#SILVER LINING

[ltwilliammowett]

The Silver Lining by Thomas Jacques Somerscales (1842-1927)

[synthaphone]

the Darigan Centibyte!!

this one had to lose its cool knee and nose spikes when i converted it- tragic, but in the spirit of many of the official Darigan conversions

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

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.

[rafibird]

🐸

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Seth showcasing how to properly handle an infant mimic

[prince-liest]

Honoring @abstractsplat's idea of Alastor absolutely hating the slippery texture of silk sheets, because it just makes sense that Vox would be buying those. All iterations of Alastor cannot pass up the opportunity to mock Vox, regardless of gender. unu

[beyondwenet]

Greenery part.1

[polyporethewicked]

I made some silver lining fanart

VenikHue’s character, his yt channel is linked below

https://youtube.com/@venikhue?si=BlA3_LjDW6VRt9AC

[smolbimbo]

Part 2 of silver lining!! Started working on it again lol

[christineshanshanhou]

something silver | 08.26.24

[withmytailtotheworld]

I woke up, had a sudden urge to make these, and now here we are.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 11

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.

Part of the Silverfox AU

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.

You watch through the window, frosted at the corners like a Hallmark Christmas card. You can’t deny that the snow is beautiful as it gleams beneath the streetlights but can it slow down? You feel yourself buried deeper with each spiraling flake.

It’s almost eight and there’s no sign of a stop coming. The plows passed an hour ago but barely made a dent in the thick blankets. You check your app, the buses are all delayed, some routes are even out of service.

“I got snow tires but not sure they can handle this,” Bucky comes up beside you, “car’s not heavy enough. Best case scenario, we get stuck not far from here. Worst…”

“I’m s-sorry.”

“Sorry? I didn’t know you controlled the weather,” he scoffs.

“N-no, but I-I’m stuck here,” you blow out a long breath, “sorry to s-spoil your night.”

“Stuck?” He clucks, “never said that. It’s fine. Shit happens. You get to my age and it hardly even bothers you.”

“I guess,” you shrug.

“You calmed down,” he puts his hand on the window frame as he glances over at you.

You push your shoulders even higher. He’s not wrong. Your adrenaline fizzled out and now you’re just exhausted. Still, you can’t say you’re okay. Every shadow startles you as Mr. Rogers’ voice tickles the back of your mind. You’re back to watching over your shoulder.

“You’re not stuttering as bad,” he sniffs, “that’s all…”

“Sometimes it’s n-not as bad,” you agree, “s-still there though.”

“Getting cold in here,” he pulls his grip from the window frame and hugs himself, “how’re you doing? I got some extra slippers. A sweater?”

“Good,” you wave him off, “n-not that bad.”

He doesn’t say anything. You feel him watching you. He exhales through his nostrils and steps back on his heel.

“You’re damn stubborn,” he mutters.

“I–” you stop yourself. Arguing would just prove his point. And you are stubborn.

If only he knew how long you’ve stayed in a bad situation, thinking you could outpace it, that you could overcome it. Again and again. You’re too damn stubborn for your own good.

“So are y-you,” you say.

His response is unexpected. He laughs. He backs up, leaving you to watch the incessant snowfall.

“Yeah, I am,” he confesses.

You don’t answer. No comment is better than any that pops into your head. You continue to stare out hopelessly.

“You should let your parents know you won’t be home,” he suggests as pages flutter.

“I’m an a-adult,” you spin and lean on the window ledge, “they…”

…won’t care. You don’t say that out loud either.

“Never said you weren’t. Only figured,” he clicks on the tiny book light again.

“Uh, th-thanks,” you shuffle to the couch, well away from him and sit. You pull your phone, ignoring how the temperature nips at your fingers. You texted your mom an hour ago. She left you on read. Not even a thumbs up. “This should c-clear up s-soon.”

He snorts and looks over his book, “you really believe that?”

You meet his gaze and shake your head. He smirks and closes his book. He puts it on the armrest and stands.

“Come on, let me get you settled in,” he turns his palms out.

“Wh-what?”

“Sure, got a guest room upstairs. No point in you taking the couch. It’s stiff,” he explains, “I should have enough wood in the garage to get the fireplace going. Never really bother with it, too much work.”

“Uh, oh, o-okay,” you stand, “th-thanks.”

“You know, I am a nice guy. Or can be,” he leads you through the doorway. “If you’d just moved over a tiny bit–”

“W-what? I… the b-bookstore? You c-could’ve asked. You d-didn’t say e-excuse me,” you counter.

He grips the railing as he starts up the staircase ahead of you. “Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right. I forgot my manners. Thank you, Miss Etiquette.”

“N-no, th-thank you,” you return tritely, “finally, y-you apologised.”

“Me?” He exclaims as he climbs, peeking over his shoulder, “you called me an old man.”

“I d-did.”

He’s quiet as he continues to the top. He stops on the landing and turns back to you. You step up level to him, well, not quite.

“Hm,” his lips thin, “I guess you weren’t wrong.”

“I w-wasn’t,” you proclaim proudly.

“Watch yourself,” he warns with a wag of his finger.

“S-sorry, I wouldn’t w-want to raise y-your b-blood pressure,” you tease.

He hesitates, almost flinching.

“Are you calling me old again?” He tilts his head.

You smile and shrug. His eyes narrow and his brow drops. He waves you off and turns on his heel.

“Right, your room is this way.” He directs you down the short hallway and taps a closed door, “I’ll grab you an extra blanket and something to sleep in.”

“You g-go to bed th-this early?”

He glowers as he faces you again, “no.”

“S-sorry, I-I’ll stop,” you put your hands up, “I ap-ap-appreciate it.”

“So,” he turns the knob without look and nudges the door open, “I’ll just go get that fire goaded and then we can figure out dinner. You hungry? I’m starving.”

“Er, yeah,” you say sheepishly, “but I… you d-don't need t-to.”

“Come on, don't,” he dismisses your protest, “you can pay me back.”

“Ah, I g-guess.”

“Stay for the recording,” he insists, “please. Let's get through episode one before you tuck tail.”

“T-tuck tail?” You blink.

“Not to say… I only,” he stops himself, “I'm asking nicely. I'm not used to begging, you know?”

You press your lips tight and look away, “I'll th-think about it.”

“Right, well you got a whole night to think,” he says, “so, uh, yeah, the fire.”

He spins and before you can react, he's halfway to the stairs. You watch him go as you blindly reach for the door, letting your hand rest on the wood lightly as he disappears below.

Mercurial, that's the word for it. You always wanted to fit that in somewhere. It's almost poetic but in the flesh, it's entirely confounding.

[hada-lesbiana]

Last weekend at what was my last pride celebration of the year, I was honored to meet a young butch and photograph her skateboard. She spoke to me briefly about the quote on the board. I have taken the time to sit down and learn more about Leslie Feinberg and the quote written on this board “I live proudly in a body of my own design. I defend my right to be complex.”

I have not been able to get this quote out of my head since that day.

I am so very grateful that I followed my urge to go back and ask to photograph this board after seeing it. Tonight as I am reflecting on many things I am repeating this to myself as a mantra “I defend my right to be complex.”

My girlfriend and I left this beautiful pride event in tears, to the sounds of anti-gay protestors. This was so triggering on so many levels. But seeing this board, meeting this person, and being encouraged to learn more about Leslie Feinberg will be the happenings I choose to give my energy to when remembering this day.

My life since coming out has been nothing but tumultuous. I have been able to find silver linings throughout it all and this, is one of them.

thank you @silly-skater-butch

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Mr. Wright: It's the pride month Seth, you know what that means.

Seth: What? Do I have to like, take care of like, gay Scrap Worms? What?

First time I draw Joseph, and its this

[halfhissandwich]

LOGINCE WITH A PULL IN KITH

LIKE ROMAN TRIED TO GRAB LOGANS' TIE BUT LOGAN WAS FED UP WITH IT AND JUST GRABBED ROMANS' SASH AND

BOOM

KITH HAPPENED

That’s one way to shut Roman up!

[indiestsnake]

I forgot to tell my parents I’m out of my adhd meds.

I don’t have any left.

Tomorrow is thanksgiving.

fUCK-