#Clara x Charon
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Well, there's definitely something in her mouth...
#a different kind of sugar bomb#all i know is her neck's gonna hurt when she wakes#i realized i don't like painting these#clara x charon#Claron for short#fallout#fallout 3#fo3#artists on tumblr#lone wanderer#fallout oc#fo3 charon#fallout fanart#fallout companions#charon fallout
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Heyyy, I honestly love your writing and was wondering can we have more Clara x reader, please??
what if I told you I have an entire E-rated mini-series half done for clara x reader set in an original world???
but yes, always, always yes for her.
pairing: clara (v) x f!reader
wc: 1.3k+
verse: coa; post the hunt, pre-john's wedding
notes: reader is part of the continental staff
“You’re back.”
Words slip past your lips without you meaning to say them; more of a strained exclamation of surprise than a casual greeting.
The woman halts in her tracks (is she limping?) and rotates her neck. Lips pressed in a bloodless line, the Vipress’ wan expression slices into you like a dull knife. Her chestnut hair hangs limp and soggy with water around her face. Her jaw rigid and her body tense.
Dark eyes squint at you, scanning, and you note the way her deft fingers twitch against her thigh, fighting back an impulse to reach for a weapon. You heard about the Hunt. Heard about all the awful things she was put through before eventually settling with Camorra. There were rumours about their protection being extended towards her. Some say she slept her way into it, namely through Santino D’Antonio who you have to admit has an intense interest in her. Others say she agreed to be Giovanni’s spy, others believed it was all a ploy by Viggo Tarasov to unleash a snake inside the Italian ranks.
Truth is you don’t believe any rumours you’ve heard about her. You recall a woman who used to shadow John Wick with a grin sharper than her blades. But she never struck you as conniving or cruel. She’d been… kind. Kinder than most people you’ve dealt with. In such subtle, unexpected ways. Gratitude few extend for those beneath them, inquiring about your day, or idle conversation. You often wondered if she was lonely. As lonely as you. If that’s why she was so kind.
Everyone wears a mask, but the Vipress always allowed you to see more. Or used to.
A permanent cloud of restless misery seems to hang over her since her ill-fated trip to Tokyo—another pool of rumours swirling around that particular event—and you can’t recall seeing a single smile since.
You miss it. Crinkled eyes and scrunched nose. Rare but potent joy. Infectious in its intensity. She…
Swallowing, you venture closer, risking a soft, “Are you injured?”
Her black clothes drip with water but you don’t comment on the steadily growing pool of water beneath her feet. Her expression doesn’t so much as shift. Stony and untrusting.
“Is Winston in?”
Rough words, her voice scratchy with tension. Her eyes scan briefly behind you, anticipating a danger she shouldn’t. You doubt Winston would ever allow anyone to disobey the Continental rules, much less when in relation to her.
“No, he…” you trail off, still staring at her. “He has your room key. I’m afraid you can’t get in until he returns. You need a change of clothes. I have some spares if you like? You’ll catch a cold otherwise. You’re soaked to the bone.”
A mirthless, half-smile crosses her face, twisting her expression into a pained grimace you hate. She doesn’t suit it. When was she bled of her fiery, snarky humour you always admired? Found secretly hilarious?
“Figures,” she mutters under her breath, glancing behind herself. An empty hallway greets her but you note how her shoulders loosen slightly, forcing a soft sigh out of her lungs. “Sure. I appreciate it.”
Giving her a weak smile, you gesture for her to follow after you. You count to five before her light footsteps register behind you. Your skin tingles as you walk, feeling her intent stare at the back of your neck. Your heels make it even harder to keep an even gait but you succeed. Charon taught you better than that.
Spine straight, you walk proudly ahead, one of the deadliest women in this city trailing after you. Questions bubble in your chest, tingling your tongue but you bite your cheek to keep them locked away. Vipress looks no better than a caged animal right now—the last thing you want to do is add to her troubled, exhausted state.
It’s not long before you reach the staff wing, unlocking the spare laundry room connecting with your new office. Your heels click while you move across the space, pulling out a new pair of jeans, a jumper and undergarments. Simple, standard clothes Continental provides free of charge to its patrons in case their previous clothes are destroyed beyond repair.
You can’t hear her while you shuffle around, but you certainly feel her presence. Prey is always aware of predators even if they can’t see them.
“You’re no longer working in housekeeping,” she speaks suddenly, a question there.
You nearly jump out of your skin, tightening your hold on the bundle of garments in your hands. Inhaling deeply, you turn to her with a slight smile, a little frail around the edges but present all the same.
The assassin leans against the wall opposite to you, bright fluorescent illuminating her features, giving her a near gaunt appearance. When did she lose so much weight? Her usually soft freckles stand stark against her too pale skin.
“I got a raise,” you tell her, pride colouring your voice and you move in her direction with a shy smile. “Just last week.”
Her eyebrows quirk, searching over your new attire of tailored dress pants, white shirt and polished heels.
“I told you, didn’t I?” she says after a pause, and you falter under her piercing stare.
Yes. Yes, she did. She told you repeatedly it’s only a matter of time before you get a raise. She thought you were a great worker and oftentimes joked about putting in a good word to Winston about you. You always wrote off her words as nothing more than jokes, meaningless conversations you have with someone when you want to be polite. John Wick certainly never got involved in your banter. His dark eyes unfailingly trailed after her smiles and laughs instead.
You could understand his appreciation, his secret hoarding of those rare instances. He wanted something—someone—he couldn’t afford to have. Couldn’t permit himself to reach for.
Staring at the Vipress you think you understand him better than you would care to admit.
She’s beautiful in a way a wild flame is beautiful. Get too close and you know you will suffer for it. But you want to.
God, you really do. Crave her in secret because… well. What are you? What can you give to a woman like her? When she holds the interest of so many above your stature. The things they say she did during the Hunt. People who are dead because of her.
She’s one of the most horrible people alive.
Yet her smiles are more blinding than the sun, and you selfishly want every single one of them.
“Yes, you did,” you agree weakly, holding out the bundle of clothes to her.
Her hands are cold when they touch yours but a tingle rushes up your spine all the same. Electric current hums under your skin when her guarded eyes do another searching sweep over your expression.
“You know my sizes?”
Your heart quivers in your chest, unsure how to proceed. Does she think you stranger, wrong, to have remembered such a thing?
“I… your laundry,” you splutter, then exhale, calming yourself to give her a steadier, “When you lived here. The dry cleaner. I… sorry, I realise this might be uncomfortable for you.”
Her hazel eyes drag over you again, hard and unyielding. Your breaths slow when she takes a few steps closer—close enough for you to scent the flowers, herbs and soil that forever seem to cling to her smooth skin. You’ve never wanted to nuzzle into someone’s neck more, feel their warmth beneath your lips. Taste and savour the exquisite familiarity of someone’s very being.
“My sizes have changed,” she says and you tell yourself you imagined the slight smile you glimpse for a split second. “But you’re welcome to learn them again.”
She brushes past you—flowers and poison and death—and you force yourself to breath, ignoring the heat crawling up your neck.
an: she. that's it - that's the message. but thank you so much for asking for her!!! I think Clara deserves a soft sapphic romance, as a treat.
#oc x you#oc x character#oc x reader#original character x reader#c: clara#john wick oc#wlw writing#fic: children of ares
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Ill Timed Confessions
Paring: OC! V x Santino D’Antonio
Warnings: death, gunshot wound, nothing but pain 😭
Word Count: 1,429
A/N: This is an AU for the ending of chapter 13 of one of the most amazing stories, called Children of Ares written by the talented @the-darklings If you haven’t read COA yet, you really should, it’s a masterpiece. But anyway, I’m sorry for the pain that you’re probably going to experience from this and I hope you enjoy the ride, I guess?
Clara races to the Continental, her lungs aching for air and her limbs screaming for rest be damned. Ares’ words still running through her head, he loves you, gives her another burst of speed as she finally lays her eyes on those familiar doors.
Clara runs straight through the lobby where she spots Charon who manages to get out the word lounge before she starts barreling towards her destination, a feeling of unease and worry flow through her as she pushes herself to run like her life depended on it.
I’m coming grumpy, hold on
Clara repeats her mantra over and over until she sees the warm and welcoming light of the lounge. She’s finally reached the top of the stairs when she hears Winston’s wary voice “Johnathan… just walk away”
At that moment, Clara realizes that no matter what Winston said, no matter what anyone said or did, he won't stop.
John can't stop, she knows that now, she’s always known that he won’t ever stop, he's too determined to place a bullet between Santino’s eyes. Time stops as she comes to a decision, the finality settling deep in her gut, a gentle calmness washes through her body as she slides down the banister.
“Yeah Johnathan,” Santino starts, in a mocking tone, “Just walk-”
BANG
A harsh quiet fills the room, a sudden unexpected stillness that has left the three men utterly speechless as they watch the scene unfold before them with looks of terror and complete shock.
Clara stumbles a bit as she tries to grasp onto the table for balance. She clutches onto the wound as she looks towards Santino, his normal expression of a cool, arrogant heir gone, an expression of pure terror replacing it.
Clara reaches out for his face, smoothing out his furrowed eyebrows, “I told you I’d come for you” She gives him a weak smile as she finally collapses, her injuries and fatigue finally catching up with her.
Multiple things happen at once, Santino reacts the fastest, jumping out of his seat to get to her. Winston struggling to keep his composure in check, John standing absolutely still, staring at the spot Clara was just occupying.
I shot her
Santino gently gathers her into his arms, “Amore, can you hear me? Open your eyes please? For me?” He watches as she struggles to open her eyes and sets her gaze on Santino’s face.
“Grumpy, are you alright?” She reaches for his face and he leans his cheek into her open palm, savoring the familiar burn of her touch. “Don’t worry about me cara mia, you just focus on keeping your eyes open, Hm?”
He frantically looks around the room until eyes land on John, fury burning in his eyes. “Look at what you’ve done! This is all YOUR FAULT!” He starts to yell in sharp Italian while an unmoving John finally lays his eyes on Clara.
I shot her
Running footsteps can be heard barreling down the stairs as Ares and the Elites made their way onto the scene. Ares does a quick sweep of the room and lands her gaze on her boss yelling at John. She slowly moves her gaze unto the body in Santino’s arms and her eyes widen as she realizes who it is.
She slowly makes her way to them, her eyes burning and slowly filling with unshed tears. Clara notices her first, a small smile on her face as she sees Ares inching her way towards them.
Clara struggles to lift her hands to speak to Ares, Santino stopping his yelling to look in the same direction as her. “Ares, grazie a Dio, I need your help… Clara was shot and she needs a doctor. You have to go find one before it's too late.”
“Grumpy-”
“No cara mia, try to stay still, we’ll get you help. What are you all just standing around for… GO GET HELP!” He yells in italian.
“Santino, look at me… Please?” Santino finally gets a good look at Clara, eyes starting to fill with tears as he met her gaze, surprised to see a loving gaze staring back at him.
“I think I have to break another promise to you grumpy, I don't think I’m gonna make it to Paris with you” She let out a sigh, her breathing growing heavier as she continues to lose blood.
She gives him a teary smile “I don’t regret it, taking the bullet for you, so don’t beat yourself over it when I’m gone okay? Don’t do anything stupid either because I won’t be able to save you next time” She inhales deeply, Santino feels a few tears slip out and cascade down his cheek.
“I promise to try not to do anything stupid amore mio” He grabs onto her hand laying against his cheek as he feels it starting to slip.
“Ares, you know how Santino manages to attract danger wherever he goes so you have to make sure he’s safe okay?” Ares manages to sign a weak I promise before she falls to her knees beside them, tears falling down her face as she gazes upon the closest thing she had to family, struggling to breathe.
“I left a letter for you in my room, Cha-Charon will be able to retrieve it for you” She inhales another sharp breath. Clara feels moisture on her cheeks, she gives her Santi a teary eyed smile.
“I know that you lo-love me grumpy,” He looks startled by the confession,”I don’t know how you managed to do it but you snuck your way into my he-heart” He lets out a shaky breath.
“What-what are you saying cara?” Clara sighs, “You’d have me be weak in front of you Santi?” She teased, he gave her a flash of a smile, “I-I, I love you Santino D’Antonio… I’m sorry for the crappy timing.” They both let out a weak chuckle.
“I’m sorry it’s taken you so long to hear it.” He shakes his head, “I would’ve waited for a lifetime if it meant you would have said it. Oh amore mio, I-” He takes in a sharp breath, trying not to let the dam break, “Clara, te amo… Ti amo con tutto il cuore” He whispers the last part, making sure that only she heard it.
Clara smiles and feels a warm type of feeling spread through her chest, the feeling disappearing as fast as it spread leaving her feeling numb. Santino leans down and leaves a kiss on her forehead, gently bumping it against his own.
She leaned forward a bit, her lips ghosting Santino's, he could feel her weak exhales this close. With his heart practically pounding out of his chest, he closes the distance and finally kisses the love of his life.
Santino feels a warmness spread throughout his body, along with a sense of relief, having learned that she did love him back. He pulled away reluctantly, cursing his lungs for their need of oxygen.
He felt her hand slip from his face and frantically looked back into her eyes. "Amore?" The light in her eyes dimmed as she managed a final adoring smile, Santino watching in anguish as she exhales for the last time, slipping into death's cold embrace.
"Cara mia?" Santino shakes her once "Clara? Wake up, amore, wake up" He shakes her again, a bit more forcefully. "Clara don't leave me please don't leave me" Santino feels the dam break, all his unshed tears making their way down his face, falling onto her cheek.
He repeats it over and over, wake up, shaking and tears streaming down his face. Ares trying to pull him away, finally succumbing to her grief as she leans onto Santino's shoulder.
Winston, still struggling with his emotions, makes his way over to them, gently grasping onto Santino's shoulder as his sobs grew louder. The finality of Clara's death sweeping through the room, not a dry eye in sight.
John sitting himself onto a chair, tears in his eyes as he realizes he killed the only other person he ever cared about in the world, Charon finally making his way into the lounge, taking in the scene before him, a look of sadness crosses his face as he inches closer.
Santino doesn't let go of Clara until she's safely placed on a gurney, attaching himself to Ares as his grief and anger take over and he dry heaves into her neck as they try to comfort each other, knowing full well that they may never recover from this devastating loss of their beautiful viper.
#john wick#santino d'antonio#john wick fic#santino d'antonio imagines#riccardo scamarcio#john wick 2#my writings#santino d'antonio x vipress#santi x v#OC! V x Santino D'Antonio#Children of Ares#coa#D writes
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Top 5: Poems? Poets? Short Stories? Nonfiction Works? TV Shows? Movies? Tropes You're a SUCKER for? Scents? Songs? Albums? Hobbies? Quotes? Artists? Joyful Memories? Out of Body Experiences? Supernatural Creatures? Myths? Places You've Been? Places You Want to go? Anime Betrayals? Food and Drink? Things You're Proud of? ~H4P
Oh how I enjoy an exercise in self realization. Hoe 4 Poe, thank you as always. Click below to read the answers.
Poems?
1. Paula Becker to Clara Westhoff by Adrienne Rich
2.A reporter from New York asks Edith Mae Chapman age nine what her Daddy tells her about the strike by Diane Gilliam
3. A Stone, a Leaf, A Door by Thomas Wolfe
4. A Woman Waits for Me by Walt Whitman (nsfw)
5. Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll
Poets?
1.Diane Gilliam
2. Jean Toomer
3.W. B. Yeats
4. Mary Szybist
5. Theodore Roethke
Honorable mentions: Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton
Short Stories?
1.The Lottery by Shirley Jackson
2. A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O’Connor
3.Fern by Jean Toomer
4. The Ugliest Pilgrim by Doris Betts
5.The Possibility of Evil by Shirley Jackson
Nonfiction Works?
1.97 Orchard: An Edible History of Five Immigrant Families in One New York Tenement by Jane Ziegelman
2.How to Be Victorian by Ruth Goodman
3.The Letters of Thomas Wolfe
4.Damned Women: Sinners and Witches in Puritan New England by Elizabeth Reis
5. Ladykillers by Tori Telfer
TV Shows?
1. The Hour (I could write essays about this gd show. I’ve rewatched it a few dozen times)
2. The X Files
3. Miranda
4. Orphan Black
5. The Haunting of ________
Movies?
1.Stay (2005)
2. As Above So Below
3.The Prestige
4.The Awakening
5.Stoker
Tropes You're a SUCKER for?
1. Unreliable Narrator
2.Unhinged Women
3. Historic Horror Mystery/Adventure
4.A good plot twist
5.Someone patching up someone's wound (points if the one doing the patching up is ignoring how terribly in love they are)
Scents?
1. The Ocean
2. Mulled Wine
3. Pine forest
4. Lit matches + Burning logs
5. Fresh Linen
Songs? (this is my top 5 EVER according to Spotify)
1. Pretty by DON BROCO
2. Charon by Keaton Henson
3. I’m Always Walking As Someone Else by American Murder Song
4. Sweet Talk by The Killers
5. Feel Real Pretty by Paper Idol
Albums?
1.Technology by DON BROCO
2.Ugly is Beautiful by Oliver Tree
3. Remedy by Son Lux
4. Murder Ballads of 1816: The Year Without Summer by American Murder Song
5. Dead Mans Bones by Dead Mans Bones
Hobbies?
1.Rubber stamp making
2.Gouache painting
3.Bullet journaling
4.Cooking
5. Letter writing
Quotes?
1. “These mountain women take a lot of killing” - Thomas Wolfe
2. “I lie in bed and write letters. I give myself completely in every direction. I want nothing, and I want for nothing. I have whole afternoons at home. I am lazy. I enjoy it. I cannot make an effort.” - Anaïs Nin
3. “The first clear thought in years: I refuse to die” - Marya Hornbacher
4. “ Half gods are worshipped in wine and flowers. Real gods require blood.” - Zora Neale Hurston
5. “Demons have faith, but they tremble.” - Fyodor Dostoevsky
Artists?
1. DON BROCO
2.Oliver Tree
3.American Murder Song
4.Son Lux
5.Keaton Henson
Joyful Memories?
1.Sitting in a rented out theatre to watch Goonies with my friends and family for my 27th birthday
2. Seeing England for the first time from the plane
3. Reading at the College of Psychic Studies
4. Seeing DON BROCO for my 26th birthday
5. Driving up to Maine by myself in my own car
Out of Body Experiences? (I haven’t had any of these. Lots of near deaths, but no OBEs)
Supernatural Creatures?
1.Sirens
2. Ghosts
3. Selkies
4. Faun
5. Maenad
Myths?
1. Block Rock Angel War
2. The Saco River Curse
3. Circe’s Island
4. Pied Piper of Hamelin
5. Orpheus and Eurydice
Places You've Been?
1. College of Psychic Studies (London, UK)
2. Brighton Pier (Brighton, UK)
3. Arcadia National Park (Bar Harbor, ME)
4. Harvard University (Boston, MA)
5. Indianapolis Union Station (Indianapolis, IN)
Places You Want to go?
1. Anatomical Museum at the University of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, UK)
2. Garden of Bomarzo (Bomarzo, Italy)
3. Undershaw (Hindhead, UK)
4. Mary King’s Close (Edinburgh, UK)
5. Winchester House (San Jose, CA)
Anime Betrayals? (its been too long since watching it to name them and give them justice)
Food?
1. Tomato soup with burrata
2. Avocado and goat cheese on a everything bagel
3. Bread and butter
4. Smoked salmon and cream cheese on a rosemary and thyme bagel
5. Cheese board especially with camembert
Drink?
1. Sweet dark red wine
2. Gin and Tonic with lime
3. Chocolate milk from a diary farm
4. Sweet creamy coffee
5. Sparkling water
Things You're Proud of?
1. I’m pretty proud of this exchange for sure. I thought it would be frivolous and only be liked by 5 peoples, but more people do and its made me so proud to call it my own.
2. I’m proud to be alive. For multiple reasons, I thought I would be dead by now so to be alive and hungry for life is incredible.
3. I’m proud of investing time and hard work into myself and my interests.
4. I’m proud of not giving up on my dreams. Its not happening currently, but I am trying to work on it everyday.
5. Finally I’m proud to know so many interesting, beautiful, fascinating, and compelling people, like you.
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John Wick : Rescatando Un Genero 2/12/17 Cuando era un niño en los 80’s crecí amando el cine, muy especialmente el de horror y acción. Recuerdo como pasaba horas frente al televisor viendo películas de ninjas, policías, mafiosos, vigilantismo, etc. Entre los tantos títulos que amaba sobresalían: “Cobra”, “Code Of Silence”, “The Gauntlet”, “Road House”, “Raw Deal” o “Sharky’s Machine” la cual es protagonizada por Burt Reynolds, de quien siempre admire su habilidad para hacer su propio trabajo sin utilizar dobles de riesgo brindando un brillo especial a la película. A través de los años esa calidad fue poco a poco disminuyendo en el cine de acción gracias a que el género de superhéroes fue insertado al género de acción de manera errónea. Se ha vuelto tan popular que ha dejado el cine de acción sin opciones que no sean la de aclimatarse al cambio del tiempo utilizando nuevas tecnologías como el “blue screen” o “green screen”, que prácticamente convierten las películas en videojuegos sin participación que solo cargan la intención de entretener volándole los sentidos al espectador o por otra parte hacer lo que hizo la grandiosa “John Wick” (2014). Volver a la fórmula original de escenas viscerales, de dobles de riesgo, y de atmósfera con “rating R” que no le importa ser un “hit” si no es por derecho y filosofía propia como se hacía en antaño y no utilizando el truco “family friendly” del PG-13. Solo apostando a que hay todavía un público sediento de este estilo, que el paso del tiempo y las nuevas tendencias ya casi han derrotado. Keanu Reeves es un actor que nunca ha dejado de sorprenderme. A lo largo de su trayectoria, en donde al principio fue acusado de tener un capacidad de actuación algo dudosa, siempre ha tenido un gusto impecable a la hora de escoger proyectos. En pocas palabras es un actor que nunca ha temido salir de su zona de comfort y eso le ha ganado una legión de fanaticos alrededor del mundo incluyendo a este que les escribe. Ciertamente no todo ha sido un éxito en su carrera, pero aun asi, fracasos como “Johnny Mnemonic” o “Chain Reaction” han encontrado estatus de culto por que a pesar de todo fueron ideas diferentes y frescas que se salieron de la fórmula y con el tiempo dieron la apariencia de que posiblemente no fueron bien apreciadas por X o Y razón. Yo personalmente tengo una “consistente” mala costumbre de NUNCA creerlo adecuado para un papel hasta que veo la película y me calla la boca. Me pasó con “Point Break”, “Speed”, "The Matrix”, “Street Kings”, “Devil’s Advocate”y ”Dracula” las cuales son muestra permanente de que Keanu sabe reconocer lo bueno. En John Wick (2014), John es un asesino retirado que encontró el amor y que había logrado hacer un cambio real en su vida. Pero como todo lo que se hace en la tierra, en la tierra se paga; su mujer muere dejándolo totalmente vacío pero con un leve destello de querer emular lo que su amada le enseño, el deseo de darse la oportunidad de amar. Toda la escencia del amor de su vida se vuelca en la figura de una cachorrita que es el último regalo que le deja su esposa. Y por supuesto, el primer amor de todo hombre que es poseer el carro soñado hasta que unos criminales le arrebatan todo despertando la leyenda, el hombre que una vez fue, el asesino temido por todos, Baba Yaga. Con impresionantes coreografías de combate a mano y a tiros (Gun-Fu) 98% libre de CGI, el total compromiso de sus actores y directores (los cuales son dobles de riesgos o “stuntmans” de profesion ) y la construcción de toda la leyenda que rodea al personaje de John Wick, Keanu vuelve a utilizar el don maestro escogiendo una película que sobre el papel parecería una de acción genérica pero en ejecución es una joya del género muy parecida a “Unforgiven” de Clint Eastwood por la similitud del personaje y sus circunstancias que con el paso del tiempo se convertira en uno de los títulos obligados a ver por generaciones futuras. Si es cierto que “John Wick” es un clásico de acción moderno, “John Wick Chapter 2” es la reafirmación de ese clásico y la creación de una franquicia de acción que traera muchas secuelas. John Wick Chapter 2 (2016) retoma desde el principio todos los eventos de la primera parte en una secuencia de acción espectacular que me sacó el aliento como la primera vez que vi el emblemático “Street Shootout” de “Heat” (1995). En “John Wick Chapter 2”, vemos a un John decidido a como de lugar terminar lo que empezo. Manteniendo su estatus implacable e imponiendo los términos de la tregua que solo el impondrá cuando el asi lo entienda por que sabe que es de la única manera que los mantendra alejados de “Baba Yaga” y es que el miedo a su figura es su norte. Ese miedo siempre lo termina convirtiendo en víctima de su propio éxito por que gracias a un juramento de sangre y su aura de invencibilidad es lo que básicamente lo obliga a una misión imposible. El truco de ”John Wick Chapter 2” (título magistralmente implementado), es sentirse como el siguiente capítulo de la misma historia por que todas las consecuencias de los actos en la primera parte son las que tiene que enfrentar en esta. Vemos además el organigrama del sindicato de asesinos al que John pertenece (el cual es muy similar a el sindicato de criminales de la película “Payback” con Mel Gibson) y como este opera de manera casi satánica con juramentos de sangre y total devoción de culto como se manifiesta en la escena de las catacumbas donde la película prácticamente se convierte en una película de horror atmosférico y supervivencia claustrofóbica con miles y miles de tiros. Evocando clasicos como “Race with the Devil” o la reciente y siniestra “Kill List”. Así como también los simbolismos como las monedas de oro (visto en la primera parte también) o el personaje “Charon” (empleado del “Continental” interpretado por Lance Reddick), en clara alusión a “Charon” el navegante de “ferry” de “Hades” en la mitología griega que llevaba las almas de los recién fallecidos con un costo de una moneda. “John Wick Chapter 2” es definitivamente un clásico de acción de 100% “Stuntwork”. Con un protagonista realizando el 95% de su trabajo de riesgo como Burt Reynolds, Steve McQueen, Jackie Chan y demás maestros del género. Acción en cámara recogiendo lo mejor del anime, novelas gráficas, “Hong Kong Action Cinema” y películas de acción de los 70’s y 80’s . Todo esto creando una de las mejores secuelas que he visto en mi vida y poniéndola en el mismo lugar ilustre de “Empire Strikes Back”, “The Dark Knight”, “Terminator 2: Judgment Day” o “The Godfather 2” que no solamente llego para construir una franquicia, llego para salvar un género.
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Charon is starting to have some regrets...
#there will be no sitting for a while my dear#he'll come to like her I swear#I am out of drawing energy#fallout#fallout companions#fallout 3#fo3#clara x charon#lone wanderer#fo3 charon#artists on tumblr#fallout fanart#charon
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Pros: You no longer work for Ahzrukhal Cons: You stuck with a girl with jerky man fetishes
#he's ugly but he's my ugly#I always like pairing my OC with several companions (cough- slut)#but i think i'm gonna stay with charon (why you always lying??)#Clara x Charon#fallout#fallout 3#fo3#fallout fanart#artists on tumblr#charon#fo3 charon#fallout oc
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—𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔;
—LATE NIGHT CONVERSATIONS.
pairing: oc!v (clara) x f!reader
word count: 1.4k+
summary: “Why do you linger in the shadows?”
warnings: just fluff, just soft.
notes: Is this the most meta thing I’ve ever written? Yeah. Enjoy!!
It’s cold outside.
Huffing a breath, you enter the Continental terrace, shivering at the cold sting of wind.
The fire is crackling, much to your surprise, but perhaps you shouldn’t be surprised after all. You know at least one patron that enjoys spending time up here. A patron Winston always makes sure is taken care of. Even if that person desires to sit outside in the middle of the night.
The sight of her stops you dead in your tracks.
The Vipress.
A woman of legend at this point. A woman capable of such terrible, awful things. You’ve heard so many stories about her. Who hasn’t?
John Wick’s old protege who more than lives up to his legacy.
What you hear about her, however, depends almost entirely on who you’re talking to.
Some speak of her fondly. Others speak of her with hate, malice.
To be powerful is to be feared and hated.
She told you that once herself.
“Why do you linger in the shadows, (Name)?”
You flinch at her soft question.
Your throat feels dry as you search for something to say that won’t make you sound like a creep ogling her when she’s unaware.
The fact that she knew it was you without even turning to look behind her sends an odd thrill down your spine.
Dangerous and beautiful.
Loose strands of rich brown hair brush against her cheek as the Vipress turns towards you.
She sits on the sofa, facing the fire, a cup nested between her palms.
You wonder if it’s tea or coffee or something else. She doesn’t drink often, you know that much.
When you first met her, you assumed it was out of preference, now you know that’s not quite right. She’s too wary; always tense, always ready to fight back. Too wound up to let herself relax and you know those instincts have been beaten into her quite literally.
It makes your heart ache. That this woman of few smiles but iron will can never quite let herself relax. Or be happy.
“I—I’m sorry,” you mutter, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to impose.”
The Vipress watches you. Eyes dark, thoughtful, and shrewd. Those eyes remind you of Winston. Somehow both the manager and the woman before you make you feel completely stripped bare under their gazes.
“You’re not imposing,” she replies, and turns to face the fire again. “Anyone can use the terrace.”
Fidgeting you stare at her profile, at the way fire licks across her drawn features. She looks tired. Her jaw is set though. As always. Her mind is no doubt focused on something far more important than you.
You turn to go.
“Leaving already?”
Exhaling, you risk a quick glance over your shoulder. She hasn’t moved.
“I...”
“You came here for a reason,” she notes, and raises her cup, taking a small sip of her drink. “Come and enjoy the fresh air.”
You do.
Shuffling your feet, you approach slowly.
The Vipress doesn’t like to be touched. Doesn’t like having people behind her, either. You respect those things about her despite not knowing the reason behind that caution. Just rumours. But there are many of those circulating around her, and you’ve come to find that only a handful are actually true.
You wish you knew her name.
The Vipress feels distant, cold. A title that could and does inspire fear in many.
Some call her V. A fond shortening. But you wish you knew her name. Her real name. You bet it’s beautiful. You wish she trusted you with it.
Winston knows it. Charon, too.
But you never dared to ask them. It never felt right to do something like that.
You keep distance between you as you sit down, glancing at the woman still watching the flames.
“Tea?” you try awkwardly.
A slight smile twitches her lips and something inside your stomach flutters at the sight of it. It suits her. So much. You wish it was more than a fleeting, distant thing that is gone in a blink.
V straightens with a nod of her head. “Berber tea,” she offers by the way of explanation but all you can focus on is the way her freckles appear more visible in this orange glow. “A Moroccan speciality. It’s delicious.”
Something passes over her features at that mention but it’s gone quickly again, and she turns towards you, offering the cup.
Being so close to her just makes eye contact harder to bear. Her gaze is too arresting and you reach for the cup with a fumble.
Ignoring the heat of her fingers brushing against yours, you lift the cup closer, giving it an experimental sniff. It smells delicious but strong.
“How did you even get it?”
Her dark eyes flicker away for a moment, thinking, before she looks back at you. Her black jumper almost makes her blend in with the night around you. Like a dark promise, a secret. She favours dark colours usually. But you’ve seen her in greens and reds, too.
You lift the cup to your face, hoping to hide away from her for a moment.
“Winston,” she says simply, and you try not to look down at her fidgeting fingers. Another tick. Another manifestation of the pain she carries. “For the raw materials. I learned how to brew it myself.”
She uses that terrifying mind of hers for more than just tea making, you know that, too.
A thousand questions tickle the tip of your tongue.
You take a sip as you think and choke at once.
Not because the tea is too hot but because—
Your face scrunches in disgust. “EW—”
A quiet noise reaches you and you blink the tears from your eyes, swallowing down your revulsion.
Vipress chuckles again; a gentle sound, a genuinely amused one, and you feel embarrassment pool in your stomach immediately. It sits hot and thick in your gut as you think of something to say. You do like that sound though. Her laugh. It’s pleasant and warm, even if a bit awkward—like she’s unused to laughing or smiling. But you feel like such a fool—
“It’s strong,” she murmurs, a smile still twisting her mouth and you stare at her, flustered. “I’m sorry, I should have warned you. You get used to it. I tend to go stronger on mint and lemongrass, too.”
You can tell that. Your tongue feels a little numb.
Maybe a lot numb.
“It’s okay, I just don’t think it’s for me,” you exhale and clear your throat, licking your lips. “Uh, why are you not sleeping?”
Her eyebrows rise as she reaches out as you hand her the cup back, lacing your fingers together.
The woman gazes at you for a beat before offering a cool, “I don’t sleep much.”
“Oh.”
Silence follows.
You desperately want to ask her questions but can’t find a single thing to say. She scares you. She fascinates you. There is an odd magnetism that makes just being in her presence feel nice. Thrilling, too. Something lingers in her hazel eyes. A whispered promise of danger, adventure, love.
Like she might take your hand and disappear with you.
Whisk you away somewhere no one will ever find you.
A nervous flutter explodes inside your stomach at that thought.
You would, you think recklessly, run away with her if she asked.
“Would you like to go for lunch?” you blurt out in a rush. “Tomorrow?”
You want to die. Maybe the building will collapse and you will never have to think about what an absolute idiot—
“I can’t.”
Something inside your heart withers. Of course she won’t want to.
You’re you and she’s...
She’s the Vipress.
She must see something on your face—embarrassment or disappointment, no doubt—and her expression softens a touch.
“It’s not what you think,” she adds quietly, squinting at you, curious. The seriousness melts from her features for a moment, and warmth floods your chest at the way a slight, apologetic smile graces her face. “I’m leaving for a job tomorrow morning. Europe.”
Nibbling on your bottom lip, you venture a low, “After you come back then?”
She doesn’t say anything for a long time. As if thinking hard about something. It makes you feel self-cautious despite the fact that her regard is not harsh. Just pensive.
Your eyes drop first.
She didn’t say no before but—
“I would like that.”
Your attention snaps to her, your lips parting in surprise.
Around the rim of her cup you can just make out her smile. It’s almost hidden but you see it. She isn’t looking at you, either, but that’s fine.
You only manage a small, breathless, “Okay.”
Her smile widens.
. . .
an: this is something self-indulgent I wrote just for fun so I don’t expect many people to actually like this. Though, all the same, to those of you who read it, I hope you did!
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