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mrsparrasblog · 1 month

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MAKAROV X PRICE DAUGHTER Pt. 1

I know John Price would be the best Dad on earth but please let the Plot , ploting

Part 2

Your dad loved you; you were really sure he did, just not as much as he loved Tina, your younger sibling. You were the result of a one-night stand he had when he was 16, while Tina was a love child of your dad's new wife. You liked both of them; you really did. They treated you with respect; you stayed in their house while your dad was on deployment. So you couldn't really complain; they even let you stay while you did your apprenticeship, despite that you were over 20 now and full of age, but they made it clear: finish your apprenticeship and you're gone.

Your dad didn't say anything. Well, how could he, since he was always on some kind of mission, to save the planet or world? He was like a real-life Avenger. It just hurts sometimes when he misses certain events like your ballet performance, your appendix operation, your 18th birthday, and your graduation ceremony—the best of the whole year. But who cares about that when you have no one in the crowd to cheer for you?

The worst part? He did make time for Tina. He was at her elementary school graduation, at every birthday, and at her fencing competition, claiming it's not because he likes Tina more; it's just that fencing is more interesting than ballet. You would understand that, right? You were a good, smart girl. Of course, you would understand how important his job is, right? You're not a selfish little lady, he said.

For years, you thought he despised you, maybe because you were the spitting image of your dead mother or because you had the same interests as her but not like Tina. Tina was cool; she did fencing, wanted to join the military, and even got caught smoking weed. Your dad only laughed about this, telling her he did this too when he was young.

You and your dad didn't share the same interest; you liked everything that was hyper-feminine: ballet, pink, makeup, Taylor Swift. And you were becoming a midwife instead of a cool, badass soldier. His only expression was, "Are you sure, sweetie?" Of course, you were sure, and you thought your job was even more badass than his. You helped bring babies into the world; what could be better?

One day, you noticed he did love you. In fact, it was just harder to love someone at 17 than at 30, he said. He cried while saying this, begging you on his knees to forgive him for being such a crappy dad, and of course, you did. His affection and attention were almost like a drug to you; you didn't need weed when hearing "I'm proud of you, sweetie" did so much more to you.

It wasn't a surprise when you started to sleep with older men, craving the care and affection they could provide you with. The same affection you begged your whole life for. When your stepmother found out you got intimate with 40-year-old men every weekend, she told your dad, of course, that she did. And he was furious—more than furious. Giving you a lesson about safe sex—a bit too late for that, innit? And then he told you that he was disappointed in you, and it hurt even more than the neglect you needed to endure your whole life.

You were walking through the streets of Cardiff, enjoying the sight of your hometown; it was beautiful, especially at night. Suddenly, a man bumped into you—correct: the most handsome man you've ever seen in your life. He was tall with dark hair, mesmerizing eyes, tattoos and pale skin, and he was definitely old enough to be your type. Maybe that was the fairytale love story you ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry, sir; my eyes aren't so strong in the dark."

He kissed your hand like you were some kind of royalty and smiled with the most charming smile. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't have to apologize," he said with a thick, beautiful Russian accent.

"Thank you, sir."

"Call me Vlad, princess," he said, and you told him your name, to which he replied that it was the most beautiful name he ever heard.

"Let me walk you home, princess. It's dangerous for a beautiful girl like you to walk on her own," he said with a cheeky grin.

"So you're from Russia? How is it there?"

"Beautiful; the nature is stunning. I live in Moscow, and you would love the architecture."

"I bet I would love it. If I have the opportunity to travel someday, I definitely will."

"Where would you go first, princess?"

"Hm, New York or maybe Sydney. No wait, the Alps. Ah, it's hard to decide, you?"

You mumbled while walking on the sidewalk; you didn't know why, but you felt safe like never before. Not even the dogs barked at him; he had this dark presence about him, but how he talked and behaved, letting you walk further away from the sidewalk, lending you his jacket, and caressing your finger with his thumb, made you feel safe and appreciated.

"I was almost everywhere in the world, but if I could decide, I'd say Moscow."

"Doesn't count; you live there." You pointed your tongue at him and threw a giggling fit.

"And who are you to decide this?"

"Like you said, a princess."

"And what does your Highness want?"

"Hm, ice cream."

You went to an ice cream place, both of you picking out an ice cream flavor; he insisted that he pay for your £2 ice like a gentleman, and you laughed.

"You're weird; chocolate-mint ice is a disgrace."

"It is good; taste it?"

"I won't."

You smeared the ice around your plump lips. "You sure don't want a taste now," you said, hinting at a kiss. He smirked and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were gentle, but there was so much passion behind the kiss and so much longing that you immediately moaned, making a fool of yourself. After what felt like hours, you split, trying to catch your breath.

"that was-"

"Intense"

You nodded before pulling into another kiss. The 10-minute walk home took 3 hours since you stopped every second, demanding his attention, and he gave it to you so willingly. You arrived at your door.

"So this is my door."

He kissed you one last time, "Sorry Princess," and then he pulled you into him, holding something against your nose, but before you could react, you were already far gone.

You brought him to your place, Price's house, with what he wanted; he wanted to kill every three of you, make a massacre, and then leave them for Price to see. But you were confusing him; he liked your presence; sure, he was just a man, and he knew you were the type of woman he watched when beating his meat, but normally attractiveness wouldn't affect him, especially not with Price's daughter. But you were nice to him even though you didn't know he was fucking Vladimir Makarov, so his plan changed; he needed to break you or have you and then rub it under Price's face that you were his now.

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 4 months

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Hope you don't mind my idea, I may be a bit biased towards soldier lads ^^;

If your working with Lethal Company, how about a situation where the reader isn't scared of the Nutcracker, but is crazy enough to try and befriend it cause they like the fairytale that much?

OOO this is a big brain idea-

Nutcrackers stress me out,,but oh to befriend them..

.....

With the quota constantly rising, you and your team had to take greater risks on moons with more hostile creatures roaming about....all for the sake of selling scrap.

You four had different roles: One was a scouter, the second a budget manager, the third a fighter (they never left the ship without a shovel or zap gun), and you manned the ship while everyone else explored the facilities.

You watched the monitors and chatted with them through walkie-talkies, alerting them to loot or danger.

Although you've saved their lives more times than you could count on both hands, you kinda got bored and wanted to help collect scrap yourself.

One day, the bestiary on the terminal gets updated with a new creature:

The Nutcracker.

Not long afterwards, everyone returned to the ship freaking the fuck out. Nobody died, and the loot was decent, but they were very much shaken-up by this "Nutcracker" entity they encountered.

It apparently had a shotgun that made them all nearly deaf upon firing AND came close to blowing their brains out.

Yet viewing its model on the terminal did awaken a little bit of childhood nostalgia in you, seeing as it looked like a life-sized nutcracker soldier.

Back on Earth, you loved that fairytale: The Nutcracker and the Mouse.

You even watched performances of the ballet/suite around Christmas.

Least to say, you weren't scared of it..and you wanted to actually see this entity for yourself.

Your team opposed it, until one employee mentioned their scanner registered the shotgun as scrap--and you volunteered to go retrieve it since it could set you above the quota.

Obviously you weren't gonna do that, but managed to convince them to let you go alone.

So you get teleported into the facility, almost immediately spotting the Nutcracker on its patrol, walking around like a true soldier and clicking as it surveyed its surroundings.

You notice the upper half of its head extending, revealing a grisly fleshy eye in its "mouth" as it rotated around.

Now you knew it was likely just a machine controlled by a parasite, but you were still fascinated by it nevertheless.

Then your walkie talkie goes off.

"Hurry up, we leave at midni-"

You instantly turn it off, yet the Nutcracker was alerted.

Next thing you knew, it swung around the corner you were hiding, loading two bullets into it shotgun as it stomped closer and closer...

That's when you got an insane idea and pulled out some items you've held onto since starting this job:

A hard copy of the original Nutcracker tale and a smaller figurine of the soldier.

They were comforts from your childhood. You'd never sell them as scrap. Not even if they're worth a million dollars.

You see the entity hesitate, before the eye reveals itself again and stares at your treasured collectibles.

"I-I always liked your stories and ballets.." You stammer out, still facing down the barrel of its gun, knowing death could await you at any moment. "Could we....maybe be friends, Nutcracker, sir?"

You doubt the damn thing could even understand you...

But then it suddenly shifts its focus back on you and raises its gun, opening fire-

Yet you don't drop dead.

Instead you hear the hiss of a Bracken who was mere centimeters away from snapping your neck, and you realize a bullet tore through one of its leaves.

It looked betrayed, but the Nutcracker's one-eyed glare sent it scurrying back into the shadows.

Apparently it was scared of brief eye contact from all creatures, not just humans.

You couldn't believe what just happened.

The Nutcracker...defended you?

You began to thank it for saving your life, but it's cut short when you're teleported back to the ship and your crew is relieved it's not your dead body.

Yet they'd call you crazy if you even implied that you somehow befriended the entity that just tried killing them all...

So you keep this secret locked away in your journal, wondering if there's other Nutcrackers out there who'd act like the one who saved you.

#clanask #anonymous #lethal company x reader #lc x reader #lethal company nutcracker #headcanons

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arlana-likes-to-write · 4 months

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Hey first of all, thank you for your writing! I enjoy reading your work a lot. I wanted to request an addition to the older sister! Reader AU where the avengers manage to catch a person who used to be a high ranking officer in the red room and has a lot of intel. They specifically requests to see reader. And reader goes in and the person is smug and taunts r about everything she did under dreykov and what dreykov did to r. (Hints to a lot of sexual assult trauma, if you dont mind) and r has gotten used to the taunts, having bward plenty during her red room days. Carol though who was outside in the interrogation room with r’s sisters is livid. She is very protective of r and so she comes inside the room angry. But as the person keeps taunting and saying demeaning stuff about r u still remain unaffected but carol cannot take it. I mean thats the idea I had, you could do whatever u want with it! Thanks again. And sorry for the longg request

Mine to Protect

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist

There things in this story that be triggering of people, please advise the warnings!

Warnings: heavy description of past sexual experiences (usage of handcuffs, voyeurisms, power dynamic, ) implied sexual assault (uses it to taunt the Reader and Carol), original male character uses pet names from the reader, gross dirty talk, past trauma mentioned, self harm, death of an original character, mention of killing, Carol is hella pissed this this and protective.

Relationships: Carol x Reader, Yelena x Natasha x Reader (Platonic), Avengers x reader (platonic)

Word Count: 3.0k

All of your life, you’ve known pain. The pain was physical suffering\ or discomfort. It caused great trouble, and it could be mental or physical. Pain in the Red Room was negative. It was mystery hands that held you down and took whatever they wanted from you. Hours spent at training, at the ballet bar, or forced to kill your fellow Widows because of an order given. You hated pain and all the negative thoughts that came with it.

However, your life changed. It wasn’t contained by the Red Room. You had room to grow, dream, and create the person Dreykov tried to destroy. Now, pain wasn’t always negative. There was pain that morphed into pleasure when Carol bit down on your neck and soothed it with her tongue; a warmth would fill your belly. Sometimes, you went a little too hard as you trained against Steve and felt each punch from the super soldier, but your laughter bounced off the walls. Other times, you brunt your hand when cooking with Wanda or lose an arm wrestling match with Maria. All that pain was good, a reminder that you were free.

You sat outside. The brisk New York fall air filled your lungs. There was an ache in your fingers as you played the guitar. It would take time for callouses to form on your fingers. You heard the door open and close, but it didn’t stop you from humming to the song you were playing. It was Steve, Tony, and Maria. Oh boy. Stopping, you put the guitar beside you and gave the trio your attention. “Why do I smell trouble?” You asked.

“It’s not me,” Tony said, sniffing under his arm. “I showered.” You rolled your eyes at the billionaire.

“Does the name Andrei Lebedev?” You kept your face neutral, but your stomach dropped. That name would forever be in your nightmares.

“Yes, he was part of Dreykov’s second ring. He disappeared when the Red Room fell. He’s been on Melina’s list, but we haven’t been able to locate and deal with him,” you explained.

“Deal with him?” Steve questioned. “So would kill him if you found him?” You huffed in frustration.

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Rogers. These men have power even with the Red Room gone; they are better off dead.” With a vacant spot, there was a fight to be at the top. You and some of the other freed Widows were working on eliminating them before they could gain momentum. You looked at Maria. “What’s going on?” She handed you a file.

“Lebedev was found in New Asgard,” you opened it and saw a mug shot. The man was 6 feet, 5 inches tall. He had striking blue eyes. Unlike the last time you saw him, his dark brown was longer instead of neatly combed. However, a faint beard outlining his jaw gave you the idea that he was going somewhere safe to shave. “He was looking for asylum, but Val thought he was acting odd and brought him in for questioning.”

“Once they learned who he was, Fury had him transferred to us for questioning,” Tony added. You handed back the file.

“What does this have to do with me?” You had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“He won’t talk to anyone, not me, Maria, or Natasha,” Steve said. “He’s asking for you.” Fuck. Of course, he fucking was. God dammit. Why was Wanda away on a mission?

“What do we want from him?” You asked. Killing him would be the easiest solution.

“Fury wants whatever information we can get from him before sending him to the RAFT,” Maria explained. “Will you talk to him?” You sighed, stood up, and grabbed the guitar.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Sometimes you used pain to punish yourself. Your time at the tower was perfect. Self-inflected pain was the best tool you used to remind yourself of the past. Of the blood you shed and the countless lives ended by your hand.

On the other hand, pain helped ground you. A pinch of the skin on your thigh, biting down on your lip, or fingernails digging into your palm. Anything to help you stay present, preventing your mind from slipping away.

You stared at the door that separated you from him, nails digging into your palm. Your sisters and Carol will be watching. There was no fighting them on that. Sighing, you opened the door. “My malen’kiy pauk (little spider),” it had been a long time since you’ve heard someone call you that name. You closed the door. Immediately, pulling the chair away from the table to sit down. “I’ve missed you so much,” he continued. “But our last meeting was a little different,” he moved his handcuffed hands onto the table. The clash of metal echoed in the quiet room. “If I remember correctly, you were the one handcuffed. No matter to me,” he leaned forward. “I do love a change in a power dynamic.”

You crossed your arms against your chest, placed your right leg over your left, and leaned back into the chair. You remembered that day. Andrei Lebedev was part of Dreykov’s second circle or the vtoroy. These men were trusted as handlers and could leave the Red Room on missions or requests from Dreykov or his inner circle. But they were still seen as less than. They aimed to become part of the pervyy, the men closest to Dreykov. Although Dreykov was the face of the Red Room, it was impossible to run it without help. These men had the same amount of power as him; their word was God because you knew Dreykov knew about the order. A majority of the members of the party were killed in the Red Room explosion. The men you were after were part of the vtoroy. If the Red Room remained, Andrei would be part of the pervyy. He was a cable solider, a little hot-headed, but Dreykov would have crushed that spirit into submission. As a mission success, the pervyy granted Andrei’s request: a night with you. It wasn’t the only time you laid underneath this main.

“Being an Avenger looks good on you, kotenok (kitten). It fills you out nicely,” he groaned, licking his lips. “I bet you taste just as sweet. Do you want to be a good girl again? Just for me.” Still, you remained unfazed, face neutral. Men like this loved to talk, to inflate their ego with their sexual conquests. With time, he would reveal everything.

“I think about our time together a lot,” he smiled. “Your moans were music to my ears. They helped me through many lonely nights.” Lonely nights? The phrase stuck out to you for some reason. How many nights was he truly alone? He was freshly shaved and showered; you figured Val wouldn’t give him time alone to do all these things before locking him up. The man disappeared without a trace once the Red Room fell. Not even Melina, with her contacts, could find him. Andrei was bright but needed to be more smart to avoid capture. Who was helping him?

“Come on, baby,” he whined, mimicking a child throwing a tantrum. “Let me hear that voice again. You were very talkative when we last saw each other. I miss it,” his fingers tapped against the table. “Tell me, pretty, can anyone make you cum like I can?”

No one could see how your nails dug into your bicep, nails so sharp you knew it would pierce your skin. Pain. It grounded you, saved you from slipping into memories of that night, and kept your face stoic when all you wanted to do was scream.

As Carol recognized the true strength of her powers, she practiced keeping her emotions in check. Anger was powerful. Her rage could bring down skyscrapers, collapse entire planets, and turn the milky way into chaos if she wasn’t careful. Through her space travels, she witnessed horrible injustices that boiled her blood, ground her teeth, and left her fuming. Still, she kept her anger in check. However, she was struggling. The way this pig spoke to you was disgusting and vile, and you were just taking it. The only time Carol saw you move was when you first entered the room. She wasn’t sure if you were still breathing.

Unlike you, Natasha couldn’t stop pacing. She would get to one side of the viewing room, turn around, and repeat the process. Not even Maria could get her to stop; Carol believed it had to do with Natasha still being upset with her girlfriend. The youngest of the trio was quiet, playing with the ring all three of you shared. A quiet Yelena was never good, in Carol’s opinion. She saw the blonde tense up every time the man said something about her sister. Andrei laughed. “Why don’t you undo these cuffs? We can put on a show one more time before the cart me away. If I remember correctly, zaychonok (bunny), you loved having an audience,” he groaned, eyes rolling in the back of his head. “My little slut. It got you so wet.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” Carol mumbled. All she saw was red. Unlike before, no one was there to protect you; no one was there to tell him to stop. But she was here now. You were hers to protect. She felt her powers itching at the palm of her hands, begging to let loose. It was getting harder to control it, this anger growing inside her. She knew he was still taunting you; maybe she heard Natasha or Maria’s voice, but it was becoming white noise. All of it was pointless besides one singular thought. “I’m gonna fucking kill him.” To her surprise, no one stopped her when she left the room.

The door busting open startled you. The hinges barely had enough strength to keep it upright as your girlfriend entered the interrogation room, eyes glowing. Andrei was pulled to his feet and pinned to the wall by her forearm. You saw her entire body shaky. “Oh, is this the pet’s new master,” he teased. There was a shake in his voice as Carol was cutting off air into his lungs. “Tell me, do you pass her around like her old master, or do you keep her to yourself?”

“If you say one more word,” she hissed. “I will crush your windpipe.” You stood up, barely making a sound, but Andrei saw you.

“Oh, this is your lover, isn’t it?” He laughed, gasping slightly. “I’m jealous,” he taunted. “She is a gem—a queen among women. Tell me,” he whispered. “Can you make her scream like I can?”

“I won’t hesitate to paint this wall red with your blood,” you wanted her to do it so this nightmare could end. But it wasn’t the mission. “You can’t hurt her,” Carol continued, putting more pressure on his neck. The man gasped. “She is mine to protect, and I will kill all of you if I have to to keep her safe.” The man smiled, and for the first time entering this room, a chill went down your spine.

“Oh, you think with her living with Earth’s mightiest heroes, she’ll be safe; you are wrong.” Got him. It only took Carol intervening, but he was ready to talk. Gently, you placed a hand on Carol’s shoulder. Her eyes flickered to you.

“It’s okay,” you forced a smile. “Let him go.” You saw the internal debate happen in her eyes. Soon, she released him and threw him back into the chair.

“Power dynamic,” he said, rubbing his throat. A bruise was already forming. “I guess I was wrong about you two.” You sighed and sat down, this time closer to the table. Carol closed the door but stayed in the room, standing in the corner. Your arms were still crossed, and your nails again found the indent in your arm. “You got yourself an impressive guard dog over there. She needs a lesson in obedience.”

“I don’t own her, and she doesn’t own me,” you said. “Who helped you avoid detection after all this time?” He gasped.

“I’m offended you don’t think I could do it alone.”

“You aren’t smart enough, Lebedev,” you deadpanned. “So give me names, or my guard dog will attack.” His eyes glanced at Carol in the corner, and you saw him gulp in fear. Instead of talking, he leaned forward, faces inches apart, and you could feel his breath on your skin. A sharp pinch of your skin kept you present.

“Answer me this, kotenok (kitten). Do you feel safe here?”

“Is that a threat?” You countered.

“Merely a question,” he said. “Do you feel safe here with your sisters close by, Captain America as an ally, and Tony Stark’s super fancy AI keeping watch?” He slammed his hands down, but the sound didn’t scare you. Your nails dug deeper. “Do you feel safe?” He asked again. “Because Oriel Sergeev wasn’t the only person upset when the Red Room fell from the sky.” Oriel Sergeev? He was the man who created that ‘fun’ room.

“Who is helping you?” You asked again. He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in the chair.

“I don’t kiss and tell; you should know that. The Red Room provided stability, a balance, and you and those cunts you call sisters broke it,” your jaw clenched. He huffed out a laugh at your reaction. “It’s only a matter of time before bad girls like you get punished.”

You watched Maria and a few other agents lead Andrei to transport. A body collided with you that almost sent you falling to the ground, but Carol’s arm kept you upright. It was Yelena. Her jasmine scent perfume invaded your senses, grounding you further. “Ugh,” you groaned. “I hated that. I hated the way he talked to you.” You chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

“You aren’t the only one,” Natasha said, and you looked past Yelena as the redhead joined the small group. “Carol beat me to it. I was about to go in there and kick his ass.” You heard Carol laugh behind you, kissing the side of your head. “Are you okay?”

“I’m,” you stopped before you lied to them. “No, but I will be,” you sighed, ending the hug with Yelena. “I think I need a shower, then I’ll start feeling better.”

“Do you want me to join you?” Carol asked. You shook your head.

“I just need a moment by myself,” you smiled. “I’ll be okay, I promise.” As you turned to walk back to your room, Yelena grabbed your hand. Spinning you back around and flipping your arm to show everyone the cut on your arm.

“Your bleeding,” she said, and you pulled your arm back.

“It’s nothing, and it will heal by the time I get in the shower,” you saw the unasked questions from all three of them. “I needed to ground myself when I was in there with him. That’s all. I promise I’m okay, and I’ll come to you guys if I need anything.”

A towel was tightly secured around your body as you stepped out of the bathroom. You hated the way his words crawled underneath your skin. No matter how frequently you scrubbed your skin raw, you felt his hands on you. There was a part of you that wanted to track down his escort van and kill him, to watch his blood stain the pavement. Or maybe have Melina take care of it. But you knew if one of the Widows took the job, it would get traced back to you. Still wet from the shower, you sat on your bed and picked up your phone. The number you dialed wasn’t saved in your phone. It was a number you had memorized as Widows kept giving it to you. She answered on the second ring. “My favorite Black Widow,” she said. “What do I owe the pleasure? Have you considered my offer?” You sighed.

“No, Valentina, I’m still not joining your team. I need a favor.” You were speaking as you could hear cars driving by.

“I’m not a charity, darling. Favors will cost you/” You nodded.

“I know, and I’m willing to pay for it,” you stood up and walked into your closet. “I need to put on a hit. His name is Andrei Lebedev. He is currently in SHIELD custody and on his way to the RAFT. I need it done without using any of the Widows you have employed, and not a single agent hurt.” Valentina laughed.

“You are making a lot of demands for someone not in charge,” you dropped the towel and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.

“I always repay my debts, you know this?” This wasn’t the first time you’ve asked a favor from her. Her contacts ran deeper than Melina’s, and in this world, information was valuable. But you knew she would do it and come back to you when she needed something. The Widows that worked for her always told you what they did. You had enough dirt to bury the director, but it would hurt your fellow Widows.

“This will cost you, but I’ll get it done.”

“Thank you.”

“Aw, don’t go getting soft on me,” you rolled your eyes. “My offer is always on the table for you. That will never expire,” you huffed.

“Bye, Valentina.” You hung up the phone before she could respond. You refused to join her every time she asked, even when she proclaimed how much money you could make with your skill set. You feared it would be impossible to say no to her one day.

Two days passed when Maria announced that Andrei Lebedev was killed; no agents were hurt in the ambush. The agent’s eyes never left yours when she told everyone the news. Maybe it was bad you didn’t care if she believed you or not when you claimed you had no part in his death—effortlessly passing blame to whoever helped him. His death was one you never lost sleep over. Like you told Steve, these men were better off dead.

#family is more than blood au #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers x y/n #black widow sisters #yelena belova x natasha romanoff x reader #yelena belova x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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hootbon · 3 months

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For the people that thought that Pomni was a nutcracker:

This, is a Nutcracker

According to German folklore, nutcrackers we given as keepsakes to bring luck to the family and protect the home. It is said that they represent strength and power and watches over the family keeping evil spirits and danger away.

They originate from ancestral dining customs where unusual, novelty nutcrackers were part of dining entertainment during the dessert course. It would generate fun conversation whilst tucking into their final course which could include pecans and hazelnuts.

Many of the early designs of nutcrackers were of birds, animals and people. It wasn’t until the 1600’s and 1700’s that they took the shape of kings and soldiers that we are familiar with today!

Nutcrackers were mainly popular in Germany to begin with, and were crafted in the Erzgebirge mountain regions.

It wasn’t until the 1800’s that this tradition was known worldwide from the release of the Tchaikovsky ballet ‘The Nutcracker Suite’ in 1892.

Many of us will have heard of this ballet and may treat ourselves to a trip to the theatre to see it over Christmas. The story of this production first came from the novel ‘The Nutcracker and the king of Mice’ by E.T. Amadeus Hoffman in the late 1700’s/early 1800’s, and is probably where we recognise the Christmas nutcracker from the most. The ballet was debuted in 1892 in St. Petersburg and is an ever popular festive treat for young and old worldwide due to its Christmassy theme.

From this point on, the ballet and German nutcracker figure have become well known around the world, and fans have demanded high quality German nutcrackers ever since. This therefore was where the nutcracker gained its popularity every Christmas time!

https://www.ukchristmasworld.com

This, is ventriloquist doll

Ventriloquism is an act of stagecraft in which a person (a ventriloquist) speaks in such a way that it looks like their voice is coming from a different location, usually through a puppet known as a "dummy".

Ventriloquism got its start as a religious practice amongst the Ancient Greeks and Romans. The name, in fact, comes from the Latin words for “to speak from the stomach." The Greek phrase for ventriloquism was gastromancy. Ancient peoples thought that noises produced by the stomach were the voices of the dead, which could be interpreted by the ventriloquist.

During the 18th century, ventriloquism became less spiritual and more of a performance art. It gained popularity as an act at traveling fairs. The earliest records related to ventriloquism date back to 1753 in England. The father of modern ventriloquism is considered to be Fred Russell, who began a stage show in London in 1886 and developed the now-familiar technique of using a doll to engage in back-and-forth conversation.

Edgar Bergen popularized a new form of comedic ventriloquism in the 1930s with his favorite dummy, Charlie McCarthy. Over the years, there have been many famous entertainers associated with ventriloquism, including Jeff Dunham and Shari Lewis.

If you've ever tried to “throw" your voice to imitate a ventriloquist, you know it's not the easiest technique to learn. Most ventriloquists perform with their lips slightly separated to allow sounds to emanate from their mouths without moving their lips. This is easy for some sounds and more difficult for others.

For example, the sounds of the letters f, v, b, p, w, and m can be particularly difficult, because they involve the lips meeting to help form the sounds. Professional ventriloquists learn to make these sounds by replacing them with other, similar sounds and speaking quickly enough for listeners not to notice.

Fortunately for ventriloquists, the human ear is not great at locating the source of a sound without visual or other cues. Therefore, if a ventriloquist can keep from moving his lips, it's very easy to fool the human ear into believing the sound is coming from the moving mouth of the ventriloquist's dummy!

There's more to ventriloquism than simply not moving your lips, though. You also have to learn to change your voice so that it sounds different than your normal voice. Doing so allows you to have a conversation with your dummy. Professional ventriloquists develop many different personalities for different dummies, and each one requires a unique voice and way of speaking.

https://wonderopolis.org/wonder/what-is-a-ventriloquist#:~:text=Ventriloquism%20got%20its%20start%20as,phrase%20for%20ventriloquism%20was%20gastromancy.

There you have it folks! If you have more questions, you're free to go to my blog and ask away! ^^

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #freakshow au #tadc freakshow #freakshow pomni

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artificial-transmutations · 10 months

Text

Closer Than Flesh - Closer Than Flesh

There is no ill influence or demonic corruption this time, as the power of the sigil stone, cleansed with the last bit of the divine spark, reforms Jake's body again.

Unlike the times before, there doesn't seem to be a random or chaotic element to it, but the transformative magic does exactly what Jake wishes for.

And there is another difference: Skyler, his best friend and current cock is mentally with Jake, allowing them to consult in the short time while the magic does its work.

"We will need to fight Baelnath, so we should have a body capable of doing so." says Skyler's voice in Jake's head.

"Okay, so... Like a soldier or a policeman?" Jake tried to picture a fitting form.

"Those are mainly good fighters if they are many. How about a mercenary or a bodyguard?" Skyler replies.

"Alright. Bodyguard. Help me picture our new body, Sky!"

They concentrate together and sure enough, Jake's body, his original body that he just got back, begins to change again.

As it is to be expected, strength, manliness and testosterone pulse through him, as his stance widens and his frame packs on mass. It is not as large as when he was the demon, but still, the man has a built-in athletic body.

"Hmm..." Jake says and flexes his biceps. "Not bad, but we need more!"

He draws on more power from the stone and changes his body further. His height increases to almost two meters and his skin hardens from hard training sessions. His body becomes fast, athletic and strong, but precise as a ballet dancer.

As a finishing touch, Jake decides to add a bit of the Arab ethnicity to the mix, a nod to the first body he had changed into.

Once his body is done, his clothing forms over his body: First, a filled to the brim jockstrap, holding Skyler firmly in place along with a cup to protect him.

Then, layer by layer, dark and sturdy combat gear comes into existence, ending with a pair of sunglasses, completing the "badass" look Jake and Skyler were aiming for. Lastly, the power of the stone's magic embeds them back into the world.

Jake looks around to quickly find out where they are. He is in front of a warehouse, one of many in a port area. This place has been used for some sort of shipping industry, but it looks like it is no longer in operation. There is a large open area with several warehouses, a parking lot and an office building. It seems like they are at the dead end of the port, with a small forest behind it. Luckily, the area seems to be devoid of any human life, which is a good thing: It negates one of the most problematic powers of Baelnath more or less entirely, as there are no humans to possess for him.

"Well... I know a boss arena if I see one." Jake mumbles in the baritone voice of the fighter male he and Skyler have created.

He looks around uneasily. It is late afternoon, and it's a sunny day in the early autumn. There is a light wind going over the sea, creating waves and a salty taste on Jake's lips. It's hard to say what country they are in - it could be quite anything.

There is no sign of any movement, and no sign of a big red demon anywhere. If it hadn't been for the magic of the stone that had brought them here, Jake would have his doubts that this is really where Baelnath is. However, the magic of the stone has proven to be not entirely exact before.

The sound of his heavy boots hitting the concrete floor echoes in the open area as Jake walks around. Nothing.

"Is he... hiding from us?" Skyler asks after a while.

Jake almost jumps from the sudden voice in his head but calms down quickly again and answers: "I don't know. Do you feel anything?"

Skyler stays silent for a moment before he answers: "Yes. Yes, I think he is here."

Jake looks around uneasily again, trying to find any hint that he can follow to lead him to Baelnath.

Finally, he decides to go into the offensive. He reaches at his waist and draws a gun from a holster on his belt. Of course, the old Jake had no idea on how to handle a gun, but this new body of his knows - and that's all he needs.

"Come on, Baelnath!" he shouts into the open area, his voice echoing from the warehouse walls. "Show yourself! I have the power now and I'm ready to face you!"

They hear the sound of laughter from behind the office building and Skyler exclaims in their mind: "He's here! Be ready!"

Jake's eyes focus on the corner of the building, as a large, hulking demon emerges from behind it. The red skin and glowing eyes are unmistakable. Baelnath.

As it is his usual entrance, he is followed by black and dark red mist, reminding Jake of wings coming from the muscular, red-skinned body. If he had thought that the demon was afraid of him, the sneering smirk on the demonic face disposes of that idea. Baelnath is having fun.

"You are a lot stronger now than you were the last time I saw you, little mortal", the demon says, his voice deep and echoing through Jake's mind.

"To be honest, I didn't think you would find the strength to resist the abyss for much longer - and yet, here you are."

"Here I am", Jake says firmly and raises the gun in front of his body. "And you know why?"

Baelnath laughs out loud, his voice making the hair on Jake's neck stand up.

"Let me guess. You are going to fight me, with that little mortal toy of yours. You will succeed where everyone else has failed before. Because you are special. Your will is strong enough not to be easily subdued and you have resisted the temptation of the abyss."

It isn't that far off from what Jake had intended to say, but the mocking voice of the demon make it sound silly all of a sudden. Jake gulps and grabbed the gun firmer. His hands are sweating, and he still can't make out any sign of insecurity from the demon. This conversation is not going as planned.

"But you are wrong, little mortal. Your strength is not enough. And neither is your will. I made you an offer back then that you have foolishly discarded. Now face the consequences."

All of a sudden, Jake feels an immense pressure on his mind. The demon is trying to subdue his will with his own demonic magic, trying to bend Jake's mind.

Jake resists as well as he could, but the strength of Baelnath is beyond anything Jake had ever encountered, even stronger than the first time Baelnath tried this. He feels powerless against the demonic mind and has to watch as, against his will, he lowers the arm holding the gun.

"Don't worry, Jake. I'm here." Skyler's voice is calm and strong in Jake's mind. He can feel his cock strain against the cup in his jockstrap and Skyler joining him in the mental battle. Skyler's will is so much stronger than Jake's own, but yet, alone he, too, wouldn't stand a chance against the demon.

Together, however, with their two minds acting as one, they might have a chance. Jake pushes against Baelnath, while Skyler supports him. The mental pressure increases, but so do their own forces. It's like a game of tug of war, with the demonic and the human forces in balance. Sweat runs down Jake's forehead and Baelnath concentrates the entirety of his demonic will into the mental attack, as he growls: "You cannot fight me!"

In response, Skyler whispers in Jake's mind, full of determination: "Together."

With one decisive mental action and a quick movement, the two friends push out Baelnath's will, making his eyes grow big in surprise. At the same time, a loud bang echoes through the area as Jake pulls the trigger.

The bullet flies at incredible speed and strikes the demon right in his sternum, making the large body tumble, but doing almost no damage.

The red demon recoils for a moment, while the human and his dick in the body try to regain their balance.

Jake doesn't have to hear Skyler to know what he says: "Again!"

Several more shots hit the demon in quick succession, each sending the body back half a meter from the sheer force of impact. However, as the dust clears, the demon doesn't seem to be much damaged. Baelnath looks down at the black spot on his sternum where the bullet struck and then back up, looking angry.

"I see how it is now. You're not alone in there, aren't you? You sneaky bastard! That explains so much, even though I don't know how you did it." Baelnath snarls.

Jake is sweating and feeling very uncomfortable with his hard-on under the combat gear. Baelnath might not know who is in his body right now, but he knows Jake has backup.

"But no matter how many people you have in your head, you have but one body. I am not called the twisted master of flesh for no reason. Behold and watch your precious body wither!"

The demon raises a hand and points at Jake, who immediately starts to feel the now familiar feeling of change. The muscles and impressive stature of this body quickly melt away, and Jake feels weaker and weaker with each heartbeat. He hasn't even considered before that, of course, Baelnath can just change his body!

"Shit! He's taking your body away, Jake!" Skyler sounds alarmed.

Although Jake has not ever been at eye level with the demon, he positively has to look up to the smirking demon now and feels small and insignificant. The difference in strength and manliness becomes increasingly apparent with each pulse of the magic around him, and his smaller body betrays his mind as he can't help but marvel at the sheer display of strength in front of him.

Jake's jaw drops as he watches Baelnath flex his muscular arms, the bulging muscles still retaining the massive form he has always been.

The red demon leans down towards him, still smirking, much more confident now.

"Do you feel it already? The need to serve your superior? Do you wonder how this can be? Has the big bad demon broken my mind despite my best attempts?"

Baelnath laughs.

"You are so naive. One should think that a human being would know more about human nature than a demon from hell. But you don't. You live your life in ignorance of the basic principles of humanity. That feeling you feel now, it is not one of the mind. It's primal and entirely bodily, sexual even. The need to submit to me, to serve a clearly stronger leader is as hardcoded into your DNA as the need to mate is."

Jake tries to resist the change, but he feels powerless against it. It is like Baelnath's words have put him in a trance, making it hard to think clearly. Skyler is not of much help here. His now much smaller cock body is throbbing with anticipation, and his entire mind seems to be focused on the bulging masculine curves of the demon in front of him. It is as Baelnath said: The feeling is hot and burning and sexual. An involuntary moan escapes Jake's small and insignificant body. He really is powerless.

Powerless... No. He is not powerless. Even though his body betrays him, he still has the sigil stone with Baelnath's own power, purified by the angelic spark, contained within. Even though every instinct screams at him to submit to Baelnath, he shoves his left hand into his pocket, grabbing the stone. Baelnath isn't the only one with magic here.

The magic flows readily out of the stone as Jake draws on it, taking a generous amount of power to counter the magic of the demon. In a split second, Jake feels himself becoming stronger than he ever felt before. His body, despite being so small and insignificant, fills the whole area with a magical aura that overwhelms the demonic one.

"What!" Exclaims the demon, before reinforcing his own influence. Sparks rain down between them as they pit their magic power against each other. It is as Mog'Tol has said: Only the same demon's power can counter a demon's magic.

In the few seconds Baelnath has needed to answer with greater force, Jake has managed to quickly fix some of the flaws of his body, getting it back into a lean swimmers build that did not make him feel the need to submit that strongly.

Swirls of magic are flying left and right now, as both beings, demon and man, pit their power against each other in a way of a supernatural wrestling of arms. It's clearly a stalemate. Neither can defeat the other without great risk, and neither is willing to give up, as their mutual will to not be defeated has grown.

It doesn't help much when Skyler's voice sounds alarmed in Jake's head. "Jake, be careful! The power in that stone isn't endless, Mog'Tol has explained that to Baelnath. Perhaps he is trying to drain you out!"

The truth of Skyler's words makes Jake focus more on the flow of magic in his left hand, where the power flows into. He concentrates on feeling every single drop and every single spark that flows out of the stone and back into him. The truth is, Jake has no idea how much juice the stone has left, but at that rate, it seems sensible that it will be drained quickly. He needs to switch strategies.

Carefully, he strains to extract even more power from the stone, but not to pit it against the demon in the astral battlefield between them. Instead, he uses it to change his body again.

What he needs for his idea is raw physical power, a lot of it. Power and speed.

He imagines the body of Bjørnar. He needs that - and even more. It is hard to concentrate on growing his body when he is still busy pitting raw magic power against the demon and illuminating the darkening environment with magic discharges. But bit by bit, every muscle on his body bulges, becoming greater than ever again. Biceps, triceps, pectorals, all the small and big muscles needed for being strong and fast. The body that quickly fills his shirt and pants is bigger than anything he was in before. He is becoming a true titan of a man!

With a deep cry, he suddenly launches himself at the demon, right through the thick field of magic all around him. Straining the power of the stone even more, he hardens his clothes into a modern armor chest plate and materializes a big ass sword in his hand, striking at the demon.

"Oh, fuck yeah, Jake!" Skyler exclaims in his mind as he sees the sheer display of raw strength Jake has managed to draw out from the stone.

Baelnath can only blink in surprise as he is hit in the face by the giant, flying at him full force. He has been completely caught off guard by this assault, which makes the impact so much worse. The red skin of the demon is ripped open on his cheek and jaw by the impact of the sword, which sends him backwards several meters. The pressure of demonic magic against Jake is interrupted at once and the magic around them dissolves into harmless sparks and lights. The sun has begun to set now and paints the area in an orange shade.

"So, you have chosen violence. I hate violence!" Baelnath says slowly and stands up again. His magic focuses on himself, too, now and Jake can see the wounds that he has caused are quickly healing. In his hands, the dark red mist contracts into a heavy, two handed and double bladed axe dripping with red liquid. A demonic weapon if Jake has ever seen one.

For a moment, the giant mortal and the demon lord look each other in the eye, panting heavily, until Jake breaks the silence again. With an angry growl, he launches himself for a second time, raising his sword and letting out a primal scream. This time, the two of them clash. Baelnath's axe meets Jake's sword with a clang, as they strike each other hard enough to make sparks fly. Jake quickly withdraws his sword and swings it around for a second hit, this time using the stone's power generously to augment his own strength.

The two giants of the supernatural battle ground fight each other. The sound of their blades hitting each other echo through the empty area, followed by the heavy panting of the two beings. Baelnath is clearly struggling against the sheer power of the titanic mortal, who is more than a match for the demon in pure strength. They strike each other again and again, as Jake finds every possible angle to strike Baelnath's powerful frame, not letting up on his assault.

More than once, the big sword or the heavy axe meet flesh and cause heavy wounds. Blood spurts paint the concrete floor red where they meet and make it slippery and wet at places. One time, Jake even manages to cut off Baelnath's lower left arm, but each of the opponents has magic to their disposal. Wounds close and the cut-off arm just regrows at Baelnath's will.

Sword swing, sword swing, dodge roll to avoid the giant axe. Jake quickly feels the fatigue of the fight creep in. Even with all the strength he has gained from the sigil stone, the demon is still a demon and not to be underestimated. In his head, Skyler is keeping up as well, shouting instructions as Jake dodges Baelnath's axe by a hair's breadth.

"Left!" "No! Right!" "Use the stone!" "Don't drop your guard!"

Jake is listening to Skyler's directions, but they seem to have lost the advantage they had before the fight started. The demon and him are evenly matched and it's only a matter of who tires more quickly.

Drawing another big piece of the body altering magic of the sigil stone, Jake dissolves the backside of his armor and grows a magnificent pair of wings on his back. With a powerful jump of his strong legs, he leaps into the air and flies over the demon lord, who is left dumbfounded as he watches the giant body of Jake rise into the air, now with a new advantage over his opponent.

From above, soaring through the air, it is easier to strike at the demon and to dodge Baelnath's attacks - at least until the demon himself uses his magic to lift himself into the air. Now the two of them are flying in the sky over the deserted area of the port, flying at each other in a deadly game of aerial sword and axe strikes. The sounds of clashing metal and growling resonate between the buildings of the port, which seems to stretch out forever below them. Jake needs to rely even more on the power of the sigil stone to keep himself from falling down, changing his body here and there and augmenting his strikes and dodges.

Even with all the advantages his new winged body gives him, he can't seem to gain the upper hand against the red demon. Baelnath is much stronger than Jake has ever given him credit for, and his endurance seems infinite.

"Sky, think! We need some advantage, some distraction." Jake shouts in his mind, trying to find a way out of their stalemate.

Skyler's mind is in overdrive. Isn't there anything he knows about the demon that he can use to his advantage? Suddenly, he gets an idea.

"You need to bring some distance between the two of you!"

Jake nods and disengages the demon, zooming to a stony beach nearby.

"What now?!" He asks anxiously, keeping a careful eye on the demon, who takes a moment before following him by hovering in the air, laughing.

"Just like that, mortal. Run as you will, but you will never escape!"

However, despite the arrogant words, his voice is clearly strained and exhausted. The demon must be feeling the fatigue as much as Jake.

"Listen, Jake. I don't know if it works, but... try to *summon* him here - and then, strike while he is disoriented."

Skyler remembers the feeling of discomfort Baelnath has felt as the Binding Circle has summoned him. Even though Skyler has no idea on the correct symbols or incantations, he just hopes they don't need it. If he remembers Mog'Tol’s teachings correctly, since they are using demonic magic, all they have to do is *want* to summon Baelnath enough. Of course, Skyler has no illusions on being able to bind Baelnath as the Binding Circle has done. That would only result in pitting their magic powers against each other again without the intricate circles and drawings of the human mages.

However, that one moment of distraction might be all they need to get the upper hand.

Jake lands at the beach and quickly disposes of his wings and changes back into less of a behemoth to be able to focus on one thing only. He closes his eyes in concentration, shutting out the outside world while he focuses on one thing and one thing only: To summon Baelnath, the demon. It doesn't matter that he is only a few hundred meters away. He is a demon and can be summoned. Jake gently bites the tip of his tongue as he draws magic power from the stone. Both he and Skyler can feel clearly that the magic doesn't come as easily as before. At first, Jake thinks that it's because of the difficult task, but Skyler's voice in his head offers another explanation: "Jake, I think this is it. The stone is nearly empty!"

Jake instinctively knows that Skyler is right. But it doesn't matter. For this task, there is still enough juice in there. Jake opens his eyes again and shouts: "Baelnath! Come here! Now!"

The magic works. From one moment to the other, Baelnath is plucked from the air some hundred meters away and delivered magically to the ground at Jake's feet - unarmed and disoriented.

Jake doesn't give the red demon the chance to react. With a magically enhanced mighty strike that drains the stone's reserves even more, he brings down his sword on the demon, wounding him gravely. He doesn't stop there, either. While Baelnath tries to raise his arm to shield himself from damage and his wounds begin to heal, Jake strikes again, and again, and again. It proves to be a poor choice of him to let go of his bodybuilder muscles, and each new strike is more exhausting than the last, but it is clear that Jake and Skyler have won now.

Baelnath is unable to do anything except to heal his body, and it is clear that his magic, too, is fading.

As Jake raises his sword for the final blow, however, Skyler stops him:

"Jake, hold on."

Jake halts. "What? No! It's over, Sky. Let's end it now."

"I know. But killing him won't work. For long, I mean."

"What do you mean?" Jake asks, still raising his sword over the red demon, who looks at him with a hateful yet powerless gaze.

"I mean that he will eventually come back. Mog'Tol said so to Baelnath before: He will come back to hell at some point, and I don't know how long it will take."

"And if he comes back, he'll come for us again." Jake says, understanding Skyler's point.

"Yes."

Jake nods slowly, and his arm lowers. "So... What do we do? Send him to hell now? Isn't that our only option?"

"Let me think, Jake. Give me a moment to think!"

"What are you waiting for?" the defeated demon, who didn't hear the conversation in Jake's head asks bitterly. "Just finish me off already."

Jake doesn't even react to Baelnath's words. Instead, he waits patiently with his sword drawn over the demon.

"I've got it!" Skyler exclaims in his head. "Do you remember what Mog'Tol said about demons? That they are made, not born?"

"Yes." Jake replies. He remembered the conversation about the demon's origins as well as Skyler did.

"The binding circle didn't mention a demon named Baelnath in their documents. That means that Baelnath had another name before he came to hell."

"Probably, but how does that help us?" Jake asks impatiently.

"I've got an idea. Let me think... Quor'Zhai, Han'labte, Pyrixiel, Tervonos,..." Skyler reiterated the list of names they had heard in the body of Dominik.

"Wait, perhaps this is some Lord Voldemort thing?"

"You mean an anagram?" Skyler ponders. "Could be - it would be pretty cliché, but I don't think that's much of a problem for demons. Okay, so 'Quor'Zhai' has a Q that 'Baelnath' has not, Han'labte has a..."

Skyler stops for a moment, before continuing. "God, Jake, I could kiss you. 'Baelnath' is an anagram of 'Han'labte'. That's his real name! And he was a spirit of nature once!"

"I know who you are, Han'labte!" Jake immediately uses his knowledge to address the demon on the ground.

"How... How did you know?" Baelnath says, incredulously.

That is all the confirmation the two friends need.

"But what do we do with it?" Jake asks silently.

"I guess with his true name, we could bind him or something like that. I don't know if the magic we have left is enough though."

"There's one more thing we can do." Jake says with a sudden pulse of determination. "Do you remember what that small raven demon said? Why you couldn't use the stone to turn me back into a human when I went full demon?"

"I couldn't, because the magic of a demon can only ever be undone by the same demon who cast it, or a miracle from above." Skyler cites. "And it wasn't Baelnath's power who turned you into a demon, but it was the first thing you did yourse- oh."

"Exactly." Jake nods. "We should be able to turn Baelnath back into Han'labte."

"Then let's do that!" Skyler says excitedly. "That's like the only option that won't come back to haunt us later!"

Jake nods again and grips the stone firmer but stops in his track again. "Damn. We can't do that."

"What? Why not?" asks Skyler, confused.

"Because we only have a tiny bit of magic left. If we use it to turn Baelnath back into his nicer form, we will need all of it. And then, there is no more magic left to turn you back into a human."

There is a moment of silence between the two friends. Regardless of how he looks at the situation, Skyler knows that Jake is right. He has been turned into a cock by the power of Baelnath. If they succeed with their plan, there is no Baelnath-magic left anywhere. And a demon's magic cannot be broken by anything else but the same demon or a miracle from above.

But if they don't do it, if they use the magic to turn back Skyler, all they can do with Baelnath is to kill him - and send him back to hell with that. That would buy them some time, perhaps a few years, before he comes back and takes revenge. But they would be left with an empty stone that cannot be refilled with more magic. Skyler, and Jake, would have no chance against the reborn Baelnath.

Looking at it that way, the only choice they have would be a short life with a bitter end as two humans - or keeping Jake safe for the price of Skyler having to stay a cock forever.

For Skyler, who has been in love with Jake for as long as he can remember, the choice is easy.

"It's... okay. Do it, Jake." Skyler says, softly. "I will stay with you as your dick - and it's the only solution that lasts."

"Sky, I can't-" Jake starts to protest, but Skyler interrupts him. "Jake, you don't know what you're saying. I've been dreaming about this for years. To be able to confess to you how I feel, and to be close to you. Look at us now, how close we have become. We are of one body, and I am a most important part of you. In a way, we are as close as you can become - closer than flesh."

"Sky... are you sure?" Jake gulps. "There's no turning back. I would love to keep you as my dick, if that's what you want."

"Yes, Jake. Let's do this." Skyler's voice is calm and sincere.

Jake nods and turns to the demon who has not moved in the meantime.

"Here we go. Baelnath, you need to change. Remember who you were before. Become Han'labte once more!"

With these words, Jake draws the last of the power out of the sigil stone and lets it gently wash over the red demon form, changing him back into what he has been before as the last of the sun disappears behind the ocean waves.

***

As it turns out, Han'labte is a gentle soul. The spirit of nature was responsible for change, puberty and the male body in his prime before he became corrupted by hell. As such, his natural manifestation was that of a most attractive young man, often sporting a mischievous smile.

He has full memory of the centuries and millenniums of being a demon and feels deeply sorry for everything he has done. Even though he has been what must qualify as one of the nicer demons, he did a lot of evil that now burdens his new-found conscience. He is unable to understand how Jake and Skyler can forgive him.

At first, they let him leave, so they can catch their breath and give themselves some time to think about what is to be done next. It takes some time to travel back to Jake's home and slowly get settled in again. Jake's final body is pretty much the one he started this incredible journey with, with one big difference: His cock is much bigger than what he ever had before that fateful night with the sigil stone. And this piece of cock literally has a mind of his own. His best friend since kindergarten is now Jake's cock, and although their life together takes some getting used to, in the end, both are happy with the outcome. They have gotten to know so much about each other over the course of their adventure that living together in the same body doesn't seem like such a big stretch anymore.

Besides, Skyler still finds it extremely hot to be treated like nothing more than a cock - a fantasy that he can easily live out now. So, there are sometimes even weeks when Jake and Skyler don't speak to each other, and the former uses the latter just like a normal dick: For pissing and jerking off, making sure to do both of them as often as possible for Skyler's enjoyment.

At other times, they combine their minds to overcome life's burdens. Skyler's cleverness and Jake's quick thinking are an unbeatable combo.

One year after their final battle at the beach, all of a sudden, Han'labte appears to visit Jake and Skyler. Although the encounter is awkward for all of them at first, they quickly work out a way to be comfortable around each other again. They become good friends, and, eventually, even more. Jake has taken on the sexual orientation of his dick, making him as gay as they come. There is nothing left of the evils of Baelnath, so it comes only naturally, that Jake and Skyler on the one side and Han'labte fall in love with each other and enter a hot and steamy human-cock-spirit relationship.

Han'labte has recovered enough of his own, spiritual magic to make small adjustments to Jake's body, and together, they explore every possible way to please each other. The only constant in their changing form is Skyler, who always is the cock of Jake - and loves every minute of it.

***

Down, in the seventh hell, Mog'Tol smiles a thin smile. There has been no sign of Baelnath for weeks now, so it is safe to assume that Mog'Tol's intricate plan has worked. If he wants to be modest, there has been a bit of luck involved as well, but really, there was no need for modesty.

With a satisfied sigh, he sits down in his new throne, that Baelnath fashioned out of several changed humans. You can say about Baelnath what you want, but he does have a good taste in architecture. So good, in fact, that Mog'Tol wanted to have his palace of flesh as soon as he first entered it. Of course, for a master mind like Mog'Tol, it hasn't been too hard: Here and there nudging Baelnath, wo really has not been very clever, into the right direction, giving the human mages of the binding circle his true name, it has been an easy setup. The appearance of Jake and Skyler had surprised even him for a moment, but that was nothing what a few visions induced by Mog'Tol couldn't solve.

Yes, there was every reason to be satisfied. The whole palace was rightfully his now, all enough of a reason to congratulate himself.

***

As unlikely as it might have seen, their joint adventure ends with everyone being happy: Mog'Tol, the demon, got his palace, Han'labte his redemption, Jake his freedom, friendship and love, and Skyler, the cock his dream.

And thus, Closer Than Flesh finally comes to an end after ten chapters and 45k words full of demons, cocks and transformations. I hope you liked the story! If you like to have a look at the previous episode, click here. If you, for some reason, want to read it all from the beginning, this is the way!

A big thanks to all of you who enjoy my stories! If you want to support my writing, have a look at my riot page!

#closer than flesh #male transformation #muscle transformation #cock tf #romance

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notyour-valentine · 6 months

Text

Barbe Bleue (Tommy Shelby x Reader Angst)

[Masterlist] [Taglist]

Summary: Beware, beware...

Note: This is a very much belated contribution to @zablife and her celebration. Congratulations once more - I hope you enjoy nevertheless!

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption. I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Warning: death, violence, dead bodies - also quite literally pardon my french

Wordcount: 4565 words

She remembered everything about the day of their first meeting, the sun turning the sea to shining aquamarine, the terracotta tiles of the roof taking on the shade of a precious wine.

It had been a beautiful day in a beautiful place, warm, but not too warm for the children to play outside. There had been boys playing at soldiers, or outlaws, or even cowboys, and some girls playing a skipping game.

“Méfie-toi, méfie-toi, méfie-toi.”, they had sung, as the rope picked up speed, before sending one of the girls in the middle. “Première épouse, Deuxième épouse,…”

They had added to the melody of the place just like the whispering of the wind in the trees, and the waves splashing against the cliffs.

That was the day she had first met Thomas Shelby.

He was a businessman, he had said, one of many that came to these parts, yet one of few that came alone, without wives or girlfriends or mistresses. It seemed almost like he had truly been here just for business.

He had never said if this particular endeavor had been a success, but theirs had.

They had driven up to the hills, in that shiny polished car of his that he had let her drive at the end of their few days together.

Then he had invited her to London, not just said it, but paid for her travel and accommodation for the five days she was there.

During the days she had been sightseeing or shopping, with him meeting her for lunch or tea and then always in the evenings. They went to the theatre, to the opera, the ballet.

And a few months after that, they had holidayed together in Rome, eight days just him and her and la dolce vita.

By the end he had asked her to marry him - and how could she say no?

She had met many people, many men, in her time. Some were generous, some were kind, some were affectionate, some were attentive. Few were all.

Mr Thomas Shelby was one of those few.

So it was no choice at all, was it?

There was only one time where she met his family ahead of the wedding, and perhaps it was why she was so keen on memorizing all she could about them.

They were an interesting lot.

There was Mrs Gray, an aunt, who was wearing more glitter and shine than a Christmas tree, from earrings, to bracelets, necklaces and brooches.

All, she noted, the most expensive Art Deco cuts money could buy.

There was the sister, Mrs Thorne, who favoured less flashy items both in jewelry and clothes, but no less pricey. She could tell from a mile away.

There were brothers too, to go with the sister. The elder with his narrowed eyes and scarred knuckles, seemed keen to avoid her gaze.

The younger made an effort to hold her gaze, to keep his soft hands in the pockets of his tailored jacket, and his jaw muscles’ clenched.

He was a boy, she could tell, who would have taken great offence to being called that.

They were kind enough, she had to admit, but there were gazes she did not like, whispers she could not catch and words she could not place.

“She’s got some shoes to fill.”

But she knew she would be happy with Thomas, she just knew she would.

Arrow House was their home, a large country home on a sprawling piece of land. And all theirs. It had been Thomas’s for nearly a decade now, but now it would be their home, for their future.

Thrice’s the charm. That was what one of the chauffeurs had said with a shrug.

There were rules of course, as in any house. He didn’t like her in the basement, fraternising with the servants he said. What an oddly harsh way of putting it. Nor did he want her climbing to the attic. There was nothing up there and the stairs were unsafe. And who would want to have a ladder snap out from under them?

Oh and his office was to be his alone. He didn’t want her meddling in his business, not that it was of interest of her anyway, he assured her.

Not the attic, not the office, not the basement.

With all the other rooms, she could do without them, would probably never have wondered what lay behind those doors if he hadn’t made such a point of it, but it wasn’t worth starting an argument over.

There was so much else to explore!

Not just the many rooms, and the paintings on the walls, the expensive furniture, the vast library, that had predated his ownership of the house for generations, she was sure, but other fineries.

The silverware was old, she recognized quickly, but it was placed in cupboards with new china, the industrial kind, but by no means cheap. She recognised the gold rims and gold paintings on one set from a catalog a few years back, done to replicate the Fabregé style just a few years after they lost most of their customers in tragedy.

Quite…flashy.

But there was another set, also new, but in shape and colour more reminiscent of the classical style in softer colours, like the late baroque, but in the style of the European Art Deco.

Both sets seemed barely used, with even and matching numbers of plates and cups, no chips, no scratches. Two brand new sets of china just a few years apart that, apart of time and pricing, couldn’t be more different.

A few days after her discovery, she had almost forgotten it, but Frances, the housemaid asked her if, as Mistress of the House, she wanted to purchase a new set of china. “No need to squeeze another one in the cupboards.”; she told her in the lightest tone she could muster, expecting a giggle or smile at least, since she was in charge of delegating the cleaning duties and wouldn’t welcome yet another dust collector.

Instead, the woman had grown pale.

The contents of the cupboards could only occupy her for so much, especially when compared to the gardens.

There was a traditional rose garden, with stone statues. Three looked as old as the house, but two were far less tormented by time and weather, only showing the earliest of marks.

The vegetable garden was carrying well, and as the gardeners told her, but two years from their first rotation, to keep in mind if she wanted to keep the vegetable garden.

She saw no reason to remove it.

Beyond it, just beyond the walls she could see dents in the grass where supporting pillars must’ve stood once, and up until not too long ago - but long enough for grass to regrow.

When she asked the gardeners what had stood there before that, he told her he didn’t remember, but that he would help her with any changes she wished.

Thomas had told her she could reshape the garden to whatever she desired.

“I shall take my time before making any rash decisions.”, she assured the gardener as they passed the flowerbeds with the yellow roses. “It takes time for ideas to take root, just like flowers.”

“Oh aye,”; he said without the smile she had been hoping for. “If they have enough time to get to spread them.”

How curious northern humor was!

Beyond the gardens were the stables, a large, renovated facility with extra rooms for the saddles, reins, crops and boots.

She saw men’s boots of all sizes, sturdy and worn, partly even mended.

Only in a dust covered box in the corner did she find women’s boots, a white pair and a brown one.

The white leather boots were delicately worked, yet seemed highly impractical to her. The brown pair, though made from soft leather, seemed more sturdy and reliable. They were also two thumb widths longer.

Neither shoe had been worn long enough to create true creases.

Upon spotting her discovery, the stable boy told her there was a shoemaker in London who she could seek out, but she declined.

The next time she visited the stables, with Thomas, the box had disappeared. What a shame, she had liked the azure-painted wood. It had always been her favourite colour.

And the time she went to retrieve the silver candelabra, she found the shelves below void of both baroque pastels and gold shimmer.

How strange.

What remained though were the outlines in the tapestry she could spot on her way up and down the stairs. There were two, where there was almost a pale shadow behind paintings of horses, peaking out behind the frames. One shadow had almost disappeared if the morning light didn’t betray it, but another was more noticeable.

Still, she didn’t like the case of the disappearing china. It wasn’t her taste, of course, but she had quite liked the way the pale blue looked against the white of the cup.

Of course, she could have asked Frances or the maids, but she was nothing if not a self-reliant woman. Where would one put old china? The basement? The office? The attic?

Certainly not the office, she thought, giggling at her own joke, so she opted to try the attic.

Careful as not to lose balance or break through the old wood, she crept upward, only to find it truly reliable.

The attic was as all attics were, with old furniture, forgotten trinkets and a few suitcases.

She wouldn’t have spared them a second glance if she had not noticed a peaking shimmer of silver from a fray that had snuck out from its leathery prison.

Her curiosity sparked, she opened them.

Each and every one of the suitcases were filled with clothes, suitcase upon suitcase of women’s clothes from stockings and underwear, to fur-lined winter coats. As always, the sparkling evening dresses captured her attention most of all - the shimmer and shine, the beads and glittery frays.

But not all the dresses were at similar lengths, in fact, about half the dresses would be too short for her to wear, while the other half would be too long.

How strange - especially since they were both in the fashion of the last decade, after the war and the stagnation that came after, created in the rush of the new world, with wider cuts, shorter skirts and blinding shimmer and shine.

It was a true shame to leave such pieces rotting in the attic but she didn’t know who they belonged to, Mrs Grey? Some were certainly flashy enough? Mrs Throne - some perhaps.

Either way, the gowns were all so very recognisable, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself by being seen wearing another woman’s clothes.

While Thomas’s office was forbidden to her, and perhaps in exchange too, she had an office of her own, looking over the gardens, with a plush sofa, a delicate writing desk, and freshly cropped flowers brought to her each day.

Next to the sofa was a small side table with two drawers. In the first was nothing, emptied out to be filled with her heart's desire.

In the second, she found anything to avert a spontaneous catastrophe, from handkerchiefs, to needle and thread, and a little envelope holding buttons in case one came loose.

What a thrifty choice, especially since she knew that Frances and the maids had sewing supplies downstairs.

Still, any well-educated girl should be able to sew her own cuff buttons back on, and inside. She found a collection of those.

Only upon folding it again, did she see the letterhead identifying the sender. Mrs T. Shelby it read, in dark red, almost maroon lettering.

She thought nothing of it, except that her predecessor must’ve been either a very serious woman, or a very professional one. It looked almost like the kind of font used for company writing rather than a private letterhead.

She knew, of course she knew, that there had been a Mrs Shelby before her.

Thomas had told her all about that - well, not all about it, but she knew of her and that their marriage did not end on good terms.

What more did she need to know? She certainly didn’t care for much else.

The previous Mrs Shelby didn’t seem to be missed much by his family as they never spoke a hint of her, nor the staff. Besides, she was Mrs Shelby now. What should she concern herself with the previous one?

Does spring wonder how winter’s tidings fared?

Most unfortunately for her, Thomas was frequently away on business, and she soon found herself forced to find use for her time. Eventually, even she relented and began to browse the bookshelves. Most were old classics that were better known than read, and dry books of law and higher learning.

Occasionally she spotted a book of poetry, or geography or history. One book did indeed catch her interest - a book about the unfortunate wives of the increasingly unshaped Henry VIII.

She remembered a sing-song game about the man, skipping back and forth on chalk-bordered lines: “Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived.”, all aiming of course for the last and most fortunate spot. As a child she had done so too. Of course now she knew that Anna of Cleeve had the greatest luck - and sense - of all of them.

Beside it was a book on yet another Queen who through no fault of her own came to miss her head, and as she pulled out the book she had selected in the hope of familiarising herself more with her new homeland, it caught in the binding and was thrown off the shelves.

As she picked it up, she noticed the folded letter paper someone had used as a bookmark between the pages.

On it was a list of names, three for boys, three for girls.

Charles - Alexander - John - Sophie - Marjorie - Jane

The names were of no concern to her, not compared to what she saw printed on top of the page.

Mrs T. Shelby.

In purple, looped writing.

Her thumb brushed over it, tracing the looped S, the hooped L, the way the letters were all strung together in a girlish way, like the first word of a fairy tale in a children’s book.

Not at all professional.

And a complete clash with maroon.

She did not mention the letter and envelope to Thomas, much like the dresses. But this time it wasn’t for lack of thought. In truth it was anything but - she thought in professional maroon writing, and breathed in looped purple lettering, the contrast, the mismatch, the utter dissonance making her temples throb.

It was the same temple Thomas caressed as he pushed hair out of her face, saying how much he would enjoy a portrait of hers to hang in his study.

It wasn’t an unreasonable request - many new paintings adorned his walls, of him and his brothers, standing, a horse, or even sitting in a group. Some included his sister and aunt, while others contained just the woman.

The only reason someone should own more than one painting of oneself is if one owned more than one house to show them in.

Her husband seemed to disagree.

In fact, he seemed very keen on it.

She could tell by the clothes the women wore and the hair they had when they had been immortalised when they had been painted.

It was more difficult with the ever-so-boring clothing choice of the men.

“Frances?”, she asked one afternoon, looking at the large family portrait in the dining room.

“Mrs Shelby?”

“Where is the painting of the previous Mrs Shelby?”, she wanted to know.

“Mrs Shelby?”, the older woman said, sounding almost frightened at her suggestion.

“I’d like to see it please.”

“Tha- there is no portrait here.”, she stammered, shifting uncomfortably.

“No?”, she asked. “Where is it?”

“Gone.”, Frances quickly said and rushed to leave.

Gone. Maybe so, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know where it was gone from, not when she so clearly saw the thin line of paler tapestry peeking out behind the painting of the horse, or the lining on top of the painting of the doe in the forest.

Two signs, two paintings.

It wouldn’t be unusual for a man who had not one but four paintings of himself in his house to have more than one of his wife.

But as she looked at the horse and the doe, she did wonder if one maybe showed a woman in purple and the other a woman in maroon.

From the window she could look out to where the gardener’s children were playing, a game of skipping rope.

It brought back the memories of that very first day, and the melody the girls had been chirping.

Méfie-toi, méfie-toi, méfie-toi.

The shoes disappeared, just like the china had done, and she was sure if she had told a soul of the suitcases in the attic they would suffer the same fate if they hadn’t already. The letter paper and envelope could burn, or be hidden easily, but not the outline on the walls, no matter how little of it was shown.

She knew because she passed them every single day, and every single day she would let her eyes confirm what could not be erased. Father time remained undefeated - flowers wilted, women aged, colours faded, some to light, some to dark, but they faded all the same and once the petals had dropped, once the wrinkle had formed, there was no smoothing it back out again.

But she wasn’t there yet, not quite, and she knew well how to play her part, and so she took great care in wearing the jewelry Thomas not only bought her, all his money did that, but picked them out himself.

They were neither the most exquisite nor the most tasteful of her collection, but wearing it was what a good wife did and would undoubtedly please him greatly and the last thing she wanted was for him to stop buying her jewelry.

So she wore the necklace, and the matching earrings and the matching bracelet she had gotten over the course of a year - birthday, wedding anniversary and Christmas respectively, but the pins she clasped in her delicately laid hair were her own.

Just a little touch of elegance wouldn’t hurt, not that many would understand. Tonight's extravagance was for business partners she had never heard of, as, like her aunt-in-law so generously put it, insight to family business only extended to blood.

On the way down, as the silks of her gown whispered against her thighs, she could see the outlines of the replaced paintings even in the flickering lights that illuminated the rooms for the night.

But while the electricity was fickle, her smile never failed, nor did the sharpness of her gaze.

Just because it was not hers to know, did not mean she had no interest in finding out.

After most were on the closing sips of their first glass of champagne, Thomas and Arthur and a few other men moved onto a more private discussion for which a change of scenery seemed necessary.

She saw them leave through the door to the library but when she went there for some much needed air, it was empty.

That only left a return to the hallway, which was filled with guests, or the servant’s staircase at the back.

Not up, she thought, someone who took such great care to remove themselves from a situation would not then choose the option that limited their movement further.

So down it was, to the kitchens and cellars and storage rooms.

All day there had been a hassle to rival the preparations for war, with everything being prepared only to the finest of standards, clattering of pots and pans, shouting of a handful of cooks over a dozen kitchen helpers, the murmur of honest work being completed.

Now there was anything but.

Granted, they had settled the menu for tonight to allow for maximum flexibility, but that did not mean the complete absence of work, nor of people.

A lady of the house snooping about in the kitchens, of course only to inquire after the selection of brandy Thomas ought to have made for after dinner, if asked, would not go unnoticed- if there was anyone left to notice.

But it was as if all birds had escaped the cage, all chickens fluttered out the den, all horses escaped the pasture. There was no sound, no sight, nothing but the buzzing of the event upstairs.

Until she smelled the smoke of the cigarettes coming from behind the kitchen.

Walking on her tiptoes to prevent her heels from giving herself away, she crept closer, until she could touch the cold wall, just below where the window was tilted open to let the kitchen smoke escape - and now let the cigarette smoke in.

“-....gotta change me shirt before we get back.”, she heard Thomas say, followed by a slight, strained cough. For a man so keen on appearances, he was so easy to slip back into his old speech patterns when with his brother. Such a mistake was so easily and obviously avoidable, but when in the company of Arthur, it was a certainty for him.

“Yeah, yeah, you do that Tom. I’ll just get some boys to clean up the mess in the meat room.”, she heard her brother-in-law mumble.

She removed herself quickly, if either one of them decided to use the kitchen door to get back in and held her breath until she knew it was clear.

How strange - that Arthur would want the meat room cleaned in the middle of a party, she thought, as she kept her company with the storage boxes of wine, both new and those predating her husband’s purchase of the house.

It was an easy guessing game of which was which, but not one she was interested in, and with Arthur’s promise to return quickly, she’d have to move quicker still.

Glancing left and right, before she reached for the door knob, she was surprised to find it locked. The easy thing would have been to ask Frances or the cook for a key, as they both had one or to retrieve the spare key in the butler’s office, the appropriate thing would have been to return to the celebration. The smart thing, the only thing that would satiate her more, was to pull one of her bejeweled hair pins out of the back of her updo and twirl it between her fingers.

Locks were so much like men, one just had to know which buttons to press and how to do it, but after a bit of fumbled wiggling, both inevitably gave in.

It opened with a slight click, making her heart flutter with excitement, as she pushed it open with her shoulder, gathering her skirts in anticipation of the unsavory stains of blood and worse that would stain the white tiled rooms.

But when she looked up, she was met with eyes, a pair of warm brown eyes ripped wide open as if surprised to see her - only they didn’t see her. They couldn’t see her.

The pin slipped from her hands as she clasped them tightly over her face to keep herself from screaming, disappearing in a scarlet puddle as she stared at the man, at his eyes, his parted lips, and the metal hook that had been driven through his throat, holding his lifeless body up at the place where he had met his end.

There was another, further back, his body slumped to the side like a forgotten sack of coal, with his face turned away from her, blood still seeping out from under him.

And there was a third, laying on the table where the butchers would prepare the game after a hunt, his hand but an inch from a cleaver, still reaching it seemed.

One. Two. Three.

All men she had seen just moments ago, with life in their eyes and strength in their limbs as they left the dining room for the library - left with Arthur and Thomas.

She did not even realise she was running until she reached the door to their bedroom, her mind remembering in the very last moment that Thomas had spoken about changing, so she turned in the opposite direction, all the way down the hall to one of the countless guest rooms.

They would house some guest or cousin for the night who had already unpacked, but she didn’t care as she slammed the door shut, her fingers slipping again and again as she turned the lock.

She wanted to scream, to hurl, to curl up in the corner and weep, for herself as much as the three she had seen. She wanted to fill her coat lining with jewels and run, run straight to the train station, on a ship - to the Americas, or Australia, or Africa - anywhere, anywhere but here.

But she couldn’t leave.

She couldn’t stay here either. Soon she would be missed, if she wasn’t already. No, she had to go down. She had to smile, to talk, to drink, to dance because if she didn’t the guests would know, and worse, Thomas would know.

Her whole body tensed as if the muscles wanted to burst forth, escaping the prison of her skin like rats scurrying away from a sinking ship as she pressed her palms against the wood of the door, forcing herself to breathe, to calm herself, to think - to think on everything that happened, to draw on everything she knew.

She’d survive this, she’d have to. If anyone could, it would be her.

When she turned she could see her reflection in the mirror glass, the abyss of nighttime beyond, painted lips, perfect hair, jewels given by her husband and a silk gown tailored to perfection.

She was the image of elegance and perfection, and when she smiled, no one would ever know. No one could ever know. She would not let them.

By the time she had descended down the stairs, not even her hand was shaking anymore, only her heart was thundering in her chest. It was the only part of her body she could not control, the only thing she could not subjugate to her will, not as she talked to the guests, not as she took her husband's arm, not as she beamed and clapped for his toast.

It thumped and thumped and thumped.

Only in the mingling after the drinks, between billiards and card games, in the haze of exotic cigars did she see Arthur and Thomas talking again, their backs turned.

As if feeling her gaze, Thomas turned.

She smiled at him, the perfect, perfect wife, before turning back to the guest she was talking to, an older woman who had been telling her about her granddaughters.

They would be of an age, she thought, with the girls she had watched that very first time she had met Tommy.

In that very moment the thumping of her heart seemed to match the rhythm of a skipping rope, being hurled through the air in a shadowed street on a distant shore, perfectly in sync with the bright laughter of girls and the song they sang.

“Méfie-toi, méfie-toi, méfie-toi de Barbe-Bleue.“

Taglist

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@lilyrachelcassidy @jyessaminereads @chlorrox @watercolorskyy @books-livre @quarterpastmidnight @lilyevanswhore @polishcrazyone @zablife @just-a-harmless-patato @stevie75 @flyingjosephine-blog @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @babayaga67 @butterfly-skinnylegend @shelbydelrey @mrkdvidal1989 @raincoffeeandfandoms @midnightmagpiemama @adaydreamaway08 @trixie23

Tommy

@knowledgefulbutterfly @babayaga67 @signorellisantichrist @lespendy @geeksareunique @look-at-the-soul @lothbrokcore @rangerelik @elenavampire21 @evanore @dandelionprints

#valentineswritings #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby / reader #tommy shelby & reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby / reader #thomas shelby & reader #tommy shelby imagine #thomas shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader imagine #thomas shelby x reader imagine #peaky blinders imagine #barbe bleue

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l0velylecter · 1 year

Text

say yes to me — simon ‘ghost’ riley / f!reader

— “like a barge at sea, in the storm, i stay clear.”

— 'FAITH WILL GET YOU KILLED.’ HE sounded tired, sad even. The mist was starting to crowd you from all sides. Above, snowflakes danced in the light: a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. You tentatively reached out to brush the masked cheek with your thumb, putting on your best smile even if tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

‘ Well, you've kept me safe. Haven’t you, Simon?’

summary : when his enemies used your history with simon against him, the soldier begins to reflect on your relationship, well, whatever was left of it: even after the divorce, life still finds a way to drag you back into the crossfire, back to him. pairing : simon ‘ghost’ riley / f! reader fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii rating : m for mature and suggestive themes, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, cursing, references to past substance abuse, arguments that may be anxiety inducing to some, anger management issues from simon tags : angst, hurt and comfort, simon struggling to face his emotions, divorce, reunion after years, scenes with brief descriptions of sex in it, female parts, fab!reader, told in parts, refrences to his past from the comics, a small headcanon about his (dead) mom word count : 1.7k song used for inspiration : yes to heaven by lana del rey & my blood by ellie goulding

01 | Simon rescued you in winter. Sedated by the wind, the city's heartbeat begins to fade; the air — cold with the promise of snow. It distracted you from the fact that you were bleeding, your blouse clinging to the warm and wet wound. It also made hearing harder: past the ringing in your ears, you could hear him shouting, movements rushed as he knelt to haul your body atop his lap. The familiar string of curses erasing any suspicions of his identity.

" Simon." You rasped, smiling even if everything was hurting," My Simon."

" Keep your eyes open." He ordered, " Don't you fucking close them."

He told you to focus on something, anything to keep you awake. So you anchored yourself to how he curled his finger around your shoulders because even if his eyes were stern to save his composure, his grip says otherwise. He has always held onto you as if you were going to slip away, tightly, surely. As if Simon wanted to convince himself that you weren't a dream ready to be ripped away from him by the morning ( but maybe this was the first time he wished otherwise). He'd tap your cheek from time to time. The brief and sharp sting prying your eyes open.

Simon adjusted you across his lap, your body rocking as the helicopter landed roughly. Somewhere along the way, a confession had slipped past your mouth, "I thought...you wouldn't come."

There was a quick flash of anger across his face: fingers twitching and knees tensing beneath you.

" I won't next time."

When you woke up in a hospital bed, a nurse went to alert the doctor, the empty chair by the foot of the bed staring back at you. 02 | Simon left you in spring. He didn't visit, didn't call, didn't write. You didn't expect him to anyway, carrying on with your life as if you'd never seen him in the first place. The whole thing felt like a hallucination. Seeing Simon again felt like witnessing a premonition of a ghost who should be good as dead to you. Yet your stitches said otherwise, and so did Captain Jonathan Price, his visit an overdue prediction that came true late in May. The bouquet resting against your vase was supposedly an apology for the intrusion — " I was raised proper."

" Let me guess. Simon's angry with me."

Price lowered his cigar, mouth curling downwards, " No. Not at you."

You relaxed against the couch. You wouldn't be so careless to claim that Simon trusted him, but at the very least, you knew he respected the man. You reminisced about the first time you met Price ( even then, he had a cigar hanging from his mouth). He had hauled Ghost past your doorway: bloody, battered, and bruised. That must've been at least seven or eight years ago when you'd just started living with your husband.

Right, you swallowed, catching yourself — when he was your husband.

As if hearing your thoughts, Price sighed, " You weren't on any official records. There was no documentation, no pictures. Nothing. No one knew about you."

" And now?"

" His team suspects, but I doubt there'll be any external witnesses left to ever pull a bloody stupid stunt like that again."

You raised your brow.

" He went after everyone in that warehouse. No survivors. No witnesses."

The image of Simon covered head to toe with blood, eyes furious and lethal, flashed before your eyes. It would make sense why he wouldn't want to rescue you next time because, after his purge, you doubt there would be anyone — anything left to hurt you. He's on leave now. Simon says he wants to be thorough.

You could barely keep it together when gesturing at the flowers, " Tell him I said thank you."

Price asked how you knew it was from Simon — " The staff in the center used to teach classes on flowers. That included gardening, making bouquets, and learning meaning behind them. After...after what they did to him, he wouldn't talk for months. I guess that class was his way of trying to fill in the silence. Daffodils bloom first during spring: new beginnings, sorries. I taught him that. He used to get me them all the time.”

You shook your head, feeling helpless, “He hasn't changed." 03 | Simon’s kisses felt like summer: hot, intense, and angry — his lips burned against your skin. He crowded you against the wall of your apartment, a behemoth of a man even out of his tactical gear, leaving you with barely any space to touch him.

You whined, begging him to slow down, yet he kissed you with teeth and tongue and urgency. When he cupped your chin roughly with both hands, angling your face under the dim light from the kitchen: peeling back the silhouette to take a good look at you, flushed, panting, and crying.

He growled into your mouth, hoisting you up his waist, " You should've paid more attention. He could have fucking hurt you."

You winced, recalling the events that took place: how the midsummer heat stung your skin as you quickened your pace to get away from the man who had followed you down the block. The moment you pulled your keys out to unlock the door, he had picked up his pace, only to scram the moment Simon appeared behind you. He would have gone after the attacker if you had not gripped his arm for support, overwhelmed: your knees nearly gave out. As if possessed by an irresistible force, the sight of you weakly clinging onto him and on the brink of tears had compelled Simon to undo years of restraint — which would explain why you can taste the frustration in his mouth.

" You'll always protect me. I know it," You managed in between kisses. Briefly, you wondered how long Simon's been looking out for you. Was this what he chose to do on the rare occasions he was off the field? All those times he probably saw you on dates: trying and failing to get over him. All those times you cried about him. All those times you bought yourself daffodils.

There was something bittersweet at how he seemed to remember the way to the bedroom you used to share, legs finding their way when he was too occupied with you. And you couldn't swallow the tinge of sadness swelling in your chest when you remember every touch, from how he loves to kiss down your back to how he feels inside you; angling you in a way that hits all the right spots. He pistoned in and out of you almost brutally, your body pliant and welcoming under him, blooming at the memory. And when he inserts himself to the hilt, you moaned because you never forgot: how could you forget? It was as if time never passed between the two of you, it was natural, it was instinct, it was like coming home.

When he finally pulled out, leaving you throbbing and empty, you whispered for him to stay — fingers latching onto his when he stood up. And you scrambled to seize the moment he sat back down, breaking down against his chest, words pouring out of your mouth. I missed you. I never wanted you to leave. I still love you. I'll always love you.

He didn't need to take off the rest of his balaclava for you to know what he was thinking: I don't want to hurt you. Because I will hurt you.

You lay in the dark for a few seconds, five seconds turn to fifteen, turn to thirty, sixty. And when the first rays of sunlight came to wake you gently, Simon was gone. With the bedroom door slightly ajar, the left side of the bed was neat and spotless. Your legs — still warm and wet. 04 | Simon married you in autumn. You remembered how cold it was that day. Even inside the church, the air was frigid, yet still — the silence was only interrupted when the vicar entered. ( The church was not only for privacy, he said, but also for his late mother. Finally, it was a first and rare glimpse into his past. She was baptised here.)

You had nervously glanced at him, smiling lopsidedly with eyes bright and hopeful. Yet Simon remained passive, eyes only wavering when you started reciting their vows. It was the only time Simon had shown any real fear in front of you, and you remembered what you did that day. You had gripped his hand tightly in yours the entire time, kissing each finger before he gave you your ring.

You explained how the joy of having him carry you up the steps of your home was short-lived, washed under the reality of his pain. There was the temper, the drinking, the insults. The moment arguments got out of control and silent treatments turned too cruel — he started pushing you away, hoping to cut you off to prevent watching you fall apart himself.

"You underestimated me, Simon. That was the worst part," you finished, ending your story with a weak shrug, " I would've stayed if you had just asked me to. You know I would. I have faith in you, Simon. In us. I still do."

Outside, the shades of yellow and orange swept over the barren ground, except for a few sprouts of daffodils, stubbornly persevering through small miracles. The wind down the mountain slithered past the holes of the old wooden roof as whistles. They ring softly against the silence, echoing down the Rhenish helm. Today would have marked a decade's worth of anniversary, but now it's just become a resting ground for him to haunt — the sight of Simon without a mask, sitting by the pew and staring up at you, a memory you want to burn on the back of your head.

" Faith will get you killed," he sounded tired, sad even. The mist was starting to crowd you from all sides. Above, snowflakes danced in the light: a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. You tentatively reached out to brush the masked cheek with your thumb, putting on your best smile even if tears pricked the corners of your eyes.

" Well, you've kept me safe. Haven’t you, Simon?"

There was a pause, and you swore the wind held its breath in anticipation with you, waiting, pleading for him to agree at the chance to start again with you. Say yes to me, your fingers whispered, tentatively brushing his hand. Heavy snow is due to arrive early, marking new beginnings: the birth of a new season, the start of his deployment, but to you, a long and terrible winter just ended the moment he kissed each finger to hold your hand.

a/n : zoo wee mama, that took a toll on me. all in one sitting because i am yearning for a domestic life with this man even if i know it will not be easy. fear not simon, i might be senstive and cry the moment someone slightly raise their voice at me, but i am loyal to the bone ( and just delusional enough ). i know this leans more on the reader’s perspective and very ‘read in between the lines’ aka vague, so i hope this style is enjoyable still to read. i personally have to mark this as one of my favorite ficlets / works , cause i love seeing simon suffer. speaking about seeing simon suffer, this is dedicated to : → @flaneurpastel : your support of my angsty simon fics and my work overall in general is something i really cherish, i’ve only briefly had this account but i am so thankful for your support !! and your works are amazing... here’s to more angsty simon fics ! → @gh0stswh0re : you are the first page i follow on here and the first account to actually get my ass moving to write about cod : mw ii because your works are jiust *chef’s kiss*, and i’m so excited for your december writing plan... i’m booking front seat ! → everyone who reblogged and liked my angsty simon fics... you guys keep me going mwah x + note on timeline : → the comics talk about simon’s past, he was tortured and needed to go to rehab around 2003-2004 ish, so i assumed he spent a couple years then in therapy / rehab for substance abuse because he needed to cope, and that’s where you met him. marriage happened right after he got revenge on roba and right when he was first employed by 141 ( which probably was why it didn’t work out ) and ever since then it’s just been longing and heartache. and 2022 rolls up, which is cod : mw ii, and i assume this is probably before or after las almas and shadow company ! → feel free to adjust it if it’s better for you or correct me if i’m off or wrong !

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princess-of-thebes-1995 · 7 months

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I love this part. This is when spider went under his father's frame. Quaritch looked down and smiled at his son then looked up again

Imagine Quaritch being nice to his only daughter Isabella Maria. She looked like his dead mother. Quaritch loved his mother. He was a momma's boy. He became a soldier liked his father but he was always mother's dearest.

I feel I neglected Isabella Maria.

So here are some headcanons of your daughter

She has your eye color and skin color. But she looks like her dead grandma. People usually assume you are not her biological mom. Her hair is white blonde. Almost albino. Like dad.

She loves ballet like you. You took ballet for fun. She wants a career in it.

Like Quaritch, her favorite color is red and her favorite movie genre is action

You used to kiss all your kids on the lips. But then your sons grew past age six you stopped. You kissed them on the cheek. But since Isabella Maria is a girl. You still kiss her lips.

As for Quaritch, he loves watching you kiss Isabella Maria. How cute. He remembered the times his own mother kissed him. Quaritch is more protective towards his daughter. He feared she might get raped despite being underage. So, he would order someone from his squad to follow her. He also found it amusing when he caught you glaring at the general.

She did torture Miles. Whenever you see the general, whether by walking in the halls or another room or whatever, you glare her and make sure she sees it. You will never forgive her for your son and her killing innocent Navis and Pandoran animals.

Ugly old hag.

You wanted to kill her. But she was a Marine and she can kick your ass. You hoped Neytiri does that for you. No kill her instead. You called Neytiri and told her about the general. Neytiri promised to kill her for you.

She was indirectly the murderer of Neteyam.

Quaritch found your hate for the general amusing. Mama bear and her cubs. He doesn't blame you. He had nothing but respect towards the general when he met her. But after the torture of Miles. He hated her. He just followed orders.

As for Lyle...

He was sadly still in love with you. He felt guilty betraying his boss and best friend. He had sex with you as a human.

He loved watching you breast feed your babies. You never did it in public. But when he saw you at the delivery room with your Navi twins . It was wholesome. But, he was being punished by God for all the people and non humans he killed and raped.

#son #father #spider #spider avatar #yandere miles quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch #dark miles quaritch #yandere miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #avatar 2022 #avatar 2009 #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water

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ghcstao3 · 7 months

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ok so I saw that Punk!Soap & immediately I thought Ballet!Ghost! But no, this isn’t “Girlfriend”. I’m talking “Simon loved the grace & precision of ballet”, but his dad makes him focus on a sport, which he hates. WIDE OPEN!

i’m so sorry for responding almost a month later 😭 but YES!! incredible idea

From grace comes stealth, and from stealth comes a loathing for whatever asked it of him in the first place.

That’s what Ghost has learned, at least, from his too-many years on earth.

He learns that grace stems from love and dedication to the skill, of becoming in-tune with one’s own body, a perfect harmony of every limb, every muscle, every cell. Ghost had always wanted to be graceful—he craved that flawless, gentle, soft movement, the ability to control himself in every way humanly possible.

And the way to do that, he knew, was ballet. From the start, that had been his aim.

The beauty and ethereal nature of the dance beckoned for him, he knew. He was meant to be lured in by strict routine and harsh teachers, by the elegance and grace learned through suffering and hard work. Always grace.

But he was never afforded that opportunity. So all that practice, all that time and effort and passion of grace can only be translated into stealth. Into hiding away from his father when forced into sports that were too rough and brash and abrupt; into avoiding enemies when infiltrating the spaces that no one else could ever manage so silently without that prerequisite of gracefulness. The skill becomes something Ghost hates.

He doesn't want stealth to be who he is. He doesn't want precision for violence or intimidation or becoming a hardened machine as opposed to a dancer as fluid as water.

But stealth is who he becomes anyway. Stealth is Ghost, a soldier and a dead man and the lost child who never got to explore what he once really wanted to be. What his father always refused to allow him.

Grace, however, will always be Simon. It will remain fundamental in the way he exists, his desperate clutch on a past, present, and future he will never—couldn't ever—be.

Which is really—truly—such a sickening thought to have.

#ask #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #writing #modern warfare #call of duty

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mar3ggiata · 3 days

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professional help, c8. The big secret.

simon riley x original character.

trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault, mentions of rape, trauma, sexual themes, swearing, use of alcohol and drugs.

song to listen to when reading this: Un blasfemo, Fabrizio de Andrè.

abstract: sometimes I feel like I own the world and sometimes I feel so fucking alone the only thing keeping me alive is my dog, you know. sorry, it's Jude. I'm just saying, this is not a big deal anyways. enjoy.

Her vacation didn't last long, mainly because she wanted to know how the mission was going. She was scared something had happened. She stayed inside most of the time, only going out with Jinx. She tried to do some work, to read. She ended up eating instant ramen most of the time. She couldn't focus on anything besides the mission, and Arash, and him. Were they all dead? Did she get everything wrong, was Arash innocent all this time? Laswell surprised her by inviting her in her office on Monday. Something had happened then. She hadn't seen the woman in a very long time, she only called her for special communications. All the soldiers sent in the mission are dead, and it's your fault. She was early, in the parking lot smoking a cigarette, bouncing her foot nervously. This thing was going to be the death of her. She even had ballet in the evening, she was going to start her appointments with the patients on the following day… Un casino.

'Hi Alba, how are you doing?' She had always liked Kate. She had a good heart, she was kind. She was inspiring. And she had always trusted 'Alba', from the beginning. From their first meeting, and their first… agreement. 'Good, thank you. How are you?' She sat down with Kate in her office. She was definitely a bit less tense now, seeing the woman sit down and smile at her. Maybe it wasn't bad news that awaited her. 'Busy, as usual…' she poured some water in two glasses on the table in front of her 'Alba, I wanted to personally thank you for your collaboration on the Al-Jareena mission.' Relief.

'I missed every single briefing, but Price reported everything to me yesterday night. Your theories on Tehrani were correct, they were able to spot some snipers that were waiting for them. If you didn't tell us about your suspicions many men would have died.' She smiled at Kate and nodded. Her heart was filled with joy. She was happy for the success of the mission of course, but happier for herself. 'I'm glad…' she replied. 'So, they didn't know we knew about the ambush? I figured Arash would tell the troops and they would change their strategy.' Kate nodded and her lips formed a straight line. 'I think so too… They were able to surprise them, but our target was no where to be found. They're still looking for him.' She opened her mouth to reply but Laswell's phone rang. 'Speak of the devil…' she commented.

Alba figured it was Price. 'Captain. Yes, I'm aware.' She excused herself and stood up. Alba took a sip of water. She wanted to know if they were all fine. All of them. She looked up as soon as Kate came back to the table. 'Sorry… he's updating me when he can…' she commented. 'They're looking everywhere for him and interrogating a few locals and soldiers they managed to detain, but nobody's talking. Maybe they moved Khorram when they found out we were coming.' Alba was very appreciative of Kate for sharing the updates with her, it meant she trusted her. They talked about the situation for a few more minutes before she asked Kate about the soldiers. She said there were a few injures, but all the 12 men made it and were continuing working. She was relieved. Her mood had improved significantly, even at ballet she had more fun than usual. There was still something wrong about the situation and she wanted to get the full picture, but for now, she was happy. She felt actual happiness for the first time in months. What validation can do to you hu?

On the other side of the world, Ghost wasn't having the best day. The desert air made it hard to breathe through his mask. The wind was making his eyes water and he felt the sand stick to him because of sweat. Plus, Khorram completely disappeared from Al-Jareena. They had looked everywhere, every house, every shop. The interrogations. He really didn't like inflicting pain to people. Common misconception about him, but yes. He hurt them, if he needed to. It was the only thing he knew how to do. But he didn't enjoy torture anymore, as he maybe did when he was a little bit younger. Plus, no one was saying anything, fucking hell. He ended up nearly killing two people out of pure frustration. His anger was spilling everywhere like a ripple. It was awfully painful, to see the deep faith and devotion to their leader. They would protect him at all costs. People roamed the streets like zombies after they took over, the troops defeated or detained. He saw kids begging him for water in a language he didn't understand, playing football in the same buildings he had fought and killed in. He was numb of any human emotion, he felt like his insides were rocks and dust. After two weeks in Jordan, they got back empty handed. Well, they didn't die, that was a win. Jude was right all along. Jude, Judy. After they arrived, snipers were already waiting for them. They still tried to defend the town, but Arash had probably helped Khorram escape before their arrival. Jude 1, Ghost 0. Speaking of Jude… He heard this crazy rumour about her. Johnny and other soldiers were talking about her one night, while they were outside smoking. 'One of my friends from my first deployment in Iran had a few sessions with her in 2021, he quite liked her. Said she was alright.'

'I think she worked with Price before, they know each other'

'Isn't she the councillor that followed the Billy Lunette case? Ex Lieutenant, back in 2019 I think. He went proper mad, he got hospitalised'

'You think she's married?'

'I don't think the army needs therapists anyway'

'Where is she from, she talks weird'

'I heard she took a year off cause someone pulled a knife on her'.

That was when he raised his eyes from the ground. The group had gone silent. The air was hot and fanning his face, but he thought he felt a light breeze on his neck all of a sudden. It reminded him of the girl, the cold air. She was an entity they just summoned, she had arrived. So that was the missing puzzle piece. 'Really? When?' the Scotsman was about to go get some sleep, but sat back down to enjoy the story. 'In 2022 I think, he was a patient.' The soldier who was speaking was way younger than him, around his mid 20s. Did he want to believe him? What if it was true, that would make sense, he took her home that night to make sure she wasn't being followed, and now with the Arash situation she had become tense again. 'I've seen this film before' she had said. She was scared to get attacked again? 'I don't know if it's true, no one really knows.'

'Who was the patient?' Someone else asked.

'I think his surname was Morrigan or something similar.'

'Yeah I think I remember him.'

'Yeah, she didn't go easy on him, there was a rape charge as well…'

'Nah, that's too much!'

He stopped listening. Not that he didn't care, he did. He didn't want to hear that stuff, it was gossip, it was useless. That was a big accusation, Jude. That's the thing, you do seem like the type to lie. You're a psychologist, you work with humans, you understand they minds. You're a manipulator. If it was true, then he might actually feel for her, if he tried hard enough. He didn't realise he was victim blaming, but he thought that's what you get, looking all pretty and working with veterans and men that kill for a living. He suddenly felt stupid for asking about it a few times. He really didn't think it could be such a serious thing, but it kinda made sense now. He thought about her in a different light, while on the flight home. Having that small new piece of information made him want more. How did you manage to get back on your feet, were you alone all the time, why did you come back to work in the same place? Was it difficult, did you cry, angel? You live alone, you don't seem to have any family, how did you manage? He had a soft spot for trauma survivors. (He doesn't realise this, but it's because he knows what it's like to survive trauma.)

He thought about that day, he realised he was one of the first people she saw after the attack. And she had to share a car with him, in the dark, through the desert, after she was just attacked by another soldier. He saw her right after it had happened. The thought made him shiver and want to throw up. He wanted to see her again, not that he didn't wish he'd run into her before... He wanted to talk to her again, but he doubted he ever would. Jude. Jude, Jude.

Shit happens.

notes: now you know.

notes: translation of song and concept:

I never bowed again not even over a flower, nor did I blush when stealing love (stealing love means falling in love with someone, them being in love with you)

from the moment that Winter convinced me that God wouldn’t have blushed stealing mine. (Winter always symbolises some evil entity. God not blushing means God will take your love and faith at whatever cost, just because it's owed to him)

(They arrested me) Because I said that God deceived the first man, He obliged him to travel through life as an idiot, in the enchanted garden He forced him to dream, to ignore the fact that in the world there’s good and there's bad.

When He saw that man stretched his fingers to steal the mystery of a forbidden apple, for fear that he no longer had masters, He stopped him with death and invented the seasons.

taglist:

@ummmmmwat @ghostlythots @sweetfemmefatal @natxpat @chavarriakeren647 @ravenmoore14 @farther-than-pleiades @internallyscreamings @hwromi @atoxicrat @cuti3maddi3 @deafeningkittenblaze @its-celeste @serene-hills @lexidoll12 @poohkie90 @lunatiquess

@warmedbythebody @katzykat @iristhemuse @azkza @keiraslayz @abbyandermine @jennyjencakes @dest-nai @corset-briefs @nutze-kekse @ilytsukiw @b3anspr0ut

@pondsblog @missyouzoe @fallenkitten @bigauthorrascalturkey @bethtay @angelynn-nicole @starluv @stargirlisworld @giyuuslittleslut @impossiblecupcakelight

@rkrivees-blog @ghosts-hoe @kam1snotverysmart @gauky76 @freyjaaasstuff @spicyspicyliving @scottpilgrimvsmyfists @courtney0-0 @shinchanboi @darling006 @my-therapist-hates-me

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arklay · 6 months

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RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY

To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?

For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.

Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.

The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.

In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.

Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.

#mine.#oc: diana #pair: ewskers #click for better quality cause it's large & tumblr ate it ♡#hii so happy birthday diana !! queen is 60 today :]#um. there's no template cause i made this from scratch...i couldn't find any i was vibing with so i was like you know what lmaoo #i'm sorry for the essay...it was meant to be just a short rundown of the family but well...that happened. typical leah fashion...#oh and guys. did you know that there's a limit to the amount you can put in one blockquote? that's why the rest is just left like that caus #i didn't like how it looked with a blockquote each paragraph...cause the spaces between were unever. you understand 😔#with the tree i was also going to include weskids adoptive parents but i couldn't figure out how to arrange it all & make it look nice !!#cause i also wanted to have spencer in there as well cause he's a big reason why the weskids are the way they are...was maybe gonna include #sherry as well. like connected to jake (hehe) and then do her parents too but that would've made things so wide & it's already big enough #yes. i hc that albert & alex are biological twins. just for clarification there :] i don't think i added anything else that isn't canon or #implied with canon. cause the weskids were put in homes (or at least whatever ''controlled environments'' means) where they were monitored #by umbrella but were unaware of it. so yeah. i don't think i really changed much there !!#honestly i could've kept rambling cause there's alex's whole situation. there's my lore with jake's mum. there's way more with the ewskers #but it's already so long & i can't be concise so there's that lmaoo oh also diana's grandma. so much stuff #also meant to say the weskids birthday in that ramble. it's january 15 1960 :] they are capricorn sun leo moons but alex was born earlier s #their rising signs are albert is a scorpio rising & alex is a libra rising !!#had to redo the image cause typo on diana's birth year for some reason lmao so if that messed up the formatting i will sob

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thecolorsfucked · 3 months

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ppl will have kids join ballet at 3 and jrotc at 14 and pretend grown adults shouldnt be able to choose hrt bro u made a broken dead soldier shut up

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textsfromthefifthbasement · 11 months

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Happy Pride!

Here's a compilation of all queer fics I've written over the years!

And All the Things You Thought That I Should Be

Erik receives a phone call letting him know that his mother is dead. To plan her funeral, he returns back to his hometown. T, 1180 words, E/C.

Fine As We Are but We Want More

When Christine comes to New York, Meg wishes to tell her that she loves her, but is afraid to do so and believes it's too late when she sees Christine kiss Erik. G, 1053 words, E/M/C.

I Don't Care if You're Lying

At night, Erik and Nadir spend time together in Nadir's bedroom in Persia. E, 503 words, Pharoga.

Can't Let Go

After Erik lets Raoul and Christine go, Raoul can't get him out of his mind. G, 100 words, Rerik.

New Ballet Shoes

Meg's feet are sore after getting new en point shoes. Christine tries to help. G, 100 words, Megstine.

Setting Fire to Our Insides for Fun

Several weeks after Erik lets Christine go, Nadir gets worried and goes to check on Erik. T, 592 words, Pharoga.

The Truth You Can't Hide

A heat wave is rolling through Paris. Meg and Christine go buy ice cream to keep cool. G, 615 words, Megstine.

Old Friends

After ten years, Nadir reunites with Erik in the midst of the chaos of the semaine sanglante. G, 808 words, Pharoga.

Quiet Hours

Christine and Meg snuggle in bed. G, 145 words, Megstine.

A New Life

The final lair takes an unexpected turn. G, 453 words, E/C/R.

Fear Can Turn to Love

After the final lair, Raoul returns to settle things. E, 746 words, Rerik.

Loneliness

Nadir cares for Erik after he is injured in Persia. G, 211 words, Pharoga.

Healing

Christine and Erik have a short conversation at night. G, 379 words, E/C.

When Will the Blood Begin to Race

Carlotta has had enough of Christine Daae trying to take her place as prima donna. She follows her up to the rooftop. T, 806 words, Carlotta/Christine.

Best Laid Plans

Erik and Nadir's escape from Persia goes horribly wrong. T, 741 words, Pharoga.

Offer Up Your Daughters

When Christine arrived at Silas University, she was prepared to be focused on getting her degree in vocal performance. However, she is soon thrown into a world of mystery while dealing with possibly the world's worst roommate. T, 45k words, E/C.

Merry Crimes

While waiting on a flight back home for Christmas, Christine joins Sorelli, Meg, and Erika in town. But then, an unfortunate incident with the mayor leads them to take shelter in a mysterious bakery. Takes place between the final chapter and the epilogue of Offer Up Your Daughters. T, 1951 words, E/C.

No Spell for You to Right This

After saving Silas University from the dean and her cult of vampires, Christine and Erika want nothing more than to take time to explore their new relationship with each other. But then, when murders begin to happen and new threats appear, they have to deal with enemies both within and without. M, 35k words, E/C.

And for fandoms outside POTO:

The Third Option

Obi-Wan's confrontation of Vader in the season finale goes a bit differently. G, 384 words, Obikin.

Night Terror

Bucky wakes up after having a nightmare about his time as the Winter Soldier. G, 253 words, Sam/Bucky.

#phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #happy pride 🌈#e/c #pharoga #rerik #megstine #obikin #sam/bucky

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murdcrofcrows · 4 months

Text

stats • pinterest • connections

full name: dominika armenevna volkov nicknames: dom, domi, nika gender / pronouns: cis woman, she/her age & birthday: 30, october 25th occupation: principal ballerina, new york ballet company gang affiliation: burning gods, soldier orientation & status: pansexual kinsey scale - 2, widow strengths: enchanting, charismatic, dedicated weaknesses: manipulative, selfish, bitter

diving deeper -

* ◟ : 〔 mia goth , cis woman + she/her 〕 DOMINIKA VOLKOV , some say you’re a THIRTY YEAR OLD lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both ENCHANTING and MANIPULATIVE, one can’t help but think of HORNS by bryce fox when you walk by. are you still a SOLDIER / PRINCIPAL BALLERINA at BURNING GODS / NEW YORK BALLET COMPANY, even with your reputation as THE MOUNTEBANK? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and FLAVORED LIP GLOSS THAT GLISTENS IN THE LIGHT , A SMOOTH RUSSIAN ACCENT THAT FLOWS THROUGH THE AIR LIKE A WHISP, BLOOD DROPS ON SOFT PINK SATIN , although we can’t help but think of LOVE QUINN (YOU), MIA WALLACE (PULP FICTION), MADDY PEREZ (EUPHORIA) whenever we see you down these rainy streets.

BACKGROUND.

tw: death, murder

born in russia to an influential family both politically and in the criminal world. dominika was spoiled despite the strict expectations set forward for her.

private schools, home tutoring, dance classes to teach her balance and coordination before she could begin pointe at eleven years old. along with etiquette classes she was taught defense, basic weapons and combat training, and things to do in the event of a kidnapping or other similar instances.

in a power grab, people were hired to take out the entire volkov family. unfortunately, they were mostly successful. as far as dominika knows, she is the only surviving member.

a close family associate who did both security and odd jobs for the volkovs came to the moscow academy of choreography which dominika had been enrolled in since she was young, only returning home for school breaks. the associate informed her of what had happened and insisted on hiding her until they could safely get her out of the country.

the academy helped hide her until they could develop a suitable plan, traveling and devoted volkov friends when rumors would get too hot about her existence or attempts were made on her life.

eventually, they were able to devise a foolproof plan through a matchmaking company - she would travel to new york city and be the wife a wealthy older man. dominika did not tell the others when making said plan that she had no intention of staying married to the man, but her private plans were simply none of their business.

she thanked the family associate and the academy for their above and beyond service and made her way to america. while she awaited her green card and other documents, dominika became a dutiful wife when she wasn't dancing for the new york ballet company. she even managed to get herself put into the man's will which, admittedly, was her plan all along.

normally, dominika tries to keep her hands clean when it comes to violence and disposing of loose ends but every so once and awhile it is necessary. her husband had served his purpose and was worth more to her dead than alive. she treated him well for their time spent together, it was only fair that she be compensated for that time and service.

she played the part of a grief stricken widow for the allotted time she felt she had to. further using her skills to continue building on the inheritance left to her by gathering information, playing the stock market, and draining unsuspecting target's bank accounts.

these skills were noticed by the burning gods organization when she'd tried, and nearly succeeded, using her tactics on one of their own. instead of retaliating, they offered her a position and she's been with them ever since.

dominika plans to rise to the top in the organization some day. she continues to be happy with her position in the ballet company, both enjoying dancing and performance along with the access it gives her to more wealthy members of society. when she's not on stage she transforms into who she needs to be to get a job done or spends her time finding ways to stay entertained throughout the city.

she continues to look for more information on the people responsible for killing her family and ways to remove the current family who took their place. out of principal and revenge, though she has no intention of ever returning to russia.

QUICK CONNECTIONS.

friends, social group

friends of the volkov family

missing/not dead volkov sibling or cousin

rivals

casual encounters/exes

romantic potential

a confidant or two

people to do her dirty work for her when needed

security detail

HEADCANONS.

she is looking for a way to get a retractable metal nails type weapon but is picky and very specific about it.

while not liking to participate in violence unless she has to, she thoroughly enjoys watching it and you can often find her at fighting events.

more to be added

#lawlessintro #dominika | intro #death tw #murder tw

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voiceoffenrisulfr · 2 months

Text

Silver & Gold - Chapter Seven

CW: Sudden personality changes, verbal abuse, distress, subconscious self-harm (mild), references to past self-harm and abuse, unrealism, fat shaming. Prompts fulfilled; ‘The Glomp’, ‘Touche’ and ‘Youthful Freckles’ - @multifandom-flash (Dozen); ‘Sharing Clothes’ - Winter Wonderland Bingo (@seasonaldelightsbingo); ‘Rolling on Snow’ - Winter Wonderland Bingo; ‘Carried to Bed’ – Bug’s First Bingo (@unfortunate-beetle-and-friends); ‘Schrodinger’s Butterfly’ and ‘Dream Tells You to Wake Up’ – Multifandom Flash (Beehive) Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between reality and darkness.

Cards below! Check it out on AO3 here, or below the KR! Divider by our own Tiny Spider.

My feet found my ballet shoes automatically as I sat upright, shivering at the surprisingly cold room. It was the first morning since we’d moved in that I’d woken without Yoshitsune by my side, and I couldn’t help but frown, casting my eyes around uncertainly.

“…Yoshitsune?” I called out as I padded into the hall, my arms wrapped about myself, anxiety sparking when I received no response. I couldn’t help but prick my fingernails against the old rivulets on the back of my biceps, seeking out the residual chasms unconsciously.

I can still remember the last time I tore at myself in anger.

It took significant effort to unlatch my nails from my flesh, but my hands were balled by my sides by the time I’d searched the cabin. There’d been no sign of my lover, and my heart was racing, breath coming ragged as I turned on the spot in front of the dead fire, my mind whirring frantically.

The door opened without warning, and I whirled around at the sound, letting out a sharp exhale at my soldier stood in the entrance with snow dusting his shoulders.

“Silver!” I yelped, darting over and throwing myself at him desperately, burying my face against his chest. I frowned when his arms didn’t wrap around me, no apology or explanation whispered into my hair. Drawing back, I tried to meet his gaze, but he busied himself with tapping snow from his boots.

Something isn’t right.

“I, uh… I didn’t know where you were. I was worried…” I tried to make my voice light and carefree, but the strain was evident in my tone, my concern deepening when he only grunted in response. “…Yoshitsune?”

“What?” he snapped, grey eyes flashing as he glanced at me briefly. I stumbled back automatically, blinking back my hurt, my lungs seizing in my chest as I struggled to comprehend his sharpness.

He’s never spoken to me like that before…

“I… I just…”

“Spit it out,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, and I winced.

“I was worried about you. I woke up and you weren’t here…” I mumbled, scuffing my feet uncertainly.

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before replying. “I was checking the trails. I’m going hunting. You do realise we don’t need to spend every second of the day together, right?” My mouth moved wordlessly and he huffed, crossing to the fireplace and picking up the shotgun leaning against the brick. “There’s some good elk out there. I’m not going to let it go to waste.”

“I-I… I could come with you?” I offered weakly, earning another sigh.

“Fine. Hurry up, before the trail goes cold.”

Normally he’d tell me how cute I look...

I stared at his back uncertainly, fingers twisted in front of me, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth as I fought to find the words to break the tension; no matter what I tried, I couldn’t convince my voice to come, tears pricking in my eyes as I wondered what I could have done.

We crested a slope, and I gasped in surprise at the hill trailing away before us, steep and coated in fresh, deep powder. With a giggle, I dropped to the ground, tucking my hands against my chest and rolling over and over, the snow accumulating in my loose hair as I hurtled toward the foot of the decline.

When I sat up at the bottom, panting and laughing, my cheeks iced, I turned my eyes to him, hoping my frozen delight would’ve thawed his mood. But he simply scowled at me, grasping my wrist to drag me to my feet with a soul-withering glare.

“Are you done? You’re going to scare away all the elk with that goddamn racket.” I flinched, pulling my hood over my snow-crusted waves, hiding beneath the fur lining to escape his wrath. “What the hell’s wrong with you now? You’re always in a mood.”

“Says you? You’re miserable today! Did you get out the wrong side of bed or something?” I snapped, then winced, curling closer in on myself as his eyes turned to me once more.

“Touche,” he grunted, gaze narrowing. “Maybe I’m just tired. I never thought making you happy would mean you’d start getting fat again.”

My feet faltered, and I stopped, recoiling as if he’d slapped me – though I think I’d rather that. “I… I-I… I…”

He groaned, pushing a hand through his hair as he faced me fully. “Here we go again. Do you ever stop? Nothing’s ever good enough for you, is it?” My lips parted in shock, but he shook his head, glaring at me in disgust. “Just don’t. Why are you even here? I wanted to get away from you for a while, but you won’t leave me alone!” I whimpered softly, and he stepped closer, a growl rumbling in his chest. “Just get out of here, will you? God, no wonder you got beat…”

My legs shook as I backed up, head jerking in disbelief. “No. Why… Why are you saying these things? This isn’t you – you’re not… You’re not like this…”

He snorted, turning away from me, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder as he continued to walk. “This is exactly what I’m like. I’m tired of pretending that you’re not the worst thing in my life. Get the hell away from me, Lia.”

The trees and snow blurred as I ran, everything smudged by my tears and the breath hitching in my throat.

Wake up.

My feet slowed, and I looked around at the voice echoing from the forest, my palms sweating uncertainly.

The last time I heard a voice in my head…

Wake up.

My eyes fluttered forcefully, nails digging into my hands, nausea churning in my stomach. The sight before me swam, flickering between red and white, and I whimpered, grasping at my hair desperately.

“No, no, no…” I whispered frantically, fear overwhelming my brain. “No…”

Wake up. Swan, wake up.

Swan? My head snapped around as the voice became identifiable, a flicker of hope breaking through my terror. “Yoshitsune…”

It’s okay, sweet girl. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’ve just gotta wake-

“-up…”

The white dissolved, replaced with flickering red, flames dancing before my vision and heating my skin as I gasped for breath.

Strong hands dragged me close, bundling me against a familiar chest while I whimpered, my fingers knotting in the fabric by my face desperately. “I’m sorry- I don’t know what I did but I’ll be better, I promise, I-I-”

Metal fingers smoothed the tears from my cheeks, silver eyes swimming into focus as my lungs heaved. “Hey, hey… It’s okay, Swan. I’m here. I’ve got you…” The space between his brows furrowed in concern, cupping my jaw gently. “It was just a dream, sweet girl. Everything’s okay…”

I looked around as reality flickered to life, taking in the living room and the soldier clinging to me nervously. “I… You…” I sniffed, holding him tighter, burying my face once more to inhale the intoxicating aroma of him.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m so sorry; I know you don’t sleep well in the cold… I fell asleep before I got you to bed…” I shook my head hard, and he sighed, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” His hand slipped beneath my legs, lifting me easily, and I curled closer, fingers aching from the force of my grasp on him.

By the time he settled into bed beside me, my shaking had mostly subsided, but that didn’t stop me from wriggling closer needily the second his back hit the mattress. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he murmured, fingers smoothing my hair gently. I shrugged, glancing about myself once more, unable to shake the realism of the nightmare and the feeling of being ill-at-ease.

“You were so mean to me. You didn’t want me…” My eyes darted nervously, and he frowned, holding my chin to meet my gaze.

“That could never be true, little one. …What is it?” he pressed, holding me a little closer.

“How do I know this isn’t the dream?” I whispered, barely forcing the words past my lips before I sobbed softly. “What if this is a good dream, and life is the nightmare? What if you don’t want me anymore?”

He held me tighter, his lips finding mine as he kissed me fiercely. “My sweet, gorgeous Swan. This is a dream, but it’s also our life. I could never not want you, do you hear me? You’re everything to me. I’m going to spend every day of my life with you – you are my life.” His fingers gripped at my back, pressing a little hard but very needed. “I’m never letting go of you, my Golden Swan. My perfect girl.”

I curled into him with a soft purr, still struggling to shake the disquiet in my soul, but the hands holding me together soothed my mind. “I love you, Silver…”

He hummed under his breath, an old song that he’d hummed for years, the familiar lullaby lulling me under despite the adrenaline still flitting through my system. “I love you too, Aurelia. Always.”

Stamp image for Bug's First Bingo found here!

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