#single russian ladies

[salvebellaluna]

ahahahahaha

[bbibbirose]

story time !

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik and Price get in the ring after the sergeants tire of them heckling from the ropes. Bravo Six learns something new about himself.

CW: blatant sexual tension; mention of choking out in an MMA context; desire for forced submission (and being very into it but also bloody terrified by that desire).

"MacTavish, stop droppin' your hands! KorTac'd walk an entire detachment through that guard," Price called from Soap's left just as Gaz locked his arm, twisted and threw him over his shoulder, "fuck, Christ."

Price rubbed his eyes and glanced over at Nik through the eventual gaps in his fingers. Nik had been clapping and whooping enthusiastically every time Gaz had landed a blow, drowning out the thump-thump of the sergeants' preferred playlist, and now he was beaming from ear to ear. "Kharoshaya rabota, well done!" Nik called, thick forearms slanting across the rope as Gaz bound Soap's chest and arm up into an arm bar.

Nik was looking frustratingly good that evening, the drop tank he'd thrown on to lift weights with Ghost hanging low under his arms, giving Price far too good a view of the heavy set physique beneath. He'd been worried about getting caught staring at the dumbbell rack while Nik had counted through the reps of a single arm row, every line and tendon in his shoulder and tricep pressing through sweat-sheened skin, so he had spent a bit longer on squats, hoping the burn in his thighs overcame the burn somewhere else.

Price figured it was the easy confidence with which Nik carried himself that had always drawn his eye. Open chested, spread arms, hips first. Not afraid to be looked at and proud of what he had to display. And what's worse? Price was pretty fucking sure Nik knew he was looking. Played up to it, in fact. Funny for him, miserable for Price. Bastard.

Gaz rolled away as Soap tapped out, panting from the exertion of keeping Soap subdued, hands on his knees, but grinning right back at Nik. "Ochin mela, spasiba bolshoya.*

"Ahh, and your Russian is coming on well, my brother. Soon you will be wooing all the ladies, eh? Heh heh."

"Learned from the best, mate," Gaz said as he bounded over to take Nik's hand and bump their shoulders together.

Price eyeballed Soap as he clambered to his feet with a groan. "What the fuck was that? I've seen better footwork on crows fresh out of selection."

"Aye, well," Soap flexed backwards, his hands at the base of his spine, "nae my fault Gaz's b'in trainin' with daddy KGB over there."

Price grabbed Soap by the jaw. "Should send you on a yomp at 0400 tomorrow for that kinda talk. Stop makin' excuses." Soap grimaced and Price saw the sting of his words pass through his eyes before they drifted across to Gaz. Price squinted. "You broken?"

"Naw, sir."

"Then get the fuck back over there and wipe the floor with him. Stop taking the bait he's layin' out for you." Price shoved Soap's jaw away from him and slumped back against the ropes.

The sergeant bashed his fists together in front of his chest and turned back into the ring with a look of determination, bumping gloves with Gaz before pulling back to start the next round. He didn't allow himself to be led by the nose this time, circling with nifty footwork, swaying away from a mean right hook that narrowly missed his jaw.

"That's it, don't let him dictate the fight," Price said.

"Eh, sir, you playin' favourites?" Gaz called, his smile never fading as he teased Soap into another right hook, dancing deftly out of range.

"Neither of you qualify. Simon's my favourite."

Said Lieutenant was currently sitting by the speaker with a battered Terry Pratchett novel, his tupperware of steak and garlic potatoes balanced on his knee so that he could eat and read simultaneously. He might have smirked, but the overloaded fork of protein and carbs he shovelled into his mouth hid it from view.

"Och, didn't even hesitate. Cold," Soap said.

"Fuckin' baltic, mate - oop! Nearly, Tav." Gaz dodged out of Soaps attempted clinch, light on his feet, and bounced back round.

The playlist flicked over to yet another generic anthem dredged from the seedy club scene and Price glanced over his shoulder. "Turn that shit down, Simon."

The lieutenant obliged without looking up, if only by a few notches, before his hand returned to his fork.

"Easy, Gaz, you must watch his right leg," Nik said.

"Cheat," Price grunted.

"Poshel tuy, what's good for Soap is good for Gaz." Nik damn near pouted, arms folding across his broad chest as he quirked an eyebrow in challenge.

"Come over here and tell me to fuck myself in my own gym," Price growled back, bristling. Nik only smiled at him toothily, a glint in his eye and a tilt of the head that said 'I'd love to' in a way that made heat lick down Price's spine. It drove him crazy, how Nik could have that effect without even touching him. It was a distraction though; Price looked back to the fight only to spot Soap's demise a second later. "Soap, d--"

An overstep. A throw. An attempted grapple on the floor, followed by a deep sprawl that allowed Gaz to force Soap into the mat. Soap tried to flip onto his back, but within moments Gaz was sitting on his chest and raining punches down on the backs of his gloves as he shielded his head.

Price let Soap take a reasonable beating as punishment for his poor focus before barking from the ropes. "Callin' it, Garrick, get off his sorry arse."

Gaz rolled onto his feet and Soap grunted as he sat up. "Ah need tae get a few sessions in with Nik..."

"Nah, ya need t' get your head in the fight," Price replied. "Maybe turn your drum and bass shite down so you can focus."

"It's not drum and bass, s--"

"Can it, Garrick."

"Sir."

Soap jutted his lower lip, grabbing the lower rope for support as he stood. "Ah think ye should come show me how it's done," Soap murmured, pulling out his gum shield to flex his jaw. "Get in here n' kick th' shit outta him, rather n' gripin' from the sidelines."

"Oh ho ho, no way, he's not sandbaggin' me," Gaz lifted his gloves in immediate surrender. "He can pick on someone his own size. You're up, Nik."

Nik's face lit up with the most feral fucking grin Price had ever seen on a man. "I am ready if you are, captain."

Price could feel the fire under his skin; a burning desire to knock that silly grin off Nik's face and put him back in his place. Or, that's what he told himself. Because his eyes weren't exactly on Nik's face; they were tracing the broad shelf of his shoulders and the thick curves of his biceps, imagining them subdued in a grapple, and the sounds Nik would make as he tried to fight his way out. That same heat curled in his gut and he figured the only way he was going to extinguish it was with fists. "Fine, fuck it, sergeants, out."

"Ooh, shit," Gaz cackled, ducking under the ropes to stand on the edge of the mat, followed closely by Soap.

Price ditched his shirt and snagged his grappling gloves before stepping into the ring. As he wrapped his wrists, Price's gaze wandered to the slope of Nik's back, the curves of his arse and thighs testing the generous cut of his shorts, and had to breathe deeply through his nose to get his bloody pulse rate under control. It was adrenalin before a fight against a worthy opponent, he told himself.

The damn front wasn't any easier to look at once that drop tank had been removed, especially when Nik bounced from foot to foot and his chest moved with the momentum. He threw his arms in a few test punches at the air and rolled his head from side to side, relaxed and limber. Price chewed on the inside of his cheek and finished securing his gloves. The music was doing his nut in. "Turn that shit off," Price growled in Soap's general direction.

Soap removed his mouth guard and rolled his jaw before calling across to Simon. "Ay, L.T., put on somethin' more their vibe."

This time, Simon deigned to look up from his novel to pick a song. As Benny Andersson's fingers slid down the keys of his clavinet and Abba's 1976 Hit single 'Dancing Queen' droned from the raspy gym speaker, Price decided Simon was no longer his favourite.

Nik seemed content with the choice, however; extending his arm with the other held in front of him like he was dancing with an invisible partner, crooning along to "you can dance, you can ji-i-ive" like he was at a seventies disco. Soap and Gaz guffawed and whooped loudly on the sidelines.

"Bloody muppets," Price grumbled. "Oi, today, Nikolai. London rules." He lifted his fists and moved forward.

Nik knocked his knuckles to Price's and then stepped out of range in time to dodge a cheeky swipe. "Nu vot, Price. Not Queensbury? I thought you were a gentleman." The grin on Nik's face said he'd thought no such thing.

"What gave you that idea?"

"Salt of the earth country boy, no?"

"Hmm."

Nik was bigger, slower, which meant Price could stay out of his way and wear him down with well targeted hits. He knew there was an injury in Nik's back to take advantage of too. If it came to it, Price wasn't above fighting dirty to win. Hit and run was the way to go with big fighters like Nik.

Nimble and quick, Price landed a few punches to Nik's chest and a leg kick or two within the first few minutes, but Nik absorbed them, batting away another aimed for his head and retaliating with a hard right book that Price barely dodged in time.

"Watch it, cap!"

"He's landin' easy ones, Nik. C'mon!"

Price watched Nik carefully over his gloves, darting in only when he saw an opening and then dodging back again before those huge arms could engage a clinch.

Nik's first real hit came from nowhere; Price left a gap as he switched stances and the resulting body shot left him momentarily winded. Enough to lose ground. Price looked for a gap to evade but Nik pursued relentlessly, lashing out only to make Price dodge into the space he wanted him in, controlling him like a marionette on fucking strings.

Out of the corner of his eye, Price could see Simon step up to the rope next to the two sergeants, his meal finished and his novel forgotten, the fight too interesting to ignore. That didn't stop him dabbling in his second favourite sport. "Hey Johnny, Want to know how you make any salad into a caesar salad?"

"L.T. no--"

"Stab it twenty-three times."

Gaz snorted into his fist and Soap pinched the bridge of his nose and then winced when Price took another hard body blow that staggered him against the ropes.

Nik kept coming, wearing Price down with a slow, deliberate pursuit around the ring that made him dance and skip to land shots where he could. It was like hitting padded concrete, the red marks on Nik's skin nothing but surface damage. His body was fucking magnificent, bloody superhuman, and each time Price laid a hit he felt excitement surge through him like lightning. They bound up a few times, but Price always managed to escape the attempted grapple, his heart in his mouth, or Nik broke the clinch.

It couldn't last.

Price felt his energy waning, his footwork slowing, the sweat stinging the corner of his eyes. Nik hadn't pushed his advantage yet and he didn't need to. Not until the opportune moment, which he seized when Price was cornered again against the ropes after another prowl around the ring. Strong arms bound his torso in a clinch and Nik performed a flawless uchi mata that earned a surprised hum from Simon. They grappled on the ground, Price sprawling his legs wide to prevent Nik from levering him over.

"C'mon, sir! Break out!" Soap leaned over the ropes, gripping them intently.

Nik slipped around Price's back and wrapped his legs around his hips, drawing his neck into a rear-naked choke that felt like being crushed in a steel vice. Price thrashed, trying to drive his elbow back but only scoring glancing blows. He refused to tap out in his own fucking gym on his own fucking mat--

"Captain," Nik grunted, struggling to keep Price constrained, "please... do not think... our friendship will prevent me from... putting you to sleep. Submit."

Submit.

Something tight and hot twisted in Price's gut as Nik growled the command so close to his ear, voice rumbling from deep inside the barrelled chest pressed to Price's back. Price's toes curled against the mat and he became intimately aware of every inch of Nik's skin against his, slick with sweat and a mirrored heat, every muscle as hard and as unyielding as steel. He had been completely overpowered, taunted and teased into a trap, and now Nik had absolute control. There was... there was nothing Price could do.

Price's vision edged in grey, his nails biting into Nik's forearm, and his palm finally pounded the mat.

Nik released him immediately, rolling to his knees and moving to take Price's face carefully in his hands. "Breathe, John."

Price didn't know why he was gasping like that, his heart hammering a neat little samba against the cage of his chest. He could smell the sweat and leather of Nik's gloves, but all he wanted to do was tear them off and feel Nik's fingers in his hair. No, no too fucking much, too fu--

"'M... Fine. Gerroff." He pushed Nik's hands away and the big Russian at least had the good grace to stand and give him some space. Price closed his eyes and took a moment to steady himself, breathing in through his nose and out through lips that definitely weren't shaking. It was just a bloody fight. He'd had his arse handed to him a fair amount in his time. This was no different.

But as he opened his eyes again, Price knew something had clicked in his head that had been teetering on the brink all this time. He looked up at Nik, gaze dragging up his muscular thighs and the dark hair of his belly and chest, and felt the tightness of arousal in his gut. The realisation that he liked kneeling here at Nik's feet, subdued, conquered, settled into his chest like a shard of ice. He wanted Nik's hands on him; his wrists, his neck, his throat, holding him down. He wanted Nik to push his knees and thighs apart to claim every inch of him as a prize. He wanted the control torn from him, to hear the word submit snarled in his ear as he had no choice. It was terrifying.

Nik offered a hand down and Price took it mechanically, letting Nik drag him up until their bodies were pressed together again. Dark brown eyes studied him closely, a gloved hand resting at his hip. "Molodech, captain. You fought well."

"And you fought better," Price croaked, stiffening his back so that his body didn't shake in Nik's hands.

"This time." Nik's voice lowered significantly in volume, his hand squeezing meaningfully at Price's hip. Fuck, fuck, he'd seen. He'd bloody seen those wide, desperate eyes after feeling Price's body against his, and worked it out, hadn't he? Price swallowed hard.

"Fuckin' hell, mate. I'm glad you're on our side," Gaz called, and Soap agreed with a quiet murmur. Price was thankful they were none the wiser.

Well, the sergeants weren't. Simon was studying him closely as he ducked under the ropes. "Somethin' on your mind, Simon?"

"No, sir." He glanced at Nik and then back at Price. "He fought well. But not that well."

"Thanks for the feedback."

Simon hummed. "Perhaps you should do some one on one with Daddy KGB. Iron out the uh... kinks."

"Fuck you, lieutenant," Price growled quietly. "And don't." He cut the observant bastard off before he could start that innuendo, and headed towards the locker rooms.

"Ahh, don't worry," Gaz said, slapping Nik on the shoulder. "He'll lick his wounds and be back out here tomorrow."

Nik rubbed his chin thoughtfully, watching Price's retreating back. "Perhaps..."

Simon cleared his throat. "You should go help," he paused, "with the wounds."

"Da," Nik responded, leaving the ring to follow in Price's wake. He had opened an untouched vault of riches and he was keen to explore them, and so was Price, if those big blue eyes were anything to go by.

--

(Kinda want them to fuck in the shower, with Nik's hand around Price's throat, fingers so big they nestle in the hinge of his jaw, pinning him but Price relaxed and in heaven; yeah, a friend got that image in my head and I'm feral for it.)

[generallemarc]

If an account you've never interacted with that has a description asking for money follows you, it is a scam.

I don't care how many photos whose source you have no way of verifying it posts. I don't care how many videos with no way of verifying their location, time of recording, or any other context they try to shove in your face. These are scams; all of them. In fact, there's a good chance that any money they get will be used to actively increase the amount of suffering caused by war, given how many scam operations these days are run out of Russia and supported by the Russian government. These are not people-these are bots. If you wouldn't give money to a blog claiming to be a hot single lady who just wants to get to know you after choosing to follow you and you specifically on tumblr.com, don't give money to a blog claiming to be a Gazan in need of help who has chosen to seek this help by following you specifically on tumblr.com, the most irrelevant social media platform this side of Threads that was sold at a billion-dollar loss because that's how few people are on here.

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Venom!Reader headcannons

Just a few headcannons to tie people over until my next fic, let me know if you guys have any or if you want to ask any questions about Venom!Reader 🥰☺️

-You didn’t realise Venom was speaking aloud until you were in a restaurant with Wanda and Venom wanted bloody raw steak and kept demanding it, you ignored them until Wanda caught your intention telling you people could actually hear them too not just you. You two never went back to the restaurant

-Venom chose you and claimed it was because you were a powerful vessel and could handle them but in reality you were weak and easy to manipulate, you weren’t happy with that answer and refused them any brains for a week

-Venom hates citrus fruits, lemon, grapefruit, key lime anything like that, they won’t eat them because they’re too sour which is a shame because you really lemony stuff and now you can’t eat it or venom makes you throw it up instantly

-When Venom first found you, you were about 5ft but after a while with Venom you were 6ft 2 and strong as hell, Wanda definitely wasn’t complaining but you did have to buy a whole new wardrobe

-You’re single-handedly keeping the shop around the corner running with the amount of chocolate you keep buying, but it helped keep Venom from killing everyone they see so you guessed it wasn’t that bad

-Natasha thought it was great when you first got Venom, she finally had someone good to spar with, someone who wouldn’t start complaining about being tired, well you complained but Venom couldn’t get enough, they love fighting with “the scary Russian lady”

-Anger issues, Venom gave you so many anger issues. When you first snapped it was so sudden that the group you were with were in silence for about 40 minutes

-Wanda loves cuddling with you even more than what she did, it felt like she was being wrapped in a big tar blanket, although Venom did try and make it more comfortable for the witch, they did want to make sure their queen was comfortable

-Speaking of Queen Wanda, since Venom’s an extension of your feelings their feelings about Wanda are 10 times more intense than yours (if that’s possible)

-in the beginning you’d often fall asleep in the day and wake up either not where you fell asleep or covered in blood and other liquids, Venom never offered any explanation but they did feel guilty sometimes so they stopped taking advantage of your tiredness, only sometimes though

-You sometimes forget Venom’s there in your head, when you were sat quietly reading and suddenly hear “I want to go eat someone!” You’re constantly falling off the couch when that happens

-Wanda struggled to kiss you for the first few months after Venom came into your lives, obviously venom has a long tongue and very sharp rows of teeth and it was a little difficult trying to navigate that, Venom claimed they were trying to help but they definitely weren’t, Wanda just kissed you on the cheek for a while

-Venom gets jealous, not of Wanda or you because of Wanda but when you or Wanda talk to or hug someone too long, they think you’re full attention should be on them 100% of the time, it’s like having an attention seeking puppy inside your head

[hard-core-super-star]

caught myself [K.Bishop]

pairing: kate bishop x reader

summary: kate's competitiveness gets in the way of her seeing you for who you truly are.

warnings: technically none?; idiots in love; kate technically does knock R on their ass but no one gets hurt; yelena being an awful wingman; kate's sad puppy dog eyes; me feeling rusty af after writing so many serious essays

wordcount: 1.6k

a/n: me writing something else instead of focusing on the large pile of requests i still haven't gotten to? yeah, it's more likely than you think. i'll try to get into a somewhat normal posting schedule at some point if uni ever stops kicking my butt BUT FOR NOW, enjoy what was supposed to be a valentine's day special. also, don't worry, kissing in the crossfire part two WILL be happening!

* * * * * * *

You’re not sure what’s worse, being the newest member of the Young Avengers or being the member with the most obvious crush possible. It’s like the universe didn’t think you had enough difficulties getting used to life with your new team, it also thought you needed to juggle having the biggest crush on one of your teammates simultaneously.

Because fighting criminals daily isn’t hard enough, right?

You had tried your hardest to keep your massive crush on a certain purple-loving archer a secret but your plan had gone out the window the second Yelena figured out the hidden feelings behind your lingering stares. To say she didn’t understand your fascination with Kate Bishop would be an understatement but at least she tried to help…in her own, weirdly aggressive, way.

Her help mainly included making ridiculous comments at your expense. Comments that went completely over Kate’s head every single time and only led to awkward silences and unanswerable questions.

You thought the Russian was on her way to giving up and letting you handle your love life problems on your own but of course, when has Yelena given up an opportunity to embarrass someone she cares about?

It’s exactly Yelena’s love of embarrassing you that’s forced you into a situation you wouldn’t be able to get out of if you tried: sparring with the purple archer herself.

Training in the same room as Kate is already bad enough, especially considering her habit of wearing gray sweatpants and a tight purple cropped shirt, but having to spar with her? While she looks that good? And she has that stupid smirk on her face because she knows she’s going to win?

Nothing you could do could stop you from looking like a goddamn fool.

And that’s exactly what you look like right now.

It’s not bad enough that you can’t concentrate enough to anticipate her punches, you also don’t even know where to look because all of her is so damn attractive. It’s impressive and annoying all at the same time and it’s unfortunately taking up too much of your brain space right now.

You’re acutely aware of Yelena’s disapproving looks but you’re even more aware of the constant glares Kate throws in between rapid punches. Your brain may not be working well enough for you to spar correctly but if there’s one thing you can do, it’s dodge…which only infuriates the archer.

“Will you quit moving?” She huffs, only barely stopping her lips from forming a frustrated pout.

“What else am I supposed to do? Let you punch me?” You reply.

“That’d be a good start, yeah.”

“Ladies, quit chattering!”

You know Yelena is being annoying on purpose to get on your nerves but that doesn’t stop you from turning to glare at her. Your mouth barely begins to form around the complaints you want to hurl at her when Kate takes her opportunity.

It’s technically cheating, and it’s incredibly advantageous, but she’s not thinking about any of that. All she wants is to win and she doesn’t think twice. She swipes her leg under both of yours, catching you by surprise and instantly sending you crashing down onto the hard ground.

You don’t get a second to react before the back of your head makes contact with the floor. Large black spots fill your vision as Yelena starts throwing out curses at the startled archer. You barely make out the outline of Kate’s worried face before your eyes slip shut and darkness overcomes you.

You don’t know how much time goes by, or how many times Kate gets scolded in increasingly more aggressive Russian, all you know is that when you wake up…you’re not alone.

Your first instinct when your eyes open again is to sit up but a gentle hand pushes you back down before you get too far. “Don’t try to move, you’re gonna get a killer headache. Trust me.”

“Oh, I’m supposed to trust you after you knocked me on my ass?” You huff. It makes you sound more like a kid throwing a tantrum than an angry Avenger but you don’t really care.

“We were sparring, what else was I supposed to do?”

You don't notice the small grin that accompanies her recycled words, too upset and embarrassed about getting your ass handed to you by someone who's too lost in her own world to notice how much you like her.

“What else was I supposed to do?” You mock her. “Did you try not being a jerk?”

“That’s not fair. You’re the one who ignores me all the time but I’m the jerk here?”

Her words don’t catch you as off guard as the look on her face. You’re expecting to see flashes of the arrogant archer most of your teammates claim exists behind the usual warmth Kate so easily radiates. Instead of anger or arrogance, though, you come face to face with the most overdramatic pout you’ve ever seen.

And you suddenly understand why people say there’s a fine line between love and hate. Because it would be easy to think Kate Bishop is the most annoying person in the world if you didn’t also think she’s the most adorable person you’ve ever met…despite the constant ease with which she turns everything into an argument.

“What are you even talking about?”

“You don’t like me! And you don’t even try to hide it!”

All you can do is stare at her and wonder how the world’s greatest archer also happens to be the world’s most oblivious person. “You’re an idiot, Katherine.”

Her eyebrows crinkle in disgust but you’re pretty sure it has more to do with your use of her legal first name than the insult you push her way. “You sound like my mom.”

“You’re not helping your case.”

She opens her mouth to reply in an instant, a half-formed stupid sentence already forming on the tip of her tongue. You’re expecting yet another unnecessary argument to break out. Yet another reason for you to give up on all your attempts to build a bridge of thoughtful actions and sweet words that will lead you to who Kate truly is under the mask she so effortlessly wears around everyone else.

You’ve learned to expect anything from Kate Bishop. Especially the unexpected.

“I know. I’m sorry.” She adds the tiniest smile and most awkward shrug you’ve ever seen to her soft-spoken apology.

“What did you just say?” You ask, wondering if you hit your head hard enough to be imagining this whole interaction.

“You heard me,” she replies but her tone carries more traces of embarrassment than the cockiness you’re used to. “You’re right, I’m an idiot.”

You’re left dumbstruck, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s no way the archer can say those words without some sort of snarky comment coming after it. So you wait. Watching her with curious eyes that only fuel the nervousness bubbling underneath her carefree posture.

It’s strange to realize how little you genuinely know about her. Having a crush on her has ironically been the easiest part of everything. Sure, it’s awkward and annoying and ridiculous but believing you understand her is easier than accepting the fact that Kate’s never let you in.

So why would she start now?

“Are you going to say something?” The subtle crack in her voice reveals the truth she’s trying to hide behind her usual smirk.

There are so many things you want to say but you’re still a little lightheaded and the sudden change in her attitude toward you isn’t helping you keep yourself in check. “I like your smile.”

“Oh.”

You could easily dismiss her reaction as indifferent if it weren’t for the pink hue emerging across her cheeks. It’s subtle and warm and…real. Like her. And it suddenly dawns on you that you’ve never seen Kate Bishop flustered before.

Especially not from one of your compliments. It’s different…and you really like it.

“Can I ask you something, Kate?”

She looks away from you for a second, almost as if she’s scared of what you might say. Of the possibilities that lie in your unspoken feelings. “Sure, yeah, go ahead.”

Your mouth begins to form one of the many questions you’ve wanted to ask the archer since you met her but then her eyes find yours again and you get a glimpse into the fear-filled storm inside their depths.

It’s subtle but the armor made from cocky grins and imperfectly timed jokes begins to crack.

Which means there’s no way you’re going to spring such a loaded question on her just yet. As much as you’d love an answer to the one thing that’s been haunting you since you realized your true feelings for her, there’s no way you’d force her when it’s clear it’s been far too long since she’s let herself be vulnerable around someone.

So, you settle for the only thing you need right now: her.

“Can you stay with me?” You do your best to ignore the warmth that spreads along your face as the words slip out of your mouth. “Yelena doesn’t have the best bedside manner.”

A beat of silence goes by before her lips form a genuine smile. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Her eyes nervously flick around the room in search of somewhere to sit. You watch her for a few seconds before putting her out of her anxious misery.

“Kate…” You trail off, doing your best to hold in your laughter as you pat the empty space beside you. “You can sit here, I won’t bite.”

Your words are all it takes for her nervousness to turn back into her usual goofiness. “Really? That’s not what I’ve heard…”

“So you do talk shit about me!”

[wereallydobevibing]

Oh, to Find Love in Russia | Konig x Reader

I used to post my stories on tiktok under the username @codlover but I figured since tiktok might get banned I should delete that account and post it here. Here’s one of the stories.

Feel free to use my work as a prompt/inspiration. Better yet, feel free to write your own ideal part 2 just MAKE SURE YOU CREDIT AND TAG ME.

WARNINGS: Mentions of injury, specifically written for my delulu girlies💕

The ice, cold air of a wintery Russia rushed through your body like death through Pompeii. With your lips an ungodly shade of purple and your fingers feeling so stupidly numb, you follow the public map displayed on the side of the nearest building to meet a short term comrade in a common tourist area.

It took you some time, having never been to Russia before, but you eventually find yourself walking alongside a very large man who names himself König. He leads you away from the tourist path and into a market area where you both enter a less than busy bar. You agree you’ll talk here, where it was warm and your shivering didn’t hinder your ability to speak.

The next two hours was a conversation of confirming your roles here and the goals that were set to be accomplished – you both were sent to gain intel, but König’s main focus was to serve as your armor, and gaining intel was especially assigned to you, dear reader.

You were not a special forces operator because you were big and strong, or because you had a particular set of skills pertaining to combat at all. Your task-force had elected you to become one of it’s soldiers because you were a holder of intelligence – you were the brain, and everyone else was the body.

Your skills lied in your ability to speak and understand a multitude of languages. Your looks and personality made you attractive to others both romantically or otherwise – people couldn’t help but make themselves known to you. You were good at making them feel so special that it hurt too much to not spill all their flavors into your cup.

Blackbird, they called you; a symbol of beauty and intelligence. You were your team’s little warbler – whatever they needed to know, you were sent to find out, and you always came back chirping your sweet song of intel.

König was quite taken by you from the very start – he’d never met a woman in his field that carried herself with such grace. Overtime, many women in special forces became much like their male colleagues; rough around the edges, heavily drinking and/or smoking, cursing like wounded sailors.

You? You were so clean. Not a single profanity fell from your glossed lips, your voice was smoother than the finest of silk velvets. Your eyes are still warm with the hope of a better world and twinkled with the gentle promise of eternal youth.

Granted, you were still rather fresh in age being in your early 20s. Still, you were special.

As you both got familiar with each other over the next few hours, König grew firmer in his belief that the radiance of your skin was actually your golden soul shining through your pores.

The safe house you’d both been given had been put together at the last minute. A fact that was clear by how it was a small cabin with only a couch in the living room and one bed in the bedroom, certainly not prepared for two. The kitchen was stocked with little snacks and such, but if either of you ever got the taste for a real meal, you’d have to eat out or go grocery shopping.

König was quick to offer you the only room, as you were a lady deserving of privacy.

Over the course of two weeks, you took turns cooking and choosing restaurants. But by week three, you’d become so focused on your task of manipulating a Captain in the Russian anti-group that you’d end up spending every free moment of your day at the desk, documenting the day’s occurrences and future strategies. König became responsible for making sure you both ate – it seemed that if he didn’t feed you, you’d simply forget to do it yourself and starve.

Week four was when the storm arrived, the great finale that signaled the nearing end of every mission – Blackbird had collected everything she needed and was ready to fly on home and feed her findings to her kin. Things were wrapping up and, naturally, that meant shit was going down.

The final day would end with König wounded – he fought well, your knight in shining armor. Of course he won, but he was losing blood from his abdomen and you knew he was in pain.

The jet that was assigned to pick you both up would not arrive until morning. Your due date was not until two days from now, but you’d finished early. Until then, you used what you had to stop the bleeding and make him comfortable.

You leave him on the bed that you’d been sleeping in for the last five weeks, flat on his back. If not for the pain of his stab wound, he might’ve enjoyed drowning in the lingering, feminine scent of shampoo and perfume stuck to the sheets and pillows you burrowed yourself in at night.

You bandage him with delicate fingers – such a stark difference compared to the medics back at the KorTac base. They were always so rough, like hornets pricking and prodding at his body.

He doesn’t notice how your focus was divided between his wound and his bare chest. Your impulsive thoughts, if you gave in to them, would’ve had you resting the palms of your hands flat on his muscles and grazing your fingertips over the ridges.

You tried to be respectful, the man was in pain – but you just couldn’t help your nature as it demanded to behold the glorious sculpture settled before you. Thousands of years ago, König might’ve been the model for ancient Greek statues. He was beautiful.

König sits up on the mattress when you finish, which now is stained with speckles of blood, clenching his jaw as he did. Your hands come up on his bare chest and you stop him.

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, “You have to rest, König, you’re hurt.”

“This is your bed, schatz,” König grunted, “I will go to the couch.”

Now that the mission is over, you suddenly feel a wave of guilt come crashing down onto you. You’d been so busy thinking about what you needed to do, how you were going to get your hands on the information you’d been sent out to receive that you didn’t ever stop to think about König’s comfort. And here he was, spending every single day of the last five weeks watching your back, making sure you ate, and that you were comfortable. All he did was think about you.

As you stare at him, your heart begins pulsing erratically. Your face grows warm with the sudden realization that this big, brutal, soldier of a man was such a gentleman. He’d been so kind and considerate, looking over your shoulder for you like he was born to do it and not just because it was his job.

Your hands raise to cradle his masked face. You think about how this six-foot-ten beast had been sleeping on that tiny, poor excuse for a couch for nearly two months for the sake of your comfortability, and how he would do it even now when he was in pain.

Without a second thought, you go in and kiss him through the fabric of his mask – a little peck of admiration for his chivalry, a humble praise for being a rare man.

König stares at you when you pull back, he’s stunned. All these weeks of very subtly flirting with you … he thought you’d never notice, or even reciprocate his interest. König figured that you both would separate at the end of this story like Orpheus and Eurydice, he’d be damned to never know you again and you’d forget him as soon as he was gone.

With your hands still holding either side if his jaw, you tell him, “Lay down, König. Here.”

He brings up a large hand to meet one of yours, using the other to hold himself upright and stroking your wrist affectionately with his thumb, “You will not sleep on the couch, schatz.”

“No,” You agreed. “We will both stay here, on the bed, and that way if you need anything, I’m right here to help you.”

Still not believing what’s happening, he tries again to rise from the bed, only for you to guide him back down until his head rested on one of the pillows.

You ask, “That’s okay, isn’t it?”

König, beneath his mask, feels his lips curling upward as he laughs breathlessly.

He grins, “Okay?”

It was perfect.

[tojifile]

Fyodor Dostoevsky: Poker Face

Genre: Romance / suggestive themes / language & weaponry warning

Russian roulette is not the same without a gun. (Masterlist)

(‘～‘;) Fyodor x f!reader inspired by Poker Face Lady Gaga

You were sitting at a high stakes poker table, going for over a million yen. You looked around the room, looking for your target. A tall, pale, and thin man—Fyodor Dostoevsky.

"Hey! Pay attention will 'ya?!" The man at the other side of the table yelled, snapping you out of your thoughts. "Raise" you calmly spoke as you grabbed a chip that amounted to ¥10000 and slid it forward.

"Call" the man spoke as he placed the same amount in front of him and soon the others followed. After a while of playing you looked bored, you propped your chin on the palm of your hand. The man in front of you was infuriated at the way you looked "If you're bored why not fold?! It's not like you're doing much by being here anyway." You ignored his words and still spoke monotonously "Raise."

"Why you!" The man stood up and pointed a gun to your head, horrified cries could be heard all throughout the room but you remained calm and stayed seated. "Ah! You haven't got a single chip left, how adorable!" You chuckled, ignoring the gun that was pointed to your head.

"Are you fucking insane?!" The man exclaimed "Insane hm? Albert Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." You calmly responded "If anyone's insane here it'd be you, playing poker over and over, saying the same exact words then losing; expecting your next games would end in triumph only to return home with nothing."

He then slapped you with the hand that was holding the gun, your head turned to the side but you just positioned your head back with a sinister smile plastered on your face. "Fold" you spoke with an icy tone.

The man smirked at your words "Full house" you then chuckled "Four of a kind" you responded with a sinister grin. He then pulled the trigger, you swiftly moved your head as you had predicted his temper would make him do such a thing.

You then left the table leaving everyone shocked. It was as if you were walking aimlessly but you knew where you wanted to go. While playing you had spotted your target.

You walked over to his direction but then he suddenly disappeared—he found you first "Darling~ I've been looking for you everywhere, where have you been?" He whispered in your ear from behind. He had a gun to your back which he hid well with his body, one of his hands was wrapped around your chest to prevent your escape.

You stayed silent, you didn't struggle out of his grasp nor did you panic. You just stood there as if already lifeless. "Now now darling, it's no fun if you stay silent." He spoke with a pouty tone, he then started to walk towards the balcony; gently pushing you to walk forward.

Once you reached the balcony he closed the door behind the both of you. "You put on quite the show earlier, didn't you darling?" He softly spoke, he sighed as you still stayed silent. He then opened the barrel of his gun, he threw away 6 bullets and kept 2 inside. He spun the barrel of his pistol and aimed it at your back again.

"Every time you don't respond I'll shoot your back and every time you do respond I'll shoot away." He chuckled, a modified Russian roulette was the game he had proposed. You softly nodded then he pulled the trigger—empty.

"Lucky you darling! Now will you tell me why you were looking for me?" Now you were ready to respond knowing that the bullet will come flying out of the muzzle "Do I really need a reason to be looking for a criminal?" You retorted calmly, he aimed upwards then pulled the trigger—and you were right, there was a bullet.

"Such a clever girl!" He praised almost in a patronizing manner "Don't patronize me." you spat. He chuckled in response "Well then darling, do you have any intention of killing me?" You shook your head in response, he pulled the trigger again, aimed towards you—empty.

"Quite the opposite actually." you spoke, his interest was piqued; very curious as to what you meant he aimed away and pulled a trigger—the bullet flew "hm, I guess I should've placed the bullets further apart." He chuckled, a sinister yet faint smile crept along his face.

He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. "Do you have any questions for me?" he whispered in your ear "How did you know I was looking for you?" Fyodor chuckled before responding "I didn't."

"So why are you here?" You asked, now a bit confused. His sinister smile grew and his demeanor was now more eerie "You do know what comes after poker face, right darling?" He whispered in your ear, his warm breath travelling down your neck as he placed a soft kiss.

Author's notes:

To understand the last thing Fyodor said search up "Poker face lyrics" it will not disappoint.

Spontaneous post: 06/22/23 17:14PM GMT+8 Philippine Standard Time

[sweetiecutie]

141 x Eastern European reader relationships hc’s

Warnings: some cussing, stereotypical behavior, pretty much safe, not meant for russians - just scroll past

A/n: I was heavily inspired by this post by amazing @kivino, absolutely go and check it out!!

Pretty much all of 141 were in Eastern Europe with missions - Ghost and Price were with missions in Ukraine, Soap, Gaz and Price were to russia.

All of them worked with Eastern Europeans, so boys are generally acquainted with Slav traditions and superstitions - not to whistle within a building, for example, or not to pass things through the threshold. But working with Eastern European for a few weeks and having a romantic relationship with one - completely different things.

So here are some headcanons of how Task Force 141 deals with their Slavic lover<3

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Starting off - Simon loves your culture. He finds many national quirks amusing; his favorite one tho, is how boisterous and bossy Eastern European women are. Usually people tend to be scared of him due to his intimidating stance and quiet behavior. But these ladies who are barely over 160 cm? They can beat the living shit out of him with a single slipper, and he both respects and slightly fears them for it.

For some strange reason Ghost can’t learn a word you teach him, but all the swearings that accidentally slip off your tongue throughout the day? Ghost knows all of them by heart. And he can’t hide a small smile of amusement whenever he hears you cussing angrily over spilled tea or shattered mug. And his favorites so far are ‘kurwa’ and ‘blyat’

Simon is a huge fan of your country’s cuisine! He’s a big man, so he requires proper nutrition. And all the delicious meals your mom cooks? He’s nomming everything to the last crumb! Simon is especially fascinated with a godly meal called “shashlik” - he is definitely a meat eater, Riley loves him a juicy steak freshly off the fire. And eating a meal that consists purely out of roasted meat - a paradise for him.

Captain John Price

Now, this man is most acquainted with all Slavic traditions of all 141 since he works closely with Nikolai, so throwing him off wouldn’t be that easy. But still, having an Eastern European partner does give him some unexpected experiences. For example, John is really surprised by how easily and lightheartedly you and your family joke about dark topics as death, physical traumas or alcoholism. And while everyone is rolling with laughter Price is like “What the fuck is wrong with you guys🧍🏻‍♂️”

If some of your relatives happened to speak English, John will do his absolute best to speak slowly and reduce his accent to minimum, so that they can understand him better. I think it’s just so sweet of him 🥺

What never fails to impress Price is that how much Eastern Europeans care about their appearance. In UK people don’t bother much about their looks, preferring clothes that are comfortable rather than fashionable. And seeing all these people on the streets wearing luxury brand stuff, women with full on glam makeup, their hair made elegantly - it makes him wonder just how much time and effort these people put into their looks. (He soon learn just how expensive and tedious that is once you two start dating)

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

I’m pretty sure many Eastern European countries have this magnificent dish - meat jelly. Looks and sounds terrifying, true cultural shock for Kyle’s poor British soul. Or soup called Okroshka - even tho I grew up eating it, I still question its existence, no wonders Kyle gets absolutely weirded out by it.

Many Eastern Europeans, especially in small towns and villages, are very unfamiliar with people of color. It’s not because they mean ill, no, but simply because it’s very rare to see foreigners in such places. So, when Kyle came over to your home for the first time, all neighborhood was quite literally gawking at him. And Garrick, being more closed-off and shy person, was really unnerved by it. What especially set him off was when some random grandmas on the streets asked him “Whose are you?”😭

Oh and he loves, loves, loves when you spill the tea about your family members, sometimes even in front of this exact person bc they can’t speak any English. Sounds mean to do so, but Kyle is very eager to hear about all the drama, glancing discreetly at relative in question. Everyone thinks it’s so cute, watching you two cooing at each other in soft voices in a faraway corner, but in reality you two are just talking shit about everyone in the room😂

John “Soap” MacTavish

What Johnny likes the most about Eastern Europeans is just how generous they are, how they treat all guests with such kindness and hospitality. Usually, when Scottish/British/Irish person invites you for some tea - you do have tea and some sweets. In Eastern Europe though, if you are invited for some tea, you will be having a three meal course of delicious national dishes with incredibly tasty bakery for a dessert, and, of course, tea as promised. And afterwards they will also give you some food in a plastic container so you can take it home. Johnny was genuinely surprised by such warm treatment.

He remembers a lot of random words you say: names of different objects and foods or whole sentences like “turn on the lights” etc in your mother tongue. Johnny likes listening to you talking on the phone with your relatives, his ears perk up slightly whenever he catches a familiar word. But can he actually spell or write these words down? Not really. And if your language uses Cyrillic alphabet? Absolutely no. (This thought came to me based off @kivino’s hc’s)

When Johnny visited your home for the first time, he was actually surprised to see this stereotypical picture: a bratz doll gf and her shreck bf. He was also surprised by how unattractive most Eastern European men are, especially those in their 40s.

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated! Feedback is very important for writers, give us some love and appreciation<3

[welldonekhushi]

Call of Duty OC: Katya Kovalevskaya 🌹

An updated bio sheet of Katya! The last one felt like it was straight Wiki format style, but doesn't really explain her character properly, I also added some changes to her character as well so, here you go! <3

GENERAL:

Name: Katya

Full name: Yekaterina Viktornovna Kovalevskaya

Codename: "Katyusha"

Alias(es): Lady of Death (by the Red Army), Mama Katya (by her soldiers), Der Russische Leutnant (by the Germans)

Age: 32 years old (Call of Duty: World at War), 58 years old (Call of Duty: Black Ops), 70 years old (Black Ops: Cold War)

Gender: Female

Nationality: Russian

Languages spoken: Russian, German (for intelligence purposes), English

Date of birth: June 15, 1916

Place of Birth: Ural Mountains, Imperial Russia

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Martial Status: Single

Occupation: Senior Lieutenant and Sniper of the Red Army (retires after the events of the first Black Ops)

Status: Active

Rank: Senior Lieutenant (1942), Lieutenant Colonel (1945)

Affiliation: Red Army, CIA (briefly)

Universe: Call of Duty: World at War, Call of Duty: Black Ops, Black Ops: Cold War (alternative AU)

Faceclaim: Anna Chipovskaya

Song: "Katyusha" by Boris Alexandrov

Biography: Yekaterina, commonly known as Katya joins the Red Army for the service of the Soviet Union to avenge her parents death under the hands of German forces. While defending her country amidst the raging Second World War, she faces tremendous amounts of obstacles and barriers in her life which often try to make them as her weakness, but the woman was sworn to take her last breath in achieving one goal with her comrades — and that was liberating Berlin.

AFFILIATIONS:

3rd Shock Army (Red Army)

Sergeant Viktor Reznov [K.I.A]

Private Dimitri Petrenko [K.I.A]

Private Chernov [K.I.A]

Commissar Markhov [fate unknown]

Major General Nikita Dragovich [K.I.A]

Colonel Lev Kravchenko [fate unknown]

CIA (Call of Duty: Black Ops)

Alex Mason

Frank Woods

Jason Hudson

Grigori Weaver

SKILLS AND ABILITIES:

Weapon induced: Scoped Mosin-Nagant, Tokarev (TT-33), PPSh-41, Molotov Cocktail, RGD-33

Fighting style: Hand-to-hand combat, but rarely, since she's more used to being a sniper giving covering fire

Special skills: Is a very experienced sniper, that gave her the infamous name of "Lady of Death", but Katya didn't want to coin such a name for herself when she was only serving her people as a soldier of the frontlines.

Talents: Knows natural remedies, holds a lot of empathy for others, can speak fluent German even if she knows a little bit of it

Shortcomings: Due to the incident, she lost her face partially along with the half-vision of her eye throughout the accident, faces survivors guilt, is a bit mentally depressed but she's able to push those negative thoughts down

PERSONALITY:

Myers-Briggs Type: ISFJ (The Defender)

Is very protective towards her comrades: Ever since she lost her parents, Katya had always been searching for a way to cope up with her loss by taking care of the people she loves and believes in the most. Even if she never married, or birthed a child, she automatically unlocked her motherly instincts by calling her comrades as her "sons and daughters", considering them as her one, found family.

Ruthless, but at times merciful: Katya has shown immense strength and courage in the battlefield as a sniper and a squad leader, haunting the Germans in their own sleep thinking Katya wouldn't kill them and make the mattress they're sleeping on as their deathbed. But also, when Katya wants to show mercy, she'll show it. She thinks there's no use to wasting her own bullets on someone who already decided to surrender to the Red Army.

Emotional: Let it be a soldier dying, or a civilian, she'll ask forgiveness from God that she wasn't able to save an innocent despite having the duty to protect her own people. The incident that killed all of her soldiers left her deeply scarred, and believed she committed a bigger sin for being too naive and careless, and she deserved the impact on her face. It was even worse when Nikita Dragovich killed her teammates again by putting them as test subjects for the Nova 6 experiment that made her grow deranged and bloodthirsty to hunt Dragovich and his lapdog, Kravchenko in a fit of vengeance, until the CIA caught her presence.

Intelligent and observant: Katya is more aware of her surroundings ever since the incident impacted her, which caused her to be very vigilant, and grew her intelligence in the battlefield which made her useful for the Red Army as a sniper and as a squad leader in the infantry.

BACKGROUND STORY

Katya was born around 1916 with her mother Elizaveta Kovalevskaya (neé Petrova) and father, Viktor Kovalevsky. Spending her childhood in the Ural Mountains, she learnt how to snipe at a young age from her father, who was a hunter, the reason why she took her father's skill in the field of sniping.

In 1939, she recruited herself in the Red Army as a sniper, in which her talent gave a huge role and reputation among the soldiers as a source of bravery, courage and inspiration, that gave her the name "Lady of Death". But, Katya on the other hand didn't want to coin such a name for herself when she believes she's only doing it for the protection of her own people.

But, in 1941, when Germany attacked Soviet Russia under "Operation Barbarossa", her village became a victim of the attacks, which ended up killing her family in the process. Broken and enraged, Katya wanted to avenge her parents death by going through missions and eliminating every single enemy who tried to cross the Soviet borders. Her life completely changed when one day she encountered General Heinrich Amsel, who was responsible for the death of her family along with many others, wanted to kill him by her own hands but never succeeded because he evaded before she could get to him.

Furious, the General wanted to eliminate Katya in her path, by luring her into a trap that he was staying at a hotel and could grab her an opportunity to end his life there. But little to her knowledge, it was all a set up, when he used that entire building as a decoy with the explosives attached. His soldiers locked away his teammates, including Katya but she was able to break through it. In a desperate attempt to find her comrades who were still locked inside, it was too late before the explosion could take effect, and blew her out of the building, leaving her drastically injured.

The explosion was the turning point of her life, where it emotionally scarred her and made her regret being a soldier, when she couldn't even protect her own soldiers, who basked into the flames of Amsel's planned explosion. She was taken for medical assistance, which took her a month to recover physically, and mentally. But, that didn't stop Katya from retiring, as her mind still revolved around that one goal — to eliminate General Amsel, and push all the German forces back from invading Russia.

Somewhere around 1942, she was promoted to Senior Lieutenant, and became the squad leader for the 3rd Shock Army, and participated in the Battle of Stalingrad alongside Pvt. Dimitri Petrenko and Sgt. Viktor Reznov. As the General's whereabouts were found, she led her team throughout the warzone and successfully countered Amsel, which led to his untimely death under the hands of Dimitri's sniper rifle. Katya, who held immense pride for the Private for doing something she couldn't, made him along with Reznov and Chernov as her closest comrades.

After the entire battle, in 1945, they finally achieved victory by liberating Berlin by hoisting the Soviet flag on the Reichstag, Katya was now at peace, hoping for a better future after the war's end.

But, somehow.. her life was going to go into a bigger turmoil, when she gets sent to the mission around the Arctic Circle, leading the events of the first Black Ops.

[siryouarebeingmocked]

SYABM comic 68 “Bear Fear (Imagine a bowl of bears)”

Title reference explained | Source 1 | Source 2 |  Source 3

[ Older comics | Chronological order | Subreddit ]

Imagine going "I care more about my rep* than whether I live or die."

Bears run much faster than humans. They are also stronger, and bigger, and have lots more pointy bits built-in.. 

I'm pretty sure a random bear in the woods is more likely to attack you, statistically, than a random man. And if it does, it's also more likely to seriously hurt you. 

Or just kill you.**

(Though some women said they'd rather be dead from the bear than raped or tortured. One said getting eaten was "relatively" quick and painless.)

Also, most murders and assaults - including sexual assaults - are by somebody who knows the victim, not a complete stranger.

And frankly, I doubt the ladies who said they trust a random bear over a random man are basing it on careful, sober, reasoned statistical analysis. The odds of being "believed" never seem to come with actual evidence.***

You know the really sad part?  This is still an improvement over that stupid Russian roulette idea, or bowl of poisoned candy meme, because at least they're comparing men to other sentient beings.

Though the funny part is how so many women (and men) angrily "explained" the One True Reason™ women would choose Team Bear.

And every single one of them contradicted someone else's One True Reason™ women would choose Team Bear.

Almost like they all started by picking the bear, out of sexism, then made up a "reason".

*This is an uncharitable interpretation, but I'm not feeling very charitable toward blatant sexists. 

**Saw someone on reddit claiming the reverse, based on very…interesting interpretations of statistics. 

Like comparing the yearly ratio of attacks/sightings to the estimated amount of men who are supposedly "sexually aggressive" or would rape, ever, if they could get away with it (which sounds impossible to measure, for >reasons I previously made a comic about<). 

And this person explicitly left out polar bears because they are too deadly, even though they are also found in (Alaskan) forests. S/He also restricted bears to the lower 48, for no explained reason.

And when I made these criticisms, plus others, they never responded.

But most of Team Bear just completely ignores the actual chance of being attacked, which is telling, isn’t it?

*** It's especially stupid in a post-MeToo world. You know, the powerful sociopolitical movement that was basically just women saying they had faced sexual misconduct from men. 

The movement powerful enough to almost get a SCOTUS candidate fired before he even got the job, based on nothing but an unprovable accusation from decades ago. 

And  many other rich, powerful men who got fired, harassed, and dragged through the mud over unverified accusations of sexual misconduct, even at the highest levels of society.

[livingfictional]

Hiii!! I saw some of your matchup content’s and I’d love one!! If not that ok <3 I just wanted to try ^^ it would be awesome if I could get a COD matchup!! 💖

My appearance: Dark brown hair (kinda wavy, kinda curly), really light amber eyes, pale skin with freckles, and according to my friends, I look either like a miserable old lady who’s been surviving off purely owning more cats for every single minor inconvenience she has.. or I look like THE cat HAHA 👵🐈

Languages I speak: English, Gaelic (Scottish), Italian, Spanish, Japanese, Chinese, Russian, German and French! 🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇮🇹🇪🇸🇯🇵🇨🇳🇷🇺🇩🇪🇫🇷

My personality: I’m a ENTJ, I’m very friendly, but I also hate interacting if ykwim :( if I talk to much I get tired lol, I love my friends and family though!! 🙆💝

I can be a pretty dark person, and I’m known to be psycho for a lot of things I’m interested in (oops) uhh.. I’d say I’m rather mature but I know when to have fun!! I prioritize family and studying!! 👹📚

My type: I’m omnisexual and I prefer men :3 I like really friendly and manly men. Very proud and caring, stubborn and cute. Slightly sarcastic and very protective of friends. A loyal and charming person <3 🤭🩷

My nationality: I’m British (Scottish), mixed with Japan, Italy, Ireland… SCOTLAND!! FOREVER (I’m sorry I had to LOL) 🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿🇯🇵🇮🇹🇮🇪

My interests: I have a concerning love for explosives (I MEAN EXPLORING EH HEM.. UHH) and I love biology! I also like to play instruments, write stories, learn languages and take care of animals! 💣🧬🎸📄🎌🐇

My dislikes: I do NOT like half hearted people, disloyal and overall rude people :/ 🙁👎

My favorite game: COD OBVI I love being that one annoying ahh sniper that you cant seem to find no matter how hard you try. 😃🩷

Thank you so much for reading this <333 I really love your work! I’ll be following you 😙🫶

I match you up with... Soap!

The chaotic couple.

Man is obsessed with you, worships you. Incredibly loyal, he's just so in love with you T_T

But also incredibly protective, to the point where it's almost... concerning. He just wants to make sure you're safe, but has the tendency to treat you like you're made of glass.

If it were up to him, you wouldn't have to lift a finger. You have to remind him that you don't need to be coddled so much. Forgive him, he really means well.

[octuscle]

Whenever George went on vacation to the Dominican Republic, he felt he had missed his youth. He saw the young people having fun, partying into the night. He had gone through school and university at high speed with great success, had made a career as a lawyer, and could now stop working in his early 50s without any problem. He could live a nice life here or anywhere on the planet. Every time he sat in a sidewalk café in Santo Domingo, he took it upon himself to do so. And then packed his bags again after two weeks and flew back to Chicago.

George walked through the street markets. He saw all the fake sports jerseys, the fake sneakers, the fake gold jewelry. What he wouldn't give right now to be sitting on the beach or at a bus stop with other chaps in those clothes, drinking a beer and whistling at girls. Sure, he actually was into lads, but that was another one of his big life lies. And so he had remained single and a virgin all his life. Oh, what the hell, he thought. I can take a necklace like that with me sometime. Might make jerking off in front of the mirror more fun.

He bought one of the swanky chains and picked up another cheap fake gold-colored Rolex. Actually silly, he could have bought everything in real. But to feel like a little Latino gangster, this watch was better. He didn't have to take it home, maybe the maid would be happy if he left everything in the room. George put on the chain and watch and walked around the city a bit more, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the streets. And then at some point made his way to the hotel to freshen up before dinner.

The watch and chain didn't go with his dark blue suit, of course. But he liked to be well dressed for dinner. Even though the hotel was mainly frequented by newly rich Russians and Arabs, he didn't want to make an exception. He had carefully hidden the chain and watch under his shirt; the feeling of the large pendant resting on his chest was enough for him. And after dinner, he stood naked, with only the watch and chain, in front of the bathroom mirror and jerked off.

He had even slept with the watch and chain on. When he got up, everything felt so heavy. He examined the watch more closely. Actually, it looked perfect. And weighed heavy, too. Was it perhaps not a fake at all. He was also unsure about the necklace. Had he perhaps bought stolen goods…? Anyway, he was well rested and rested. And he could see that when he looked in the mirror. He had not looked so refreshed for a long time. And he had gotten color. On his tanned skin, the gold chain looked even better.

George didn't even take off his new jewelry to shower. And the white shirt was unbuttoned so much today that you could see the chain flashing. He also left the cuffs of the shirt open. The white shirt, the beige shorts, the gold jewelry. There was almost something southern about him, he had to think with a grin. The fact that he ordered his banana pancakes in Spanish and wished the Russian Barbie doll a good morning in her native language didn't even occur to him. George slept away most of the day at the pool. Every now and then, when it got too hot for him, he jumped into the cool water and took a few laps. The admiring looks of the one or other lady at the edge of the pool, when he catapulted himself wet out of the pool, he did not notice at all. Instead, he exchanged more frequent and intense glances with the pool boy.

He signed off for dinner at the hotel. He wasn't in the mood for a five-course dinner today. He was more in the mood for some street food, a few beers and whatever else came along. He didn't even remember packing a black satin shirt. But with black suit pants and black loafers, he looked very handsome. George combed his hair back with lots of wet gel. And he threw himself into the nightlife.

It had been daylight by the time George had gotten back to the hotel. If he remembered correctly, he had gotten another beer from the concierge. Other than that, he couldn't remember much. It was much too late for breakfast when he was finally awake. So he pulled right on swim shorts and a bright red shirt, which he left open. He was proud to still have such an impressive six-pack in his early 40s. Everyone was allowed to see that. The pool boy had reserved him the daybed right next to the artificial waterfall. That was perfect for discreet conversations. George had also used the evening to stock up on enough drugs for his customers here at the hotel. The staff, of course, knew what would happen if a busty blonde, a hairy Russian, or an Arabian stud joined George on the bed and the curtains were drawn. There could be sex involved. But in any case, money was exchanged for drugs. And a good portion of the money went into the pockets of the hotel staff. So people smiled. And kept quiet.

George spent the evening on Santo Domingo's Malecón. Getting supplies. And supplying customers in the casinos. George himself never gambled. Nor did he take drugs. He needed a clear mind and a functioning body for his job.

Jorge woke up in his permanent suite at the very top of the Catalonia. The view of the sea was fantastic. His breakfast was set. His personal trainer was already waiting in the hotel's gym. Yesterday had been a successful evening, so before he moved into his poolside "office," he needed fresh stuff. He awaited his supplier on the bench at the back entrance of the hotel. They were usually undisturbed here at this time of day.

It had all been over a year now. The Catalonia was now only occasionally his workplace. Jorge had gotten himself a warehouse in the old town, where he officially sells cheap souvenirs for the street vendors. In fact, he managed his drug mules from here. Personally, he only served the particularly important customers. Or the particularly horny.

Realized at the request of @axeegliter. No idea why my chat is down, bro. But I'm working on it!

And a bow to

and

You are two of the most handsome fellas I know.

[notmorbid]

where the wild ladies are.

dialogue prompts from where the wild ladies are by aoko matsuda.

goodness gracious, what's happened to you?

a person's character expresses itself in their body, you know.

are you trying to pretend you're happy with your life?

i was happy, all things considered.

you just did whatever the hell you wanted.

there's nothing less sexy than that.

let's become monsters together.

i want a skill. a special power.

it doesn't matter if i stay nameless.

i don't have the energy to spare.

don't you know i'm exhausted?

don't be so inhospitable.

every life has its dose of misfortune.

why do all women pull the same face when they look at me?

what's your superpower?

that's the problem with you: no sense of adventure.

you're my sun, my rainbow, my ray of light.

you're not taking proper care of yourself.

i don't want to live with another person.

have you told [name] about me?

this is the part that's supposed to make it all worthwhile.

i was just in the right place at the right time.

you were born to wear glasses.

you manage to surprise me every single day.

it doesn't bother me. don't worry about it.

lying in the ground is too tedious. that's not my style.

my best days are decades behind me.

the kitchen is the best place for jealousy to strike.

what on earth are you doing down there?

you've never given up. not once.

it's like you've become invincible.

don't you think this place is a bit weird sometimes?

i'm not a ghost. i'm here on business.

it's different from how you were told it would be, right?

life feels like a never-ending game of russian roulette.

people love to see things in other things.

just sit back and admire the view.

the living and the dead have always looked the same to me.

what makes you any different from other people?

having a mortal body is really restrictive.

there's no use longing for things you don't have.

you have to give things some time before you can be really sure about them.

there are things that become visible only once you've left a place.

[jackiequick]

Jennie Rue Woods — Marvel’s Timeless Gal 📝

MARVELOUS AU — Auntie JJ

Full name: Jennifer Ruth Underwoods

Other Identity: Jeanie Woods

Nicknames: Jen, Jennie, Jeanie, Jean, Ruthy, Rue, JJ, Dollface, Barbie, Quinnie, Fefe

Age: 28–32 (87 years of age)

Birthday: June 30, 1923 (Cancer)

Height: 5’5 (5’7 in heels)

Occupations: Waitress, Coffee Girl, SSR Sectary, Agent, Widow, Mama Bear, Assistant

Alias: Alexa Bowmen, Paige McKenna, Jacquline Stark, London Holloway, Olivia Erhart, Eliza Pearson, Emily King, Barbra James Scott, Ashlee Lance

Family:

- Parents, Alexander & Fran Underwood (dead)

- Older Sister, Dolores Marie Underwood (dead to her)

- Sister, Peggy Carter (the big sister she never had)

- Brother Figures, Jack Thompson & Daniel Sousa (her boys)

- Howard & Maria Stark (her found family)

- Anthony Edwards Stark (her nephew #1)

- Rei Stark ( #1 godchild )

- And list goes on!

Relationship status: Single, but has dated and been engaged once

—————

Personality: Jen is a sarcastic goofball with a heart of gold despite all the crap she been through in life. On occasion she is spirited, stubborn and determined. Not just that, she’s quick-witted with a sharp tongue. However she is very kindhearted, a little slow at times but she’ll get there, she can get distracted very easily at times and motherly to those around her.

Due to being on her own for a good part of her life, she ended up being observant and trying to be resourceful. She has a knack for getting information without raising suspicion and being sneaky for the most part.

Style:

Evie has a vintage and classy style, often seen in 1940s-inspired dresses, with a touch of modern flair. Her wardrobe reflects her independent spirit and love for classic fashion. Even as she progresses over the decades she stays with a simple yet gentle sense of fashion as a way to blend in with the crowd.

Skills:

Proficient with weapons, particularly guns.

Basic combat

Previously worked as a nurse during WWII, honing her medical skills.

Quick thinker, adapts well to challenging situations.

Handle a control panel

Design and disguise

———————————————

—Background:

Jen grew up in a decent sized house with a Russian father and a Italian-American mother, along with her older sister Dottie. When it came to both children, their parents loved them both the exact same.

However, behind the smiles and glittering eyes on both daughters held an small rivalry that over time.

Dottie was always the one-upper of the pair, acting like she knew more and always one step ahead of everything. Hell, Dottie enjoyed having her nose in her young sister’s business, ignoring her most of the day, parenting her like she was a second-mother and treating her sister, Jen, like a pest that she couldn’t stand.

But Jen wasn’t far behind either, as she rather enjoyed sometimes sticking her nose in older sister’s business, taking her sweater without asking and bugging her with whatever new thing she was obsessed with at the moment. The difference was that Jen knew her limits, as she held a fear behind her smile when it came to Dottie, often intimated by her status and rude attuned attitude.

It didn’t help that both ladies couldn’t be more different when it came to their interests.

In result, it often led to plenty of bickering, fighting over every single thing possible and barking off more than they can chew.

However, it all came to a sudden pause when their father Alexander was overseas with Dottie to Russia saying they had business to attend to. Her mother only simply nodded and hugged them both watching them drive away, before entering the house to continue her daily task, asking Jen to follow behind.

The girl was confused on the matter and questioned the trip later that night. Her mother, Fran, simply told her that Dottie was one of the few girls signed off to train and becomes a skilled fighter.

Saying that one day, Jennifer might get her turn to do the same but the young blonde refused the idea. She rather stay home, be a kind young lady, fall in love, paint all the gardens in the fields and learn what she needs to in America. She visited Russia before, as she always found it to be colder and unassuming to her likely.

Whatever Dottie was doing, Jennifer wanted no part of it.

Thankfully, with a small sigh, her mother agreed to her dreams and kissed her cheek.

Years later, Jennifer would learn what her sister was doing and fought to not follow the same path. She had to desire to become a skilled fighter in Mother Russia and train to be become an assistant to The Red Room. But faith had other plans, as her parents promised her to do a trail run, live in Russia and educate herself into getting certificate of achievement.

Just for a few short months. 3 months.

With a deep sigh and small grunt, she did so as promised. In The Red Room, she was made to watch videos on culture, read books, take any notes and practice her knowledge on what she already knows. Not just that, Jennifer was brought in to take up a couple of activities such as dance, carefully handle weaponry, learning basic combat and drive a vehicle, if she ever needs to hot-wire and getaway.

Jennifer wouldn’t admit it but a small part of her enjoyed watching the women in those rooms all move in one single motion like trained dancers, ready to performance for a show on stage, and she was in the front row getting a glimpse of the sight.

She looked over her shoulder as a tall shadow took behind her, she gulped assuming it was one of the teachers ready to shout in her face for sneaking out of her bedroom this late in the afternoon, but instead it was her older sister.

“What?” She grunted out, spinning to face the taller blonde.

The tall blonde held a slinging smirk, “Nothing. Like what you see?”

“You’re new high ponytail or the performance?”

“Both, Fefe.”

“Don’t fall me that. What do you want?”

“Just want to know if my baby sister is enjoying it here?”

“You mean having my wrist cuffed to the bed, being held in a isolated room twice a week with no windows and a locked door? Oh yeah, I love it.” She repiled with a sarcastic tone.

Dottie grinned, “And having me here as a upper classmen.”

“Yeah…that. When are you gonna realize you’re just as insane to enjoy this, Dot? You love it here and actually find it trilling. I don’t.”

“Oh, Fefe, when are you gonna realize that with this opportunity you can be just like me? With grace and perfection.”

“That’s my point. I am not like you and I will never be like you. And when my time is up, I won’t be seeing you ever again.”

And Jennifer was right.

She was out of the building soon enough, in hopes to keep her head down and never have to be stuck in a place like that again. But Dottie did warn her as a hard heavy threat, one day, they will try and offer you a deal, snatched her up and order her to work for them.

Jennifer grunted and hoped with her luck, she wouldn’t. However, as lucky as she was with never being dragged there again, she did have Dottie reappear later on her life once or twice just for add measure…

—————————————

📰~The 1940s~ 💡

Plenty years past since those 3 sleepless months within that building and Jen couldn’t be more pleased with herself to be blessed to see a new path her way.

She was living in New York City, Queens as a waitress and painting on the side. She enjoyed painting the city skyline, the people in the park and her favorite flowers whenever possible. She was what many called her, a cartoonist. And her job wasn’t so bad either, yes the clients can be rude and annoying at times, but she made it work.

And her uniform was her biggest perk of her job. The simple teal-blue dress, her white headband, brown flats and her cute pins over her apron.

It was good, also with the fact she clocked out early to visit the fair, as everyone was there to see all the new attractions, men getting tested to see if they’re qualified for the war, people going dancing and much more. One evening, she found herself reading the newspaper wondering the fair, enjoying the sights, getting a drink and eventually standing in the crowd to see the main attraction.

Howard Stark. The Expo.

Little did she know that the man on that stage would change her life, by becoming apart of it.

She laughed, awed and smiled during the show. Even catching glimpses of his young sibling on stage, who eventually joined him.

She looked over her shoulder noticing a ‘help wanted’ signed stamped over a couple of posters, removing one of the tickets and followed to the small building to see what can could apply for. It seemed with the war going on, they need volunteers to help nurse the men on the field and inside buildings. Jennifer thought for a moment, onto her decision but then realized that it was worth it to help the good wanting to men serve their country.

Two weeks laters, she was working as a volunteered nurse. She got tested, signed off and given new uniform to wear. When a certain doctor asked for her name, it seemed like he missed heard it, as he wrote down a different name under her paperwork.

Instead of Jennie Underwood, he put down ‘Jeanie Wood’.

Jen didn’t know if it was on purpose it or not, but it taken her by a surprise at the name. The last person to give her a similar name like that was her 5th grade English teacher, yet she wasn’t complaining. She liked it, a lot.

And if she had to admit, she enjoyed it more than she expected, making friends with the other nurses, checking on the vitals of men and women, along with cleaning their wounds. It’s also when she met Miss Margaret “Peggy” Carter, who came in to recruit some nurses for an experimental program to help out the war, as she was handpicked to do so.

To say, Peggy Carter wowed Jen was an understatement. The women was kind, fierce, charming, witty, a little sassy, had a stronghold on her role here and cared for others. It surprised her how Peggy took a liking to her during those days spent on the job.

That same week, she met Howard Stark as he was preparing for the super solider experiment that she was apart of. The moment Howard met her, he was dazzled, in awe and flirting with the blonde. That was the first time Jennie ever actually blushed and smiled, turning her face to hide her blush from Howard’s darling compliments and witty comments.

Howard simply smiled at her blushing and went off to finish preparing his equipment for the day, before offering to buy her lunch. His tongue accidentally slipped nicknaming her ‘JJ’ for short. Jennie hesitated as she removed her gloves after preparing the equipment and serum with the other nurses needed for tomorrow. One of the nurses nudged her to say ‘yes’ as Jennie just smiled and nodded, following the brunette out the door.

The following day, she met Steve Rogers, as she was there helping to performance the processor and watching the man transform from a skinny kid to a tall solider. But the cheers and awes were cut short as Dr. Erskine died, causing Jennie to remove a gun off the table aiming at the person who fired the shot, but missed by a close second as the man ran out the door. Before she can get a second to blink, Steve and Peggy raced out the door to follow him. Jennie stayed behind to help, get Dr. Erskine to a more comfort position and calm down the crowd.

After that whole event, things were put back into swings as the war went on, Steve became Captain America serving his country, Peggy was brought to help, along with Howard and Jennie to do their part in serving for the better of their playing field.

Once again, she was given a slight change of clothing instead of white, it was light browns and a dark brown jacket to watch.

Jennie was put to work, not as a volunteered nurse, but a someone who helped with the design and coordinates for any trips. She put her skills to some use, which made her smile. Soon enough, the war ended per say in some victorious cheers and others in sorrows for the ones they lost.

When Steve Rogers went down in the plane, after speaking to Peggy on the radio as their side of the speakers cut to static, Jen was the first to enter the room and pull the English brunette into an tight embrace.

———————

💭 ~Meetings and revisiting the past~📑

Once the war ended, Peggy and Jen stayed friends, keeping Howard in touch of course. As both were brought to working in New York City at The SSR (which would later on become SHIELD), Peggy worked at an assigned sectary despite her endless response to her being able to do more. Daniel Sousa saw more in her, which made the women smile at the thought and respect she got from him.

Meanwhile Jen didn’t mind it being the coffee girl/assistant at the SSR, basically a sectary with a nicer name. It gave her a flexible schedule most days, other days she was spent working later hours at her desk.

Thankfully she had Agent Jack Thompson to keep her company, despite his personality, the man saw Jennie as a little sister whenever she entered the building. As if he wanted to shield her from harm and have her stand back from the tough stuff, even through she reminds him that she seen men come back from the war wounded or worse.

Jack would sometimes buy her burger if they knew everyone was gonna be working a late night. He would often bicker with her and Peggy as the English women rolled her eyes, but Jen would respond by saying that it seems like Thompson has a crush on Carter. Which results in Peggy chuckling at the blonde women.

Things were going fine until Howard Stark was wanted for crimes against the country, recruiting for Peggy to help find the truth and prove him innocent. She even entrusted his butler Edwin Jarvis to asset her with the investigation.

In which Jennie met while she was getting herself coffee one morning at the diner where she used to work as a waitress, ordering Mr. Jarvis a coffee.

Mr. Jarvis smiled and thanked for, offering to pay for her donut as an exchange. They soon became friends after that. Little did Jarvis know that Jennifer would become good friends with his lovely wife, Ana, too.

Jennifer didn’t want any to be thrown too far into the mix of things, as she eventually joined to the two Brits on their investigation.

Especially after the plot thicken, she started to be thrown in for a loop as The SSR all visited Russia and reunited with The Howling Commandos, finding themselves in a building that once held many men and women who were spies.

The beds with handcuffs, weird therapists, scientists and much more on that visit to Russia. At one point, Jen froze as she stayed rubbing her wrist at the sight, as it took A Howling Commando to drag her out of the rooms. Hell, some of their own agents froze at the sights, meanwhile others stayed strong during the fight.

On the plane ride home, Jen started to let Peggy in on why she froze, but not everything, as Peggy held the blonde close. Jen was given flashbacks to those 3 months in Mother Russia, the trips she went on and how during the war she remembered the men she had to nurse coming home lost to confused.

But the biggest punch to the grunt was when she saw her older sister on the streets of NYC, under some false name living at The Griffith Hotel for Women, pretending to be some new lady here and wanting to go sightseeing. It made her sick, especially since Dottie got closer to Peggy and watched her baby sister from afar, with sneaky eyes to see her next move.

That’s when everything made sense to Jen.

Dottie was here undercover working for someone who was framing Howard Stark and having everyone turn against the man. Peggy didn’t fully believe Jennie at first when she came in with her claims, Jack Thompson nor Daniel Sousa did either, but soon enough the truth came into full force.

As one could imagine things took a turn for people at The SRR, as they close in on Howard Stark, the true enemies are revealed and much more to everyone involved. As they planned to draw out the real threat, The Leviathan.

But it goes awry when Dottie Underwood distract the agents while Stark is kidnapped, as her boss uses hypnosis to make Howard drop as gasp he invented called “Midnight Oil” to onto Time Square.

Thankfully with Jarvis’s help, they all found them just in time. Jack Thompson and Daniel Sousa handled The Leviathan, who’s name was Johann Fennhoff. Meanwhile Jennie, Jarvis and Peggy handled Dottie, while also trying to convince Howard to not drop the gas over Time Square.

To say Dottie was excited to see her sister again in full swing and having a thrilling fight with Peggy was an understatement.

However this time, Jennie wasn’t too frightened to fight her sister again, as she found strategy and strength in herself to be more confident. It was a bigger perk, that this time around, she had Peggy who was more than intrigued to battle Dottie after their last encounter.

In the end, things were brought to light, they defeated Dottie (who escaped), the right people were imprisoned with scheming with Zola and everyone was given a chance to breath once again.

But like always, life for Jen didn’t stop there as she moved to Los Angeles for her next adventure…

————————

🦅~The 50s—60s~ 🕰️

In 1956, things were looking swell for Jennie as she was working for SHIELD in Los Angeles as an agent. She had her own office, meetings scheduled, kept designing models, going out to dinners and the occasional trip for sizable missions.

She discovered she had a little love for the unknown, collecting items, designing, doing presentations and going on trips to report new things back to SHIELD headquarters.

She was the one to design the SHIELD logo and style of the front over the years after all. Her and Howard liked with idea of an eagle with spread wings.

-> Eagles with its keen eyes symbolized courage, healing, hope, vision, resilience and most importantly strength.

However one late spring night, everything flipped on it’s head for Jennie. It was one of their agent’s bridal shower and she was invited to join in the celebration, free drinks and food, of course she was coming.

Yet, she was soon about to regret that trip.

She was driving home in one of SHIELD’s invented cars, that was had a working mentor that connected to the battery phone. She was on the phone was Jarvis’ wife, Ana, talking about how wonderful her weekend was, crossing a simple long bridge, when a light shower of rain started to fall from above. It wasn’t anything unusual, the weather did call for a light shower that weekend, but what took her by surprise is the springing dose of snowflakes.

“Uh, Ana, I’ll have to call you back…” She said, hanging up the phone and hanging it back where it belong.

It was simply magical to such a sight, however it went from beauty to a beast wanting the snowflakes became a slamming balls of hail hitting the car as she started to carefully hurry along the bridge. However the road soon became dangerous, causing her to swirl off the path and hitting the railing as her car went flying and smash into the water.

The faint sounds of the phone could be heard, ringing with a voice on the other end as the car drowned into the large body of water. In the car, Jennifer was silent with bruises and cuts all over her body, her forehead held a large cut that was covered by blood.

Her breathing stopped as her heartbeat slowed down in seconds, her core body temperature dropped greatly. At that very moment her heart stopped beating.

At 8:55pm, a blot of lighten struck the car. The volts of electricity impact was more than strong enough to reset the heart into a clear rhythm. Jeanie Woods—Jennie Underwoods body slowly lifted from the lower end of the car to regain its awareness. Her head rushed to the surface, jolting out of her anoxic state, causing her to draw her first breath in 4 minutes.

Cough and breathing heavy, Jennie regain memory of recent events, using all her skilled strength within her to carefully climb out of the car, knocking the side door open capturing the cool air that surrounding her.

She breathed heavily, spreading outside of the side door and swimming forwards to the surface, finding a pot of greenery in the cold depths of the night. Once she climbing onto the grass, rolling over as she let her back hit the grass such a reliving impact. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened it once again to watch the snowy sky fall onto her cool skin.

Well, she was screwed.

Thankfully she crawled onto her feet and found the nearest gas station, entering a phone booth to call Jarvis to pick her up. And being the good friend he was, the man arrived with a blanket as well, bringing to his house to stay the night. She explained to Jarvis the accident, planning on trying to recall everything she could remember to have it on record of that night and how the car was totaled in the process, but the man didn’t care as long as she was safe and sound.

As the years went, she credited her appearance to a healthy diet, often exercising, skin care, good genes and just plain luck. However actions was required only months laters when she was pulled over for a minor traffic infraction.

“Ma’am, it says here that you were born in 1923.” Said the officer.

“That’s right, officer.” She repiled with a kind smile.

“That would make you 40?”

“Yes. I look young for my age.”

“Ma’am I might have to hold onto this.”

The two talked by the man didn’t look so convinced, asking to come by the station tomorrow if possible and to bring her birth certificate.

That’s when she knew she needed to start packing, calling up family and making a few adjustments to her life. That’s when she moved back to New York City for a while, keeping her job within SHIELD, but taking up studies for medicine to research her condition, talks with other scientists.

But they all slowly came to the conclusion that it seems like there was no results for her condition, despite the records, recalling of events and etc.

It happened again where officers would stop the women and question her appearance, age and name. Even tried to take her into the station, as she would always do what she must to get out of it, even call up a friend for witness.

Packing up once again, making a couple of whole calls and planes to drive off somewhere off the grid of neither New York or LA, she found herself in San Diego instead. Making sure that Peggy, Howard, Jarvis and their friends know what to do, if anyone contract them, remove any records and to do something about the officers who taken her originally.

In result, Jennie Woods went on to change her name, keep her files close to her chest, residence and appearance the best she could every decade. And to never speak a true word of her fate to answer living soul (unless they were family of course).

To her relief, as the years went on things calmed down and she was less frequently questioned, however she would get wondering eyes at work.

——————

——————————————————————

🐤~Auntie JJ~ 🪿

-> May 29th, 1970 her nephew Anthony Edward Stark was born.

The day she held that tiny will soul in her arms, she knew she would love him til her dying days. She would take care of him, spoil the boy, and make sure he knew he was loved, even if she wasn’t there everyday to see him.

And that she did.

In the 70s, Maria and Howard knew they would need a pair of helping hands, aside from Jarvis, as they offered for the women to live with them. And of course, she said yes.

Jennie was there every step of the way and she loved it. Watching Tony grow up, taking his first step, first words, teaching him to read and write. Hell, when he was old enough, Tony would draw her so many drawings that she hang up in her office showcasing her godson’s work.

There were plenty of days and nights where neither of his parents were around as work and events took up their time, so in result if she was free, Jennie would do it.

“..’So after Lisa sewed on the missing button, she gave Corduory a big hug.’ The End. Now it’s time for my little bear to go to sleep.” She said closing the book with a smile.

Usually the 7 year old would give her a sleepy remark but after the long day he had, he decided against it. He rolled onto his side getting comfy.

“Auntie JJ?” He yawned in his small voice.

“Yes baby?” She asked standing up and putting the book back on his bookshelf.

“Would you always love me like Lisa love Corduroy?”

Jennie paused what she was doing as a small smile appeared on her lip at the question, she turned out and kneeled over the bed, placing a hand above Tony’s small cheek. Her warm touch smooth his worries.

“Of course I will, bubba” She replied and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He smiled in returned, “Can we have pancakes tomorrow?”

“We will have to see. But first night night.”

“Night night.”

She gave him one more smile watching as his eyes closed, pulling his blanket closer. When she knew it was clear to leave, she gently closed the door behind her and escaped to the living room to watch a rerun of The Mary Tyler Moore Show.

Midway through the episode, she paused the taping and through back onto what Tony asked her earlier. She looked down at her lap, playing with the throw pillow in hand and sighed deeply. She knew why he asked that question, with his parents getting busier as the day goes by, especially at such a young age, it makes sense Tony would wonder if the adults in his life still love him.

And she meant what she said earlier, this unconditional love she has for her nephew is true. She adores that tiny little troublemaker, even if she sometimes drives him nuts, it’s one of the reasons she cares for him. He’ll keep on learning , as time slips through her fingers watching him grow up.

She knew she will be always try to be there for him, even if she’s in a different city, she’s only one call away.

And she was right.

Tony’s auntie JJ is there for him every time she can be. The smallest moments and his biggest. His graduations, his first true inventions, taking him out for ice cream, reading him bedtime stories, making him bacon on his birthday, the two of them sneaking off to watch movies late at time and the list goes on.

Hell, if she’s in the same room and near by, JJ is there to poke and pinch Tony when he says something he isn’t supposed to. Which results in him yelling a small, “Ow!” As she’ll give a smile in return or a certain look to tell him to quit it.

There are moments that his aunt JJ would have a date pick him and Tony would try to question his intentions with his aunt. Little did she know her godchild Rei would be the same way in the future. Every single one of her dates biggest haters.

———————

—Likes:

Mysteries, romance and detective novels

Waking up late

Coffee (of course!)

Classic movies from the golden era & sitcoms

Vintage fashion and style

Baking

Jewelry

Design

Painting & Drawing

Donuts

The sun setting

—Dislikes:

Narrow-mindedness

Cold coffee

Being underestimated or misjudged

Chaos in the house

Being underdressed or overdressed for an event

Sitting still for too long

Big Crowds

Closed spaces

Horror movies (however she enjoyed CW’s Supernatural)

Hiking

Fast rides

—Languages:

- Fluent in Spanish and English.

- Russian and Italian

- And some French

——————-

—Additional information:

- Jennie has a couple of scars, some small and some are a little big

- She tends to wear reading glasses or sunglasses at a lot

- You can sometimes find her on the couch wearing her earbuds listening to her favorite songs or binge watching a series on her IPAD

- As said before she likes jewlery, so in result you can find her wearing rings, earrings and sometimes necklaces. Such as her charm bracelet she got as a gift back in the 80s from a old friend

- She has traveled a lot over the years, sometimes she been a place more than once or even lived there. As well, as she met a couple of likely faces too

- Due to trying to keep up her energy and stamina levels, when it came to changing her appearance Jennie always tried to have a little fun. Such as dying her hair different a color, giving herself a new haircut, buying statement pieces that seemed timeless and testing out makeup to make her blend in with the crowd

- When it comes to makeup, she tries to keep it rather simple (she used to wear a lot of over the years but it resulted in some acne)

- When she’s under stress or filled in anxiety while in public spaces, she tends to play with her nails, add pressure to her inner palm, rubbing her wrist, wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans and etc

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—That’s all folks! I wanted to add more detail about her but then it would’ve been wayyyy too long of a ride 😅

Anyways pls let me know what you think! Remember to like, comment and share

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @cherrysft @xgoddessoffandomsx @rickb-chaos @starkleila @infinetlyforgotten @meiramel @sherloquestea @parisparker269 @djs8891 @buckysteveloki-me @yetanotherwells @nakiaswg @carellmcu @ximehs

[raccoonfallsharder]

the raccoon, the witch, & the roadtrip. part one. prepare for departure.

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angst, comfort, friendship, & fluff for @hibatasblog rocket & wanda | part 1/7 | word count: 1371.

rocket gets a very-important mission from danvers and needs a partner to go with him. enter the witch.

It is a well-documented fact (I know you know) that in the comic books, many of the marvel ladies have a thing for Rocket Raccoon. How could they not? Eyes like red beryls and pyropes, teeth and wit both so sharp they can kill long before the perfectly-aimed gravity-blast. Intuition off the charts, not to mention the things they've heard he can do with that tail...

Alas, this is not the comics. This is the MCU, some time between 2018 and 2023.

And while everything else remains more or less the same, Wanda Maximoff was not turned into ash.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” Rocket says, rolling his eyes.

Wanda isn’t sure what to call him. He looks like a raccoon, but insists that he isn’t one. Maybe he’s an alien. Maybe he’s something else. Either way, he’s rolling his eyes at Natasha, so hard that his whole head rolls with them.

“Look, I got a very important mission from Danvers, and Nebs is busy right now, working with Kraglin to make Knowhere a more hospitablistic place for Snap refugees. D’you wanna fuck over a bunch of Snap refugees, Nat?”

He crosses his arms and raises a brow up at the new leader-apparent of the Avengers. If Wanda hadn’t felt so — nothing at all, actually — she might have let a smirk curl the corner of her mouth. He’s kind of a brat, and he knows how to get under peoples’ skin. When she’d been a child, she would have found that entertaining. Endearing. She supposes she’d used to have a soft spot for scrappy survivors. Then she’d had to stop having a soft spot for anything but her brother.

Then —

“Goddammit, Rocket. Go to Washington, then. I don’t care. But we still need the Benatar.”

His challenging look turns into a glower. “Fuck off, Nat. What am I supposed to do, then? Drive your frickin’ car?”

Natasha flaps a hand at him distractedly from behind her desk. “Yes, that’s fine, take the car—”

The look he gives her is withering. “I can’t reach the fuckin’ pedals, Nat. So unless you’re giving me permission to take the whole inefficient machine apart an’ put it back together to suit my needs, you’re gonna have to—”

“I can’t spare anyone, Rocket,” the Russian snaps.

“And I can’t be alone right now,” he snaps right back. Wanda’s eyes flick back and forth between them. 

Natasha grits her teeth. “You said this was a mission from Carol?”

“Yes,” he hisses, tapping one booted foot impatiently. 

She closes her eyes and sighs heavily, leaning back in her chair and pressing her fingers into her temples. “Fine,” she says at last, drawing the word out — petulantly, Wanda thinks from a great distance. “Find someone who’s willing to go with you and I’ll tell you if I can spare them.”

Rocket doesn’t hesitate. Without moving anything but his arm, he’s brandishing a single dark claw in Wanda’s direction.

“I’ll take the witch.”

Five years earlier — in the first days after the Snap, before they’d left all their hope on 0259-S with Thanos’ headless body — everyone else had belonged to somebody. Cap and Nat had each other, and Nat had Banner and the arrow-guy. Rhodey had the rich guy who thought he was a genius, and the rich guy had that other redhead. Thor had maybe lost the most, but he had Banner too, and his buddies from Sakaar. The Dora Milaje had their whole sisterhood. Only Danvers might have been on her own — but as far as Rocket had been able to tell, Captain Marvel hadn’t seemed to have a lotta close ties she was mourning.

But Rocket — Rocket had nobody. 

Again.

Nobody except Gamora’s sister, whose name he’d kept forgetting.

Of course, there was the witch. 

Disproportionate number of redheads on this planet, he remembers thinking bemusedly.

He hadn’t been able to remember her name for a while either, but unlike everyone else on Terra, she’d seemed almost as alone as he was. And he hadn’t been able to help but watch her, his eyes slanting sideways to stare at her as she’d sat by herself across the room, hands anchored around upper arms. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes — they’d seemed impossibly dark, with rage or grief or something else, something haunted.  

Except for when they’d smouldered like furious banked fires. 

She’d never said a frickin’ word, either: face blank and beautiful as a statue’s. Her silence had felt more surreal than any other stupid thing he’d encountered in space, which he supposed was probably just because he’s spent the last four years with a family of weirdos who’d never seemed able to shut the fuck up. 

Still. He’d tilted his head when the other avengers had walked past her — watched as they’d seemed almost to forget she was even there. They’d barely talked to her, and once, when they’d been ordering lunch, they’d missed her entirely.

Uh — you didn’t ask the witch what she wants, Rocket had said to Nat awkwardly, and the assassin had blinked and her eyes had hunted the whole room before they’d finally focused on the other woman ��� like she hadn’t even known where her fellow-Avenger was. 

No. The witch had been an outcast. And Rocket has always known something about outcasts. His whole frickin’ family — both, some small part of his brain had tried to speak up before he could smother it; both families were made of the unwanted — his whole frickin’ family had been outcasts and misfits. It had made some part of Rocket’s heart suddenly stretch in his chest. It had reached with grasping fingers, trying to hang onto something he’d already known he’d lost.

Family.

The next day, Rocket had cleared his throat and told Gamora’s sister that he was gonna go starside to touch base with Kraglin on the Third Quadrant — to see if he still exists, he hadn’t said, but he’d been pretty sure the cyborg had picked it up. 

“You wanna come, Blue?” he’d asked — wincing when his nonchalance had been too thin to be believable. But the Luphomoid had inclined her head, eyes dark and steady. When that had been squared away — surprisingly a hell of a lot easier than he’d thought — he’d  shuffled to his feet, and headed to the bench outside the compound, where the witch had been sitting since sunrise.

He’d stood in her line of vision and stared at the sky too, shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, tail trying to tuck itself underneath him. It had probably been a full twenty minutes before he’d felt her eyes on him.

“I. Uh. I heard you lost your robot-boyfriend.” The words had been as clumsy as an orloni drunk on fermented Asgardian figs, but he’d been trying.

The witch’s eyes had flared, crimson-bright. “Robot?” she’d repeated dangerously.

Rocket’s ears had flicked back and he’d taken a step away, into the grass: hands extended, palms out.

“Hey, m’not trying to be a dick,” he’d protested. “I think I might be part-robot myself.” He’d stabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the Benatar, where he could feel  his new blue companion staring holes in his back. “Gamora’s sister’s almost all-robot, too.” 

He could also feel the sister in question rolling her eyes. 

“M’just saying,” he’d muttered at both of them, hunching his shoulders and half-turning to kick a patch of grass. “Some of us are solo now.” He’d gestured at the cyborg again. “Might be good to stick together.” 

“I was used to being solo,” Nebs had pointed out, and Rocket had winced. “You’re the one who got attached.”

His ears had flattened. “Whatever,” he’d growled. “Just thought — whatever.” He’d spun again, kicking more grass, and muttered bitterly under his breath. “So much for trying to be the captain. So much for trying to look out for the damn strays.”

“You’re the stray,” Nebula had replied with a mutinous jut of her chin — and how the fuck had she heard him? That wasn’t standard Luphomoid hearing range. 

Rocket had cursed whatever aural implants Thanos had given her. 

Then the witch had made a strange sound behind him — a little huff of breath.  A disbelieving, agonized little shred of laughter.

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During a watch party for Avengers: Endgame on Twitter, Markus revealed the idea to team Wanda with the Guardian of the Galaxy captain actually made it into several versions of the film's script. "We had whole drafts with Wanda on a road trip with Rocket," Markus wrote, "but after the Vision plot in Infinity War, nothing we came up with was anything but wheel spinning for her character." CBR