for this to go down in this way. König swallowed before letting out a small laugh that sounded similar to the crackling of hyenas. “ ja I would like that, want to go out for drinks y/n” Königs spoke. All you did was give a small hum as a yes as you grabbed his hand and continued your walk.

#cod x male reader #x male reader #cod x male!reader #könig x male reader #könig mw2 #könig cod #könig x male! reader

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mx-loar-tev · 3 months

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Okay, I'm back after all, I had to share that scene I had in my head.

So there was that post I reblogged and I couldn't help but turn it into swanqueen.

I just can't help seeing Emma and Regina making out in the kitchen. They hear the door open, and they panic because they are not out, not even to Henry.

Regina shoves Emma into the nearest hiding place, the pantry. Henry enters the kitchen and greats her mom. Small talks ensue.

Henry goes to the pantry to grab a snack. Regina can't find a excuse quickly enough to stop him. He opens the door and peeks inside.

"Hi Ma."

"Hi Henry."

He rummaged through the shelves for his favorite snack.

"You're not too cramped in here?" asks Henry.

"Nah. It's roomy. I think I gonna move in."

Henry beams, but it's not clear if it's about the idea of his birth mother living under the same roof or if it's because he finally found the right snack.

"Got lots of homework to do, gotta go. Bye Ma!"

"Bye Henry?"

Henry emerges of the pantry at last. Regina is still stock-still in the middle of the kitchen. She can't even warn her son against putting crumbs everywhere.

After a minute, Regina finally gains back the controle of her own body and goes into the pantry.

"So... He knows. He must know, right?"

"I thought he would be more surprised."

"Maybe we should still sit him down and talk to him about... Us."

"Yes, we should do that before I move in."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You didn't hear? This pantry is roomy and confy, I think I'll be fine here."

"Why live in this shoe box of a pantry when I have a queen sized bed?"

"Is it an invitation, Madam Mayor?"

"The requirement for being a denizen of my bedroom is a kiss every morning. Starting now."

"I think I can manage that."

"Welcome home, Emma."

I think the same setting would be fun at the loft with Snow. Would Snow would be shell-shocked or would she act like it was a long time coming?

I like the idea of her going "Hi Regina, bye Regina!... Wait..."

The closet is such an underrated trope tbh.

#swanqueen #swan queen #swen #emma x regina #regina mills #emma swan #henry mills #swan mills family #snow white #ouat #once upon a time #swanqueen fanfiction #ouat fanfiction #ouat fic #fic ideas

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l5byrinth · 2 months

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evermore

“and when i was shipwrecked, i thought of you.”

pairing: finnick o’dair x reader

summary: even in the dark times, even when the pain seemed to be for evermore, the thought of you made that all go away.

requested!

warnings/contains: angst maybe, fluff, lmk if i should add more

a/n: with this fic i realised how bad i actually am in writing. i apologise anon for not doing your request any justice i will probably rewrite or edit it once i’ve finished writing all the requests. TYSM for this request tho i absolutely love writing tswift inspired fics 🤭🤭

Where did it all go wrong.

That was the question that kept you up at night and haunted you during the day. It was strange how, no matter how hard you tried to please people, they still found a reason or way to stab you in the back. Finnick was one of the many people, who obeyed the capitols every wish. The main reason being to save his loved ones. And even that wasn’t enough.

No, because the people wanted entertainment, they wanted something more. They wanted to be astonished, blown away.

You knew that by now. Because why else would president Snow make the decision to reap from the existing pool of victors. Because why else would the love of your life, the person you called your home be reaped again. It was all to satisfy the capitol and make them feel even more powerful than they already are.

The moment the woman from the capitol fished a small piece of paper out of the bowl with the reaped one’s name on it, you knew it would be Finnick. When she said the first letter, your prediction was confirmed. And without even hearing the entire name, you broke out into tears.

You watched as your boyfriend tried to be nonchalant about it, smiling through the pain like he always did. But when they zoomed in on his face, you were crying uncontrollably. It didn’t help that you weren’t allowed to come with him either.

However, until the day he left the district you both lived in, you never left his side. Even if it weren’t allowed, even if it meant being threatened by the peacekeeper. Frankly, you couldn’t care less, because all you could care about was your Finnick. The one who was about to relive the torture he did when he was fourteen all over again.

All you could do now was watch him through a screen, something about it bringing some sort of comfort. Because you could see him.

The day of the ceremony was a tough one.

You could tell from everything you saw of him, that the stress and anxiety had gotten to him.

And you were right. He couldn’t function properly without you by his side. Finnick felt as if all the life was sucked out of him and that he would never feel alive again. Nonetheless, he smiled like he was enjoying fighting for his death again. He had to put on a show or else his chances of survival would decrease.

The way the crowd cheered when he was standing next to Caesar flew over his head. Because his thoughts were absolutely consumed by you. Flickerman talked to him, but he didn’t process a single word he was saying. “I heard from a little bird that you have message for somebody. A special somebody.” Caesar said, emphasising the special as he looked at the audience with a smug look.

Finnick’s smile turned more genuine when Flickerman mentioned the special somebody, which was you. The thought of hopefully seeing you again was the only thing keeping him from going insane. So with you in his mind, he started talking in the microphone. “My love,” The crowded room screamed hysterically, but he talked over it, his lips quivering, “You have my heart. For all eternity.”

The image of you sitting on the couch popped into his head and he wished desperately that he was with you right now. “And if…” He continued, but he had a hard time finding the right words. Flickerman nodded at him encouragingly, wondering where this was leading. “If I die in that arena… my last thought will be of your lips.” Your boyfriend tried his best to hold his composure and appear calm and confident, but inside he was breaking down.

After that, the games went by in a blur. The only thing you could vividly remember during the hard times, was the dream you had about Finnick. A dream that you would cherish forever, because it gave you hope of him surviving.

Soon enough, before you knew it, the capitol had taken you because of what happened during the quarter quell. You were watching the games, hoping that the plan your lover and his allies had made would go well. And remember Katniss shooting a bow at the middle of the dome. Before you knew it, the peacekeepers were infiltrating your house. They took you with them, but you can’t recall exactly how and what happened then.

When being held captive by the capitol, Finnick was the only thing you thought about. You weren’t aware if he was alright or not and it scared you more than anything. You snapped out of your thoughts when there was a knock on your door. President Snow himself walked in, accompanied by a woman you had seen by his side a lot recently. It took everything in your power not to jump at and attack him, so you did in your imagination. You imagined strangling him as he talked to you, however, you didn’t care one bit about what he was saying.

But as soon as your lover’s name was mentioned, your ears perked up. “We will find him, dear. And when he sees you, it won’t be long before he will leave district thirteen.”

Some kind of joy bloomed inside your chest, because even though his statement scared you, you were relieved that your Finnick was alive and well.

Finnick didn’t know anything about your state, but he blamed himself for everything that happened to you. He shut himself in his room all day, thinking about you, wishing he was with you, thinking about how things would be like in an alternative universe. He wasn’t aware of his surroundings anymore, being absolutely consumed by and in his thoughts.

Your name was the only word that left his mouth.

One day, Finnick heard about the plans to save you, Johanna and Peeta. And from that day on, he was more involved in everything that happened. Because all he wanted was for you to be with him again and he would do everything it took to get

you back to him. The day of executing the plan finally came and it went by swiftly, however for Finnick, it felt as if a million years passed by. Everything felt out of place without you.

After his interview, which was meant to distract both president Snow and the capitol, he rushed to Katniss. He interrogated her about if it had worked, but even she was unsure if it was a success.

Finnick waited for hours, pacing through his room anxiously. The only thing running through his mind being you, like always. He started to realise how just the thought of you had brought him so far. Because without you, he wouldn’t have cared if he passed away in that arena. Without you, he wouldn’t do his best to keep himself alive and to openly talk about what Snow did to him. Because for you, he would do anything. Anything you wanted him to do.

When he heard yelling coming from down the hall, his eyes widened. Was it possible that they were back with you guys already? Finnick didn’t waste any time and before he knew it, he was standing next to Katniss, waiting for Coin to tell them what was going on. But when he saw Johanna lying on a hospital bed, he knew enough.

You were somewhere here too.

He greeted Johanna, thankful that she was saved as well, before looking around to find you. Finnick asked every person he ran into, anyone that might know where you were. But everyone was so busy with everything they were doing, that they didn’t respond to him.

At this point, Finnick entered any room there was, in hopes to find you after the long separation. He searched every room, investigated every hall, but there was no sign of you.

Your lover was frantically looking around, when you awoke. And even though you were unaware about where you were, the only thing that mattered was that Finnick was right there. You wanted to call out his name, but there was no sound coming out of your mouth.

But you didn’t need words, because your boyfriend could feel your presence. When your gazes locked, Finnick didn’t waste a second when making his way over to you. He pushed away everyone that crossed his path, and pushed the doctors surrounding you aside.

Finnick halted right next to you, tears swelling up in both your and his eyes. He picked you up, not caring about the man that told him not to. He wrapped his arms around you so strongly, you were sure you would never get out of his grip.

Many tears left your eyes as you were finally in the arms of your home.

Finnick pulled away after a long time and took a good look at you, before pressing his lips against yours like a starved man. Hungry for you and your touch, he kissed you like you were all alone, with no one around. The only reason the two of you pulled away, was the lack of oxygen, and when you did you flashed him a smile.

“I finally kissed the lips that were on my mind the entire time.” Finnick whispered, his arms still wrapped around you. With a chuckle you planted another kiss on his lips, before pulling him in again for another hug. Being with your lover restored all the hope and will to live again.

And with him you were sure, that this pain wouldn’t be for evermore.

#finnick odair #fluff #finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg fanfiction #thg finnick #finnick oneshot #finnick x y/n #finnick x you #finnick imagine

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mooniebunny · 1 year

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🇺🇸- NEVER TRUST THAT FUCKIN BEAR!!!! Since the beginning of the stream Felps was calling Cellbit crazy and a bear chasing him with a chainsaw was just a nightmare..... I think he believes Cellbit now lol Maybe they did that because the Ordo Theoristas are trying to solve the puzzles and the mystery and everything is just happening too fast and just took the opportunity to put more thing in the lore also maybe because felps is going to Japan and I'll only be back on may 30 and felps told they know he's gonna travel.

🇧🇷- NUNCA CONFIE NESSE URSO FDP!! Desde o começo da live o Felps tava chamando o Cellbit de doido e q um urso correndo atrás dele com uma motosserra era só um sonho/pesadelo... Acho q agora ele acredita um pouquinho Cellbit kkkkkkk Talvez pq o Ordo Theoristas ta desvendando esse enigma meio rapido e mais rapido do q eles esperavam, eles usaram isso pra criar mais lore e deixar mais um mistério, outra motivo é q como o Felps vai viajar, meio q prenderam ele alí pelo tempo q ele vai ficar fora (ele disse q só volta la pelo dia 30) e os adms sabem q ele vai viajar pode ser q pegaram a oportunidade pra por mais coisa na lore.

#qsmp #felps #q!felps #qsmp cucurucho

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wolfs-archive · 3 days

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"Woah, now I know why you don't drink with us!!!!" || Part 1

Part 2 || Masterlist

Summary: Y/N has a secret crush on Felix. Little did she know he too liked her. All the boys are Y/n's friend as they go to the same college and live under the same roof. The other boys did know of Felix's crush but are clueless about Y/N. Little did the blooming couple know that an anesthesia would be the one bringing them together.

Pairing: NonIdol!Felix X Female!Y/N

Genre: slightly suggestive, fluff maybe, mentions of alcohol, high Y/N

Note: Y/N is sedated, The Felix or his other roommates mentioned here are no where related to the idol Stray Kids and are just a fictional character. Minors DNI please!!!

"Initially we give less dosage of anesthesia to patients who come for the wisdom teeth removal, since Y/N's so sensitive, we had to give her higher dose. So she would be high for some time, and would come to her senses after 8 hours. Meanwhile, if she faces any issues you can tell her to take the prescribed tablets. Also she is advised not to have any spicy or hard food for a week. Only liquid food for an entire day and soft food for the rest of the week." said the Dentist. "Thank you Doctor", Han said as he helped Y/N get up and made her go out . "Y/N, I'll get the medicines and you stay here" he babied her. "Who are you? I do what I want to." Y/N retorted. "Y/n ah, I know you are a brat, but I'll let this pass once, only just because you are under sedation" a triggered Han said as he left her on the chair to get medicines. On his way to the pharmacy, he met Hyunjin. "Han ah, where is Y/N? Chan asked me to tag along in case you needed help". "Bro, I have made her sit on the chair, can you please take a look at her. She is spewing nonsense. Such a menace she is." Han replied. After the medicines were bought, Hyunjin and Han helped Y/N walk on her way to their car. Hyunjin sat in the driver's seat and a staggered Y/N went to occupy the passenger seat. Not even 5 minutes later, she was transferred to the back seat and was made to sit with Han with all the fuss she created. "Chan, we are on the way back and .... Y/N!!! stop pulling my specs" Han yelled and after a heated argument Han relied to Chan about Y/N's diet and the dentist's advise.

Y/N is usually a bubbling extroverted girl. A beautiful girl who is one year younger than I.N. A person with both beauty and brains, had a lot of people courting her, but her eyes laid only on one of her roommate, Lee Felix Yongbok. Being a bratty roommate with others and making fun of everyone with all possibilities, she has always had a soft spot for Felix and has never made fun of him. The others had never doubted this because, she had treated him like how all would treat him. But be it arriving on time for a class, or making any meal, or saving a book she had all done it ready for him. Often the members would have late night outs and parties and she being the only girl was literally treated like a younger sibling and was never allowed for any late night parties. Whenever it would be, just "Saturday Nights" at their dorm, she would always insist on having orange juice or sparkling water rather than alcohol. The members though knew it, that it was because of her lower tolerance level and that she would be difficult to handle, didn't force her. On the other hand, she didn't want to because, she knew she would pour her heart out if she drank and didn't want to miss the friendship she cherished. So, it was only when she was with he girls that she drank. That was how much she loved him.

Similar to Y/N, Felix liked her but didn't open up his heart to her for the fear of loosing her friendship. He kept it to his heart, until one day, where they had a game of truth or dare during their "Saturday Nights" and he confessed to have feelings for a particular girl. Upon closely watching his previous movements, the group concluded that it definitely was Y/N. When he asked how, each of them had their own answers for confirmation. Seungmin said, "I saw you waiting for her after class, to walk along with her to our dorm, even thoug you didn't have class that day". " One night when I went to drink water, I saw you tucking up her bedsheet " Hyunjin replied. "I saw you having her as your wallpaper on your phone" replied Changbin. He also added, "I didn't mean to peak at your phone, remember; when I had asked for your phone to text the professor. It was that time I realised it". "Not to mention, we share the same room and one day I saw you texting her, you slept with your phone. When I tried to keep the phone on the table beside, I saw a notification with Y/N's name along with a light blue heart." replied the youngest. "Don't you think I know the way steal glances of her during our combined sessions?" asked the eldest. "I knew it the moment you told me weeks ago about how you wanted pasta for dinner just because Y/N had a bad day at college. You have never done it for anyone else" said Lee Know. "Remember the one day I borrowed your book for reference? Do you not remember what you had written in it? The entire book had Y/N's name on it just like how a psychopath writes a person's name" said Han "You have been too obvious with it around us. Y/N must be either dumb or must be really clueless about it" he retorted.

Back in the car, when Han cut the call, Y/N "Bro, where is my love? I wanna meet him" she said. An astonished Han, asked who it was for which she replied that he knew him. Hyunjin in the driver's seat replied "I guess Felix is screwed!!!" Meanwhile, "You Quokka like human, where is my love? I want to meet him. Kiss him... Please bring him here." Han knew it wasn't easy and not right either to bring words out from her, so he decided, "Y/N let's play this game 10 questions. I'll ask you 10 questions and you have to answer them honestly. By the time you are done, I'll bring you your love. Deal? " he asked. "Deal" she challenged.

Even after 10 questions, he was not able to find out who it was and had arrived to their dorm. Han and Hyunjin had tricked Y/N into make her believe that they were at her "Love's" home and that she had to go in to see him. As soon as she entered, she started yelling "Lee Felix Yongbok!!!! where are you?". Hearing her voice, Felix came out to see what was going on.... "Come here!!!!" she ordered as she sat on their sofa, pointing her hands, implying him to sit near her. "What is it Y/N?" asked Felix as he sat near her. A wild Y/N, grabbed Felix's shirt by the collar, just leaving a gap of 2 inches between them. She could feel his breath pace take off and her cheeks now tinted with red. With a raspy voice, she said "Do you know how much I love you? Those freckles and the cute smile is definitely the death of me. In the future, if I get married, I want it only with you and our kids will have beautiful freckles just like you" she confessed. Everyone were too stunned to speak at the confession. Meanwhile Hyunjin, "Han, we were so clueless, the entire ride she was talking about.... was it Felix????" Han replied "Now with what she confessed, I think, no conclude that it was definitely Felix." "You know why every time you call me to have drinks I deny? It is because, if I drink, I would pour my heart out. I don't know what is in your mind and if you don't like it, I would crumble into pieces. i wouldn't be even able to face you" she said. Her hands now across his neck as she pulls him in for a deep kiss. Breaking out from the kiss, Felix says" Who said I don't like you? I've always loved you, and will love you. " as he tucked the small fringe of hair behind her ears. " Woah, now I know why you don't drink with us. It's okay." he says, as he carried her to her bedroom.

Idk if y'all want Part 2. But if you want, please feel free to ask it in the comment section.

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maarriiii · 1 year

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Comfort | Wilbur Soot

A/N: It’s weird how i can finish this in a day yet I can’t finish the date part of Simp. As promised, here’s a new wilbur fic to make up for it. Hope you guys enjoy

Summary: Wilbur comes homes and comforts you

Pairing(s): CC!Wilbur Soot x gender neutral!reader

Warning(s): I think the over usage of the word “love” as pet name lol

my masterlist :))

When wilbur walked inside your shared flat after a day in the studio with his fellow band members all he could think about was finally relaxing with you, cuddling and holding you until the two of you fell into a sweet, preferably long slumber. Fortunately, he did in fact see you, sitting on the sofa dressed in your sleeping clothes that consisted of his old shirt and your pajamas pants. Wilbur thought you look very cuddly and warm and inviting and beautiful. He wondered how on earth he got so lucky to be able to come home to you instead of his usual empty flat. But, what got him frowning and worried was the look on your face. You had your phone on your hand, the light illuminating your face in the semi dark room. Your face was flat, almost tired and bored. When you saw him, it almost as if you were relief that he was back.

"Hi, love. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I think."

Immediately, Wilbur put down his guitar case by the door, took off his shoes, and made his way towards you. The moment he sat down, you gravitate towards him, seeking comfort in his arms. Your phone immediately put aside and forgotten. Wilbur wrapped his arms around your body, leaning his head on top of yours and caressing your arms. He could feel you slowly relaxing, slowly breathing, and it made him feel happy that he could help you feel better. For awhile, the two of you just sat there without words being exchanged, embraced in each others arms until you broke the silence.

"You smell really nice," You said, voice muffled.

Wilbur smiled, then smelled your hair. "You smell really nice too."

A muffled laugh left your lips.

Wilbur asked again. "Are you okay?"

He felt you move, pulling away just slightly so your face was no longer buried in his chest and instead looking up at him. You still looked tired, but you looked a little more lively than before. You flashed him a small smile, the action made Wilbur's heart fluttered.

"I'm better now that you're here."

"Do you wanna talk about it?

You sighed. "It's just my friend ranting about her boyfriend. Again."

Wilbur nodded for you to continue.

"It's just that it's very clear that she's not happy in the relationship anymore since he doesn't give her the fucking time of day. I don't know what else to say her. I've told her constantly that she should just leave him since she's miserable but she won't listen to me. I keep wanting to grab her shoulders and shake her until she realized that he's a piece of shit!"

"Can i see the text?"

You pulled away from Wilbur to fetch your phone before handing it to him. Once he held the phone, you return back to his arms, your head leaning on his chest. He smiled at the sight of you but it disappeared as soon as it appeared when he saw the text between you and your friend. Multiple of long paragraphs in a row filled your screen with the occasional short comments from you, voicing your agreement and comforting your friend. No wonder you looked the way you did when he got back.

"God," Wilbur mumbled.

You sighed. "Yeah."

"Love, you know you could just—i don't know, take a break right? She's practically dumping all her issue on you. Besides, it's pretty late now. You should get some sleep."

"I want to do that as much as you want me to, Will. But, she's my friend, my best friend even. If not me, who else is she gonna talk to?"

He sighed. "y/n, you're not going to be much of a help either if you're tired."

"But—wait, Will, what are you doing?"

Wilbur typed in on your phone, apologizing for cutting the conversation short because you wanted to tuck in for the night as if he was you. He didn't wait for a reply, only the confirmation that the message sent before turning off your phone and putting it on the coffee table. He watched you watched him with wide eyes and mouth opened. For a moment, Wilbur thought you were going to be upset at him but really, you were just more shocked than you were angry.

"Did you just—"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"What did she say? Did she say anything?"

Wilbur shrugged. "I don't know. I turned your phone off the moment the text was sent."

Your eyes turned wider and if it was possible, it would probably fall out of its sockets.

"Why did you do that?" You shrieked. "What if she thinks i blew her off? She could be mad at me. She could—"

Suddenly, Wilbur gently held your face in his hands, as if you were a precious being—and you were to him. He looked at you softly whilst caressing your cheek with guitar string scarred hands. Wilbur loved everything that is about you, especially your kindness. But, sometimesyou put other people first at the expense of yourself—something he noticed a couple of months into dating you—and Wilbur was scared that it would take a toll on you sooner or later.

"If she's really your friend, she would understand. You're tired, mentally and physically. You need to sleep."

He noticed that you were about to open your mouth to reason with him again but before you could, Wilbur plant his lips on yours. The kiss was gentle and soft and warm and every good adjectives that exist. When Wilbur pulled away, he didn't steer far from your lovely lips. His lips brushed against yours and the contact drives him crazy. He could never get tired of your lips, every kiss just leaves him wanting for more.

"We should sleep, love," He whispered ever so quietly.

Your nose grazed his, eyes still closed. "Okay."

"Okay."

Wilbur kissed you again before standing up from the couch, took your hand, and lead you to your shared bedroom before closing the door and retreating to his comfort place with you in his arms.

Taglist: @ella-fella-bo-bella @lillylvjy @jadeissues @minorinnit

Send me an ask, message me, or just comment if you want to be added to my taglist 💕

#wilbur soot #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot x you #wilbur mcyt #mcyt x reader #cc!wilbur #cc!wilbur x reader

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molotovmetro · 1 year

Note

Hello there!

Hope you're doing good, enjoying your life!

I just had a beautiful (and tiring) day with my boyfriend, we went to ski and then an idea pops in my head.

COD boys + Los Vaqueros + König (yes i need my babygirl) with Male Reader who teachs them how to ski in Montreal! (or wherever you want, i'm just a proud canadian)

You can make it as a headcanon or short story. And hope you can enjoy doing it, if you're not confy with it, fine by me.

Have a wonderful day/night and don't forget to drink water. Ciao!

That sounds like such a good time!

I didn't specify a place in any of these except König's, but where I live Austria and Switzerland are the most common ski vacation destinations so most of what I know about skiing is based on that so I hope it's not too different

I hope you don't mind I left out Rudy for now, I really need to replay the game to get a better grip on his character. That being said this is my first time writing for COD so I'm still working on my characterization a little.

Thank you for requesting :)

Warnings: none! Except for possible inaccuracies because I've never been skiing

M!reader

Being taught to ski by the 141 + Los Vaqueros + König

Ghost

Ghost is in his element. A ski piste is one of the only places in day to day life where a balaclava doesn't stand out.

It's nice to not draw the attention for once.

Would like to try snowboarding as well.

He probably picked up skiing once for a job, so he knows what he's doing relatively well.

Ghost is a man of few words, so he's probably not going to give you long winded explanations. He'll explain the basics, do a little demonstration, and then let you try it and correct where needed.

Its a little impersonal at times, but it's effective. If you look closely though, you might notice the soft look in his eyes.

Soap

Soap is mostly looking forward to the Après-ski.

A day of having fun with you in the snow and then ending it with a party or just a cozy couple of drinks together, it's perfect to him.

Soap finds a lot of pleasure in the little things. Some fun activities, sneaking some spiked hot drinks, and some good food, and he's the happiest man on earth.

He barely knows what he's doing himself, but he makes up for it in enthusiasm. You'll figure it out together as you go!

It's a small miracle neither of you got hurt.

Price

Price really deserves the vacation.

Like Soap, he's looking forward to tiring himself out during the day and then relaxing with good food, a couple of drinks, and a cigar in the evening.

Also picked up the skill for a job, but mastered it.

This man is used to training soldiers, so he's a good teacher. His rookies definitely don't get the soft treatment you do, though. He's all praise and encouraging smiles.

He's surprisingly relaxed out here. As busy as he is with work, he cherishes any quality time he gets with you.

Gaz

This man has no idea what he's doing.

Gaz has no intention of breaking a leg however, so he'll go the extra mile to hire a professional teacher.

He's a fast learner though, and he will tease you about it. All in good nature of course.

"Aw, c'mon, love. It's not that hard."

It is. It is that hard.

He'll use his advantage to help you a bit, and the instructor is probably rolling his eyes a little at his horrible flirting.

You get your revenge later when you get to laugh at him as he takes a tumble.

Alejandro

Alejandro doesn't have the most experience either, but he knows what he's doing relatively well.

He takes the opportunity to float with you, making suggestive comments between compliments and getting a little handsy while correcting your stance.

Expect a lot of showing off. He's trying to impress you.

König

Ski King.

Austria is known for its ski tourism. You're in König's domain now.

He's a great teacher, but can be a little impatient. Not that he would get irritated with you, but he's just so excited and can't wait to start!

He'd teach you the very basics, everything you need to know to have fun and don't die, and then he'd figure you'll get a grip on it as you go.

Even despite his impatience, he'd still be considerate. Especially at first, he'll start off only going short distances before stopping to check in on you, only feeling comfortable going further after making sure you're good.

He's as chaotic out there as he is on the field. It's incredibly amusing and kind of endearing to see him enjoy himself like that.

#cod x reader #cod x male reader #simon riley x male reader #do i add all nicknames? i dont know what the most popular ways to tag them are 💀#john mactavish x male reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price x male reader #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x male reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x male reader #könig x male reader #könig x reader #simping on main again i missed you #glad to be writing again!#is ski tourism an actual term? no idea.#yes the pun is intended. no im not sorry #i was planning on going to sleep an hour ago but then inspiration struck me #i think i read that price helped train soap which is where that part is based on but i might be wrong there #sorry some of these are a tad shorter #im guilty of having favourites /hj #ghost x male reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x male reader #gaz x reader #gaz x male reader

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arminreindl · 9 months

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"Baru" huberi

Baru is a genus of decently big mekosuchine crocodilian from the Oligocene and Miocene of Australia. The two currently accepted species, Baru wickeni and Baru darrowi, clock in between 4 to 5 meters, which puts them in a range not dissimilar to today's niles and salties. But when Baru wickeni was named in 1997, a third species was also coined. Baru huberi, simply described as having been "much smaller" Having started working on the wikipedia page for Baru recently, I did get curious to see how much smaller and well the results are....I mean "much smaller" seems like an understatement to me. Baru wickeni, which lived in the same area and at the same time as "Baru" huberi, dwarfed the other mekosuchine. Which brings us to "Baru" huberi's TRUE identity.

You see, tho named as a species of Baru, mekosuchine research has been mostly confied to the last 30 years and this paper came fairly early on in our understanding of the group, Naturally, things move around and change, as was the case for "Baru" huberi. Nowadays, researchers agree that "Baru" huberi is not a species of Baru. No, instead "Baru" huberi was a distinct genus seemingly more closely related to animals like Trilophosuchus or Mekosuchus and thus should get a new name. That...obviously didn't happen yet but we'll get there eventually. Just gotta give it some more time. Meanwhile, I tried my hands at reconstructing the animal behind the name.

The grey area marks the big unknowns in "Baru" huberi, all the stuff we don't know. I based my interpretation primarily on Trilophosuchus, the best known member of this branch. On the left, you see the sympatric Baru wickeni. It's an older illustration of mine, but one that should mostly hold up.

Baru huberi - Wikipedia

The biochronology and palaeobiogeography of Baru (Crocodylia: Mekosuchinae) based on new specimens from the Northern Territory and Queensland, Australia [PeerJ]

New crocodilians from the late Oligocene White Hunter Site, Riversleigh, northwestern Queensland (biostor.org)

#baru #baru wickeni #baru huberi #“baru” huberi #mekosuchinae #oligocene #australia #croc #crocodile #crocodilia #herpetology #herpblr #palaeoblr #paleontology #prehistory #skeletal #pseudosuchia

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treedaddymcpuffpuff · 3 months

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Beneath Miles of Stone - Part thirteen - John Wick x Plus Size Fem Reader

Summary: John has been in prison for nine months. He’s content to stay if it means appeasing the high table and keeping peace between the owners of each continental. However, he meets someone who erases that willingness. Peace be dammed.

TW: rape/non-con ; violence ; blood ; violence against women ; name-calling, bullying, and fat-shaming ; self esteem issues ; awkward, embarrassing situations

He doesn’t come back. From the time she wakes up at 5PM, she waits for him. Impatient, distracted, not knowing what to do to pass the time. Midnight peaks around the corner ominously, and she’s pacing back and forth in the living room when Michael walks through the door.

He smiles big, sets his bag down on the counter, and greets her. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to see him tonight,” she says, trying not to start crying like an idiot again.

“Oh, hun,” Michael sighs. He pulls her into a cold hug after hanging his jacket up. “Did he tell you you would see him tonight?”

She shrugs. “He said maybe.”

Michael motions for her to sit on the couch. His hair is still glittering with icy rain drops. “Well, at least he’s not lying.”

“I’m just confused. I don’t even know if he actually likes me.”

“If he’s kissing you and introducing you to his friends, then he likes you. Men are stupid. They think that things can be simple and clear cut, but they don’t factor emotions into their master plans.”

“So you think I’m just a fling?” She asks.

Michael cringes. “Honestly, I don’t know. On one hand, he sounds like he wants you in his life, but, on the other, he seems distant and secretive.”

She nods. “But I haven’t told him how I feel, either.”

“That’s the other thing; most men, like I said, emotionally inept. They need it spelled out. Maybe try telling him or asking him?”

She almost bursts out laughing at that, but just ends up snorting and rolling her eyes.

Michael laughs for her. “Why do you think I’m so bad at commitment? You tell a guy you really like him and suddenly you’re dog shit.”

“You tell anyone you really like them and suddenly you’re dog shit,” she clarifies.

“Men have broken my heart so much and disappointed me that I should be a nun,” Michael nods. “But, here I am, a slut.”

“You’re not a slut, Michael.” She glares at him.

“Well, if I’m not then I should be. Seriously, how many guys have smashed your heart into pieces? I’m betting the number is one or more.”

“Honestly,” she replies, turning toward him, “my worst heartbreaks haven’t been through relationships. Family and friends have fucked me up worse.”

He pats her shoulder. “See, I envy you. You don’t need anybody. You’re strong.”

Now that, makes her burst out in laughter so hard she shakes with it.

“I’m serious.” It’s Michael’s turn to glare. “You’re self made. No one helped you get here. You clawed and fought your way to the top despite being hindered every step of the way. For Christ sake’s, you put yourself through nursing school. You’re a tough bitch and you need to start acting like it.” He pauses, collects himself. “Sorry.”

Her mouth folds in, eyes looking down at her hands. “You’re fine,” she tells him.

“I’m just. Sometimes you talk so bad about yourself that it’s just kind of pissing me off.” Michael grabs her hand and squeezes. “I get that you think bad about yourself, and it sucks. But if you don’t value yourself, then neither will leather jacket man.”

Michael’s words sting. He makes her realize that she’s fallen into a pattern of feeling sorry for herself, and it’s sabotaging her life. The depressing epiphany would be helpful if she knew how to fix it.

“Let me help you get more confidence,” Michael asks. “Come out with me more often. Go shopping with me. Get your hair done just for the thrill of it. You just said the other day about how you wanted to get a haircut.”

All of that sounds truly wonderful in theory, but what about reality? What about the fact that she has no idea how to style her hair or act confident?

“When you were young, what did you do for fun?” Michael asks.

“Went for car rides, read books, watched movies, walked.”

“Did you ever play a sport, go to prom, have a shopping spree, go to parties?” Michael asks, eyebrows pulled down in concentration which probably means that he’s trying to fathom how anyone can not do those things when they’re younger.

“No.” She looks away, embarrassed.

“Get your nails painted, make out with cute boys under bridges?”

“Nope.”

“Jesus,” Michael sighs. “Then we have a lot to catch up on, don’t we? Oh-“ he puts his hand out to stop himself from talking. “My mistake. We can cross the making out off our list.” He grins. “Unless he isn’t cute.”

She drops his hand, laughing sheepishly. “He’s…” she struggles to find the right word, but gets upset just thinking of his absence. “Very cute.” She finds herself sinking into the memory of high cheekbones and woodsy eyes and thermal skin and hungry, rough lips.

Michael waves his hand in front of the glassy look on her face. “Oh, god,” he murmurs. “You’re totally fucked.”

——————————-

Michael thrusts a lace babydoll into her chest so hard that it makes her stumble backward. “Here, is this your size?”

She looks around the room to make sure no one’s watching. Just other women minding their business and digging through racks of lingerie.

She glares at Michael, because he promised that if she at least went in to Victoria’s Secret, he wouldn’t give her any suggestions on purchases. And here he is, handing her a piece of fabric that won’t cover her thigh let alone whole body.

She sticks it back on the rack it came from. “I don’t think it will fit me.”

He sighs, rummaging through the underwear bin. “How do you know until you try?”

She picks up a tiny, silk thong from the top pile and shows it to him. “How can you wear this stuff? Isn’t it in you the entire time rather than covering you?”

Michael takes the panties from her and examines them, chuckling. “No, see, you’re looking at them wrong. This one my ass would swallow.” He tosses it back, and holds up another in its place with seemingly better coverage all around. “This one would be cute yet practical.”

“Hmmm.” She tilts her head, trying to understand what he’s talking about. “I’m pretty sure my ass would swallow all of them.”

Michael sticks his tongue out at her. “No need to brag.”

While Michael decides on underwear, she goes to smell the perfumes. Now this, she thinks, Victoria excels at. In fact, she just might buy a cotton candy scented bottle that’s half off and the lotion to match. She makes sure this is the one she wants, though, before taking it up to the counter and checking out.

Michael is proud, grinning, patting her on the back as they walk the mall. “See, Vickie isn’t that bad.”

“Eh, she smells nice, I’ll give her that.”

They both share a giggle.

She asks Michael if they can go into the book store, and he rolls his eyes.

“Babe, no offense, but you go in without me and I’m gonna check out Sephora.”

“Ah, that reminds me.” She taps her face. “When are you teaching me how to do winged liner?”

“As soon as you buy eyeliner,” Michael replies. “Which is why you should come to Sephora. I mean, not to sound like a vapid bitch, but.. the book store? Really?” He’s smiling, teasing her.

“That’s why it’s here, right?”

They part ways.

She didn’t want to tell him the real reason she came in, which is to get a present for John. If she ever sees him again.

She goes right to the romance section and begins to peruse around for something he might like.

The Jackal and the Cat, One Foot in Santa Monica, The Clandestine Candle .

She tries to picture him reading any single one of these, but her mind comes up blank. Maybe he meant that he likes older romance books? She walks to the classical section.

Two men in suits standing by Agatha Christie’s showcase catch her eye and remind her too much of a certain well-dressed gentleman she admires. Both are tall, well built, fancy and stoic, looking very out of place here in Books A Million.

They unabashedly and suspiciously watch her, and it freaks her out enough that she ducks behind a case of Edgar Allen Poe and Shakespeare. Weird merging timelines, but a great safe haven.

A small elder woman with white, wispy hair, dark skin, and sharp grey eyes smiles brightly up at her. She wears a black pant suit and smells like flowers. Tasteful jewelry adorns her neck and wrists. She has a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo in her hands, flipping it over to examine the shiny hardback spine.

“Oh, excuse me dear, but could you do me a favor? I left my reading glasses at home and I’d really like to hear the summary on this. Can you read it to me?”

She smiles back and takes the book to do as requested.

After she’s done stumbling over her words, the older woman looks entranced and astonished like she’s one of the best storytellers from this century. “Oh, that sounds wonderful,” she says, folding the book into her weathered palms for safe keeping. “Thank you so much. Have you read it?”

“Um, yes, I think in highschool?” Her cheeks get a little warm with embarrassment from being visibly uncultured in front of this sophisticated looking individual.

“Ah,” the stranger muses, “and A Picture of Dorian Grey?”

“I, um, wrote my big book report on that one,” she chuckles, rubbing her arm.

“Anything specific you’re looking for?” The woman asks, ready to return a favor.

“Romance? Something cultured? Older?”

The woman puts a finger to her lips in thought, then her grey eyes light with an idea. “Come with me.”

She’s surprisingly light and quick on her feet for a woman of her age. She actually has trouble keeping up as the tiny woman floats through the store until settling at the back wall. A large sign above the shelves reads: ROMANCE.

The older woman, knowing exactly what she wants, narrows in to the right handed corner. She fingers through some hardbacks, pulls out a plain blue novel, and hands it to the waiting person behind her.

In Safe Hands by Jane Sanford. The inner synopsis promises a thriller romance with a great twist. Plus, it’s a beautiful book. Simple and hardbound, shiny Robin blue. Something that John would appreciate, hopefully.

“Have you ever read this one?” Soft white hair floats into view as she examines the book.

She looks up and smiles. “It’s not for me.”

The elder smiles and the devilish look makes her seem years younger. A certain knowing reflects in her face. “Ah.” Her tone is teasing. “A love interest, perhaps?”

The accent wasn’t noticeable before, but now it’s apparent. Some kind of rich, articulated drawl that she thinks she’s heard before.

Her skin heats. “Yes.”

“My, you live in this moment and love it no matter what hardship it brings.” Her crinkled eyes run up and down over the expansive shelves of paper before she looks back up at her and smiles. “Love is rare, you know. At least the good kind.”

She chews her lip. “The good kind?”

The woman chuckles. “I can tell you have the good kind. You’re buying them a romance novel. It can’t be anything else but the kind of love that makes everything else seem dull.”

She wants to believe this desperately. The words resonate in her chest and pound true through the pulse of her arteries. Once again, she misses John violently. Misses the feelings he gives her. She rubs her fingers over the spine of his present and thinks of his wish to be a librarian.

The old woman pats her shoulder. “You have a great day, dear.”

Her attention is drawn back to the movement of her acquaintance. She never noticed the the two men from earlier standing behind, still staring daggers at her head. They tuck the tiny, waving lady between them, and disappear behind shelves.

She meets Michael at a pizza place near the exit and tells him about the weird encounter while they eat.

“You’re living in a romance mystery novel and you refuse to buy lingerie?” Michael rolls his eyes. “That checks out.”

She shrugs. “It’s more pathetic than that.”

“I got you eyeliner,” Michael tells her, taking a bite of baked ziti.

“Michael!” She admonishes. She grabs a bag from their feet and opens it to show him the eyeliner, lip gloss, and small eyeshadow palette that she purchased after leaving the bookstore. “Do you really have that little faith in me?”

Michael cringes. “Yes, but I’m surprised and proud.”

She grins. “Thank you, I guess.”

They take Michael’s car to a little coffee shop on Wall Street Court that Michael promises she’ll love despite the hustle and bustle at the heart of the city. He gets a big iced vanilla latte and she orders a smoothie. They sit next to floor-to-ceiling glass windows that give an amazing view of the lavish cityscape.

Important men in business suits and beautiful girls in bodycon dresses flit in and out of crystal business doors. Expensive limos line the streets. It’s strange, to have this scene at her back door when she’s always felt so separate from it. She watches like it’s a movie.

“Do you want to go to the theatre?” Michael asks, tapping at his phone. “Emily and Syreeta are going and want us to join.”

“They want you to join,” she corrects.

Michael glares at her. “Were we not just talking about this self pity thing? They don’t hate you.”

It stings because he’s right, but climbing out of a pit of despair is harder than it looks. Every time she tries to get a hand on the ladder rung above her, the hating darkness bats her away and keeps her stagnant.

“They just didn’t talk to me in the club,” she explains.

“Funny, they said the same thing about you. Just be yourself, like you were with me. When you actually talk, you’re the easiest person to get along with I’ve ever met.”

She sips her drink and thinks about it. “Thank you, Michael, but you’re pretty easy to get along with, too.”

He sighs, puts his phone down, folds his hands, and leans over. “You coming or not? It’s the Nutcracker. Uh, hello, earth to -“

Her attention is totally and suddenly taken by something on the other side of the glass window. Her eyes have that unfocused, enraptured look again, and Michael waves his hand in front of her face. “Babe?”

John Wick stands on a street corner, waiting to cross, hands in his pockets. He’s dressed in a black suit and red tie, hair fluffed back, looking as good as ever. Michael glances over at her center of attention.

“Oh my god, it’s him, isn’t it?” Michael is suddenly whispering as if this is top secret information. “Which one?”

“Shhh,” she says, embarrassed, looking away, playing into the top secret thing despite no one in here caring about them or what they’re talking about.

“Listen,” Michael tells her, pushing his coffee out of the way so he can lean over the table. “If you want to go after him and ask him what the hell is up, I don’t blame you. In fact, I support this cause and am here to help.”

“He might be working, Michael,” she says, looking away from John reluctantly.

“Only one way to find out,” Michael grins. “Go after him. Show him that you’re serious.”

Michael’s suggestion is all too tempting. Mostly because she misses him dearly even though it’s only been around 24 hours since they last interacted. It’s obsessive behavior, borderline creepy of her. He’ll probably hate her if she walks up and talks to him, now, but on the other hand, he’s the one barging into her apartment without an invite and cornering her at clubs and waiting outside for her to get home. Isn’t it fair if she returns the favor, shows him she wants this just as much? She glances once more at his broad back while he walks down the opposite street and she makes a split second, dumb decision that she normally would never even think about making.

She gets up, grabs her jacket, tells Michael she’ll be back, and slides her chair in.

Michael yells after her as she walks out the door. “Don’t get kidnapped!! If you’re not home by midnight I’m calling the cops! You better text me! I’m drinking the rest of this smoothie!”

She’s too clumsy to be any sort of sneaky, but she doesn’t really care if he sees her walking behind him - trying to keep up - because he’s going to get a full view of her anyway when they’re face to face.

The sidewalk and streets are blessedly clear of ice and slush and snow, and if she didn’t know better she’d say that divine intervention was on her side, because if she had to walk this fast on slippery ground, she’d already be K.O.’d by the earth.

John turns a corner and she is practically running to catch up with his long legged stride. She murmurs sorry as she whizzes by nicely dressed street patrons a little too closely and receives glares and annoyed murmurs for her trouble. By the time he stops, she’s struggling to catch her breath. He stands on the steps of a large building constructed to take up two corners of the street. It’s center piece among the business district, white and huge.

A bellman dressed in silver and red stands at the door and waits patiently for the only visitor, John Wick.

Shes grateful that he’s stalled on the steps, staring at a phone that she didn’t know he had, too distracted to see her as she clears the busy street. Drivers lay on their horns, someone screams at her out of a passenger window, and, finally, when her feet hit the curb and she almost wipes out trying to get away from moving traffic, John turns.

“Are you following me?” He wears the exact opposite expression that she wants to see; hatred and anger slash his angular features into something to be afraid of.

She feels like a fox in a henhouse with the farmers gun pointed at her muzzle, head between her legs and automatically backing away from him. She misinterprets his own fear with disgust at her behavior and now she just wants to turn tail and leave, but the doorman sees her, and he undoubtedly notices her connection to John, and it’s far too fucking late for that.

There is a point that needs to be made to protect the precious pumping blood inside her body and he can’t decide what to do to get that point across when adrenaline is binding fury and fear inside of him tighter and tighter. He feels the tick of his watch against his wrist and relates it to her dwindling innocence and safety. He stalks toward her, one step from him matching four of her own.

John grabs her up by the bicep and drags her along like a stuffed doll to his car that’s parked around the right side of the building.

His grip is hard enough to sink bone deep and make her ache, but she shuts up and lets him take her where he wants, too ashamed to argue with him now.

She’s not even sure what’s happening when he hustles her into his backseat and makes her lay flat down on it with her legs curled up on the freezing bench.

He doesn’t bother telling her to duck into the safety of the vehicle, just handles her into a fetal position himself. “Stay,” he says, and the door shuts behind him, leaving her alone and shivering in the cold leather.

She hears the click of a lock and buries her numb face into her jacket.

Charon is waiting at the front desk to greet him with a placid smile. John flips him a gold coin in greeting. “Charon.” He tips his head as the man catches his bribe.

Charon’s smile turns ardent. “Hello sir, nice to see you, what can I help you with today?”

“I have a guest in my car. Could you take them somewhere comfortable, safe, secluded while I do business?” John’s voice is poised but his eyes are pleading.

Charon slips the coin into his pocket. “Of course, sir.”

His tensed body relaxes while one of the few people that he trusts to protect an innocent woman takes his keys and leaves the building. She still won’t be safe enough for him to feel entirely calm, and he only has a second to regret not putting her under his arm - the only place she will be completely protected - before he’s walking into the dining hall to meet Viggo and Winston.

“John,” Viggo cries, standing and pulling him into his side for a brief embrace. “Three minutes late?”

Cool sweat forms under his collar at the comment while he tries to remain composed in the face.

Viggo looks suspicious. But John can’t decide if it’s because of a tell on his features or the fact that he’s never been late twice in his entire life.

Viggo motions for him to sit, still cheery. Winston stays tight lipped, formal, poised. John envies him for the mastered skills.

He’s so wound tight that he almost jumps when he feels the oncoming, light pressure of a hand on his shoulder. He’s never been like this in line of Viggo’s sight, and he knows that the man can tell he’s not himself, but he can’t seem to get the vision of her bloody, pulseless body out of his mind. And what he will do to everyone in this hotel as a consequence of it.

“Hello John, can I get you something to drink?”

He turns to the waitress and tries a smile. “Hello Rachel, nice to see you. I’ll have a Blanton’s. Ice, please.”

“On the rocks,” Rachel winks at him. “Got it.” As she walks away, Viggo talks business.

————————————————————

Charon is very nice. He introduces himself, assures her that she will be an “honored guest”, and lets her sit up front while he drives the car into the attached, Continental branded parking garage.

The section they settle John’s car into is filled with other expensive-looking vehicles. She recognizes BMWs and Jaguars from TV commercials. Charon insists upon opening her door, much like someone else she knows, and then guides her to a big silver elevator with neon, red and green buttons blinking in sequence on an expansive wall panel tucked to the side. She thinks he’s going to press one, but instead, he pulls a key from his pocket and unlocks the plain metal door beside the elevator that she assumes, at first, is unimportant.

The staircase is lined with soft blue paisley carpet and the walls are decorated with pictures of strange art pieces. She stares at distorted naked bodies and eyeless characters and blurred grey crowds and angels battling bloody demons on top of cotton candy skies as Charon leads her into the dim underbelly of the hotel.

“They are all painted by former and current members,” he tells her.

“They’re really amazing,” she says, not wanting to push questions in fear of offending the overly kind man guiding her to safety that she didn’t even realize she needed until she was being manhandled into John’s back seat.

If she lives through this, she’ll have to get permission to take pictures and show Michael. It’s strange, to not know if she’s going to be alive tomorrow or not. Fatality that seemed so fanatical and far away two weeks ago now stands at her doorstep waiting like an expectant courier and she’s starting to get used to its harrowing presence.

Charon lands light on his dress shoes off the last step, and waits for her to catch up. She stumbles a bit on the rough rugs, and he reaches out a hand to steady her shoulder while she smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Do not be sorry,” Charon tells her, patting dust off her jacket. “These floors need a remodel. This is our old entrance: The only people that use it are the ones who can navigate it blindfolded.”

He motions her into a doorway that leads to a drastic change of scenery. In here, everything is modern and brightly illuminated. There are grey leather couches seated around a large table in the center of the room. A bed with black, shiny sheets sits perfectly in the open floor plan, with bamboo plants flourishing on each side of the wide mattress. There is a room that she assumes to be the bath, because it’s the only part of this place with a door attached. Two glass coolers glow with rainbow assortment bottles of alcohol and seltzer waters.

She blinks up at the high ceiling, too distracted by the view to hear Charon ask her if she would like something to eat.

“Miss?”

She stops and looks at him. “What? Sorry?”

He repeats the question. Her stomach growls, but she tames it and tells him that she’s fine, not wanting to be a bother.

“Help yourself to the beverages,” Charon motions, referring to the large coolers. “And feel free to use the room as you please until Mr. Wick retrieves you. This is a private, isolated suite we reserve only for select guests. No one will bother you, but if you should need something, please just pick up the phone and I will be waiting on the other line to assist you.”

She nods at him, using the gesture of gratitude that John favors - already adopting his mannerisms - and gives warm thanks.

“It is my pleasure,” Charon says, “any friend of Mr. Wick is a friend of mine.”

With that, he leaves her alone in the huge room.

She has a million questions, but none of them seem more important than keeping hold of John Wick, so she quells them and waits like an obedient dog for his return.

————————————————————

Viggo is leaned back, drinking sweet vodka, negotiating the terms of John’s re-employment.

“You were never fired, we held the position.” Viggo rubs the just-greying scruff on his chin, eyeing John. “Winston, can we still smoke in here?”

“‘Fraid not,” Winston replies, taking his own sip of sour scotch and pursing his lips as if in distaste. “Only downstairs.”

Viggo grumbles. “Gav-no. Why didn’t we go down there?”

“I figured it would be easier for you to run and get to your men if John decides to kill you,” Winston shrugs.

His dry sarcasm and witty grin has Viggo laughing.

John says nothing and takes a drink, trying futilely to calm himself with liquor.

“I think it was stupid that they put you in prison and didn’t expect this to happen, John.” Viggo bites into his ravioli, chews, swallows. “And if they want a war, I will give them one.”

“We did it to prevent a war,” Winston interjects.

“Bah!” Viggo spits. “The war is already happening - it has been for a long time - what’s a little more blood shed going to do?”

“A lot more,” Winston corrects. “Blood shed.”

Viggo comes forward, eyes determined, tosses the silk bib from around his neck onto the table. “So be it. I want you with me, John. And I will make sure no one makes one hair out of place on your head.” He leans back, done eating. “And your head too, Winston.” He nods at the older man.

Winston raises his eyebrows and looks at John expectantly. “Your ball.”

————————————————————

The bathroom is more of a sauna. Different height benches, numerous sprayers on the ceiling, vents that leak hot steam into the room at the push of a button. A toilet with a bidet behind another secret door. The sink is concave marble, adorned with freshly wrapped toiletries and beautiful smelling lavender soap that she honestly thinks about sticking into her pocket and taking home.

Just as she’s about to exit, she hears the loud slam of a door and laughing male voices clanking against one another.

She freezes, turns the lock back, steps away, looks around for an escape which there is none of.

Then, a female voice, pitiful and pleading. She presses her ear to the smooth wood, listening as the woman - language different from her own - becomes more distressed.

Her heart rises from her stomach to her ribs and burns in anger and disgust as she tunes in to the exchange.

“Look at her, all tied up and nowhere to go.”

“Fucking slut.” A hard slapping sound and then a scream of agony from the high pitched female voice. Then crying and more despicable taunting from the numerous male visitors.

She’s not thinking of anything but that gut-wrenching, memory triggering voice when she pushes through the door and steps out into the room.

Five young men have a small Asian woman, completely naked and bound in rope, prone on the cold floor. Their hands bruise her skin as she sobs.

As all their eyes turn to her, reality smacks her in the face like a burst of fire burning her eyebrows off. The woman’s eyes are red and sore, tears streaking down her face. One boot has her cheek pressed down while a hand grabs her hair and pulls taut.

“Hey,” she says, voice filled with venom, adrenaline in her body fire that smokes her vision. “What the fuck are you doing to her.”

The only problem here is that she’s a lone woman in a hotel room with no weapons and these guys look automatically angry for the interruption. The one with the boot on the girl’s head gets to her as fast as John can, and grabs her by the collar. “Shloondra,” he spits, “tebya nikto nikogda ne uchil ne lezt' v svoi dela?”

Her heart plummets again and her angry glasses cloud with fear. She’s up on her tiptoes, choking at his grasp.

He pushes his face down to her own and she smells the potent liquor on his breath. “Davayte prepodam svin'ye urok.”

One of his companions answers in English. “Tie her up and make her help.”

They all laugh.

She’s so tired of this shit. Men. Thinking they can do whatever they want with no consequences. Hatred tastes bitter in her mouth, so potent it hurts her teeth.

And this guy is nothing like Benny. Benny who she couldn’t even fathom fighting because he was so massive.

This guy is small, thin, barely taller than her. She knows she can hurt him, so she does, slams upward with her knee and makes squelching contact with his dying erection.

He drops her and she falls back onto her ass.

As his companions laugh, he grabs his dick and moans through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut.

She smiles, but not for long, because now all these men are coming at her with wicked, delighted intent.

The redhead gets in front of her and crushes her back against the legs of the more muscled member. She’s stuck sitting between them, but she still has her hands and feet, kicks and hits furiously at any soft body part she can find. Redhead yelps in pain as she makes blunt force contact with his balls and screams for someone else to get on her.

Two grab both her arms and twist them at angles that make her screech in pain. It gets the point across, and she stills. Redhead and Russian guy have stepped away to lick their wounds, but two of the others still hold both her arms in a neatly breaking fashion and the other one has her neck in his hands.

He pats her cheek and squeezes her trachea to play with how much air she’s allowed to have.

“Ah, a wild bull.” His thick accent is hard to understand. “Maybe we should have some fun with you?”

“Disgusting,” the muscled one hisses.

“No, she can clearly eat well,” redhead growls. “Make her eat pussy.”

“Would you like that?” It’s clear now from the combined smell that they’re all very drunk. “You hungry, little pig? Want to get all sloppy at the trough?”

Her wild eyes catch the ones of her bound counterpart, and this woman almost looks bored in sharp contrast to herself. The agony is gone from her face and she’s watching this scene and practically yawning she’s so uninterested.

She doesn’t have time to be confused before one man twists her arm back again, and she’s sure it’s going to break, so she screams.

The Russian claps a hand over her mouth and tells her what she thinks is the equivalent of shut up.

Charon opens the door, John catches her scared eyes, takes in the picture, and the last shred of his building anxiety snaps in half.

First, he charges the one holding her throat, and a defensive hand doesn’t have time to raise before John returns the favor, grabs him by the neck, and tosses him into a wall.

He’s ready for the other ones before they have time to realize he’s an enemy.

She watches the unfair fight play out, not because she wants to, but because watching John move is like watching a captivating, bloody ballet, and it’s hard to look away. A big, dumb part of her feels bad for these stupid punks while he wrecks their shit.

He’s just so much bigger than them that it’s insane they think they can counter him. He looks like a giant being pounced on by miniature people. Maybe it’s just the way he doesn’t even try to hit them that makes him seem so massive in comparison. Flipping someone over his shoulder looks like playground antics.

Two by two they fall, until the last one pulls a gun from his holster and aims it at John’s chest. John moves an inch, the bullet hits him in the shoulder, and he simply grunts, inconvenienced, like a bear being shot with a paintball, knocks the gun out of his opponent’s hand, and moves forward, backing him up and glaring down at the man who is visibly shaking in fear, head down to submit, hands in the air to keep the massive predator at arms length.

He grabs him by the neck and this guy is thick but John’s whole hand covers his throat and turns him blue in the face. He lifts him completely off his feet with his right hand, and punches him in the face so fast and graceful that it doesn’t even look like it would hurt until she sees the blood fly out of his skull and his nose cave inward.

He’s done with them, so he goes right to her, pulls her up and holds her at arms length to make sure she’s not hurt.

She pushes against him. “John.” Her urgent tone directs him to the woman bound Shibari style on the floor.

John releases her and they both go to help.

She starts working at the knot around her wrists and stomach while John cuts her ankles free

He moves her fumbling hands aside to slice through the rest of the half-assed binding job.

“Nǐ huì shuō Zhōngwén ma?” The free woman addresses her rescuers.

John stops. “shì.”

John and the woman have a full conversation that she can’t understand. Catching any word is truly pointless.

The woman sits up and pats her on the shoulder. Then, she rubs her bare breasts and yawns. She tilts her head at John, questioning.

The woman talks again, this time pushing perky tits out and pouting at him.

John motions to her and replies.

An unexpected spike of jealousy jabs at her nerves. Now that, she thinks she can ascertain the meaning behind.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” She asks him. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” John says. “They paid her to have sex with them.”

“She was screaming.”

John shrugs. “That’s what they wanted from her.”

She feels so stupid it hurts. “I’m an idiot,” she whispers.

“She doesn’t think you are,” John says. “She admires you.”

She resists the urge to ask him what she really cares about, which is what he thinks.

They are all sitting on the floor criss cross applesauce like in 5th grade reading class when Winston and Charon enter scene.

“Jesus,” Winston says, looking over the mess. “Is anyone dead?”

“No,” John assures.

Charon starts profusely apologizing to John, but John shakes his head at the repentance and looks, instead, at the naked woman, asking her to tell the newcomers what happened.

Naked woman sighs, annoyed but agreeing.

Winston lays adoring eyes, flooded with realization, on the clothed woman sitting at John’s side, and smiles warmly. He comes and holds out his hand for a shake.

She gives him her own hand and he flips it over and kisses the back. He looks at John while she warms with embarrassment.

“You sure know how to pick ‘em..” Winston muses.

The muscled man tries to stand, but Charon pushes him back down with a Valentino heel. “Sir,” he alerts, motioning at the pile of men. “What should we do with them?”

“Probably something involving a doctor,” Winston says.

“Right away, sir,” Charon nods, pulling a phone from his pocket.

“Are you hurt?” Winston asks her, examining her closely.

She shakes her head no, but points at John. “He got shot.”

Winston looks over and John pulls his suit open to reveal a clean white dress shirt free of bullet holes.

She has to look twice and second guess her own eyes.

Winston sighs. “He wears Kevlar. Most bullets don’t pierce it. He’ll be alright. He’s taken worse than this, I assure you, my love.” He must see the worry on her face because his voice soothes and tames.

She looks at John with a million questions in her eyes, but asks none of them, which he’s thankful for.

Winston addresses the person in the room with the least clothing and they talk for a moment.

John puts his hand on her shoulder and slides over to talk low in her ear. “Did they hurt you?” He asks.

“Not as much as you hurt them.” She tries to comfort him.

“I’ll kill them if you want me to.”

“No you will not.” Winston switches from Chinese to English, turning on his heel to point a warning look and finger at John. “I’m already going to have enough trouble trying to make it seem like this wasn’t business, Johnathan. Plus, I don’t think Viggo will keep you employed if you kill his son.”

John sucks on his teeth and glares at the annoyance that is Winston’s rude interruption before focusing back on her. “My offer stands.”

“No,” she tells him, looking from him to Winston. “I don’t want you to kill anyone.” She grabs his hand and squeezes, pulling it into her lap.

She sounds like she means that, so he stays put, but he hasn’t decided for himself whether they’re going to live or die yet. Especially when they leave Continental ground and hunting season opens.

A loud knock brings the conversation to a small Asian man in a white suit and slacks entering the room. He wears a stethoscope and carries a brief case.

“John.” His set frown turns into a natural smile. “Long time no see.”

“Hey Doc,” John nods.

He sets to work like this is all completely normal. The smell of ammonia and iodine and salt is an affront to the senses as he opens his briefcase and begins waking the Russian up.

John tugs on her as if to escort her away, but Winston stops them. “Let me get you out of here so that no one sees her.”

John settles, but he’s not taking chances, so he drags her into his lap with her head tucked under his chin and his tight arms wrapped around her protectively. Want her, go through me - the point is apparent

“John,” she grumbles, squirming to adjust, embarrassed by his parenting behavior but clinging to him anyway. She’s just happy he doesn’t seem to be mad at her now.

Naked woman comes over and snuggles into John’s side, gripping his bicep to bulging, starring smugly at the groaning group of bleeding, bruised men.

John side eyes her, but allows it, reasoning that she must be weary of them trying to get their money back, and not one to deny someone - who is seemingly vulnerable - protection.

Jealousy rears its ugly head again and she resists the urge to glare at this beautiful girl pressing her bare breasts into John’s side.

Viggo’s son sits up, spits out blood, and looks their way. He opens his mouth to say something, but the look on John’s face makes his snarl falter. “John,” he nods in greeting.

“Iosef,” John nods back.

The braver Russian man starts with venom, but Winston interrupts him. “If you think I can actually keep him from killing you or worse, you’re very wrong.”

He closes his jaw.

She feels like they’re in kindergarten and they have all just gotten into a fight so the teacher is making them sit on the floor and have quiet time.

Violent stares, instead of words, are shot back and forth until the doctor breaks a nose back into place.

Then, the only voice that has occurred in a while is the scream of this man.

John wants to make them apologize, because he knows she’s hurt by the things they said about her, but he doesn’t know if it would actually help her self esteem or harm it, so he stays quiet and promises death with his eyes.

“Now,” Winston addresses the room. “Unless you wish to forfeit the protection this hotel provides, you will forget this happened.”

“He beat us up,” the man with the thick accent argues.

“And you broke into a private room and assaulted a woman,” Winston tells him. “Sounds like you started it. If he’s in trouble, you’re in it bigger. So, nothing happened, correct?”

“We payed her,” Viggo’s son growls, starring at the naked woman who clutches John tighter.

“That’s not the woman I’m referring to,” Winston says.

She looks up at John and it seems like he’s daringthe other man to say something. She pulls at his shirt to get his attention, and he looks down at her, misreading the worry on her face.

“We’ll leave soon,” he says.

She sighs and leans her head on his chest, giving up.

Winston begins to say something, but interruption comes in the form of her phone’s vibrating ring.

All eyes focus on her as she digs it from her pocket, puts it on silent, and texts the frantic Michael that she’s fine and she’ll explain later.

John makes a mental note to beat the roommate into submission so that he’s a little less possessive.

“Uh, sorry,” she tells Winston.

“Quite alright,” Winston assures, smiling big at her like she can do wrong.

John refuses to let her go until they’re in the back seat of an unlicensed black suv and being driven away from the building.

Even now, he keeps her tucked under his arm.

She looks up at him. “Sorry,” she says.

He keeps his eyes on the window scenery to avoid making her feel awful with his uncontrolled, cold expression.

He sucks on his teeth. “We will talk, not here.”

He pulls her further against him and she stays quiet.

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