#silver lining au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months

Text

Silver Lining 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

Your phone buzzes as your niece bounces dangerously close to the tree. Your sister's in town with her two kids, but neither her or her husband seem to care much about watching them. Somehow, you're tasked with that and unsure what to do about their endless energy. You envy them truly so you just kind of let them go.

You hear your mother and sister chattering in the kitchen, her husband is in the garage with your stepdad, and as always, you're the odd one out. You slide your phone out and check the ID. It's Bucky, technically your new boss. You notice you've missed a few texts from him. Great. Not a good start. You were supposed to tell everyone at dinner about your new gig.

You answer, watching the kids without much thought, play tug of war over a string of tinsel. You should stop them but it'll just snap anyhow. You clear your throat and put your hand to your cheek, feeling the nervousness warm your skin.

"Hello, Mr. B-Barnes," you eke out.

"Bucky, it's fine," he sounds slightly irritated but you don't think you've heard a different tone from him so far, "you're busy?"

"Well, uh, n-not exactly," you shrug, "j-just family s-stuff."

"Family... so you won't be able to go over the script? I just got your edits."

"U-uh, y-yeah, if you want to, I c-can grab my l-laptop," you offer and turn your back to the room.

"I'd prefer it if we could meet. I'm more of a face-to-face person."

"O-old-fashioned," you comment. You regret that he exhales deeply on the other end. "S-sorry, I o-only meant--"

"You're right. I'm old-fashioned. Not a bad thing," he insists, "so, is it too late? Should we find another time?"

"T-tomorrow?"

"I'm going out of town for the weekend," he huffs, "I really want to have this ready to record when I get back."

"R-right," you chew your thumb, a sudden bawling tears through the air as you spin around and find your nephew stuck under the tree. Oh no! "Oh, sh-shoot."

You cover the microphone as you lower the phone. Your sister rushes in, your mother at her heels as they squeal. You watch helpless as she fishes Casey from under the fir branches, "you were supposed to be watching them," she accuses.

"I-I was?"

"Oh, come on, you know, I barely get a minute to myself and you can't just keep an eye on two kids? Ugh, no job and you can't be bothered just to look," she snarls.

They're not your kids. You flutter your lashes as you fight back tears and that smart remark.

"I actually h-have a c-call from m-my new job," you hold out your phone and wiggle it at her, "I d-don't b-babysit f-for free."

She scoffs and your mom tuts as she shakes her head. They don't even care. No congratulations but they can constantly throw your unemployment in your face. You take a breath and roll your eyes.

"S-sorry, I g-got to go," you turn and drag your feet out of the room.

"Well, she didn't say she had a job," your mother mutters as your sister grumbles back, "about time."

You ignore them as you head upstairs. It's better you let your sister bask in her spotlight. You weren't looking forward to dinner anyhow. Not for anything more than the hunger groaning in your stomach. You put the phone back to your ear.

"A-are you there? S-sorry, I g-got distracted."

"Really, if you're busy--"

"N-no, I n-need to get a-away," you say.

You're silent at the confession. You didn't mean to sound so pathetic. You go down the hall to your room and find a sweater.

"Well, uh, how about we meet at the cafe? Middle ground. You like that place?"

"Up t-to you," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You need a ride?" He asks, to your surprise.

You pause as you grip the bright pink wool in your hand, "N-no, I'll f-find my way." You swallow and lay the sweater on your bed, "uh, b-bye."

You hang up before he can respond. You're embarrassed. He probably heard all of that and more. And now you've gone and betrayed your stupid self to him. Of all people. He doesn't need to know you're a complete failure. You hate to accept it but you have to; you need him more than he needs you. So maybe you'll just change the damn thesis after all.

🩶

You get to the coffee shop with snow caked on your hat and in the collar of your coat. You shake it off just outside and enter, your cheeks and nose kissed with the cold. As much as you love the winter, it's a bit much. You let out a brrr as you pull of your mitts and tuck them inside your hat. You hear your name and glance over. It's him, he's beat you there.

You tramp over to him as the snow melts off your boots and you wave, setting your bag in the chair as you unbutton your coat.

"Didn't m-mean t-to take too l-long," you say.

"Hot chocolate shouldn't be that cold," he assures you. You wince and look at the table. Sure enough, there's a second cup.

"O-oh, you d-didn't have t-to--"

"It's fine, not a big deal," he shakes his head.

You nod and hang your coat over the back of the chair and tuck away your mittens and hat in the sleeve. You sit and bring your bag into your lap. You flip up the flap and pull out your laptop, chilly from the walk there. You sense him watching you. You leave your computer shut as you lay it out and reach for the hot chocolate. You give it a taste and hum, thanking him.

"Sounds like a rough day," he comments.

"Y-yeah, b-but you d-don't have to w-worry about it," you assure him, glancing around evasively. When is he going to start being mean?

"You got kids?" He asks.

You have to hold in your laughter. "Sister's k-kids," you explain, "n-not for m-me."

"Ah," he accepts and reaches for his coffee, "right. Makes sense."

You keep your eyes down. You don't want to get too personal. Feels like he's just being polite, likely because he feels bad for you, not about his previous behavior.

"Don't got any either," he leans forward, his thick fingers hugging his cup, "so, your new draft was... great."

"R-really?" You lift your gaze meekly.

"Yeah, yeah, I just have a few notes," he sits back to bend down to the bag at his feet, "thanks for coming so last minute.”

You open your laptop, trying not to show any emotion. It's kind of him but you just don't believe it's anything other than pity.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabbles #series #silver lining #silverfox #au #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #avengers

208 notes · View notes

theguyinthemathexamples · 5 months

Text

The Iudex spotted wearing a weird mask! Could this be a new fashion trend coming to light? Tune in next time at the Steambird!!!

(aka: an eldritch god!sagau x possession!sagau mix, all inspired by @thatdeadaquarius!! tap the pic(s) for better quality :DD idk why this took so long.)

[extra stuff utc‼️]

(with eyes edition down below!!)

#sparkling wheat ♪#stellar-borne cookies and cream ♪#silver lined strawberries ♪#genshin impact #sagau #genshin impact sagau #genshin #self aware genshin #genshin sagau #genshin eldritch au #genshin possession au #??? idk #this. took. WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY TOO LONG I'M SO SORRY EVERYONE 😭😭😭😭😭😭#maybe because of the extras i did?? idk anymore man #uhhhhh #take this as an early Christmas gift 🫶🫶#(if any of yall saw a mistake‚ dw it's TOTALLY on purpose yea hahahahah totally hahahahaha)

260 notes · View notes

silvers-starrway · 3 months

Text

Heyyyyy whats uppppp the brain worms have hit once again for a different au. Shadow retires and starts running a cat cafe, that's it that's the au. More info under the cut if you'd like to read about it hehe.

After some event Shadow gets to retire but now that he has all this free time as he is essentially barred from joining any further missions he's been incredibly bored. So what is a guy to do other than open up a little cat rescue and well, one thing leads to another and now it's a full blown cafe with a few permanent residents.

The cafe is called Midnight Hour since it tends to be one of the few places still open past midnight. The cat portion closes earlier than the cafe but Shadow doesn't mind running the place into the wee hours of the night. It's been calming form him after all. He's managed to get something sorted out with Vanilla and Cream as well where he can sell their pastries and any profits go towards taking care of the cats.

The gang are all regulars and most of them have adopted a cat from the cafe though for anyone who can't bring a cat home Shadow decides that they can become a permanent resident of the cafe. His own cat, Mari, is very feisty. She does NOT like any other mobian or human besides Shadow and is constantly following him around and getting underfoot. Sunny is a very chill cat, he lose to sunbathe and play and is generally a calming presence for the other cats in the cafe. Sonic took a liking to him almost immediately and so he was the second cat to call the cafe a home. Tiramisu followed suit as Silver visited one time when he could. The two bonded pretty quickly as Tiramisu almost perfectly matches Silver's energy and love of exploring. The three cats get along great even if they are prone to causing Shadow some kind of headache every now and then.

Knuckles adopts several cats to keep him company on Angel Island. They end up befriending the chao and... well... the chaos energy there mind of mutates them a little so each have funky markings or colors but the cats seem to be happy so he just doesn't bring it up.

Amy helps run the social media page for the cafe in her free time. She ends up adopting two white cats called Strawberry and Shortcake who are a bonded pair of siblings. They live with her and are treated to a life of luxury.

I have a few plot lines I want to explore in this au such as how Shadow and Mari become friends, some of Sunny and Sonic's adventures as well as how the cats on Angel Island are doing. There isn't any ship content planned for this yet but we'll see where it goes. There are some cute moments I want to write out between Sonic and Shadow when it comes to adopting/taking care of Sunny.

If you read this far thank you!! Hope you have a good day!!

#starrway art #sonic #sonic fanart #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #silver the hedgehog #image id in alt #sonic au #cat cafe au #<- tee hee that's gonna be my tag for this bc there will be more #I have like a few lil story lines I wanna draw/write out we'll see which one happens

110 notes · View notes

slytherhys · 24 days

Text

Silver Linings & Raspberry Fortunes

Prompt: New Beginnings (week one) @elriel-month

A/N: HAPPY ELRIEL MONTH! 🌹🦇 I had so much fun writing this silly little AU and I hope you all enjoy it too!

You can also read this story on AO3!

If there was one thing everyone knew about Elain Archeron it was that she didn’t like being single. Her friends knew it, her sisters knew it, her therapist knew it – even her ex-boyfriend, who wasn’t the most perceptive person Elain knew, had callously pointed it out right before Elain kicked him out of her house. Truth be told, she had a serious case of abandonment issues with a side of middle-child syndrome and – because those weren��t enough – a deep fear that she’d never be loved the way she very much wanted to be loved. The fact most men she met were a disappointment was just the cherry on top of a very emotionally damaging cake.

Which explained why she had accepted to go on a date, at her sister’s insistence, with a man she had never met or seen before in her life.

At first glance, it had seemed like a great idea. Feyre clearly had great taste in men (read: Rhysand), her friends were some of the most interesting people Elain had ever met and the alternative had been staying at home watching crappy romcoms, eating salt & vinegar chips and wondering if maybe installing a new dating app would finally lead to her meeting the man of her dreams (even though it never did). Looking back, maybe even a night of getting texts from strange men who were entirely too comfortable asking about her sex life did seem like the better choice. Because Elain Archeron had officially been stood up – which, considering the dress she was wearing, was a damn shame.

Elain sighed again, earning herself a look from the bartender that definitely felt a little bit exasperated. She couldn’t even blame him considering she’d been nursing the same drink for the past 45 minutes (a martini because it sounded fancy) and she probably looked as dejected as she felt, which probably didn’t go well with the overall Saturday night vibes he definitely preferred.

Smiling weakly, Elain turned to stare at the door for a few seconds longer, wondering if instead of giving up and going home, she should just stay, have a drink in a too-dark bar where no one could see how hot she looked in her very expensive dress, under the hostile gaze of an entirely too attractive bartender. Because she was 25 and she was single and if she spent another night wallowing in self-pity, she would probably dye her hair a ridiculous colour in the name of adventure. And that couldn’t happen – no matter how many times she tried to bleach her hair it never looked any good.

And she was absolutely not staying for – Elain checked her phone – Lucien Vanserra and his stupid red hair and his stupid “nice manners”. The only reason she wasn’t calling her sister to complain about the audacity of it all was because it was past 9pm and Feyre and Rhys were most likely enjoying the only time of the day their son actually slept.

All in all, Elain’s night was pretty fucking miserable – and she couldn’t even drink her pain away since the martini alone had cost a ridiculous amount of money and Elain was supposed to be saving money in the name of being a responsible adult.

“Can I get you another drink?” A low, gravelly voice sounded from behind the bar and Elain startled as she looked up. Hazel eyes stared her down, darting between her and her untouched drink. If the bartender had been attractive from afar, Elain could barely think with him standing so close. A strong nose, high cheekbones and a lush mouth that twitched under her perusal. His dark hair was unruly, as if he had run his hands through it in the past five minutes, but somehow, he made it look hot. Elain blinked once, twice before her brain finally caught up, making her cheeks heat under his gaze.

“Uh,” was her eloquent reply. “No.” She said, though it sounded more like a question than an answer.

He raised an eyebrow, lips twitching again as he eyed her martini. Elain shifted in her seat. “Is there something wrong with the drink I made you?” He asked teasingly and Elain flinched. It probably wasn’t good for his ego that she hadn’t touched it yet, was it?

Elain sighed, trying not to buckle under the embarrassment of being called out. “I don’t like martinis.” She confessed, unable to look the man in the eye. She probably seemed like an idiot, looking completely out of place in her stupid dress and glancing longingly at the door waiting for a stupid ginger man. Mother, she didn’t even like gingers. What the fuck had she been thinking?

The bartender laughed – well, he huffed but it sent a sparkle of heat down her spine, so it might as well had been a full-on laugh. “Why didn’t you order something else, then?”

Now it was her time to chuckle. Bitterly though because it was embarrassing how hard she had tried for a man that hadn’t even bothered to show up. “I wanted to look sophisticated.” She shrugged as if it didn’t really bother her that her cheeks were aflame and that the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life was looking at her as if she had lost her mind. She couldn’t even blame him – she probably had. “For my date.” She clarified at his confused face, as if that made it better.

The bartender frowned, eyeing her where she sat, and Elain felt heat lick up her body at his slow perusal. Even if she did feel like shit, it was a small victory that her boobs looked amazing – and that, apparently, the bartender thought so too.

“Who the fuck stood you up?” His midnight voice sent shivers down her spine, the incredulity in his question sending a jolt of satisfaction down her stomach.

Elain stood a little straighter, feeling encouraged in her own disbelief. “Can you believe it?” She asked, her voice sounding a bit shrill. If the bartender smiled at her outburst, Elain didn’t notice. “And now I’m sitting here alone at this stupid bar waiting for a date I didn’t even want, drinking something I don’t even like–”

“You could’ve ordered something else.” The bartender muttered.

Elain, however, was too focused on her own tirade to be silenced. “And it’s too dark in this room for people to even notice my dress and I spent so much fucking money on it.” Elain shook her head, feeling ridiculous. “I really shouldn’t have spent that much money on a dress.” She confessed in a sigh, looking up and blushing as she noticed the amusement written on the bartender’s face. He raised an eyebrow, and it was absurd the way her body reacted to that small movement. Feeling chagrined, Elain smiled weakly. “Hi, I’m Elain.”

“Azriel,” his lips twitched. “Owner of the Stupid Bar.”

Of course he was. Elain groaned, dropping her head into her hands in a rather melodramatic fashion. “I’m so sorry.” She said, covering her face with her hands. “I’m usually much nicer than this.”

Azriel chuckled, tilting his head as he eyed her. “You look pretty fucking nice from where I’m standing.” He said, and Elain’s brain nearly short-circuited at the oh so casual way he said it. However, before she could answer he was leaning down, strong arms folding across the bar, hazel eyes set on her. “What do you really want to drink?”

Elain smiled sheepishly, pushing her martini away. “I’m not a big drinker.” She said, loving the challenge in his eyes as he waited for her answer. As if he wanted to figure her out. The thought of it shouldn’t have pleased her nearly as much as it did. “But I like sweet things.”

Azriel squinted his eyes ever so slightly, closely watching her expression. Elain wasn’t sure what he found, but her heart tripped inside her chest when he started to smirk. “I’m not sure you do, Elain.” He mumbled, head tilting as his eyes trailed down her body again. No one had ever made her name sound so decadent. “Want to make this more interesting?”

Her entire body went hot and cold at the suggestion. How was it that this man had already turned her entire night around when she had only known his name for five minutes? Elain bit her lip before leaning closer, intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll make you a cocktail and if you don’t like it, I’ll give you whatever drink you want on the house.”

Elain raised her brows, embarrassingly charmed by everything this man said. “And if I do like it?”

As if he knew that question was coming, Azriel smirked, bending down until his face was close enough to hers that she could feel his breath warm against her lips. Elain felt her breath catch, her heart stutter inside her chest. “If you like it you’ll go on a date with me.”

Elain blinked, unsure if she had heard him correctly. Why was this bar so fucking warm, all of the sudden? She looked around, aware that she had been so caught up in Azriel she had notice little else. When had the bar gotten so crowded? Elain would’ve felt claustrophobic if not for the man taking up all her attention. “Don’t you have to work?” She asked dumbly, painfully aware of the crowd behind her and of how silly she sounded.

Still, Azriel smiled softly. “Slow night.” He said, refusing to take his eyes off of her. She chuckled, feeling a bit frantic as she watched Azriel watch her back, a daring look in his hazel eyes.

“You want to go on a date with me?” She asked, just to be sure.

“Tonight, preferably.” Azriel said, throwing a cup into the air with an ease that spoke of years of experience.

Elain choked, laughing in disbelief. “Tonight?”

He looked up, all pure charm and wicked smiles. “That dress looks too fucking good on you for you to go home alone.”

Elain couldn’t help but giggle. “You sound very cocky.” Never mind that her entire body was heating up with his every word.

“Yes or no, Elain?”

She bit her lip, unsure. Wasn’t it crass of her to go on a date with another man only hours after being stood up? Elain wasn’t entirely sure what the protocol was in this situation, but she couldn’t exactly say no when everything in her was screaming at her to say yes, go. Truth be told, any thoughts of gingers and missed chances had been long gone. Everything seemed to start and end in the way Azriel, the bartender, was staring at her in the dim-lighted bar. And like Feyre always said, sometimes you needed to take hold of your own destiny.

“Yes.” She said, and Elain was sure she had never sounded so certain in her life. Maybe tomorrow she’d regretted and maybe in 10 years she would look back and think fondly of the one night she decided to be a bit brave and trust the rugged bartender who looked at her with wicked promises in his hazel eyes. Whatever outcome it all had, Elain felt absolutely no regret as she watched Azriel smile, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

And as she watched him pour drink after drink into a steel jigger, pouring liquids into a shaker as if this was just another drink, she knew that no matter the drink he made, Elain would be leaving the bar with him. Because sometimes things just felt right, and sometimes a failed date meant more than being left stranded in an unknown bar. And maybe to Azriel this was just another night – maybe this was something he did often. As a bartender, Elain assumed he had no shortage of pretty girls trying to convince him into a wild night. And yet, it didn’t feel like it was just any other night for him either – not as he kept glancing at her, a smile curving his lips every time he found her, as if relieved she hadn’t left yet. And Elain did not blush. She absolutely did not feel herself coming out of her skin as she watched his biceps bulge as he shook the shaker, and she definitely didn’t squirm in her seat every time those hazel eyes flickered in her direction with a promise that sent heat to her core.

Elain took a shaky breath as he began to pour a red drink into an empty glass in front of her, a sprig of spearmint and a few raspberries sitting prettily on top. Elain eyed her drink dubiously, avoiding Azriel’s watchful gaze. A shot of adrenaline went through her and Elain bit her lip as she eyed the fruit floating on top of her drink.

“What is it?” She twisted the glass around, watching as tiny bubbles danced to the top of the glass.

“Exactly what you need.” Azriel answered simply, making Elain chuckle in disbelief. Her cheeks probably resembled the exact colour of the drink in front of her and Elain wondered if the way his eyes flickered from the drink to her face meant he was noticing it as well.

She raised an eyebrow. “What makes you believe you know what I need, Azriel?” She wouldn’t tell him how he was most likely correct – how raspberries were her favourite fruit.

He shrugged, unbothered by her scepticism. “We can say it’s bartender’s intuition.”

Elain smiled, intrigued. “But what is it, really?”

“Stop stalling, beautiful.” He nodded towards the drink, urging her to take a sip. With little doubt he had nailed it, Elain did.

An explosion of flavour burst in her mouth, and it was all Elain could do not to react to the delicious drink in front of her. The tartness of the raspberry and the hint of lemon mixed perfectly with the sweetness of whatever liquor Azriel had chosen. The freshness of the spearmint kept the drink from being too sweet and – no matter how unbelievable it seemed – it was everything Elain loved. She didn’t know how, but it was everything she needed.

Azriel’s eyes didn’t leave hers, cautious hope clear in his face as he waited for her verdict. Elain wasn’t sure what kind of expression she had on her face, but before she could even say a word, Azriel’s shoulders sagged, and a brilliant smile took over his face.

“So?” He asked anyway, as if needing to hear it coming from her mouth.

Elain finally let herself smile, impressed and a little turned on by how fucking good he was. “What is this drink called?” She asked instead, stalling once again. Because she wasn’t sure what it all meant, but she knew it was more than just a drink.

Azriel huffed, a bit exasperated. “Really?” He groaned, making Elain chuckle.

“Just indulge me, please.”

“It’s called Kismet.” He shrugged, as if his words didn’t send her heart tumbling down her tummy. “It’s an invention of mine.” Elain could’ve sworn his cheeks darkened a bit. Still, his eyes never left hers.

Elain smiled sweetly, making herself comfortable where she sat. Azriel watched her with amusement. “Well, you can make me another one since I’ll be waiting for a while.” She said, eyeing the clock. The bar would close soon enough but Elain didn’t mind waiting. She didn’t mind waiting at all. “Seems to me we’re going on a date, Azriel.”

#elriel month #silver linings and raspberry fortunes #elriel #pro elriel #elain archeron #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #Bartender AU #Bartender Azriel #my writing #elrielmonth2024

77 notes · View notes

kiwipineappleparasol · 5 months

Text

Various Sonic Scribbles done on "Aggie" (it got Thrown in the Fiery pits and Turned into Magma but I Never Forget...)

#sth #silver the hedgehog #eclipse the darkling #wave the swallow #.... Does Johnny have a tag. Does he Deserve a tag . Personally I love spamming his voice lines in the Sound Test #He at least needs a Tag for my Blog so . Sorry Johnny Tag People #johnny #Oh God now all the tags are about Johnny Depp I don't CARE!!!! HES NOT FROM SONIC!!! (Lighthearted All Caps Yelling)#Anyways my Childhood Sonic OC snuck in here . They look nothing like a Sonic character #sonic au #the au where my OC sneaks into the ranks

125 notes · View notes

heycarrots · 2 months

Text

Black Sails Nation!!! We’re back!

And we’re back in a BIG way! The Truth About Eros by @aisalynn is a 4 plus hour episode featuring 2 hours of her stunning story, and another deep dive discussion where we talk about everything from Plato, to how much we both adore Madi, our mutual love of Anne Rice, why Silver and Flint are so perfectly yin and yang and how Silver absolutely cannot look at himself with any amount of introspection.

The Truth about Eros is a SilverFlint soulmate AU that I’d been begging to record since my days in Japan. @aisalynn has constructed a stunning epic tale of fate, longing, loss, and redemption. This story spans Silver’s entire history, from his pre-canon childhood, all the way through a post-canon reunion with Flint. It’s stunning in both its scope and its visceral prose and I’m sure, like me, you’ll be absolutely spellbound by it.

Last year, Reading Between the Lines premiered on Good Friday with A Vulgar Holy Thing by @lupismaris so it’s only fitting that, in closing out our first year, we once again launch episode 12 on Good Friday.

Once again, these episodes would not be the same without the gorgeous cover art and this month is no exception. Once again, Kelsey, aka @magicbubblepipe has absolutely blown our minds with their stunning work! Inspired by a sculpture by Antonio Canova, this piece features Flint as Eros and Silver as Psyche. Can I just point out how difficult the angle of Silver’s face is? Holy moly, what a talent!

A LOT of work went into this episode, and if you listen, please let us know!

Links below.

42 notes · View notes

blue-rose-soul · 3 months

Note

Arghg I love your au!

I was wondering how public the knowledge Alastor’s and Lucifer’s relationship would go?

In other posts the other hotel residents find out but I’d imagine Alastor wouldn’t want this to get out as it might not be good for his image (and not wanting someone like Vox finding out). But I also can’t imagine Charlie or Lucifer (or really any of the residents) being all that discreet.

Arghg thank you! Much appreciated!

With Lucifer now a permanent fixture at the hotel and Charlie becoming increasingly involved in the destabilization of Heaven's foundation, the secret does have an expiration date. Particularly once Lucifer himself learns Alastor's his son. I don't think that any of the hotel residents would go spilling it, since they're a pretty tight knit group. So far, only Angel Dust is really shown to have a social life outside of the hotel, and I think he of all people knows how important it is to keep a tight lid on certain family secrets, given he was a gay man in a mafia family in the 40s. Frank might, but he says insane shit all the time. Possibly Adam if he returns as a sinner, and if Vaggie doesn't punch his teeth into the back of his throat first.

I imagine his guilt over not being there for Alastor when he was a kid, the revelation that Alastor nearly died fighting Adam, and Alastor's lingering wound and broken staff would lead Lucifer to be a tad protective. Alastor, on the other hand, would prefer to go about his normal routine as though nothing's changed. Vox is very actively trying to tear down his reputation, so it's more important than ever that Alastor show his face in public so everyone knows he's as strong and dangerous as ever. Lucifer's hovering doesn't help with that. With cocky sinners trying to take their shot, and the Vees scheming, Lucifer only clings tighter, and Alastor fights harder to prove he's unaffected.

I can see either Vox finding out the truth through his stalking, or by making some overt move against Alastor that forces Lucifer to step in to protect him. Either way, once Vox knows, it's only a matter of time before the rest of the Pride Ring does. And the public blows up over it.

Alastor's famous for being the only mortal soul to manifest in hell with such incredible power. Only, he's not a mortal soul after all! He's a royal bastard masquerading as one. No wonder he's helping out at Charlie's stupid hotel. Obviously he has a soft side towards his sister! Suddenly he's not the Radio Demon anymore. He's just the Devil's Bastard.

The carefully cultivated reputation Alastor has built suffers a heavy blow. Although Lucifer is undoubtedly the most powerful being in Hell, the sinners don't have much respect for him as a ruler. They don't so much fear his power as the idea of it, since he hasn't really done much with it in his time as King of Hell. There's no real prestige to be gained from the relation. Plus, a very large part of Alastor's power came from the mystique behind his rise. The reason was so feared was because nobody knew how he was as powerful as he was, and now that there's an explanation, he loses that. Needless to say, he's not holding up so well when the truth comes out to the public. (Cue another dramatic musical monologue.)

Knowing what jerks the people of Hell are, you can imagine the field day the news would have. Lucifer gets ripped apart by Katie Killjoy for being a no-good husband on top of being a no-good king, people are questioning whether Alastor's really as fearsome as he pretends to be, and the Vees are trying to find a way to spin this to their advantage. Lucifer's panicking - it's not like he was embarrassed of Alastor or so he says, but he wanted to be the one to tell Lilith, not have it get back to her like this - and Alastor feels like he's being strangled - by his deal, by the public response, by Charlie and Lucifer. He needs to do something to fix this, but the situation is spiraling ever out of his control.

#ask #anonymous #Hazbin Hotel #the Devil's Bastard AU #Alastor #Lucifer Morningstar #Alastor's not having a good time #tbh no one really is #Valentino offhandedly jokes that Vox should have tried harder to get Alastor on their side #but Vox somewhat agrees with the assessment #one silver lining is that the Vees do reluctantly pull back the pressure they've been putting on Alastor #bc they need to reassess this new information #on the one hand it doesn't seem like Alastor and Lucifer are exactly on good terms #on the other the other they all watched Lucifer wreck the first man's shit live #as much as Vox is reveling in the damage done to Alastor's persona he's not pleased that Alastor essentially has an unbreachable shield now

36 notes · View notes

writerfae · 5 months

Text

Aiden in Silver Lining be like

#meanwhile Ranva who also married at nineteen looks at her son like calm down honey #I’m sorry I had to #just reread the au chapters xD #writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #silver lining au

6 notes · View notes

kremechihihi · 9 months

Text

FUTURISMO ⚡️⚡️⚡️

buwan ng wika already passd but i still wanted 2 draw sum futurism in modernized filipiñana garb 4 funs

#detail dump time uhm #member 3’s alampay is meant to represent those boost pack belts they have on their chest #…or maybe boost pack binder???#whatever #two wrapped tapis on their waist in place of those lime green hostler thingies #wooden bakya with that #3 connected dots thing on their sneakers #cyber’s got a sharp silver laced salakot meant to be in place of both his headphones and his vinyl discs #bakunawa mask since felix’s mask is tied with some sort of in game mythos?#barong embroidery is made to look like those ink blot test thingies in psychology or something #idk i made it squiggly on purpose to also look like brain lines also #diskarte #just gave him sum white platform boots 4 the sake of contemporary aesthetics #also psychedelic designs on his barong and member 3’s puffy see thru pants 4 da matchyyy #ok thats all if u read all this …well congratulations i guess ty for putting up with my rambles #chi tingz #brc #bomb rush cyberfunk #filipino au #pinoy au #dj cyber #futurism #brc dj cyber #brc futurism

54 notes · View notes

the-silver-chronicles · 4 months

Text

WIP Wednesday and Last Line

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @g0dspeeed @nightbloodbix @cassietrn (for WIP Wednesday) and @deputyash (for last line)

Tagging @direwombat @adelaidedrubman @strangefable @strafethesesinners @carlosoliveiraa @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @chazz-anova @bitchofedensgate @trashcatsnark @minilev @onehornedbeast @voidika @afarcryfrommymain @corvosattano @derelictheretic @deputy-morgan-malone @dephellseed @skoll-sun-eater @florbelles @fourlittleseedlings @henbased @titiagls @vampireninjabunnies-blog @wrathfulrook @inafieldofdaisies @la-grosse-patate @ladyoriza @shallow-gravy @snake-in-the-garden @softtidesworld @starsandskies @thewanderer-000 and @megraen

FC5 WIPs for No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden, a new fic Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles) and last line for You’re Almost Like Family. Also the first official introduction for Silva's (disowned) adopted father, Paul Yellowjack!

TW: First WIP involves mentions of bullying and abuse. Second WIP involves... IDK body mutilation? Self-body multilation? Screw it, a wasp comes out of a character's hand, then it takes off its hard shells, and proceeds to enter a different character's mouth in semi-disturbing detail. Probably inaccurate anatomy on both humans and supernatural yellowjackets too. Last line involves a main character getting shot dead (not for long though) so there's that too. There! Enjoy.

Here's the moment in No Snake, Only A Boa In The Garden that the Voice realizes its Muse is in the wrong occupation and Joseph unfortunately suffers from its temper tantrum. I hope I was able to do Joseph and the Voice justice here. Snippet below:

The distrustful gazes of the deputies nearby did not go unnoticed by Joseph, their eyes held onto barely hidden wrath towards him and his brother. It felt like an additional weight of the burden he carried, even after John successfully bailed three of his formerly detained flock.

The Sheriff and his department saw him as crazy. They looked at him like a madman. Their fear of the unknown, it prevented them from seeing the signs of the Collapse.

The sins that blinded them from this truth were the same sins that the government pushed them to indulge in, indoctrinating the consumerist lifestyle upon them, turning them away from God's warm embrace.

Joseph mumbled a silent prayer, a blessing for these misguided souls, holding onto faith that his Lord will guide the deputies, the supposed protectors of the county, to his flock, where he and his siblings would guide them on the right path.

Perhaps Jacob could train them to be true protectors...

But only time will tell if the deputies would accept his truth, if the Sheriff would. For the meantime, Joseph would focus on his children, those who have accepted him as their Father.

Turning his attention back to the conversing John and Sheriff Whitehorse, he felt warmth on the back of his head, and recognized a soft humming above him.

He was more alert, closely listened as the words exchanged between John and the Sheriff became mute, the persistent hum above him canceling out the hum of the building's air conditioner. The warmth of His glow consumed the cool air, and Joseph felt expectant eyes upon him, from beyond his own perception.

The Voice. His Lord, his God. Have you a message for me, Lord?

No, the Voice spoke, its tone even and still, lacking emotion yet always familiar, always reassuring to Joseph, I have need of your eyes, Joseph. The Hell that will follow the Whitehorse is here... nearby.

Joseph's blue eye widened in shock. The pace of his beating heart quickened. The very reminder of this... figure, quickened the steady pace of his heart. This figure whom the Voice had said embodied "Hell" itself, was one that haunted him. This lost soul was one he never truly got a glimpse of in his visions, both the good and the terrifying. Always obscured by the environment, whether it be the sun that shined between him and them, in the Garden that will become their New Eden, or the shadows and flames that consumed him and the corpses of his family, their back turned to the destruction they made, the paradise he tried to preserve.

The Voice had told him that it was up to him, His prophet, to bring this Great Sinner to the correct path, for they were his family's salvation, or face the destruction they will wrought. He had asked once, at the pews of his chapel, "How will I know to help them if I don't even know who this Sinner is? What do they look like?"

The Voice hadn't answered him right away, but when it did, he was unable to stop the dreadful weight sink on his soul, "You will know on the day the locusts come for you. You will know when Hell stands in front of you in this house of Mine. You will know on the morning the First Seal breaks and the Reaping finally begins."

He wondered, briefly, if it was time. If the day of reckoning that he had been tasked with preparing for had finally come upon him, at a moment where he wasn't with the rest of his flock, and in the heart of the locusts' nest.

Though Joseph put the thought to rest with the knowledge the Voice had passed to him. The day the First Seal broke would be in the morning, on compound grounds where his Flock and Family resided, and the locusts' attitude was more that of frustration than being on the offensive.

As if sensing his confusion, Joseph heard his Lord's voice once more, Calm yourself, my child. It is not time yet. This is merely an observation. An introduction if you will. You had asked me, "Who is the Sinner whom heralds Hell?" I had not thought you ready, but now, I deem it so. You will see the shape this harbinger of destruction takes form in.

Joseph's eyes shifted from the locusts, the green deputy uniforms coiling the uneasy nausea that settles on his dread. And what form is that, Lord?

The anticipation of finally seeing the one constant figure in his visions, his flock's savior or destroyer, all depending on the choice he makes, how far he can go to reach their soul and bring them into the light.

He felt God's presence above him, a constant reassurance to the Father, waiting with him as they scoured the moving bodies for the one person that will change the fate of his family at a moments notice.

That of a deputy, my prophet, the Voice revealed, Focus your eyes down the left hall.

Joseph did as instructed, his gaze locked on the corridor, catching the sight of two large double sided doors.

Can you feel their presence yet? Overwhelming, isn't it? He chuckled as Joseph's breathe hitched at a presence he swore he could just touch with his fingertips, despite no movement from his own hand and the lack of physical presence, Not something the majority of humanity is skilled enough to do. Unless you have the privilege of being my chosen prophet, of course.

Is... is this how you touch us? How you see us? Joseph questioned, gaze locked on the doors as the presence that was not there yet continued its pace towards the doors.

The Voice only chuckled, like a parent amused by a child's question. God did not answer him, again, and Joseph realized he had already answered his own question, again. Through this new sense the Lord had blessed him with, Joseph tried to close the gap between him and the approaching presence of the deputy that will doom his garden, or be another addition to it. With just his hand at his leg, he closed his palm.

But it did not last long, and swiftly opened his hand, hissing as if he had been bitten, only silently as to not alert his younger brother nor draw attention to himself. The sense the Lord gave him ceased, and Joseph could not feel the presence that had stung him, no, burned him upon touch.

He could, however, hear the echo of bellowing laughter of his Lord, his God. It was familiar, in a way, reminding him of how Old Man Seed had once bellowed at his expense, rather than roar with wrath, once word of Joseph getting battered and beaten by a group of older teens who he had come across while walking home from school. Jacob hadn't been there at the time, forced to stay at the house to do chores for their father after another suspension.

Joseph shook his head. He would not compare God to that wretched monster of a man, over a bellow of laughter no less. He should feel honored to have heard such a rare moment of laughter from God himself.

Careful now, Joseph, the Voice silenced further thought, Touching affinity that high will damage you. Thankfully your soul knew exactly what to do.

Joseph could still feel the sting on his palm, even though he was uncertain on how exactly that happened, I don't understand...?

It's not important. Humans weren't meant to have such senses. We have more pressing matters. Keep your eyes on those doors Joseph. I want to see.

Joseph kept watch on the doors, and though he could not feel their presence like before, but he could feel the Lord's grow warmer and warmer as the moment continued on.

Finally, it was at last that he saw the handle jiggle, and the door begin to creak open.

Finally, the Voice spoke once more, the humming drowning all other noises as its warm protected Joseph from the cold embrace of the building, everything except for the corridor and the opening doors darkening as God and his prophet watched a figure emerge from the end of the hall.

She reveals herself-

The Voice didn't finish, hushing itself as Joseph stared at the woman from down the hall.

Files tucked under her arm, the woman who emerged from the doors made her down the hall, her path leading towards Joseph.

The Father remained still as he observed the approaching woman, who seemed none the wiser of Joseph's presence, nor that interested in John's debate with the Sheriff. Hair dark hair flowed smoothly behind her, not tied up, not braided, simply free. Slim, rimless blue rectangular cat eye glasses rested on her slender nose.

As her figure became more discernible the closer she came, Joseph noticed the slivers of silver running down her hair, likely dyed. He was almost shocked to see the small faded scars that littered across her face. The scarring was notably darker than that of her tawny brown skin.

Now merely a meter or two apart, almost face-to-face, he noticed more details. Thick eyebrows, high cheek bones, the indifferent frown she wore on her pouty lips, and more concerning to the Father, the dark bags under her eyes.

Her eyes.

As she crossed paths with him, Joseph caught a glimpse of her grey eyes, dull but determined, focused on some deputy or another further behind him, her attention neither on him nor his brother. They appeared to be irrelevant to her apparent mission of delivering the files.

His brows scrunched as he squinted from behind his yellow-tinted aviators, mouthing the words plastered on the file. Office of the Sheriff-Coroner?

Then his eyes widened, as he took in the clothes she wore.

Instead of the telltale green jackets and the deputy's badge, she wore a white coat over a dark blue button-up and a black turtleneck shirt, with an ID badge that he couldn't get a steady look on as it shifted and turned as she walked.

She also had dark grey jeans, black combat boots and gloves. Joseph had to wonder why so much of her skin was covered, aside from her face. What was she hiding from everyone else?

She passed him, no indication nor acknowledgement of his presence. He watched her move from desk to desk until she found the right deputies, Hudson and Pratt he recalled, catching their full attention as she spoke, for what he could only assume was about the contents in the files.

He observed in silence, the humming above him growing louder, the Lord's presence no longer warm and welcoming as it always has been, but uncomfortably hot and erratic.

Lord?

This... this can't be right- No, it's impossible! She can't have- Why? How?!

Joseph froze, confused and lost on the tone of the Voice. He'd never heard such strength of emotion from Him. When God chose to speak with him, it was with a monotone neutrality, well-spoken and well-versed with an air of seriousness. Rarely He showed amusement. Even rarer to show disappointment.

But he'd never heard God's voice hold frustration before. It even bordered on rage.

He felt a sharp pain pound in his head, the heat becoming unbearable, his shirt itching against his skin.

Lord, I don't understand... is this not part of your Plan?

He looked to the woman who was supposed to represent Hell, the woman who conversed with the two deputies out of ear-shot. The Voice spoke once more, almost hissing, Does she look like a deputy, Joseph?

Joseph swallowed emptily, swiping at his damp forehead, the heat almost unbearable. He took another glance at her once more, the woman unaware of what she had done, however baffling it is for Joseph to believe that this supposed Sinner had managed to spit in God's plan.

Joseph tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swiftly turn to face John.

"We're all done here brother. No trouble will be coming from the Sheriff's Department for a while," John informed him, grin wide as he looked into Joseph's eyes, searching for any pride.

Joseph could only nod, the heat dying down as the sensation of the cold air rested against his skin once more, the aches pounding in his head still present though.

John furrowed his brow in worry, his concern overpowering his need for his older brother's approval, "Joseph, are you alright?"

Reconvene your heralds back at the Compound, Joseph, the Voice spoke, His warmth and light retracting away from Joseph's head, There is much to discuss about this new course of events.

As you wish, Lord, Joseph almost mumbled, but the light and warmth God shined on him left, already knowing Joseph's answer.

Turning to John, he was weary of the audience around them, though giving one last glance to Hell's enigmatic vessel, he saw her eyes were not amongst the deputies and Sheriff who watched their every move.

Gesturing to the door where their released flock members were waiting outside, John understood immediately and walked alongside Joseph towards the department's entrance.

"We must gather brother and sister," Joseph whispered to his faithful brother, "The Voice has spoken once more. New developments have occurred. Some I fear have threatened all that we have worked for."

He had faith in the Lord's ability, but the shock that even the Voice could not have predicted the Great Sinner's change in occupation had deeply shook him, making him ponder what else this sinner was capable of.

"What do you mean brother?" John asked, his confusion evident. Once out of the building, Joseph decided that he will not answer his younger brother just yet. Better to have the whole family together.

"I will explain when we gather Jacob and Faith at the Compound, but for now, we should return our missing flock back to the rest of the family," Joseph gestured to the three men who piqued up at the sight of both the Father and the Baptist, in awe of the brothers as they were lead into the car.

Here's a WIP for a new FC5 fic, Let The Skyfall (When It Crumbles), a scenario where I pondered the question of what would have happened if Paul Yellowjack, in all his wasp-y glory, had been at the events of the Reaping (or FC5 in general) where Silva was busting her ass to fight the Seeds... the answer? He would win. He... would have won. I mean... there's really not much you can do with someone who, in their current supernatural incarnation, can pull off a Kenjaku move (Jujutsu Kaisen reference... and spoilers for the manga and season 2) amongst other things and is an experienced, cunning strategist to boot. Case-in-point... Paul's first victim; the Father himself, Joseph Seed. The post giving a summary of this scenario idea + a summary of who Paul is and his relationship with Silva can be found here and the WIP snippet I have is below:

When lamplight disappeared from the window, Paul rasped a whisper to himself, "Go time."

He looked down to his glove-less hand, opening his palm far and wide. The vespe that watched from his shoulders flapped their wings, snapping at the air, chattering encouragement as the runt of the alveare crawled its way into the body's right palm.

Paul could only describe the sensation of a vespa maneuvering under the skin, especially in a fresh body, as a numb tickle at best and the numbed pain of popping a pimple at worst. The bump the runt made under his skin finally made it to the palm, and without further instruction, broke through the flesh.

The runt, unlike its kin that were irregularly bigger for the kind of wasp they were, was as small as the average vespa should be, and perfect for the task he needed it for.

It used its forelegs to clean itself off, while devouring as much of the nutritious meat and blood as it could before it begun its journey to the cabin. Two of its bigger kin flew down to the gaping hole in the hand, mandibles snapping before widening, a yellowish pale substance slowly spewing out, their forelegs pulling a stream of it out, and then working together to cover the breach in the sticky spew, swiftly hardening as they worked.

He brought the hand up to his clean-shaven face, the runt looking back up at him with beady red eyes. It knew what it needed to do. He knew what he needed to do. So without further prompting, the runt flapped its wings and made its way towards the sleeping cabin, the lights at the Profeta's compound glowing brightly in the distance.

Though if things went to plan, Paul smiled to himself as he hummed out an old tune he heard, walking back towards the cover of the trees, They won't be much of an eye sore for much longer.

Though he rarely allowed his hive to separate, he was confident that the runt would ensure that Profeta's body was under his thumb. Seeing through its vision now, he was already impressed how far it made it without being eaten by a bat.

The runt flew towards the small wooden cabin, landing at the window sill. Looking inside, the darkness held no disadvantage over his vision, and he could see clearly that the Profeta was laying down on his bed, sleep having finally caught up to him.

The runt clamped its mandibles together, its body convulsing and buzzing erratically. He had quite enjoyed keeping the Profeta awake over the course of the month.

Crawling through the cracked and broken glass he made during a another nighttime visit, the runt had successfully entered the cabin.

It looked to its target, growling out softly at the sight of the shirtless man.

The Profeta was a man in his early forties, reaching his mid, facial hair grown into a small beard, the hair on his head usually tied in a bun, but locks left to flow naturally as he laid asleep on his back.

The man was shirtless, a proof of arrogance and ignorance towards the vulnerability that can be exploited. Not to mention his doors and windows were all unlocked as Paul had discovered.

The visible tattoos that strewn across the younger man's chest held little meaning to the runt nor Paul, though the self-inflicted scars littered across, some with the labels of the seven deadly sins, did gain attention. How mocking it was to Paul, seeing the Profeta display such scars in public, when he had done nothing to earn them.

They weren't reminders of what he survived. They weren't lessons that shaped his core being, nor were they stories that told a tale of hurt and despair, of someone in pain, and yet through persistence alone, they continue on, to breathe, to live. No, the scars of this profeta held no merit, no truth, no reason to exist beyond glamorization.

A point of glorification to impress the gullible sheep he had entrapped with his charm, to show that suffering is a choice, giving them no chance to naturally experience what it means to fight and crawl and survive. Telling a lie to keep them subservient, slaves who never question the question of what is right and what is wrong, only what the Profeta wants. Individuality and potential talent squandered and crushed over trusting the wrong words.

The truth, the universal truth Paul knew, was that suffering was apart of life. Pain is unavoidable, and the only choice one can have in it is either enduring it or die trying.

To endure pain is to prove you're alive. To endure suffering is to prove your strength. To endure and overcome both, though, is to show your worthiness as a survivor.

The Profeta has only proven how low he will bend to the whims of his cruel master. While Paul's own existence was less than satisfactory, yet he at least had enough freedom to choose how to serve his own Master.

The runt looked to the black pants the man wore, a potential landing spot. But Paul opted against the idea, directing its gaze to the Profeta's jugular. The runt's faint red eyes locked on to its target, wings spread out for flight.

This chance was now or never. There wouldn't be another opportunity, not with the sceriffo's department so restless. The fate of Paul's precious Boa hanged in the balance.

Without further hesitation, the runt leaped in the air, its wings propelling it faster as it brought out its stinger. In mere seconds, the stinger stabbed through the neck, injecting the venom into his bloodstream.

The runt swiftly dropped off his neck, avoiding hand that slapped against the stung area on instinct, the pain rousing the Profeta from his slumber.

The runt's wings saved it from hitting the floor, allowing it to hover up to see the Profeta try to lift himself up, the drowsiness of interrupted sleep becoming heavier than usual.

His hand rubbed his neck, sucking a breath in at the sting, though his arm numbly slouched over the bed. He attempted to lift it, only to find he couldn't. The Profeta tried to sit up, but found himself barely being able to lift his head.

The runt watched the Profeta's face twitch, then it listened as he groaned, moaned and grunted nonsensically, no words forming. His voice failing him.

Through the runt's eyes, Paul couldn't help but smile at the sight of the broken down instrument of a God. One of many tools used to keep the cogs of the wheel going.

Paul urged the runt to go for a closer look.

The runt complied, buzzing and chattering excitedly as it landed on the man's nose, right in his view.

It stared into the Profeta's blue eyes, allowing Paul to see the still gaze of a man helpless and trapped, but more deserving of it.

Paul wondered what this man saw when he slept. What he hears?

The laughter of those long gong, whom he'll never see again except in the depths of buried memories, to bring himself a moment of joy to the grim purpose he existed for now? Did he fantasize of a life he'll never get, one where everything went right?

The runt turned to glance at the arm that had the woman's face etched on his skin.

Does he wish as I do? That he could have made a different choice than the one he did?

The runt faced the Profeta's gaze once more, taking notice of the tears that matched his watery eyes, the body reflexively trying to wet the dry eyes, the venom keeping him from doing something as simple as blink.

Or does he believe he has done no wrong?

The runt turned its back to the Profeta's frozen eyes, looking over the tip of his nose to the half-open entrance that awaited it.

Has the lies he's been told and never doubted become truth, despite how ludicrous they are?

The runt gently hopped down to the man's upper lip, gentleness no longer a necessity as the vespa's legs dug into the soft flesh.

Does he sleep soundlessly despite the terror he's wrought? The lives he's ruined?

The runt's middle legs steadied on the man's upper teeth, its hind legs pushing the upper lip back, while its forelegs pushed the forward the Profeta's bottom teeth, the venom's sluggish effects combined with the vespa's unnatural strength widening his mouth open. With the entrance now large enough to fit it inside, the runt flew over to the chin, its head looking down the interior of the mouth.

Does he hear their damning screams?

Slowly, the runt turned its middle legs to latch onto the slim outline of the shell Paul had attached to it, hooking underneath casing before loosening the thorax and abdomen shells, letting both fall to the sides.

The writhing small tendrils pulsed out, dripping small yellow-ish pale spew, like what most of the alveare produced. The liquid substance hardened as it dripped further down. The Profeta's breath quickened, panicked and confused, unaware of the plans Paul had in store for him. The runt shuddered as the heated air washed over it, before beginning its descent.

Though I'm not overly upset of never knowing the answer.

The runt crawled through the heated wetness of the Profeta's mouth, passing the tongue until it reached his throat. Beady red eyes looked down the path that descended into the esophagus. Unless it wanted to trigger the Profeta's gag reflex, it would avoid the path. Growling, it looked up, and found the breach point.

Crawling to the roof of the mouth, it ascended upwards, the writhing tendrils on its back lubricating in preparation, as its mandible jaws opened wide for the breach.

And last line paragraph(s) for You're Almost Like Family, the time loop fic where the Seeds realize just how easy it is for Silva to just wound up dead, and much they miss the luck she had in the first three months she fought against them. Anyway, paragraphs below:

A shift in movement from one of the Chosen stepping out of his peripheral momentarily caught John's attention, and he almost glanced to see where the Chosen was moving to, but noticed that Alexander raised a brow at the movement from the other end of the circle they surrounded the Deputy in, giving Jacob a signal with his head.

John heard his big brother huff out an annoyed sigh, glancing a quick glare over to the Chosen's new spot. Seeing nothing to worry about, John returned his attention to Joseph's pleas to the wayward sinner who had caused everyone trouble.

"Child, this wrath... this violence that you have escalated for the sinners who only use you as a weapon is no longer necessary," Joseph spoke with a soft, even voice filled with paternal gentleness, "This unnecessary rebellion needs to end. The Collapse closes in on us ever closer, just as I showed you in the Henbane, and the only salvation... are the Gates my family has prepared for. I see you, the person you are. And that is not as the tool of destruction your so called friends view you as. We see your compassion. Your bravery. The virtues you only think you don't have. And we welcome it, in our Garden. You seek someplace to belong... God has shown me you belong with us."

John watched as Joseph outstretched his hand to the Deputy, the Baptist sucking in a breath as she, of all people, eyed it, even as Joseph continued, "Please, child. Put aside the wrath. Put to peace the suffering. This doesn't have to end in blood. We can help each other. With your help, we can save more souls, more lives... and together we can bask in the new world God promised us."

John watched in bated breath as the Deputy glanced down, putting together her options.

When the Deputy finally found an answer, John saw Alexander's eyes widen at something ahead of him, and was shocked to see the Chosen Leader reach for his sidearm.

"Tch, you li-"

A loud crack shot through the air as it did the Deputy, her lips glistened with blood instead of the rest of her words. John watched, frozen on the spot, as the Deputy's body slowly fell back, following after the cartilage and blood that the bullet blast clean through. The bullet of which glinted at his eyes.

And the bullet continued to glint at him, just as the Deputy's corpse stopped in its descent, not even touching the ground. From what John could see, Joseph midway from stepping back, and hadn't planted his foot down, just as Alexander hadn't even been able to fully aim his sidearm at the culprit.

He tried to glance to Jacob and Faith, but found his eyes refused, locked on Joseph and the fresh corpse of his family's most determined rebel, who defied gravity just as she defied them.

What is going on?! Though he couldn't move, John was relieved he could still think to himself.

20 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Silver Lining 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, speech impediment, bullying and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You yawn as you look into the barren depths of your cup. Bucky sits up and rolls his shoulders, a dimple in his cheek. He looks you over as you furrow your brow curiously; do you have something on your face?

“W-what?” You bat your lashes.

“Should've got ya something with caffeine,” he says.

“Oh… little l-late,” you look over as the baristas wipe the counters. It's almost closing time, “s-s-speaking of-f.”

“Mm, yeah, I suppose,” he slides over his stapled papers, “you got all my notes. When I get back, we'll figure out the final draft and get the mic going.”

“S-sounds g-good,” you stutter and swallow another yawn. When you're tired, you can barely speak straight. “I sh-should head ou-out.”

You chomp down as yet another yawn rolls up your throat and your eyes nearly roll back. You smile as best you can and stand, grabbing your bag to pack up. He gets to his feet and pulls on his jacket.

“I'll give you a ride,” he offers.

“No, n-no, it's o-okay–”

“You shouldn't walk,” he looks outside as the night contrasts the white ground, snow still piling high.

“J-just as bad d-driving,” you comment.

“I got snow tires,” he insists, “really, I'd… I'd feel bad if you walked.”

“Y-you would?” You snort.

He gives you a look. That look. The one that warns caution. You put your hands up defenselessly.

“Fine, I-I'll let y-you drive m-me,” you surrender. “B-b-but you should know, I'm n-not that h-ho-hopeless.”

“Never said you were,” he pulls a beanie over his gray hair, “not a big fan of the cold myself.”

“Yeah, i-it probably m-makes your b-bones hurt,” you slide your arms into your coat.

“You making fun of me?” He scowls.

“No-o, I just… my st-stepdad always says–”

“It's fine. It does,” he sniffs, “cracked a few ribs playing ball in college. They never heal right.”

“Ouch,” you hook your bag on your shoulder.

“You got a curfew?” He checks his watch.

“Wh-what? I-I'm thirty,” you exclaim.

He chuckles. That takes you off guard.

“I know, I'm not too old to make jokes too.”

“Y-yeah, I w-wasn't–”

“Relax, it's fine. Better go before we're snowed in,” he leads you to the door, thanking the staff as he opens the door and waits for you to go ahead of him.

Well, there might blizzard brewing outside but he seems to be thawing.

🩶

You get home to a quiet house. Your sister, Kira, hushes you as you come upstairs, her children already asleep. She has a clay mask on as she hogs the bathroom going through her nightly routine. You dip into your room and hide.

You didn't expect them to wait up for you. That's ridiculous, but no one even asked about the job. It must be the excitement of a full house. Your sister does everything right so of course they'd want to focus on her. Maybe tomorrow.

You get in your pajamas and settle into bed. It’s hard to still your mind and the jittery energy still swirling inside of you. You put on a lofi video and let it play as you close your eyes. You have the weekend to make the last tweaks and you’ll finally be onto the next step. You hope.

You spend Saturday penned up in your room, hunched over at your desk as you go through the notes from your meeting. As the clock ticks close to noon, your phone vibes, drawing you back to the land of the living. You rub your eye sockets and groan. You need to eat.

You check your phone; you have a message. You flick your thumb up and blink at the text. It’s Bucky. You still haven’t saved him as a contact, recognising him only by the last four digits of his number.

‘Quick pitstop. Forgot to ask last night. How can I pay you?’

You chew your thumb as you think. That’s the awkward part. Even though you’re doing work, it’s still a bit strange. It isn’t like a company where the money just pops into your account on schedule.

‘I can give details when you get back. Hate to add stress to your trip.’

You hit send and sit back, stretching your neck. Your phone buzzes again. You don’t expect a quick response.

‘Asking now. Will be heading into no reception. Wanted to pay you for scriptwork. Will pay rest after recording.’

Your stomach knots. You’re trying to be polite but you can’t deny that you could use the money. With Christmas tiptoeing closer, you should really get on gift shopping.

‘Right. I have Venmo.’

You tap the arrow and wait. He doesn’t answer right away. When he answers, it’s just the thinking emoji, followed by another text.

‘I’ll figure that out. Do I need your email or something?’

You sweep away the chat and tap into your app. You copy your payment code and paste it into the chat. You follow it with a quick message; ‘should prompt you how. If you need to wait, it’s fine.’

Thumbs up. That’s it. You accept that. To be fair, from him, it’s an improvement. It seems you’ve found a tenuous truce with him. You’ll take that if it means you’re not scooping into your savings.

You can hear your sister and mother gabbing as you leave your room. You stop at the top of the stairs and brace yourself. Things didn’t exactly leave off on the best terms.

You descend and sneak past the dining room where they sit and sort through your mother’s vast Christmas card collection. You’re careful not to draw any attention as you enter the kitchen and quietly pop a pod into the keurig and set your mug on the tray.

Your coffee brews with a grind, giving away your endeavour. You don’t look back as you hear the scuff of slippers. Kira enters and clinks her empty cup down on the counter not far from you. She couldn’t wait until you finished.

“So, how was your job? A bit late to be rushing off to work.”

“It’s f=freelance,” you say. “It’s g-g-good.”

She scoffs, “ah, well, that’s great. You can get out of mom and dad’s hair soon enough.”

“Y-yeah,” you agree, cheeks scalding with embarrassment, “w-working on i-it.”

“Oh, I’m sure. You know, Catherine called me the other day…” she mentions your previous coworker, her friend from college, “guess she got a promotion.”

You nod. She’s goading you. What does she expect you to say? Does she expect you to apologise for leaving a bad situation?

You take your cup of coffee and sidle away. She chuckles, the way she always does when you don’t feed into her drama. Her mug hits the tray heavily.

“I’ll tell her you say hi,” she preens.

You keep going without an answer. You yawn as you come upstairs and hear whispers ahead of you. You rush forward, sloshing hot coffee onto your hand as you approach your open door. Why didn’t you close it?”

As you get to the threshold, there’s a sudden clatter and you gasp. Jamie sits in your desk chair as your laptop lays face down on the floor. Casey is underneath the desk tugging on the power cord. You shriek and sloppily slam the mug onto the shelf mounted just beside the door.

“W-w-w-what are you d-d-doing?” Your emotion overwhelms your voice, “how–”

You hear footsteps rush up the stairs and Kira hisses as she marches down the hall, “shhh, my kids are sleeping.”

“No, th-they aren’t,” you hurry forward and take Jamie out of the chair. As you shoo Casey, your sister enters your room.

“Don’t hurt him,” she demands.

“Wh-what? I w-wouldnt–”

“Don’t touch my kids,” she comes forward and scoops up Casey then takes Jamie’s hand, “they’re just curious.”

You bend down to pick up your laptop. You turn it over and find lines streaked up in a spectrum. Smashed. Broken. Demolished.

“They b-broke it,” you whimper.

“Ugh, whatever,” she hauls her kids back to the door, “it’s just a computer.”

You stare at the ruins and shake your head at her back. What are you going to do?

#silver lining #bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #drabble #au #silverfox au #marvel #mcu #winter soldier #avengers #series

169 notes · View notes