Errybody gangster til their sleep paralysis demon shows up
Guess who also got his achilles tendon cut? Because the poor guy doesnât get whumped enough? ;)
Aid taglist: @sacredwrath @pirefyrelight @little-rat-dragon @whumpyourdamnpears @potterhead5ever @3-2-whump
Ignore the imperfections, this took me forever :â}
Thought Iâd share my process on this one?
3-D Rendering reference
I tried to do this in watercolor & pencil firstâŚ(hated it)
So I went digital
Final unaltered version. I adjusted the color which make it a little sharper and added a vinaigrette border for the final one since I wanted it a little darker.
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Summary: Things are never what they are seen. After one stormy night, the lines of truth are a blur. The only one who knows is the golden boy Steve Rogers and Lily a small-town teacher aid at a local daycare.
Dark Steve Rogers X Lily (Original Character)/ Grey ish Bucky Barnes x Lily(OC)/ Dark ?? X Lily(OC)
â ď¸WARNING â ď¸ : I donât own any of the characters. This is an AU. There would be a lot of things but each part will address it before you read.
A/N: this is a dark fic. After RUMORS HAS IT I WILL BE CONTINUING IT . This is just a sneak peek .
MASTER LIST
He pulls his finger down his thick dirty blonde hair and sips his drink. He fuck up he knows it but still something dark something he had been good at hiding was inching to come out. The heavy footstep came closer to him woke him up from his inner thoughts. â Your lateâ Steve said getting up a bit. A grunt. Steve trace his tongue across his bottom lips trying to remain in control. â Itâs been last minute. Why am I hereâ a deep voice said. â You owe me. We both know the force wouldnât allow an enemy to sit down with big dogs. I gave you your career this comfortable life. I owe you and Iâm here to remind you of just thatâ Steve said looking behind him at a familiar face. Barnes rolls his eyes and grab Steve glass and gulp it in one motion. â What is is Stevie. Peggy ainât warming your bed tonightâ Bucky said laugh into the glass. â No she with Grant. I need you hereâ Steve said tossing a folder. Bucky looks at him and down at the vanilla folder. Opening it up he stops and smiles into his hand then peeks up at Steve impressed. â Alright, little catnip. Why you calling me for thisâ Bucky asks reading over the file again. Steve bent down and rest his elbow on his knees and let a big sigh. â Remember back when we fought we came across a small village there were two sisters young hiding and we faced with a decision. We did something we knew wasnât good but we wanted so bad. I have been faced with that a lot of times never have I had a problem. With this one here this mutt whatever this kitten is. She a problem. Demanding stuff my attention all of me. I canât have it. Other night I tried to talk to her. Something happens. Now she might think she smart but they all the same. I need to ahead of her. I need an inside manâ Steve said sitting back cocky. Bucky looks at the innocent eyes and the sugar cane sweet smile. Steve always got away with the girls. Apart from him envy the life his friend had. He was lucky luckier than a local drunk hook up or pay in. He wishes he had what Steve had. â No one outsmarts the Captain. Bucky. Not even her. Scare her rough her up I donât care. Just make sure it doesnât come to lightâ Steve said. Bucky nod and pour two glasses. â Tell me from the beginning what happens,â Bucky asked. Looking at the innocent smile Steve took the picture closer to his face and study it. â This one she looks innocent sweet the perfect submissive manâs wet dream. This girl she a different breed. I should of known late-night bar hook up in the ally was gonna bit me in the ass. But I kept coming back not knowing I was coming closer to the cliffâ Steve said thinking of the music smell of sweat and liquor. Touch of her denim skirt she holds on when he fingers her. Taste of honey and sugar that was her cum. Bucky couldnât even find out it was more him roping her in. He had to believe the Steve he sold to everyone. Not allowing himself to peek into the bloodthirsty beast Steve is. The beast one sweet little girl name, Lily brought out.
â ď¸Proceed with caution, Wyatt is a Grade-A assholeâ ď¸
Here's a lengthy list of his TWs in lieu of a character overview. This is everything you need to know; when I use #cw Wyatt, it encases the following:
Murderer and mock executioner
Slaver (although, in his defense, he did not buy one, his mom willed him one)
Torturer
Rapist and sexual sadist with a blood kink (hematolagnia)
Gaslighterâ˘ď¸
Misogynist and egotistical predator who objectifies, demonizes, and degrades those he views as lesser (which is damn-near everyone)
Has anger issues and canât chooses not to control his temper. Exploiter and raging narcissist (has anti-social personality tendencies + probably some other shit but Iâm not a psychologist) who victimizes himself in every scenario despite him being the canonical villain in every sense of the wordâhe would win a gold medal in mental gymnastics.
Mentally, physically, verbally, and emotionally abusive. Bully and mean-spirited, humiliates people for fun (especially The Aid).
Drug addict and alcoholic, smokes weed (the only chill thing he does) and cigarettes, chews tobacco, consumes copious amounts of cocaine cut with meth and/or who knows what, and has picked up the habit of consuming Mystic blood (no, he's not a vampire, just a hematolagniac) to get out-of-this-world high he now canât function without. Uppers > Downers.
Dabbles in cannibalism (a few times, but it does happen, so on the TWs it goes because wtf)
Porn addict
Gambling addict
Absent father
Mommy issues, Daddy issues, was abused and neglected as a child but never processed it healthily and sought help, so now he's just a menace to society and repeating fucked up trauma/abuse cycles (hello generational trauma). Has major beef with his older brother, Waylon, and was horrible to his younger sister, Winny, when they were kids.
Drunk driver (shouldnât be driving because DUIs)
Owns firearms and weapons but definitely shouldnât (although everyone does in Apocamerica)
Spoiled rich guy with a complex, doesn't accept "no" as an answer
Pretty much the worst person you'd ever have the misfortune of meeting
Date of Birth & sign: April 16, 1975 (56-57), Aries (story takes place in the year 2032)
Gender: cis-male
Sexuality: thinks of himself as just hetero, but falls under general sadism and dominance.
Height: 6'10"
Weight/body type/build: approx. 350lbs (I'm bad at guessing weight, take this with a grain of salt). Giant, solid build. Broad-shouldered, burly, and more heavy-set with a semi-prominent beer gut. In his youth was more brawny and muscular, now is a bit more flabby cause the only work out heâs doing is running to the liquor store, but still maintains a bulky physique.
Hometown: San Diego, CA
Family Members: Sullivan family tree. Has a daughter, Haylee, with ex-wife (how the fuck was this man even ever married is beyond me). Lost visitation rights to see his daughter and blames the Aid for it, but has made no effort to be a better person and reach out. Lives with The Aid in Eleanor's old house.
Left/right handed: right
Fav genre of music & anthem: classic rock, Ramblin' Gamblin' Man by Bob Seger
Occupation: trust-fund nepo baby. Used to be head of logistics security for family business. Now claims to be in finance and an investor (really sir, during the apocalypse?), and self-proclaims himself as a professional gambler and "independent media producer" (makes torture porn for fellow pervs on the internetâagain, during the apocalypse no less). Barely graduated high school.
Ethnicity (+ American): Italian, French, Greek, North and West European, English
Hair color & length: ashy brown, silver-striped, cut short, combed to the right to hide his cow lick. Uses pomade. Facial hair: grown-out chevron mustache; rest of face clean shaven but gets 4 o'clock shadow soon after. Usually has stubble since he shaves about once a week. Body hair: moderately hairy with chest hair.
Hygiene: leaves much to be desired. Showers when sober enough to do soâor more so is sober enough to care that he reeks of BO, cigs, and beer, or after he's woken up in a pile of his vomit. Poor oral hygiene from chewing tobacco, drug use, smoking, and alcohol; thinks whiskey counts as mouthwash. Teeth yellowed and crooked with irritated, swollen-looking gums (from drugs and lack of daily care). Heâs just a hot mess. The Aid has tried to clean this man up, but Wyatt ainât having it.
Eye color: wide-set icy blue, downturned, deep sunken eyes under protruding brow.
Skin tone: light, apricot-colored skin with warm, reddish undertones. Face usually red and puffy (substance abuse)
Facial features: wide, triangle-shaped head. Thin-lipped downturned mouth. Prominent, hawkish, and rubescent nose. Arched, bushy eyebrows. Bigger ears with droopy lobes. Broad and heavy chin, slight underbite. From age, substance abuse, and lack of skin care (+ living in a dry climate): frown lines, forehead lines, crow's feet, blush-burned and puffy cheeks from constant flushing
Mannerisms: always scowling and glaring. Sniffling and wiping nose. Clearing throat. Hocking loogies and spitting chew in an old beer can. Scrunches nose with curling upper lip. Pinches bridge of nose. Loud, overly dramatic sighing. Tsks a lot. Grinds teeth. Rubs chin with index finger, rubs forehead with back of hand. Loud, heavy steps when walking. Crosses arms. Sucks teeth. Uses height to initiate others and takes up a lot of space. Constantly smokes cigs and probably has a beer in hand. When loaded and buzzing: jittery manic energy, crazy eyes, random face twitches. Bursts of movement in sporadic jolts, such as slapping or pounding fists on a table/nearest object.
Nervous ticks: nervousness presents more as nervous anger or agitation. Throws things. Grunts. Yells. Curses. Kicks, hits, punches whatever is closest to him (or uses his human punching bag, The Aid). Long car rides with blaring music, reckless driving. Tries to self-soothe by doing lines or watching porn.
Posture: carefree but domineering. He acts like he owns the place wherever he's at.
Style: basic T-shirt, collared cotton shirt with jeans and boots, casual leather oxford shoes (Dr. Martens), plain jackets. Very basic, solid-colored clothing, no fancy patterns or fun colors. Will wear a suit on occasion, but isnât happy about it.
Health: amazingly, he hasn't had a heart attack (yet). Has had a fair share of overdoses. How is his liver still working? He doesn't take care of himself physically or mentally and should be dead, but he has the durability of a cockroach. Please drop dead
Piercings/tattoos: none
Birthmarks/scars: refer to the scar chart below that totally isn't an autopsy template (shout out to my boy for fucking Wyatt up as much as he has, I'm proud of you bby!)
Vices: addicted to everything he can get his hands on. Hardcore addict, and latest fixation is Mystic Blood cut with coke. Drinks more alcohol than water. Will fight and fuck his way to get what he wants. Will thrash and destroy everything when pissed off, then makes The Aid clean it up and beat him up if he doesn't do it fast enough; likes to wind down with a foot rub and/or full body massage from The Aid (*gag*).
Voice: gravelly with a tinge of teasing sarcasm, it ranges from monotone to raucous and taut. After a night of bruising and boozing, it can sound more strained and raspy/horse. (In my head he sounds something like Thomas Church?)
Smells like: as described from this scrapped excerpt left on the cutting room floor: "On a good day, Wyatt smelt of generically fragranced clean linen laundry detergent, slightly masked by an ever-present light odor of dewy sweat, salted sunflower seeds, and worn-off Old Spice. On a bad day, he reeked of one part odious stress sweat, three parts foul breathâa coalesced stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and beef jerky."
Face claim(s): John Goodman (I'M SORRY JOHN), but specifically these pictures below. Honorary mention, Douglas M. Griffin.
Character inspiration: Jonathan "Black Jack" Randall (Outlander), Ramsey Bolton (GOT), diabolical combination of Homelander and Billy Butcher (The Boys). Biggest YIKES.
Other: irredeemable POS; please openly hate this man; he's made to be shit on. That being said, as I mentioned many times above, Wyatt struggles with substance abuse, and there are references to drug use in text. But just to be crystal clear, he is not a bad person because he uses substances, and I do not intend to vilify individuals dealing with substance abuse. His purpose aims to illustrate the destructive nature of addictionâthe monster it can createâthe compounding impact of unaddressed trauma, and the correlation between the two. (I come from a long line of addicts and have lost family members due to overdoses; this is how Iâm dealing with it; you donât need to like how Iâm going about it, but I donât need anyone getting on my ass about it either. Iâm working through some shit. To me, Wyatt is the personification of the disease of addiction and how it will drown anyone it comes in contact with.)
While the drugs exacerbate his behavior, it's important to note that he was already struggling with personal issues and has fully embraced his negative traits, and is incredibly self-destructive. Wyatt is a complex character, albeit a deeply flawed one who consistently makes poor choices and is a massive piece of shit. But deep down, heâs a sad, unfulfilled man who got the shit end of the stick and is the byproduct of bad parenting and abuse himself. He is not for the faint of heart; I think his character inspos say all you need to know about the kind of person he is. But still, fuck him.
I donât have much of this one done yet, but here ya go, thanks for the ask, hope you like it! <3
SFW, but CWs still in tags!
WIP Snippet:
(Brought to you by WIP Folder Ask Game)
The lingering smell of weed and tobacco, mingling with a heavy cologne and the faint scent of gunpowder, pins his nose and drags him into a fuzzy consciousness.
Vinny.
At the first crack of lucidity, the pain floods in. The Aid groans, too weak for anything else.
How long was he out forâhow long was he melting into a blood-soaked mattress, time slipping through his fingers like fine-grain sand?
He tries to will himself back to sleep, to fade from consciousness, but awareness claws its way in, sharpened by the bone-deep flares of pain in his muscles and torn tendons. With consciousness comes the spasmsâsharp, knotting bursts that pulse in time with his quickening heartbeatâshattering any hope of slipping back into blissful oblivion.
In a haze of agony, he grits out something inaudible, a strained hiss between clenched teeth, then whines.
Itâs strange to feel the urge to cry, to know he would, yet be unable to as dehydration drains every drop of liquid from his tear ducts.
A softer lilt, threaded with concern meant to soothe, murmurs by his ear: âCome on. Ah, thatâs it. Letâs get you cleaned up.â
If he didnât know better, heâd believe the gentler tone as earnest. The way the man dons that passable mask of affection, one The Aid refuses to buy not despite but because of the two-time polished service record. Accolades they both know were never anything more than well-choreographed masqueradesâtools for another game, rigged, as always, in Vinnyâs perverse favor.
Vinnyâs ringed fingers dig into the soft spaces below The Aidâs ribs and thighs, peeling him off the sad excuse for a bed, its hard metal springs jutting up through the fabric and stabbing at his sore pressure points. Only when crusted scabs of blood and pus tear away does he realize how partially cemented he is to the filthy, tufted fabric beneath him, the acrid stench of infection masking the brow-singeing reek of body odor and week-old sickness as heâs torn free.
Despite it all, he canât help the heat of embarrassment from his own filth climbing to the tips of his ears.
His aching body howls in agony, pain escalating to a brutal crescendo as he's twisted and bent over strong arms gripping his shoulders and the backs of his knees. The wounds covering nearly every inch of him throb in intolerable intensity, made all the worse by his several broken bones grinding under his skin. They took his glassesâonce an act of cruelty, now a small blessingâleaving him blind to the impending compound fracture threatening to tear through his shin. The sharp, stabbing strain in his muscles serves as a potent reminder of the inhumane positions they forced him into, his body now a withered map of suffering.
A confusing rush of cool air licks his bare body before heâs met with subtle warmth pressing against his side, only slightly subduing his pained whimpering and intelligible pleads swallowed up by darkness.
âPipe down, I gotchu. Youâre fine, ight Kiddo?â Vinny says, brushing back a thick clump of greasy hair plastered to his forehead. Vinnyâs nose scrunches and his brows form a tight V-shape as he jerks his head back in disgust.
âFucken Christ, you smell almost as bad as you look.â
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Ahhh why is it so hard to choose a snippet! TY for the ask! <3
WIP Snippet
(Brought to you by WIP Folder Ask Game)
Vinnyâs freakish, beamed-out pale eyes find his. "Got a special request from a few of your top fansâŚ"
"Whatever would I do without these parasocial relationships with random-name-generator strangers on the internet?" The Aid sarcastically chuckles, though heâs damn sure heâd accomplish a hell of a lot more with all the spare time heâd have if it werenât for these creepy assholes paying for his demise and clogging up his schedule.
"You likey?" Vinny smirks, drawing out the 'y' as he fishes out a black-and-white frilly tutu from the paper bag. With an obscenely glinty-eyed wink that makes The Aid cringe, he lays it out on the bed.
The Aid glances wide-eyed between his Masters, feeling simultaneously amused and vaguely offended but too stunned to voice the objection that shriveled up and died in his tight-lipped mouth all the same.
Not even taking the time to bask in his discomfort, both Sullivans eagerly extract more hellish-looking lacy strips of fabricâtoo see-through and flimsy to be actual articles of clothingâand scatter them above the tutu.
"Would it matter if I said I didnât?" The Aid finally winces, though more hesitant than he intended. He shifts on the mattress, his movements masked by a sly pretense, subtly gaining distance with each sideways scoot.
Thereâs no way in hell The Aidâs putting any of that onâcanât, he settles, especially with a cast nursing a broken arm and wrist, and the limited mobility from months of torture he doubts he'll ever fully recover from. Not to mention the staunch awareness that heâs nowhere near high enough to deal with this level of bullshit.
The double-stacked anxiolytics do little to quell the anxiety blooming in his chest or slow the frantic thump of his heart, racing faster by the second.
Then it blindsides him: his tongue grows heavy, his mouth parches, and an unfamiliar, tingling warmth spreads across his face. His fingertips drum out a frantic beat as he parts his lips briefly, then chews them, offering his Masters a beggarâs pout when their shit-eating grins donât falterâwell aware heâs already lost a battle he was never strong enough to fight.
He spoke too soon; whatever the fuck they gave him is already hitting his system.
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Character extras: Playlist | Lexicon | Mood Boards
Overview: Benny, your average local fisherman from Cajun-country Southern Louisiana, is just trying to support his family during world-ending times in Arcandian-occupied Apocamerica. But his fate is forever changed after he catches the attention of Arcadian Baron Xavier LeBlanc after winning a brutal fight against a horde of afflicted in the fighting pits. His victory leads to an offered position as one of Xavier's concubines, but he soon discovers that this position involves more than just hedonistic sex parties. Benny discovers Xavier's corruption and nefarious activities, including the Baron's connection to the mysterious disappearances of several local women and a grand conspiracy he's unknowingly tied to. Outraged, Benny decides to take matters into his own hands. After risking it all and exposing Xavier's wrongdoings to the town, the ensuing revolt claims the lives of Arcadian envoys and vassals alike. Xavier, fed up with Bennyâs insolence, retaliates by kidnapping his Mystic sister and sentencing Benny to a life of slavery and selling him to a buyer on the West Coast.
Full name: BenĂ´it OnĂŠsiphore Boudreaux (Benny)
Role: Second lead protagonist
Date of Birth & sign: February 10, 2005 (27), Aquarius (story takes place in the year 2032)
Gender: cis-male
Sexuality: bi (and DTF)
Height: 6'
Weight/body type/build: working man's buildâvery fit and muscular. Unfairly ripped, is good googly moogly ridiculous. (How does it feel to be creator's favorite?)Â Â
Hometown: Atchafalaya, Toussaint Parish, Louisiana (re-used name, fictional place in the southern boot of LA area)
Fav genre of music & anthem: blues rock; Born On The Bayou by: CCR
Family Members: Oldest child and only son. Both parents deceased. Younger sisters in order from oldest to youngest: Genevieve, Sabine, Estelle, Cordelia. Adopted children whose families died after the outbreak. Father & big brother figure 2-in-1. (All surviving Boudreaux family members + adopted kids are in the infographic below.) Family over everything mentality. Provider.
Ethnicity (+ American): Native American/Indigenous (predominantly Choctaw), Cajun & Creole (mixed colonial French, Native American, and Haitian ancestry). Appearance-wise, looks very Native (Pops got strong genes). (Visit his Lexicon page for more info.)
Hair color & length: long, straight, thick black hair, hits mid-back. Usually tied in a low pony, braided, or thrown up in a messy bun. Facial hair: none to be had. Has little to no body hair and looks like a smooth baby dolphin. Has never used a razor in his life, plucks random hairs as they surface.
Hygiene: smells like swamp water and fishing boat gunk 90% of the time. Bathes daily and spends a lot of time taming his mane and doing hair masks. Decently hygienic (having four sisters), but isn't afraid to get dirty and wrestle in some mud.  Â
Eye color: russet brown. Deep-set, thin, almond-shaped eyes. Has "sly eyes."Â Â
Skin tone: light brown, golden tan with warm undertones.
Facial features: oblong head with high cheekbones. Wide, full lips with heavy upper lip. Hooked nose. Flat, thick eyebrows. Round, slightly pointed ears (no, not like an elf) with free lobes. Â
Mannerisms: very animated and talks with his hands, uses a lot of body language. Hums, whistles, and sings songs at random.  Â
Nervous ticks: shifts and wiggles around more. Rocks in a chair if sitting. Paces. Runs fingers through hair, plays with hair. Flexes hands and toes. Shrugs, rolls shoulders. Cracks neck and fingers, rolls head in a circle or a back/forth motion. Blinks a lot and shakes head. Bounces knee. Talks more and rambles, may repeat a question reworked in different ways, *disbelief*. Uses inappropriate humor to cope. Grimaces. Stretches, may start dancing/tapping feet. Drums fingers.
Posture: relaxed and casual. Slumps back in seat or leans forward, elbows on knees. Has an unfortunate tendency to manspread.
Style: "It fits? I gets." Nearly everything is stained and a hand-me-down. Usually in smelly fishing gear. When not, in a white tank or T-shirt with sleeves cut off, old ripped jeans, tattered old boots, or no shoes at all. All shorts are old jeans he cut (jorts go hard). Tribal print and lumberjack flannels, buttoned jackets, Carhart vests, old sweatshirts, wrinkled and faded T-shirts, beaded jewelry, and custom jackets made by his fashionista sister, Estelle.Â
Health: initially very healthy with no conditions or allergies
Piercings/tattoos: piercingsâ2 holes (lobe and upper lobe), tragus on both ears and a Prince Albert (đ). Tattoos (so many, all B&W): strand of 5 traditional-style flowers on upper chest, just below collar bones. Barbed wire in the shape of a heart on the left peck over the heart with a small cherub pulling back bow as if about to shoot an arrow at it on the right shoulder. Traditional Choctaw tribal pattern strip encircling right bicep. Beaded armband with two feathers tied in the middleâstarts on upper-mid left arm and stops about 4" short from elbow. Mermaid with shell crown on top left forearm. Optical illusion crocodile swimming half-in, half-out of water on top of right arm. Optical illusion fishing hook stuck in skin on outer left wrist. Tomahawk with peace pipe end on left side over ribs. Scorpion around belly button, crawling down towards below waistline. Sun and moon kissing surrounded by clouds on mid left thigh. Shrimp above outer left ankle. (Tat sheet & references below.)Â
Birthmarks/scars: scar across left cheek. "X" slave branding scar on right hand. Â
Tattoo Placement Sheet (+ Scars):
Tattoo reference pics from Pinterest:
(sorry, yeah he has Pinterest tats, Iâm not a professional)
Language(s): English, Cajun French, standard French, Spanish, Chahta Anumpa (Choctaw language), American Sign Language
Personality: extroverted, adaptable, friendly and charismatic, good-natured, energetic, sincere, outspoken, optimistic, excitable, loyal, motivated, facetious, compassionate, quick-witted, patient, confident, genuine (never pretends to be someone he isn't), but can be a schmoozer
Voice: loud. Rich Cajun twang, smooth and silky despite the volume at which he speaks.
Smells like: when dirtyâswamp, mildew, and fish. When cleanâearthy scent with aquatic undertones: Spanish moss, evergreen and Cyprus, soliflore gardenia, and blue gum eucalyptus.   Â
Face claim(s): (young) Eddie Spears (top row), Michael Hudson (bottom row, big shoutout to @3-2-whump for finding Michael!)
Character inspiration: nothing in particular; I just thought I was missing something, and thus, Benny was born and slowly revealed himself to me in parts. I knew I needed a wild swamp man.
*Just imagine him as Indigenous Gambit.
Other: has wrestled alligators and isn't afraid of shit besides catfish (his mortal enemy). Harmonica champion. Consumes ungodly amounts of shrimp. Takes in every stray he finds.
