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samwhump · 1 month

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a (very inexhaustive, wincest-heavy) sam whump reclist

@transfemmesam asked me for Sam whump recs a few days ago, and I've had other requests in the same vein before (I can't imagine why.../s) so I thought I would throw this together, since these authors deserve all of the love and support for their contributions to our li'l fandom corner.

like I mentioned in the title, this is not at all a comprehensive list; I have at least ~200 more fics in my to-read queue that could thematically fit here, but alas, I have stupid shit like a job and a body and a dog to take care of, so. I'm always happy to get recs along these lines, so if you notice anything important missing, hit me UP. (and don't take any omissions as any specific commentary by me -- it's likely I just haven't had the chance to read it yet, haha.)

disclaimers:

some (most, honestly) of these contain potentially triggering and dark content, including but not limited to rape/noncon, torture, and suicidal attempts & ideation. I have tried to note content warnings where applicable, and most of the works are hosted on ao3, so the tags should have most of the information you need to make an informed decision. that being said, tread with caution. all of the summaries provided are from the original author, with warnings added after by me.

the list is in alphabetical order and separated into wincest and gen categories. a lot of the gen is also focused on the sam & dean relationship, because...I am what I am. and what I am a sucker for these two dipshits. there is also a brief section at the end with a few fics that don't fit into either category.

gen

All That Goes Unspoken by amnesiawife:

A case forces Sam to confront something long kept buried. (Set nebulously in season 12.)

CW: discussions of past rape/noncon, victim blaming

Beneath the Trees 'verse by Lise (5 works total, starting with Beneath the Trees, Where Nobody Sees):

Sam doesn't go to Stanford. Everything goes downhill from there.

CW: suicidal ideation

a boy is a cage by ad_castra:

After expelling Gadreel from Sam's body, Dean thinks they're in the clear. If only they were that lucky. // S9 fic wherein Gadreel's grace causes some adverse side-effects in Sam's mind.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon, body horror

body of proof by Askance (doomcountry):

There are things Sam hasn't told his brother. They're all in the envelope laid on Dean's pillow.

CW: heavy discussion of past rape/noncon

break these bones 'til they're better by redskyatmorning:

After Sam’s torture at the hands of the British Men of Letters, the latest in a long string of violations, he is rescued by Dean and Mary – and forced to ponder his broken relationship with his own body. Months later, when Sam is resurrected and tormented by Lucifer yet again, Dean confronts Mary and Sam gets his revenge against the devil.

catching my death (staring out an open window) by ad_castra:

Sam gazes at the window, catches the faint pink hue tinting the sky. It’s so realistic - he could breathe in the fresh air if he were really here. ----- They got Sam out. Sometimes, just knowing that isn't enough.

CW: implied past rape/noncon

Death of Convenience by WilsonTheMoose:

It should have been easy. Wendigos are no joke but daylight slows them. The weather's been unpredictable though and perfect, idyllic hunts don't exactly stay that way where they're concerned. Or Sam has one card to play and never stops to think that Dean would care if he killed himself.

CW: suicidal ideation, references to suicide

Echoes of Hell by The_Nightbreaker:

It wasn't real. He wasn't in Hell anymore. That's what he tried to tell himself over and over. But two centuries of torture don't disappear in a day. Sam struggles with visions of Hell, fighting to maintain his grip on reality. Dean hates that he can't protect his brother from what isn't real—but curse him if he doesn't try. When the boys stumble on a case with ties to the Devil himself, will they be able to pull themselves together in time to stop the sacrifices? Or will the echoes of Hell finally overtake them? Aka, season 7, but the plot is Hell trauma, not leviathans.

CW: suicidal ideation

Evening Shadows by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating the monster who tortured him for nearly two centuries, Dean feels like he's failing his brother, and a diner waitress bears witness.

CW: past rape/noncon

Everything Dies Given Time by Lise:

AU from 5.03. Sam discovers something wrong with himself, and learns to live with it. Only a lot less functional.

CW: suicide/temporary character death

The Freedom to Be Loud by jribbing:

It hadn’t occurred to Dean that maybe Sam remembered so much about that little nowhere town because something memorable had happened there.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

golgotha by redskyatmorning:

There’s a vacancy on the throne of hell, and Sam is desperate enough to save Dean from Michael’s possession to give into the abyssal depths of his own darkness.

Head Space by ameliacareful:

A witch curses Sam leaving him blind, deaf, and bedridden. Left with only the inside of his own head and the occasional touch, Sam begins to unravel.

CW: suicidal ideation

Hiraeth by inkandpaperqwerty:

(n.) a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past "Dean... I made a really big mistake." For a second, Dean actually thought things were going okay. He was out of Hell, Sam agreed to stop drinking demon blood, they had just wrapped up a successful hunt... for once, everything was okay. And then it wasn't. "I overdosed." Not at all.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

if i could leave (i would've already left) by serendipity0930:

“I have a mission from God for you,” the Angel whispers to the man. “It is time for you to do what you were born to.” The man’s face twists into a smile, delighted over being chosen by Him, a purpose from God digging into his heart, carving out a place to fester. “Hunt.” ... 05x03 AU where Zachariah is even more determined to keep the brothers apart and hunters are all too willing to take Lucifer's True Vessel off the board for good

CW: referenced suicide

It's A River (But Not In Egypt) by Lise:

He's still a liar. Maybe always has been.

CW: toxic Sam/Lucifer dynamics

Kindred Instruments by PinBitch:

They’re in a tug of war and Sam is the rope. He doesn’t need to be alive for that. OR Sam dies in detox, being flung against the walls of a metal box will do that to you. Dean and Ruby pick up the pieces.

CW: temporary main character death, permanent supporting character death

lazarus trick by katsidhe:

Sam's alive, so everything is gonna be okay. 13.22 coda.

Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence by Lise:

Sam's back. He's in one piece. That's the problem.

CW: self-harm

love is like ghosts by redskyatmorning:

I’m poison, Dean had said instead of I’m sorry. Well, Sam wants to say, what does that make me? What the hell does that make me? (A look into Sam's mind in the aftermath of the Gadreel possession.)

The Other Brother by RadioFriday:

Sam and Adam are pulled from the cage at the same time. Sam is not right, and Adam, stuck as his caretaker, is not pleased.

Oxygen by inkandpaperqwerty:

“Cas! Cas, please! Please, answer me! Cas!” Castiel ignores Dean for several minutes, but then Dean gives him an opening that might help him complete his mission. So, he goes to investigate, and what he finds is a very bloody, nearly dead Sam. Dean tells him where the injuries came from, and Castiel quickly becomes confused. It doesn't make sense, but Dean tries to explain it to him, and slowly... Castiel begins to understand.

CW: suicide attempt

Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc by AmberSock:

Sam waits, kneeling, for his execution. What if Dean hadn't missed?

CW: temporary character death

Safety In Distance by GalaxyThreads and SpiritClusters:

The Mark of Cain is a brand of violence. Sam was an idiot to think that he'd be exempt from it, just because he and Dean are siblings.

sometimes a kind of singing by adi_rotynd:

Sam gets cursed. They're dealing with it. Jack can see souls. That one they're not dealing with quite as well.

CW: past referenced rape/noncon

Soul Windows by GalaxyThreads and Spirit Clusters:

A few months after his birth, Jack learns how to see souls. Then he comes to a realization about the Winchester brothers, Sam in particular, and it's not a pleasant one. (gen)

Starry Night by keepcalmsmile:

Sam attempts suicide-by-monster. Dean tries to help. It sort of works...until it doesn't.

CW: suicide attempts, suicidal ideation

such fragile, broken things by The_Bookkeeper:

Sam wishes that Dean would just get it over with already.

The Tale of Sir Galahad by keepcalmsmile:

Sam once said he could never be clean like Sir Galahad. Dean assumed he was just talking about the demon blood. Turns out, Sam was talking about something else too. WARNING: Extended discussions of the aftermath of rape and childhood sexual abuse (but NO description of the actual events). Happy(ish) ending, but potentially very triggering.

CW: past rape/noncon, mentioned CSA

They Hammered in His Teeth by jribbing:

Sam has a secret.

CW: suicidal ideation

today's troubles (are history tomorrow) by a_good_soldier:

"It's not really something I know how to share," Sam had said. In which Dean figures he ought to help Sam out a bit.

Touch and Go by themegalosaurus:

Tag to 9.19 (Alex Annie Alexis Ann) in which Dean realises why, exactly, Sam is so angry about what happened with Gadreel.

trust fall by ad_castra:

“I’m nothing like you,” Sam hisses. Nevermind relating to the anguish of going it alone. Nevermind that he knows what it is to be strapped down and forcibly cleansed against his will. Sam wonders if these trials are purifying Crowley as well.

Words Like Glass by broken_cinders:

Dean never figured the cage wouldn't leave a mark. He was prepared for memories, flashbacks, and nightmares. He wasn't expecting the words Sam brought back with him or the way they made him seem just a breath beyond Dean's reach.

Wound and Unwound by fascra:

Sam stops eating spring of his freshman year.

CW: eating disorder

wincest (dean/sam)

Brittle by thecapn:

Sam Winchester has an eating disorder.

CW: eating disorder

Don't You Cry No More by sixtysevenlmpala (schittyfic):

The first time Sam gets badly hurt on a hunt, he doesn’t cry. Dean does.

Fall On Your Knees by dollylux:

Sam doesn't quite make it home on the last day of school before winter break.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez:

Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

CW: self-harm

Feels so good to feel again by Trojie:

The pain keeps Lucifer at bay, at least to start with.

Follow In Your Form by withthekeyisking:

Sam is hallucinating Lucifer in the wake of Cas bringing his Hell Wall crashing down. To make matters worse, it seems like this has his dormant powers flaring back to life.

Last Temptation by merle_p:

Sam is running a fever again, the kind of fever no Ibuprofen or cold compress will bring down, the kind of fever that is eating him up alive, eviscerating him from the inside. He is too hot and too cold and too pale, delirious and shaking, resonating with whatever divine energy the trials are subjecting him to, and Dean is not sure how much longer he can stand to see him be in this state. Because Sam is quite possibly dying, and there is nothing Dean can do to stop it. Because Sam is dying, and he just. Won’t. Shut. Up.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

leeches by Anonymous:

Sam discovers a spell to make everybody forget him. He’s convinced it’s for the best. Pre-Stanford.

CW: attempted kidnapping/torture

Make Thick My Blood by themegalosaurus:

“You’re going to kill me, Dean,” Sam says, eventually. And all Dean can say is, “I think I am.” A season 10 AU, set after 10x14 ('The Executioner's Song'). Cas finds a solution that might cure the Mark of Cain; but if they're going to go through with it, Sam has a terrible price to pay.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Prophecy of an Abomination by ashitanoyuki:

Sam is kidnapped by fanatically religious hunters and crucified. Coming back from this won't be easy. Canon-divergent from midway through season 2.

Recall by De_Nugis:

Sam's having a hard time telling what's real and what isn't, especially when it comes to some voicemails from Dean.

The Room Upstairs by brokenlittleboy:

Sam comes back from hell, but he’s inside-out and all wrong, and Dean can’t fix him.

CW: mentioned past rape/noncon

Ruin You (and its companion fic Worth) by Mumble_Bee:

Cole fucks Sam with Demon!Dean watching from a devil's trap, snarling that anyone would dare touch what was his. “I told you I don’t care what you do to his face or his blood or his fucking nose,” Dean growled, “but you put your dick anywhere near him and I will end you.” “Better hurry up then, Dean, because I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

CW: explicit rape/noncon

Snowed In by HelloStarlingFics:

When working a case, Sam and Dean get stuck out in a shack in the woods when the snow comes in hard and fast. Trouble is, Sam’s hated the cold ever since the Cage. Time for Dean to step up and look after him.

Wake by minchout:

Gadreel has had Sam for four years, and Dean, lost in guilt and obsessed with finding a way to get his brother back, has isolated himself in a cabin in the Missouri Ozarks with nothing but the woods, a stray dog, some chickens, and all the books the Men of Letters had to offer to keep him company. Then Sam shows up one day without his passenger, and Dean learns quickly that it doesn't matter that Sam is with him again - there is still a lot of work to be done before they can find their way back to each other.

Wanting to Forget by morganaDW (morgana07):

1-shot. S1 fic. After getting Sam freed from the Benders Dean thinks all he has to cope with is some bruises and cuts. He learns quickly just how wrong he is when Sam wakes up with a nightmare, reliving his brief but bad captivity in every detail. Sam just wants to forget & Dean has to try to get him to let him help. Will one night of cruelty and pain ruin what’s been formed between them?

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

when I wake up I'm afraid, somebody else might take my place by quake_quiver:

Sam doesn’t remember the last time he cried for Dean like he did that night. And now it’s been…two weeks. Maybe more. Sam is tired, and in pain, and starting to doubt that Dean’s going to show up. He’s weak and shaking from a combination of constant pain and hunger. Sam longs for Dean. Dean would make it better. Dean would fix it.

CW: rape/noncon, body horror

Wire Inside Me by merle_p:

There are a lot of things Sam hates about his current condition, to the point where he sometimes feels for the gun under his pillow at night, blindly toys with the safety, imagines pressing the muzzle into the underside of his chin and pulling the trigger just to make it stop. But there’s nothing he hates as much as the shadows he sees in Dean’s eyes whenever his brother is looking at him these days. It’s not an expression he remembers ever seeing before, but Sam thinks it’s probably something like revulsion. Horror. Disgust. What else could it be.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon, body horror, forced pregnancy

Worth (and its companion fic Ruin You) by Mumble_Bee:

Episode 10x01 "Black" where Dean is a human, and very, very, pissed off to hear someone has hands on his brother. “It’s nothing personal,” Cole whispered into Sam's ear, too quietly for Dean to hear, “but I need to kill your brother, and I need him off his game when he gets here. I don’t wanna hurt you, kid, but I’m going to, anyway. I’m going to hurt you a lot."

CW: explicit rape/noncon

you'll never see us again by according2thelore:

Then finally, his eyes trail over to Dean. His pupils are pin-point thin, and his hair is straggling in his face so Dean can’t see most of what expression lies there. Sam usually wakes up from nightmares in one of three attitudes: confusion, fear, or calm. A scary, sense-prickling calm that Dean hates more than anything else. Resignation, almost. Or: Sam suffers from nightmares and touch starvation post-Cage. They do their best to deal.

other Sam/Lucifer noncon

Cage Fight (No Way To Do This Right) by Dyed_Red:

Sam’s visit to the cage is already going awry, but Dean’s one-man rescue ends up skidding it sideways into territory neither him or Sam are ready for. (Gratuitous episode scene re-write. If Cas hadn’t come till after, if he hadn’t been there yet when Dean ran down to the 'parole' cage after hearing Sam scream - how bad could it have got for the brothers before he made it?)

CW: graphic rape/noncon

Into Being by withthekeyisking:

When Sam wakes up in the cave on Apocalypse World after having been killed by vamps, it's not just to find Lucifer there with him. It's to find him in him.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, necrophilia, forced pregnancy

Reggie/Tim/Sam noncon

a pointless resistance for you by withthekeyisking:

Sam doesn't know how long he's been with Tim and Reggie by the time Dean shows up and tries to take him out of there. Long enough that's he's already lost one baby and is pregnant with the next. Long enough that this life is starting to feel like all he knows.

CW: graphic rape/noncon, forced pregnancy & miscarriage, victim blaming

screaming birds sound an awful lot like singing by withthekeyisking:

Sam has done his best to move past what Tim and Reggie did to him, pretending it never happened at all. But running into them again makes that very difficult—especially when Dean gets involved.

CW: referenced past rape/noncon

Waste 'Em All by withthekeyisking:

When Tim and Reggie try to force the demon blood down Sam's throat, he spits it back out. He has no interest in being turned into their own personal attack dog. They don't...take it well.

CW: explicit rape/noncon

#sam winchester #sam whump #supernatural #supernatural fic rec #wincest

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optimysticals · 1 year

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This pendant is a perfect example of my love for Tumblr as an artistic business.

I love Tumblr for the fandom, the jokes, to social commentary, and the things that are just too difficult to explain to people not on this hellsite (affectionate).

But, this. This pendant. Damn.

We made these adorable little Robin Pendants with hand enameled masks and little crystals probably close to a decade ago. (Checking the OP timestamp it was December 2014).

When I originally sat down to make them I wasn't just going to enamel one of each color to see who was popular, that would have been silly. So I made a bunch of each.

In business terms, they flopped. But I always loved them.

They haven't been on our website since probably 2016 or 2018 (two big overhauls happened those years). The pendants were all disassembled so the crystal could be used elsewhere. And the Robins have been in a drawer ever since.

So why is this little pendant above so special to me and my feelings about Tumblr?

Because I took that photo today. Of a Stephanie Brown Robin Pendant I made this afternoon. Because someone found that ancient post, and commented on it that they'd love one of these. I was able to reach out and let them know it was possible. And through the magic of Tumblr we resurrected an 8 year old retired jewelry piece.

That's not something that happens on other social media sites. Once something is gone from the front page, it's gone forever. Resigned to the dustbin of digital history.

But here, here we celebrate "World Heritage Posts". We queue things like Sascha the Christmas Tiger 365 days in advance. We delight in going digging to find bits of the things we love.

And as an artist who tries desperately to make a living off of the shiny things we make, the fact that something can be found a week later, a year later, a decade later. It really is magic.

So yeah. Just going to be over here being sappy about community and jewelry for awhile.

#stephanie brown #Batgirl #Robin #the spoiler #nerd jewelry #community #im sappy okay

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utilitycaster · 11 months

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The information that Laudna had a friend early on is really intriguing because it not only adds a dimension of poignancy to her introduction and to her post-resurrection moments, it also could explain the strangeness in her backstory. I imagine it as being pretty simple: Laudna runs away from Whitestone and finds or makes her first hut in the woods, and a little girl who likes to play in the woods finds her. Everyone assumes said girl's creepy friend in the woods is just imaginary until someone finally goes along with her and sees that Laudna is indeed very real, and then, queue pitchforks.

It answers a lot of questions I have about why Laudna might have been driven out in the first place and how much of her going town to town in isolation was self-imposed; if her very first attempt to reintegrate into society outside Whitestone went that badly, it would understandably inform the next 30 or so years of her life. I really hope she gets a chance to bring it up sometime soon (honestly? this current arc seems like a great moment given she's now with a villager mob for once, rather than its target) because I think it's a much-needed reveal to have.

#critical role #laudna

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kimberrysunwoo · 1 year

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Carnivals & Lollipops

pairing: boyfriend!yuhno x reader

genre: fluff

summary: you and yunho spend the day together at the amusement park

note: happy yunho day!! i was also listening to still with you by lee gong hi and yoo seung on repeat while writing this. hope you enjoy!

walking into the fair, immediately being pulled by your tall boyfriend, yunho, and straight into the gift shop. buying yourselves matching headbands and a giant lollipop.

“yunho, we don’t need two, one is already big enough” you said as he tries to push another lollipop into your hands.

“fine, but if we only get one then we have to share!” yunho said jumping around at the thought of being able to share a sweet treat with his partner.

getting out of the shop, your first stop: the carousel. before the ride began, both of you taking pictures on the horses with your lollipop and headbands plus silly selfies all throughout the ride. laughter emits from your boyfriend as you stumble to get off from being dizzy.

rollercoasters are a must with yunho, so you guys end up in a forty-five minute queue for the tallest attraction there. nevertheless, those forty-five minutes are well-spent as you guys finish off your shared lollipop and dance around. since yunho can’t seem to keep still from the excitement so he ends up back hugging you while walking in line.

once seated, obviously in the first seat, your hands are clasped super tightly. hearts pounding, once the drop comes both of you scream nonsense at the top of your lungs. when the ride comes to an end, both of you laughing at what you guys said in the case of if you guys didn’t make it.

“i can’t believe you said that you would rather resurrect as a worm! what made that even get in your head?”

“that’s because i know you would still love me if i was a-“ then your very serious conversation is interrupted because you had made it to the front of the line to the food court.

sinking into the chair of the cafeteria, feet finally getting to take a break and enjoying your refreshing slushy and food.

you take a break and walk around the beautiful theme park and going on silly rides such as the teacups and the pirate ship.

going home on the last bus of the day, while sharing earbuds with yunho was unbelievably calming and a great way to end your fun time together. being one of the very few people on the bus this late at night and watching the street lights zoom past your view. starting to feel drowsy, you slightly rest your head on yunho’s arm. eyes drooping shut, and dozing off with your boyfriend’s warmth radiating off of him.

“sleep well, my love.”

#ateez reactions #ateez #ateez yuhno #ateez yunho #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #jeong yunho #yunho fluff #yunho x reader #yunho scenarios #yunho x you #jeong yoonoh #ateez headcanons

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francesderwent · 1 year

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why is the Triduum queue one of the few reliable prerogatives of this blog? well, it’s because I take great delight in, once a year, answering the question “why are you like this” at great length and in great detail. I want you to know that every time you’ve reblogged something of mine and tagged it “op your mind”, what I wrote had very little to do with my mind or my abilities and a whole lot to do with the lens through which I view things. this is that lens: the Paschal Mystery, the suffering, death, and resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ, for my sins and for yours. and frankly, you cannot have the vision without the lens. there are no true love stories unless at the root of the world there is love. and it just so happens I believe that behind everything there is abundant love—grace and mercy and compassion, surpassing imagination. there are no true happy endings unless the history of the world is a story. and it just so happens I believe that the world is not only a story but a story of triumph of life over death, being told by an Author who has our happiness in mind. there is no true found family unless there is something real binding and holding us together. and it just so happens I believe that we were all chosen and destined to be part of one family, sons and daughters and brothers and sisters together, that the connections we find and nourish are not given to us for a short time only, but for eternity.

it’s fine if you’re holding onto your optimism with both hands, gritting your teeth and stubbornly saying you’re going to act like love is the most important thing even if it all inevitably ends in death and ruin, until maybe you can make it come true through sheer force of will. I can only imagine how difficult that is. but it just so happens that I think it’s already true—it’s the very first Truth of all. Love is the truth behind it all. it’s the meaning of everything, if you go down deep enough.

#triduumposting #ANYWAY #Cate writes

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kerubimcrepin · 5 months

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Liveblog 6: analsysising harder

I am having a finals' nightmare week in university, but finally found the time to sit down and relax, so here's to episode 3.

He's so supportive. For all his faults as a father, (like the fact that Joris might not be able to read yet in here, despite seemingly being pretty ready to be taught how to, as was pointed out to me by @dullard during our separate rewatch from this rewatch) the fact that Joris can sell things at the market all by himself at 7yo and knows what a commission is, is actually really cool. Good job, Keke! This once, I will not kill you with hammers.

Do start teaching your son to read/write soon. Please. Please.

ANALYSIS EVENT LEVEL 10 ALARM WEE WOO WEE WOO. CAN WE TALK ABOUT THIS.

Joris is seven years old. Kerubim was, by his own words, "barely older than him," during his confirmation ceremony at the Orphan Temple. Can we actually ask what Kerubim Crepin was doing, at seven years old, in the orphan temple??

As we know from Dofus Heroes Kerubim comic, he was busy being an orphan, plotting to resurrect his parents, (either adoptive, or step-father and biological-mother. It doesn't really matter !) and being sad, to the point that, as an adult, even while amnesiac, he empathizes greatly with a stray kitten.

Having dreams of not wanting to be lonely, projecting his loneliness onto stray animals... It's the reason why he's afraid of showing people that he's weak and driving them away, and what makes him a compulsive liar, as I've pointed out in the last post. He can't bear being alone.

No wonder, then, that despite being old, and having a decrepit house, he didn't try to find Joris a better home. It would be a betrayal of his own ideals of protecting children from what he went through. It would mean that someone so similar to him would, too, be all alone. And, a bit more selfishly, he does need someone by his side.

I would point out, that Atcham was in the temple, implied to be mistreated, that they are both full brothers who grew up in the same family, and that him and Kerubim didn't have the best relationship even as kids, — with Bashi also disliking Atcham heavily, for unstated reasons, — and how it all might tie into Kerubim also adoptng Joris out of guilt, because he feels like he might end up like Atcham, but I don't have ten hours.

And also bc Atcham doesn't appear often, and I am mostly delusional about this.

Kerubim avoids mentioning Atcham or any of his adventures in Brakmar, so... man just give us anything to work with.

Despite Keke playing it off now, he really didn't have an easy childhood.

For all the times I say he's a bad dad, or that I want to beat him up, it is all in jest. I think he's a very tragic character who was just... never really given a chance to develop a healthy way of interacting with the world.

And for what it's worth, he grew up to be as decent of a person he could have, and did the best he could, at becoming a family with Joris and raising him, as flawed and uneven as it is.

He really just wants this kid to have a good childhood, or an approximation of one, with no violence, loneliness, or fear he went through — and it's all going to be ruined in the movie, isn't it?

It won't stop me from joking about beating him up in the future of this blog, but I wanted to make my stance clear. No non-joking slander of Kerubim in this household. Ever.

I think he was scared shitless of having a deadly quest here, but HAD to pretend he wasn't, for the public. He looks happier now than seconds ago in the queue line, lol.

Low self-esteem can result in seeking attention through being loud and obnoxious, as well as a fear of embarrassment, so, it checks out. Lying is a likely thing for Kerubim to do, and I love and respect him for it.

His immediate reaction to being embarrassed by getting a clothespin, and made fun of, as audience laughs? Double down, baby! Though, his angry facade doesn't last until the end of the line. He's just... looking sadly to the side.

By the way, considering he's only a bit older than seven, the "I've been training for years" is a bit haunting.

Do you know who DOES deserve to get beaten with hammers for real, non-ironically? The god Ecaflip. Can I get an amen?

No wonder, Kerubim coddled Joris and wanted his life to be better! His life sucked!

Of all the things not to lie about, he seemed not to lie about being trained. Doesn't stop him from being beaten up, though...

We have to beat God Ecaflip with hammers. There is no other way.

For all his cockiness, he's so stressed out. His facade is so, so ruined, the second he realizes his plan is not working.

Really, this whole scene puts their relationship together the best. He's a God, holding Kerubim, a 7-9yo orphan, on a tiny string.

His whole life, Ecaflip just belittles him over some random bullshit, makes him hate his brother for being bald, and then gives him a gambling addiction before putting him into a mental asylum to treat it. All of that because he loves him that much.

We have to kill him. There is no other way. I may be a wakfu season 3 hater, but Oropo was right.

Yay, trauma bonding, in its correct definition!

If my whole family died, and a god cared so much about me, he made me the protagonist of various sad cringe stories of overcoming personal adversities mostly caused BY him, I too, would develop some sort of complex to cope. So I get it.

But I feel like, even if Kerubim will never voice it out loud, considering what repercussions may follow, deep down he knows that Ecaflip himself is one of the reasons for his loneliness, and that most of all, he's scared of him.

#ro liveblogs dofus #dofus #wakfu #kerubim crepin #ep3

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rallamajoop · 2 months

Note

I love your Wintersberg smut fics 😭😭😭 Do you have any more fic drafts/ ideas that are bouncing around in your brain? I'd love to hear... Ethan getting his smart mouth shut up for once and getting fucked stupid is my favorite trope.

Aha, I take it you enjoyed Atypical Side-Effects? Does Medical Log count too? Either way, now I'm very amused that the last ask I got like this one was from someone who was into Ethan bantering his way through sex ‒ I mean, nice to know I'm appealing to multiple markets here! XD

I did post a list of stuff I had in the works back in September, but a lot of those have been checked off and posted since then, so maybe we're due for an update. There's not as much wintersberg on the current list as there was, but we'll see where it goes.

So, fic I have actually made progress on in the last month or two:

The second chapter of Atypical Side-Effects I've been promising everyone is with my beta now, though I cannot tell you there's much smut in this one, and it's currently second in the queue behind...

That post-RE7 Mithan fic where Mia actually gets to come clean that I mentioned in my last WIP post, which has somehow grown into a veritable monster (how tf did this thing break 15k I do not know), and is responsible for stalling progress on most everything else around it while it ate writing time. But it is at last (hopefully) done, and my beta is trying to sort out if it's ready to be unleashed on the world now.

As mentioned in a comment or two, I've also been working on a sequel to my Yuletide Lost Boys fic Pater Unfamilias. It's about halfway done now, I think?

In other misc fandom news, I've still got a couple of semi-cast-off bits of Deus Ex fic that came out of my Spare Parts anthology not-quite-finished (and which I've been promising myself I will totally get back to and finish sometime after that big one above was done). Whether they end up getting added to that story or whether I wind up posting them as their own things remains to be decided.

But back in Resi-land, I may have mentioned in that last post that I had part of a continuation of That One Where Heisenberg Follows Him Home, and that's one I'm still picking away at between other projects. Eventual Ethan/Mia/Heisenberg, just for a little variety, but it's got its teeth in me and definitely wants to go somewhere.

So overall, possibly not quite as much wintersberg as you might have hoped? Though I may have kind of promised someone there was still more of that one Beauty and the Beast wintersberg AU still very much in my plans. And one or two other things from that older list are still in the 'may get back to' pile too.

But if you’re asking about ideas that haven’t necessarily made the draft stage, well, I could always list you a few…

I have forever been toying with the idea of a post-canon Heisenberg-lives idea, where he ends up working for Chris’ outfit as a medical examiner who specialises in cutting apart whatever horrific BOWs have been brought back for study, and also in terrifying any hapless intern who so much as wanders into his lab. I mean, he’d be perfect for the job: plenty experienced in studying bioweapons, utterly un-squeamish about cutting up dead things, and as a bonus, completely qualified to defend himself whenever some ambitious specimen decides to get up again unexpectedly. Speaking of which, mundane AUs where Heisenberg’s some kind of medical examiner should really be more of a thing too (sure, mechanic works too, but is it really gross enough for him?)

Speaking of Heisenberg-lives possibilities, the idea of a universe where he survives (unbeknownst to our heroes) thanks to having bought a ‘life insurance policy’ from the Duke which involves him being resurrected via mould trickery is another one I’ve had forever. Did actually mention it in my last in-progress post (it’s the fairy tale idea titled simply ‘Koschei’), but haven’t really made any progress on it since.

Alternately, in a hypothetical Ethan-lives-Heisenberg-doesn’t AU, the idea of a Heisenberg who continues to haunt Ethan as a mould-ghost ala virtual-Eveline has to rank pretty high on the “has no-one does this? Because someone should totally do this”-scale. No really concrete ideas for this one though, so consider it very much free to a good home.

In more recent ideas, someone pointed out to me a little while ago the possibility that Heisenberg might be able to feel it when Ethan touches anything metal (which sure does cast Ethan’s own arsenal in an interesting light!) Don’t know if I’ll ever actually get around to doing something with this one, but I’ve definitely given this one some thought.

On a related note, look, I still say the idea of Heisenberg deciding to make Ethan appreciate his genius by trapping him in a massive soldat-orgy is one I want someone else to write for me, but I’ve definitely now spent enough time explaining it to certain people that I can’t deny having given it some real thought.

In other free-to-a-good-home ideas, has anyone ever written a decent little Eveline-wins-AU horror story, with Mia and Ethan stuck playing ‘families’ with her, and only conditionally conscious of what’s really going on? Because there just is not enough real horror or fic willing to treat Eveline as the horrific little monster she canonically is around this place.

And just for something completely different, some kind of surreal Mia/Zoe thing set during RE7, with Mia constantly shifting between different levels of awareness of what’s going on, how much she can remember, and what she thinks her relationship to Eveline really is preferably with some at least R-rated Mia/Zoe smut is another of those ideas I’ve been sitting on forever now.

...and I hope that about answers your question, because that's me about out. *g*

#wintersberg #Resident Evil Village #mithan #mithanberg #jensard #The Lost Boys #fic #asks

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ltbarnes · 1 year

Text

Resurrection Chapter 5

Summary: Bucky Barnes was only nineteen when the lives of his parents and little sister were taken right in front of him by the ruthless members of the Odinson mob. His father’s mistakes have turned Bucky into a vengeful and cold shell of the charming boy he once was, now deeply rooted in the criminal lifestyle of the Stark mafia. Sudden attacks ignite the conflict between the two forces of the city, refueling the rivalry that has been rather tame for years. Nine years since Bucky’s life fell apart, he finds it shattering once more when what was supposed to be long dead returns to the living.

Pairing: brother!mafia!Bucky Barnes x adopted!sister!reader, mafia!Thor Odinson x reader, mafia!Loki Odinson x reader, eventual Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: irritated men in traffic, Bucky is absolutely devastated, guns, people being shot, violence

A/N: it’s been a while since I updated this lol

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

"Fuck!"

Sam slams his hand against the horn for the third time since they left the old factory. He knows it's not helping anything, because this traffic jam is not dissolving anytime soon. It's just frustration being let out in a way that doesn't involve hurting people.

Forty minutes—that's how long they've been crawling forward in the midst of hundreds of cars driving. Both his and T'Challa's phones are dead and they are four hours away from where they want to be.

"The clouds are dark. It will be storming soon," T'Challa speaks up, elbow leaning against the window and his chin leaning against his palm.

"No shit, Sherlock. They've been warning about this fucking storm for a week."

"No need for that kind of language, Wilson. We are both frustrated, I am aware," he answers. "I also know that we have to let the others know about what we heard."

"Bucky and Stark are probably on their way to murder all of 'em already. But I can't say I blame them."

"It would be a waste of life. The Odinsons weren't the one to sabotage for us. And if I might say—Thor and Loki are both respectful towards the young girl. Treat her like a sister."

"Yeah, and we didn't blow up a goddamn garage either. Someone is setting both of us up."

Large raindrops begin to splatter down onto the windshield, slowly, until they fall so rapidly nothing can be seen through it. Sam sighs in defeat, slumping in his seat. They're not getting anywhere soon, and bad things are going to happen because of it.

It's crucial that they know about the Odinsons and their innocence, at least in this case. No one is denying that they are morally disturbed people and that they have sabotaged millions of dollars worth of property for the Starks, but this warehouse wasn't blown up by them. And the Starks had nothing to do with their destroyed garage.

Someone is trying to cause conflict between the two clans, start the war that has been brewing for a long time. But quite frankly, Stark has made it perfectly clear that he has no interest in a thing like that. But ultimately, soon it might get to a point where it's inevitable. This information could prevent a hell of a lot of people dying in unnecessary battle.

"Do you think it's those guys—what was their name again? The ones who had Bucky?" Sam asks, resting his hand on the wheel while pressing the back of his head against the seat.

"Hydra? Well, yes, I believe so. It would be the most plausible option," T'Challa answers, eyes set on the never ending queue in front of them.

Unfortunately, they are completely jammed in. Cars surround them from all sides. Sam has a thought or two of ripping someone's car door open and stealing their phone so he can call someone back home. T'Challa would have him face down on the wet asphalt before he could do anything like it, though.

He thinks about Bucky. That goddamn misery on his face, the excruciating realization that someone he thought was dead for a decade has suddenly turned up as if she was never gone. Even through all of the shit they give each other, Bucky is his friend. Shit like this—it's a pain he could never even imagine. If Sam's big sister was shot right in front of him and held captive for this many years, he would burn down the entire world to get her back. He understand that more than anyone.

And god, he barely wants to think about what you could have been put through during all of these years. These big men getting their hands on a little girl associated with the enemy. It's nauseating. But you looked comfortable—joked with these men as if they were your siblings.

Deep down, Sam has a feeling that they actually took care of you, kept you away from harm and shown you the kindness that a young girl deserves. You looked safe from harm and healthy, comfortable enough to talk about personal issues with three grown men. But despite if this is the true version, it could never justify shooting and kidnapping a goddamn child. Their bullets tore through your mother, their hands put your father's body in the river. Their men made you almost bleed out right in front of your brother. That kind of shit isn't just forgiven, even in the world Sam lives in. Especially not in the world Sam lives in.

Yeah, Sam is fucking pissed off on that entire system of assholes both for his own and Bucky's sake. But they sure didn't blow up that Stark warehouse. If he's right, both the Odinsons and the Starks have a much larger enemy to defeat than each other. Hydra is back, and they might be more dangerous than they previously thought.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It's chaos at the compound.

Bucky and Natasha arrived to the news of Rhodes being shot while out taking a fucking walk. They came with the gift of his little sister being alive and captured by the Odinsons. Daring to say that the two of them didn't really hear anything because Bucky had a panic attack before they found anything out is not in his blood. Instead, the excuse of these news being urgent is explanation enough for Stark. Besides, Sam and T'Challa will be here soon.

These feelings are dangerous, he knows. The ones where he can barely see anything through the blind rage. His limbs are restless, longing for a windpipe to crush underneath the strength of his hand. He always does something reckless to jeapordize the mission whenever he feels like this.

He's still standing in the lobby, watching all the people run back and forth, up and down the stairs. Shoulders bump into his side, sending him stumbling while blinking furiously. What was he supposed to do now again?

The rage quickly manifests into tears. Slipping down slowly on his cheeks, falling to the shiny floor with a quiet drop. Bucky is overwhelmed by it all and doesn't know what to do except stand there surrounded by the people who can take action in a time of distress.

"Hey, come with me," a soft voice whispers with a hand to his shoulder. He doesn't even flinch, bring out the aversion to touch his body so naturally has developed through the years.

Thinking too much about wether or not to follow the orders is beyond him, and he follows along with the gentle guidance of Natasha until the large lobby becomes a smaller kitchen. Away from the bustling and running, the people.

A chair is pulled out, placed underneath Bucky with her hand pushing him down to a seat. It's ridiculously rare that Natasha shows this level of care and attention with him. They have a relationship of pushing each other into walls while walking and shutting the fuck up unless they have something important to say. Part of why he likes her—she doesn't expect anything from him.

"Hey, hey. It's okay, you know? You are allowed to cry. You're allowed to be angry and want to cut them up to fucking pieces for what they have done to you," she says, standing in front of him with a hand on his shoulder, looking up through her lashes. "We will get revenge. But you have to get yourself together first. We'll go tonight so you'll have a few hours to sort through things."

"Y/n is..." Bucky's gaze is unfocused, blue eyes clouded by confusion and unshed tears. "My sister—"

"Y/n is fine right now. We will get her back. I swear to you on Yelena's fucking vest that I will do everything in my power to get that girl back to you safe."

Bucky blinks away the haze until his lips manage to quirk up just slightly. He knows how serious it is when Yelena's vest comes into question. Nat's sister would throw herself into fire if it meant getting her vest back unscathed.

"I just—I think I need to be alone," he whispers, swallowing the onslaught of tears wanting to claw their way out of him.

"Yeah, okay. Of course. I'll talk to the guys and fill them in, get a few of them ready to come with us. Need to track the bastards down too."

Bucky nods, wiping underneath his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. He hasn't even thought of the fact that they don't know where you and the Odinsons are.

Natasha leaves the room after a single pat to his shoulder. One that's rid of sentimentality but shows she cares nonetheless. Bucky is glad that he at least have someone to be rational for him in these moments, because he's entirely and completely lost.

He doesn't really know how to feel. About four hours have passed since he saw your face again. It's a constant battle of anger and resentment against elation, interrupted by these horrible waves of simple sadness. He's just sad.

Bucky missed so many years of your life because of those people. He could have taken care of you—bought the two of you a small house somewhere outside of the city and maybe get a dog for you to play with. Take you to dance recitals and help you with math tests and yell at you for sneaking out to be with your friends. Things a big brother to someone with no parents left should do for his little sister. Instead he has wasted five years being reckless in the military and one year in captivity, just to spend another three years being reckless in a fucking mob. Countless people have died under his hand, triple the amount tortured and threatened. You would be so disappointed to know what he has been up to—your Jamie (he always acted like he hated that nickname) that you looked up to so much has gone ahead and ruined his own fucking life.

And his mom—he prays that there isn't a heaven where she's looking down at him if only it could save her from knowing what he's done. Her little baby girl shot, kidnapped and held captive for almost half of her life. Her only son throwing away all that potential in the aftermaths of his grief. When it comes to what his father thinks of him, he's never cared particularly much. Bucky knew George was a scumbag since he was a little boy and were much happier whenever his dad wasn't around. He made it his mission to protect you and his ma from the unsteady temper of Mr. Barnes already as a twelve-year old.

But would he care? George was never happy about his wife's wish for another child, prolonged for so many years that she grew too old for another one biologically. After a year of persuasion he caved in and let his wife take in a parent-less baby that desperately needed someone to take care of her. It wasn't enough that George didn't want another kid to begin with—he loathed the idea of a daughter.

His aversion towards you was clear from the beginning, but Bucky still wonders if he would have cared that you've been kidnapped for so long by the enemy if he was still alive. Maybe to keep up appearances, he would grieve publicly. But any effort to retrieve you behind the scenes would be half-assed at most. He was a coward, and daring to cross the Odinsons would be too much for him. Bucky doesn't know all this for sure, but it makes him hate his dead father even more. He hopes you didn't feel the absence of his father's love, that the affection he and your mother showed was enough to make up for it.

The kitchen chair he sits on is uncomfortable. Expensive designer furniture or not, Tony has a horrible knack for choosing style over comfort. It makes Bucky mad. And then it reminds him that some people like the uncomfortable. Steve, for example. That punk has been throwing himself at fists and boots to the stomach ever since he was a kid. But Steve is his best friend and god, he should really call him. Steve should know about you. He has been Bucky's rock through all of it—he was there when it happened, for god's sake.

Yes, Steve has a right to know about your being alive and all that. But that does not make Bucky pick up the phone and call the guy. Speaking it out loud like this, to someone on the outside of it all, feels too real. It solidifies the fact that he has failed you spectacularly for nearly a decade and Steve is going to know that. He might not ever say it, but he is going to be disappointed and angry with Bucky for never trying harder to find your body.

So no, today might not be the right time. He is going to get you back tonight, settle himself down into the reality of your return and then he will tell Steve. No excuses.

Almost an hour passes by before someone else enters the kitchen to the sight of him having his head leaning against the palms of his hands, elbows planted on the marble kitchen island, staring into the intricate pattern of the stone counter. The clock strikes 16:55 as Bucky raises his gaze for just a second to check whoever's bothering his peace.

"Hi, uh, hello—Bucky. Mr. Barnes," Peter stutters as he moves slowly towards the refrigerator.

Parker is a relatively new recruit. Mostly assists Stark with a bunch of bullshit tasks, but that's how you prove yourself loyal. And despite the impossibility of it, the boss seems to have a soft spot for this kid. He's what? 20, 21? It's the youngest they have in the immediate circle.

"I heard about your sister. I'm sorry about that. Hope—I really hope you get her back. Safe," he continues, eyes everywhere but on the stone-faced Bucky. "Actually, Mr. Stark said I might get to drive everyone to the restaurant. Be the getaway driver, you know?"

"Restaurant?"

Bucky perks up from his slumped figure, now entirely focused on the flushed kid with his hand around the fridge handle. Might rip it off soon if he doesn't relax—he's much too nervous around everyone to appear tough.

"Uh, yeah—apparently they're going to be at some restaurant at like, seven. Snowflake, or Frosty or something like that. Never heard of it."

The chair scrapes against the floor as Bucky pushes away from the counter. Not a glance, a goodbye, or a thank you even, comes from his mouth before he barges out of the kitchen.

He bumps into Pietro on his way up the stairs, a mumbled 'sorry' from his lips as the silver-haired man follows his hasty figure with a curious stare. The news have spread around the house by now, but Natasha threatened everyone with a good beating if they bothered Bucky. Those instructions did not reach Peter.

The Bifrost. Surely that must've been the restaurant the kid was talking about. A popular one, but if people in this city knew who it actually belonged to their costumers would scatter. Now that he knows where you're going to be he has a hard time restraining himself from jumping into the car and driving away with only a handgun and two knives to accompany him. But he knows Natasha was right.

Voices and laughter sound from the medical room down the hall. Rhodey seems to have drawn half of the people in this house to him, seeing as some even stand in the hallway due to lack of space. Surely he can't already be awake.

It grows quiet as Bucky pushes himself forward, earning an offended scoff from Yelena as she trips over her own feet. Bucky steadies her with his arm without even sparing her a glance.

To his surprise, Rhodes lies awake, though groggy, hooked up to a heart monitor and IV. He looks fucking exhausted, but there's still a smile to his face.

"You doing alright?" Bucky mumbles, casting a stoic glance around the people surrounding him. It's clear he's the elephant in the room, despite the half-dead man at the center of it.

"Never better," Rhodey answers with a thumb's up. Looped up, that's for sure.

Bucky gives a single nod in answer, crossing his arms over his chest. He may act all unbothered, stoic even, but he's glad Rhodes is okay. He's been a good man to him so far, smart, rational. They need him on this team, mostly to keep Tony grounded.

"Good. Good," he whispers before gulping, glancing down to the floor.

He can almost feel the sympathetic looks everyone gives him. Bucky hates it, but somewhere he knows it's because they care.

"Right. We should get back to business," Nat says, nodding towards the door. "Need to know which ones are coming with tonight. Thinking we'll go through it now."

Several people shuffle out of the sterile room into the dark hallway, leaving Tony, Pepper and Happy left with Rhodes. The latter probably won't notice the sudden clearing of space with how much morphine he's on.

Red hair leads the way towards a meeting room on the other side of the upper level. An oversized table stretches out from wall to wall lined with bookshelves of unread books, surrounded by thirty ridiculously expensive oak chairs. Tony made it a point to explain how much he sacrifices for everyone's best, when everyone knows he just likes to splurge.

Bucky nearly, almost, feels emotional when he sees how many sit themselves down to help him rescue his sister. A person they don't even know, simply because of how much you mean to him.

Yelena, Nat, Pietro, Wanda, Coulson, Shuri, Vision, Marc, Maria, Brock. All these people care enough about Bucky to care about you. He knows Sam and T'Challa would be here too if they weren't so goddamn slow. Bird-brain probably stopped for some fucking iced coffee and got stuck in a Target. Apparently haven't answered any of Nat's texts or calls either. Better be goddamn alive.

Okoye and Carol are out trying to figure out who the hell shot one of their own. Bucky feels bad that he's taking away manpower from that, even though he simultaneously wants to gather every damn person in the world willing to fight for his sister. This is the most important thing for Bucky, ever.

"So, Bifrost, huh? Gonna be easy to get in. Never have much security," Shuri says as soon as everyone's seated.

"We don't know that. My source tells me the whole inner circle's going tonight," Nat answers. "We have to gear up either way. Be prepared."

Bucky soon zones out, only listening when any mention of an actual plan comes up. The image of your arms wrapped around yourself, tears wetting your cheeks, displays at the forefront of his mind in a constant loop. That you might've had that expression every day destroys him. This life that he leads—if he knew you were alive he would have kept you as far away from it as possible. It's not something you should grow up with. He and his ma shielded you from a lot when you were a child, to the point where you didn't even have a clue about what your father did.

All of that effort seems pretty pointless now, when you've grown up in an environment even worse. Hell, Bucky can't offer you much better. But at least you will be loved. Protected. God, Bucky would spend the rest of his life by your side if you needed him to. Maybe he could convince Tony to get you into some prestigeful university so you could get a good education and make something of yourself. Take you and Steve to Coney Island on the weekends.

"Yes, yes. Natasha, you have gone over this three times. We understand," Shuri says, interrupting his deep train of thought with her irritated exclamation. She hasn't really inherited the near royal politeness her brother possesses. "Now, where the hell is my brother? Four hours late."

"That голубь probably crashed the car, I swear," Yelena says, an amused grin playing on her lips.

"It's a rainstorm outside and 5 pm traffic. They're probably just stuck. Phone battery dead," Nat says. "They'll be back soon."

"I suppose we are to get ready soon if we are leaving in twenty minutes." Vision leans forward in his seat, searching for Nat's eye contact. She answers with a nod, pushing her chair out from the table.

"Coulson and Hill, you go fetch the kid and make him warm up the cars. Visit the arsenal while you're at it, too."

"Yes, ma'am," Coulson says with that familiar content smile on his lips.

People start to trickle out, cleaning their knives and stretching their limbs in preparation. Things could be easier than expected or end up in straight war, but they throw themselves at the opportunity anyway. This is family, by now.

"I'll go with Hill and Coulson," Brock speaks up for the first time during the meeting with a few fingers raised nonchalantly, as if he's asking a question in the classroom.

Bucky has to resist from rolling his eyes. He's never really gone along well with Rumlow. Sure, everyone in this damn mansion has a predisposition for violence but that man just thrives in it. Always smiles a little too much while plunging a knife into someone's neck. Narcissistic bastard, as well. Of course he wants to handle the weapons. Probably just coming along for the opportunity to shoot an Odinson in the head.

"Why are you telling me?" Nat answers with a glare. "Just go."

When it's just him and her left in the room, a quietness falls over the space that is suffocating him. He's anxious beyond compare. What if they don't succeed? If you're left there while your only potential rescuers get shot to death or captured themselves? Things can't go wrong tonight.

"You gonna be okay?" Nat asks from where she's sitting on the other side of the table. "If you think it's too much, we can do it without y—"

"No. Not a chance in hell," he seethes. "I'm going to get my sister back."

"Well, okay then. Let's go."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

It's 7:30 PM when three sleek, black cars pull up outside of the coveted, Odinson-owned restaurant. The windscreens are dark enough for the security guards standing in the entrance to not see through. When they do see, it's too late to send warnings inside to their bosses.

Bloody knuckles and knocked out men instead lie just outside of the lavish doors, courtesy of one Brock Rumlow with the assistance of Marc Spector. Yelena whines about them not leaving anyone left for her. Natasha scolds her for the lack of patience. Bucky just stares through the darkened glass doors while bringing out his gun.

These are the last moments of his life where he can still wonder about what having you in his life again will be. In an hour he will either be dead or you will sit next to him in a car. You might not recognize him, might be scared, might hate him for leaving you here all these years. But goddamn it, if he isn't going to give it his all to get the both of you out of this restaurant alive.

A firm hand lands on his shoulder, squeezing in silent affirmation. Bucky's act of indifference is fooling no one. Not even the kid who drove the car all the way here.

"It'll be alright," Vision says.

And Bucky nods, because even if his fear tells him otherwise he knows you will no longer be stuck. In his very bones.

Maria pushes forward after Pietro gives her the okay—he's surveyed the perimeters. Everyone is gathered inside. She turns her head over her shoulder, hands grasped around her gun. The sound of weapons being loaded reminds Bucky of a falling domino.

"Alright, guys. Enter in three, two, one..."

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

CHAPTER 6

#marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #resurrection #thor odinson x reader #loki x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki laufeyson x reader #mafia!bucky

35 notes · View notes

quicktosimp · 7 months

Text

Look at You

Kinktober Day 18, Quaritch

Recom!Quaritch/Recom!Reader

Warnings: Mirror sex, Fingering, Dom/Sub Undertones, Alien Biology, Hurt No Comfort At The End

A/N: Don't watch something angsty while writing smut. You will hurt yourself 😭

“Now, ain’t that a pretty sight?” Quaritch dawled, a lone finger traveling over my slit.

I sit on his lap, my legs on each side of his and my arms wrapped around his neck. His large hand grabbed my face and made me look forward, looking at the image of the two of us together, the mirror placed perfectly, “Look at your pretty slit; see how it’s parting for me?” He asks.

“Yes,” I whisper as a deep burning fills me.

I watch as his finger trails up and down my slit, parting it more and more, my insides soon to be revealed to him, to us. His massive body dwarfs mine; even though we’re both Recoms, Quaritch is gigantic even compared to the local natives.

“Watch how you open for me,” Quaritch plunges in two fingers.

“Oh fuck!” I moan for the feeling and sight. I can see myself spread for his fingers, sucking them in with a flood of my slick dripping out.

“You’re needy today, darlin’. See all the slick dripping down your front. It’s gonna leak onto my thighs, making a pretty mess.” He slowly wiggles his fingers around, and I can feel my inner tendrils play with his digits, “You know, despite the whole blue thing, I gotta say fuckin’ you has been amazing. Not that it wasn’t amazing beforehand. I love your body no matter what, but this body is so much more reactive. The pleasure is stronger, and I love it when our queues tie together in that bond thing.”

“Love your cock, your spines locking with my insides, want you to force my cervix open,” I ramble on, wanting his cock now.

Quaritch laughs, shaking my body, “I just have to mention my dick, and I have you all needy; well, my Princess, you’re not gonna get it. You’re gonna take my fingers and be thankful.” He languorously thrusts his fingers, “But maybe I can give you something better,” the hand that held my face left; instead, I watched him reach behind himself, grabbing his queue, “This should be a suitable substitute, whatcha think?” His confident smirk told me he already knew the answer.

I can see in the mirror how my eyes dilate and how my body arches towards him, eager for the bond, “Yes! Yes! Give it now!” I demand, my arm straying from its place around his neck to grab my own, only for his fingers to leave my slit and slap my thigh.

“Hey now! I said you were to keep your hands there and not move them! Put your hand back and keep it there! Am I clear?” Quaritch demands.

I rush to comply, “Yes, Sir!”

“Much better, Princess.” He grunts while grabbing my queue.

His rough hands are surprisingly gentle as he handles it. I can feel my body amping itself, anticipating the feeling of us becoming one in a way we couldn’t as a human. Truly, the best part of this situation, being resurrected as a blue alien, was never part of the plan, but being able to connect and bond with my husband this way almost makes it all worth it.

He holds our queues mear centimeters apart, the pink tendrils reaching out for each other, but Quaritch waits, grinning, “You ready, Princess?”

“Yes, please, Sir,” I respond, knowing he wouldn't do it if I didn’t respond. When he wants to, he can have the patience of a saint, meaning when he gets to be sadistic in bed.

Slowly, he brought them together, our tendrils intertwining and locking together, and we became one. My pupils are blown, and almost all of my eyes are now black. Quaritch isn’t failing much better, as a gasp leaves him. I can feel him. I can feel his emotions as my own. How Quaritch isn’t as unaffected as he seems; the burning in my loins is mirrored by his own. I can feel his love for me, the need to protect me, and also the longing for more. But there is still the hole in our chests, mourning.

“Fuck I love this Princess. Love feeling you like this.” Quaritch moans, really saying, ‘I love you’, “Now where were we, Princess?”

“You were fucking me.” I moan in reply, and I feel how those words shoot down and warm his core.

“I don’t think I was fucking you, not even fingerfucking you.” Quaritch snarked, “But that can be arranged.” And two of his fingers plunge back inside.��

“Oh fuck!” I shout, watching my slit respond to him and feeling myself surround his digits.

“What is with my little princess using such bad language today?” Quaritch mocks.

“I learned it from you, Colonel.” I moan while rolling my hips onto his fingers.

“Wow, you got a mouth today, snarking me. What if I were to take these fingers out of your slutty hole and leave you all hot and needy?” His tone was teasing, but that was a threat.

“No! I’ll be good! Please, Sir! I Missed you so much!” I cry, begging for him.

My core becomes filled with warmth, but it’s not mine. It’s his. Quaritch’s love filling a hole that was blasted between us when I had died first in the war.

“Okay, Princess.” His voice was quiet to hide the wobbling, but in the mirror's reflection, I could see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

Slowly he thrust his fingers in and out, wiggling his fingers slowly to let my slit adjust as each tendril attempts to latch onto his digits. Soft moans leave my mouth. From the feeling and sight, I can see my inner tendrils trying to follow his fingers outside my slit but not making it far before retreating back into my slit. The feeling of myself coiling around him and the slow drag brought slow but intense pleasure, gently urging my climax near, like comforting a skittish cat. Quaritche’s face is relaxed for once, content with our closeness. But I feel the need brewing underneath his skin, the lust of watching my slit open and cling to him because he can feel me as I can feel him. We are one.

“Love you, babe,” I whisper through my moans.

The feeling of his love washes through me again, “I love you too,” Quaritch kisses the top of my head.

Quaritch’s hand thrusts deeper, slipping in a third finger. His other hand caressed my face, bringing me to face him, and our lips met. Slow, deep, and full of passion. I roll my hips with each thrust, my high getting close while lost in Quaritch’s lips, his tongue tangling with mine.

I whine into his mouth, trying to signal that I need to cum; understanding flows through our bond, and Quaritch curls his fingers a bit tighter, rubbing and squeezing my inner tendrils, creating a delicious friction. My whines keep getting louder with each thrust and curl. My slick has trailed to the floor, creating a translucent blue puddle, staining the white metal floor. My climax comes in waves of deep pleasure, not one you see in porn, but deep comforting, and warm. I grind my hips into his hand, savoring the feeling. Quaritch releases my mouth and places small kisses along my neck.

“Do you feel better, Darlin’?” His words are soft.

“Hmmm,” I hum in response, too comfortable to think of a reply.

A quiet chuckle shakes through him as he removes his fingers. I whimper at the feeling, oversensitized from my orgasm.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, Darlin’. I’m not playing anymore.” He scooped me into his arms, cradling me to his chest.

Quaritch lays us on our shared bed, wrapped in each other's arms, our tails curled towards one another. We lay there, basking in our shared warmth, taking comfort that we were both there, but we’re still mourning.

I sniffle, trying to stop my tears, “He’s 16 years old. I’ve missed out on 16 years of my baby boy’s life. He probably hates us.” My voice cracks with each word.

“I know, baby. But all we can do is try and talk to him.” His voice was just as strained as mine.

“They raised him; he’ll hate us just for our existence, and they probably hate him just for being born from us! Your baby was alone for all of his life! I would hate us, too!” Sobs rack through my body.

“I know, baby, I know.” I don't have to be bonded to him to feel the tears falling into my hair.

#avatar #lunaskinktober2023 #atwow #avatar way of water #kinktober #smut #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #avatar quaritch #colonel quaritch #atwow quaritch #quaritch x reader #quaritch smut #quaritch x you

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heldflesh · 7 months

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TALES OF SABRY — FAIRUZ IBRAHIM.

── ( tamino. genderqueer, he / they. ) recently seen trapezing across a lone stage, spotlights dancing off beaded sweat – audience a crowd of one, half - asleep or otherwise dead, spirit rising from still body in a chant; encore, encore! bravo! at verve: enter FAIRUZ IBRAHIM SABRY. twenty six years old & a scorpio, usually observed in tits out; slivers of chainmail barely concealing loving shark - bites alongside rib, fishnet your only true, loyal companion – starfish spurs against heeled boots; aquamarine could never ; fairuz is a devotion visitor known within their circle as MADCAP + GRANDIOSE, a perpetual hum of knife prty by deftones on salted mouth. something of the HUBRISTIC + CAVALIER follows, regardless … something to do with an incessant need to entertain and please, for oneself and for others, one complete theatrical act , perhaps ? strange, what a SIREN can get up to. they’ve been heard waxing lyrical about a dream they had recently, a strange tale of lightning against stark red sea; no tell of morning from night – only fools dare to cross the threshold; scaled body wrapped around splintering wood, ichor flowing from lip and chest – harpoon a stake upon self . pay no mind to fanciful star - gazing, though: rather, mind the tangible. focus on defense being a performance in itself, accusatory points towards a faceless jury and judge in the checkout line of a mini mart – i'm innocent, your honor! hear my pleas, hark my – cue one dragged away by smoothed heels, threats brimming lips / insatiable hunger and the habit of playing with ones food – thoughts bubbling mid - air, tom and jerry sequence of cat and mouse, mallet to head – cuckoos circling; almost as satisfying as the kill / and bone an accessory – so sustainable chic! – fish spine piercing cartilage, ribs lining lobe – cuffs of mysterious vertebrae, drilled and filed and – .

... mentioning themes of IMPLIED MAN - EATING, SLIGHT BODY HORROR, INJURY, DEATH, and RESURRECTION. proceed with care.

with palms held out.

full name — fairuz ibrahim sabry.

nickname(s) — ruse, in a poor attempt to give himself a nickname ( did not stick ); pretty boy; puck ( perked up chee– ); narcissus, after method acting too hard– austin butler who?; others yet to be seen.

date of birth & age — october 29th, 19xx, physically twenty6.

gender / pronouns — genderqueer; he / him & they / them preferred, all welcomed.

sexuality — bisexual.

typing — siren, slut of the sea ( affectionate ).

occupation — unfortunate thespian; one man act; professional ( ? ) clown; cashier at oracle & oddysey.

astrology — scorpio sun, aries moon, leo ascending.

interests — cheap thrills. spotlight - induced sweat. anything that gleams or sheens, skin included. red meat & red wine & red lipstick in a very real, very french way. fishnet for more reasons than none. garnering attention. burlesque clowns. being a burlesque clown. six seas, don't bring up the seventh.

aversions — "deep" feelings. "deep" conversations. forced intellectualism, you can be pretentious and stupid! skeptics & nonbelievers. taxes. tax collectors. attention seekers, there can only be one ( it's them ).

next in queue — girls on film, mindless self indulgence; pain, boy harsher; slow, depeche mode; talking in your sleep, the romantics.

notable features — what's not to notice? knife - like teeth and an old scar where they nip into bottom lip every too - wide grin & lazy clown make - up; a triangle beneath every eye ( only two, for now ).

general disposition — too grand and generally delusional, but they wear it very well.

last known location — lifting himself back onto the rocks in a siren - dwelled cave like a baywatch wannabe, only to slip upon the surface and back into the water. hasn't emerged since out of hurt ego and deeply hitting embarrassment.

scrying mirror & kindred — mercutio ( romeo & juliet ), dorian gray ( the picture of dorian gray ), oberyn martell ( game of thrones ), theodore laurence ( little women ), emma woodhouse ( emma ).

what lurks in the past...

time is trivial beneath the ocean's surface; light no longer refracting, only vast blue encasing the young. first memory - first consciousness, an array of bubbles; thrashing and struggling, god mother's serpentine body wrapping around and around until all is still once more, until only bone is left to drift further down the depths.

their behavior is pack - like, school of sirens circling coasts like sharks, symbiotic and one; homes made of shipwrecks and reefs, underground caves and trenches, close to docks and ports and harbors, convenience - store runs for sailors and captains. it's rare that they break surface, walk among humans - entertainment best between selves and their food; happy meals best accompanied by toys.

fairuz is both alike and unalike them; a penchant for the finer, rawer things in life, metallic tang behind each sharp tooth, and a growing boredom, tree - like in their sternum. branching, rooting - blooming dissatisfaction with each coast they distance from. the sea felt stagnant, while every breach of ripple upon surface revealed new buildings - years meaningless to them, but everything to land dwellers.

curiosity, was all it was; curiosity all that killed them. separating from pack, intrigued by talks of a circus near - shore, a different sort of spectacle than drama between sister sirens ( they gave a mermaid's purse to you? but they gave one to me! you slu - ); fairuz became enthralled with the faeries who spun from silk, the witches who swallowed fire only to shoot fireworks from tongue - the ringleader whose smile pierced through every one of fairuz' hearts.

their visits upon land became more frequent, trailing the traveling troupe whenever able; need an incessant itch beneath their scales, a match against their ever - growing hunger. quick snacks became one, then two - doubling with each town or city swam across.

fairuz never heed the warnings of a red sky, human paranoia no toll upon their body; still broke surface, that fateful day, lightning serving them well - ship an oyster cracked wide, ready for taking. their hunger barely satiated when a whistle sung from behind; not a warning, but the sound of air tearing as a harpoon spit from its gun and ripped into their scaled flesh.

the sky was no longer red; no longer anything, the ocean's pressure luring them into their endless slumber; reminiscent of their youth, when they welcomed the sea's warm embrace like their own mother's. comfortable. warm. safe. do you wish to live, siren?

voice clear as day; like a whisper into their ear, soft and urging. you can live forever, if you please. if their consciousness was still awake - fairuz would've found the humor in being siren - called; instead, their spirit stirred inside them, hands pressed upon their former living shell. let us save you. let us free you. just say yes.

sirenkin, their family: the choice to leave was no one's but fairuz', one of their few regrets in life; visiting sirens of devo, do you know this fucker?

righteous fishermen with penchants for revenge: slow your rolls - fairuz' is just a little guy, a little fella! and they should be dead! right? ... right?

...comes to light in present...

five years resurrected, five years given to delphinium's traveling, theatrical circus troupe and one would've never guessed; a puzzle piece fitting just right against an entirely wrong picture, the epitome of a live, laugh, love sign hung crooked against a contemporary farmhouse kitchen wall - fairuz dazzles all. or pisses them off - either, or - all of the above; attention is attention, and fairuz craves it almost as much as they crave fle-

they awake the same everyday; a life - rattling exhale of breath, gasping and hoarse like the first time they reopened their eyes; almost comedic, hand trailing to the star - like scar upon their chest - a tale better left unsaid, in accordance to delphinium. they know best - better than fairuz, at least; knows what secrets are best kept, while fairuz spills open at any given moment, at any curious glance.

he's all emotion; nothing cool, nothing collected - only extravagant, demanding; eyes on them at all times. dramatics started at the blink of a single one of those eyes - constantly performing for an unknown audience, never caring if others are swept up by his current. takes good intentions and swallows them for his own benefit; you wouldn't trust a god, would you?

the circus settled in devotion just short of a few months ago; no signs of leaving yet - performances weekly, each and every weekend and occasionally wednesdays, if audience demands then who are they to gatekeep? fairuz lurks beneath the sea's rippling surface some days - sleeps behind the counter of oracle & oddsyey's other days; a siren needs a little spending money, after all; especially him, pockets usually barren and closets overflowing. otherwise can be found wherever there's a crowd.

traveling circus troupe [ menacing voice from behind, hey sis- ]: fairuz' found family. faeries and witches and humans and sirens and nymphs alike, all welcomed as long as they harness talent. don't ask why fairuz' is there; only delphinium knows.

a horde of angry lovers: a necessity in every town, devotion no different. fairuz is more wrong than right, would rather end up in a second grave than admit it.

...and carries into the future.

how long can a corpse walk for, before their magic runs out? before they've stolen all the energy left inside, until blood is shed once more - theirs and others, and others and theirs. prophecies tell of moon falling back into sea and never - rising once more, fallen on unwilling ears - fairuz' mostly, forever pig - headed, too busy gazing upon reflections.

how many enemies, can one make? scorned lovers of lovers, scorned friends betrayed for the slightest whim, abandoned on impulse. scorned family - sick of antics, of fairuz' thoughts that only revolve around himself.

fairuz never worries of the future. but perhaps they should.

prophecy - spewing nymphs: they heed not their warnings, demise be damned - you'd think fairuz would know better by now.

friends to enemies: a eventual happening, slow at first, but like all fire - the more it grows, the farther it spreads.

#devotion.intro #body horror tw #injury tw #death tw

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stigmvtas · 29 days

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TALES OF DYAL — ROHAN.

welcome to marina, ROHAN DYAL ( cis man, he/him ) ! they are a THIRTY SIX year old HUMAN / EXORCIST who resides in PROSPECT HILL. They work as the OWNER OF GREEN FARMER'S MARKET and are said to look a lot like RAYMOND ABLACK. People around the island find them to be PRAGMATIC and AFFABLE, but also FLUCTUANT and ENERVATED. what do you think?

CONTENT WARNINGS FOR ILLNESS, ADDICTION, CAR ACCIDENT, AND DEATH.

profile.

full name — rohan dyal.

nickname(s) —n/a! but he'd think a nickname would be cute.

date of birth & age — december 18th, 1988. thirty6.

gender / pronouns — cis man. he/him.

sexuality — bisexual.

typing — human / exorcist.

occupation — owner of the green farmer's market. exorcist. farmer. lover.

astrology — sagittarius sun, taurus moon, leo ascending.

interests — opening his doors to those who need it. hot drinks. long cigarette breaks and rolling his own. sitting in the fields in the springtime. homecooked meals. things he oughtn't know. magic. resurrection. the afterlife.

aversions — the dishes in his sink that just keep piling up. the cold that wraps so firm against his shoulders and refuses to lift. killing the chickens, so they just keep multiplying. door - to - door salesmen. vandals in the market. firearms.

next in queue — sweet disposition by the temper trap; she's so high by tal bachman; man in the box by alice in chains.

notable features — the warmest eyes with deep - set bags beneath them, and a well - kept beard.

general disposition — straight but easygoing - firm in his stance, but shoulders unburdened.

last known location — leaving the farmer's market way after all the stalls had packed up and gone - a cardboard box of clanking metal and glass beneath his arm.

scrying mirror & kindred — clark kent ( smallville ), captain america ( marvel ), glenn rhee ( the walking dead ), ted mullens ( schitt's creek ), sam winchester ( supernatural ).

brief history.

the dyals have always lived in marina, as far as they could date back. rohan's father, his father before him - and their fathers before them. they are as part of marina as marina is part of them - and with a family history so prominent, they've always been aware of their supernatural counterparts.

that being said - growing up hadn't been easy. there were the good parts - a family home that stood for years, atop a hill and overlooking acres of field and crop, meadow and wood. a mother and a father who loved him and his siblings dearly, fiercely. but there were the spirits - always drawn to his father, shaking the foundations of their home. the late - night visitors who'd talk to his parents in hushed voices besides the fireplace, a smaller rohan peeking out through the stair bannisters to overhear worry - laced words - uprisings and disappearances, strange symbols and entities that left black tar in their wake.

he watched as his father's work - as both farmer and exorcist, medium and market owner - consumed him, exhausted him. as his mother fret over land that wouldn't grow - of crops that all rot before ripening.

demons have always haunted their family - manageable at best, disastrous at worst. shadows in the hallways - eyes in mirrors; an unease at the back of their necks. a bloodline cursed to become weaker and weaker - to walk earth time after time again and live the same fate. to never reach nirvana - to only have a soul left weak and restless.

illness; rohan was particularly afflicted; an illness that wouldn't let - origins unknown but abnormal. his body in a constant yielding pain. as hard as he worked - weakness would come twicefold. dizzying spells and deep - set fatigue - sleepless nights and an ache deep inside him; coughs that spit up the same black ichor.

addiction; he still struggles with it intensely - waves of nausea and unsteadiness, striking without a moment's notice. no amount of potions or medicine seem to help it - and he's turned to... other methods to at least alleviate some of the pain. it never lasts - but rohan repeats the cycle, knowing that it'll still never be enough.

rohan married fairly young - fresh out of high school to his high school sweetheart; he'd known he loved her from the day they met and he would've crossed the ends of the earth for her. they had a child together only a few years later - a daughter who soon became the apple of his eye - who he would cross universes for.

car accident, death; but as life would've had it - when their daughter was only a few years old, rohan's wife was in a fatal car accident. some parts of him felt it - wrong. like there'd been supernatural forces at play - because none of it added up. the details all wrong - and it was chalked up as a simple accident. a mistake.

nights and days he waited - waited for her to return to him in any form that she could - the one ghost he knew he could never exorcise - but she never appeared, for one reason or another. the fact crushed him - and for a long time he wasn't okay; but rohan had a daughter to raise, and a family to take care of - and he forced himself to move along.

ummm but besides that! he's inherited the family land as the oldest son, alongside the green farmer's market - that his father once owned, and his father before him, and so on and so on. his parents still live in their family home - and rohan takes care of them. in the small free time he has - he's followed in his father's footsteps in becoming an exorcist. holds his spirituality close to his heart.

facts & temperament.

a fun fact about rohan is that he has hundreds of past lives. centuries of the same soul living different lives, though rohan has no memory of them. the occasional dream - and odd sense of familiarity when it comes to certain people - but the memories of his past lives are inaccessible to him.

unfortunately a perpetrator of dad humor. genuinely thinks he's so funny but he's not please don't enable him.

has a teenage daughter! considers her his greatest accomplishment and while he considers himself a stark pacifist he would kill for her.

works a lot, almost nonstop. is either always found on the farm or at the farmer's market, tending to stalls and handling the finances, vendor rent, etc. etc. sometimes at the church, if only to convene with other local exorcists.

works alongside witches often to try and find a cause and cure for his affliction; has a hunch that it's demonic in nature, but has yet to actually reveal that to others. is constantly scared that his daughter will be afflicted with the same illness - and that something will happen to her.

a calm, reasonable person. doesn't freak out often - takes life as it comes, and generally is hard to anger. sometimes he's just too tired to really feel it - but he's genuine in his nature. is loyal, reliable - and just really wants to take a nap.

the kind of person to actually talk to his neighbors, even if they're all stretched out. cares deeply for the community, both human and supernatural, and will go out of his way to make sure the people he knows are safe and well. volunteers in his free time - and like his father, he never turns down his home for someone in need.

loves to cook, though he misses the way his wife would cook. misses her a lot - and while he hasn't been single the entire time since her passing, he struggles with long term, deep relationships. in part it's because of his grief - and in part because he never wanted to introduce someone into his daughter's life if they weren't going to stay.

has good days energy - wise, and then has terrible days. it's always a gamble - and he finds himself trying to overcompensate for the days he's out of commission. someone who can't stay still - he always has to be doing something.

#marina:intro #hiii dilf #illness tw #addiction tw #car accident tw #death tw #˗ˏˋ intro ⟶ ❛ rohan dyal ❜

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