#the manila continental

[princesslacroix]

Kristina Ampuan facts (but it’s deeply rooted in Filipino culture)

🦪 Her favorite fruits are mangoes, peaches, and tangerines

🦪 I associate with her owls since they’re usually a symbol of wisdom and grace, which she is

🦪 Her full name is pretty long because… my name is long…

🦪 Kristina Maria (Castillo) Ampuan

🦪 She is Catholic, as many Filipinos are, but despises the current state of the church (me fr)

🦪 Her favorite food is chicken pastil and sinigang (it’s fire guys pls)

🦪 If she wasn’t a Continental Manager/if things were better, she would be a resort owner

🦪 Just like Hearst, she’s associated with the sea, because all my ocs are associated with the sea (why I picked team seafoam on af��)

🦪 Her favorite song is Lunod by Ben&Ben and Demonyo by juan karlos

🦪 She’s ace (demiromantic)

🦪 Has the stupidest nicknames for people she’s close with(cause my nickname irl is fucking NINGNING😡)

🦪 Her love language is quality time and lets Jairo run errands with her (me n my dad core)

🦪 She could beat your ass with sticks (search arnis)

🦪 Despite her looking mean to the rest of the staff, she’s very social and likes to talk to other people

🦪 She can do math quickly cause my mom can and she’s based off of her so

[kavalyera]

“Me? Tired? I’m running on several cans of soda and pure will.”

John Wick OC, 𝐉𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐋𝐀𝐋𝐄

[the-manila-continental]

Character Profile for the MANAGER, MS. AMPUAN here

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

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

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

TW: kind of kidnapping if you squint ; mentions of death ; violence ; angst ; nsfw kudos to @scarlettspectra and @lilspookymeh for being music gurus and basically inspiring my entire writing playlist ❤️

“John, I can’t stay here - I have work, Michael.”

“It’s not up for debate.” 

She scowls at the way he talks to her like a petulant child, looks over at Winston for help and finds none.

“You can’t make me stay here,” she grits.

He fixes her with a dark, mean look, clears the distance between them in one stride, and grabs her before she can think about running. “I can make you stay, but I don’t want to have to do that.”

He’s really just springing this on her. Because the death of Maria puts a target on his back and therefore a smaller one on hers, John thinks the best solution is keeping her locked in the safe house that is Winston’s massive hotel. No consulting her, no talking about options. Just cut and dry. Do as I say. She’s offered alternative solutions, even - “I’ll walk around with Victor’s - sorry, Viggo’s - bodyguards at my side!” - because, of course, her having a private little secret service of her own is now unnegotiable, too. Imagine that.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she retorts, voice quiet despite her lionhearted words. 

“I’m not speaking in metaphors,” John says, “you’re staying here. Either way. I need you safe.”

She tries to tear her arm from his grip, but it’s like attempting to wrestle with a gorilla. “So what? I’m just supposed to stay locked up in your gilded cage and forget I have a life?”

He loosens his hold a little bit, lets her puffy flesh spring back from bruising, and softens, hard rock eyes turning molten. Still, there is fire involved. “You can hate me if you want. You don’t have to look at me or speak to me, but I’m responsible for your safety, now. I need you unharmed.”

Ah, there it is again, that fucking pang in her heart that leaves her whole being bloodless and aching when he reminds her why she’s ultimately here - pity. 

Sure, he’s told her otherwise a thousand times now, and his actions are testament to how much he wants her, but that admittance is all she needs to start thinking she’s a charity case again. 

Tears swell her eyes. 

She can’t believe they’ve gone from bliss to this in such a short amount of time. And now what? She’s trapped here and humiliated? Pitied? 

“No, I didn’t-“ 

“Yeah you did,” she whispers, looking down at the shiny dark floor, watching little tear droplets accumulate on its surface.

He lets her pull away and gathers every ounce of his willpower to avoid following as she walks out of the room and into the bustling hotel. 

“That went well,” Winston comments, flipping through the manila envelope of witness statements.

His knuckles ache to punch something. Marcus isright here, downing scotch like it’s his last day on earth - maybe he thinks it is - one little punch wouldn’t hurt him. 

More willpower used up to not hit Marcus. He decides to leave the room instead. 

Marcus thinks he did it. Winston might as well think so, too. The eight witnesses that put him at the location say he did. 

The only person that knows he didn’t do it - because he was instead with her when he supposedly took a round trip flight to El Paso and fixed a bullet into Maria’s skull - wants nothing to do with him when the only thing he wants is to curl up beside her and lament. 

He needs an outlet. 

———————————

“You need to call the police,” Michael tells her. His voice fades away for a minute while she hears rummaging in the background. 

“I don’t want to get anyone in trouble Michael. It’s not like I’m being tortured or something.” 

“And?” 

“It wouldn’t matter.” 

“I don’t know, they could probably come get you out of there?” 

“I don’t think cops come here, Michael. I don’t think they’re allowed to be here.”

He pauses for dramatic effect, probably. She’s glad she called him. His usual antics calm her. “They’re not allowed to tear gas peaceful protesters either, but….. ”

“No, I think they kill them here.” 

“Sneak out,” Michael concludes. 

“That’s my next bid.” 

“Damn, your pussy must be god tier if this man is kidnapping you, though.” 

She rolls her eyes. 

“What?! I’m just saying!” She hears the no good grin and it puts a smile on her face. 

“I don’t know how I’m gonna pay rent, Michael. I told work, but they’re probably going to fire me - if they even believe me - and then I won’t have income to pay my share-“

“ Are you serious?” Michael sighs. “You’ve just been kidnapped and you’re worried about me ? Babe, stop.”

“We made a deal Michael, and all I’ve done is fuck it up.” 

“Worry about getting out of there, and we’ll sort it out once you’re free of crazy boyfriend.”

“He’s not crazy,” she tries, “he’s just… worried.” 

“Uh-huh.” Michael takes another pause.  “Anyway, what is this place called?”

“You are not coming here, Michael. You’ll get hurt.” 

“Why? I’m not a cop.”

“Michael.”

“Right, right. You’re living the mystery novel life. Is it wrong that I’m a little jealous?” 

“No, I guess not. He just kind of makes it seem like he has to keep me here. I feel like a burden.”

“ You ? Feeling like a burden ?” The sharp sarcasm in his voice cuts. “Have you tried telling him that?”

“Well, no, but I’m scared.” 

Michael sighs. “Jesus, hun, I’m not sure what to tell you here. Sounds like he’s a little bit dysfunctional. Maybe he’s just not ready for a relationship. I mean, he has to know that holding you against your will isn’t okay.” 

She sighs back. It’s like their own little angsty language. “It’s not like I’m normal.” 

“Ah, so maybe the darkness in you calls to the darkness in him?” Michael sounds like he’s reciting breathy Shakespeare.

She laughs. 

——————-

The Continental is massive, shimmering, crystal chandeliers and intricate, antique carpets. 

Spotless, open, airy, a few delicate plants dotted about. Every room or hallway or lobby she enters feels too big - like she’s a kid again, tiny in proportion to everything else. Even the elevators gold and glimmer and loom.

Private clubs with massive polished oak doors to guard against entry, workers in perfectly tailored suits everywhere; one around each corner, in the bars and shops, diligent and watching. 

If she had any hope before of getting out of here, now she definitely doesn’t. Seems like every exit has an individual posted on it who would put Benny’s hulking mass to shame. 

She sees a woman who is taller than John, in a sleeveless tuxedo dress, muscles rippling over her shoulders and neck. She doesn’t think she has ever envied or admired someone so much. Despite the bodybuilder physique, this towering lady moves like flowing water. She just stares at her for a few minutes, entranced by the otherworldly beauty. How can he even think of liking her when women like this live and breathe? 

It’s easy to forget the outside world exists, here. But, she stills feels trapped - heralded off to some magical realm where everyone has a gun tucked under their shirt instead of a magic wand. 

She gets lost in the place, always expecting John to be waiting for her around corners or down a hallway. He’s not, though, instead leaving her alone like he said he would. That pisses her off and disappoints her a little bit; she wants him to follow her, fight for her, extinguish her flame of independence, which must mean there’s seriously something wrong here. He can’t just lock her up and then leave. 

Ignoring the empty John shaped space in her gut, she walks until she finds the library. Wall to wall shelves, rolling ladders carved in intricate, braided designs, a few cozy reading nooks. Librarian fantasy says hello. 

She scowls at the thought, goes to the fairytale section, lying to herself about thinking of John in this instance, too.

As chance would have it, someone she recognizes is here. The older woman from the bookstore in the mall, still sans reading glasses, squinting at the cover of a worn yellow hardback. 

“Do you need some help with that?” 

“Oh, my dear, nice to see you again.” There is an air of poise about this woman even in her shortcomings. She hands the book delicately to her rescuer, smiling softly. “Would you mind?” 

“Oh,” she thumbs the cover, feels the carved gold letters on the front. “This is Alice in Wonderland.” 

“Lewis Carroll?” 

“Yeah, I can tell you about this without even reading it.” She grins, cheeks puffing, pleased to have someone familiar here. 

The woman takes the book from her hands and sticks it back. “As interesting as Alice in Wonderland is, I’d much rather talk to you. You don’t belong here, do you? In a place like this?” 

She looks down at her feet. “Ah, no.” Really, she could pose the same question, but she finds herself unsurprised that nice stranger books in this hotel. Maybe it was the men in suits at her side. Maybe it’s because she’s used to this by now - fitting in nicely, snug as a bug in a rug. Meant for the underground. 

“So why are you here, dear?” 

They end up sitting in one of the lounges. She offers to go grab them both tea, paying for it and tipping despite hospitality, and then settles in to talk. This woman reminds of her of Winston, or like one of the kind, witty grandmothers from sparse foster homes. No matter how mean the rest of the family was, usually the elders were double kind to make up for it. 

She ends up telling her small things. Not too much, but more than she can Michael. This woman is already involved in the ancient crime world, so she feels like she can divulge more info. Plus, she’s confident that anyone here could just type her name into some imaginary database and bring up every detail about her, anyway. 

“Ah, John Wick, Boogeyman.” 

“People keep calling him that. I don’t think he’s that scary.” 

The woman laughs. “I don’t know, I’ve only heard. Never met.”

“Well, he’s actually nice,” she supplies, sipping her hibiscus tea. “Stubborn, but nice.”

“And he’s keeping you here to protect you, so he can’t be all bad.” 

“Yeah… we’ll go with that.” 

The woman laughs. “Oh, there is a fire in you. Misplaced, but a fire all the same.” 

“Misplaced?”

“You desire hardness, outer armor, to be strong, but you don’t realize that your true power comes from your softness.”

“I’m tougher than I look.” 

“I’ve no doubt.” Her contemplative eyes assess the cementing posture. 

“Sorry, I’m just. I’m irritated that I have to stay here.” She drops her shoulders, relaxes her jaw. 

“You’ve got a free spirit. You remind me of someone I once knew.”

“Was it you?” She smiles again. 

“Indeed. Unfortunately, this old bird had her wings clipped long ago.” 

“Your wings are massive and amazing, still.” 

The elder beams at her. “You know, my children think I’m out of my mind.”

“Huh? But you’re not.”

She shrugs. “They want my empire. I suppose I am getting older - should probably relinquish it sooner rather than later.” 

Just like with John, she feels that deep dive questions would be too forthcoming and intrusive here. “So, they’re making up stuff to get it? Sounds like your kids aren’t that great.” 

“Ah, but isn’t that my fault if they are not great, then?” She sighs and leans back into cushions that swallow her small frame. 

This is a hard question. She’s spent a lifetime blaming foster parents for fucking her up so much. 

“See? You can’t argue with that.” Her crinkled smile widens. 

“Mistakes are mistakes. The past doesn’t define the future. You do seem lovely now, regardless of what happened when they were kids.” 

“What do you do for work, my darling?”

“I’m a nurse.” 

——————————-

After talking for a long time with Ella, her mystery bookstore friend, she goes to knock on Winston’s study door, surprised she can even find it again. It takes a while, and she gets completely lost in the process. 

“Won’t find him in there. I think he’s downstairs. Do you need something?” She turns to find a tall, tattooed, beautiful woman folding linens onto a silver cart. 

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to him. Sorry.”

“You’re John’s girl?” She holds out a hand, gives a soft smile. “I’m a good friend of his.”

Why in the hell can’t she repress the jealousy raging inside her as she takes this absolutely gorgeous woman’s hand in her own? “Uh, yeah.” She resists asking how everyone seems to know what she looks like and who she belongs to. Maybe it’s just that distinguishable? John Wick with a fat girlfriend. 

Ouch . Back to hurting her own feelings again. 

“Oh, it’s really nice to meet you. A friend of John’s is a friend of mine. I’m a bell hop, trying to work my way up into bartender. They make more money.” She fixes her pile of cloth and then looks up as if forgetting something. “I’m Addie.” 

She’s at a loss for words, feels incredibly sheepish around this girl for no reason - exposed and open, ready for final judgement. Harrowing.

She introduces herself back despite trepidation and tries to give a warmer smile than she’s capable of right now. “Oh, that’s cool. You like bartending?” 

Addie laughs at some inside joke. “Oh, God no. Not in this city. But in the hotel, it’s great. Not many other bar owners will let you punch their customers for getting too handsy.”

She laughs. “Serves them right.” 

“I don’t mean to pry,” Addie smooths over a crisp sheet. “But how did you meet John?” 

Oh, the million dollar embarrassing question. “The prison. I was his nurse.” 

“Oh, that’s cute as hell.” Addie’s melodic giggle helps lower her raised haunches. “He hasn’t gone steady in a minute. I’m glad he’s happy. I’ve known him since we were kids, I mean, and he hasn’t been this sunshiny in a long time.”

Ah, another one of John Wick’s long time friends. “He’s a pretty good guy.” 

Addie nods. “Ah, we’re not passing the bechdel test.”

She chuckles. “You’re right.” 

“We will next time, promise. I gotta get back to work.” Addie gives her a wink and then she’s off. She calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll tell Winston you’re looking for him.”

“Thanks, but you don’t-“

“It’s fine.” Addie grins back. “He’s not busy.” 

—————————

She gets lost a few more times, maybe just maybe hoping for a tall, dark hero to come swoop her up and apologize. She’s more disappointed than she should be when that doesn’t happen. 

But, she does run into Charon again when she finds the front entrance. 

He gives her a small smile. “I trust you are finding the provisions here adequate, Miss?” 

She leans on his counter, emboldened by the lack of patrons in the lobby. “Could I ask you something?”

“Anything.” 

“I was in the library, and I saw the book with you in it. Behind the big glass display case, you know? You were in an orchestra in the pictures. Do you play… cello, right?”

“That’s correct. Well, was correct. I haven’t played in several years. Do you play?” 

“Ah, no.” She shrugs. “I just saw you in there and you looked amazing. Like really in your element.”

“Do I look.. out of my element now?” His head tilts, smile broadening.

“No, no, not at all.” Her eyebrows furrow. “Sorry, I just meant - you really looked like you loved it.”

“I did. It was exhilarating.” 

“Why don’t you do it anymore?” 

“I suppose I just got busy with other duties. I enjoy working at the hotel. The light of the stage was wonderful for a while, but I realized I was meant for a quieter fate. One with less excitement.”

“This is less excitement?” She gestures around. 

“Continental ground is sacred. We rarely have to take action against our guests for violence.” He pauses. “I know your experience has indicated otherwise.” 

She shakes her head. “Sorry, I didn’t-“

“There is nothing to be sorry for.” His pleasant smile still lingers as testament to that. “It’s alright to be curious. Ask me anything you want.”

She does. She asks who can stay here, who is not allowed to stay here, how long it’s been around, who built it. She asks him about the cello, if his hands got scarred, if he would play again at some point so she could come to his concert. 

Charon is infinitely interesting, sports the same dark humor that John does, and she chats with him until he gets customers. 

—————————

John stays gone. All day, all night. The more time goes by, the more anxious she gets. She should be angry, seething, but instead she just wants him to be okay, to come back to her. She’s grown so miserably attached to this elusive man, and the insanity that goes with that attachment is eating at her like swarms of locusts on fresh fields of grain.

—————————

He’s all bruised knuckles and blood flecked, sinew and tendon and vein. The smell of diesel and sweet liquor and heavy iron. She can’t help but peak at him from under the comforter while he undresses. 

“Good morning.” 

Of course he knows. He’s got sonic radar. She flushes, and doesn’t answer him. 

“I’d ask if you want to join me in the shower, but that would make me a bigger asshole.” 

“I don’t remember even saying you could stay in the same room as me anymore,” she grumbles, shifting under the blanket so a few of her toes peak from the end.

He resists tickling her. 

“You’re right. Let me take this shower, and I’ll book another one.”

“Are you rich?” She asks. 

“I have money.”

“Like, rich money?” 

He raises a dark eyebrow and looks far too good standing nude and bruised on the cold hardwood. 

“Does it matter?”

“I feel like you’re trying to buy me off.” 

He snorts, rubs a flexing hand down his abdomen and yawns. God, he’s fucking delectable. “Would it work?”

“Fuck you, John.” She tries to make her words hurt, but they’re half assed and weak.

He’s got a smile that makes her seethe and clench at once. Infuriating bastard. 

“Want me to fix that attitude with my tongue?” He offers, watches her toes curl up as she turns the other way and becomes a smaller mound under the covers. 

“I want you to go away.” 

He gives her credit for the control in her thickened voice. Saliva, always giving her away. 

“You got it.”

When the bathroom door shuts, she flings the blanket off and goes to get breakfast. For herself. 

Winston catches her in the dining room. “Do the clothes I sent up fit?” He asks. 

“Yeah, they do. Thank you. I appreciate it.” She looks distraught, out of element.

He hums and threads her arm with his, walking with her to the serving bar. “I’m sure he’ll take you to get your clothes and toiletries soon,” Winston promises. “I offered to have Charon escort you, but Johnathan seems to have faith in your ability to weasel away.” 

She huffs a laugh. “I’m not promising I wouldn’t try to escape.” 

“Are you angry with me?”

“No, I get it, he’s a bully.” 

“Ah, can’t say it’s entirely his fault. I’m concerned for your safety, too.” Winston sits with her as she orders cheesy eggs and toast and orange juice. 

“If he would have just explained it better, maybe I would have compromised.”

“Unless you know how to kill someone, I’m afraid there’s little compromise for you here.” Winston pauses, rubbing at the slick surface of the bar top. 

“I’m still mad at him.” She’s not sure why she feels so comfortable talking to Winston about her relationship problems, but the man is more than happy to chat and advise. 

“I can understand that. What can I do to make you feel better?” 

“Oh, no, Mr. Scott, you’ve already done so much. I’m sorry for being like this.” 

He smiles warmly, amusement cresting the crinkles of his face. 

Normally, she’s wary of being touched, but there is nothing except reassurance in Winston’s hand rested over hers. “My dear, you are human. Flesh and bone. Your feelings and emotions are your power, no matter how overwhelming they may become. Never forget that.” 

She feels a little like she has stepped from the mortal realm into fae territory. Everything shines and dazzles, wise figures give her hopeful advice, and there is a beautiful, inhuman man terrorizing her with a small grin from across the room.

She quickly looks away from John, and Winston of course notices the pick up in nerves. 

“Do you want me to kick him out?” He asks her. 

She giggles. “Will he leave?” 

“It’s worth a try.” 

Avoiding John Wick is kind of like being a moth who hates light. 

When he looks at her, she’s looking at him. And vice versa. She tries to eat, but feels too nervous to finish with coal eyes burning the endless fire in her belly, asks for a to go box and gulps the rest of her orange juice down. 

He watches her while she walks out, sipping his black coffee, unabashedly staring directly at her beautiful bottom. 

“I’ve thought about it,” Winston tells him, taking the seat across the table. “And I believe you.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” John asks. 

Winston ignores his sour mood. “Someone is trying to frame you, Johnathan. Someone wants you dead. With eight witnesses, the high table will come for you. Especially concerning the public knowledge that Maria put a bounty on your head. This is a war that ends one way.” 

“I know.” 

“So, do something.”

————————-

“I’m sorry.” 

She turns around to find him leaning into the door jam.

“I told you I wasn’t good at this.” He motions between them. “But that’s no excuse to be an asshole.”

“I’m not good at it either, in case you didn’t notice,” she replies dryly. 

“If you get hurt, I’m not sure what I’ll do,” he admits. 

“But I can’t live like a clipped bird, John. And you’re just so forceful about it. I can’t get a word in when your mind is set. Michael has been nothing but good to me, and now I’m bailing on him. I like my job. It makes me feel like I have a purpose.”

“It’s not forever, just until I can figure this out.”

“Is it really that dangerous? If it is why did we start this in the first place?” That kind of sounds like she regrets the relationship, so she doubles back. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question. I would gladly meet you again and again, even if it meant more hardship, John, but I can’t just leave my old life.” 

He gives a deep, baritone sigh, running hands through his damp hair. 

She gets a little waft of the delicious shampoo he used, and itches to go to him. 

“Just give me a day. One day. I’m going to fix this, and I need you to trust me.”

She eyes him, makes him feel vulnerable - raw - with the power of her stare.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” It sounds more like a plead than a demand, so she provides.

“Are you just doing this because you feel like you have to? Am I inconveniencing your life even more?” 

He looks at her for a very long time.

Then, pads over and tips her chin up with his fingers. “I live in a dangerous world. I’m scared to lose you in its chaos.” 

“But is it out of obligation or-“

“It’s because I need you.”

“You need me?”

He presses his forehead against her own. “Yes.” There is frustration in his voice.

She cradles the back of his head, inhaling spice and salt, quiet and still. Some kind of storm will rage and destroy her later, but for now she can keep it at bay while he is folding her up and pressing her into the bed. 

“This doesn’t solve anything,” she says, trying not to lose her resolve in the delicious wet of his mouth. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, lips trailing the sensitive bridge of her ear. 

She doesn’t. Lets him gather her hair back and lick behind her lobe, turn her into a quivering little mess of a human clinging to his sweatshirt. 

He can’t get enough of her in his mouth at once, uses his hands to make up for the loss, cups her tummy and groans at how soft she is. God, he could just sink right into her and never come out. 

“This is all I wanna do,” he says. “Every time I look at you, you just get more tempting. That cute little smile, pretty skin, soft little body. Who sent you here to destroy me?” 

“Th-the FBI.” She’s smiling that sunshine smile, animosity an afterthought, pulling at her new fixation which happens to be his velvet hair, rubbing her fingers into his scalp. 

His cock gives a little jump against her thigh, and he vibrates for her again. Ah, of course it’s the hair. 

“You like it when I play with your hair?” She asks, voice hitched high and tight as he sucks down her neck. 

“Yeah,” he admits. 

“I uh, yeah, l-like your hair, Johnny.” She sloppily threads a strand around her fingers, tugging just a little. 

And to think he was contemplating getting another buzz cut because of this mess always being in his face. Not now. Now he would never cut it again. Now it was his pride and fucking joy. 

He snakes his hands under her shirt, rubs at her bare tummy, pulls and feels and groans about how fucking pillowy she is - about how a bullet would probably just bounce right off of her. 

“Fuck, I love this,” he says, making her giggle and grab his fingers. 

“Tickles,” she tells him.

Immune to bullets, but not to soft fingers digging into her plump. He can’t help the hells grin while he indulges himself and makes her a giggly, frantic mess. “Where you going? Huh?” Chasing her up the bed, pressing her against the pillows, making her scream and curse his name. 

Only a little bit of fun, and then he’s kissing her ribs, pulling her bra up to let these beautiful tits flop in his face so he can nuzzle between them. Giggles into moans, the chant of her hips matching the rhythm of mewling sounds. 

“You’re so fuckin sweet.” 

Her hands make their way back to his hair.

Big cock pressing and grinding into her giving thigh, fingers running circles around her areolas to tease, mouth nipping at the tips of her breasts. 

He gets her begging, whining, needs her to ask him for it. 

“Pretty girl wants to cum on my tongue again, huh?”

“Yeah.” Little shimmering tears in her lashes, lips all puffy and big just like her nipples. 

“Tell me. Tell me, babydoll.” 

Flooding with hot embarrassment, biting her lip, trying not to crumble and break, she does her best for him, tries her hardest to make him happy. “John, make me cum. Please.”

It’s not good enough. “Ah, ah,” he scolds. “Make you cum on what?” 

“Y-your tongue. Want your tongue. Please, fuck.” 

“There you go.” And how could he ever fucking say no? 

How could he not spend a decade between these comfy thighs eating her sweet puffy cunt nice and slow. 

Fucking her on his fingers, tickling her little clit with his tongue and making her her hips spark up off the bed, giving her rug burn on top of rug burn while she pulls his hair and curses his wicked mouth. Sometimes it hurts, especially like now when she’s too drunk on his mouth to be careful or sweet - and he fucking loves it. 

He may never be able to convince her that he’s sorry with words, but he can still use his mouth to accomplish the same goal.

By the sounds of it, she, at least for now, forgives him.

[hodutemple]

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Florida’s history is deeply interwoven with the legacies of Afro-Indigenous communities, particularly the Muscogee, Seminole, and maroon societies, as well as their enduring connections with Cuba. This narrative explores how these cultures intersected through shared struggles for freedom, cultural exchange, and significant historical events.

Muscogee Warriors and Cuban Imprisonment: A Key Connection

One of the pivotal elements in this Afro-Indigenous narrative is the story of Muscogee warriors imprisoned in Cuba. In 1792, Muscogee warrior Estejoca led an attack on a Spanish store at San Marcos de Apalache in Florida. Captured by the Spanish, Estejoca was imprisoned in Cuba, Madrid, and even Manila in an attempt to remove him from his influence in Florida. However, his story does not end there. Estejoca made a daring escape while en route to Spain and found his way back to Florida, after stops in England and Nassau. This episode is significant as it demonstrates the longstanding interaction between the Muscogee and Spanish colonial powers, including Cuba.

Additionally, Indigenous people from the continental Southeast, including the Muscogee Creek peoples, continued to travel to Havana after Spain relinquished control of the region. This travel, whether for trade, political alliances, or cultural exchanges, further deepened the Afro-Indigenous connections between Florida and Cuba.

The Muskogee and Seminole Spiritual Legacy

The Muscogee language and spiritual practices have left a lasting imprint, particularly in Afro-Cuban religious traditions. The Muscogee words Polleta (meaning “conjuration”) and Polla (meaning “conjurer”) offer insight into how Afro-Cuban terms like Palo and Palero might not have originated in Spanish but instead may have traveled through Muscogee and Cuban cultural exchanges. This linguistic thread suggests that the interactions between Indigenous and Afro-Cuban communities contributed to the development of spiritual practices on both sides of the Gulf.

The Seminole people, who are closely related with the Muscogee, held the kapok tree sacred, similar to the Iroko. The reverence for this tree is mirrored in African traditions, where the Iroko tree is seen as a spiritual symbol. This points to a cross-cultural resonance between Seminole beliefs and those of Afro-Cuban practitioners, further deepening the link between Florida’s Indigenous populations and Cuban spiritual traditions.

The Story of Angola: A Community of Resistance

One of the most significant historical sites that highlight Afro-Indigenous connections is the maroon community of Angola. Located near the Manatee River in early 19th-century Florida, Angola became a refuge for up to 750 escaped enslaved Africans and Black Seminoles who fled from enslavement and persecution. Following the War of 1812, when the British left their garrison at Prospect Bluff, many maroons, including those from Angola, found sanctuary.

Angola stands out for its size and organization. Most maroon communities were small and mobile to avoid detection, but Angola’s population thrived, with up to 750 individuals farming, trading, and building a life of self-sufficiency. The settlement maintained close trade ties with Cuban fishermen and regularly exchanged goods such as deer hides and bird plumage for other supplies, illustrating the fluid cultural and economic exchanges between Florida and Cuba.

Cultural Exchange and Economic Ties

Angola’s connection with Cuba is further evidenced by the linguistic and cultural exchanges between maroons and Cuban traders. Names like Congo and Mayambe, which appeared among Florida’s maroon communities, are testaments to the African and Caribbean cultural influences present in Florida. Mayimbe, a term used by the Taino people to denote a high-ranking official or chief, was also used by some maroon leaders. This term’s use within maroon societies underscores the Afro-Indigenous fusion of leadership, language, and spiritual practices.

Angola’s residents were not only resourceful farmers and hunters, but also adept traders, often traveling in large dugout canoes to Cuba, the Bahamas, and Jamaica. These voyages, sometimes for bartering goods, also served political purposes. The Black Seminoles sought to negotiate their status under the 1819 Adams-Onis Treaty, which ceded Spanish Florida to the U.S. and promised rights to its inhabitants.

The Tragic Fall of Angola

Despite its success, Angola eventually caught the attention of American authorities. In 1821, General Andrew Jackson ordered an attack on the settlement. His Creek allies razed Angola, forcing its inhabitants to scatter across the Florida peninsula. Many of the maroons and Black Seminoles were captured or killed, but some found refuge further south, traveling to Cape Florida, where Bahamian fishermen aided their escape to Andros Island in the Bahamas. Here, they lived as free British subjects.

Broader Historical Context: Afro-Indigenous Resistance and Survival

The fall of Angola reflects a broader historical pattern of Afro-Indigenous resistance in the Americas. Throughout the late 18th and early 19th centuries, maroon communities fought against the encroachment of European settlers and enslavers. The Afro-Indigenous populations of Florida, including notable leaders like Congo Tom and Carlos Mayamba, played crucial roles in these struggles. These leaders exemplified the fusion of African and Indigenous identities, leading their communities with wisdom and resilience.

These maroons and Black Seminoles navigated complex political landscapes, often seeking alliances with both Spanish and British colonial authorities. Their interactions with these powers underscore how interconnected Florida’s Afro-Indigenous people were with the wider Caribbean.

Modern-Day Connections and Cultural Legacy

Today, the legacy of Florida’s Afro-Indigenous connections to Cuba continues to resonate. The annual Back to Angola Festival, inaugurated in 2018, brings descendants of the Angolan maroons — many of whom live in the Bahamas — back to the Manatee Mineral Spring site in Florida. This festival celebrates the resilience of the maroons, the Black Seminoles, and their shared history of resistance.

The importance of honoring these cultural ties cannot be overstated. Modern scholars have also begun to uncover more about the shared histories between Florida’s Afro-Indigenous populations and Cuba, helping us appreciate the full scope of these cultural exchanges. The linguistic, spiritual, and political connections forged between maroons, Indigenous people, and Afro-Cubans highlight a transnational narrative of survival, adaptation, and cultural fusion.

Conclusion: Honoring a Shared Legacy of Resistance

The Afro-Indigenous connections between Florida and Cuba offer a rich and complex narrative of resistance, cultural exchange, and survival. From the Muscogee warriors imprisoned in Cuba to the maroon societies that thrived through their trade and political interactions with Cuban fishermen, the stories of these communities remind us of their agency and resilience.

As we continue to explore this interconnected history, we are reminded that these narratives form an essential part of the African diaspora and Indigenous heritage in the Americas. By preserving and celebrating these stories, we ensure that future generations understand the enduring spirit of those who fought for freedom and the deep cultural ties that shaped the history of both Florida and Cuba.

[lonestarbattleship]

USS Monadnock (BM-3) at sea between San Francisco, CA, and Manila, Philippine Islands, circa June 23 to August 16, 1898. She was one of only two U.S. Navy monitors ever to make the crossing. She was ordered to join George Dewey's Asiatic fleet in the Philippines during the Spanish-American War. While she never turned to the continental US, she protected US interests during the Boxer rebellion and patrol the rivers of China. She served her twilight years as a submarine chaser before being scrapped in 1923.

Photographed from USS Nero (AC-17), her escort on the trans-Pacific voyage.

Note: the amount of water over top of the main deck. While a ship will stay afloat as the main interior body stays dry, that doesn't mean it makes a good sea going vessel. Monitors as design have shallower hulls to make them a smaller target to the enemy, the trade off is they are only really suited for rivers and coastal areas.

NHHC: NH 45956, NH 60659

[sylvan-king]

@the-manila-continental Hypothetically speaking, if that little thing Ares suggested becomes real…. can we work together until we sort things out?

[eirikswood]

El Tamborilero / The Little Drummer Boy

The earliest known Asian-American settlement in the continental United States is Bayou Saint Malo, Louisiana (1763-1915) founded by deserting sailors and fugitive slaves from Manila, who were uniquely suited to thrive in the inhospitable and remote marshlands using indigenous shrimp fishing techniques and stilt houses from the Philippines.  For 250 years (1565-1815) Spanish galleons crossed the Pacific Ocean trading luxury goods and forcibly recruiting and converting colonial subjects from Las Islas Filipinas and the Américas through the ports of Manila and Acapulco under the Viceroyalty of New Spain in México Tenochtitlán.

https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/eirikswood/el-tamborilero-the-little-drummer-boy/

[eastercon]

The winners of this year's BSFA Awards will be announced at Conversation 2023. The BSFA Awards ceremony is free to attend by all members of Eastercon. See you there!

Here are the shortlists, including works by two of our wonderful Guests of Honour - Adrian Tchaikovsky and @tkingfisher Best Artwork

Alyssa Winans, Cover of The Red Scholar’s Wake by Aliette de Bodard, Gollancz

Manzi Jackson, Cover of Africa Risen: A New Era of Speculative Fiction, Macmillan

Chris Baker, Cover of Shoreline of Infinity 32, Shoreline of Infinity

Vincent Sammy, Cover of Parsec 4, PS Publishing

Miguel Co, Cover of Song of the Mango and Other New Myths, Ateneo De Manila UP

Jay Johnstone, Cover of The Way the Light Bends, Luna Press Publishing

Best Fiction for Younger Readers

T. Kingfisher, Illuminations, Argyll Productions

Frances Hardinge, Unraveller, MacMillan Children's Books

Kate Dylan, Mindwalker, Hodder and Stoughton

Gina Chen, Violet Made of Thorns, Hodder and Stoughton

Juno Dawson, Her Majesty's Royal Coven, Harper Voyager

Vanessa Len, Only A Monster, Hodder and Stoughton

Xiran Jay Zhao, Zachary Ying and the Dragon Emperor, Margaret K. McElderry Books

Best Short Fiction

Or Luca, ‘Luca’, Luna Press Publishing

Aliette de Bodard, ‘Of Charms, Ghosts and Grievances’, JABberwocky Literary Agency, Inc

Rick Danforth, ‘Seller's Remorse’, Hexagon Magazine, Issue 11

Adrian Tchaikovsky, ‘Ogres’, Rebellion

Neil Williiamson, ‘A Moment of Zugzwang’, ParSec #4

Best Novel

Adrian Tchaikovsky, City of Last Chances, Head of Zeus

Aliette de Bodard, The Red Scholar's Wake, Gollancz

Adam Roberts, The This, Gollancz

Gareth Powell, Stars and Bones, Titan Books

EJ Swift, The Coral Bones, Unsung Stories

Best Non-Fiction,

Rob Wilkins, Terry Pratchett: A Life with Footnotes, Doubleday

Maureen Kincaid Speller, The Critic and the Clue: Tracking Alan Garner's Treacle Walker  http://strangehorizons.com/non-fiction/the-critic-and-the-clue-tracking-alan-garners-treacle-walker/

Fiona Moore, Management Lessons from Game of Thrones: Organization Theory and Strategy in Westeros, Edward Elgar Publishing

Wole Talabi and the ‘ASFS, Preliminary Observations from an Incomplete History of African SFF’ , https://www.sfwa.org/2022/06/01/preliminary-observations-incomplete-history-african-science-fiction-fantasy/

Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki , ‘Too Dystopian For Whom? A Continental Nigerian Writer's Perspective’, https://www.uncannymagazine.com/article/too-dystopian-for-whom-a-continental-nigerian-writers-perspective/

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 8.21 (after 1900)

1901 – Six hundred American school teachers, Thomasites, arrived in Manila on the USAT Thomas. 1911 – The Mona Lisa is stolen by Vincenzo Peruggia, a Louvre employee. 1914 – World War I: The Battle of Charleroi, a successful German attack across the River Sambre that pre-empted a French offensive in the same area. 1918 – World War I: The Second Battle of the Somme begins. 1942 – World War II: The Guadalcanal Campaign: American forces defeat an attack by Imperial Japanese Army soldiers in the Battle of the Tenaru. 1944 – Dumbarton Oaks Conference, prelude to the United Nations, begins. 1944 – World War II: Canadian and Polish units capture the strategically important town of Falaise, Calvados, France. 1945 – Physicist Harry Daghlian is fatally irradiated in a criticality accident during an experiment with the Demon core at Los Alamos National Laboratory. 1957 – The Soviet Union successfully conducts a long-range test flight of the R-7 Semyorka, the first intercontinental ballistic missile. 1959 – United States President Dwight D. Eisenhower signs an executive order proclaiming Hawaii the 50th state of the union. Hawaii's admission is currently commemorated by Hawaii Admission Day. 1963 – Xá Lợi Pagoda raids: The Army of the Republic of Vietnam Special Forces loyal to Ngô Đình Nhu, brother of President Ngo Dinh Diem, vandalizes Buddhist pagodas across the country, arresting thousands and leaving an estimated hundreds dead. 1965 – The Socialist Republic of Romania is proclaimed, following the adoption of a new constitution. 1968 – Cold War: Nicolae Ceaușescu, leader of the Socialist Republic of Romania, publicly condemns the Soviet-led Warsaw Pact invasion of Czechoslovakia, encouraging the Romanian population to arm itself against possible Soviet reprisals. 1968 – James Anderson Jr. posthumously receives the first Medal of Honor to be awarded to an African American U.S. Marine. 1971 – A bomb exploded in the Liberal Party campaign rally in Plaza Miranda, Manila, Philippines with several anti-Marcos political candidates injured. 1982 – Lebanese Civil War: The first troops of a multinational force lands in Beirut to oversee the Palestine Liberation Organization's withdrawal from Lebanon. 1983 – Philippine opposition leader Benigno Aquino Jr. is assassinated at Manila International Airport (now renamed Ninoy Aquino International Airport in his honor). 1986 – Carbon dioxide gas erupts from volcanic Lake Nyos in Cameroon, killing up to 1,800 people within a 20-kilometre (12 mi) range. 1988 – The 6.9 Mw  Nepal earthquake shakes the Nepal–India border with a maximum Mercalli intensity of VIII (Severe), leaving 709–1,450 people killed and thousands injured. 1991 – Latvia declares renewal of its full independence after its occupation by the Soviet Union since 1940. 1991 – Coup attempt against Mikhail Gorbachev collapses. 1993 – NASA loses contact with the Mars Observer spacecraft. 1994 – Royal Air Maroc Flight 630 crashes in Douar Izounine, Morocco, killing all 44 people on board. 1995 – Atlantic Southeast Airlines Flight 529, an Embraer EMB 120 Brasilia, attempts to divert to West Georgia Regional Airport after the left engine fails, but the aircraft crashes in Carroll County near Carrollton, Georgia, killing nine of the 29 people on board. 2000 – American golfer Tiger Woods wins the 82nd PGA Championship and becomes the first golfer since Ben Hogan in 1953 to win three majors in a calendar year. 2013 – Hundreds of people are reported killed by chemical attacks in the Ghouta region of Syria. 2017 – A solar eclipse traverses the continental United States.

[princesslacroix]

For Kristina pls!

🔪 Are you angry with people who hurt others? What do you think should happen to whumper(s)?

⚔️ What was the most protective you've ever felt, and what made that moment stand out to you?

🔪 Are you angry with people who hurt others? What do you think should happen to whumper(s)?

For Kristina, she’s very vengeful. Of course, since I’m projecting my own experiences with Filipino culture, she never really liked the mindset of forgiving and forgetting. She’s entirely protective, and gets violent when someone she cares about is hurt. If she finds out that someone who she cares for, whether that be an employee under her, or her nephew, or an old friend— she’s going to beat the shit out of whoever hurt them. She thinks that giving people a taste of their own medicine is what it takes to fully execute revenge.

⚔️ What was the most protective you've ever felt, and what made that moment stand out to you?

Growing up in a nation that was struggling politically, Kristina hung onto the values her family taught her which was protecting everyone that needed her help. Strangers, young children, neighbors, family, friends— Kristina did her best.

But it was when Jairo’s parents (Kristina’s younger sister and her husband) were killed in this barrage of violence, Kristina had to step up. So, she gathered everything she could and left. (She admits that it was a rather weak move, but in the end she established the Manila Continental. And a safe haven was something she’d promise to make from an early age.)

Is it clear I love vengeful caretakers? hehehehehehe

[kavalyera]

“I changed this place for the better.”

John Wick OC, 𝐊𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐀𝐍

[the-manila-continental]

Okay guys I have to post posters like this because my aunt or my aunt is gonna take the account again and that will be boring

[lboogie1906]

Norman Augustus Black (November 12, 1957) is a Consultant to the San Beda University Red Lions Basketball team playing in the NCAA Philippines. Born in Baltimore, he was the son of a public school teacher. He received a BA in English at St. Joseph’s University. He became a star on the basketball team as well as a team captain and was named the MVP. He played in the Continental Basketball League’s Lancaster Red Roses and Philadelphia Kings and spent a season with the Detroit Pistons. He continued his professional basketball career when he decided to work abroad in the Philippines Basketball Association and signed up with the Tefilin Polyesters.

He spent a year with the Polyesters, three years with the San Miguel Beermen, and with teams called the Magnolia Quench Plus, Great Taste, and Alaska. Nicknamed “Mr. 100%,” he scored 76 points in a game for Magnolia. He started his first coaching assignment with the Beermen. He won a record of nine conference and tournament championships. He coached three teams: the Mobiline Phone Pals, the Pop Cola 800s, and the Sta. Lucia Realtors, who won its first championship.

He coached the Blue Eagles at Ateneo de Manila University. He clinched several collegiate championships, including five straight UAAP crowns (2005-12). He returned to pro basketball, coaching the Talk ‘N Text Tropang Texters who won the All-Filipino title. He has coached the Meralco Bolts.

He continues to remain the record holder for the number of rebounds and scoring points. He won a gold and two silver medals coaching Filipino national teams at the Southeast Asian Games and the FIBA Asian Championship.

Fluent in Tagalog and respected for his community involvement, he and his wife, Benjie Davila, and son, Aaron, who plays for the Ateneo basketball team, live together in the Philippines. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[marcofuentes63]

Los alisios, el mar de las Damas y el Galeón de Manila

by Raúl Villa Caro La conexión entre los vientos alisios, el mar de las Damas, y Andrés de Urdaneta dio lugar en el siglo XVI a la globalización y al nacimiento de la que fue la línea marítima más longeva de la historia, durante casi 250 años. Esta línea, que unía los continentes de Asia, América y Europa, fue conocida como el Galeón de Manila. Pero volvamos al principio, y a la creación de la…

[rabbitcruiser]

On 18 October 1587, the first Filipinos landed in what is now the Continental United States at Morro Bay. They arrived aboard the Nuestra Señora de Buena Esperanza, which had sailed from Portuguese Macau, as part of the Manila galleon trade.